Kamnar walked through what seemed to be an endless tunnel. The walls were built of painted stones, haphazardly stacked, with light escaping from spaces between them. He approached one of the larger spaces, lining up his eye with it; as he peeked through, a white light blinded him, and he was suddenly standing in a barren desert. He looked down at his feet. A black orc’s quickly paling body lied there lifelessly, a puddle of crimson rushing from his gaping mouth. Without warning, three figures emerged on the horizon and sprinted at him, all of them black orcs in tattered clothes. There was no way he could explain the situation to them, and no way to restrain them without bloodshed. He felt something begin to materialize in his hands; he looked down to see his steel claymore, the familiar orichalcum motifs tracing its hilt. He knew it was his only means of defending himself. His blade sliced effortlessly through the mother’s shoulder; she fell down, sinking into the dirt without a trace. The father rushed at him, his eyes pouring red down his cheeks as he Berserked, and Kamnar had to force his claymore past the orc’s fist and into his stomach. He, too, sunk quickly in the ground like a stone in water. Finally, the older brother raced toward him with an iron dagger gripped in his fists; Kamnar tried desperately to push him back with the hilt of his sword, but as the black orc narrowly missed stabbing his throat, he was forced to slice open his chest. His beady pupils bored into him in disbelief as he sank slowly, so slowly, downward… ***** Kamnar’s eyes opened abruptly. He found himself lying in a scratchy stack of hay. Sitting up, he looked around at his dimly lit cell and realized that he had been dreaming. But his dream was his reality, the nightmare that has haunted him ever since that mission with Durak Bol-gar. At once, a flood of memories from the past twenty-four hours came rushing in his mind. Kamnar reflected on being forced out of his armor by that lanista’s cronies and into chains and rags, then onto a tiny wooden cart. He remembered trying to explain his innocence to the lanista, to no avail; the guards threatened to cut off his tongue if he didn’t stay quiet. Since the black orc tribe in which he was arrested was so close to the port of Lok’Faire, the trip was short; it had only been a few minutes when Kamnar was again guided from the cart and onto a shabby barge. He was appalled to discover himself surrounded by prisoners, of all different races and ages. A sickly, brightly colored Skytalon approached him, two nubs on his back ‒ which used to be magnificent wings, Kamnar was sure ‒ freshly scarred from being clipped. “This won’t be a long trip for you,” he said in common speech, coughing and scratching at his rainbow feathers. “The captain said this was our last stop before we arrive at our destination.” “Where are we going, exactly?” Kamnar asked him, relieved to see someone who wanted neither to kill him nor flee from him. “Who knows?” he responded casually, sniffling and rubbing at his beak. “I’ve been on this ship for three days. They’ve barely told us anything.” Clearly embarrassed of his condition, he waved with a taloned claw and slumped away to a metal bench, which other passengers quickly vacated. They sailed in agony on the rough waters for what felt like an eternity, some vomiting in the corners of the rusty barge from seasickness, but they eventually arrived at the Ludus. All of them were guided into a small chamber, where they were each forcibly weighed and measured. They had barely finished this humiliating task when Kamnar was pulled out of line by an orc guard. The guard spat on the ground at his feet. “” he growled at him in Blackspeech. Evidently, word of Kamnar’s alleged deeds had already spread. “” The orc and two other guards shoved Kamnar into a doorway adjacent to the measuring chamber; it was an open, high-walled dirt pit. One of the guards tossed him a rusty iron longsword and ordered him to defend himself before slamming the door shut. Kamnar caught it and gripped it in both of his fists, preparing himself mentally for whatever was to come. A large metal gate opened slowly on the other side of the pit; he had to squint in its direction, as the room was dimly lit, small torches lining its walls. To his horror, out came an enormous black boar, foam spilling out of its fanged mouth, its eyes a milky white with thick crust lining its lids. Kamnar barely had time to raise his sword before the boar shot out of its cage, charging blindly in his direction, its nostrils flaring. He flung himself out of its path, swinging his sword at its hindquarters and creating a deep gash. It squealed gruffly, turning itself around, but didn’t appear to know where exactly he was. It seemed only able to react to the sound of his feet; Kamnar stood stock still, watching it frantically sniff the air. He began to slowly tiptoe around the beast, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. The boar was circling itself in a rage, clouds of dust rising from its hooves. And, in a flash, Kamnar raised his sword and brought it down onto the boar’s head, stabbing straight through its muzzle and pinning it to the ground. The beast howled and squeaked desperately, blood squirting from its nostrils and mouth, blind eyes bulging, until it finally fell silent. Exhausted, panting, Kamnar stood over the dead boar and briefly saw in it the corpse of the black orc peasant. He was then relieved of his sword, grabbed by the shoulders, and again led in chains into a murky cell, where he was given a bowl of gruel and a mug of dirty water. He ate and drank breathlessly before passing out into an uneasy slumber. ***** Kamnar was abruptly pulled from his memories by the [i]clang[/i] of his cage door being unlocked and opened. Dragged into the light of morning, he squinted around, the salty wind embracing him. He was used to the cold, being from the mountainous Hel-brok'thar, so the chills crawling over his body were for entirely different reasons. He found himself placed amongst a line of other Arena prisoners, diverse as they were but all dressed in the same rags as he was. He received a few nervous glances, one of which was from the same multicolored Skytalon who welcomed him aboard the barge. The beastman’s cough seemed to have gotten worse; the human prisoner next to him leaned away in disgust. The sound of thunderous hooves and squeaky wheels alerted Kamnar and the other slaves to the arrival of a fancily-decorated wooden carriage; armed guards stepped out of the back, followed by a sleazy, peg-legged human dressed in aristocratic clothing. The human announced himself as a lanista, informing them of their destiny to fight in the Arena for the enjoyment of onlookers and gamblers. Kamnar’s eyes widened with horror. Working in fields or mines would have been one thing, but the [i]Arena?[/i] A feeling of dread rose in his stomach. Would he again have to kill innocents to save his own life? As a wave of shock spread along the line of slaves, the lanista continued to explain his motives, pacing to and fro in front of them. Despite interruptions from an aggressive Thunderhoof and a platinum-haired elf, he eventually finished with the offering of a bargain: win double the denari he paid for them and he will let them walk as free men. The blond elf who previously confronted the lanista stepped forward and suggested that they all team up to win their freedom. Another elf, this one female, spoke up in favor of the lanista’s bargain, saying that it would be easier to win individual Arena battles than to fight the city guards. Kamnar deliberated each argument carefully, weighing his options. On one hand, he loathed to kill other people in the Arena, people who are forced to battle him and are probably as guiltless as he is; the black orc family he murdered still casted a long, heavy shadow upon him. On the other hand, he doubted the effectiveness of battling royal authority, as even if they managed to escape, Kamnar would still have to live as a wanted man; but if he won enough Arena battles, he would be cleared of the charges against him and be free to bring Durak to justice. After substantial consideration, Kamnar made his decision. Stepping out of the line of future fighters, he spoke in a deep, yet firm tone. “This one is right,” he said, motioning to the female Canopy Strider. “Even if we fought as a unit, we wouldn’t stand a chance against the royal guards. We’re more likely to survive fighting each other in the Arena than fighting trained soldiers outside of it. Furthermore, we’ll be legally free after we pay off our prices. I’m taking the lanista’s offer.”