The chain of future fighters were led through the stone-and-marble city like cattle, imperial citizens staring at them and muttering to each other. Some who understood their fate looked sympathetic, while others grinned in excitement for the same reason.

They soon arrived at a tall, ominous structure built of black bricks which Kamnar could only assume was the Arena itself, though they seemed to be going through a back entrance; the front was probably for the spectators and gamblers. Down they went along a shoddy stone hallway, blood stains old and new decorating the walls and floor. It served as an effective warning for new arrivals, but not as effective as the smell. A sudden, wafting stench of death and gore sent a shockwave of disgust down the line of shackled slaves. Though Kamnar was not unfamiliar with this smell, it still strengthened his feeling of foreboding tenfold.

Eventually, the corridor led to a large training and preparation room, dimly lit by scant torches and an iron forge in a far corner. It was filled nearly to the brim with Arena fighters, some looking just as apprehensive as the newcomers, others more like experienced gladiators. Not seconds after did the group see firsthand the victims of this cruel sport ‒ an orc impaled through the torso and a bloodied she-elf, who had fallen from a hole in the battlefield floor above. Kamnar was thoroughly disturbed, but hardened his face as he felt the eyes of the veteran gladiators upon him; the last thing he wanted was to make enemies here by seeming nervous. Just as that thought passed his mind, the human called Prinny seemed to be melting into an anxious puddle as his dwarf companion rolled his eyes.

They were forced once again into a small corner, rough iron weapons hanging from metal racks on the walls and ceiling, a small torch barely lighting the area. The same orc from the ludus, the one who held a particular grudge against Kamnar, unchained each of them, being sure to unchain Kamnar’s own bindings unnecessarily aggressively.

“Don't touch the weapons,” the orc guard said to Eltharion after he had attempted to take a spear off the wall.

The realization that they would not be allowed weapons was unexpected, to say the least; Kamnar himself was decent enough at unarmed combat, but he feared the others would not last long. Only a moment later did the Lanista arrive, clad in a foppish purple overcoat. Leaning against the stone wall and twirling his wooden cane, he told them that their opponents, unlike them, [i]would[/i] be armed, which snapped Kamnar’s confidence like a twig. He also recommended that they remember each other’s appearances, as they would be fighting as a team. Kamnar was not worried about that, as each of their faces have already been ingrained into his memory, fluid expressions of crimson paint.

“Well, any bright ideas?” Eltharion spoke up once more. Kamnar noticed a wall of smaller weapons, like daggers and throwing knives, on the wall behind him. The Forest Thorn seemed to be having the same idea as he, though he was staring in the direction of the spears.

“If it means survival, then the rules don’t mean anything to me. I suggest we each sneak in a small weapon as best as we can,” Kamnar said, checking around the corner for listening ears. Though they were all wearing rags, he supposed it shouldn’t be too difficult to hide a single blade in a fold of cloth, or possibly sheathed in a rope-belt. He picked a gently rusted dagger from the wall, which was almost small enough for him to completely conceal in his closed fist. If he was careful, he figured he could palm it past the guards, though some smaller-handed fighters may have a more difficult time.