It is quiet in the dungeon save for the occasional scurrying rat and few torches line the walls of the corridor between cells. A dreary, rotten place reeking of dozens of unwashed captives.The prisoners lie in their bunks, some sleeping and others too bothered for such a thing. For come morning, they will struggle for their lives but in vain. Death is their sentence and if not at the hand of gladiators then the hand of an executioner. Creaking open like the very gates of oblivion, the dungeon door slowly gives way to a detail of Legionaries in heavy plate. Their boots thud on the stone floors and their armor clanks to further announce their arrival. As they walk the corridor they light more torches and draw their swords, the distinct sound waking any that might be sleeping still.
"Wake, scum! the time is nigh that you pay for your crimes!" One of the guards shouts and bangs the flat of his blade against the wrought iron bars of the closest cell. They take their places by the cell doors of those marked for death. One by one, the warden unlocks these doors and proceeds to the entry of the corridor. "Exit your cells and step forward. Do not try to resist for if you do, your death will not be swift."
The few prisoners whose doors were now open, emerge. A Dunmer, Breton, two Orcs, a Bosmer, and a pair of Argonians step into the torchlight. Grim expressions adorn their features and their eyes filled with hatred towards the guards. They march at sword point with their hands bound. Some prisoners still locked in their cells come to their doors and bid farewell… others laugh and make obscene gestures. Through the dungeon and out into the night, as the sun had not yet risen. 'These poor souls won't even see their last sun rise' one guard says to another as the convoy passes by bound for the Arena.
The Arena pits are just as dim and foreboding as the dungeon had been and no gladiators were present.. this side of the pit was reserved for the occasion. A bald man in plain brown robes entered behind the guards and addresses the prisoners. "The Nine guide you. There are weapons here for you to use, Pick which suits you best. Die fighting with what honor you have left." With that, the guards and the robed man left the pits and locked the door behind them. The prisoners were alone now, left to their own devices for the short time before the fights began.
(I shall arrange the fights, mingle for now :) it has begun)
"Wake, scum! the time is nigh that you pay for your crimes!" One of the guards shouts and bangs the flat of his blade against the wrought iron bars of the closest cell. They take their places by the cell doors of those marked for death. One by one, the warden unlocks these doors and proceeds to the entry of the corridor. "Exit your cells and step forward. Do not try to resist for if you do, your death will not be swift."
The few prisoners whose doors were now open, emerge. A Dunmer, Breton, two Orcs, a Bosmer, and a pair of Argonians step into the torchlight. Grim expressions adorn their features and their eyes filled with hatred towards the guards. They march at sword point with their hands bound. Some prisoners still locked in their cells come to their doors and bid farewell… others laugh and make obscene gestures. Through the dungeon and out into the night, as the sun had not yet risen. 'These poor souls won't even see their last sun rise' one guard says to another as the convoy passes by bound for the Arena.
The Arena pits are just as dim and foreboding as the dungeon had been and no gladiators were present.. this side of the pit was reserved for the occasion. A bald man in plain brown robes entered behind the guards and addresses the prisoners. "The Nine guide you. There are weapons here for you to use, Pick which suits you best. Die fighting with what honor you have left." With that, the guards and the robed man left the pits and locked the door behind them. The prisoners were alone now, left to their own devices for the short time before the fights began.
(I shall arrange the fights, mingle for now :) it has begun)
