Chapter 7

### **The Group Travels to the Arena**

Days have passed. The party has
left Meadowgrove. Held by magic-nullifying restraints and enclosed
within a mobile cell, they are being driven to Asle Lenor. They have
company in the cell in the form of a grey-skinned cutpurse, Lithik,
and a lavender-skinned silent criminal, who has yet to share his
name.

The officers of the peace in
Meadowgrove eventually compared notes with those near the shop that
was... justice'd. They realized these were the same people as those
who stole from the general shop.

Upon discovering coins on
their bodies matching the amount missing from the shop, Oren and
Eliam were charged with petty theft. Oren was charged with
destruction of property and assault of civilians for his
demonstration in the store. The whole party was charged with assault
for their skirmish with the officers. Votig was charged with murder,
and, upon discovering blood on his shirt and a civilian who was dead
in an alleyway from unknown causes, Eliam was charged with murder as
well. Their inventories were seized.

The officers bound them
and summoned the Condemnation: a mobile, impregnable cell that
carries the accused to the proving grounds at Asle Lenor to ascertain
their guilt or innocence. The wheels of the Condemnation are old and
creaky; it has made this trip many times. It rocks and sways on the
road as if to disorient those within. It does not roll so much as
lumbers. It smells faintly of bile.

Oren struggles constantly against his
bonds. Eliam speaks frequently of how innocent he and his friends
are. Votig sits quietly.

Every so often, a guard stops the
Condemnation and offers a sip from a pouch containing water. He
usually lets them sip, and doesn't often just splash it on their
faces. Food is not provided.

"This is no way to treat
innocent people accused of being criminals, given we DID NOTHING
WRONG," Eliam shouts for what must be the hundredth
time.

Oren's wrists are torn and bloody as he struggles
against his bonds. They are securely restrained still.

Lithik
eyes up Oren. "You may as well save your strength," he
says. "Not much point in struggling yet."

"Yet?"
Eliam asks.

"I'm saving my strength for the trial,"
he says. "It'll be me they free, though, so I guess in the end
it doesn't matter if you struggle or not." He shrugs.

Lithik
looks at Votig and scoffs after looking at him at Oren. "If this
is the best there will be there... It might be an easy fight."

Oren
continues to struggle. He cringes from the pain in his wrists as the
metal digs into them. "Why isn't there a trial to prove that we
did what they say? How do we prove we're innocent?"

He
looks at him like he's insane. "Is that a serious question?"

"Yes, sorry."

He shakes his head. "Listen.
In a week, all the criminals caught in the last half year will be
thrown into the Trial Grounds at Asle Lenor. It's an arena where
they'll make us fight. Sometimes you'll fight in a grand melee.
Sometimes in duels. Sometimes three-on-one. It's never fair and it's
never easy. Every fight is to the death. Over the course of a week,
the few hundred of us get whittled down until only one remains. That
one is the one the Maker has shined his favour upon. That one is
redeemed and proved innocent. The rest... well, we were clearly
guilty and deserve death, don't we?"

"But... wait,
if only one person can walk away, how do all three of us live?"
Eliam asks, concerned.

"You don't," the orc answers
simply. "Better to just let me have it."

"Did
you commit your crime?” Oren asks. “Because you know whether or
not you're guilty, and if you are you can't expect to win. So why
fight? If it was really up to innocence, Eliam would win. But instead
Votig will, and he really did kill some people."

He looks
over Votig. "What, this little guy?"

"He could
kill all of us right now, he's just saving his strength for when he
faces Minerva in the ring."

"He's one of the best
fighters there is," Eliam adds.

Lithik says, "You
don't say..."At any rate," he says, hurriedly moving on,
"the Maker can't be wrong. If you succeed, you were clearly
innocent and your action, however wrong we thought it was, must have
been justified on a grander scale. And if you fail, whatever you did
to get caught must have been wrong... or perhaps you're being
punished for something else that you weren't caught for. The Maker
doesn't fail us."

"That's stupid,” Oren says. “You
orcs really can't be trusted to run a police force, let alone a whole
government. The Lyriad was right."

His eyes flicker over
the mage's head. "What do you mean, 'you orcs'?"

"I
mean orcs, you're almost all just idiots looking to fight. Where I'm
from, the guards were humans and there weren't any orcs and it was
much better. Those guys didn't abuse weak people. And it's not just
the ones that become cops, even the shopkeeper we met stole from
us."

"You're really not wrong,” Eliam agrees.
“Every orc we've met in this place has been the worst.”

"Iberyn
wasn't that bad, but he may have been an elf. Really, they should all
go to The Valley and leave the land to the civilized people."

“Hey,
yeah, I'm still confused about that. Do you have any elves on
Thirshalon?” The bard asks. “I mean not everyone looks like an
orc here.”

Lithik sighs and closes his eyes. "Great. Of
all the days to be caught, I get stuck with the damn crazy ones."

"We're not crazy! I mean, look at that guy. He's purple. I
thought orcs were green?" Eliam motions to the silent man.

The
man slowly turns to look at him, his eyes red and narrowed. He
silently resumes his position, leaning against the wall.

"And
just wait till ya meet elves, Oren,” Votig says. “Ten times
worse."

Lithik shuts his eyes, refusing to engage in
conversation with people he's decided are insane. The Condemnation
rolls on.

A few more days pass. Larger numbers of people can
be heard outside the caravan as the Condemnation begins rumbling more
than normal. The noise doesn't seem to reach inside.

### **The Group Arrives at the Arena**

Suddenly, morning, night, they
cannot tell, the Condemnation stops. It turns. It stops again. It
rolls backward slowly.

There is a loud **clank**. The
Condemnation jolts to a stop. The rear door opens just as the chain
that holds the restraints to the wall slackens. Upon pulling it, they
discover that the chain now detaches from the wall entirely.

Looking
out, they see the pit of a large arena. There are perhaps two-hundred
orcs milling around. Some sit in the sun. Others lean against the
walls. None look thrilled to be here.

A few guards above in
some of the seats whistle to get the group's attention. They throw
down a small key.

One of them also throws down a single loaf
of bread. "Food's tonight. Fight's tomorrow. Don't kill
overnight; don't be killed overnight."

Votig picks up the
key, but he cannot find anywhere to unlock his restraints. The orcs
above begin pointing and laughing.

Votig stares at the orcs
high above who are mocking him. They point and snicker. They guffaw
and laugh. He plants his feet into the earth. His connection is cut
off but his strength is, and always has been, his own. Inseparable
from him. Indivisible. Indistinguishable. The dwarf begins to strain
against his bonds, his wrists complaining from the sudden pressure.
Votig's vision begins to swim as his body burns every last bit of
strength he possesses against the metallic bonds. The screws creak
but refuse to yield. He bends at the waist, digs his heels in
further, and snaps his body back. The ability to move adds force to
his struggle. The screws begin to give. With a final herculean
effort, Votig screams. Many of the orcs in the pit are now watching.
After an eternity, his bonds break. He collapses to his knees,
triumphant, as the orcs high above stare down at him in
amazement.

Lithik hops off the caravan. He looks back at Oren
and Eliam. "...Well. You weren't lying, were you?"

A
tiny, weedy orc approaches Votig slowly. "U-um. Sir. Wow.
That... wow. I don't think I've ever seen something like that before.
Are... um... are you all right?" he asks, noticing Votig
suffering some significant fatigue.

"I'm fine," he
says, breathing heavily and looking the orc up and down. "How do
the rest of ya, those who are obviously weaker, get these damned
things off?"

Meekly, he responds, "The guards take
them off every evening when they bring the day's food. They don't
want them being kept here overnight in case someone uses them as a
weapon."

"I see. Thanks." Votig grabs the
bread, splitting it into three pieces.

"Votig,” Oren
asks, showing him his cuffs. “Can you take these off?"

Lithik
jumps down and picks up one of the thirds of bread. "Thanks,
friend." He takes a bite before anyone can stop him. He has
stepped over his handcuffs now that he is no longer tethered to the
wall. He is chained, but his cuffs are in front of him.

"Hey!”
Eliam says, stepping over his cuffs as well. “That was ours."
Oren follows and does the same.

Votig hands the rest of his bread
to Oren and Eliam, and grabs Lithik by the back of his neck. He pulls
him to the Condemnation, out of sight from the others.

Oren
quietly eats half his bread, while Eliam finishes his
hungrily.

"Hey, are you okay?” The bard asks. “Your
wrists look pretty bad. I mean, worse than normal."

"Fine,”
Oren answers. “How's your face? We should get my first aid kit
back so I can change the bandages and disinfect you."

"I
mean... you fixed it, right? It'll be fine. Absolutely."

"You
won't die, probably."

In the condemnation, Votig pushes
the orc back against the wall. "I don't know what ya did ta get
here, lad, and I truly don't care. But I wouldn't take that
disrespect even on a good day. I'm askin' one time, give me the bread
back."

Lithik recoils against the back of the caravan. He
shudders and says, "I'll be dead tomorrow anyway. Not like I'll
need the food." He hands it over.

Votig takes the bread.
“Consider yerself lucky, then. If ye hadn't given it back, ye'd be
dead tonight.” He turns and leaves, walking back to his companions.
“Ah, lads!” he shouts cheerfully as he bites his share of the
bread. “I hear we be gettin' more food later, ya? I bet we could
get a couple extra shares, if ya catch me meanin'. These orcs all
seem rather weak.”

While he speaks, Oren tries to pass
him the rest of his bread. “No lad,” Votig tells him, “That's
yours. Save it for later if ya don't want it now, but we're gonna
need our strength.”

"We can't fight though,” Eliam
says. “At least, not each other. We're all friends.”

Oren
hands his bread to the bard instead. “Yes.”

"Plenty
of orcs ta fight," Votig says, motioning around them.

Eliam
hands the bread right back to the mage. “We all need to eat.”

"We
should escape," Oren says, eating his share.

"It
sounds like they've been doin' this for years, lad. Not sure how
possible that'd be."

Oren looks up, and speaks to the
sky. “Hey, Elise, can you hear me? Send Minerva to save us! We're
in this Judgment thing, and they stole her dagger.”

"Oh!
Wait!” Eliam says. “Didn't you mark Minerva's necklace? Can you
find them?"

"I can't cast any spells right now,"
Oren answers.

The bard sighs, and looks up at the sky as well.
"Well uh... if you can hear us then Elise, we really could use
some help! And we'll respect you if you do!"

Oren holds
out his manacled hands to Votig. "Can you take these off,
please?"

The small weedy orc that approached Votig
earlier is still quietly lurking nearby. He seems interested in
joining the conversation. Slowly, he inches closer. "U-um...
so... who is Minerva?"

"None of your business,"
Oren answers.

Votig looks around for some kind of stick or
item to use to unscrew the cuffs. There is only sand. A gust of wind
kicks up and blows some of it into his eyes. There is only sand. "I
don't think I can, lad."

"Do we get weapons?" Oren
asks the orc.

"They've indexed what they took from you.
When the battle begins, they will throw your objects back to you from
the walls," responds the weedy orc. "Part of the challenge
of staying alive is recollecting your possessions while fending off
attacks."

"Weapons as well?” the mage
repeats.

"Usually," he answers slowly, "weapons
first and other possessions after. Makes the scene more bloody."

"Votig, you should confess to our crimes so they let us go,”
Oren says. “Then you win and we'll all be free."

Lithik
finally slips off the Condemnation and stumbles from your group as
quickly as he can, shooting dirty looks at Votig.

"Confession
means nothing," the weedy orc responds. "Your being here is
a confession, whether offered voluntarily or not. It is the Maker's
grace that matters now. That's all. Well..." He lowers his voice
as if speaking of a conspiracy and edges in closer. "The grace
of the Night Spirit might matter. If you're lucky." He seems
excited now, energetic.

"I don't need any more cults in
my life,” Votig says. “Take yer night spirit, take yer false gods
and leave.”

"Well hang on, might as well hear him out,”
Eliam protests. “Night Spirit?"

The orc pales and
withdraws. He is scared of upsetting Votig. "I-it's okay. I'm
sorry, I just... I thought... I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he
stammers, and he leaves without answering Eliam.

"Oh
well. It was probably some weird, terrible orc thing. This place is
the worst. Thirshalon is the worst." the bard says.

"Don't
talk to riff raff,” Oren responds. “These people are criminals.
Votig, you should... throw... Eliam up there," he points at the
ledge above them, "then he can shoot down with his bow!"

The
bard frowns, as he looks up. "I... I think I'd die from the
impact."

"If only Minerva was here, she said she can
climb. Maybe you should try it,” Oren suggests.

"Maybe
if we weren't starving. Seriously, this is no way to treat innocent
people who did nothing wrong. How does their society even function
like this?" Eliam wonders, leaning back against the wall.

A
few hours pass. The sun begins to drop in the sky. The guards have
brought out actual food - breads, some sort of cooked meat, crappy
ale for someone's last night alive - and have unscrewed everyone's
shackles. The mages of the party find they are able to use magic once
again.

Fed and satisfied for the first time in a week, the
group collapses against a wall on the edge of the arena. Snippets of
conversation float over, and the phrase "Night Spirit" is
repeated.

Feeling stronger, Oren attempts to
climb out of the arena. A ring of orcs, some armoured, some cloaked,
some finely dressed, line the lowest ring of seats above. As he
begins to climb, they point at him. Some laugh, some seem to bet
amongst themselves how high he can make it. After about five feet, he
falls off the wall and collapses into the sand. The orcs
chuckle.

The sun continues to set. The skyglyph and stars
gradually become the only lights visible in the sky. The shadows
within the arena deepen.

The orcs in the seats above seem to
be more on edge than they were during the day.

"You two
get some sleep,” Votig offers. “I'll keep watch."

"Well...
loathe as I am to sacrifice sleep, it's probably better for all of us
if you rest up,” Eliam responds. Oren nods in agreement.

"We
still gotta make it through the night,” Votig points out. Ya have
any magic if those criminals try somethin'?"

"We
should,” Eliam answers. “I think it's starting to come
back.”

"We don't have our arcane devices, so our magic
won't work,” Oren says. “Unless you're different?"

"Hmmmm."
Eliam finds himself triumphantly restored to magical power. Though
his mana is low, his spirit is enthusiastic. He attempts to create an
arcane lantern; missing his arcane device, he is unable to localize
it and he instead creates a brilliant flare which lights up his side
of the area. The light warms his allies, soothing their lingering
injuries.

The miraculous magical demonstration catches the eye
of every orc in the arena. Some cower away from this majestic figure,
bathed in light, healing his allies. Some turn menacingly toward him,
marking him as a potential threat to their freedom come the dawn.

As
time passes, magical light fades. The arena turns back to darkness as
the magic from Eliam's spell dissipates.

Eliam sits up,
preparing to take first watch. Oren leans quietly against him, and
Votig stretches out on the sand. The bard's back is against the wall
of the caravan, watching as orcs mill about the arena.

### **Minerva Returns**

Oren and Votig have just settled,
but are still awake, when a voice addresses the bard from within the
Condemnation. "Taking watch? That's new. I always thought beauty
sleep was more your style, Eliam," it says. "Well... You
can do that... if you want to die. If you want to live... you should
probably come with me." He turns to see Minerva lowering her
hood and beckoning him forward.

"I... what? You actually
heard us! You came!" He leaps up and hugs her, disturbing Oren's
rest. Votig rolls over, disinterested, and tries to go back to
sleep.

Minerva withdraws into the hollow where the empty
Condemnation sits. She signals for Eliam to follow.

Eliam tries to wake Votig quickly, but
does not succeed. Minerva smiles upon seeing him and Oren enter the
empty Condemnation they arrived in. "Oren!" she exclaims,
patting him on the shoulder. "Good to see you're doing well."

Oren nods. "Did you get
arrested?"

She grins. "Not at all, although I can't
wait to hear about what ended you three up in here. Elise and I
traveled the road east and followed the passengers toward Asle Lenor.
It seems everyone is coming here religiously," she explains. "We
tagged along with a few people who were gracious enough to feed us as
we were joining them on their pilgrimage to the trials. Did you know
they're all orcs? They look so different..." she muses. "This
place is so strange.

"At any rate, as we walked, I heard
more and more people talk about the battles to the death and it
seemed weirder and weirder to me that it's just... accepted,"
she says. "No one questions it. Orcs are thrown in for any crime
from murder all the way to stealing a slice of bread. It's crazy."

"Where's Elise?" Oren
asks.

She waves a hand. "I'm getting there! Anyway, Elise
and I figured it wasn't fair for so many people to be murdered over
something so minor so we've been finding ways to sneak orcs out. Our
passage is small, and our window to free people is narrow, we can't
usually take more than five people at a time, but it's
something."

"That's nice,” Oren responds. “Maybe
we can destroy this government before we go home. It'll be good
practice for when we get back."

"If you wake up
Votig, we can slip out..." she says quietly. "If there's
anyone else you want to take, we can bring one more. We've gotta go
now, though."

"I think it's your turn to try to wake
him up," Eliam says to Oren. The mage leaves wordlessly and
walks over to the dwarf.

"As for how we got here,”
Eliam begins, “well... it's a long story.

"You see, we
arrived in town after a rather interesting encounter with some sort
of elven... orcish... i think Oren called her a vampire? After that,
we arrived in town. We went to sell what we found in the cathedral,
but the shopkeep managed to trick me with regards to the correct
price. Oren went to speak with him and demand the money that was
ours, but he went crazy, accused us of theft and called the police on
us.

"As we left to find a boat to go north, we ran into
some sort of cult. Apparently this place is infested with cults like
the lyriad as well. When I went to a guard to get help, having been
*viciously* attacked and mauled, I think one of them even
scarred my face?! They arrested us for absolutely no reason! We're
entirely innocent, but try telling any of *them* that."

Minerva
rubs her chin thoughtfully. "Looks like some qualities of orcs
never change..."

"How did you find us, anyways?
Elise heard us, didn't she?! I knew it. ...How uh, how much can she
hear, anyways?" Eliam asks, nervously.

"I've been
slipping in and out the last few nights and stealing orcs away to
their freedom," Minerva explains. "They're starting to talk
about me... 'The Night Spirit' or something. Anyway, I was watching
for who might be a good candidate to free tonight and then some
knucklehead decided to show off his magical power in front of his
enemies for a death match by lighting up half the arena with magic
for an hour. Might have wanted to lay low on that one for a bit,
Eliam," she adds dryly.

"That *was* pretty
impressive, wasn't it? I'm sure no one will mess with us now that
I've scared half of them witless with how great I am."

Minerva shakes her head. "Never
change, Eliam."

Oren sits next to Votig and looks
around. He tries to wake him up, but fails. He tears off a piece of
the dwarf's bloody shirt. Sleepily, Votig slaps at the spot he tore
the cloth from, assuming it to be just an insect bothering
him.

Minerva warily pokes her head out around the corner and
whispers, "Oren! What's taking so long?"

Oren hugs
Votig before walking back in. "Good luck."

"He's
not coming,” Oren announces within the Condemnation. “He wants to
fight."

Minerva frowns at him. "Is he even
awake?"

"He said to go. You can go wake him up and
ask if you want..."

Minerva regards him somewhat
suspiciously and says, "Votig. Beer's up."

"He
doesn't drink anymore, not since that poisoned ale" Oren
explains. He walks back to Votig quickly to try waking him again.
"Votig... Votig, are you coming with us or staying to prove
you're the best fighter?" the mage whispers, and receives no
response.

After a moment, he returns to Minerva. “He's
asleep, we should go. He'll be fine.”

"We can't just
leave him," Minerva says. "He'll die tomorrow. Eliam, wake
him up, please."

"Yeah,” Oren nods at him, “you
try."

"I already tried, but I guess I can try again"
Eliam says. He walks out and shakes the dwarf's arm. "Hey, we're
about to leave without you."

Votig rolls over and looks
at him sleepily. "Huhwhat? Leave? Why?"

"Minerva
showed up. She said she knows a way out, and she'll help us escape.
Didn't Oren tell you this?"

"Yer the first person
I've seen since I went to sleep. What about our
belongings?"

"Huh...” Eliam says, “Guess you
slept through his attempts to wake you up. To be honest, I don't
know. But at this point it might be worth it to just leave everything
behind."

"I'll see ya on the other side then, after
I win it. Look after Oren for me."

"I... what? I
mean, I know you're a good fighter but there are a *lot* of orcs
here."

"Hey! What's the hold-up?" Minerva
hisses to the both of them.

"It's not like I'll be
fightin' all of them, right?” Votig says. “They'll be fightin'
each other, too. Unless shes got an idea about how to get our stuff
back?"

"Well... let me ask, at least," the bard
says, returning to the Condemnation. "Votig's not leaving, at
least not without his things."

"Oh, for-" she
cuts herself off. "I mean, I know where they keep most of the
prisoners' possessions, but..."

"Well, you try
talking him into it then," Eliam says.

Minerva stands at
the corner of the Condemnation and says, "Votig! Let's get
moving. We can try and get your stuff on the way out, but it'll mean
a fight."

"*Try*? But I already know a sure
way."

"So do I. Steal it back right now and fight
the guards on the way out," she says confidently. "The only
challenge is making it out in one piece."

"What if
we don't fight, and he does?" Oren asks, poking his head out
from the caravan.

Minerva looks back at him. "What do you
mean?"

"We leave, he fights and wins. Maybe we steal
the stuff another way, sneak in... We can't fight."

"That's
insane," Minerva says exasperatedly. "Even for us. There
are hundreds of orcs out there and the organizers rig the fights
against competitors they don't like or who are doing well. As far as
they know, Votig is a physically-deformed orc. You really think
they're going to give him a fair opportunity to win out there?"

"Ya
really think I *need* a fair opportunity ta win?"

Minerva looks at Votig point-blank.
"How many officers did it take to bring you in?"

"What if we shoot from out
here," Oren suggests. "We can kill a lot of them, then
it'll be easier for him."

"Yes, and the guards will
converge on you and kill you from wherever you're casting,"
Minerva points out. "Look, Votig," Minerva says, "I
can't stop you and I can't change your mind. I can just give you an
opportunity. I'm leaving. Anyone who wants to come, come."

The
weedy orc crawls from around the corner. "U-uh... um... excuse
me," he says. "Did you say... you can leave?"

Minerva
exchanges glances with Oren and Eliam. She looks at them
quizzically.

"No, we're setting a trap,” Oren tells
him. “We tell people that, then we kill them in here. ...But you
can join us if you want."

The orc looks confused. "But
this will be closed tomorrow. The gate will drop. You won't be able
to get to the Condemnations in the morning..."

"Oh
wait,” Oren asks, “what were you arrested for?"

The tiny orc looks embarrassed.
"U-um... I... Nothing I did. They had the wrong person."

"Oh. Then you're useless,”
the mage says. “We should find someone sneaky."

"I don't trust him,” Eliam
says, nodding in agreement. “It's always the meek ones like him who
betray you."

Minerva looks at Oren incredulously. She
puts her hand on the orc's shoulder. "Hi. What's your
name?"

"Kethak," he responds quietly. "Well,
Kethak," Minerva says, "You're getting out of here. Come
on."

Minerva leads him into the Condemnation and takes
him to the front-right corner of the roof. She peels back a metal
hatch which swings down effortlessly. "Emergency hatches are a
foot thick of solid metal and locked from the exterior of the
vehicle, but they aren't heat-resistant."

She says to Kethak, "Hop up
there. I've cut a tunnel through the stone five feet up that leads to
a maintenance passage. We're going to slip through and come out
through a tunnel I've...erm... \*made\* on the other side."

Eliam and Oren turn back to Votig.
"Get my stuff if they throw it in," Oren says, hugging him
one last time.

"Ya had that flower, right? I'll look out
fer it," Votig says. Oren whispers a description of the pouch to
him.

"Sorry Votig...” Eliam says. “I think I'd die if
I stayed in there. But I think you can actually win.”

She
helps Kethak shimmy upward, then moves to go through herself. "Votig,
I can't change your mind, can I?"

"No, lass. But ye did good.
Now I don't have to worry about keepin' an eye on them two."

Minerva
is swaying under the exit hole. It is clear she wants to stay,
despite her bravado and words. Finally, she steps out to him and
says, "You are the most stubborn ass I've ever met. Live."
She leans down, kisses his forehead, and leaves.

The group exits, leaving Votig to his
fate.

### **Votig Meditates Alone**

Votig sits in the quiet of
the arena. Not the first time he's fought before others. Not the
last. Thoughts race through his mind but he gradually calms them. To
succeed, he must find peace. To live, he must find tranquility.

He
places his hands to the dirt. He feels something. A tendril of magic,
reaching out to him? A mote of mysticism, undefined and uncertain,
lay beneath his fingertips, should he be strong enough, finally, to
embrace it, not as a last resort in battle, but willingly, to greet
it as an old friend.

Votig's hands are trembling. For the
first time, there is a part of him that wants this power. As never
before, there is something within him that desires to be in touch
with this gift of the Maker's, but at the last second, his shoulders
drop and he turns away from it. No. No.

He looks at his hands.
They have gotten him through every scrape, every battle, every fight,
every contest. His fists have never failed him. Why would they
now?

The dwarf shakes his head as if to knock loose any magic
that had settled in it. Survival tomorrow will come from his
instinct, his speed, his power, his will, his belief in his fists and
himself. It will not be served to him by some incomprehensible
"magic."

He feels almost silly for having
tried.

### **Eliam and Oren Chat while they Escape**

Minerva, Oren, Eliam and the orc move
through the tunnel.

"So... you wouldn't happen to have a
change of clothes out here, would you?" Eliam asks, noting his
bloody shirt.

"If we get our stuff we'll have clothes,"
Oren replies for her.

"Hey, by the way...” Eliam says
quietly to him. “If Votig was fast asleep, how did you get him to
tell you he didn't want to join us?"

"He wanted his
belt remember? He said, that didn't he? ...Maybe he forgot."

"Oh... I guess that makes sense,” Eliam says. “I thought
you asked him when you went out to talk to him."

"Oh,
yeah. Uhhhh... maybe."

 "Maybe?"

"I
don't know"

"Wait,” Eliam says, giving him a look.
“How do you not know what you talked to him about?"

"I
didn't talk to him,” Oren admits. “He wanted to sleep."

The
bard frowns. "But you said he said a bunch of things. You said
he said he wanted to stay and fight."

"I didn't say
he said it- I said he wanted to fight."

"I... I
guess so,” Eliam says, considering this. “I mean, you wouldn't
just leave him behind if you didn't know he wanted to stay, I'm
sure."

"No,” Oren agrees. “I wouldn't leave you
in there because you don't want to fight, and you would lose. But
he'll win, and he wants to fight."

"Yeah, that makes
sense,” Eliam nods. “You're a good friend."

"I
want to be,” Oren says quietly. “Maybe later when we're home, we
can be friends instead of worrying about other things."

"I
mean, I kind of thought we were all friends already. But it will be
nice to finally get home."

"We are,” Oren
protests. “I didn't mean it like that. I mean, if you think we are
friends, I don't know how it works but I like you all. Not that
little guy, and Elise is okay, but I like you and Minerva and
Votig."

"Trust me then, we're all friends!” Eliam
says cheerfully. “I like you too. And Minerva. ...Yeah, Elise is
okay."

"Where do you live?" Oren
asks.

"Well... sort of, er, nowhere right now,” he
admits, embarrassed. “I kind of got kicked out of my home. You
lived in a village, right? Where was that?"

"I think
it's north of Ushad, I lived near a village called Westbridge...
there's a bridge there so I guess that's why it's called that."

"Oh,
that would make sense. Did you live with your family
there?"

"No."

"Oh... so you lived
alone then?" Eliam asks.

"Sometimes, there's this
wizard who teaches me things. He says I'm his apprentice, but he's
not there all the time so sometimes I'm alone there. I wish you could
come live there with me instead of living nowhere but he wouldn't
like it, probably. Maybe you should marry a rich girl and live with
her."

"That would be nice! I'm sure your teacher
wouldn't mind though. Or I could talk him into it. It would be nice
to have a place to stay, and I'm sure he won't be that upset"

"Maybe, I'll see. He might just kill me when I get back,
I wasn't supposed to leave"

"I... wait, what? Kill
you? Just for leaving?” Eliam looks at him. “Maybe we should both
find a new place to stay. Were you a captive or something?"

"Who
knows, wizards are capricious. Oh no I wasn't captive really,” Oren
explains. “But he said it was dangerous to leave, and I should stay
inside unless he gave permission. Sometimes he let me go into the
village to buy things so it's okay."

"That sounds
incredibly unhealthy. I haven't known any wizards but you can't go
back to that. No one can live like that.”

"I like him
though, he's nice to me usually. I want to be a good apprentice. I
want him to like me, but stuff like that is hard to care about right
now so I just have to fix it later when we go back."

"I
know you want to be a good apprentice, but this guy sounds insane.
How did you even end up apprenticed to him? I think you already fixed
it by leaving."

"Uhhh, well... when I was like five
or six, he saw me in the town I was born in and offered my uncle one
hundred gold for me. So I went with him,” Oren explains
quietly.

"I... that's not even legal, is it? That's
messed up,” Eliam shakes his head. “You definitely can't go back
there. We'll find a place together."

"I think it's
legal, why not? Anyway he took good care of me."

"I...
no, that's absolutely not legal. And if he threatens to murder you
for leaving and locks you up, I don't call that taking good care of
you."

"I don't think he threatened me, I don't
know,” Oren explains. “He's nice usually. Did you live with a
family? Did they keep you inside? What did you do to get kicked
out?"

"I lived with my family. And no, I could come
and go as I pleased. And well.... Honestly, I'm starting to think it
might have been my fault. I started to get kind of a... reputation
around town. Nothing serious really. I stole a few things, slept
around a little, really no big deal overall. But I guess my parents
had enough. They have to take me back once they realize I'm one of
the legendary children of the maker, or whatever the title is."

"What's that like?" Oren
asks.

"It was nice. And normal. I mean, what did you do
if you wanted a walk? Or to go meet up with friends?” Eliam asks in
return.

"I didn't have any friends, I sometimes went to
the town if he asked me to. But that sounds nice too, and your
parents will probably let you come home if you apologize and act the
way they want. You just have to behave"

"You
shouldn't have to live in fear of your teacher though, and force
yourself to behave. I mean, did you get to have hobbies? What do you
do for fun?"

"I wasn't afraid,” Oren answers. “He
didn't force me to do things, he just told me what to do. I don't
think I have hobbies but I read a lot, and sometimes I looked out the
window..."

"Well, it's settled then,” Eliam
decides. “We're going to get Votig, go home, find a place and I'm
going to teach you how to party and have some fun. You won't have to
worry about your teacher anymore. Votig has an inn, right? Maybe we
can live there."

"We'll see. I'll do whatever you
want after we go to the wellspring or whatever it is. Hopefully Votig
can come with us."

"I mean.... if you want to,
anyways,” Eliam says, looking at Oren. “You know you don't have
to do whatever I say, right?"

"I just meant that I
will, later... if you want. I mean if you want something I can do,
I'll do it. Because we're friends, so I want to make you happy. But
first we have to go to the wellspring before I can worry about that,
it's important."

"Well, friendship means you
being happy will make us happy,” Eliam explains. “You don't
actually have to do anything for us. What's at the wellspring you're
so desperate to get to, anyways?"

"Maybe we'll get
more powers, you want that right?"

"Definitely!”
Eliam says excitedly. “Do you think we should break this one too?
It seemed like good things happened when we broke the other
one."

"No, no that's bad,” Oren explains. “We
should try to fix the other one later actually... Votig was wrong to
destroy it, but don't tell him I said that."

"I
won't. But what do you mean? All the plants nearby started to grow
when we broke it. And I think magic got stronger in general. I could
actually start to sense it a bit."

"No, it's only
stronger for us. Regular mages can't cast spells now. Which is
probably bad. We should fix it. The plants were because of his own
powers, not the wellspring. Though I bet Linea knew more about that
Greater Magic stuff she didn't tell us. It might have something to do
with that."

"Oh, her. She probably was hiding
something,” Eliam says. “She is Lyriad, after all. And someone I
knew brought up a pretty good idea a while ago. If we're the only
ones who can use magic, think how much money people would give us for
something like healing! We could buy as many inns as we wanted!"

"People already paid a lot for healing, even without magic,”
Oren points out. “I think you could make plenty, especially if you
save Sylvatir from the Elyde and Rorgh and you restore magic for
everybody."

"True.... We'd be heroes then. We can be
famous heroes and we won't have to worry about horrible teachers or
anyone. We could do whatever we wanted! What are the wellsprings
supposed to do, anyways?"

"I don't know, provide
magic. And my teacher isn't horrible, he's a good teacher, he taught
me to read and a lot of other things."

"I mean, he
could have taught you how to read without making you feel like you
couldn't do anything without his permission,” Eliam says. “Or
literally buying you. Or making you feel like you would get killed
for leaving. Or making you cut yourself to feed some weird flower
blood"

"He didn't make me do that,” Oren protests,
“and being obedient isn't a bad thing."

"You say
that, but I'd rather have fun than have to listen to every single
thing someone tells me to do. I mean, you don't seriously do
everything someone tells you to do, do you?"

"Only
if I like them."

### **Eliam and Oren Escape with Minerva**

Minerva raises
her hood as she looks over her shoulder at Eliam, Oren, and Kethak.
She raises a finger to her lips to halt the conversation, and points
to the right, then forward. They have arrived at a tiny stone tunnel,
large enough only to crawl through. The walls are lined with stone
brick but this space seems overlooked and forgotten. Every so often,
light shines through the wall near the floor, coming in via cracks in
the stone. Peering down, they see orc guards. Some walk about, some
sit idly; some drink, some play cards, some practice fighting.
Minerva beckons everyone forward with a second gesture for
quiet.

She leads them right, then takes a left turn to
continue moving forward. After a few minutes, they arrive at a
T-junction. She turns around and breathes in a whisper, "Going
right will take you to a hole I melted through the stone. You can
reach a branch through it that you can use to climb down to freedom."
Despite herself, she glances in the direction of the left
path.

"What's to the left?" Eliam whispers.

Minerva purses her lips. "It's...
complicated. Also dangerous. All the rooms where they store the
captive's belongings are down the hallways beneath that passage."

Silently, Oren moves left.

Minerva
looks at Oren and pauses. She puts a hand on his shoulder to get his
attention and whispers hurriedly, "Are you certain?"

"I
need to get something."

"Complicated and dangerous
is kind of our thing," Eliam explains.

Minerva says, "I
know the way through. You don't. Wait here for me. I'll be five
minutes." She turns to Kethak and says, "Whatever they want
to do, you're not coming. I'm taking you to the exit."

Kethak
seems to pause momentarily, but a far-off scream, perhaps of a few
orcs knocking off some competition in the pit early, galvanizes him.
He looks at Oren and Eliam and says, "T-thank you for leading me
this far." He begins to crawl along the right-hand path. Minerva
follows him and says, "Seriously, please wait for me. Five
minutes."

Minerva and Kethak disappear down the tunnel.
Time passes with no sign of her.

Oren and Eliam wait, whispering
quietly.

"We just need our arcane devices, Votig can get
the rest. If we can cast spells we can cheat and help him win,”
Oren says.

"Yeah. I don't know about just leaving him
there... I mean, he's a good fighter, but that's a lot of
orcs.”

Time goes on. Minerva has yet to return.

"I guess we have to rescue
Minerva first,” Eliam says. Oren goes right, and the bard follows.

As they crawl, they see the edges
of a light flickering around a corner ahead.

Oren can faintly
make out a few words: "...useless... slow... too long... they
didn't go..."

He continues to crawl toward the corner.
Minerva appears suddenly, crawling forward on one hand while a dim
flame flickers in her other hand. "Oh. Hey. Thanks for
waiting."

"We came to rescue you" Eliam
says.

She chuckles. "Good to know."

"I
got Kethak out. He's just so... **slow**. It took forever to get
him to the exit and then we had to wait for an orc patrol to leave.
He made it down the branch, though. He's going to try for the next
town. He might not make it there, but... I mean, he wouldn't have
made it in the pit, so... That was the best he could have hoped for.
Anyway," she says offhandedly, "Good luck to him. Better
luck to us. You sure you want to go back in, Oren?"

"We
need some things if we're going to help Votig win. I know he's
strong but we have to make sure, even if he wouldn't want us to."
Oren says.

"Yeah... he's our friend. We can't leave him
to die" Eliam says.

"If it's too dangerous, we can
wait and rely on him, but I think we should at least try to get some
things out of there,” Oren continues.

"Good point,"
Minerva says, with a faint smile on her face. "That's some real
loyalty and friendship... spoken like a true Lyriad!" she says
with a wink.

"Hey... you never mentioned, by the way,
where is Elise? We may even be able to use her help," Eliam
asks.

Minerva turns so she's looking Eliam directly in the
eyes. "Eliam. I'm secretly raiding an orc prison and stronghold
to **steal away** orc criminals in the middle of the night. Would
**you** bring Elise?"

"I... no, yeah. Good
point."

"There's a tiny road motel
just up the path about half an hour from here," she says. "Does
booming business during the Judgment time since everyone's coming to
spectate. We got a room with some money I... should we say "found"
on some orcs who tried to attack Elise on the road? I've been waiting
until she falls asleep and then slipping out at night."

"Oh so you were able to
convince her to stay out of danger, that's good.” Oren takes her
hand gently. “You know... they took your dagger away. I'm sorry. We
can try to get it back."

Minerva's shoulders sag a little
and she tries to offer a brave expression. "Well, I guess that's
why we're going back. Come on."

The rogue leads them down
the tunnels for about twenty minutes. Every so often they come to a
place to peer downward and they are afforded a glance into the rooms
below.

Minerva says, "I've been in and out for the last
four or five nights so I'm starting to get a real sense of the layout
of the orc quarters. They seem to be keeping most of the loot they've
taken on one side of the building. The people I've been speaking to
say they'll be throwing it in from the north side. Putting it all
into the battlefield at the same spot turns that area into a
bloodbath." Her nose wrinkles in disgust.

She asks Oren,
"What in particular are you looking for? It'll be easier to find
the right room if we can all be checking the cracks for something we
recognize."

"Your dagger, Eliam's bow, and I had a
pouch on a chain,” he answers. “It would be nice to get the
books, our clothes, things like that... but if we can only take a few
things, that's what's important.”

She nods. "Okay.
Let's look."

The party begins to peer through each crack
in the wall they pass, searching for any sign of their possessions.

"Can you sense the devices?
Try to feel the aether,” Oren asks Eliam. “If Elise can talk to
clouds maybe you can at least sense your own bow..."

"I'll
try, I guess," Eliam says.

Eliam closes his eyes and
concentrates. He extends his will and his magic beyond himself and
taps into the great veil of aether that permeates the world. For a
brief moment, he sees the strings of magic that connects him to all
of the Maker's creation. He reaches out to the strings, and touches
one... and finds it connected to his bow, further down the
tunnel.

"I don't know if they're all kept together, but
my bow is down there," he says, gesturing in the direction he
sensed his weapon.

Minerva nods and gestures for Eliam to take
the lead. He follows the string of aether until he reaches a crack
through which he can see his bow.

"It's down there,"
he confirms. “Your dagger is down there too. There's a bunch of
other things too. What did your focus look like?" he asks Oren.

The mage leans down to look as
well. "Like a... little leather pouch on a chain."

Minerva
says, "You're sure this is it, right?"

"Yeah,
completely,” Eliam answers confidently.

"Do you see any
orcs down there?" She asks. Eliam shakes his head no in
response.

"How do we get in?" he asks.

Minerva
shrugs. "I've been melting holes to get in from the outside but
it can get pretty noisy. And hot. And obvious. I could get us down
for sure... Anyone have a better idea?"

Oren scratches
feebly at the hole in the bricks. It remains unchanged.

Eliam
sits back against the wall with a sigh. "We haven't eaten in a
week, we're covered in blood and Votig's gone. At this point I don't
know what to do. At this point burning through is probably the only
option. Or just getting a new focus. There has to be something
outside we can use."

Minerva looks at him aghast. "You
haven't **eaten**?" She sighs. "So if we **did** get
into a fight you're... basically exhausted?"

Reminded of his injuries, Oren quietly
checks their bandages and wounds.

"Orc prisons really
don't treat you well, it turns out," Eliam replies.

"I
hope you're not infected,” the mage says. “Maybe we should find
that healer's kit and see if there's any iodine or something."

"I tried to heal us all a bit earlier. Hopefully that
will be enough for a while," Eliam responds.

Minerva
says, "I could definitely burn my way in, jump down, and throw
you stuff back up. You'd have to take it and bail, and I'm sure you'd
be chased once they knew there was a way up here. Do you think you
have enough strength to out-race them?"

"Of course!
We're heroes after all,” Eliam says. “But how are you planning to
get away after that?"

Minerva lowers her hood. "I'll
have my daggers, my magic, and the knowledge that my friends are
safe. I can handle a few orcs."

"...Once we have them back we
can fight,” Oren decides. “How many orcs do you think are
nearby?"

"I've seen as few as two in
once place and as many as... a couple dozen?” she answers. “I
don't **hear** anything right now, so there must not be too many
around, but... it's risky."

Oren hugs her. "If you
get it back I'll do anything you want. I'll help you take over
Sylvatir. okay?"

Minerva seems somewhat taken aback. She
avoids eye contact but he can see a smile from behind her hood. "I
see Eliam's been working on your social skills while I was gone. Now
back up." Her eyes glow red and the flames that normally appear
around her daggers are surrounding her fists.

"Let's do
this one for... Votig!" she grunts as she slams her fist into
the stone. The punch connects with the crack, sending a gout of flame
into it. The stone around the crack begins to soften. Minerva strikes
it again and again, causing the stone to tremble and splinter with
each successive blow.

"She didn't mind me hugging her.
Maybe she really does like us now," Oren whispers as he sits
next to Eliam.

"That... or maybe she just likes you,"
he says, patting him on the shoulder proudly.

“What? She said we were her friends.
Don't worry, she likes you," Oren says comfortingly.

Finally, after what seems to be a
minute of punching, the stone has yielded a roughly circular hole a
couple of feet in diameter. Minerva wastes no time hesitating. She
pushes herself in head-first, flips her feet over her head, and lands
gracefully on the ground before overcorrecting and falling on her
butt.

She swears under her breath. "I looked so cool
until that moment," she mutters.

"You still look
cool! Now get the stuff," Oren says.

She picks up her
dagger and sheathes it. She grabs Eliam's bow and slides it up into
the hole. She instantly freezes and looks in the direction beneath
where the others are crouched. There is a sound of something being
struck, then slid, then slammed. "Orcs are coming," she
says. "I put something against the door but it won't hold them
long." She throws Oren's pouch up. "Is that the right
one?"

Within the pouch is a flower. Quickly, Oren puts it
around his neck. "Come on," he says, reaching down.

"Did
you find your dagger? Just leave it if there's no time," Eliam
says.

"I've got it!" she exclaims. With no time left
to check, she grabs two bags at random, throws them up to Eliam and
Oren, and then takes his hand to be pulled back up. "Whoever
owned them won't be using them anymore!"

Oren hauls Minerva up into the tunnel.
She cocks an eyebrow at him. "Votig's gone, so you get to be the
muscle of the party, hm? Nice."

"Huh?"

"Never
mind," she smiles, ruffling his hair. "Let's **go.**"
She begins to crawl back the way they came from. In the room below,
they begin to hear footsteps.

The party scampers down the
tunnel. Though they move further away, the orcs' angry shouts get
louder and louder as they give chase.

As they approach the
end of the tunnel, they hear a shout from within the tunnel. Behind
them, an orc is shouting and pointing. Oren casts a veil of darkness
behind them to obfuscate the party from the orcs.

Minerva
looks back and says, "Impressive. That's gotten better since the
last time I saw it. You guys have improved."

"We've
fought more orcs and cultists. They have them everywhere I guess,"
Oren answers.

"Thirshalon is the worst place. I'd rather
have a hundred Elydes in charge than deal with this place any
further," Eliam says.

Minerva says, "Things I never
thought I'd hear, but... I don't think you're wrong."

Minerva
leads the two mages onward through the tunnels. The darkness that
Oren set behind them seems to have slowed the orcs down enough that
they haven't managed to catch up.

After some desperately fast
crawling, Minerva finally leads them to a tunnel with a breeze.
"We're close," she says. A moment later, they arrive at a
hole in the wall. A foot away from the hole is a branch to grab on
to. It leads to a tree that looks like it can be easily scaled down.

Minerva reaches out, grabs the branch, and swings her body
over to it; she latches on with her feet and begins shimmying toward
the trunk. "Works best if you don't look down!"

Eliam
clutches the branch and swings; he bangs his knee on the limb but
manages to hook his leg around it. He successfully shimmies over to
the trunk.

Oren grabs the branch but his hands slip from
fatigue; he begins to tumble through the air. Because of the awkward
angle at which he fell, his body is spinning through the air toward
the tree. His body hits a lower branch painfully, but his hands flash
out to try and latch onto the new limb. He manages to catch the
branch with one hand, landing effortlessly below the others.

Minerva
says with a half-smile, "I can't tell if you did that on purpose
or not."

"I don't want to do any of this,” Oren
says, carefully climbing down. Minerva drops down to his level to
help make sure he doesn't fall. Finally, they successfully reach the
ground.

Minerva looks back at the arena and stares upward at
its towering heights. "So. Votig. Any ideas on how to help him?
Minerva kicks at the dirt. "This time, I'm out of ideas. I hope
one of you has thought of something."

"How close is
the river?" Oren asks.

"Pretty close," Minerva
says. "On the western side of the arena it basically runs up
against the walls. Apparently when the arena is done they just
collect the fallen bodies and limbs and toss them into the
water."

Oren thinks about this for a moment. "So
could we flood the arena?"

Minerva tilts her head. "I...
um... I mean, yes. Yes, if you... Yes. But... Isn't Votig in there
still?"

"We... can save him? And it's only if he's
losing,” he answers. “Maybe that can be the plan. if he loses or
it's going badly, it'll definitely distract people."

"I
found my bow... can you do something like that with the river?”
Eliam asks. “Divert it somehow with magic?"

"Maybe,"
Oren says quietly.

Minerva looks doubtful. "The entire
river? Unless you're much more in touch with your powers than I am
with mine... that's a big job. I bet you could use your affinity with
the water to target specific points of the wall, though. If I weaken
them with my magic and then you target them with yours..."

"What if we collapse the seats so
people fall in?” Oren suggests. “Maybe they'll cancel the
Judgment and try to save them."

She looks slightly
horrified at him now.

"And you can throw some fireballs
around,” he says, turning to Eliam. “Everyone will be
running..."

"Better we don't harm anyone like that,"
Eliam says, noticing her expression. Under his breath, he whispers to
the mage, "Keep that plan in mind."

"Then we
grab Votig and go,” Oren nods. “But, he won't want to go unless
he's won and has his belt back. But if we flood the arena the books
will get wet... maybe it's not a good idea. Worst case, if we cause
enough chaos we can run in and grab him"

Minerva nearly
slaps her forehead. "Oh, that damned belt. I didn't even think
to look for it."

"He won't leave without it,"
Oren says. "And you know there are other things, that healer's
kit would be nice... and we had some armour and other things. Like
that necklace you gave me, and the orb from Fallowfield... we should
try to get our other things back eventually. And I had that..."
he pantomimes swinging his morningstar, "mace thingy."

Minerva
looks pensive. "If we go into the stands to watch the fights, we
can keep an eye on Votig. He might try to collect things of ours. If
we try one of those plans and get him out after he's collected our
stuff, we might just get a lot of stuff back."

Then she
shrugs. "...Or it's Votig and he just punches everything to
death and never even notices what they're throwing. It's a crapshoot,
really."

"It'll be good to be there to help, just in
case,” Eliam says. “Though if we're going to pretend to be
spectators we'll probably need a change of clothes. We'll probably
stand out as we are now. If we have time, anyways. What do we need to
do to be ready to flood the arena?"

"Honestly?"
Minerva says. "We need to sleep. And eat something. We can worry
about the how in the morning. Right now you two both look like you
need to recover."

"We can figure out a plan
tomorrow," Oren nods.

"I... Yeah,” Eliam says, his
voice tired. “Okay."

Minerva begins to slowly walk
away from the arena. "Half an hour to the roadside inn. We can
talk to Elise. I know she's... not ideal for stealth missions but we
might need her on this tomorrow. We might need to do this and clear
out immediately."

"Yes,” Oren says, “we can go
north tomorrow after we get Votig back."

"Sounds
like a plan," Eliam agrees.

### **The Group Arrives at the Inn**

The party arrives at the inn.
Minerva hands Eliam a key. "We, uh... we booked two rooms. Since
everyone is supposed to end up here for the Judgment we thought we
might be seeing you one way or another, and since rooms book up so
solidly... It seemed like a sensible precaution. And like I say, it,
uh..." She lowers her voice. "It wasn't exactly our
money."

"Elise is asleep. You two can share the
room next door. We'll catch her up to speed in the morning and figure
out our plan."

"Did you meet an orc with a note for
you?" Oren asks.

"A... note?" she says
slowly.

"Never mind, he was supposed to give it to you if
he saw you but I guess he didn't..." Oren trails off.

"We
wrote you and Elise a note,” Eliam explains. “A sort of... well,
apology note. We gave it to a merchant in case you happened to pass
by.”

Minerva's expression softens. "That's... actually
kind of sweet. I'm sure Elise will appreciate it."

"That
guy probably kept the note for himself,” Oren says. “He was
weird."

"Well... if anyone is in a position to
judge 'weird,' I think it's us," Minerva chuckles. "Okay.
Bedtime, Oren. You too, Eliam."

"Did you see a
vampire?" Oren reaches out, pushing back her hair to inspect her
neck.

Minerva's hood is knocked down by his hands and she
steps back before he can successfully make a further advance. "Oren.
You had such a good thing going. Don't ruin it. Good
night."

"Wait... but you might be a vampire too,
show me your neck."

Minerva steps into the doorway of her
and Elise's room and says, "Oren, if I were a vampire, would I
really be offering to help you divert a river tomorrow. During the
day. In the sunlight?"

"I... don't know,” he
answers. “I hope you're not a vampire.”

"If she is,”
Eliam says as he unlocks the door, “we can always fight her
tomorrow."

"I don't want to fight Minerva, she
would win." Oren steps towards the door, but looks back at
Minerva. "Don't eat Elise."

"Well," she
says, "Either I'm not a vampire, in which case everything's
fine, or I **am** a vampire, in which case--" she raises her
hood again and waggles her fingers melodramatically at Oren, "lock
your dooooooooooor tonight, Oreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen!"

She
steps into her room and closes the door behind her.

Oren looks
at Eliam, concerned. "If it makes you feel any better, we can
bar the door," he says in response.

"Yes. Elise
could be one of them too..."

"Vampires don't sleep
at night, do they? They sleep during the day," Eliam says,
trying to prove Minerva's point.

Oren nods as they walk in
together.

Eliam takes a bed, immediately falling
asleep. Oren retreats to the bathroom to clean his clothes, and falls
asleep as well soon after.

### **Votig Makes a Friend in the Arena**

An old orc with a grey beard
hobbles near to Votig. He squints at Votig as he meditates and nods
at seeing the brief look of disappointment on the dwarf's face. As
Votig lays back on the ground, the old man approaches and kneels next
to him.

With a cracking voice, the old man says, "You
seem to be at peace. Strange sort of feeling to have in
here."

"Well, me friends managed a way outta here,
so I don't have ta worry about protectin' them in the mornin'. And
I've never been more at ease then in a fightin' match."

The
old man pokes Votig's bicep. "Courage, yes. Strength, too.
Clarity of purpose. All the things a future Redeemed needs." He
chews his mouth slowly, as though masticating his words. "Of
course, if I can see that... the others in the arena will not be far
behind. You're a target. You know that, I trust?"

"Aye.
The only dwarf in a cage of orcs, it'd be strange if I
wasn't."

"Oh-ho-ho," he laughs. "And
delusions, yet besides? Well, perhaps that will be your card to play.
I doubt any of the people in here will pity you, though. I'd not rely
on that if you can avoid it."

"That's fine, I'm not
lookin' for pity. I either win, or I don't. Doesn't matter how they
feel about that. But why are ye here? Not often ya find an old man
locked up with criminals."

He chortles a little. "Ah,
well... I suppose I'm a criminal, too. Or at least, that's what they
said when they found me at the scene. In truth, I discovered the
murders and called for help, but, well... You get to a certain age
and no one believes you anymore.”

He slowly, gradually, sits
down on the sands next to Votig and leans back until he's laying down
next to him. "I'll be dead this time tomorrow. I've made peace
with that. It's a shame the real killer will never be found."

"Seems
like that happens a lot. My friend was also accused of a murder he
didn't commit."

"So you say," he answers.
"Well, we all are, sooner or later, I suppose. Keeps us honest
and helps us pay for the crimes we \*did\* do. I remember, as a boy,
stealing the juiciest klemps from Jillith's tree. Been waiting to pay
for that one. Although, really, I always thought I paid for it
whenever she made those wonderful pies with the second-best fruits.
What could have been, my boy. What could have been..." He stares
wistfully at the skyglyph, mind racing to a younger age.

"Now,
as for you," he says, suddenly more alert. "You may win.
You may not. But you've got as good a chance as any to get out of
here, I think. Do you see yourself winning?"

The dwarf
nods. "Aye, I do. Too much left for me ta do ta die
here."

"Well said," he responds. "Maybe I
just like underdogs, but... I will enjoy watching you tomorrow. Well,
I will enjoy watching you for the first minute or two until I'm dead.
So tell me: what were you trying to do a moment ago, your eyes closed
and your hands to the ground?"

Votig senses that this man
is old. He is old and weary and worn. He has lost much and accepted
his death, and he just wants to be helpful one last time. "Just
tryin' ta get every little advantage I could. Too bad it fell
through. Blasted magic, ya? Never trusted it anyway."

"Hm.
Magic," he says slowly. "Never really held much stock in it
myself. Are you a mage, then?"

Votig laughs heartily.
"Hah! A mage? No, lad, no. I'm not one fer fancy spells and
readin' books. Though to tell ya the truth, I'm not sure what I am
anymore."

The old man snorts. "You're a short,
deformed orc with delusions of combat victory and giant muscles. I
think that's why I like you, son. Now, how were you planning on
getting to your magic without spells and books? Just ask for it very
nicely?"

"Dwarf,” he corrects him. “I'm no orc.
And maybe, if that would work. I've never needed a book for it
before, not when I can feel it all around me, in the earth
itself."

"Oh-ho," he chortles. "Now, you
are an interesting one. So you can feel magic in the earth, you say?"
He rubs his chin. "How fascinating."

"Ya, maybe
I can. It's complicated, lad."

The old man chortles to
himself as he mulls over Votig's words. Finally, after an immense
pause, he exhales and says, "Nothing is complicated. You either
do things or you don't, and you deal with the consequences after. You
either use magic or you don't. Now, you. Are you going to find your
magic or are you going to take the easy road out?"

Votig calms himself and steadies his
mind.

His consciousness races through his spirit into the deep
earth below him. It follows the flow of aether through the ground.
Votig traces its path, joining it, traveling with it. How long his
thoughts remain submerged beneath the surface, he cannot say, but the
longer he remains, the more comfortable and attuned to the earth he
feels. Finally, he feels at peace with this small facet of his
power.

The old man smiles. "So?"

Votig leaps up from his sitting
position, his arms glowing golden with his newfound power. He lands
on the ground, striking out with his fists and smashing the sands
beneath him. The grit explodes away from him, cracks of earthen power
reaching in spidery patterns from the point of contact.

The
orcs around the arena are looking at Votig. Some wear looks of
concern. Others, irritation. Others, with resolve.

"Well,
that wasn't so bad! Think a few o' them might change their minds
about comin' after me, ya?" Votig laughs loudly, fully
relaxed.

The old man nods. "Yes. And a few more will come
against you altogether. I'm not sure I'd have shown off my power but
I admire your bravado."

"No reason to hide anythin'.
They'll all know tomorrow when the first orc dies."

He
laughs out loud at this, a fully belly laugh that lasts longer than
you would have expected. "Indeed, indeed.

The old man thinks for a long moment.
“Well," he says finally. "I wish you the best of luck.
Will you be sleeping? I will. I'd rather die in my sleep than in the
battles tomorrow so if one of them ambushes me, I could care less
tonight."

"Aye, might as well. Don't want to be
tired first thing."

He nods, somewhat sadly. "Yes...
Yes, you're probably right. Good luck, then, stranger," he says.
He lays his head back on the sand and closes his eyes. Within half an
hour, he is asleep.

Votig rests near the old man.

### **The Group Plans to Retrieve Votig**

A few hours
pass. Back at the hotel, Minerva is rapping on Eliam and Oren's door.
"Hey," she hisses. "Time to get up." Night has
yet to pass, though the western sky is ever so slightly lighter than
the eastern.

"Five more minutes," Eliam yells
through the door.

Minerva hits the door a little more
forcefully and calls back, "Fine! But you'd better be dreaming
about how we save Votig!" You hear her footsteps move away from
the door.

Eliam sighs, begrudgingly pulling back the covers.
He stands to open the door for her, but she has already walked away.
Annoyed, he leaves to clean himself up in the small time he
has.

Oren gets dressed and waits quietly for Eliam before
leaving their room. Finally, the bard reappears.

"Good morning," Oren says
to him.

Elise steps around the corner. "Good morning,"
she says idly. Time in Thirshalon has been good to her. Her face has
more colour and she seems more alert than before.

She and Oren
advance toward each other and meet in the middle of the room.

"Oh...
um, good morning," Eliam greets her awkwardly.

She
regards Oren briefly, then says, "I'm sorry I never told you
about my power. I hate it and wish I didn't have it, but I do. I
don't want people to know about it because they'll think I'm a
freak."

"That makes sense,” he says calmly. “Don't
worry about it. We're not mad, we just don't want you to get
hurt."

"I... look. I'm sorry,” Eliam adds. “We...
I was kind of a jerk to you. I probably took it too far."

Oren
leans down and hugs her, whispering, "He was really worried
about you." He leaves to find Minerva, closing the door behind
him.

Elise looks at the bard after Oren's hug, her head tilted
slightly. "I... see. Thank you."

Eliam offers his
hand for a handshake. "Friends?"

"We should
probably all eat," she says. "Yes," she adds, shaking
Eliam's hand. "I would like that. Come on. Let's get breakfast
with the others and we can figure out how we're going to save Votig
and Chompy in the pit."

"Yes, please,” Eliam
answers cheerfully. “I think we're both starving."

Elise
arrives in the motel's dining area and sees breakfast just beginning
to be made. There are a few muffins laid out from the previous day,
so she takes a handful and drops them on a table. Minerva is floating
around in the lobby, and so she signals her over.

Eliam takes a handful of muffins
himself, placing them in front of himself as he takes a seat.

From
the pile, Oren takes a muffin. "Maybe we should talk upstairs?
We don't want anyone to listen to our conversation."

Elise
closes her eyes. "Aside from the man in the kitchen, there are
no footsteps within three rooms. No one in the hallway. The window is
cracked open so I can tell you that no one is outside,
either."

“That's good to know, I guess." Oren sits
down and begins picking at his breakfast.

She daintily takes a
bite of her own muffin, as if she has satisfied herself of
something.

Minerva takes a few bites of her food, then looks
around the table. "We need a plan," she says. "Anyone
got one?"

"I think so,” Eliam says between bites.
“Oren sounded like he had a plan last night."

"Eliam
throws fireballs and kills civilians, causing a panic while you and I
flood the arena,” he says. “Elise can get Votig out. Honestly I
don't think it's a very good plan, and you probably don't want to
kill anyone.”

"I mean... I'm not going to be **trying**
to kill civilians. It's just to cause chaos so we don't get noticed,"
the bard clarifies.

Oren shrugs. "There's not much
difference, but I guess. They're civilians, but remember they're
people who got up early to get good seats to watch innocent men fight
to the death."

Minerva sets her elbows on the table,
folds her hands, and rests her chin on them. "There is a big
difference between killing them and distracting them."

Oren
folds his arms. "That's why you're in charge of ethics, I
guess."

She tilts her head at his words. "I mean...
yeah, they're getting up to watch people fight to the death, but it's
not like they have a choice."

"They could choose to
abolish their barbaric customs," he argues.

"And be
thrown in the ring next time for fighting back?" Minerva says.
"I don't recall you being keen on fighting orcs willingly back
in Sylvatir," she adds with a wry smile.

"Because I
didn't want to be a murderer, but now I am so what's the difference?”
Oren leans back in his chair. “These people are just as bad as the
folks in Sylvatir who allow themselves to be oppressed by the Rorgh;
I don't see a Lyriad out there resisting this. Every person is
perfectly fine with it, not horrified and going along with it
reluctantly.”

"Hey... for what it's worth, we're not
really murderers,” Eliam adds quietly. “We've been acting in
self-defense.”

As Elise begins a thousand-yard stare out the
window, she chimes in, "We've been here, like, a week. It's not
as though we know what the majority of orcs want on this
world."

"Well I think saving Votig is worth killing
all of them,” Oren decides. “But maybe we can call it plan B for
if he starts to lose the fight. We could just help him more
subtly."

"Okay," Minerva says. "You seem
to have some sort of idea, so what do we do?"

"I
don't know, hide and shoot the strongest orcs we see? Maybe use magic
to make Votig stronger, or heal him if he's hurt..."

Elise
airily says, "I didn't know you had learned ranged healing
magic. That's wonderful."

"Speaking of,” Eliam
says, leaning towards the mage and dropping his voice to a whisper.
“You promised I wouldn't have any scars."

"Oh, yes," Elise says as
the wind carries the quiet words to her, "How did that happen?"

"What time does the deathmatch
start?" Oren asks, as he inspects Eliam's face. "You're
fine, I said it would heal. You didn't get an infection, luckily.
It's fine."

Minerva says, "It's supposed to begin an
hour after sunrise... officially. A lot of the criminals tend to just
start as soon as the sun comes up." She shrugs. "At least,
that's what I've been hearing from travelers on the road."

Eliam
sighs as Oren examines him. "Well... if you say so." He
looks at Elise, surprised. "Oh... right. We had a run in with
some kind of cult. You didn't hear anything about weird cults while
you were traveling, did you?"

"Not so much as a peep,"
she answers.

"Maybe it'll heal," Oren
continues to poke at the scar.

"Wait, *maybe*?"
Eliam asks, suddenly concerned.

"I think scars heal, I
don't know,” Oren says, exasperated. “I didn't expect you to go
untreated for a week, but you healed yourself with magic so maybe
that's as good as it gets. You could try cutting it open again and
healing it..." he looks down at his own scarred arms, seeing if
he gained any new wounds. His wrists are covered in marks from
previous cuts, but there are no new marks.

"I... I think
I'm good, thanks,” the bard sighs. “Maybe people will think it's
cool. They just had to arrest us then, didn't they?"

Ignoring
him for the moment, Oren looks at Elise. "Do you have healing
potions? My master used to make all sorts of potions, maybe we can
toss a few to Votig. We just have to figure it out." He hugs
Eliam with one arm, patting his shoulder. "You look handsome.
Right, girls? You're both attracted to him, right?"

Eliam
rests his head on the table. "You don't have to answer that."
Oren rubs his back, trying to comfort him.

Minerva drinks
deeply from a glass of water. "Wasn't planning on it."
Elise does nothing.

The western sky continues to
lighten.

"So, potions that make a person stronger exist,
and healing potions...” Oren says. “But, those are
expensive..."

Elise blinks a few times, then looks back
at Oren. "I had a few, but they're gone now."

"Do
you know how to get healing potions? Or make them?” Oren asks. “We
might not have time... we should probably go soon if we're going to
flood the arena."

Elise shakes her head. "Not on
such short notice. And the plants here might be completely
different."

"Yeah, they are,” Oren confirms.

"Do
you have any money to buy some?” Eliam asks. “Though I guess the
shops won't be open today.”

Minerva nods, then scratches her
chin. "... So we wouldn't necessarily have to **buy**
some..."

"Oh! Wait, maybe we'll be lucky today!"
Eliam quickly stands, running up to his and Oren's room.

"No
crime, they're really harsh about that here,” Oren warns her.
“Eliam got arrested for **being assaulted**. Hey Elise, do you
have your staff? I want to mark it. It's a long story but it's not
marked, but I can fix that, sorry."

"O-oh. Yes, I
have it," she says. "It's upstairs. I can go get it."
As she reaches the stairs, Eliam runs by her, dumping the sacks
Minerva handed him the previous night onto the table.

In the first bag, there is only a
rolled up sleeping bag. "Well... this will be good for later,
maybe," Eliam says, disappointed.

A flint and tinder
falls onto the table as the second bag is overturned. Minerva looks
at it disdainfully. "I'm better."

On the table are
also a set of playing cards with unrecognizable symbols, a length of
coiled-up rope, and a healer's kit.

Reaching back into the
bag, Eliam finds a men's size powder blue shirt and a tan leather
vest. He grins, removing his bloody shirt and changing into the new
clothes immediately.

Elise returns with her staff and
carefully hands it to Oren. Then she looks over the bag. "Oh,"
she says, upon noticing the healer's kit. "May I keep that?"

"I
don't mind," Eliam says, waiting for Oren to give his approval.
He is distracted with marking the staff, so Elise quietly claims
it.

Minerva looks out the window with some apprehension and
sees the sky brightening yet. She nervously looks over the assembled
items. "Okay, well... I don't think much of this is going to
help us immediately. The rope is a good find. Nice thinking,
Eliam."

"Thanks! But hey, you're the one who thought
to grab them,” he answers cheerfully.

Minerva stands up and
says, "Okay. I think we need to get going. We should pack up as
though we're not coming back here and make for the arena. Once we get
there, Oren can fill us in on exactly what we're going to do to help
Votig. Sound good?" she asks the blood mage.

"Sure."
He continues casting as he stands and walks outside.

Minerva
leaves the inn, hood raised, pack on, daggers securely sheathed, and
focused until Elise trails behind her. At some point in the last
week, she has gained a cloak very similar to Minerva's; it draws in a
little more like a healer's robe and it's white instead of dark like
Minerva's, but it has a hood as well.

Elise looks at Minerva
wearing her hood and goes to draw hers up as well, but it gets
tangled with the pack she's wearing over her shoulders. "No,
sweetie," Minerva says, freeing the hood and raising it so Elise
resembles her. "There. Now you look like a badass." Elise
giggles.

Oren's magic flares around him as he finishes marking
the staff. Elise's mouth opens and she raises a hand to take it. She
is a little teary-eyed upon taking it back.

The party leaves, heading once more to
the arena.

### **The Group Begins their Plan**

Votig stirs to the
dawning light as the old man sits beside him, already awake. He
regards the dwarf with disappointment, stands, turns his back, and
walks slowly a few paces away.

"Never give up, lad. Not
when ya have somethin' still to do." Votig stands. "Today
feels like a good day, not to die, but to live."

The old
man nods, "Yes... I am sure it does, with muscles and magic like
yours. Best of luck to you, little one." He shuffles over to
wall and sits against it.

There is the sudden sound of a
cannon. The orcs look up and see the crowd beginning to swell.

"How
‘bout ya have some faith in that maker of yers? Go find a nice spot
away from the action. Yer not done yet."

He taps the wall
and looks at Votig incredulously. "How much further do you think
I can get?" He says, "That cannon means the event starts in
twenty minutes. Of course, a bunch of them will start early just out
of nerves and tension. Best be prepared."

"I've been
ready for years," the dwarf says confidently.

Outside the
arena, the party hears the cannon.

There are lines of orcs
making their way toward the judgment grounds.

"So,”
Eliam asks, looking at Oren. “How are we doing this?"

"Why
do you think I know?" Oren asks nervously.

He shrugs. "It
was your plan, so I kind of assumed."

Oren pulls everyone
towards him, and drops his voice to a whisper. "We... should...
go to the river and... I think Minerva said she could cut the
stone... maybe we can connect to that tunnel she already made.
Minerva, how long would that take?"

"Wait, Minerva
has a tunnel in the arena?” Elise asks. “When did you do
that?"

"Last night,” Oren answers, quickly trying
to cover for her. “She went to talk to Votig about the
plan.”

Minerva looks at Oren with an exasperated sigh.
"Let's talk about that later. It took me about five minutes to
burn my way through the outer wall last time... It depends on how
thick the wall bordering the water is. I won't know until I go there
and try. Five, ten minutes? Fifteen?"

"Maybe we
should go do that. Elise and Eliam can stay and try to help
Votig."

"Works for me," Eliam says.

"If
you think we should flood it,” Oren tells him, “just start
throwing fireballs. We'll hear the screams. If we have trouble, we'll
say so and Elise will hear us."

“Elise, you'll have to
focus pretty hard to hear us amongst all that din," Minerva
says. "Do you think you can do it?"

Elise nods. "My
friends are counting on me. I'll do it."

Oren gives Minerva a look, silently
asking if Elise is up to it. He kisses Eliam on the cheek, and the
bard pulls him into a hug. “Don't get arrested,” Oren tells him,
“but if you do, save Votig first.” He pulls back, and looks at
Elise. “Oh, and keep her out of trouble. Don't listen to Minerva;
these people deserve to die, okay?”

Minerva folds her arms
resolutely. "All right. Oren, lead on. You seem to have an idea
of what to do."

Elise looks at the clouds briefly
but immediately shakes herself and looks down. Intense concentration
and focus are etched onto her face.

Oren leads Minerva to the
river, while Elise and Eliam follow the throng into the
arena.

Minutes pass. Within the arena, a few orcs begin
savaging each other. None have braved Votig's direction yet.

Votig is sitting out the early
skirmishes so far. He stares up at the stands, now nearly full, and
watches as the dawning sunlight splits the crisp air.

Oren and Minerva continue to where the
water meets the arena. They arrive on a walkway that extends around
the outer edge of Asle Lenor's walls. As they begin to travel along
it, they move out over the edge of the water. There is no security to
be seen; they must all be concerned with guarding the interior of the
building, not its seaward edge.

"Could you connect to the
tunnel you already made?” Oren asks. “Would that be hard?"

"The
tunnel I made was only on the other side of the building, and that
just connected to maintenance pathways and old sections of the
infrastructure that had worn into disrepair. I could try to melt a
new hole and get to maintenance on this side but really, it's just
blind luck," she answers.

Oren kneels down, studying the
water. Minerva leans against a stone support pillar, the wind blowing
at her hood.

"Maybe if we damage the wall we can just...
move...the water in... and collapse it, killing everyone. That would
work, right?" He stands, and looks at Minerva. "This plan
is terrible, why didn't you tell me that? This won't help Votig at
all." He flops down and stares into the river, trying to figure
out the plan.

She sighs. "Oren, Votig made his choice
when he stayed behind in the pit. I don't want anything to happen to
him but I think he has something to prove... and I think to him,
dying while trying to prove it is more important than living without
doing so."

"I should have told him to come with us,”
Oren says quietly. “He didn't need to stay.” She steps forward
and pats his shoulder while he talks. "So should we flood the
arena? All of Thirshalon is in there, we could kill them all If Votig
starts to lose. It'll be worth it if he'll die anyway, right? Elise
and Eliam will run after he lights it on fire, so they'll be safe and
they know it's coming."

Minerva gazes at the high arena
walls where the majority of the crowd noise is coming from. "Well...
we could kill the fighters. There's no way the water's getting up to
the crowd."

"If we raise it up, we can, we just need
to make a tsunami." Oren removes his shirt and books, and hands
her his arcane device. “Don't lose this, and don't get it wet.”
Minerva places the arcane device around her neck and tucks it into
her vest, and the mage drops down into the river below the
walkway.

He clenches to resist the coming cold but is
surprised to find he feels oddly comfortable. Oren treads water,
somewhat uncomfortably at first. He begins to move side to side and
finds himself more at ease than he expected. As the water surrounds
him, he begins to feel the aether within the water. It embraces him,
welcoming him, and he finds that he begins to understand it. This
water is not frightening. This water is not foreign. This is just
blood, running through the veins and channels carved into the face of
Thirshalon. He knows this, and it knows him. He has been invited in,
and he takes succor in its envelopment. He treads water quietly,
closing his eyes.

Elise and Eliam have entered the stands.
They take a seat toward the nosebleeds. Elise begins searching the
arena for signs of Votig.

"Hear anything?" Eliam
asks.

She sits and closes her eyes tightly. Her expression
looks somewhat pained. "Literally everything. Can you be more
specific?"

He shrugs. "I was hoping you heard Votig
I guess. But uh... wow, yeah, this place must be awful for you."

She
pulls the hood tighter around her head. "It's fine. You're like
my family now. You're worth it. Now let me concentrate."

"Awwww
hey!" he says happily, placing his hand on her shoulder. "But
uh... look, before anything happens and we start the plan, try to
remember where the exit is. If- *if* things go bad- help me,
obviously, but if you don't think you can, try to walk confidently
out to Oren and Minerva. They're less likely to stop you if you look
like you know where you're going and you're not in a hurry. But trust
me, you don't want to end up in there with Votig."

She
nods, and listens. A few minutes pass, and she shakes her head.
"Nothing. If he's alive still, he's being completely silent. Did
you spot him?"

He stands to get a better view, surveying
the arena. "Oh! I see him. He's over on the east side. He looks
like he's still alive, at least."

A cannon fires. The
Judgment is set to begin.

### **The Judgment Begins**

Oren climbs out of the
river. "Maybe we should damage the wall?”

She taps the
wall and stops to consider the current. "If I start, the water
will begin rushing to fill the space. If it does that, we might not
be able to stop it. Or I could be wrong and it might withstand it.
It's a gamble. Should we try?"

"Can we weaken it so
that when we want to, we just tap it and the whole thing goes? Then
I'll move the river so it fills it up." He reties his boots.

"We can try," she says nervously. "Once we
pass a certain point, though, the water will take over and we can't
stop it after that. The only question is when that point is."

"Well
we don't want to hear explosions and then spend twenty minutes
chipping away... we can just do a little damage to one spot and see
what happens. Worst case we drown Votig, but he'd probably not mind
dying if it means we kill all the orcs. They're basically elves, and
he hates those guys."

He thinks as he buttons his shirt.
"Eliam would mind dying. Hopefully he gets out."

Minerva looks at Oren dubiously but nods. "Okay." She
closes her eyes, and draws in and holds a deep breath. A red aura
overtakes her, and her eyes blaze crimson when they reopen. She spins
one dagger and it glows with a blinding white light. The heat
radiating off it is tangible. She kneels, slips the dagger into the
stone, melting it as she goes, all the way up to the hilt. She lets
out the breath, and a burst of fire magic rips outwards from the
dagger, searing the stone and softening it. Minerva's work has
begun.

"So... you guys followed a pilgrimage to get here,
huh? That sounds neat!” Eliam says, retaking his seat by
Elise.

"It was," Elise answers. "We traveled
mostly by night to avoid as many people as we could. Minerva didn't
want to talk to too many people until we had a chance to observe and
learn any new customs. That part was my job. She asked me to listen
in since I could hear them from far away." She shrugs a little.
"It was nice to be helpful."

"Good news, then!
You're helpful here too. And hey,” he adds, “we finally get to
hang out!”

She opens an eye and considers him. "Yes."

"We
ended up in a town way over west,” Eliam continues, making
conversation. “Tried to pawn off the books we took from the church,
but we ended up getting sort of cheated on the gold. But hey, we'll
find more stuff to sell eventually I'm sure! Well, I guess you and
Minerva already have that covered though, from what she told us.
Thanks for taking care of the room at the inn by the way.”

She is strangely silent.

As
he goes to continue speaking, she holds a finger up to his lips.
"The... whoever he is, boss-person, he's speaking. They're
starting. They're about to throw things into the pit."

Eliam
nods, finally silent.

She taps his shoulder and points.
"There. There's a mage of some sort casting. I can hear him
chanting."

Across the arena in the seating on
the far side sits the leader Elise had referred to. There is a mage
surrounded with purple magic who is pushing his magic toward the
leader. The leader stands up, and his voice booms throughout the
arena.

"Blessings from our dear Maker be upon you all!"
A cheer rises from the crowd. "Today, we stand and wait for the
Maker's Judgment upon those who have sinned!" More roars. "The
first round of the Judgment will be as follows..."

He
holds up a purple coin, which barely anyone can see but everyone
figures out when he says, "These purple coins are your tickets
to survival! There are 428 criminals in the pit today! We will be
throwing in one of these purple coins for each of you 428 condemned.
They will fall to the sands and must be gathered. There are no rules
for how you gather them from the others," he adds, with a
slightly wicked tone to his voice. "Once you have ten, you may
walk to one of the barred gates surrounding the arena and present
them to the guards. You will be allowed to exit to the waiting room
for the second round."

He flips the coin forward. The
sunlight shines off it as it falls, spinning, until it embeds itself
into the sand.

Where the coin lands, three orcs immediately
begin beating each other.

"Just got to get 20 coins
then, ya? Not too hard," Votig says casually to the old man.

The old guy looks at him, his mouth working silently. "My math
must be faulty," he finally says. "He said you needed
**ten**."

Coins begin to shower into the arena. They
fall at random, but as soon as they fall, a great roar fills the
arena as orcs begin to battle.

Three coins fall near Votig and
the old man. The elder orc lunges at one, then recoils from the dwarf
fearfully.

"Aye, we'll see lad. Just don't grab any, no
reason to make yerself a target early."

He looks at Votig
and shakes his head. "Nine more. Nine more..." Casually,
Votig grabs the other two coins, and tosses them back to him.

"Hey... Votig's going to
survive this thing, right?" Eliam asks nervously to Elise.

Her
eyes remain closed. She says to Eliam, "He... he's trying to
gather twenty. Do you think he heard wrong?"

"I... I hope not. I-- wait,
what?” He stammers, as he sees the dwarf throw his coins. “He's
giving his coins away. I think he went crazy without us."

Oren
runs his hand through the waters of the river, sitting on the edge of
the walkway. His eyes are closed, as he tries to understand it as
best he can.

An orc spies the old man and sees the three coins
in his hand. He charges the elder.

Votig sprints in front of
the old man, crouched low. The orc slows up short, seeing the dwarf
appear before him, but his moment's hesitation was all that Votig
needed. He charges into the orc, landing a full body blow that
collapses four of the organs in his chest cavity. The orc does not
move after falling to the ground. Two purple coins fall to the
sands

Votig retrieves them, and tosses the coins back to the
elderly man once more. "When does the real fightin'
start?"

"Now!" the orc shouts, pointing
upwards. The guards are throwing a variety of items into the arena.
Some are weapons. Some are armour. Some are personal possessions. The
chaos breaks loose again.

Votig looks up and notices a vial
falling toward him, which he catches carefully. Some manner of
magical liquid sloshes about inside, but he is unable to identify
it.

An orc runs toward Votig, shouting orders at another.
"Hey! That's the threat, we saw him last night. Him and his
buddy who kept us all from sleeping! Get 'em both!"

In
response, Votig throws the vial in their direction. The thunder vial
shatters on the ground with a concussive **whomph**. The sheer
volume of the vial overwhelms both orcs, knocking them flat to the
ground. The noise causes many nearby orcs to look over.

The
orcs struggle to stand to their feet. When they do, Votig and the
orcs begin to brawl. The old man hovers at the edges of the battle.
He is uncertain what to do. Votig's punch cracks against the side of
the orc's head. He drops to the ground, lifeless, blood oozing into
the sands. The second orc collapses under the dwarf's furious blows.
His body lands against the sands with a mundane finality. A single
purple coins escapes his grasp and falls to the ground.

More
items fall from the sky. A woolen blanket twists in the air and lands
a few feet away from Votig.

"Where was this last night,
right lad?" The dwarf chuckles, and flips the coin once more at
the old man as he checks out the blanket.

The older man picks up the coin with a
slightly quivering lip. He now has six coins.

The leader, from
high atop the arena, shouts, "Glorious combatants, be bathed in
the Maker's glory!" He extends his hands, and a small ball of
magic, like a small sun, hovers above the arena. It begins to shine
rays of light down to the ground. One of the rays shines on Votig,
who is surrounded by a white aura when the sunbeam fades.

A
confident orc swaggers over to him, carrying a hatchet.

"Let's
compare our gifts from the guards!" he sneers. "Hatchet
versus blanket!"

Votig smiles grimly. He waits until the
orc comes close and then catches the hatchet with the blanket. He
wraps up the orc's weapon, then snaps the blanket back to throw the
hatchet away. At the orc's shocked expression, he shouts, "How
bout we compare our gifts from the maker. My fist, versus yer head.”
The orc staggers back as Votig's blows knock him against the
sands.

The orc rolls in the direction of the hatchet and
whirls around, his arm swinging in a wide arc and whipping the weapon
through the air. It whistles at it spins, and the blade crashes into
Votig's chest. The aura, with a sound like breaking glass, shatters,
knocking the hatchet to the ground.

"Well how 'bout
that?" Votig assaults the orc with a devastating right hook. He
falls to the sands, a look of shock on his face. He drops 2 purple
coins.

Votig picks up the coins and the axe, and delivers them
to his newfound friend. "Ya know how to use this thing? Ya know,
just in case."

He recoils slowly, still not quite
believing what is happening.

Elise is nervously on
tenterhooks. She is watching Votig carefully, gasping with each hit
and cheering for each of his successes. Eliam clutches her arm,
watching the match with bated breath.

The leader shouts, "Oh,
our dear sweet Condemned. How fiercely you fight for your coins. How
desperately you struggle for freedom. **The Maker is merciful!**"

The guards throw another round of
items into the arena. A tiny brown bag lands beside Votig with a
thud. He picks it up and looks through it, finding a small jar of
honey. "Ah, if only we had some bread."

The old man regards him suspiciously,
then shakes his head. "No, you've done too much for me." He
tosses some bread, which Votig catches. "I saved some."

Votig
shrugs, dips the bread in and eats. He feels a little steadier on his
feet. The food is helping him recover from his week of
starvation.

An orc approaches hastily from around the edge of
the wall. He carries a dagger and a buckler. There is blood smeared
across his torso. He has clearly been engaged in battles and has been
successful. Before Votig can respond. he has attacked. They exchange
blows, when suddenly the orc kicks forward off the sand, harder and
faster than Votig expects on shifting ground. The dwarf blinks, and
the orc's dagger has slashed across his belly.

"Should we
do something?" Eliam asks.

"What do you suggest?" Elise
replies.

"Sending the signal, I mean,” he clarifies.
“Can you hear anyone guarding the exit?"

She closes her
eyes. "There are guards everywhere.”

Votig's blow
clangs against the orc's buckler and cracks it. He throws it away
just as Votig makes a follow-up attack. The blow blasts him
backwards, where he collapses on the sand next to the old man.

"I
mean, watching the exits specifically. If we shoot and make a run for
it, it'd be better if we didn't get stopped by patrols, or if they
don't let people back outside or something.” Eliam looks around
nervously.

The old man leans down and picks up the final two
purple coins he needs to make a set. He looks at Votig and holds out
the ten coins. "I'm not so far gone as to not recognize the good
works of another. You deserve these. I've done nothing."

"Gettin' another ten should be easy enough," Votig says
as he refuses the offer.

The old man's eyes well with tears.
"Y... you're a good man."

Elise says, "Do you really
think we can shoot and get away with it?" She eyes the crowd.
"This is sacred to them. If we intervene, do you really think
the crowd all around us will let us go?"

Eliam closes his
eyes and thinks for a moment. “Probably not... but we couldn't
really think of a better plan. Though we could just... go outside.
And tell them without trying to distract the crowd. Assuming they'll
let us just leave. I'm not sure the crowd needs a distraction for the
flood to be effective, and it'll be better if we're all together if
they find us"

Elise nods. "You're not wrong... Let's
try that." She looks at Votig. "Be safe, Votig." She
stands up and begins to walk away, Eliam following closely
behind.

The old man clasps Votig's hand in the pit. "A
good man, but a better friend. I expect you to meet me in the rest
room."

The old man turns and walks toward the gate. Votig
escorts him, making sure no one tries to cause him trouble. The old
man holds out the ten purple coins for the guards to see. The guard
looks, sneers, and then says to Votig, "Back away. We will not
open the gate for him until you are separate from him."

"Oh
don't worry, I'll be back." Votig turns and walks away, scanning
the ground for his things.

The gate opens, and a moment later
it closes. Immediately, there is a scream of pain and the guard
yelling. "Did you really think we'd be so stupid? You didn't
earn a single coin on your own." The guard punches the old man
in the mouth, hard, a second time. The old man spits teeth out onto
the ground.

"I... but I have... I have..."

The
guard smashes a knee into his stomach. "You have a deformed poor
excuse for an orc who took pity on you, just like any woman you've
ever been with in your long, miserable life has." The old man is
coughing and wheezing on the ground. "You have ten coins. You
just don't have any respect." He looks at the other guards.
"You. Take him to the rest room. If he walks too slowly...
**convince** him to move more quickly."

The guard
turns around to look at Votig. "**What?** Got a
problem?"

"No problem here,” the dwarf says,
looking him in the eye. “Just remembering yer face. I can't wait
for next year’s Judgment, though, after I win this one and then get
locked back up fer killin' you and yer family." He spits at the
ground near the guard, and goes back to his search.

The orc
narrows his eyes at Votig, then looks at one of his guards. He
whispers something, and the guard takes off at a run, disappearing
around a corner.

Meanwhile, Minerva withdraws her dagger from
the stone. Great slabs of brick and stone slough off the building.
There is a massive hole a dozen feet around and perhaps fifteen feet
deep melted into the building. The water from the river is rushing in
and circulating around, carrying bits of sediment and worn stone with
it. Steam erupts in clouds where the water touches the heated
building.

She steps back and wipes the sweat from her brow. "I
think that's it," she says. "The water will do the rest
sooner or later at the rate it's moving. Whether it begins to flood
in twenty minutes or two hours... I don't know. But it'll
happen."

"Let's wait for the signal, I guess,”
Oren says. “Are you okay?"

She looks at the rushing
water, then stares at the hole she's made, as though looking through
it at Votig. "You'd better live through this, Votig... well,"
she says, turning back to the mage, "I had a conversation with a
friend last night and made peace with the idea that he was committing
himself to dying and was resolved to figure out how to honour his
memory. Then I was told that someone had a plan to save him and got
my hopes up. Now I've realized that the plan involves using me to
flood the place he's fighting and almost certainly drowning him so...
we went from him dying on his own, to us saving him, to me killing
him so...

"Yeah. I've been better.” She sighs and
shakes her head. "I'm sorry. It's not your fault. Or mine. Or
anyone's. It's just what happened."

"It's me killing
him, not you, don't worry,” he says comfortingly. “I left him
there. But he could have left if he wanted to."

"I
just hate being so powerful and yet so power**less.**"

"I
understand, but don't worry about it. We just have to wait and see."
Oren pats the walkway near where he's sitting at the edge of the
water. “Come here.”

Minerva walks over and sits, watching
the sun rise over the water.

"Maybe he'll be fine,"
Oren says, running his hand through the water. He looks back at the
hole in the wall, admiring her work. "Maybe you should... become
a miner or something. You could dig up gems and gold."

"Maybe,"
she says, smiling sadly, "assuming I don't melt everything
valuable. Can you melt gems?"

"I don't know,
probably not. You could be rich."

"Well, let's keep
that as a backup plan, I guess."

"Yeah,” Oren
agrees. “Though if you succeed at taking over Sylvatir I guess
you'll be a queen right? That'll be nice."

"What?"
she says, brows furrowed in puzzlement. "Who said I ever wanted
to take over? That sounds awful."

"I thought that's
what you wanted, to destroy the Elyde?"

"Yes, and
then replace them with a responsible elected government that answers
to the people. I'm just trying to end the corruption and stop the
Rorgh from beating up the world. I don't want to rule it."

"Oh
okay, that's good." He thinks for a moment. “Then what? Are
you going back to Tezef?"

She shrugs. "Not much left
for me there. Maybe I'll go back to Saloria and try to help clean up
the mess we made there."

"That's a good idea, we
should fix the Wellspring if we can. I know Votig didn't like it but
he was wrong to break it."

She nods. "We took magic
from a lot of people. Healers, especially. I can't imagine how many
people are dying right now because of us."

"Yea...
well, we saved it. It really shouldn't have pushed him in though. I'm
sure we'll find a way to fix it. I have a book about the Wellspring,
though it's about to get wet. We can go find another book if we need
to once we get to Sylvatir. Lots of books where I lived, there's
probably a few that can help us."

"Well, I'll be
counting on you, Oren," she says. "Now come on."
Minerva hops back up to her feet. "Let's get out of here in case
the walkway collapses from the waters rushing in."

"Have
you heard any explosions?” Oren asks, following her. “Eliam is
supposed to start casting fireblast on the spectators, if Votig
loses. Maybe it's going well."

Minerva leads him to where
the walkway meets the land, and he steps back onto solid soil. There
is nothing left to do now but wait.

The leader's voice
resounds from the stands far above Votig. He raises four purple bags
above his head. "Wonderful! Wonderful, blessed competitors. We
thank you for the gift of your lives which you offer to the Maker.
And the Maker, in turn, blesses you in response! Behold!" He
waves the bags a little before the crowd, which turns gradually
silent at his movements. "The Maker's Favour! Within these bags,
you shall discover 10 purple coins. Exactly enough to be free of the
first round... of course, the fighting for them is sure to be
intense..."

The leader passes one of the bags to each of
three underlings, who run around the edges of the stands until they
stand in opposite quarters from him. At a nod from the leader, they
all throw a single bag into the arena. A purple bag lands with a soft
thud onto the sand. Orcs immediately dash for them.

Ten orcs
near Votig begin to close in on the purple bag. Twenty yards past
that group, there is a grey-skinned, muscled orc wearing Votig's
belt.

Votig ignores him; he has far more valuable items to
search for. He stays to the edge of the melee, laying low while the
other orcs are distracted. As he searches, he notices a pair of
purple coins half-buried in the sands near his feet.

A green
orc with well-defined legs comes charging at Votig. He comes flying
through the air with a dropkick the second he approaches. He narrowly
misses Votig and sends a dusting of sand into the air upon his
landing. The orc spins upon landing to lay into Votig with a whirling
kick but Votig steps into the attack and catches his jaw with a
mighty right hook. The orc smashes into the sand, but pushes himself
up before Votig can follow up.

The orc whirls his leg around
to sweep Votig's feet from under him. Votig leaps upward and the limb
swings beneath him. Votig has leapt over the orc's leg sweep. He
times his jump so that he comes down, fist first, on the orc's knee
while it is beneath him. The orc howls in agony as his kneecap
explodes from the force of Votig's blow.

The orc tries to push
up to his good leg but falters. He spits at Votig and attempts to
defend himself by raising his arms. With a well-aimed punch, the
orc's skull caves in as he lifelessly collapses to the ground. Votig
discovers three purple coins in his pockets.

Two orcs have spotted him
collecting coins from the kicking orc's corpse. They nod at each
other and advance on him. "That pile you have there would be
enough for us to get out together. How about you give them up?"

"Ya
need exactly this amount, eh?" he asks.

The second one
shrugs. "Well. Maybe. Could be more. Could be less. They might
take some of your teeth as payment, too. It's worth a try."

Votig looks at them, and swallows the
coins whole. “Well lads,” he burps, “yer gonna have to wait a
bit.”

One draws a knife. "I really don't think I
will."

Votig stoops to lift up the kickboxing orc. He
goes to begin swinging when the two orcs, seeing him encumbered, leap
in toward him. Votig attempts to launch the orc at the knife-wielding
orc and successfully does so, but before contact, that orc passes the
knife over to his partner.

Votig, turning with the momentum
from whirling and throwing the kickboxing orc, continues around until
he can punch the inside of the orc's arm opposite his elbow. The
force causes the orc's arm to begin to close. Votig ducks below the
blade's edge and then lands a blow on the base of the knife's hilt in
the orc's hand, driving it into the orc's chest. The orc sputters
blood, turning the sands crimson below his feet. He grasps at Votig
in his death throes but in doing so he spills four purple coins from
a pouch at his waist. Votig withdraws the knife from the orc's chest
to hasten his bleeding out. He turns to the other orc and says "those
coins ye got looks like enough for me ta get out. How 'bout ya hand
em over?"

The orc swallows two of his own coins. "T-those
were all I had. Guess we're both stuck here, now, aren't we? Maybe
we'd better just turn and walk away."

Votig dramatically
looks at the knife in his hand, then back to the orc. “I think not,
lad.”

He turns to run. Votig is faster.

As he moves,
Votig stumbles on the sands. It has been a long day of fighting on
too little sleep and food and his weariness is catching up to him. He
falls to one knee and looks up to see the orc running beyond the
group of orcs fighting over the purple bag. He puts the knife in his
pouch, keeping to the outskirts, trying to pick his battles.

### **The Group Changes the Plan**

While Votig has been
fighting, Eliam and Elise have exited the arena. They left their
seats okay since a lot of people thought they might be going to the
bathroom, but when they left the arena altogether they started to get
a few dirty looks.

Oren sits on the ground by the bank of the
river, his eyes closed. He alternates between meditating and falling
asleep, the calm sounds of the river beginning to affect
him.

Minerva keeps an eye toward the arena's entrance. When
she sees Eliam and Elise exit, she hurries over to them, calling for
Oren to join her.

Elise walks past her and straight to the
water's edge, where she sits down, cross-legged, closes her eyes, and
stays silently.

Minerva asks of Eliam, "How is
Votig?"

"Well... there's good news, and bad news,”
he reports. “He took some hits but seems to be doing alright. He
may actually win the damn thing. Looks like it's set up into rounds,
though? Whenever they collect enough coins, in this case, they go to
some small room within the arena. If Votig's in there when the river
breaks through, well..."

Minerva's eyes narrow. "Damned
if we do and damned if we don't. Why didn't he **come**?"

"Well...
maybe I can see where he is?” Eliam offers. “I mean, I found my
bow with magic, right? Maybe I can do the same thing for him to see
if he's okay or where he is? I don't, er, actually know what my
powers can do. But hey, it's better than nothing, right? But if we
know he's still outside in the arena, we'll have an idea of when to
break the wall down."

Oren notices the conversation, and
gets up to join them.

Minerva folds her arms. "Yeah,
that's... not really up to us anymore," she says quietly. "My
flame has left the wall heated and brittle. As the current rushing in
strikes it, it's breaking away bits of the wall, chunk by chunk.
Sooner later it's going to break through. I could go heat it up more
and speed it up, but I can't stop it or slow it down."

"Well...
that's still fine! I'm sure it's still fine. But maybe we can warn
him somehow?” Eliam says. “I was thinking, could we write him a
note and have Elise use the wind or whatever to send it over to
him?"

"That's a good idea" Oren nods, and
checks his pockets. "Do you guys have any paper or a pen?"

Eliam grins, pulling out a deck of cards.

"That
works."

Elise nods from the river, and begins to pull her
hands in front of herself. Where her fingers pass through the air,
the wind follows her. "I think I can."

"So...
please tell me someone has a pen, then," Eliam says.

Minerva
pats her pockets and shakes her head. Elise says nothing but
continues to play with the wind.

Wordlessly, Oren grabs for
Minerva's dagger.

She catches Oren's wrist. "We've been
over this. Ask."

Eliam looks at Oren, sighing as he
realizes the mage's goals. "He better be incredibly grateful for
this," he mutters.

"May I borrow your dagger?"
Oren says politely.

She lets go of Oren's wrist and draws it
for him. "Why, yes. How nice of you to ask first," she says
dryly.

"Well, technically, it's my dagger since you gave
it to me," he points out as he accepts it.

Minerva folds
her arms again and glares. "I guess I own your attitude, then,"
she mutters, "since you're giving me plenty."

Oren
cuts his finger and hands the dagger back to the rogue. "You can
borrow it."

"What should it say?" he asks
Eliam, as he takes a card.

"Good question... 'We're
flooding the arena, get ready' I guess?”

Oren writes it, but
his exhaustion causes him to ruin his normally neat penmanship.
"We're flooding thea rena," the card reads.

Eliam
hands him another card. "It's okay! That was just
practice."

Oren sighs, reaching for Minerva's dagger once
more, but stops short of actually grabbing it.

Minerva looks
at his outstretched hand. "Yes. It's very nice."

"Is
this really the time," Eliam says, annoyed.

She sighs.
"Someone has to teach him." She hands over the dagger. "And
it's still mine, you only ever borrowed it."

Oren takes
it, cutting his finger once more, and hands it back. He closes his
eyes to feel the water near him. He understands the flow of aether
through it, and connects that sense to understanding the flow of
blood through his body. He uses that feeling to guide the blood to
perfectly form the words "Flood coming" and "Good
luck" on the card.

"I was already taught good
manners,” he tells Minerva quietly, “but I think since we're
friends it's okay to be more intimate. If you would prefer me to be
polite, like I would be to a stranger, I can act that way from now
on."

She sighs. "I want you to be polite when you
try to grab something on my body. You can fart whenever you
want."

"I'll never touch you again then," Oren
says, disgusted.

Rolling his eyes, Eliam grabs the card and
takes it to Elise. Oren follows him, ignoring the rogue.

Elise
takes the card. She steps away from the water back toward the land
and kneels down. She plays with the wind and the card and attempts to
get used to the feeling of guiding it."Eliam, can you move away
a little? I'd like to practice sending you the card."

"Sure,”
he says, moving away. Oren steps aside so as not to interfere.

She
conjures a small flow of wind that carries the card ten feet. It
lands softly in Eliam's hand. Taking the deck of cards, she then
practices one by one with larger distances. She has trouble with
fifteen and twenty foot distances at first, but after a few minutes
she begins to get the hang of it. Soon she's able to target trees
from a distance, and though she never hits the same spot multiple
times, she manages to always land the hard within twenty feet of her
target.

She frets a little, "He'll have to be paying
attention to see it if it lands too far..."

"It's...
kind of a long shot, but maybe I can try to mess with the aether?
Make you stronger for a minute, so you can control it even better?”
Eliam offers. “Normally I just end up blocking aether in fights, so
it's that or I just take your magic away for a bit and this whole
plan falls apart. But, it looks like you wouldn't complain too much
if that happened anyways."

Elise nods. "Okay."
She picks up a card and creates a current of wind to suspend it in
the air. "Help me."

Eliam places his hand on Elise's
shoulder and closes his eyes. He breathes deeply and reaches out with
his mind to feel the aether surrounding him. He senses the strings of
aether that connect the Elise to the wind and the wind to the card.
He extends his magic to it, strengthening it. Elise's eyes glow
purple as she sends the card forward. It embeds itself in the trunk
of the tree.

"Don't do that to Votig," Oren
warns.

Minerva smirks. "Well, you did want to get his
attention..."

Elise says, "He **is** the
strongest of us. I'm sure he could shrug it off...”

"Better
not to test that one though, probably," Eliam adds.

"Okay,”
Oren says, “now you guys go watch and if he starts to lose, send
him the note and come tell us. You won't want to be in there when
the flood starts."

Eliam eyes the wall of the arena. "You
don't think you could just send it from here, do you?" he asks
hopefully.

Elise says, "I... could probably get it over
the wall but how would we know where to send it?"

"Go
inside and watch," Oren repeats.

"Fair enough.
Hopefully no one gives us trouble for walking in and out again,
then..." Eliam says nervously.

Elise stands and pockets
the card. She closes her eyes and takes a steadying breath, then
begins to walk back toward the entrance. Eliam walks with
her.

Minerva strolls over toward the trees to collect the
cards Elise had been practicing with.

Oren sits back down near
the water, closing his eyes once more.

### **The Group Tries the New Plan**

Votig begins to
feel uneasy. He is warm, he is very faintly sweating, and his stomach
feels slightly queasy.

An orc with leather armour and a
short sword is approaching Votig.

"Ya? What do ya want,”
he asks irritably. “I ain't got no damn coins."

He
advances. "Someone as strong as you, who lit up the whole arena
last night when I was trying to sleep? I think I'll kill you just
because you annoyed the hell out of me."

He slashes with
the sword, but Votig sidesteps and retaliates. The punch connects
with the orc's stomach and sends him backwards into a wall, but he
pushes off and prepares an attack of his own. He hits Votig, but the
dwarf steps forward and returns a flurry of punches. His fists rain
down on the orc as he backs against the wall. With each successive
blow, the facade of the wall behind the orc splinters ever so
slightly.

As Votig steps back, the orc falls to his knees.
Seven purple coins spill onto the sands.

Eliam and Elise
arrive back at their seats. She looks over the sand with a flushed
look. "Eliam... Eliam, I can't see him."

He
desperately searches but cannot see Votig, either.

"I...
I'm sure he's still there," he tells her, trying to sound
certain.

Votig collects the coins and uppercuts the orc's
chin. The orc's head snaps back and contacts the wall. The facade
continues to crack as he falls lifeless to the sand.

Votig
walks until he is immediately below the leader. He stays to the
outside and manages to avoid drawing attention to himself. As he
passes the leader, he angrily throws the dagger in his direction.

Eliam taps Elise's shoulder and points. Votig has been
spotted just below the leader's position.

"Are you
ready?" Eliam asks.

She nods. She withdraws the card
from her pocket and drops it on the ground. She points her fingers
downward so no one around her will notice what she is doing.

Her
winds begin to move the card. She asks, "Eliam, I'm ready if you
are. Help me?"

Eliam's control over the aether is
tenuous. Though he and Elise practiced, it is still a new skill. He
strengthens her power, but his bolstering is inconsistent. Though he
increases the range of Elise's winds, he cannot aid her
accuracy.

Elise manages to fly the card through the air all
the way to the opposite side of the arena where Votig is drawing his
knife. The card soars through the air, fifty feet above him, and she
is unable to coax it downward. It strikes the wall far above and the
winds subside, allowing it to drift downward.

Votig squints up
at the leader's seat and grabs his knife by the blade. His stomach
twists a little but he ignores it. He plants his feet and puts all of
his strength into a throw, whipping the knife upward.

The
knife whistles as it spins through the air. It whirls with tremendous
speed. Votig watches his throw with intense pride. He doesn't even
stop to care when a thin piece of fluttering debris is impaled by the
knife as it flies.

The knife makes it all the way up to the
leader's level. With a quavering thud, it embeds itself half a foot
from his head, sticking out of the chair. The card is attached to
it.

The leader pulls the knife from the card and rises to his
feet. He reads one side, turns it over, and reads the other. His
guards immediately surround him.

Within moments, the crowd has
realized what has happened. They shout and scream.

A few among
the thousands point at Votig and whispers break out amongst the
crowd. He has been identified.

Of the few dozen guards who
remained around the leader, all but two have disappeared, sprinting
down the steps and into the hallways behind the arena seats. The two
who remain are escorting the leader away from the arena.

The
leader stops and turns. He hears the whispers. He sees the pointing.
He sees Votig. He nods at the mages, who magnify his voice.

"It
seems the Maker has blessed us this year!" he shouts. "Two!
The Maker has asked for two people to go free!"

"Whoever
succeeds the Judgment will, as always, be free, proven by the Maker
to have been accused without reason. And," he adds, in a wicked
undertone, "Whoever brings the head of the deformed orc there--"
he points at Votig "--to the guards at the gates."

Eliam and Elise stay in their seats,
desperate to not attract attention to themselves.

The crowd
remains still. They are fascinated by the sudden bloodbath that is
about to begin.

A crowd of orcs advance on Votig. They move
slowly. All want his head. None want to be first.

Oren sleep-meditates by the river,
while Minerva idly shuffles the cards she collected. There is an
awkward silence between them.

With no warning, approximately
forty guards come streaming out of the entrance. Half are running
clockwise around the building, and the other half
counter-clockwise.

Five of the guards break off and run toward
Oren and Minerva. "You two! Come here,” they shout.

Oren
steps forward, joined by Minerva.

"Hello," he says
politely.

The guards approach and say, "You two need to
go inside right now. The matches have started and we need to secure
the perimeter."

"The water looks weird, you should
come look," he says, going to take Minerva's hand. She
instinctively pulls back, pockets the deck of cards she was
shuffling, and pulls her hand away. "I will be able to walk,
thank you. Officer, thank you for letting us know. My friend and I
will grab a drink and head inside. We would be happy to be supervised
by your men until we have entered the building if that is
acceptable."

The guard points at two of his men. "Get
them inside. You two, with me." He leaves with two of the
guards, leaving two more to look anxiously at Minerva and Oren. "Get
your drink," says one, "and get inside."

### **Oren Raises the River**

Minerva follows Oren to the
water's edge. "Okay, what was that about?" She asks once
they are out of earshot of the guards.

"Oh, I thought we
could drown them,” Oren answers.

Minerva hisses, "And
when the rest of the guards came back?!"

"We drown
them too, who cares," Oren says, exasperated. He leans down and
touches the water. He closes his eyes and pushes out his magic to
feel for the aether that runs through the water. Every current, every
ebb, every eddy, every tide, every flow, it all runs through him. He
sees it. He controls it. He is it.

Oren's magic begins to
entwine with the aether in the water and it obeys his direction. He
coaxes it to flow toward the wall, then to withdraw... then to gather
and press in again... then to ebb... and finally, the current rushes
all at once and smashes into the wall and through it, Oren's magic
and the might of the waves destroying what Minerva had begun all at
once.

Water begins to flood into the arena, a massive wave
twenty feet high beginning to wash over the sands.

Votig
stands and sighs. He shakes his head as he sees the collapsing wall
and the waters preparing to engulf him. As he surveys the sands one
last time, he looks out over the arena and sees the orc that had his
belt. Try though he might, he cannot find the old portrait he
searched so long for. The orc's been killed, his neck twisted at an
absurd angle, the belt, even now, shining in the morning sunlight. If
this is where Votig dies, at least the bastard with his belt got what
was coming to him.

Votig allows himself the slightest and
grimmest of smiles before the waters wash over him.

As the
wall begins to crack, Eliam grabs Elise by the arm, quickly
withdrawing from the arena with her.

They make it to the
doorway. Few orcs have moved as many are fascinated by what they see.
Is this part of the show, or an attack?

The sound of the wall
collapsing and the water rushing have caught the attention of the
guards watching Oren and Minerva. Screams and gasps erupt from the
stadium, and the guards exchange a concerned look and then say, "You
two, get inside!" and then run off to see what's
happening.

Oren stands still, his hand in the water,
concentrating.

He connects his magic to the strings of aether
that run to the water in the arena. Pockets of water begin to freeze
at random locations. Chunks of ice begin to form and float to the
surface. They smash into the wall and knock away pieces of rock,
which sink to the bottom of the arena floor. Oren attempts to freeze
the water within the cracks of the wall but he is too far to control
his magic at that level of precision. The hole in the wall gradually
increases from the small icebergs which are smashing against it, and
the current into the arena increases.

The orcs within the
arena are fully panicked. The water has saturated the sands below and
is rising quickly. Ice on the surface of the water is smashing into
orcs. Where orcs are caught, limbs are mashed from their bodies.
Blood tinges the water.

Votig treads water as the current
overtakes him. For the first time in months -- perhaps years -- he
fully, truly, lets go. It's a different sense than hiding in a
bottle. A different feeling than wandering the world away from the
inn. He moves no muscles. He takes in no sights. He offers no
struggle. He feels the cold of the water envelop him, and he, as
well, embraces it in turn. He offers no resistance, no defense to the
first chunk of ice that smashes him against the wall, nor to the
second that severs his left forearm by crushing it along the rough
stone. As the blood from his body leaks out and surrounds him, as the
water rushes into his lungs which gasp and struggle despite his
wishes, he thinks only of days long ago, dozens upon dozens of years,
and a simpler, quieter time. A pair of icebergs rush toward him with
alarming celerity. One strikes the metal gate near to him, causing it
to reverberate. Through the water and in his increasingly
semi-conscious state, he hears it as a boxing bell, tolling the end
of a round. The second chunk of ice strikes him and snuffs out his
life. Votig is dead.

At the moment of the death blow, a golden
light radiates from Votig's broken and mangled body. The earth
trembles in fury. The golden light coalesces into a shimmering,
shining beam, which soars into the sky and impacts the skyglyph. The
yellow light on the skyglyph has gone dark. The crowd, despite their
horror, fall momentarily silent.

Eliam has hurried Elise to
the exit. The din of the arena is behind them as Eliam leads her
forward.

"Eliam... w-what about Votig?" she
asks.

"He'll be fine,” Eliam says confidently for her
sake. “Minerva and Oren are making sure of that. Let's hurry and
meet up with them.”

Elise looks concerned but she follows
along. There are startlingly few guards within the arena's hallways,
and their exit is surprisingly smooth. Behind them, orcs are
beginning to make their egress; it looks like they managed their way
out first.

They emerge from the stadium and make a beeline for
Oren and Minerva.

Oren stands in the river, using his
magic to control it.

"Hey, are you okay?” Eliam asks
Elise, trying to distract her. “No injuries?"

Oren's
connection to the water grows deeper. The waters swirl around him,
their aethers washer over and through him. He connects himself to the
greater sea, and commands the flow of the Beck. The river begins to
flow fully into the arena, the ice rocking with the turbulent waves
and smashing against the walls. The weaker segments of stands begin
to crumble, orcs tumbling into the chilling depths.

"What's
Ore-- oh," she says, as Eliam speaks to her. "No, I should
be fine." She brushes off her robe a little. "Just
dusty."

"Okay, good to hear. I'm just glad we got
out of that mess in time," Eliam says, awkwardly patting her
head.

She tugs her hood a little closer, as though disquieted
by something. "Minerva, how do we get Votig **out**?"

The
latter shrugs. "I was hoping that was part of Oren's plan."
Minerva looks at Oren and says, "Hey... maybe we should stop a
little. Any more and you're going to kill Votig, too."

"Oren!"
she shouts, louder. "You need to stop, we need to give Votig a
chance to get out!"

Oren ignores Minerva's words. He
pushes himself to the limit, and then, somehow, a little beyond.

His
eyes blaze blue as he connects to the aether in the water more
closely than he ever thought possible. Briefly, he feels as though he
is touching the eternity of the depths. He senses every mote of
liquid in his surroundings. He pushes the water higher. He is attuned
to the height of the water in the arena. He estimates his waters have
covered the lowest levels of the seats.

Minerva starts to tap
Eliam's shoulder. "W-we need to stop this. This is
insane."

"How do you suggest we do that, exactly?!"
Eliam asks.

The waters rise higher. Oren refuses to yield.

As
he pushes the water higher, his control weakens. The aether seems to
snap back on him. He jerks backward and falls to his hands and knees
in the water. Minerva says, "What if we just pulled him out of
the water?!"

Oren rises to his knees as the water rises
within the arena. He senses it. He senses it all. And it is good. The
water rises, and he estimates that over half the seats are
covered.

Eliam approaches the river and calls to him, "Okay,
that's enough. You damaged it pretty damn well; now let's go."

Elise
steps forward to the shore. "Oren. Oren, this isn't you. This
doesn't have to be you. Let's stop, please." She goes to take a
step into the water.

The water bursts more forcefully into the
stadium. It rises even as the party shouts their protestations at
Oren. "Y-you're killing him!" Elise is screaming now.
"You're killing Votig!" She runs into the water to reach
Oren.

Before she gets more than a few steps, Eliam grabs her
arm, keeping her on the shore. “He's probably dead already. Don't
just rush in and add yourself to the death count too!”

Eliam
holds Elise back as Oren's final surge of magic compels the water to
fill the stadium. For a moment, there is nothing... and then the
first trickles of water begin to flow over the top edge of Asle
Lenor.

It begins slowly, but steadily. It increases. A red
tinge to the water grows as it falls. Suddenly, the first chunk of
ice breaks through the stonework at the top, falling with a
cacophonous din to the ground, pulling brick and mortar with it. Then
more. Then more, and soon it's ice and bodies and blood overflowing
from the top of the arena, crashing to the ground, a macabre dance of
flesh and flood all at once that soaks the earth and stains it red.
The water rushes at your party.

Oren struggles to shore. As
the water bears down on the party, he bravely steps forward, eyes a
deep blue.

Eliam quickly steps to take cover behind Oren.
Elise is quick to follow.

The bard places his hand on Oren's
shoulder. He closes his own eyes and envisions the aether that
connects Oren to the waters around him. Every string, every fibre of
magic runs through him. He wraps his own magic around that aether,
bolstering it. The aether itself glows when he is finished.

As
the water bears down on Oren, he claps, and extends his hands
outward, intending to divert the water about ten feet on either side
of him. The power of his technique astonishes even him. The water
shoots sideways with intense pressure at a nearly right angle. The
jet of water rushing to the left careens into the walkway that runs
around the exterior of the arena, where he and Minerva had first
broken the hole and where the orcish guards had run a few minutes
prior. The guards are swept up by the coming wave and washed out to
sea, a further twenty casualties added to Oren's spree.

The
water begins to subside. The blood and water has turned the ground
into a sopping, saturated marsh. The water in the arena begins to
reverse course, and empty out through the entrance and through the
hole Minerva made, back into the Beck.

Oren, spent, collapses into Eliam's arms.

**Chapter 8**