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[h2][i][color=slateblue]Prologue[/color][/i][/h2][/center]
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.

[color=fff79a]“My mother is gone, Ezekiel.”[/color] he said quietly. [color=fff79a] “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.”[/color]

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.”

[color=fff79a] “Then destroy me it must. But if you want me to live, help me. Give me a chance to succeed.”[/color] 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.