Rask watched as Wretha worked, he knew a few spells himself but would never call himself a trained mage. However what he had just seen was clever, inventive and utterly disgusting. Already he could there was trails of people storming back up stairs. Clearly they hadn't expected this kind of treatment for try outs. Clapping Rask realised he was the only one doing so in the room and he nodded slightly at the elf as she sat down. She certainly was staying. Standing again he looked around at the men and women who had stayed. The smell of bodily fluids was acidic in Rask's nostrils but he put it out of his mind, there would be worse and better on the road.

"This is what you can expect. There will be filth and it will not be pleasant. I am glad to see the wannabe heroes leave, now I am left with you true fighters. Pair up, Wretha has already fought and so she has passed. The other...ten odd...of you will fight one at a time. I don't care about the order. And the filth stays in the ring for the fights, out in the real world you will be slipping on mud and snow. Vomit and shit will only mimic that." Sitting back down Rask pulled out the coin from his pocket and threw it to Wretha. He leant in again, realising now he was the only one coming near her.

"Take a look at this, you know the old tongue, do you know what it means?" Rask wanted to see how much this girl had studied. He of course knew it was the Chant of the Dead. A short verse that was supposed to send dead spirits on their way. The Gothi believed that only one man had this chant inscribed on his treasure. I warlord by the name of Mesticaccus. Supposedly the man hid his spoils in a large complex within the snowy mountains just on the border between Gothi and Civitas. It was Rask's first desire to find this treasure. And this gold was from their first port of call.