When traveling, one tended to take advantage of local events to get a good grasp of the culture.  For his part, Harold felt that he knew the culture plenty well already, and that it did not become of a member of society's upper strata to spectate glorified blood sports, but he couldn't deny that a tinge of wonder nibbled at him.  How barbaric could those of Kheris' dominion possibly be?  If nothing else, he wanted to satisfy that morbid curiosity.

An obvious foreigner with his complexion and clothing, he drew his fair share of stares as he wound his way through the excited throng, searching for a lofty place to call his own within the colosseum seating.  A number of the people he squeezed past treated him none too gently or considerately; were it not for his frame and awareness, he suspected with a dry smile that he might be bearing several bruised ribs already.  Having reached the upper perimeter, he banished the idea of making his way any higher and contented himself with leaning on the low wall, figuring he would not remain long.

Sure enough, the two fighters in the great ring tore one another to pieces before long.  One stood victorious, but what was victory to a slave?  A mere continuation of suffering, Harold supposed.  His attention shifted to a twinge of movement in the royal box, and into a position of prominence strutted nothing less than the sovereign himself.  “So that is Kheris,” he murmured, his disdain voiced in such a way that the average man wouldn't realize.  “A god made flesh.”  Kheris unleashed his vaunted voice, impossibly making his everyday tone heard in every seat in the arena.  The smallfolk, hearing their emperor, might be touched by his appealing words, but having seen his fair share of politics Harold felt he could see right through them.  “He has charisma, I'll give him that...”  Aware of the rising drums, he listened with an amused smile as Kheris promised a battle of demons -the condemnation his government applied to Evokers, more than likely as an act of suppression against any potential challengers- with redemption on the line.  [i]Not a chance.  The show must go on, and any danger must be stomped out.[/i]  More than before, he felt justified in his choice earlier that day leaving the Standard leaning against the wall in his inn room like the walking stick it was supposed to be.  Overhead, the sky had grown dark, and a sudden bolt from the cloud made him jump in surprise.  Irked, he crossed his arms and watched as gladiators spilled from the dark to drench the sand in blood.

[i]I've just about seen enough for this cultural experience.  Though perhaps I should stay and see if I could learn anything.[/i]  Pushing off from the low wall, he cast about to find a place to sit.  Whether or not he liked it, things were happening here today, and it wouldn't pay for a man on a mission to let personal taste get in the way of his objective.