Garan’tx blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to adjust them to the harsh light outside. He had been in the pits under the stadium for the last two days, preparing for his first gladiatorial bout, and he was accustomed to the dim half-light provided by flickering torches and oil lamps. The pits were comparatively cool, and the wind, dry and searing, seemed to burn his skin as he peered through the gladiator tunnel leading into the Arena.

Outside, the stadium was packed, with hordes of people pushing and shoving each other to get a better view of the event. Enterprising Elven merchants moved here and there amongst them, selling tidbits or glasses of water, while half-giant soldier-slave bodyguards kept a wary eye out for trouble as they went about protecting their noble masters.

The flags of rival Merchant Houses fluttered around the Arena, adding colour to the stadium, and everywhere people shouted out in a multitude of languages, merging into one cacophony of sound. Amongst the crowd money changed hands as bets were placed on the upcoming fights, and more than one person’s live savings were wagered on the day’s proceedings.

At a signal, the stadium hushed as one, and Garan’tx pressed himself to the gate to look out into the Arena. His eyes followed the gaze of everyone in the stadium, and he saw the Tyrant of Tyr stand and slowly raise a silk-clad arm. King Kalak looked around at his people, and a half smile played across his cruel lips. As the lord of Tyr, he ruled his people with an iron fist, but every now and then he also pandered to their lust for the Games. His Arena housed the finest Gladiators in the lands, all ready to die for his pleasure, and for the entertainment of his people.

King Kalak dropped his arm, the signal for the first fight to start. Trumpets rang out in the crowded stadium, as the gates slowly winched open. Heavily armed mul prodded an Anakore with their spears, forcing the dimwitted humanoid out into the center of the Arena. From the opposite gate, Garan’tx emerged, unarmed, to face the beast.

The crowd settled down to watch the matinee – a new gladiator, fighting to prove himself and start his career within the gladiator pits of King Kalak, taking on the captured Dune Freak in a fight to the death. The harsh Athasian sun beat down on the stone Arena, baking the sawdust on the floor of the stadium, while from below, the sickly sour smell of blood rose from the animal pits.

In the center of the Arena, Garan’tx could see a bone axe, the gladiator’s only hope in the battle. As the Anakore stood blinking in the bright light of Athas’ sun, Garan’tx raised his fist in salute to King Kalak, and raced for the axe.

Sensing the movement within the cauldron of sound, the Dune Freak’s bony, wedgelike head turned to follow the gladiator’s progress. A poke from a mul’s pike spurred the Anakore into action, and the creature dropped onto all four legs, its claws scraping furrows in the sawdust. The beast’s sunken beady eyes narrowed in anger, and bellowing a cry, it sprang at the gladiator.

By now, Garan’tx had reached the axe, and he held the bone weapon in a firm grip, hoping that his nerves were not visible to the crowd and to his King. Raising the axe to his mouth, he bit down on the handle, chewing on it as he had been taught in his brief time in the gladiator school. He began to feel the bloodlust rising in him, as the berserk fit overcame him.

Through the waves of blood enraging his senses, he felt the Anakore lunge at him. Just in time, he raised the axe and fended off the clawed limb of the Dune Freak, parrying its vicious attack. The force of the blow ran through his axe and down his arm, making Garan’tx stagger back, backpeddling on the sawdust trying to keep his balance.

As the Dune Freak sprang at him again, the gladiator rushed forward to meet it, charging at it. As he charged, he kicked out at the beast, catching it a glancing blow and leaving it momentarily dazed. Taking advantage of the Anakore’s hesitation, his axe bit into it, once, twice, finding its target in the soft skin beneath the Dune Freak’s arm.

He sprang back as the Anakore lashed out in agony, a claw slicing a gaping wound in his arm. As his arm lost strength, he switched his axe to his left hand, thanking his gladiator teacher for teaching him to fight equally well with either hand. He backed away from the beast, as the blood began to leave his vision and his berserk rage subsided as quickly as it had begun.

He no longer needed his berserker rage, he realised, as he looked at the Dune Freak thrashing out its death throes on the sawdust. The Anakore’s black ichor like blood slowly seeped into the sawdust, and the horrid beast fell still, looking small and defenceless in death. Lifting his good arm, Garan’tx raised his axe in triumph and salute to his King, and basked in the roars from the crowd. He had survived his first match in the Arena.

Written by Deproelius,
Internal Overseer of the Gladiators

Having read the ancient scroll, you can look around the library and ask for another manuscript to read, or you can consult your map of the strong hold to take you to some other area of the guild.