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Trumpets sounded, the gate opened. Those early were ushered in, given handouts and asked if they wanted various types of merchandise.

Several clerks lined the wall opposite the entry, ready to accept entrants. Anyone could fight--anyone. Enormous stone steps behind these workers lead to the upper level of the arena, where spectators would sit.

To one's left upon entering the building, warriors of all ages and callings would enter a smaller gate guarded by two knights. This led to the almost prison-like area that combatants waited for their matches.

To the right, an elegantly crafted door led to a staircase that would take the King and his personal attendants to the area which he would watch the fights from. Also, in separate, though quite smaller sections like the King's would rest the champions of the previous years, as well as Viktor.

It was a noisy, hectic place. Most that attended would not like the event, but had to pretend they did to avoid higher taxes, expulsion or execution.

"Yes, yes...wait your turn!" The nearest clerk said to Kurgan, finishing up registration of the man that stood in front of him.

After this was done, he left the scroll he had been writing in and walked a short distance behind the desk to stand opposite the Ravenlofter. With a sigh, he dipped his quill and leaned against the desk as he began to write.

"Name. Town or territory. Weapons," He called out the three categories of information that were to be recorded at once, impatience thick in his voice.

The scribe had just recorded all of Kurgan's information when he was struck. He fell to the ground, toppling another worker that had been passing by.

"I'm no peas--" And he was stepped on in the confusion, which frustrated him even further. The downed man scrambled to his feet and disappeared in the crowd, leaving the others to do the work. One of the other scribes that had witnessed the event pointed Kurgan toward the fighters' waiting area.

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Another clerk twirled his pen, directly in front of the woman that said she wanted to enter. "Oo, you want to enter the tournament. So does everyone else here. Give us your name, place of origin and weapons or get out."

The clerk shook his head, writing the woman's name "Gaylin Bagwell". He hadn't understood her completely and would likely not know how to spell the name anyhow, so he went on with the rest of her entry while awaiting the sai-user's response.

"Hurry up! This is not a place for your idle chatter."

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Aryan, Ruccio and company entered the front gate of the coliseum. Entrants, visitors and workers alike cleared a path for them. All present booed, tossed rocks and shouted obscenities at the two prisoners. A great number of them wanted to be pelting their captors instead, however a man that did so would not live. Neither his family, nor his pets and not even the roses that bloomed in his garden.

They were announced by the guards as the "guests of honor", which was met with practiced, nervous laughter to suit the occasion. More and more knights flanked Ruccio and Aryan as the blonde-haired one became more and more violent. Aryan took the abuse silently, only moaning occasionally...a result of pain not physical at all.

"Peasants!" One especially large knight spoke, waving his greatsword in the air for attention. "The King wants the guests in top condition! Harm them not."

And with that, the knight made a spectacle of "accidentally" slamming the rim of his kite shield against the back of Aryan's knees, tripping him and sending his already bloodied face to stone.

More fake, rehearsed laughter to appease the Holy Knights. Following it, Aryan brought himself to his feet and kept heading to the smaller gate which lead to the waiting area. The large knight and a volunteering combatant held Ruccio, moving him along with pulls and shoves.

As they entered the dark, crowded area where men awaited death and fortune, more of the same public humilitation came to pass. It was only a minute longer of Aryan's steady, slow pace and Ruccio's struggling before the large, ovoid area of packed dirt was before them.

The group continued on, stopping once a third of the way to the other gate to place Aryan where he needed to be. One of the bare-bones rapiers were shoved into his hands while a knight held his legs as a ball and chain were locked around his right ankle.

"No runnin', boy. And if the King and his crossbowmen wanna end the match, no dodgin'. Got me, pretty legs? Alright. Stay put and shut up." The lot of them went onward with Ruccio and Aryan stared straight ahead, doing what he was told...though he hadn't listened.

"No! L-let m--" Ruccio swung his fists like mad when the rope was loosed from his hands, but was soon caught in a bear hug from behind while another ball and chain was affixed.

The small group of Holy Knights and prison guards departed soonafter, mimicking courtly ladies by waving goodbye and wishing them luck. A thick, iron gate was pulled behind them and locked. Ruccio threw down his rapier soon after being left alone and tried to somehow escape, but found he could go nowhere without taking time to pull the chain of the massive lump of iron with his foot and at least one arm.

"I don't believe this! I won't accept it!" He cried, vainly trying to rend the chain from his shackle.

Aryan's gaze lowered and he stared at the dirt of the glorified slaughter house, blood from previous years upon it now being mixed with what dripped from his person.

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Rothern was speechless following the spectacle he had witnessed. Cyral had grown barbaric...and it struck him as uncanny. Talarin had obviously lost any ounce of humanity he had ever had.

Women, children and the eldery in poverty filled the lines and entered the tournament. They wanted to die, but also wanted money if it could feed them or buy them freedom. Tears slid swiftly down his rough face. His right hand squeezed the grip of his sword in its scabbard with a grip that would suffice in crushing a man's hand.

"That boy, the blonde one. He's my nephew." Rothern choked and sobbed, hopelessness overwhelming him. What could they do? The rules, posted nearby...the said one would die. Possibly both and...

"Princess, I...let me think for a moment." And he began to walk, to nowhere in particular.