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 powerless."

"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