by Dean Henegar
The terrain changed from dry brushlands to a desert like area. The guards for this caravan were better equipped than our previous captors and were not abusive to the prisoners. We were fed much better, and we were even offered time to walk about and exercise a bit each time we stopped. The same rule of not talking was enforced and our nights were much the same, chained out on the ground as before. Wrend continued to torment me, but I hadn’t been physically attacked again by either Wrend or one of the other disgraced soldiers since that first night. Each day, the other disgraced soldiers would glare at me, whispering amongst themselves as they tried to decide if they wanted to kill me that night.
After another few days of desert travel, the wagons approached a gathering of tents in the distance. An oasis with a small spring was here, drawing nearby caravans to water their animals and take a break under the shade the few trees of the oasis offered. A town of sorts had grown up around the rare water source. In the distance I could make out the sound of shouting and the clash of weapons, but the sounds didn’t disturb the drivers or guards in any way. We were let out of the wagon and chained to a series of stone posts set firmly into the sand. Septimus approached and for the first time addressed the prisoners.
“Welcome, my friends. You have all been behaving relatively well on the journey, so I felt it was only fair to fill you in a bit on what is happening. I have purchased all your prison contracts from the Imperium. You are now my slaves and will pay your debt to the Imperium with your blood, entertaining its citizens with glorious battle. My school is the Ludus Caedes, the house of slaughter,” Septimus said as he strutted about in front of us. One of his guards handed him a skin of wine. Septimus guzzled the drink. He was overweight and soft; a man used to the easy life that his wealth afforded.
“Now I know, I know. Slavery is forbidden in the Imperium. You are technically still prisoners, not slaves. You even have a choice. You can decide to compete in the games with my school, or you can be sent back to serve your time in a prison. Fight for me and you can attain your freedom much more quickly . . . if you survive. Everyone will make their choice. Those of you that wish to go back to prison, raise your right hands.” Septimus grinned, knowing all our hands were chained to the post and we were unable to move them. As he asked us his question, another man dressed in the desert robes of the Imix people approached.
“Ahh, my good friend Asif, can you bear witness to the wise choice that all of my slaves . . . I mean prisoners have made?” Septimus asked the Imix man as he handed over a small bag of coin.
“Yes, yes, my friend. They have all chosen to live the exciting life of a gladiator instead enduring the mundane misery that is the life of a prisoner. I will sign an affidavit attesting to that for you now,” Asif said as he signed some document that Septimus handed him, sealing our fate with his corruption. “See you all later in the circle. Do try to last long enough to entertain my guests,” Asif said as he left toward the noise and tents in the distance.
“Now, where were we . . . oh yes, the Ludus Caedes. I feel it only fair to inform you that my school has a specialty. Once, I was the master of one of the top gladiatorial schools. My fighters even performed for the emperor himself! Alas, my fortunes have changed, and I can no longer afford to buy and keep real gladiators. Nevertheless, a man must make a living and I have found it somewhat lucrative to specialize in providing the refuse of the Imperium prisons for other, better schools to fight.” A look of anger briefly appeared on Septimus’ face as he said that, bitter at his turn of fortune I surmised.
“You, my gladiators, will be living, bleeding training dummies for these other schools to practice on. You are here to face damnatio ad gladium, death by gladiatorial combat. Make no mistake, you have a chance to win your freedom if you excel in the arena. Should you unfortunately die, you will have at least provided entertainment to the crowds, and more importantly, coin for my purse. In return for your services, I will feed you well and make sure you are somewhat comfortable. Don’t despair—better a death in battle than the slow rot of the prison.” With that last comment, Septimus walked away toward the noise and excitement. The guards began dividing us up, based on who they felt could fight well enough to put on a show. I found myself herded along with the other disgraced soldiers away from the group by one of the guards.
“All right you lot, you’re something that Septimus wanted us to try once he got a look at that one,” the guard said, gesturing toward me. “He has some idea that you may be good enough to survive in the arena for more than one fight, being former soldiers and all. Since that’s the case, you will each be paired with one of those for your first fight,” the guard said as he pointed to one of the groups of prisoners.
There were around one hundred total prisoners in the caravan. The others had been separated into three groups. One group held the most fit and healthy of the prisoners. The second group consisted of about what you would expect for an average person: healthy but obviously used to a softer life. The last group were the most decrepit. These were the ones that injury, age, sickness, or some other malady had left barely functional. They could stand and move under their own power, but not much else. This third group was the one the guard was referring to.
“You’ll blood yourselves on the refuse. Those poor sods are good for nothing else but feeding the monster and beasts. If we put them in the arena with real gladiators, they would provide no entertainment. You’ll be fighting them first thing in the morning, when the crowds aren’t big, and folks that are there will just want to see some old-fashioned bloodshed. The real fights happen in the afternoon and evening.” Without another word the guard led us to a large tent where we were left for the night, shackled to yet another stake driven into the floor of the tent. We were fed more than usual, including a few pieces of fatty meat. I couldn’t help but think of hogs being fattened before the slaughter. The threadbare and shabby tent was dark as we were left for the night, sleeping under cover for the first time in weeks.
“Found something special for you tonight sir,” Wrend whispered as he drove a sharpened stake into my head, killing me with a critical hit. I respawned to the sound of the others laughing at my most recent death. They were amused that Wrend had smuggled one of the sharpened tent stakes in to kill me with, no doubt swiped during the last time we had taken down the tents. That night, as I lay there unable to sleep, I tried not to think about where Wrend had hidden it all this time . . . and failed.
Chapter 5
Dawn was just breaking when the guards came to collect us. They carried clean red tunics for each of us to wear, wanting us to look somewhat like real soldiers. Everyone was given new sandals that were comfortable and functional; no worries about slipping and falling in battle, at least. As I put on the new tunic, I could see a word was written across the back . . . “Ignominia.” It meant shame, dishonor, or disgrace in the old Imperium language. So much for feeling good about clean clothes; we were to wear our shame for all to see.
We were fed a hearty breakfast of porridge and fruit. I ate all that was given to me despite not having a real appetite. Then we were led toward what the soldiers called the “arena,” which was only a rickety wooden fence surrounding a sand-covered fighting area. The whole place was only twenty-five yards in diameter. The stands were ramshackle and could seat maybe 500 people at maximum.
Septimus was there waiting for us with a smile on his face. He waved us into a tent next to one of the gates leading to the slapdash arena. Inside the tent were several tables laden with weapons and armor. Much of the gear was broken and run down, but there were a few decent weapons among the group.
“So, my brave legionnaires, let me explain how these games will work. You will be sent in as a group of four and will be chained to the ground five yards apart from each other. Your opponents will then be let in to attack you. Kill your opponent in as gruesome a way as possible and I’ll see to it you get an advantage in your next match. Pick any gear you wish. The fight will begin shortly.” Septi
mus gave an expansive wave to the table and most of the items on it greyed out in my sight as a system prompt appeared.
Gladiatorial weapons are assigned based on reputation and level. Gain both to have the opportunity for better gear.
I was too slow from reading the system prompt and the others beat me to the table, getting the pick of the litter. The only things left showing as usable for me were two weapons. I looked quickly at both.
Rusty Bent Dagger: This blade is the poorest quality to still be called a weapon. It’s made of metal and may even break the skin of an opponent if enough force is used. Item-level 1.
Cracked Table Leg: This wooden table leg can be used as an improvised club. It’s made of soft pine and is cracked down the middle. Don’t count on it lasting for more than one hit. Item-level 1.
The choices were downright sad, and I wasn’t even sure if they were better than fighting unarmed. However, after remembering my earlier deaths in unarmed combat against Wrend, the weapons began to have a bit more appeal. I ended up choosing the “club,” if the table leg could be called that; I wanted as much reach as possible and it was longer than the bent rusty dagger. After selecting our weapons, we were led through the gate and onto the hot sands of the arena. Fall was starting in Hayden’s Knoll, but here in the desert the heat was still oppressive. A couple dozen people stood scattered about the few shaded areas in the stands. None were paying attention, and it looked like most had passed out drunk and never left from the night before.
We were walked out and chained to stakes spaced five yards apart, just as Septimus had told us. I was on the far left and none of the other soldiers were within reach. No opponents were here yet and I watched as a halfling man in Imix robes and a turban half his height make his way to the middle of the arena.
“Welcome one and all to the grand arena of the great Asif! You have an exciting display prepared for you this morning. Battle hardened soldiers stand ready to slaughter for your amusement. These dastardly fiends have disgraced themselves and their country. Now they yearn to show you how bloodthirsty they have become in their captivity!” the halfling said with flourish, not in the least discouraged by the poor turnout.
Quest Chain Offered: Retribution. Fight your way out of captivity and prove your innocence. Step 1: Defeat your opponent. Defeat your first opponent in the arena to continue your quest for justice.
Experience award: 50xp. Accept y/n?
I hit yes, starting the quest chain that would hopefully lead me back to Haden’s Knoll and my old class. I was curious what the game would do as the disgraced commander leveled. I was always a sucker for new feats, skills, or game mechanics.
As soon as the halfling left though a side gate, the gate opposite ours opened and four humans walked through. These were four of the decrepit prisoners we had seen separated from the others the day before. Guards walked behind each prisoner, one guard poking with his spear and drawing blood when the prisoner tried to turn around after seeing his opponent. Wrend winked at his opponent and ran his finger along the corroded meat cleaver he had chosen for a weapon. The man opposite me was elderly and feeble. They had given him a sharpened stick about three feet long. The man visibly shook, pure terror shining in his eyes.
The fights were to happen one after the other, starting on my far right. I looked over and watched the guard jab the reluctant prisoner toward the soldier. The soldier waited patiently for his opponent to get in range before leaping to attack. The feeble prisoner swiped with his stick and missed the soldier. The soldier grabbed his opponent and pulled him into a choke hold, squeezing with one arm only while he sawed a dull rusty dagger across his opponent’s throat. Eventually the dull weapon cut far enough to end the screams of pain the prisoner had been shrieking. Dropping his rusty and now bloodied dagger on the ground, the soldier looked forward blankly. I could sense he was not happy with slaughtering the poor wretch that was his opponent. The guards led him back toward our gate to slow applause from two of the people in the stands.
The next fight went even more quickly, since there wasn’t any fight at all. The prisoner facing the soldier simply dropped to the ground out of reach and curled into a ball, crying loudly. The guard warned him, hit him, and finally ran him through with a spear. There would be only one winner for each fight and the loser would be dead. Those were the rules of this arena.
Wrend’s opponent took a different approach, charging directly at Wrend and screeching in fury. The skinny man was crippled in one arm and held his sharpened stick awkwardly with his one good hand. Wrend laughed at his opponent’s feeble attack, glancing over at me before speaking.
“Hey sir, look at this one here, he’s as weak as you are. Too bad I can’t kill his kind each night like I can you.” Wrend laughed as he knocked his opponents spear down and proceeded to use the rusty meat cleaver to slowly hack off each of the man’s limbs. The man finally died after his good arm was severed, but the guards let Wrend continue; he had gotten a few cheers from the crowd.
Wrend dropped his cleaver and headed back toward the exit, his guard keeping a wary distance from the soldier after unshackling him. The last guard shoved my opponent forward, the shaking old man gripping his sharpened stick as hard as he could. Tears fell from his eyes as he charged, knowing his attack would fail. I had chosen the cracked table leg because it was nearly the same length as the swords I was used to using. The AI seemed to have made me level 0 but hadn’t taken away my basic soldier instincts. I easily parried the sharpened stick thrust toward me, and I followed up with a sharp blow to his head. The table leg made a cracking sound as it broke in half. The old man fell to the ground, holding his bleeding scalp and whimpering for mercy. I dropped my broken club, having no wish to slaughter some wounded old man.
“Finish him! That’s the rule in this arena. Finish him or we’ll finish you!” the guard across from me threatened. I stood my ground and the guard looked to the main stands where Asif and Septimus were watching. Asif looked at Septimus and after whispering together Asif made some hand motions I couldn’t figure out. The guard stepped toward me and I stood my ground, ready to put up whatever kind of fight I could. Instead the guard thrust down at the old man, killing him before unlocking my shackles and leading me back into the weapons tent, the crowd behind us sending a few boo’s my way.
Quest Updated: Retribution. You have defeated your first opponent. Reward, 50xp.
Congratulations! You have reached Level 1. Open your character sheet to view new skills and abilities.
Back in the weapon tent, we were told to stand in the back . . . out of reach of the weapons as the guards waited for something. That something turned out to be Septimus and Asif.
“Well done, my brave soldiers, well done,” Septimus offered in mock congratulation.
“Such a brave display of butchery for our morning crowd. Now we must discuss the little matter or your refusal to kill your opponent,” Asif said as he approached me.
“The rules of the arena are not to be broken by the likes of you! I would have had you tortured for days if my good friend Septimus hadn’t offered a compromise. I would like to see you fight him,” Asif said as he poked me in the chest and gestured toward the soldier who had fought the first fight today. “There you will fight to the death or you will both die. Now prepare yourselves quickly. More customers are starting to arrive, and they want blood,” Asif finished and abruptly left the tent.
“You heard the man. We are guests here. Equip yourselves and prepare to fight,” Septimus said, disappointed at losing one of his soldier experiments so quickly. The other soldier reluctantly went to the table and examined the gear. I quickly pulled up my character sheet while appearing to peruse the gear as well.
Disgraced Commander Level 1
Experience: 50/250
Health: 50/50. (100 per level).
Defense: 2 (Your defense penalty for level 0 has been removed. You will start with 1 point and gain another at level 5 and every five levels thereafter in addition to
any gear or ability bonuses).
Attack: 2 (Your attack penalty for level 0 has been removed. You class will receive 1 point per level in addition to any bonuses from gear or abilities).
Stats: Like the Commander class, the Disgraced Commander does not have individual stat points. Instead, the Disgraced Commander will have to unlock other abilities and options to improve the class’ power.
Equipment:
Tessel’s Promise: Your bond with the corrupted dryad Tessel has been restored. +1 attack, +1 defense, +1 resistance to poison/disease, -50 health. 1/day ranged, spreading corruption attack.
Well that was disappointing, but having Tessel’s promise active again gave me a huge advantage over the low-level players. There were a couple of more options available to me now on the weapons table since I had hit level 1. I passed on the rusty bent dagger once more and looked at the two new options.
Crumbling Stone Hammer: This simple tool is a large stone tied to a short wood handle. The bindings are loose, and the stone hammer head will likely fall off after a few blows. Item-level 2
Warped Wooden “Spear”: This three-foot-long branch has been sharpened to a blunt point at one end. The shaft is wavy and still covered in bark. Item-level 2.
Looking at the armor table, another item now showed as available.
Makeshift “Buckler”: The wooden lid for a pot has been offered for use as a buckler. It may block a weapon if the wielder is very lucky. Defense +1.
Well that made the choice easier. I decided to go with the hammer and “buckler” combo. The extra defense would be welcome and with the buffs from Tessel’s promise I should be on equal ground with the other soldier. I remembered that my soldiers only had around 25 health per level. I had to assume the level 1 prisoner would be nearly the same. That gave me an advantage in attack, defense, and health. This was all speculation, but I felt it was an educated guess. I would hold back the daily ranged ability of Tessel’s Promise for an emergency. My opponent had chosen the rusty dagger he had used previously and grabbed a buckler like my own. Septimus motioned for the guard to send us out as he proceeded to join Asif in the stands to watch the spectacle.
