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Old Apr 5th, 2012, 09:34 PM
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Lormador Lormador is offline
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The sandy floor and bloodstained walls of the Olothruulian Colosseum have seen countless bloody, gruesome deaths over the long years of its life. Yet for each gladiator that has died a ghastly, violent death, another has seen his fame rise, buoyed by the fickle crowd's exultation.

Alcoves, concealed by deep purple velvet curtains, stand above yawning halls of the Colosseum where crowds gather before the games. They stare at the curtains, awaiting the moment when they will be drawn back, behind them freshly scrawled on great chalkboards the battles to be fought that day: the prizes to be accorded the winner, and the odds favoring one side or the other.



Last edited by Eviltedzies; May 21st, 2012 at 09:20 PM.
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Old Apr 5th, 2012, 11:34 PM
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Sirith was born a fighter, and the Colosseum was the perfect place for him. Struggling, fighting, competition these were the things he lived for. Fortunately for Sirith the Behold Grithik had taken an interest in him, and served as a patron for the warrior. Every morning Sirith woke up to prepare for his day, spent time practicing in the morning, then went out. In a local market he revelled in some of the wary glances he got and the deference. Few looked at humans as something to be even worthy of looking at, but he was well known for his victories. Being the favored of a beholder didn't hurt either, he guessed. Then there was the time he had ripped the throat out of a drow who tried to cheat him in dice. That certainly didn't hurt either.

All in all, the dark and evil city was his home, and to Sirith, the Colosseum was its heart. He spent his afternoons in training most times, though would go about the city or do odd jobs for his patron: punishing a person who crossed the beholder, collecting a debt. Other times, he would hire his services out as death dealing worked out well in the field as well as in the Colosseum.

Going there now, he confidently moves towards where the matches are posted. A newer combatant doesn't move out of his way fast enough, and he turns on him, "I should cut you up and feed you to the kobolds, swine!" The orc looks shocked, and a little overwhelmed. It whimpers and apology, but Sirith moves away. It was not worth his time, he killed and loved it, but only for a purpose or in competition. His anger should be focused to the challenge ahead, not some poor sod who would be dead next week.
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Old Apr 7th, 2012, 02:12 AM
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Fil kearney Fil kearney is offline
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It was a noisy evening at the Colosseum. The recent influx of exotic combatants has revitalized the arena market far beyond the pessimistic predictions-- spectators were lined up around the block, crowding in close to see who was on the docket for that evening's events.
"get out of the way"
Although the venue had stood for... ever... it had been at least a short-lived generation since there has been so much excitement about professional combat.
"look out-- oh, godz, I'm so sorry!"
Anyone who wants to become anyone would sell their parents and children to get a seat in the premium tiers where the deals are made, fates sealed, and destinies realized.
"Run away! No-- RUN!"
While those of the premium crowd entered through secured doors coated in platinum and magics, the general masses clustered close to rush through the general admittance gates before the bladed gates fell upon those helplessly trapped between sweet success and disappointment. Thick smoke wafted across the crowd as street peddlers offered up all manner of food and beverage to meet the needs of those waiting. Hawkers offering all manners of entertainment at nearby pits and bars for those denied the joy of bloodsport that evening.
A small human in worn boots and leathers rounded the corner, hustling like he had offended a beholder. Passing in front of and weaving through all manner of creatures that have just about ran out of patience for the day, he takes a split second to look back with frenzied eyes,
Within a heartbeat, three monstrous orbs rounded the corner some 30 feet up; red, yellow, purple and green lazers fired in multiple directions from all three of them as they roared in sadistic rage-- the small man juked left just as the drow in front of him *poof* turned to stone! another beam scrawled along the ground, carving a deep groove where his fast feet had stepped just a fraction of a second ealier,
"Godz, I am SO SORRY-- LOOKOUT! "
Some poor orc was shoved right between the little man and a really nasty looking beam that peeled all the skin off the poor bastard's face with a gruesome sizzling sound. Screaming in pain, the luckless brute fell to the ground as another few beams focused on it for a second until the thing simply bloated and burst all over everyone nearby.

Raw Chaos.

The fear-fueled mob erupted into a flash-riot, sending would-be patrons scattering in every direction as fast as they could manage.
The beholders spread out and dropped into the crowd, swiftly rotating, emitting beams in all directions-- dozens were cut in half, petrified, and disintegrated in an instant. Desperate to just not die, the leather-clad prey dropped to hands and knees, scurrying for his life as blood, skin, and bone-soot covered everything.

Dodging into the main entrance corridor, he glanced up at the venue and spotted his name near the top just before the whole docket sheet sizzled under three or four squiggly lazers. Grabbing some poor woman who was wailing that her arm was missing, the panicked human juggled her into a petrification beam just in time to block the dropping portcullis from squashing him to jelly.
Safely inside the Colosseum, he took a moment to compose himself while the locked-out crowd continued to cry in terror and pain.
Brushing the filth away, he took a deep breath and asked an attendant where the ready-rooms were for those competing that evening. Interpreting shaky gestures of the dumb-struck worker, he left the searching beholders behind as they roared in rage, screaming vows of vengeance at the top of their (presumably-existing) lungs.

They may have their chance, IF Laeric is lucky enough to survive the night....
Current game: 3.5 Trailblazer E6 Acquired Gestalt Eberron Spelljammer Planescape Mayhem
I'm also looking for some folks for a Darksun E6 skype game...
I paint sometimes too. My most recent work is on the cover of Explosive Runes #18.

Last edited by Fil kearney; Apr 7th, 2012 at 01:16 PM.
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Old Apr 7th, 2012, 03:27 PM
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"Here's to the night!" Yogge Mothi toasts, lifting his glass into the air. The deep red liquid within sloshes slightly, coating the glass only to slowly drip back down into the chalice. The drow's smile is charming beyond belief and contagious as well. The crowd of dark elves around him cheer and hold their own glasses into the air. The party resumes when the host sits down, Yogge grinning as he gazes upon his guests. He sips from his glass, then rises, spying a particularly attractive female not far from him. He maneuvers through the crowd effortlessly, appearing besides the woman in a matter of moments. So agile were Yogge's actions, the drow doesn't realize his presence at first. "Are you enjoying yourself, milady?"

The woman turns to face Yogge, slightly startled by his sudden appearance. "Oh, Lord Mothi, I didn't see you there."

"My apologies. Please, call me Yogge." He takes the woman's hand in his and kisses it, "Might I ask your name? I have held many parties, but don't recall having seen you here before. Given your unforgettable beauty, the only rational conclusion is that this is your first time."

"Okali," the woman responds, "Okali Rho." She glances up and down at Yogge, analyzing him with great scrutiny. "I must admit I am pleased I may call you by your first name. You do realize how rare it is to find a drow man with a title such as yours, correct?" She stares directly into Yogge's eyes, her judgment striking him like a hammer.

Yogge's smile turns to a scowl as he looks down at his drink. He swirls it around for a moment, then locks eyes with Okali again. "I like this place, Okali. In Olothruul, a man can make his fortune based on his abilities, not the petty politics of drow society and religion." He scans Okali's clothing for a moment, "You have obviously done well for yourself, but tell me: Do you deserve it? Did you take your station, or was it given to you? Could you defend it if you needed to?"

Okali snickers at Yogge's questions, "Make no mistake, I am not some pampered princess. I killed my own mother and sister to get where I am, and I wouldn't think twice about killing you if it served my desires."

Yogge laughs aloud, "I like you, my dear. I'm sure I'll see you again very soon. Now, if you'll excuse me." Yogge returns to his seat and addresses the audience, "I have an announcement. As somewhat of a lark, I have decided to enter the Colosseum as a combatant. Not to boast, but I think you can all see the lucrative betting opportunity this presents to each of you."

A voice from the middle of the room interrupts, "Yes, but who will host these wonderful parties when you're dead?" Everyone erupts into laughter as Yogge spies the joker. Okali stands with a hand on her hip and a smirk on her face. She raises her glass to Yogge and winks as the crowd continues to jeer. Yogge is incensed to be embarassed in his own home. He can barely keep a smile, but then he begins thinking about what he's going to do to the cocky woman. His wide grin returns and he laughs with the rest of the room. "Well done," he compliments Okali, "Well done."
"The only constant is change."

Last edited by Yogge Mothi; Apr 7th, 2012 at 04:06 PM.
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Old Apr 7th, 2012, 05:49 PM
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davide15 davide15 is offline
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The Orc wanders down the twisting alleyways of the Warren, alert for danger but unafraid. Nothing can hurt him here, this is his turf, his home ground and Ogerg the Scarred didn’t get to be head of the Warren Mugger Brigade for nothing. However, it was unusual for Ogerg to be wandering the Warrens alone, even with his martial prowess, strength and ruthlessness, but he had been called to a by a fairly famous Duergar Half-Fiend merchant, Enrezen, and he was told to come alone.

Ogerg wasn’t certain what the dirty dwarf wanted, but he knew that whatever it was could be a real opportunity for advancement, maybe he could even get out of the Warrens at last! The thought was tantalizing, Ogerg had always had big dreams of making it in Olothruul but he did not have the connections to realize his dreams. “This time I’ll take this dirty city by its throat.” He muttered to himself as he continued through the warrens to the meeting place the dwarf had arranged.

Finally he arrived at the entrance to a warehouse. Everyone knew Enrezen owned the warehouse, but no one could tell you what was stored there. Every once in a while an enterprising thief had taken it upon himself to find out, none were ever heard from again. Taking a deep breath to steady himself Ogerg opened the door and entered the warehouse. He looked about the pitch black storage space, and he was more than slightly confused, the whole building looked completely empty. Then he saw that there were in fact some furnishings in this place, apparently a small bed, a table and several chairs, a chest, and some crates all squeezed into one corner. A large desk stood in the middle of the warehouse and Enrezen, the Half-Fiend merchant, sat at it, reading a ledger. “Well are you just going to stand there like an idiot or are you coming in?” The Dueregar said sharply to the confused orc.

“Not a lot of people get away with calling me an idiot.” The orc growled at this impertinent merchant, what did he know of fighting to make his place for himself, all he had to do was take what was given to him.

“Not many that you know of anyway.” Enrezen said lightly. “We have business to discuss, come over here.”

Not interested in arguing with this strange and ugly dwarf any longer Ogerg followed the instructions and went to the seat opposite of Enrezen at the desk. “So what’s this business you needed me for?”

“So I am sure you know that i have many interests, trade concerns, contracts, even a stake in the Colosseum...” Enrezen begins.

“So you brought me here to be your little pet and to fight for you in the arena?” Ogerg interrupts incredulously. He is infuriated that this mere merchant would think that such a thing could hold any interest to an orc like him. He stand's and prepares to draw out his axe.

“No no no no! Nothing so crass.”

“Well then what did you want m-“ Ogerg is cut off by an extremely powerful claw clamping down on his throat, lifting him out of his seat.

“You are merely here because of the thing that you did with my last shipment. You know, you should really find out about these caravans you are attacking, you might just go and make the wrong people angry.” Enrezen smiles at the orc, revealing sharply pointed teeth, as Ogerg kicks feebly at the air. As he struggles Ogerg can feel his strength slipping away from him, as if his very life force, his soul, is being stripped one layer at a time. After several moments the orc stops kicking and the claw drops the emaciated corpse of the once powerful warrior back into the chair. “Did you enjoy that?” Enrezen asks, looking quizzically at the hunched and cloaked figure before him.

“The master seeks better...Freemo eats until the master is full.” Trills a high-pitched, nasally voice, a clacking as if like bones being struck together comes from under the deep cowl of the cloak. “You always stop Freemo! You feed us this...trash" He hisses. "When can we have our fill?”

“Soon.” Enrezen soothes. “Soon you will enter the Colosseum. There you can eat and my father will be pleased.”

Last edited by davide15; Apr 7th, 2012 at 05:54 PM.
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Old Apr 9th, 2012, 12:24 PM
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Ithamar Ithamar is offline
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Umpra'ggur the Cuddly

Deep in the bowels of the colosseum, far away from the tender and innocent masses, the tournament masters have something akin to a private zoo. In heavily warded cages, with doors and walls made of adamantine and obdurium thicker than a tarrasque's head, the arena masters keep the truly unique and gruesome specimens they have managed to acquire over the years. Some of these beasts are truly just monsters, slavering brutes not capable of any intelligent thought (like Nefar the ooze-born displacer beast). Others are so dangerous, to themselves and others, that they are kept under lock and key at all times, only paraded about on special occasions.

Such a one is Umpra'ggur. The enormous figure is huddled in the rear corner of his cell, humming quietly to himself. The tune is chaotic and follows no discernible rhythm. He taps his enormous, clawed fingers on the floor of his cell, each time making a sharp *PING* as his claws strike the impenetrable metal.

Down in the bowels of the colosseum, most of the inhabitants prefer darkness to light, so only the faintest glimmers of illumination are allowed ("Lest we disturb the poor beasts and enrage them further" advises the master zookeeper, Beholder Archivist / LoremasterPrax'tal Muzzorgy). But still, the light that is available is just enough to allow the visiting crypto-zoologists enough to make out the discernible anatomy of some of the colosseum's prized specimens.

Stopping in front of Umpra'ggur's cage, one of the eldritch scientists (an ancient and somewhat decrepit looking dusk hag) leans forward to inspect the inhabitant of cage 487b. What she sees is a monstrous form, seemingly constructed out of thick plates of metal, but with numerous clawed hands and a face so ugly a medusa would turn to stone.

The monster's eyes pop open as he senses the movement and he inhales deeply. He stops humming and he scrapes his long claws across the metal floor of his cage.

"Did he just say 'yum'?" asks the ancient hag.

Whirling around, Prax'tal starts to shout out, "Move back!" But before the second syllable has left his enormous mouth there is a bone breaking *CRUNCH* and the dusk hag finds herself in the iron grip of a long, squid-like tentacle.

Though the gaps in the bars of force are only a couple of inches wide, the tentacle squeezes and pulls the hag, inch by screaming inch, through the narrow opening. Her bones shatter and are pulverized. Her internal organs and various bodily fluids begin quickly escaping from various newfound orifices.

The entire, gruesome display takes barely three or four seconds. Umpra'gurr lunges forward, his metal body creaking and groaning as he lets loose a playful roar of delight. He begins to devour the still quivering body of the hag, slurping noisily as a child eating spaghetti might.

The beholder floats just out of reach of the cage and shouts, "Dammit, Ump! Not today!"

With a wicked grin, the monster looks up from his feast and says, "Ump share... Praxy want some? Tastey, yummy good." Offering up a clawful of red and dripping hag-flesh, the dumb brute winks at the beholder knowingly.

Clicking his tongue and glaring at the beast, Prax'tal spins back around to the other visitors and composes himself somewhat. One of his eyestalks shoots out a red beam and he traces a line back and forth along the floor. "Stay on this line I told you all. That hag bitch was stupid enough to not listen, and look at her. Do you think my warnings were merely for show? Be thankful it was only Ump that got her! The gods protect you if Shable or Kraydolph get a hold of you."

With that the beholder flies off quickly, leaving the visiting zoologists somewhat dumbfounded.

Scooting himself right up to the bars of his cage, Umpra'ggur presses his horrid, blood covered face against the bars. Though the bars send a shock of electricity coursing through his body, the beast does not seem to mind. Instead he smiles at the others, a crazy and almost mischievous smile, and inhales deeply, his large flat nostrils flaring widely as he takes in the scents.

The tentacle lashes out of his cage once again, but this time stops just inches away from the closest zoologist (a fiendish derro that suddenly loses control of his bodily functions). The tentacle flails about helplessly for half a second and then retracts back into the cage.

Leaning back, his face sizzling and scorched from the electrified bars, Umpra'ggur starts to hum once again. The wounds already begin to close up and heal themselves as he turns back to his feast. Glancing over his shoulder, he calls out to the scientists that are now practically running after Prax'tal, "Come back an' visit Ump soon! Me like visitors!"
~ Not a weekend poster ~

Last edited by Ithamar; Apr 9th, 2012 at 06:32 PM.
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Old Apr 10th, 2012, 08:34 AM
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Inem Inem is offline
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Lucan Kikosi

‘Killllll themmm! Tear them apart!’ – ‘Yes, rip their hearts out! Take their heads off! Bloooooood!’ – ‘Yes! Yes! Bloood!’ – ‘Fools, know you no subtlety?’ – ‘Bloooood!’ – ‘Yes, Bloooooooooood!’ – ‘Yes, yes, kill them allllll!’

“SHUT UP!” Lucan shouts.

All the other patrons of the establishment, who had either been drinking in silence or whispering quietly in corners making questionable deals, turn to Lucan. ‘They stare at us! They must pay for this insolence! ‘ – ‘Yes, yes, break their bones!’
“SHUT! UP!” Again Lucan shouts, this time clutching his head in frustration, his claws scratching at his own scalp. It doesn’t help, they won’t shut up. Furiously, Lucan slams a fist down on the counter, before his wings begin flapping furiously back and forth for no particular reason. “Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggh!” Leaning his head back, Lucan lets out a roar towards the ceiling, before slamming what he owes for the drinks down on the counter and staggering out towards the door. Bumping into a table he knocks a chair into his own path, before seemingly just walking right through it.

‘No, no, no! Kill! Rip them apart! Don’t walk away! Tear them to pieces! You know you want to!’ – ‘Fool, you would let them get away with this?’ – ‘Bloooood!’

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrgggh!” Again, Lucan lets out a shout, clutching his head, burying the points of his claws in his flesh until it starts to bleed. Without warning he walks up to the wall and brings his head crashing against it as hard as he can. Pointless of course. As always, it hurted only him, while it didn’t seem to bother them in the least. That didn’t stop him from doing it again and again though.
While Lucan staggers home, eyes seem to follow him everywhere. Finally he reaches his simple house, but of course being alone with them isn’t any better. ‘Why am I here? What is the point? Why would she send me here? Lucan finds himself thinking, having a clear moment with all of them simultaneously talking loud enough to drown each other out. 'Tomorrow. Maybe I’ll get torn to pieces in the colloseum, maybe I won’t survive my first fight. But at least they will be quiet...’
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Old Apr 10th, 2012, 03:13 PM
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Tj99 Tj99 is offline
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A dark figure glided near the ceiling of the cavern, but few could see him and none noticed him. Weaving among the stalactites left him far from the commoners on the ground. The silence was solitude and the solitude, silence for an overworked mind. Beautiful anonymity made white teeth shine beyond sight. Another fresh start, to begin in another arena.

The drow allowed himself to drop to ground, landing silently. With a thought, he became visible taking his first step towards the fame he would once again achieve. He smiled as a pair off thuggish street orcs wandered over. Too stupid to notice the easy stance and trademark drow arrogance, all the orcs saw was the lack of armor, and the huge blades on his back. "Thas shinies swors look ta big for ya. Min' if we take em off yer hand."

The Tempest Duke Jandor smiled. "Come and take them, fools."

Two strikes and two decapitations later, Jandor walked up to a small goblin, "Would you be so kind as to point me to the Arena?
Each man is the bard of his own existence ~ Cormac McCarthy
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Old Apr 13th, 2012, 08:13 PM
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Eviltedzies Eviltedzies is offline
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The Life of Victel in OlothruulThe drown know only as Victel is a curious topic of conversation in Olothruul. Seemingly from out of nowhere the drow had come to the city and immediately took to the arena. In fact it was in the grand colosseum where Victel had first peaked the interest of many a citizen. His sheer brutality combined with his silent grace always seemed to make the crowds roar with pleasure. After winning a few minor matches with little effort it was expected that Victel would easily gain a benefactor. To most peoples surprise, Victel refused any sponsor or benefactor. When offered lavish dwellings, hoards of treasure, and any desire he could name the drow simply declined the offer with a cold courtesy. This reluctance to be sponsored both angered and intrigued many a patron. Many sent servants into the streets to learn what they could of the elusive drow. Many of the servants never made it back....

What is publicly known about Victel is that after taking his winnings from a match he will visit the slave market and quietly peruse the available stock. Every so often he selects a specimen or two and takes them off to an open area from the city away from the crowded streets and noisy taverns. He then offers them a chance at freedom if they can survive a fight with him. His choice of opponents seem to hold no theme. He has been known to fight men, woman, and even children to the death. Onlookers describe the fights as often extremely one sided and a waste of Victel's time. Any slaves who refuse to fight are brutally executed by Victel with no remorse.

Besides his odd habit of fighting slaves, Victel tends to keep to himself in public. His only other significant business inside the city is depositing his winnings in the bank and having his armor and clothes mended. For a fighter of such skill it is truly a curiosity that he has no other apparent interests in a city of such opportunity. Victel likes to stay on the move and it is not uncommon to hear of the drow traveling into the surrounding caverns and tunnels around the city and not resurfacing for weeks at a time.

Privately, Victel spends his time training his body and mind. The annoyances of potential patrons or assassins grates on him daily and he finds solace in the silent tunnels of the wilderness. His social time outside the arena is more forced than willing as he has an extreme distaste for the political intrigues of the big city. His periodic sparring matches with his bought slaves are one of the few exceptions to his anti-social behavior. Victel studies his combatants carefully and tries to measure their spirit and will to live as he battles them. Even after years of martial training Victel believes he has so much more to learn.

Victel prefers to not own any property in the city mainly because it will make him easier for patrons or rivals alike to find. When spending the night in the city Victel often finds a nice dark corner of the slums and lets his mind wander as the shadows caress him as he dreams of the next battle to come....
~ To be alive is not to live; living requires reaching beyond survival for something more. Reach for that something and find what dreams breath life into your existence. ~
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Old Apr 18th, 2012, 09:48 PM
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Ytterbium Ytterbium is offline
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"They want him where?"

"The largest minimum security cell we have. The slaves are preparing it right now. He's ten or twenty feet tall and dangerous, but too stupid to realize he's going to be a prisoner. Apparently, as long we keep him well fed and are minimally nice to him, he won't hurt anyone."

"What was his crime?"

"He chopped a beholder in half. With one swing of his sword."

"And he didn't get death for that?"

"It was Una'angghalgr'oth."

"Oh. No big loss, then. They've been hoping someone would off him for years."

"Yeah. It's like the Svirfneblin say: 'Only the death of the blackmailer truly satisfies the powerful.' Anyway, his name is Taree, and the report said he agreed to come here and fight to entertain the crowds under the promise that if he won enough, they'd get one of the wizards to send him back to his home dimension."

"They'd really send him home?"

"Don't be stupid. He'll either die a painful death or be the greatest fighter Olothruul has ever seen and then die a painful death. I think that's him."

The person stood at the entrance of the Colosseum, stooped down and looking into the room. In a slow, deep voice, he asked, "this colo-... colo-... color-see-him place? my name Taree. i come here?"

"Yes, welcome. We've been expecting you, Taree. Right this way." The guard, adept at feigning politeness, led Taree, who had to duck through the door but afterward was able to stand upright, to the cell. The cell was actually a room with the iron bars hidden inside the wall – a perk afforded to low-risk prisoners to make their dungeons look a tad homey. For most it was no comfort at all, but for Taree, who had little comprehension of the reality of his situation, it looked great. Then again, a smarter being would have at least noticed the extremely thick locks on the outside of the door.

The guard continued, "There is a meal waiting for you inside, and we'll bring you three nice meals a day. The judge asked that you stay here, um, for your safety and that of the people in town who might not realize what a mighty warrior you are." The guard smiled politely again. "We'll come get you when it's time for your first battle, okay?"

Taree, clearly excited by food, looked at the guard briefly with a face that made the guard think that absolutely none of what he had just said penetrated Taree's thick skull, only said, "okay," and turned back toward the food. As he noisily dug in, the guard rolled his eyes, shrugged, and quietly shut and locked the door.
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