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[h2][i]PROLOGUE:
THE PROVING[/i][/h2]

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The golden afternoon sun bore down on the grand arena, as the masses of Minrathous roared and shouted at the spectacle below. It was a warm spring day in the capital of Tevinter. Ideal weather for afternoon tea, or a mass event of blood spilling. A proving, hosted by the Archon of the Magisterium himself, was being held today. Ten Imperial gladiators from prestigious Minrathous noble houses were partaking. 

These ten noble men and women were pitted against a horde of “Dalish savages”. Fifty elven slaves had been painted in crude imitations of traditional Dalish tattoos and given fine studded leather armor. Diversely armed from broadswords to maces, this slave army was promised freedom from their chains should they fell the ten Tevinter champions. Empty promises of course, as none of the slaves selected had any experience in battle or even basic combat training. Easy prey even in their numeracy, as the ten nobles on the field were all adeptly trained in melee.

The horns had been sounded and the cry given, and the elves stormed the dusty field of the proving arena. Within moments after their charge a dozen had fell to the champions, to the delight of the crowd at the spilling of blood. The Tevinter nobles, one of whom was Atharius Sulla, stood in a spread circle, surrounded by their foe. Atharius’ staff blade was coated in the blood of two elves he had slain himself, to which he reveled at, determined to have the most kills of the ten nobles. 

To his right a scream rang out as Iladri Urien drove her family blade into the chest of an impetuous elf barley past boyhood. The crowd erupted as he fell and the elves reeled back yet again. Opposite from Atharius, Valto Vanicci took advantage of the faltering elves and rushed forward, the champion of House Vanicci striking down a trio of foes with five great swings of his broadsword. Feeling the pressure of competition, and fully aware that his mistress Cynasse and the entire Sulla family was present and watching, Atharius took action. 

A fair haired elf with grizzled scarring raised his sword to the young Sulla. Batting aside the elves’ sword with the blade of his staff, Atharius then struck him with the shaft. Before Atharius could deliver the killing strike, the reeling elf with blind luck parried the strike. Unfazed, Atharius twirled his staff about and struck the elf on the side of his knee, bringing him to the dust. With a great thrust, he drove his blade into the fallen elves’ chest, killing him and sending a spray of blood. Atharius gleamed at the cheers around him as he surged forward and engaged another opponent. 


Dosan Sulla stroked his stubbled chin with his right hand as he watched the battle below, the air trembling with the warbled chorus of cheers, screams, and clanging of blades. To his right sat his wife, Vita Sulla, and her sister Sabina and Sabina’s husband Horacio Tiber. To the left of Dosan sat Cynasse Hallandren, Magistrate and Atharius’ mentor. Dosan looked over to Cynasse, hand still gripped on his chin, “Atharius is looking quite fine, wouldn’t you say? Four ki-... pardon, five kills in moments.”




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