Agarechor is an oblong clearing surrounded by brush. The first and oldest ring, the grasses are long worn away to expose the soil because of use. The horrid memories that follow the ring’s existence have been set aside, and as what seems to be an attempt to erase them altogether, intentional fights to the death here are forbidden. The earth is scarred by slashes and scuffs by combatants’ claws, tainted a subtle rose. A crimson hue that has not and will not fade, the eternal vestige of blood spilled and lives lost.
