Jitharee was ill at ease. The feeling had been sticking with him for several days now and infected his dreams, bringing little much needed sleep. Tension was in the air, it was beyond his reasoning as to how they couldn't taste it like he could. Perhaps it was the way the overseers cracked their whips extra hard this past few days or maybe it was the fact that the normal stench of the pens were becoming far more oppressive then it usually did, either way a storm was on the horizon and it was going to crash upon their heads soon. 

Since sleep evaded him Jitharee sat in his dark corner of the pen, the one he had spent little more than a week to earn. Several broken noses and a dozen lashes got him his spot and it has been his for years. Sure every once in awhile he had to put the newer slaves in their place, a shiv here and a fist fight there, but it was firmly his spot. It wasn't worth the trouble for most people. Others began to awake, some made noise, some spoke, most kept to themselves, but for the most part all was quiet. Until the Orc rattled the door, Kharrn had never been the subtle type.

Emitting a deep hiss, Jitharee voiced his displeasure but otherwise kept to himself. Kharrn wasn't as good a warrior as him but made up for it in savagery and strength. The playing ground was even and there was little to gain for the squabble, both would get the lash. With little else to do Jitharee began to fiddle with his shiv, making sure it was as good as it could get. It was a simple thing, just a piece of scrap metal wrapped in a shed of cloth that used to be his shirt, long ago abandoned as little more than a hood wrap for the heat. The shiv was as good as it was going to be and as such stuck it into a hidden pocket he had fashioned long ago, the guards would do far more than whip him should they find it. 

Gazing upon the gate, Jitharee waited for the day to begin.