Eyes of the void

Fedlimid approached the registration desk, his black eyes piercing straight ahead. The scribe behind the counter, a middle-aged man with an air of smugness, barely looked up as he barely heard the approaching footsteps.

"You again?" The man grunted, tapping his quill against the edge of the desk.

Fedlimid crossed his arms, his voice calm and deliberate. "Sign me up for a match against a mage."

The scribe shook his head, a mocking smile on his lips. "Listen, Black Hair, this isn't the kind of arena for personal vendettas. We've got a balance here, and I don't want you ruining our numbers by scaring off the big bettors."

Fedlimid's jaw tightened. "What if I told you this is exactly the kind of thing that will draw more people in?"

The man raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "You think you're an organizer now? Since when are you an expert on business?"