Residual steam rose in swirling clouds above the fighting space; smoky tendrils reaching out for purchase in the open beams of the ceiling. Lights blazed from above, hot and suffocating, illuminating every inch of the pit. The shadows had been effectively pushed back and dared not battle the light in this place. Down in the Pit, Monk stood with his feet planted firmly in the sand. He held two reins out in front of him, caressing them as if he were running his fingers through a lover’s hair. Standing roughly six feet behind the harnessed UD, he held the thing on a short, but very effective lead. Headgear was strapped tightly over the thing’s head; lengths of leather bound by dull, metal clasps. A short baton of hard rubber acted as a bite block. The setup prevented the diseased mouth of the UD from getting a grip on anything or, God forbid, actually getting a hold of anyone. It wasn’t pretty, but it made handling them more or less safe. Despite all of the preventative measures and specialized equipment, Monk still kept a fully loaded shotgun propped against the wall… just in case.
