From one of the doors of the pit comes forth a young girl, probably no more than ten years old, and from the front row one of the Dornish girls steps down to meet her in the sand of the pit, a faint smell of spilled blood still clinging to it. It looks like you could smell the brimstone from one of the seven hells. The shifting shades of sunset bathe upon the red bricks of the seats and the fighting pit: crimson and purple lights mingling with the orange flame of the torches, creating an unreal, sulphuric atmosphere. Good Masters and the high nobility of ancient Ghiscari blood crowd the choice spots, next to the Dornish envoys, the most notable of whom are nine between girls and women seated in the front row, all of them beautiful in their own way, all of them with an alluring air of confidence and danger about them.

It seems like all the people from Astapor has convened here to attend the unique event that is going to happen here. Tonight the Pits Quarter is bustling with people and excitement. The many-coloured lamps are being lit on the great red pyramids, and soft greens, light blues, purples and yellows radiate from their high steps, making them like huge lamps themselves, outlined against the slowly darkening sky. ASTAPOR - Sun has just begun to set, and he heat of the day still clings on the red brick walls and streets of Astapor, barely mitigated by the light, fleeting breeze from Slaver's Bay.

Golden company vs unsullied