Winter is at its end. The first signs of spring are beginning to show. And this means across the Realm of the Sea, tournaments are imminent. Death, blood and glory will all be in abundance, and many towns are celebrating the crowning of Arlen’s new king.

One such town is Risha. It may not offer the largest tournament, given that even minor events elsewhere could outmatch it, but it still draws gladiators and spectators alike from across Oriens. It is a pleasant coastal town, with more attractions than just the arena to entertain travellers. The wealthy flock here to get away from their lives in the city to relax, punctuated by the thrill of excitement of arena bloodshed. The locals, going about their daily lives, will be playing host to the swarm, setting up market stalls and opening houses – some waited the whole year for this event.

And there will be sponsors. There to watch the men and women who thirst for blood and compete for glory. Those with coin to spare, knowledge to give, and influence they may well use to their champion’s benefit. For teams looking to win entry into the tournaments of Verum, or places like the city of Letum in Noctis, Risha is where to start. Tournaments in small places like Risha have shown that they might pluck talented individuals from obscurity, and push them into the light of fame and glory.

And in some places, these gladiators had the honour of meeting with the high-born. Glory, gold and greatness buy you into many places, which is exactly what Endar intends. After all, King Ulfrur is never seen without the Wolfguard – four past gladiators who now serve him directly. And with each day that passes, the light of House Drayen begins to darken.

Endar will let it stand no longer. For him, the arena is only a means to an end. The influence he gains will only be used to find a way to take back his sister’s throne. The money he earns will be used to travel far and wide, to places of import across Areth. He needs to work his way up the ladder, and maybe gaining allies in the other Realms. Should his plan fail, it will need more than just a ragtag group to take on the Arlenian army.
Or will he fail all together, dying bloody death after bloody death in the arena, finding nothing but sand and dust? Perhaps he will fall into the Afterworld, and join his parents. Ezekiel certainly seems to think so.

“Your mother would not want you to be doing this.” the aged man warned, for the twenty-fourth time this morning. Ever since he’d put out the call, his steward had been fretting over him and Mari, and trying everything he could to prevent them from leaving. As set as he was, Endar had been very indecisive, unsure of himself, if this was the way, if it was something he would be capable of. Ezekiel had burrowed into that doubt. But in the end, no words would dissuade the prince. He had to try, if nothing else. He would not stand aside.

“My mother is gone, Ezekiel.” he said quietly. “But now a usurper sits on her throne, when it should be Mari. I will not let Andel fall into his hands. It is unacceptable.”

He may have trained. But he was never truly going to be a warrior. The royal life was chosen for him, but he’d been forced out of it. Endar didn’t quite look the part of a gladiator, but he has good skill.

“I fear this course will destroy you.” the steward said. “You are all Her Highness has in this world; you are each other’s only family.”

“Then destroy me it must. But if you want me to live, help me. Give me a chance to succeed.” He did value the old man, after all. Ezekiel had thrice his years on Areth, and Uncle Sharn had always trusted his counsel. Of course, Endar differed from the late Knight in many ways, but he could at least try.

Applicants would be arriving soon, if any would respond. It was nearing midday, and the first match took place at sunrise. Less than a day remained. His search for gladiators had been fruitless in the past, but he’d put out a notice for all seeking a team to present themselves before Lord Ignis at his manor at noon. It was just outside of Risha, a quiet area on the edge of its farmland. Workers still cared for the grounds, paid for through funds left by Sharn, though there was a slight income through harvesting what the gardens offered.

The manor itself was protected by a high wall, solid and sturdy, too high for all but a harpy. The gate in front was manned by six well-armoured guards, and around the outside and inside, more guards were stationed. The guards at the front had been instructed to escort the prospects inside, regardless of race, and would take them across the front grounds and into the training arena, a large, open circle courtyard of sand. Endar awaited them on on a cushioned, high-backed chair at the far side, dressed in a well-fitted linen shirt, knee-high leather boots and dark trousers, with a traditional circlet on his brow. He was trying to not come off as intimidating, since he wasn’t expecting to receive upper class individuals.

Once they had arrived, the applicant gladiators would meet with him on by one, those who were waiting their turn able to occupy themselves with the training equipment or the refreshments of water, light wine, and plates of fine bread, fruit, and meat.

Though he was attempting to remain optimistic, Endar had no idea how many would come, if any. He had no history behind him, and many saw him as little but a child, unproven and unready. Sometimes he had half a mind to agree. But he’d chosen. And by the Mother and Father he’d have to get through it.

Alia of the Knife

The morning of the day before the Tournament’s start saw Alia of the Knife on the tournament grounds in new armor, looking for a sponsor to take her for their team. She was clean and tidy, having even gone through the trouble of plaiting her sandy blond hair into a thick braid that fell down her back, but it seemed as though none of this was making much of an impression on potential sponsors. They saw only her size and cared little that she might have skill enough to more than make up for it. She spoke to sponsor after sponsor, but even the one who she bested in a fairish fight (taking off a slice of his ear in the process) would accept her on his team.

Alia had all but given up on the whole gladiator plan completely when she heard rumor among the other yet unsigned would-be gladiators that a young, untried sponsor was looking to recruit a team. As far as the little thief was concerned, this was undeniably her last chance. What was there to lose? It didn’t matter much to her that he was untried; when had she ever needed someone else’s help getting what she wanted, anyway?

The real problem was going to be convincing this new sponsor to put her on the team. It was more than evident that the reputation she had gained for herself in Verum meant nothing here. She was going to have to put on a show, and it would have to be before he could see her and dismiss her as small and unintimidating. Oh and, she thought, I should probably leave his ears intact. If only the arena was shadowed… But no, Alia couldn’t trust that she’d be that lucky.

Alia was still working through a plan when she arrived at the manor, in between wishing she hadn’t been so quick to sell the horse, profit or no. It had been a long walk to the manor house from the tournament grounds, and she was thirsty from walking in the heat of high noon. Though, after a morning of being turned down on sight by every sponsor she approached, Alia was starting to think it might have been worth the walk just to get a chance to prove herself.

At the gates of the manor, Alia snorted in disgust. This place was the height of luxury; beautiful and elegant, but soft. She had a hard time believing any sponsor from here would make a good fight, but perhaps if she thrashed him he’d let her into the tournament. Instead of being lead down the path to the grand manor itself, Alia was escorted by two of the many guards across the lush front grounds and towards an arena. It was completely open (go figure) with training dummies and refreshments on one side and two men on the other; one sitting, one standing. She ignored the snickers from the guards at her side, immediately sampled something fruity to wet her throat, and purposely tripped into the table, overturning the bowl of punch she had just sampled. The guards had no trouble believing the little woman was clumsy from nerves before her test, so it was easy for Alia to melt into one of the few shadows while the guards called for servants to clean the mess.

Oh, what a heist this place would be! But Alia could see she was the first applicant to arrive, and she was determined to take advantage of that fact. True, if she had arrived later, she would have had the lengthening shadows on her side, but the thief had often found that an unaware enemy offered even better concealment.

Upon entering the bright arena, Alia moved snail slow across the sand to increase the effectiveness of her invisibility spell and to minimize the effect of her feet against the sand. She could see at once who the sponsor was— who else would be propped up so, in a stately chair with a circlet upon his head. Alia’s lip curled in the disdain born from the pride of having made something of herself from nothing, but she made no sound. A few feet away from the lounging nobleman, Alia silently drew a single dagger from its well-oiled sheath, wincing at the noises the guards were making as the attempted to find her. Ah well, at least it might provide a distraction. She slid another step, and then paused, not breathing. She took the last step.

Alia plunged the dagger through her sponsor’s fine linen sleeve and into the beautifully upholstered arm of the chair, dropping the invisibility spell as she did so. “Hey there,” the thief said, grinning casually, “Which one of these pretty targets do you want me to mess up first?”

Endar stilled, and found himself eyeing the silver edge. Its sudden appearance unnerved him, but not so much so that he lost his wit. Instead, he turned his gaze upon the woman now in front of him; he'd seen her enter, and had glanced away momentarily to speak to Ezekiel. Then, when he looked back, she was gone.

"I assume that you are an applicant?" he asked.

"An applicant?" She asked, leaning back, "I thought the invitation was for a party."

Endar cocked his head. "I don't recall saying it would be for any party. Perhaps you've come to the wrong place?"

"Too bad... The punch was delicious," Alia laughed and yanked her dagger back from the chair. "Of course I'm an applicant."

Blinking at her sarcasm, Endar motioned to the guards behind her back. She wasn't dangerous. At the moment, anyway. "Well, then... I am Ignis Doman. Would you grace me with your name?"

Alia stood back and examined the would-be sponsor for a moment, taking care not to expose her back to the guards standing ready. He was certainly one to get right to the point.

"I am Alia of the Knife." She said simply.

"'Of the knife?' A strange name to possess if I might say so. In any case, well met, Alia."

The small woman shrugged carelessly. "I didn't choose the name for myself. Well met Ignis. Should we get down to it?"

Standing, Endar nodded. "Perhaps we will. Would you like to inform me of your abilities?"

"Well you've already seen some of them," Alia said with a wicked grin. "Other than some small talent with invisibility, I am fast and a talented knife fighter. I'm alive today because I'm good at figuring out the weaknesses of opponents."

"A valuable skill to have, where we go." Endar admitted. Stepping forward, he bowed.

Well, Alia had seen a lot in her short life, but being bowed to by a noble was a new one for sure. She gave a stiff nod, uncertain of her footing here. Alia did not particularly want to offend this man (He had not yet turned her down, after all) but neither was she going to expose herself so.

"What did you have in mind for today's little meeting, noble?"

Endar smirked to himself. She was a little wary of him, then. Straightening up, he turned to the old man. "Ezekiel. I think you have an idea of what I wish."

Stepping forwards, the advisor swept aside his cloak. At his waist, there was a single dagger. It was worn at the hilt, and clearly had seen many battles, but it was still very sharp.

Alia slipped her second dagger out of its sheath but kept them both low, non-threatening. She bent her knees and looked between the sponsor and his advisor, an older man who had been silent before standing and coming to her attention. He was obviously a fighting man, but that was nothing new to the little thief.

"Alright, Ignis, what are the rules?" Alia called, keeping her voice casual. "I'm assuming you don't want to lose your dear old friend here."

"Well, that would be true, especially since we do not have the luxury of runes to prevent untimely deaths." Endar said. "So, it ought to be until one of you has proven overwhelming victory over the other. All else is fair game. Will that suffice?"

"You're the boss," Alia said, shrugging, but her eyes did not leave the face of the older man.

Ezekiel drew the dagger and bent his knees so that his eyes were level with the girl's. He might have sixty or so years under his belt, but Endar had seen him in a brief battle. He was far from being incapable.

"Begin!"

Alia ignored the order to begin the fight, standing still and watching Ezekiel closely. Sometimes making the first move was advantageous, especially with an inexperienced opponent, but this man had obviously won a few fights. So, she waited.

Endar switched between watching the girl and his advisor. She was waiting... but for what? Finally, Ezekiel lunged, with unprecedented speed for his age, just barely cutting at her unprotected neck.

Almost all opponents, Alia had found, gave themselves away before moving; a bunching of muscles, a shifting of their stance... With this man, however, the change before he lunged was barely perceptible. In the heat of the moment, Alia didn't act when she saw it, and the man scored a slight scratch as she backpedaled. No matter. She thought she had an idea of what to look for now.

Alia put distance between herself and her opponent and began to slowly circle him. She had no intention of attacking before she had a better idea of her opponent. Patience had won her many a fight, and she had the advantage in a longer fight with Ezekiel. Alia imagined he had three times as many years weighing on his back. So she slid her feet over the sand, staying low, her knives now raised protectively before her.

Spinning on his heels, the man snarled at the girl, almost ferally. He'd misjudged the distance and had landed awkwardly on his weaker leg. Endar moved forwards momentarily, about to go to his aid, but stepped backward instead.

Alia saw the older man stumble, noting the weakness in his right leg. She would get no better chance than this. She flew in at Ezekiel, blades ready to deflect the inevitable blows the man would throw when he realized his danger, but she didn't aim for any vital organs, instead planting a kick securely on the outside of the older man's weak knee. Yes, it was dirty, but no one as small as Alia lived long by fighting clean.

Without slowing, Alia rolled away from the man. Even unsteady, he'd probably be able to over power her if she was caught. She spun back towards him, ready to take advantage of her opening.

The old man fell to his knees in the dust, gasping in pain. The blow had knocked him, and when he tried to stand, his legs would not support him.

Alia did not step forward, instead looking to Ignis, "I have bested your man, noble," she said. The little thief did not think it in her best interest to overkill this little training match, so she added, "I would not like to harm your wise advisor. He fights bravely for one past his prime."

Endar nodded. "Perhaps. But that was not the terms of this bout. Overwhelming victory - nothing less. If you would, place your blade wherever you might choose to end it."

Sighing, Alia crouched again. Either the young noble was bloodthirsty or he still believed his advisor could give a good showing of himself, which she thought, might just be cause enough for caution. The old man could easily be pretending to be weaker than he actually was. The fight had seemed to go too easily, and she well remembered the speed of his first attack.

Alia approached the older man without any great speed, hoping that he would take her caution as simple reluctance. She stayed primed for action, watching him for that tiny tell-tale sign that he would attack, but as she neared, Ezekiel stayed down. Alia lightly tapped the flat of her dagger against his neck and stepped back, right into the undeniable point of a drawn blade between her shoulder blades.

Endar, while she had been distracted, had drawn his own sword and walked up to her.

"You are a skilled fighter, I'll give you that. But you do need to be more aware of the enemies around you, Miss Alia."

Stepping away, and sheathing his rapier, he walked over to Ezekiel and helped him stand. Then, he turned to face the girl once more. "Welcome to the team."

Alia appraised Ignis anew. She had expected him to hold to a nobleman's rules of a fighting match and admittedly respected him more now, after he'd drawn his blade on her unprotected back. She would not again underestimate him.

"Alright then, boss. Should I stay for tryouts or meet you at the arena?"

"Feel free to watch any others that arrive. It will do well to learn who your teammates are." Endar said. Then, he sat back down in his seat, watching the doors for the next applicant to arrive.

Unwilling to slink away after being bested, Alia disappeared, reappearing a few minutes later by the food and drink. She helped herself to the fine fare and settled down to wait for more applicants to arrive.

Aleksander, the Bear of the North

Aleksander had travelled many miles since he left his homeland behind – he had slept in barns, cut lumber in return for meals, sold horses (and maybe stolen a few), walked until his calloused feet bled. And all that had brought him here, to some rich whelp’s gated manor, where he could beg another nobleman for the chance to fight his battles for him.

The enormous man tried to shake that thought out of his head as the guards waved him inside and ordered him to follow. This was a different kind of fighting, he knew; to be a gladiator was to kill a man who had chosen to be there, to be rewarded for your victories, to sleep with a clean conscience and a full belly. He had not traded one nobleman’s army for another – he had to believe that.

Aleksander gripped his hammer tighter beneath his cloak as more guards flanked him, leading him silently through the opulent estate. He had never had patience for this kind of beauty, the art of flowerbeds and statues and rich housing. There was a menace in this place’s softness, as though the truth of things was being concealed. He much preferred the harsh beauty of his homeland, all frozen forests and mountain cliffs – such things were always honest with you.

“So, does your master let you speak, or are you not trained for such things?” he asked of one of the solid-faced guards on his right side. The man did not respond, and Aleksander made the conscious decision to assume that he just hadn’t been able to understand his accent.

Finally, Aleksander arrived at his destination, a vast sand pit that clearly served as some kind of mock arena. On the far side there was a high-backed chair in which a youth sat on a cushion, dressed in fine clothes with a circlet on his head. Aleksander did not know the fashion of these southern lords, but it would have taken a fool not to guess that this was the man he had come to see.

Some distance to his side, a small area had been set up with a few tables of food and drink. There was a girl leaning on one of the tables, a slight red-haired thing in leather armor. Another gladiator, most likely, though she scarcely looked the part. He would have to size her up later.

Aleksander cast his thin linen cloak off, revealing the armor and weapons he wore below. With a few confident strides he stepped into the center of the arena. “I hear you are seeking gladiators?” he bellowed shortly, and spread his arms wide.

A few days had passed since a giant hunk of a man entered Risha. They came in, a total stranger, looking for work. Introducing himself as Destin to the townfolk, they had assumed he was a mercenary. One nobleman mistook him for such and wanted to pay him as a guard during an upcoming arena match, but Destin declined that offer. He shared that he was not looking for work outside of the arena, but rather inside of it. He had no experience as a gladiator, but the rumors of Risha being a town for promising newblood reaches far beyond the oceans of Oriens.

Unfortunately for him, he has been spending the last three days stuck in a tavern, jobless and slowly feeling his pockets draining. The world is not kind to an old war veteran as most of the sponsors thought he was already past his prime. Fools, they are. Tyren warriors never pass their prime, even in their old age they fight as fiercely as the first battle they won. If these noblemen could not see that, that was their issue. Not Destin's.

Even on the current day, early in the morning, Destin was searching. He went from advertisement to advertisement and didn't have much luck. After about an hour or so he decided to rest up, finding a traveling minstrel singing a song with a small basket that was meant to be filled with coin sitting beside him. A few rocks, large enough to sit on, were scattered about in the clearing. Since not many people are out during this hour the minstrel must have just started. Destin sat on one of the rocks, opened his pouch and pulled out a coin which he flicked into the basket. The minstrel interrupted his song, pausing the play of his lute to tip the feathered hat on his head.

"Thank ya kindly sir. It's unusual to have a customer this early in the mornin', much less one who pays before ah request. What'll it be?"

Destin grunted with amusement, his lips curving upwards slightly.

"A song about the arena."

The minstrel tipped his hat again and began to play another song, his soft voice matching with the slow tune of the lute.

"An arena, it's the place of our hearts! There, a show of our finest battle arts.
Newcomers and veterans, they fight all alike. All it takes, is one fatal stri-hike!
On the outskirts of Risha, a single offer for militia!
A young nobleman, prime in his youth. To take up arms, he resorts to no sleuth.
Hidden in a mansion, he is looking for tal-ent, all in preparation for a grand event.
For tomorrow, the fighters come together as one! In the arena of fighting it'll be all over and done!"

In the middle of the song, Destin rose up from his seating. This minstrel sure was talented at improvising, which is a good thing for the hulking behemoth. A nobleman on the outskirts of town, and a call for militia... no doubt that they were looking for gladiators. It was the best shot Destin had at a job. For such a tip, the man found it fitting to toss an extra coin to the bard, who didn't miss a beat. Only when he saw that Destin was leaving did he interrupt his song.

"Leaving already? Ah haven't even gottan to th'best part yet, sir."

All Desting did was give a reassuring wave of his hand before resuming his treck, this time to the outskirts. He was pretty sure he remembered passing that mansion the bard mentioned a few days earlier, so finding his way back there wasn't going to be an issue.

...

The guards at the front didn't need much persuasion to let Destin through, which was a good thing. He let the guards escort him without protest, after all, it is reasonable for a nobleman to be wary of strangers. That made the man of the north curious, was this mansion of the nobleman who looked for help? Ah, no matter. Even if the hulking beast of a man didn't know the name of this mansion's owner, a name is trivial to a warrior. All that mattered was an able body and worthy strength on the field of battle, like any true warrior. Like him, back when he still fought bravely in the name of Guldbrand.

The man eventually arrived in a large, open courtyard. The first thing he noticed was the seat on the far end, on which sat a brown-haired boy. Clearly not a man as his features were still much too youthful. Was this the lord that was looking for help? They weren't wearing any combat apparel but instead a finely tailored suit. This convinced Destin that the boy was a non-combatant, someone who wouldn't fight alongside them. It didn't cross his mind that this lord may have just wanted to make himself presentable as a leader, rather than a warrior.

The next thing the man noticed was the woman near the food table, eagerly taking a bite out of the juicy fruit in her hand. She was meek and slender, nothing like the women back in Tyren, but also unlike the woman in this country of Oriens. She was much too thin, too sleek. She was either a foreigner from a strange land or someone who kept in shape and considering where they were, Destin was not able to rule out the second option.

The final thing was a burly beast of a man, but youthful. This, Destin was familiar with. The braids in their golden locks and their enormous hammer and shield signified that this man, too, was a proud warrior of Tyren. No other realm could foster this kind of fine warrior, with their pale skin all but giving it away. They were talking to the nobleman at the front, more than likely being another of the applicants. Destin nodded to himself and headed over to one of the training dummies. A warrior's mind and muscles must be equally sharp at all times, but he feared for the safety of this doll were he to unleash the mighty claymore's wrath on it. So, he set down his backpack in front of him, right below the dummy and simply punched it. Twice. And maybe a few more times. The man was no brawler, but one could never go wrong with some physical exercise.

The sun was bright overhead, a gloved hand lifted up to block away the needless light coming down from above. Ansgar Staudinger had been on the road since dawn, unlike some who had arrived days if not more before him, due to delays getting down here to Risha. Nothing he really felt like thinking much about, mostly turned down attempts at getting into Gladiatorial arenas elsewhere, by virtue of not being terribly interesting for arena combat, apparently. A massive warhammer to the torso, sending the rest of said body scattering should be downright fascinating, but apparently not. The trip here, beyond those turndowns, had been uneventful. Aiding blacksmiths in their forges, for the upcoming arena season at least, sleeping wherever he could, it was quite the difference compared to back home.

Not like there was much of a home left to go back to, Ansgar considered, but word was another open team was still available, even the day before the arena. He'd caught wind of it from some singing fool, not even intentionally mind you, but useful information was useful. Of course, finding out he would be turning around to head back out into the outside of Risha for the estate was, well, irritating. But he wasn't going to sweat that detail too much. He would be there in time, since there was still a good fair amount of time before the fighting would start properly. Hefting the warhammer on his shoulder, smiling to himself a bit at the familiar weight of the weapon, to shift its weight before starting out towards the manor. Well, he had to stop and ask questions along the way as to where the damn place was, but that was neither here nor there. Long as he was heading the right way, it was all good then.

Before long, Ansgar fond himself approaching the manor of choice, warhammer bouncing lightly on his shoulder with each step, approaching the guards idly, glancing at each of them before speaking. "I am here for the arena team. I assume you will now escort me to your lord. And no, if your thinking about it, the hammer stays with me." His tone was blunt and to the point, gaze levelled towards the most important looking of the Guards and, therefor, likely the one in charge. Regardless of whether he was right or not, he would find himself being escorted into the manor itself. He didn't give the guards a second glance, knowing why they were there. Keep him from wandering off and causing trouble, considering strangers were being allowed entry into this manor. Before long, he would find himself escorted properly into what looked like a training arena. He seemed to not be the first one there, including others that had the looks of Tyreni themselves. Great, now to wonder whether those kinsman were friendly or not, he would hammer that problem down later.

For now, seeing the lord was busy speaking to the other applicants, Ansgar slugged the hammer off his shoulder, setting the weapon down towards the ground. It impacted with a solid, resounding thud, and the former blacksmith rested his hands on the end of the handle, giving the arena a once over. Besides the other Tyreni looking fellows, there was a slight woman eating food already. She had the look of a scoundrel, thankfully he had nothing of value in his pockets. Beyond her, the food looked lightweight, the training equipment easily broken, and otherwise failed to keep his attention. So he let his gaze linger on the lord and his advisor while he spoke, analyzing him like he was looking over a piece of equipment rather than another living being. The gaze would likely not be terribly settling, considering he was being analyzed very intently, almost like he was looking for any sort of weaknesses or mistakes in his creation.

Endar gestured to one of the guards, and then pointed to the man currently practicing with the dummy. Then, he did a double take - was he punching it?

As soon as the guard came over to tap Destin on the shoulder and lead him to the nobleman at the far end of the courtyard, he had just violently yanked back his elbow and accidentally ribbed them. Luckily, the armor of the guard made sure that only a small dent was caused, alongside a painful itch for the elbow. Destin spun around and faced the guard, a hint of slight confusion on his face.

"Yes?"

Shaking like a leaf, the guard stuttered, "H-his L-lordsh-ship will s-see you now..."

Destin nodded with a grunt, picking up the backpack off the floor and flinging it over his left shoulder. He strode over to Endar with calm, collected steps. There wasn't a trace of nervousness on the face of the veteran warrior, even when standing face-to-face with the nobleman. He still didn't know their name, come to think of it.

"...Hello," he simply greeted, waiting for an answer from the young boy.

"Another Tyreni? How many of these barbarians will come instead of good, proper warriors?" Ezekiel hissed into Endar's ear.

Endar, however, hushed the elder man in the same tones. "You fought alongside your fair share of them, old man. Do not be so quick to judge." Then, turning back to the veteran, he nodded in greeting. "Hello, friend. Given your... display... I'm guessing that you are here to apply?"

The warrior nodded with a grunt. With his usual gruffy voice he replied, "That, I am. A minstrel sent me. My name is Destin Eindride, but I don't know what yours is. The minstrel forgot that part."

"Well, to most I am simply a reclusive lord from a remote part of Oriens that decided he wanted to move to the seaside. But, to you and all who know me, I am known as Ignis Doman. A pleasure to make your acquantaince."

Destin nodded again, closing his eyes for a brief moment to digest it. Ignis was a name he needed to remember, so he took a bit of time to imprint it into his mind. Then, after a few seconds, he looked back down at this 'Ignis'. The way they spoke was formal, so Destin tried his best to match.

"A pleasure to you as well, lord Ignis. I hope to be of great help."

Destin was no nobleman, which the tone of his voice and choice of words showed, but at least it was an honest effort.

Endar raised a brow. "Please, no need to speak formally with me - this is just the way I speak, and I would prefer it if those who would join me spoke and acted as they would around others."

He ran his eye over the Tyreni, before meeting his gaze once more. "I must admit, I have a hard time picturing you fighting in the arena. Have you past experience? I've seen your skill, but has it ever gone into practice?"

Destin furrowed his brow and narrowed his eyes, glancing down at the young boy. Did he question the warrior heritage of a proud Tyreni? Did he think that Destin had not killed yet? Or was the intent honest, questioning if he had ever entered an arena? Whatever it was, the man figured he best answer all of the questions that were raised by such a statement.

"I have fought many battles, Beast and Man alike. But I have not stepped into the arena. If you doubt my ability to fight, then you don't want to hire me?" he asked. The boy certainly wasn't giving off the impression to Destin that he would like him on the team.

"I never said that." Endar pointed out, though he supposed he could see where it may have been implied. "But, there are differences to the arena than on the fields of war. It may be unfamiliar to you. Yet it will be completely foreign to me... given that I have yet to truly see combat."

Destin blinked once. Destin blinked twice. He did not blink a third time, but instead let out a hearty laughter. It was loud enough to be heard across the courtyard, and unfortunately maybe even hurt Endar's ears.

"A warrior's pride! I misjudged you, my lord. I should be honored to fight alongside you, if you would have me!" he responded with a wide grin, the stern facade from before being completely gone.

Endar cracked a smile, though there was a small amount of pain. "And have you we shall. It will be as honorable for me, to fight by the side of one such as you. Please, occupy yourself with whatever you wish - the day is yet to end, and I hope for many more to join our ranks."

"I look forward to it, lord Ignis!" Destin exclaimed before taking his leave, satisfied with how that meeting went. However, unlike the compatriots before him, he went back over to the training dummies- this time taking out the claymore without fear of breaking one.

“Fer th’ last time, lass! I won’t be taking no apprentice without a copper to ‘er name!”

The thick, accented slur nearly rocked the windows of the densely packed house row. Had it not been for the narrow streets cutting off the flow of much needed breeze, the stench of stale alcohol might have drifted away before it ever reached a nose to offend. Instead, it hovered in a cloud around the lean young woman standing in the door way of its source. Though the drunk, greying stump of a man before her looked as if he’d pulled himself out of a gutter a few minutes before, her own appearance was little better. Kailea had been taught to put her best foot forward and tried most of the morning to make sure she was as presentable as possibly, but there was little one could do with hair that had clearly lost a fight with an open flame. Her clothes at one point had been quite lovely and well made, which was likely the only reason they’d not yet been charred black. Soot was another matter entirely, and it made her look as if she’d taken to cleaning lit chimneys and fireplaces for all the burn holes the close fitting linen sported. Even so, she wasn’t about to let the chance slip through her fingers, and though the “aroma” stung her topaz eyes, she refused to let this chance slip her by because of something as silly as her outfit.

“Please Master Telrin, I’m begging you to give me a chance.” She said, trying to lean into the door a little further. She’d already been turned down by a half a dozen others who might have been able to teach her magic the second they learned the nature of her abilities, or of the lack of coin in her pocket. She’d managed to pick up a few rumors that the old man in front of her now, while a former mage of some repute, was now a notorious drunk and she’d been hoping perhaps he might have been a just far enough into a bottle to overlook her… minor issues. [color=firebrick]”I know I can be useful-“

“Iffn’ I was looking to burn my home to th’ ground!” He cut her off with a slur that echoed off the dirty cobblestones. Kailea tried her best not to look as hurt as she felt. It wasn’t like the words were anything she hadn’t heard before, or even untrue, but she’d hoped that her willingness to at least learn would count for something. After all, she’d traveled all the way from Asher to Risha on nothing but rumor and hope that she’d finally find someone to teach her proper magic, instead of the guesswork she’d made do with so far. Really she’d had plenty of practice to hide the disappointment, but perhaps it was the her fatigue or his alcohol that helped him see past the normally even mask she was able to tuck her discouragement behind.

“Lass, th’ fact ye could well lit m’breath ablaze is reason enough fer me not to take ye.” There was a softer inflection behind his slurred words than the open hostility of a few moments before. “Might be a few who could, but ye need pockets without holes and full’a coin first.”

Damn. So he’d noticed after all.

”Don’t suppose you know of any work then someone like me would be suited for?” Kailea sighed, and resigned herself to the rejection, ”Or the name of someone else I can try so they might tell me ‘no’ themselves?”

“Yer stubborn fer sure.” The old man shook his head, as his fingers buried themselves in his unkempt beard for a moment, before reaching for a small piece of parchment on top of a pile in the entryway, “Here. Can’t say if they’ll have ye, but someone’s out lookin’ fer fighters. Yeh’d make a mess of my home, but a show in th’ Arena, I’d imagine. Don’t have nothin’ more for ye than that.”

”No, thank you! This is more than enough!” Kailea looked over the flier in her hands as a flicker of hope grew in her chest. It wasn’t much of a lead, but it was something. There was plenty of gold to be made in the Arena, and if whoever was assembling a team by casting a net so wide, they might just be willing to take her on! A wide smile split across her face as she planted a firm kiss to the side of the old man’s face and left him standing dumbfounded in his doorway as she raced off down the street.

The sun was already getting higher in the sky, and the last thing she wanted was to be late.

------------

The estate was certainly something to behold, especially when the wall itself was the first imposing sight to greet her. The guards took little prompting to allow her inside, and she found herself wanting to step away from her escort to marvel at the grounds. The manor itself looked as if it was large enough to house the entirety of her parents’ caravan, including the animals, and the land itself was covered with lush beds of flowers and plants the likes of which she’d never had the chance to see in the expansive sands of her home.

She didn’t dare try to slip away from the guard, since she was here to make a good impression after all and followed obediently into the open area that was clearly designed for combat and sparring matches. There was a great deal of equipment set up for a wide variety of weapons from the looks of things, and she suspected most of it saw a good deal of use. If not, it likely would today.

There were already a few people gathered around, some helping themselves to a scrumptious looking assortment of drink and foods that made her stomach rumble appreciatively. Of the four three were rather impressive looking male specimens that she unabashedly took her time in appreciating as she looked them up and down. The fourth she nearly missed, and was somewhat surprised to see a young woman who looked to be near enough her own age helping herself to some of the table’s bounty.

The last two were clearly not there to present themselves for combat. And older man in well-made clothes stood beside a younger man who looked as if he’d bleed blue if cut. The circlet around his head was enough indication he was the one that had placed the call for fighters. Kailea felt her nerve quiver for a moment before tamping the feeling back down. Just because she’d never had dealings with nobility in the past didn’t mean that she wasn’t capable of it in the least. She might not be able to swing a weapon around like some, but people gave her a wide berth for a reason. Besides, if she pulled this off, she just might be able to make enough coin for a real mage to consider taking her on as an apprentice.

Leaving her escort behind her, she eased past the group around the table and picked up a piece of fruit, biting into it and savoring the sweetness for a moment before leaning around to get a better look at the red-haired applicant speaking with her potential employer.

”I don’t suppose the rest of you have already had a chance to show off for the nobility, have you? Any chance of sharing a few tips with a newcomer?” She smiled sweetly looking back at the gathering, with a wink. ”I’d certainly be happy to make it worth your while.”

Ansgar observed as the Tyreni before him finished and made his way over to the training dummies, producing the sword on his back to likely set to training. Good for him, he thought as he lifted the hammer back onto his shoulder, approaching the Lord and stopping where the other fellow had been speaking to him. "I am Ansgar Staudinger. Word is you are forming a gladitorial team. I want to apply, as it is said."

Endar held out a hand, sensing what his advisor would say before he said it. "Welcome, Ansgar. I trust that you mean apply to the team as a fighter?"

"Yes, as a fighter." Ansgar didn't move an inch while he answered the question, remaining at a neutral stance while his gaze never left the lord in front of him. He had assumed it would be clear, but if the question was asked, it would be answered. "Have you any questions regarding me, then, to make this process faster?"

Endar looked the man up and down. It wouldn't do to judge, but he didn't seem to be the typical gladiator. "Might I ask from whence you hail? I find it a little difficult to place your origins."

"Of course; Anwnn of Tyren. Not that it exists anymore. Razed during the typical infighting. I still bear those scars, if you doubt the events from word of mouth alone." If Ansgar was bothered by the fact that his hometown had been put to the torch, he did not betray that, instead keeping his position rather steadily.

Endar found himself hesitating... were the raids truly so common in the north? He knew that it was as expected as wind, snow and rain... but two men had already come forward, from different walks of life, that bore the scars of body and soul. "I... no, you needn't elaborate, Ansgar. It's something that I find imaginable, though saddening. I can only hope that its people will live on in you."

Ansgar gave the comment on his home's people living on in him a good natured shrug, breaking his prior form in the process. "They go where they belong, I haven't given it much thought. I gave as good as I got when it happened, and I'm still breathing, so I can keep moving forward. Such is life in the North, it's accepted at this point." He was speaking candidly, at least as far as his experience had taught him, never having been part of raiding parties himself, only on the receiving end of such things.

"A grave thought, I find myself thinking." Endar admitted. "But, if such things are, then such things are. What of your skill? You carry an impressive weapon, but how do you fight with it?"

"Grave, perhaps, but dwelling too much on grave things leaves a man far too dour for his own good." Ansgar seemed to relax as the question towards his own skill came to the front, being far more capable of talking about that. "As long as I could carry a weapon, I was fighting off any number of threats to the hometown. Always did I favor the mace and warhammer, being the second son of a blacksmith. I trained, if you considered fighting for survival such a thing here, alongside the warriors in anticipation for leaving eventually to seek better fortune elsewhere, being the second son and such."

Endar cocked his head again. "Strange. One of the tales I was told growing up was of the Lord Stronghammer. Garrow, second son of the blacksmith, came from obscurity to rise as a hero." He smiled slightly. "Perhaps the story will find itself anew for Ansgar. But, for now, I, Ignis Doman, would be willing to take you on as a gladiator. Will you fight with me in the arena?"

Ansgar laughed warmly when Ignis finished mentioning the story of Stronghammer. The parallels were drawn quite a few times before, often times mockingly, though not so in this case it seemed. "Perhaps it will, but for now, Lord Doman, you have my warhammer in the arena. And the man lugging it around too, no extra charge." Seeing the discussion as done, Ansgar turned away from Ignis and made his way towards the table, finding himself a seat to find himself a drink worth its weight and something to fill his belly.

Another newcomer woman had arrived, and he caught the tail end of her question on impressing the nobility. Shrugging as he wolfed down a chunk of bread, pausing to wash it down as he gave her question an answer. "Just introduce yourself and answer his questions. Worked for me, at any rate, and if that worked, you should be fine." Chuckling, he grabbed a jug to wash down what he had eaten so far already.

Another newcomer woman had arrived, and he caught the tail end of her question on impressing the nobility. Shrugging as he wolfed down a chunk of bread, pausing to wash it down as he gave her question an answer. "Just introduce yourself and answer his questions. Worked for me, at any rate, and if that worked, you should be fine." Chuckling, he grabbed a jug to wash down what he had eaten so far already.

"Oh wonderful. I'm sure that will work out beautifully then." Kailea did her best not to roll her eyes in front of everyone gathered around the table. "I've had great luck with that so far..."

She spotted one of the guards off to one side quietly beckoning her forward, as she finished off the last bite of her fruit and wiped her hands free of the sticky juice. A deep breath helped steel herself as she walked out in front of the young noble, and gave a small bow before him as she'd been taught to do before her elders.

"I was told there was someone seeking to put a team together to fight in the Arena." Kailea said, glancing up at the man in front of her and raised an appreciative eyebrow. He certainly was handsome and far better kept than most men she came across, and being up close did nothing to diminish that. "I wasn't aware it was for someone quite so fetching though." She finished with a grin stuck to her face.

Endar blinked. Here, in front of him, was a woman who quite clearly was on her last coins, and the state of her clothes were something to behold. And yet... she was flirting with him?! Giving a polite cough, he prayed that his cheeks weren't as red as he thought they were.

"Ahem... ah... flattery won't be necessary. I - that is to say, you shouldn't expect me to accept any applicants based upon sweet words."

"Well if you'd like to see my talents, then you need only ask." Kailea purred. The light flush on his face might have been from the sun, but the way he tried not to stumble across his own words was rather charming.

"Please, stop!" Ezekiel snapped. "You are making his lordship uncomfortable!"

Gulping, Endar shook his head. "No, no, I'm fine." He looked at the woman. "Though, I would ask that you try and... refrain... from speaking in such a manner for the duration of the conversation. This is a serious matter."

"And what manner is that?" She asked innocently, "If you are not interested in accepting me on my word, how else am I to demonstrate what I am capable of?"

Her hazel eyes flicked toward the nobleman's grouch of an attendant, and while the smile didn't fall from her face, the corners of her lips took on a more predatory edge.

"Unless your man there is looking to see for himself?" She asked, cocking a hip with a hand perched on top.

Finally having regained his composure, Endar spoke sternly, now. He was a little cautious of this woman's games. "You will be accepted based upon your ability to fight in the arena, and what you may offer your teammates in terms of assisting them in the arena. Nothing else. Now, please, grace us with your name, and the skills you will bring with you."

Kailea had to stifle her laugh. This one had certainly caught on quickly. He had a better head on his shoulders than most and while she was enjoying this, she was not eager to discover the limits of his patience.

Not today, anyhow.

"My name is Kailea Arydunseyr. I hail from the sands of Ashar," She said proudly, holding herself with confidence. "And as for what I can bring to you and my teammates..."

She reached for the magics that were never quite calm within herself. It was an easy thing to call them forth, and the magic was eager to answer. She snapped the fingers of her right hand and in an instant, snapped the burning ball of flame in her palm so it flickered and danced for all to see. She couldn't help but be a little proud, even with no teacher, she'd managed this on her own.

"Well, I hope this speaks for itself."

Endar found himself smiling. "Indeed it does." And with that, he held out his left palm, and called up a ball of light. "This is Seraphim. A type of Divine, ancient magic. It belongs to me, Ignis Doman."

Kailea's eyes lit up at the ethereal light that hovered in Ignis' palm. It was nothing like her own unruly magic and she couldn't help but gaze at it in complete awe. The twinge of jealousy in the back of her mind was difficult to ignore, as she looked on.

"It...it is beautiful." She tried to find the right way to make her tongue form words, "I would be honored to be allowed to fight alongside such magics."

Endar was curious about her sudden change in tone, but then again, she seemed to be a woman with many facets to her personality. Just as he did, and just as he sensed all who had stepped up before her did.

"Then please, consider yourself welcome."

Kailea wasn't quite sure what she was expecting, but to be "welcome" was certainly not something she thought she would hear. She had learned to take rejection in stride, but this was a new feeling altogether. She didn't quite trust herself to speak again, and instead bowed deeply one last time, before quietly turning and making her way back to the table where the others sat.

She grabbed for a small goblet of something to drink, but could hardly taste it as she turned Ignis' words over and over in her mind.

"You really want to associate yourself with that... that whore?" Ezekiel whispered angrily. "She will drag your name through the mud!"

Endar turned in his seat to face Ezekiel. The ball of light twisted, shaping itself into an arrow. "And she is her own person. I care not how she acts, nor who she is, as long as she makes nobody uncomfortable, and the magic she possesses aids us in the arena." The arrow disappeared, fading out of sight as quickly as it had come. "And if she truly bothers you so much... well, once the tournament in Risha is over with, we can get out of your hair, can we not?"

Ezekiel bowed his head, ashamed. "...Yes, my lord." he murmured

Harper tapped the coin on the hard wood of the table, his legs stretched out beneath him and his torso resting forward on the frame as if he had deflated. In truth, he was being weighed down by that coin; the last one always was the heaviest. If he were sensible he would spend it on a meal or a bed, buying himself one more evening of comfort before desperation forced him out of the gray and into the black. If he had given up he would’ve bought himself a drink or a companion, one last vice before he went off to embrace the Mistress. If he had any luck he would put it all on the roll of the dice, but only if he could be the one to supply the dice. He had been cheated as many times as he himself had cheated, if not more. In the end, though, he took none of those options. Harper knew that the moment he spent that coin all of the other opportunities would close; as long as he held onto it his options were limitless. He just wished that his time was, too.

However, it all wasn’t so bleak. Tap. It may had been at the price of him leaving most of his money behind on the card table, but he had cheated death in the last town—his coat still had the cut to prove it. If he had to become a beggar, he couldn’t pick a better town than Risha; the breeze was nice, the sun was shining, and there was something pleasant about the scent of the sea. Tap, tap. Maybe he could become a fisherman. Doubtful. He knew he would make for a better pirate, excluding his inability to sail. A minor detail. Tap. Still, it was nice to have a flight of fancy about digging up chests of lost treasure as he relaxed in the corner of the open-air tavern, his face looking out longingly towards the sea.

Tap.

Harper could hear what sounded like a group of drunken, off-key singers. From the sounds of things, it was getting closer. He smiled. Good to know that some people were having fun; maybe they would feel generous on the sad sap and buy him a drink. It sounded like they needed an (equally terrible sounding) tenor to go with their bass and baritone.

Tap.

The choir walked by the large, open window; five of them, armored up and armed to the teeth. Gladiators. Pre-emptively celebrating their victories in the tournament, Harper supposed. His smile turned bittersweet. His troubles would all be settled if he could set foot back in the arena, but he knew that door had been closed due to his time in Ashar.

Tap.

His eyes went wide with recognition as the group piled in through the door and swarmed the bar. What were they doing here? Time to go before things got awkward. Quickly, Harper pocketed his coin and slid out of his seat. He had made it three steps before a booming voiced slurred out: “Oy! Look who it is! Harper, get over here, you prick.” Before Harper knew it, a pair of strong hands had grabbed him on either shoulder and practically dragged him over to the bar. The owner of the voice—a large, barrel-chested man—clapped him, hard, on the back. “I knew it was you. Trying to run out on ol’ Angus, eh?”

“Angus, Angus,” said Harper, muttering on his voice as he rubbed his chin as if he was trying to place the name with the face. He had met Angus about a dozen of times, fought him and his crew about half a dozen, beaten his team twice, and given him a black-eye outside of the arena once. Hopefully the giant didn’t remember that. Harper’s voice picked up as he pretended to just recognize him. “Oooh, Angus! Yeah. How have you been, friend?” Harper looked around; familiar faces, same crew. “What brings you boys all the way out here? Last I heard you were try to crush the competition in Arlen.”

“We crushed the competition in Arlen,” said Angus, poking a meaty finger into Harper’s chest.

“Ah, yes, always heard they were a soft bunch there, guess it must’ve been true,” said Harper, smiling as he gingerly pushed the finger away from his chest. “So you decided to go out of the way to come all the way here to compete in the little leagues? Didn’t you boys used to fight in Letum?” Harper gritted his teeth and, talking out the side of his mouth, said, ”My, that’s not quite the fairy tale ending any of you could’ve been hoping for, eh?”

“Big talk for someone who doesn’t even compete anymore,” chimed in one of the more-sober members of Angus’s crew. Another big guy. Harper looked around; they were all big guys. Intimidating, sure, but not diverse enough to make it far in any tournaments. One well protected mage could shred all of them.

“More like can’t compete,” said Angus, crossing his arms. “From what I hear you can’t even set foot in an arena these days and that no team will have you.”

”I admit, I do bring an unfair advantage to any team I am on. The matches just wouldn’t be interesting, I’m afraid. And Harper’s team wins again,” he said in an inexpressive, dull drone and then shrugged. “Nobody would come to the arena’s anymore.”

“I think you meant to say that you’d bring an unfair handicap to any team you’re on. Getting shot in the back by your own teammate doesn’t really put you in an advantageous position,” said Angus, smirking.

“Okay, seriously, that’s a little cheap,” said Harper. ”I don’t bring up how I had you convinced that I knew magic for three months.” Harper saw some eyebrows raise behind their mugs. “He didn’t tell you that one, did he? Oh it’s a great story. So, see, all I did was—”

“Ah-bah-bah-bah, nobody wants to hear you spin one of your yarns, Harper.”

“—soaked a rag in kerosene, wrapped it around a rock, and struck a match. Nearly burned my damn fingers off, but ol’ Gus here was warning everybody about how my team had a fire mage on it for damn near—”

“Harper, shut up! Nobody cares what you had to say when you were in it, and absolute nobody cares what you have to say now that you’re a has-been.”

“Yeah,” chimed in the same big guy. Both Harper and Angus shot him a disgusted look. “I would say we’d see you when we’re collecting our first place prize, but…”

“But it’d be impossible, since my team already has it in the bag, I know. Second place is still admirable, though, I guess. I mean, if you’re into losing.’ The words were out of Harper’s mouth before he realized what he was saying. One brag too far. Quickly, he glued his lips shut.

“You don’t have a team, Harper,” said Angus, matter-of-factly. He had a pretty damn good head on his shoulders for such a big guy.

“Pft, yeah. I bet the only one that would take you is that Ignis kid. He’s so desperate he’d take anyone,” said the other guy. Harper’s eyes went wide; Angus shot the man another look of disgust.

”Well I didn’t have a team,” said Harper. ”Guess the next time I’ll see you will be inside that beautiful, bloody ring.”

Harper offered a half-bow and turned to leave, his pace quickening as he got closer to the door. He had thought that perhaps Angus would try and snatch him, maybe sit him down a give him a gladiator-to-man talk of why a disgrace like Harper shouldn’t ruin the sanctity of the arena by jumping back in it, or at least why he shouldn’t ruin this Iggy-kid’s shot at making a name for himself by bandwagoning along, but the man didn’t. Perhaps he didn’t care. Perhaps he believed that Harper might actually deserve a chance. Whichever it was, Harper was glad he didn’t feel a meaty paw grab him by the scruff. One thing was clear: Angus had definitely forgotten about the black eye. He was walking by the big window when the man called out after Harper, saying something. Turning his head, Harper stopped and stared at Angus.

”Come again?”

“I said we’re heading to Letum after this. I’ll be sure to tell Allegra you say hi the next time I see her,” said Angus, sneering.

Harper hung his shoulders. ”C’mon man, I told you I was sorry about that suckerpunch.” He flipped his last coin to Angus. “Next one’s on me, big guy.”

---

Harper heaved a sigh of relief as the guards confirmed that he had, in fact, finally found the Doman domain. The man had spent the better part of his day pestering locals and travellers alike for directions as well as pressing them for any information on who was this Ignis Doman character. Harper would be the first to admit that he did not know everybody, but he knew a lot of people, and he especially at least made certain to know of anyone who owned land, was wealthy, or had blue in their blood. Yet this Doman guy seemed like a blank slate; nouveau riche, then. Harper would be fine with that. Certainly someone with such little history would be concerned about Harper’s own little history. Maybe. Hopefully.

Whatever. It was clear from the state of the grounds and the full guard duty that Doman had money, and that was Harper’s entire reason of coming. Well, money, and to back up his big talk. He hated to admit it, but Angus had gotten underneath his skin and the last thing he wanted was to have him go blabbing back to Allegra on what a sad sap he had turned out to be. He’d have to have a serious man-to-man with Angus after all of this; they might butt heads every now and then, but the giant was a sweet guy at the end of the day. Certainly he’d understand, but right now Harper was only looking forward to shutting up his big damn mouth.

From the looks of things it looked like he wasn’t the only one who had answered the call. So he was fashionably late. Good, he didn’t want to seem too eager or too needy, although a part of him wished he had shown up early enough so that he could get a feel for the group gathered around the food and drinks—it’d be nice to know if he were joining a lost cause. He quickly sized them up as his escorts made themselves scarce, one of them muttering that Lord Iggy would see him in a moment. Three lads, two ladies. Well, he’s seen worse ratios before. Shifting the bag slung over his shoulders, he further scrutinized the group as he walked over to join them, taking in the detail of their arms and armor.

Okay, Harp, here’s what you’ve gotta work with. Pops there beating up that helpless wooden man and our thirsty boy Red are without a doubt your frontline rushers. All brawn, little brains, no magic, no problem. Hopefully they can follow simple orders. Also, maybe we should try to refrain from being a conceited jerk, at least around them. No doubt they could snap your scrawny ass in two. Big weapons give big hits, and big hits give big applauses. Good lads. Next up is the Big Bear. A shield? Seriously? Okay, you’ll be some work. Hopefully you just bash in brains with it and nothing else. Not that I’d be upset if you decide to just stand in front of your new best friend; just make sure to lower that thing every once in awhile to let some cuts in so you give the kids some blood. You’re already one step there without that shirt.

Speaking of wardrobe, did you lose your shoes lady? Should I leave a little caltrop lying around in the grass to teach you why we wear boots? No, better not—no weapons, no armor, come on, might as well carry around a sign that says “I do magic, kill me first” and be done with it. Judging by the ashy clothing and the singed hair my guess is you’re either a fire mage or you cleaned a chimney before this. Or was it both, Char? Oh, and don’t think I missed you sulking over there, Knives. Obviously, you’re...um...a mystery. Well, that’s terrifying. Then again, maybe you’re just here for the food. Boy, do you need it; and I thought I was hungry.

“My I don’t think I’ve ever seen a more vicious pack of skull bashers and throat cutters in my entire life,” said Harper. He didn’t intend for it to sound sarcastic but, well, surely they had common sense. “Pardon me, sweetheart. Here, this works better,” he said, sidling around the redheaded man to fill up a goblet of wine and setting an empty cup next to what looked as if it was supposed to be a community jug. “See, we already make a great team.”

“Now I’d love to stay and chat, but I can see that our host does not have a glass of wine and I must fix that, said Harper, quickly adding, ”because either he’s sober, or he’s secretly an extremist for the Cult, and neither of those are good things. Enjoy your drinks.

"You're looking mighty parched, my lord," shouted Harper as he stomped through the sand, uninvited, over to Ignis with the second glass of wine raised high as an offering. He stopped a few feet in front of the lord's chair, his eyes darting side to side in anticipation of some antsy guard coming to pull him aside as he extended the glass forward. "For you, my friend. For your hospitality."

Endar turned to the newcomer, having not expected someone to approach him right at that very moment. He was unoccupied, though, so he supposed he could understand the miscommunication. It wasn't the man's fault, after all.

"I... thank you." Endar wasn't thirsty at all, actually, but for the sake of good showing, he took the goblet anyway. Placing it on the arm of his chair, he met the eyes of the one who had brought it. "Now, could I ask you your name?"

Harper's smile widen as the other man took the drink. There was always something nice about getting a noble to step down, if only momentarily, to his level. "My name is Ashley Wyatt Harper," he said, giving a slight bow of the head. "And you're the young Lord Ignis Doman, unless I happened to wander into the wrong soiree. So, you're trying to make a go at it in the arenas, correct?"

Endar was somewhat surprised, and not unpleasantly - here was the first person he'd not needed to introduce himself to. Granted, it was likely everyone else had some idea of who he was, they had just not known who they were looking for. He opened his mouth to respond, but he found himself distracted by his adviser rising from his own seat.

"Now stop right there." Ezekiel snapped. "I know your name, Harper. Disgraced gladiator. Gambler. Fixer. Game thrower. If you think that you're getting one step closer to his lordship then-"

That was enough. "Then you'd be right." Endar interjected. "You can consider yourself accepted, Sir Harper, though I would ask that you detail what you can do, since Ezekiel clearly views you through coloured glass."

"Gladly," said Harper, shooting a look over at Ezekiel as he took one step closer. "Let me answer your question with a question of my own: have you ever fought in an arena before?" He turned and waved his glass at the collection of neophytes lingering around the beverage table. "Have any of those people fought in an arena before? Does anyone here know the first step in preparing for a competition, setting up match ups, winning the favor of the crowd, and all the other various ins and outs of gladiatorial life?" He paused for just long enough to not give Ignis a chance to answer. "Because the look on your face tells me that the answer's no."

"Listen, your man's partly right. I am a gambler. I may have greased some palms to make some people who shouldn't have win. I don't know what this game throwing nonsense he's talking about is, but I can assure you that it's just that: nonsense. But, most importantly, I was a gladiator before. I know all the stuff that you know you don't know, and I know some of the stuff that you don't even know exists. You need somebody like me on the team, otherwise that crowd's going to eat you alive and, trust me, they're what you're fighting, not that pack of meatheads seven feet ahead of you," said Harper. He paused for another second, and then added, "Plus I'm a fairly decent shot and nobody else around here has a bow."

Endar blinked. This one was as full of surprises as the last. He was right, though - he had no idea what went on in the arena other than the matches. And there was, admittedly, no gladiators among them aside Ezekiel... and at the moment, the idea of turning to him for assisstance was less and less appealing every other moment. The only reason he'd kept Ezekiel on was because he was his uncle's friend.

He mulled what Harper had said over in his mind for a few moments, before nodding. "I see. Though I would rather you didn't insult your teammates when they are six feet behind you. And... a warning, if I might add. Since both you and Ezekiel say you have a rather shady past... I'm asking you to cease any motions that are in action, and refrain to do so in the future. If I find that you're operating other means without my knowledge or permission, I can't say that you'd stay on our team. A twice-disgraced gladiator isn't likely to get a third chance, is he?"

"And he greatly appreciates this second chance," said Harper, pointing at Ignis with his free hand. "Trust me, you won't regret this at all. When we're in my hometown, Letum, sweeping up victory after victory at the Dauoa Festival, it'll be this moment that you look back on smiling. I guarantee it."

The youth stilled... Letum? As in, Letum, capital city of Noctis? And this man called it home. "I... I cannot say we will visit the city, nor even the country, Harper... but I... do not doubt that I will come to value your advice in the days and weeks to come."

"I'm looking forward to it, my lord. Thank you for the wine," said Harper, raising his glass one last time before turning to go join the others at the table. He had skipped breakfast that day, and he intended to make the most out of his new benefactor as he could.

Mari & ???

Mari took a deep breath, though taking care not to breath in any of the dust that floated around her. With a little shining bubble bobbing beside her, she clambered through the new hole in the wall. It had fallen in yesterday, and today she wanted to explore.

It was a long time before she saw anything interesting. There was a gap in the roof, and it was letting in a beam of sunlight. Lying with its back turned to her, was a giant bird. Was it asleep?

Stepping closer, she gently brushed its wing... so soft. But she only took that in for a moment before the bird moved suddenly, spinning around and-

"You're not a bird!" Mari said.

The 'bird' threw its wings in front of itself protectively, staring. "Ah... mmm..."

"What are you?" the little girl asked, tilting her head. "Are you a bird-lady, or a lady-bird?"

The creature shook its head, lowering their wings a bit. Her eyes were filled with fear, the whites clearly visible around the azure iris. Mari could feel them watching her, closely.

"N-no... a harpy," it shyly replied.

"Oh." Mari said, shoulders drooping slightly. Then, looking back up at the har-pea, she told it "You're really pretty!"

The harpy's cheeks became a little red-tinted, her eyes shooting towards the wings covering her body. Their stiff lips softened a little, curving into a little smile.

"T-Thank you... uuuh..." it stammered back. The creature looked at Mari again, just as curious as she was.

"A-Are... D-Do... I-is this your house?"

"No." Mari said. "It's my uncle's. Then he had to go away, for a long time, so Endar looks after it."

"E-Endar..." the harpy repeated. Then, it meekly asked: "Is... does E-Endar know I'm here?"

Honestly, Mari didn't know. Endar knew a lot of things Mari didn't... but she knew some things he didn't, like how to get into the rafters.

"No." she shrugged. "I don't think so, anyway. He's having this weird gathering out in the courtyard right now, and he's been teaching me how to pack my things, so he's been really busy recently."

The harpy's wings lowered a bit further, but so did their smile.

"A-Are... you lonely? I-If you want, we c-could play..." she offered meekly, speaking in a hushed tone.

Mari's eyes lit up. "Yeah!! I'd love to play! We'll have to be quiet, though... Endar can hear a lot. I've been pinching my ears to make them pointed like his, but it hurts a lot."

The harpy giggled. "L-Let's play h-hide and s-seek then... okay? I-I'll count first."

The harpy wrapped her wings around her face, and bouncing on her heels, Mari worked her way across the attic. She knew all the best places. There was no way Harpy could win!

The attic was quiet, with only Mari's footsteps ringing inside. It didn't get any brighter as the day went on, so the dark, earthy colours of the harpy's feathers lent itself well to hiding. She was sitting behind an old, square plank with her wings carefully wrapped around. Unfortunately for the harpy, Mari did know the best spots to hide. The harpy let out a little squeal as the little girl jumped on her, causing them both to fall to the floor with the plank being knocked backwards.

Mari's giggling was infectious and the harpy found herself laughing alongside the little kid, struggling to worm free from the hug. Eventually she did, though, gently pushing Mari off of her.

"I'm not as g-good as I thought I was, huh?" the harpy bashfully muttered.

Mari continued to giggle quietly, though she stepped back from the harpy in order to give them both some room. "You are good! I just know where to look."

The harpy nodded, climbing to her feet to start walking back to the gap in the roof, where most of the light came from. After all, that was the spot they settled on to count from. This time, though, the harpy didn't wrap her wings around her face. She just kept looking down at the ground. They had been playing for a while, and the trees' shadows were starting to become pretty large.

The girl tilted her head as her friend's face flitted with concern. "What's wrong?" she asked.

The harpy flinched and turned to Mari. She nervously looked away again a moment after, fiddling around with her fingers.

"Ah- I, uhm... I don't think I can keep playing..." she softly whispered, but it was still audible due to how quiet the attic normally was. The harpy tried her best to look at Mari again but couldn't make eye-contact.

"I-I, uhm... I'm sorry, but I have somewhere to, uhm, go-!"

Without waiting for Mari's reply, the harpy spread her wings and easily jumped through the circular gap in the roof, flapping frantically to float just above it. Mari only had a brief glance of the harpy's back before they circled around the building and disappeared, out of anyone's sight.

Seeing the harpy's sudden movements, Mari only just realised what was going to happen before it happened. "W-wait!"

But the harpy was gone. Mari sat down next to the hole, gazing after the spot where she'd last seen her new friend. She didn't even get to say goodbye...

Standing back up, though, she felt a little discomfort in her dress. Had a splinter got caught in it again? But, after combing through the folds, she instead felt something incredibly soft. One of her bubbles popped into existence... and holding it up to the light, she looked at the object. It was a single, green-tipped feather. Was this the harpy's?

---

Seeing the bowman sit down back with the rest, Endar turned to Ezekiel.

"What demons prey on your mind today, Ezekiel?! You object to every other applicant when you know full well what my aims are, and what it might cost."

"And what of the cost of your sister?" the old man hissed. "Barbarians, degenerates, beggars from the street?! If you do reclaim the throne, will you let it become known that you fought with people of baseless morals? Who fought only for gold?"

"All soldiers fight for gold, Ezekiel." Endar told him. "And if these men and women prove to be worthy of my trust, I won't just let it become known that they were my allies in this fight. I will parade it on the streets of Ancora."

The adviser's eyes widened. "Your lordship-!"

"Hush." Endar said, holding out a hand. "For now, I will consider your mood to be a result of your bout with Alia. When we depart for the tournament tomorrow, I would ask that you present yourself as amicable and without judgement. You can consider yourself dismissed for today."

And then, standing from his chair, taking a deep breath, Endar walked over to the group of gladiators-to-be who were currently gathered around the table of refreshments - with the exception of Destin, who was still practicing with his weapon.

Taking another quick breath, he began to address the assembled fighters. "Ah... ahem. Excuse me."

He had no idea how to address them.

"Might I have your attentions, please?"

Alia of the Knife watched with interest as more and more applicants came to speak with the young noble. It looked to her as though most of the others did not have to fight to prove their worth, but that did not bother the small woman overly much. She had come in with a bit more to prove and had still been accepted to the team. Besides, the wealth of good food laid out for consumption had put her in a good mood. Alia had done her best to sample most everything but had given up as her stomach had filled too quickly. Now she lounged against the table, feeling drowsy under the midday sun.

It would almost certainly be worth her while to speak to her new teammates, so Alia tried to shake off the sleepiness brought on by enough food and warmth. She had admittedly never been very good at striking up easy conversation with others, but Alia was in high enough spirits to try, and the other female applicant was nearby, having returned to the tables after speaking to Ignis. Alia assumed this meant she had also been accepted to the team. After turning a few conversation starters over in her mind, Alia walked over to the brunette.

"Hello," the small woman said, hoping she sounded friendly, "What do you think about this team we've found ourselves on?"

To say Kailea had found herself in something of a daze was an understatement. She couldn't help replaying Ignis' voice welcoming her to the team over and over again in her mind with a small grin stuck to her face as she sat sipping from the cup in her hand.

Lost in her own head, she hadn't noticed how one of her teammates had sidled around the table until she was right next to her. Kailea did her best not to start at the sound of Alia's voice, but her female teammate had been so quiet in her approach that it was like she'd just popped into existence as she spoke up. Alia was a fair bit smaller than herself, but Kailea couldn't help but be a little jealous of her long blonde hair, even tucked into the tight weave on her head. Still, she was delighted to find that someone had actually come to her for conversation, instead of having to seek it out herself.

"Well between the two of us, I see quite a few large weapons and a girl has to wonder if that's the only one they've got." Kailea said with a peaked eyebrow and suggestive smile, as she looked over their teammates. While she wasn't exactly trying to stay quiet with the others nearby, she did at least lower her voice as she spoke, before returning her focus to Alia and extended her hand, "I'm Kailea. I missed seeing you speak with Ignis. I assume it went well if you're still here?"

"Alia," the knife fighter said simply as she shook Kailea's hand,"Our little talk went well enough, though I had to do a bit of fighting"

Alia wasn't really interested in talking about her bout with Ignis's advisor. She had done what she needed to to get on this team, and now she was more focused on those that had ended up there with her. The knife fighter grinned conspiratorily at Kailea.

"It looked to me like you had our young sponsor quite embarrassed," she said, also lowering her voice, "I don't suppose you asked about his 'weapon'?"

"In a manner of speaking," Kailea's eyes glinted mischieviously, "More offered to show him what I could do with it. Shame he wasn't interested. With an innocent face like that, it would have been fun to show him a thing or two."

She sighed somewhat wistfully, glancing in Ignis' direction for a moment before looking back to the others training, fighting and relaxing.

"Then again, I bet some of these lads here could teach me a thing or two, don't you think?" She giggled, nudging Alia lightly.

Alia winked, already nodding. "I must say I have to agree. Ignis's pretty face notwithstanding, I like the look of some of these Tyren warriors; they're all height and muscle, and I bet they'd not blush so easily."

Alia grinned as she looked across the field at the various men waiting for Ignis's attention. The thief had not spoken to another woman like this in a long time, and she had half forgotten how much fun it could be. "What do you think?" she nudged Kailea back, "Which of these fellows is along your type?"

"Can't say I've ever had the pleasure of a Tyren myself," Kailea mused as she considered the group, looking each of the men up and down unabashedly. "That one there with the sword looks like he'd have me up until dawn and still be able to fight with energy to spare. Though I have to admit, I find the red hair on that one to be rather charming..."

Kailea gestured to where Ansgar sat on the other end of the table, and gestured toward him with the cup in her hand, before taking a sip and looked back at Alia searchingly. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been able to indulge in a conversation like this without the typical looks she'd long since grown callous toward. If she could help it, she wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

"And what about you, hmm?" Kailea probed with a laugh, "Quiet as you've been, I'm sure you've had plenty of time to pick one out."

"Hmmmm... I've certainly had plenty of time to look," Alia said with a wicked grin, "That Harper fellow looks like he's had plenty of practice, but I must admit, nothing says 'endurance' quite like a shield fighter."

Alia aimed a subtle nod in the direction of Aleksander, before turning back to Kailea. The pyromancer followed Alia's gaze to where the bear of a man sat enjoying the spread of food before him.

"And I'd bet he would have a lot to say." She laughed.

Alia examined Kailea's pick a bit more thoroughly, taking into account his shock of red hair and huge hammer. "I don't know about your Ansgar though. You've got to be careful about the ones that carry really big weapons," here Alia lowered her voice to a whisper, "you never know if they might be over compensating..."

The thief laughed and spoke again in a volume closer to normal speech, "But then I've also heard that the most well-endowed men are those from Ashgar. Too bad none of the sand people have turned up to apply today,"

Kailea rolled her eyes and blew an errant lock of hair out of her face as she settled back into her chair with her nose wrinkled in mild disgust.

"Ugh. Trust me, they're the last lot you want to take up with." Kailea huffed somewhat bitterly, "They act like the Sultan himself behind closed doors. Like you ought to be honored by their very presence."

Alia rolled her eyes in agreement. "I can't stand the self-righteous types, and trust me when I say you can find them in all races."

Kailea knew it probably wasn't fair to speak so ill of her own people, but it was difficult to put past hurts behind her so easily. Still, there was no reason to ruin their good time over it now, and she cast off the scowl threatening to darken her face, in favor of the more mischievous grin.

"Now what you want is an Arien." Kailea sighed wistfully, "Some of the things they do with magic..."

Alia dropped her chin into her palm thoughtfully. "I can't say I've ever had a mage, but I'll take your word for it."

Alia looked thoughtfully at the pyromancer sitting beside her. It was more of a relief than she expected to have someone to talk to on the team. Alia wasn't sure if they were 'friends' exactly yet or not, but the two women certainly seemed to get along.

"Where are you from?" Alia asked, hoping to strike up a new conversation, without asking too personal a question. She had to admit that she liked this mage girl.

"Ashar," Kailea admitted with a bit of a shrug, "My parents were both from Verum, so I certainly don't look it, at least not in comparison to the other caravans we rode with."

A pang of nostalgia rang in Kailea's chest, making her homesick for the first time in months as she thought about her family and the warm sands of her home.

"My father used to own a shop until he decided he could do more business taking his goods with him wherever he went. Omaut used to tell me stories about Verum, but it seemed so strange when you're surrounded by so much sand." Kailea smiled, the memories of those happier days quelling the sudden ache in her heart. She decided that it would be better to stead the conversation away from herself before the ache had a chance to resurface. "And what about yourself? Did you have to come far to get here today?"

"To be honest, this is the farthest I have been from Verum in my life, and I have not even left the realm, so no, I did not travel far," Alia said, wondering how much to tell Kailea. She was not particularly interested in anyone's pity, so maybe she should leave out the fact that she'd never known her parents. Alia didn't really mind--they had probably been street thieves or prostitutes anyway. As for her home city, well the thief was just proud that she had survived those dark alleys.

"Tell me about the desert," she asked a tad wistfully, "I was born in Verum and have only just left, so I have never seen the lands outside of Oriens. Tell me what it's like to look out on a sea of sand."

Kailea took another drink from her cup as she attempted to collect her thoughts. She stared down into the dregs gathering at the bottom of the goblet, trying to find the right words to bring the deserts to life in her mind.

"It...." She stalled with the words on her tongue refusing to come free for a moment, until she could swallow the swelling lump in her throat. She didn't want to turn down a request like that, especially from someone she could speak with so easily. "The winds shape everything out on the sands. The elders say that you can tell the moods of the desert by how the winds blow. Sometimes the sands ripple like golden water out to the horizon, or they swell into great pale hills that bake any who walk across their slopes. And when the deserts are angry, you can feel the way the ground rumbles and stirs the sand into raging clouds that block out the sun and pelts against your skin until it's rubbed you raw."

Kailea swore for a second she could almost feel the relentless heat in the midday sun on her shoulders and smell the delicate, earthy fragrance of the hot stones that peaked through the dunes. She closed her eyes to savor it for just a moment, as the corners of her mouth twitched upward.

"But I've never seen anything that can equal it's beauty as the sun sets and paints the sky a bleeding crimson and the sands mirror the sky in jealousy." She finished with a sigh, reluctantly pulling herself back to the world around them. She looked at Alia, trying to smile again, though this time it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Its worth seeing, if you ever have the chance."

Alia of the Knife closed her eyes and leaned back in her seat, letting Kailea's words transport her, as she had done numerous times when listening to a fine storyteller in a Verum pub. Kailea was as talented as any in weaving a picture from words and under her influence, the warm sun and gentle breezes of Oriens became something harsh but beautiful in Alia's mind. The thief had always loved to hear of other lands. There was something magical in being transported through space, in leaving your own miserable shoes behind when listening to a tale.

"There is something in a telling like that," she told Kailea, "There is something in a story that belongs to both kings and criminals, something that can capture princes as readily as paupers... I hope I get the chance to see your desert, Kailea."

The thief caught the lingering sadness in the other woman's eyes. As much as Alia longed for new places, Kailea seemed to long for her home. The pyromancer's description of the desert's moods had reminded Alia of the ocean not too far from them now, and while it wasn't the desert, maybe Kailea could find something comforting in the similarities. The knife fighter couldn't remember the last time she did anything to comfort another human, but the description of the desert had touched her.

"Have you seen the ocean?" Alia asked, "Your desert's temper reminds me of the waves, which I sometimes suspect have a turbulent relationship with the shore. At times, the sea throws herself at the land with all the passion of a new lover, sometimes with unmatched anger, and sometimes with the gentleness of a mother stroking a babe."

Kailea shook her head, as her forehead creased in slight worry as she recalled the way others described the seemingly endless body of water. Alia's words perhaps painted it in the best light so far, but it did little to urge her to visit the shoreline.

"I've seen it from afar, once or twice. But never up close." Kailea admitted, "All that water makes me a bit nervous. My magics don't mesh well when it comes to being wet, and I'm afraid I don't have the proficiency at defending myself that I ought to without it."

Still. The eagerness in Alia's voice wasn't something she wanted to ignore either. The idea of being so close to that much water wasn't appealing, but then again, she was really only considering going alone.

"But perhaps I've really been looking at it the wrong way." Kailea offered, "Perhaps when this business with the arena is done, you might show me in person? If we're lucky, we might even be able to bring these others with us. In return, is be happy to do the same if you ever had the desire to visit Ashar!"

Kailea's offer caught Alia a little by surprise. This girl seemed to like the thief's company enough to hang out away from the arena. Alia smiled at her. "I think that'd be fun," the small woman said honestly. She was happy that the conversation had gone so well. It really had been a while since Alia had called anyone 'friend.'

Then, the thief's attention was pulled away by Ignis standing up to speak.

"Ah... ahem. Excuse me. Might I have your attentions, please?" the young noble said.

Alia didn't particularly think he needed a response, so she quietly waited for the team's sponsor to make his intentions known.

Destin continued to train with his sword, hacking away at the wooden man in front of him. His blows were crushing, yet methodical. The man was almost in a trance as the dummy became more and more damaged, unable to stand the heat of the blows. Still, he paid enough attention to the passers by. Glancing at both the entrance and the lord's seat periodically, he saw many men come through and only a single additional woman. The first that had passed was a fiery youth, if judging by their red hair that is. A well-built man, but prideful if he carried that hammer as a serious weapon. While he certainly had the build for it, a weapon like that is impractical in even a minotaur's hands. But Destin should not judge on pride, this man was clearly a Tyreni like himself. Of course they would be proud of the weapons they wield, that rings true for every honest Tyreni.

The one to come after that was the female, but she looked much too youthful and frail to be here. Not to mention the deplorable state of her garments. The only thing that he could imagine her being is a mage, and a fire one judging from the scorch marks on her clothes. He could not deduce more, but would question why anyone would willingly scorch their own articles of clothing. The woman joined the rest of the current applicants at the table, sharing in the merriment going on over there. Destin felt disappointed at being the only one keeping both mind and body sharp; did the Tyreni that joined them not realize how important it was to train when the moment presents itself?

The last to join their little court was a scrawny man, clothes much too fine for the face that matched it. Destin briefly paused the swinging of his claymore to observe his actions, seeing them pour a goblet full of wine. The man continued on to present it to the lord. Was he not sound of mind? If the lord wished to indulge in his own refreshments, he would have done so. The man was also slim, without much muscle. Another mage, or something else entirely? He was armed to the teeth, but Destin did not see how one could win a fair fight without physical or magical prowess. Even that crossbow did not convince him, as the enemy would surely reach the man before he could ready his next bolt.

The man predictably joined the others at the table for refreshments. Destin furrowed his brow and picked up his blade again, giving one final swing to the dummy before it broke off and hit the floor with a thud. This one was no more good, but Destin did not feel the need to train further. As opposed to those lazily lounging along the table, he was covered with sweat after the repeated blows on the target. He needed a break but was unwilling to join the others at the table. The man was not hungry nor was he thirsty, even after a small training session. It did not seem like he needed to, either, as their host spoke up and gripped everyone's attention.

"Might I have your attentions, please?"

Harper balanced a plate on his hand as he inspected the food, pretending that he wasn’t absolutely ravenous and ready to just throw away his already miniscule amount of manners and devour the whole platter. He grabbed a strawberry between his thumb and forefinger, holding it up to the sky and squinting at it like a jeweler looking over a diamond before setting it down on his plate, his hand already reaching for another one to begin the whole song-and-dance over again. Harper had to give it up to Iggy. Even if this entire thing turned out to be a complete bust and a waste of time, the noble had gone out of his way on this banquet. Of course, it paled greatly in comparison to the feasts held during the Festival of the Blue Sun, but then again, everything did. He popped a bit of bread in his mouth and practically shuddered. When was the last time he had bread that wasn’t stale? He took back what he thought earlier: this was greater than any Blue Sun Brunch he had ever been too.

As he chewed on a slice of meat and practically melted where he stood, Harper took a second to replay his meeting with Ignis in his mind. It had gone better than he had anticipated—he was gearing up for being thrown out in the dirt, especially after that old man had piped up—and he silently promised to himself that he would keep his nose clean. He was grateful of this chance, truly, but he didn’t know how to express it to the noble without coming off as even slippier than he feared he already had. He’d just have to prove it in the arena, and as long as Iggy kept supplying him with meals like this Harper would do whatever he can to make sure that they won on the terms Iggy had put down.

"Well between the two of us, I see quite a few large weapons and a girl has to wonder if that's the only one they've got."

A split-second reaction was all that kept the mountain of food Harper had been balancing on his plate from becoming a blessing for the ants as he choked on a mouthful of food, caught off-guard by the comment that wasn’t completely kept away from the rest of the table. Clearing his throat with a little bit of wine, Harper set his plate down on the table and pretend that he was distracted by something off in the distance, cocking his head ever so slightly to better eavesdrop on the conversation between the two women that was certain to be both fascinating and informative. Their tones grew hushed as they whispered back and forth, and instead of words all Harper could hear was mumble mumble Ignis mumble mumble Tyren mumble mumble Harper THUNK CRASH FUCK!

Harper whipped his head around so fast that he heard his neck pop, his eyes shooting daggers at Pops as the Tyreni laid out the practice dummy. C’mon, Harp, you shouldn’t even be listening in on those ladies, he thought as he leaned against the table and watched the dummy splinter against the ground, his expression softening. The Tyreni was clearly older than the rest of them by a good chunk of change, and the way he was swinging that big blade earlier around like it was twig told Harper that he wasn’t just some failed stonemason trying to earn some quick gold. Harper drummed his fingers on his chin. The man’s style was rough, yet well-crafted. Calculated, yet wild.

The crowds would love him.

Harper, right now, loved him, because the man decided not to try and destroy any more of the noble’s practice dummies, which meant he could now completely focus once again on listening in on a conversation that was not his. Aaaaaaand they were talking about deserts. Unless he was missing out on some new innuendo, the interesting part had gone past. Sighing, Harper hung his head, sadly grabbing another chunk of fruit and popping it in his mouth. As if by miracle, his mood was almost instantaneously brightened as he felt the sweet juices run down his throat. How had he gone so long being away from the gladiator life? Damn those wasted days.

Ignis was walking over. Harper took a quick second to wipe the food from his mouth and straightened up, trying to appear to be the exemplar gladiator if only minus the muscles and the magic.

"Might I have your attentions, please?"

”We are yours, my lord. There’s no need to ask for our attention, you already have it,” said Harper, already leaning back against the table and settling in, his fingers creeping once more towards the food on his plate.

Seeing that he had gotten the majority of the group's attention, Endar nodded to himself.

"Well... as most of you ought to remember, my name is Ignis Doman. I sent out a call for gladiators one fortnight past - and it seems that today I found six more than I could on any other." He paused. His eyes fell to the two women, specifically, Alia. "I know that each of you have your talents, despite outward appearances.

"But, to get to my point, you must have all surmised that the people you now see will be your teammates. For however long you choose to remain, that is how it will be. Which means I want for you to get along. After all, the mountain is only as strong as its roots." He felt his lips twitch at the Arlenian proverb. "Each of us may find that the arena holds a different thing to what we may expect or desire. But that does not mean it will hold nothing of it."

Looking over each of them, Endar wondered if they might be trusted. The closer he walked to his final goal, the greater the risk of being discovered. And he had no idea whether they would remain, or if they would flee, once they knew him... the crossbowman, Ashley Harper, in particular, was a risk to accept. The prince had no idea whether or not the man was loyal to the crown of Noctis - but it was ultimately the crown they would have to confront. Ulfrur was the King of Noctis' brother, after all.

"When we fight in the arena, it will be as a team, not as individuals. We each have our own perspectives, so I will be relying on all of you to try your hardest to protect our allies. I will do the same."

Aleksander, the Bear of the North

Asking for Aleksander's attention, at least, was unnecessary - the young nobleman had had it long before he had called out to his gladiators. Try as he might, Aleksander couldn't get a feel for the young man: he had stood his ground during that 'interview' remarkably well, like an old soldier; but he was not an old soldier, and far too green around the eyes. A mystery.

A far more interesting mystery than any of the 'companions' that were gathered around him, at least. The brash woman was simple enough - Aleksander had overheard far more of the conversation between her and the red knife than he had hopefully let on. A wise warrior learned, after all, to listen twice as much as she spoke. Excited. Confident. She will be quieter, in the end.

The red knife, for her part, was well-spoken. Her armor was clearly new - she wore it stiff, and it barely fit. This was a person who knew her way around a certain world, but not this one.

Aleksander somehow had no opinion of the man with the crossbow, who even now was loudly kissing their lord's perfumed hindquarters; normally that was the sort of thing that would irritate the bear, but somehow with this one he hardly cared. That just left his countrymen, the Tyreni. Aleksander had curled up his nose as he'd watched the man savage that training dummy; he could always smell a problem.

He brought a haunch of meat up to his mouth and took a loud bite of it as Ignis spoke, rolling his eyes slightly at the speech. When the noble was finished, he swallowed and called out in a flat voice, "There is nothing for which to worry, sir. I am certain we will all be dead before any interpersonal problems develop." His voice quieted and he reached for his wine cup. "...But I will protect us, all the same."

There was the distinct feeling that Ignis was trying to find a diamond in the rough with their ragtag group. Then again, it wasn't like Kailea had any place to judge. She had no experience in the Arena, and little as a mage. Still, they could make the most out of this situation. They'd have to, wouldn't they? Otherwise, they'd be right back where they started, and she'd be just as broke and teacher-less as she was right now. So if this group could help her resch her goals, then she'd give it her all-

"There is nothing for which to worry, sir. I am certain we will all be dead before any interpersonal problems develop." The great bear of a Tyren spoke up, his voice quieted and he reached for his wine cup. "...But I will protect us, all the same."

Kailea's eyebrow arched nearly to her hairline. She knee full well that in the face of a fully trained mage she was like a toddler learning to walk, but she wasn't so useless that she needed protecting. Or to assume she'd die by setting foot in the Arena without his help. Her fingers curled tightly into her palm, scowling at the sudden dark cloud the Tyren had cast across her hopeful thoughts, as the sudden urge to adjust his attitude welled up inside her chest.

"I disagree with the Tyren, Lord Ignis," Kailea said sweetly, her tone barely disguising her ire, "Perhaps you ought to worry, if such a clearly seasoned warrior thinks us incapable of holding our own. We've never once worked with one another and for all we know, there is little hope of us being able to work as a team."

She turned a razor sharp smile toward Aleksander, her eyes flashing with quiet anger as she held him in her gaze.

"Perhaps it would be wise to have a demonstration to put yours, and this one's, mind at ease?"

Aleksander held the girl's gaze with a steady, bored look on his face, one eyebrow raised. "I have seen you flirt, loud girl. Do you intend to bat a coquettish eye at our enemies as they put a spear through your chest?"

He was provoking her now, but truth be told he didn't really give a damn about her attitude. He'd be stunned if she was anything worth anything in a fight, considering how rigorous the application process hadn't been - but Aleksander was a soldier. A soldier learned how to survive fighting alongside fools.

Kailea leaned forward, setting her chin in the palm of her hand, as she looked the Tyren over pittyingly. She kept her other hand in her lap, clenched tightly to hide the flickering embers that were trying to jump to life. She had to remind herself to breathe, and not let this brute's words get under her skin, or ruin this chance for her.

But neither was she going to let his attitude slide.

"Is it jealousy I hear in your voice?" She said spitefully, "That I've not yet paid you and your ego that attention they so obviously deserve? I would be more than happy to rectify my mistake."

The smile on her face turned predatory, as she held out a hand in the direction of the training area, and stood from her seat with a small sashay of her hips.

"Why don't I take care of that and your concern with my ability to hold my own all at once?"

Aleksander rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. "You are incredibly easy to upset, you know this? Seems very exhausting. Advice from an old soldier, stop... caring, so much."

He remembered what it was to be so young - cocky and passionate, ever ready to fight. Of course, one could argue that the 26 year old man was still young, but of course that wasn't really true. Perhaps it would not do to be so harsh on the girl; she would be tempered, by death and time, and it may be that this was not a good thing.

Aleksander sighed, sipping his wine again. "I think not, loud girl. See, I am not so easy to injure as to go gripping weapons at first unkind words - learn that. It makes man harder to hurt."

Kailea scoffed at his attitude. Arrogant. She'd seen more than enough of men like him to know that there was little she could say to sway his opinion of her. It hadn't worked with the caravan's elders, and it hadn't worked with any of her perspective masters. Still, she tasted ash at his words all the same.

"Is that why you hide behind a shield?" She asked, settling back in her seat before she did something she would regret, "You've judged me long before you know what I'm capable of. For one who thinks he has so much wisdom to impart, I do hope for your sake that won't be a mistake that haunts you later."

"I carry shield because I fear death in battle," Aleksander chuckled, his arms spread in a shrug. "As should you. As should all who hope to survive." He lifted a cluster of grapes from a nearby bowl and began popping them into his mouth as he spoke, one by one, still slouching back in his chair.

"To assume the worst is wisdom, loud girl. It may be you are capable indeed - I am not so young as you, to believe I cannot be surprised." He grinned to himself, his eyes settling on some point in space behind the girl's head. "I remember once - once, during great siege of an ancient castle, I bore shield to cover battering ram from arrows, fallen stones. Man next to me was Grigori, friend of mine, never dropped his shield. I turn once to him, to say 'Grigori, we will be made meat if we stay here,' only to see that he dropped his shield, and arrow is in his mouth, deep. Like so," Aleksander said, opening his mouth wide and jabbing a finger into it before chuckling. "And not a foot away from me! So yes, loud girl, you may have some talent - I am not too young to be surprised."

He turned away rolling a crack out of his neck. "Though I think I am right to say you are thin-skinned and somewhat a fool; this, you have demonstrated."

"And you a coward." Kailea retorted, angrily. "Death comes for us all, and I will not hide nor shy away from it. Only ensure that I leave a mark big enough that my name won't be forgotten. A shield did not save your friend, nor will it spare you in the end. But I'll be damned if it happens before I have a chance to live as I want."

Kailea looked back to Ignis, grabbing for a new cup of wine and downed it quickly to drown the rest of what she wanted to say. In the back of her mind, she could feel the prickle of magic persistently balking against her will, and feeding the urge to teach him a lesson to add to his great wisdom

"If you have no further need of my presence, Lord Ignis, I would take my leave for the evening." Kailea said, attempting to keep her voice calm, and bowing slightly as she made to leave. "I would hate to stay too long in the presence of such an optimist the day before setting foot in the Arena."

The lord paused slightly, before dipping his head. "You may take your leave, yes. However, you must reconvene with us at the Arena in town by sundown. Entrants must make themselves known before tomorrow, and I would rather not be wandering the streets in the darkness."