It was an overcast day on the continent of Avros. The raucous cawing of crows rang all around. The sounds were muffled by the blanket of fog that lay over the clearing north of Templeton and the location of the cawing crows was difficult to discern. We approached from the south, a feeling of dread deep in the pits of our stomachs, a feeling worse than that of the iron rations we survived on in our youth.

 

With weapons drawn, we cautiously approached the hut that stood at the edge of the clearing. From within came a deep voice, chanting and making strangled guttural sounds. A shrill death cry pierced the day, causing the crows to take wing and scatter like lost words. From within the hut a silhouette stood before us, a hulking mass with great horns and steaming breath. Cinders flew from about his shoulders in a fireshield and he glowed brightly with a powerful aura.

 

"Who dares step foot, claw or hoof on the bloody scorched earth of Fladerrellum?" his voice rang out. The deep voice reverberated throughout our bones and a younger member in our party quietly regurgitated his breakfast with fear.

 

"We Sir Minotaur, are adventurers from all 5 continents of Alyria, come to this unholy mecca to test ourselves before you." I shouted in a voice which trembled at first and grew gradually stronger. "We ask for you blessing to make war in your battle arena so that we may prove to ourselves and to the world our might and cunning" I sang out.

 

He stood there, slightly swaying from side to side. Tis then the little one in our party who had revisited his toast and eggs from earlier in the morn saw what was hanging from the trees. All around the arena which was 100 meters by 100 meters where petrified trees with branches that reached for the sky like fingers poking from a grave of someone buried alive. From the branches hundreds of heads were impaled. Dracons with forked tongues engorged and protruding, smaller heads with pointed ears gnawed short by un known beasts, blocky dwarven heads with birds nesting in the beards. Steam rose from a few of the necks and flies buzzed lazily about the rest. With a pathetic whimper he fled south, to the township of Tellerium no doubt, and hopefully to train harder so he may come back when truly ready.

 

"The little gnome is not ready for this, he is wise to flee now. How about the rest of you? Be ye strong of heart, body and mind? Will ye honor Ithrilis with your sweat? Will ye honor Gath with the fire that burns within ye? Will you honor Maradas by giving to him corpses with which to fertilize his earth? WIll ye honor Dira and fight till your last dying breath? and most important of all, will ye honor Vandyne and prove to yourselves that you are the fiercest in the land? Do not answer me with words for I understand blood better. If ye wish to enter my arena, impale your left hand upon my horn and receive the mark of Weeble, Battle Master and Prizefighter of Alyria!"