There was only one place in the Empire in which you could make unseen amounts of untaxable wealth. One villainous slum that confined every aspect of Kag’s capitalist virtues. The colosseum’s outline shone brightly over the horizon. Aloat leaned forward, ten veterans of the pit accompanying the group as they charged on horseback towards the monolithic structure’s gate. Countless others crowded the looming streets of Kag’s mighty Colosseum. It was at the heart of the city, thin guided marble pillars streaking towards the heavens as fire blazed along the structure's height. The building had evolved over recent years, a beating heart of the Kag metropolosis it had taken a form needed for the trials of passing age.

  When the city was first settled, the arena had been nothing more than a bundle of half-shapen twigs, a mud-scrapped hovel festering with gamblers and low-life scum. It was after the decimation of the house-wars in which the arena gained popularity. A war-torn people found themselves without food, shelter or resources but with the skills of hardened war. Mercenaries, warriors, adventurers, and explorers all twisted up in pursuit of endless riches, which dominated their acquisitive hearts. The stewards of Kag upgraded the building to a larger amphitheatre, using magic to host plays, lectures and elections of minor officials. The structured hosted the first comedy contest, drama shows and theatrical re-enactments. In 5800, economic influx had resulted in the addition of a robust stone exterior, 5933, larger enchantments and the start of a “living” arena were carved through magic strand. By 6013, Famed General Nuem Plentix won the first house magic tournament, a tradition that would continue for the next two hundred years. In 6100 the arena was fully upgraded to marble with the larger extensions put in place. Year after year, the arena grew like it’s people, a fixture of entertainment and a manifestation of their own desires. Still for Irwain to gather the populace, here, offering free admission was like clothing them as pigs for slaughter.

  Ten hours of non-stop fighting driven by a public thirst for blood. People didn’t die in the arena, the fights we’re nullified by magic, however accidents and injuries occured quite frequently. A shrewd-looking northerner grunted in Jan’s direction, dual axes shining red as an older mage looked up curiously. Normally, individuals who would have frightened the scribe half-to death gazed at his now pale white eyes in horror. The soldiers behind carried their banners high while Aloat picked the inspector out of the crowd.

  The outside gate was a ghost-town, gargoyles and statues outnumbering the few soldiers and minor officials who had drawn a short enough straw to remain outdoors. An announcer's voice boomed over the landscape. Contestants were slowly being named. The day had been in mid-swing and it was likely this was still warm-up matches for the later fights.

  They we’re at the service entrance but this was the closest entrance to the colosseum.

  For a moment, Jan stood tall on Maple’s back, hoping the red-robed guard would recognize his pale visage. The side entrance was small with a crudely constructed arched doorway giving away to a wide network of twisting tunnels and curved ramparts. They dismounted and ran up the stairs. An oak desk marked the office, papers littered across its surface as the Empire slowly toiled into its acquisitive resolve. It was a lieutenant. His silver-plated armour was well polished and grey speckled beard trimmed to perfection. He coughed slowly asking for the two to produce identification.

  “Registering as?” he snarled.

  Two long slashes were etched into the desk's wooden frame, recent marks that splintered the ancient wood.

  “Registering? You see our banners and you think we’re registering! The beacons for this city are lit!” Aloat shouted.

  The soldiers infront jittered in the small entrance, shrinking like blades of grass in the face of a gathering storm.

  “Sorry, Sheriff, I didn’t see your signal, the keep is yet to light it’s own beacon so we we’re uncertain if it was just a minor squabble” he coughed.

  A strange sensation of fear plastered over the man’s face. He shrank below the desk while staring up at Aloat’s fierce eyes. The line of contestants behind them lent their ears in interest. They we’re likely excited at the prospect of fighting the Jaen yet equally terrified by what the soldiers infront represented.

  “This city is under siege Luitenant!! Consul Theric and I must be taken to Irwain at once!” Aloat demanded.

  Jan remained in the background. He enjoyed letting the more hot-tempered Aloat deal with bossing around the guards infront like they we’re a bundle of freshly caught chickens.

  “Consul? Siege?”

  This time Jan stepped forward. His face was intimidating enough those infront didn’t question any orders. They could tell he was young but many whispered concerns about the Consul’s existence. The lead soldier's expression however, changed, shock flashing across his pale features. He leaned backward, placing a scared palm upon the hilt of his sword. His fingers tensed with his arm leaning forward to draw the blade.

  “Siege!?”

  Aloat, however, was taking none of this.

  “Cure him” She responded coolly.

  In an instant, two veterans of the pit pinned the soldier down and pressed a bottle of the cure to his lips. They forced the man to drink. Behind the veritable legion of mercenaries and warrioirs for hire watched in awe. A terrifying force of barbarians, archers and famed fighters we’re left in a stupefied shock while the two seemingly smothered an imperial official. Only a seven foot warrioir from the north was brave enough to shout, only to find themselves silenced by the stern look of urgency from those infront.

  Another guard came to the Lieutenant’s aid, he was about to unsheath his own sword when Jan stared him down.

  “Him next,” the Consul responded slowly.

  Stolen story; please report.

  They we’re about to douse another unsuspecting victim in cure when the side-enterance doors swung open for a minor official to emerge.

  It was Laundre.

  His vestement’s we’re strewn in gold, with grey wispy hair and a long white cloak pattering the ground. It was an unusual attire but Jan recognized the imposter creature at once. In what would have once been a wealthy merchant’s robes with a decorated sword, stood the murderer, creature, abomination and imposter playing the minor Lord like a bad acting role. The physical illusion was brilliantly crafted. So much so it would have taken an Archmage of the fifth order to attempt a minor scratch at the visage infront. The man seemed flustered. Sweat streaked down his face to plaster both directions. He didn’t even speak in Laundre’s regular voice. It was a pale, worthless imitation the creature hardly tried to uphold.

  Imposter Laundre had been running.

  Imperial soldiers followed his tracks. They too stopped when they saw the Consul.

  The three parties tensed, like wolves around a wounded prey. He was looking surprisingly good for a man Jan had “buried” just last week, but terrible for anyone normal. Aloat’s face turned beet red. The two glanced at expressions that read “I can’t believe this is happening”.

  “Still alive?” Aloat shouted.

  She couldn’t resist. The man slammed into Jan with a thunk and sent them both sprawling to the ground. He crawled in the dirt like a spider on tangled web, desperate and frantic to reach the Consul on time.

  “Jaaaaan!!”

  His moon-sized eyes had enlarged in a complete state of panic, and he frantically shouted words in a curdled frenzy.

  “Listen, these soldiers are….. we don’t have much time, I’m not from around here! I’m from___”

  [Holy Smack 1000]

  The blast from Jan's hand sent shockwaves into the dirt. The surrounding peasants and contestants stood in complete astonishment. They could feel from the weave that for a regular mage, this would have taken three or four in collaboration. Imposter Laundre slunk into the mud in an instant. Unconscious but very much injured.

  “No time for distractions, we have a city to save!!” Jan shouted.

  Veterans from the pit ran downward to tie up the fake Laundre where the soldiers above now approached.

  “Imposter Lord Consul!” the soldiers behind shouted. They, too, had been running. Blood trickled down one of the pursuing guard’s faces. A stranger “spear” wound was profusely leaking blood from another guard on the ground. Jan looked into the hallway behind to see ten or so soldiers lying dead. They had holes in various parts of their bodies, gushing wounds that mirrored being prodded with a spear. It seemed the fake Laundre had been stronger than he looked.

  “We know!” Aloat shouted back.

  She stared curiously at the misshapen form of the unconscious imposter. It seemed human. The illusion was yet to dissuade, and the two couldn’t sense any magic. It felt good to finally meet a fathom of resistance along the placid streets. A peanut gallery of peasants and commoners watched with great interest from behind.

  “We must take you to Irwain at once!” another soldier shouted.

  “Finally, someone who understands!” Aloat shouted.

  The Sheriff laughed while drawing her own blade. She then looked on in fury at the hallway infront. The torch-lit corridors called for them in a still silence.

  “Wait!” Jan replied.

  “Cure them first,” He scowled.

  At first the ground infront gave off an air of caution. Then they took up the bottles in hefty swigs. Not a single one burst into fever or showed signs of caution. This fortified Jan with a sense of security and hope that was far amiss. Aloat too was relieved. Strangely, the soldiers we’re not shaken by the request.

  “This way! We can take the direct pathway!” A soldier cried.

  They left two veterans from the pit to drag sleeping Laundre towards the nearest watcher, while following the troop down various serious corridors. The winding hallway of brick and mortar felt claustrophobic at times. A faint tinge of comfort came from the roar of the crowd, which could be heard in a muffled chorus wriggling its way through the deep walls. Nearly a hundred thousand spectators must have cheered above. All while war raged mere miles away from Kag.

  “What do you know about the siege soldier?” Aloat barked.

  They were letting the troops guide them down unfamiliar halls. Twice, Jan stopped to empty sand from his boots with the chalky ground and electrified leather not pairing well. It was only once they had been walking for at least ten minutes that the group ground to a halt.

  “Not much but we received word from the capital city only twenty minutes prior.”

  “They sent us a message.”

  A folded letter was pressed into Jan’s waiting hands. The guiding soldiers backed up and let the two read. He paced impatiently with a click in his step. The veterans of the pit we’re clustered behind with the group clustering in the small corridor. Banners and dusty tapestries hung from the ceiling with torches spewing wisps of smoke into the air above. Jan and Aloat’s faces rounded the size the dinner plates at the words infront. The scribe let his arm crease the page back, struggling to understand. An imperial seal mockingly frolicked on the pages exterior. It’s red plastered ink flaunted the highest authority an Emperor could muster.

  “Is this a joke?” Aloat mouthed confused.

  The words taunted them dearly.

  “Hello Jan! Sorry but you need to be delayed! Things in the capital are going well, The enchantments are a little stronger than I thought, so we’ve only breached the outer walls! They have better postage than Kag, so I decided to send you a letter. Have fun and don’t kill too many of my soldiers? I’m working on healing you of this “outsider” swill.

  -Your Master

  “You two easterners really think we need a worm in our heads to know the glory of the master’s side?”

  A knife plunged into one of the pit veteran’s backs. Another veteran was instantly sliced by spears poking from holes in the wall.

  A trap had been layed.

  Jan reacted instantly. His eyes glowed pure blue with lightning springing from his palms to churn the first imposter “Westering” into ash.

  They were too late.

  Just as the two began to leap onto their enemy in blood-lust the floor swung open and a windtrap spat from the ceiling above.

  The eight survivors fell sixteen feet into the arena below.

  “Oh god”

  Fear struck through Jan’s frail body, sweat clinging to his frayed cloak as the arena blistered before his startled eyes. Aloat stood to his side. A mirage of colours battered the windswept crowd. Thousands watched the two emerge from the corner of the arena. The entire city was watching. Aloat was already screaming at the top of her lungs for a ladder so they could make their way to the visitor’s box. His head tilted towards the nearest seat, almost ten metres above the sand. The brick was chiselled and scratched, jagged edges of rock slinking into the soft ground.

  The spectator looked back with fait blue eyes and a clean folded robe. The two seemed to pause for a moment, unsure of the spectacle, caught in succination at the very sight of their entertainer. Jan could spot his own entire class from the crowd. The thirty or so young mages and Professor Filt were assembled near the first row. A suspicious number of guards encircled the group. Among their classmates a huge banner was being portrayed triumphantly, “Class Block Party 6213”. Their entire figures drooped in shock and confusion when the two dropped into the sand. In fact, the entire arena gasped. A commoner inspected the printed directory to glance up in shock. This wasn’t written in the program.

  “What the &*#$” Aloat spat.

  Jan shrugged as his eyes pursed the seats nearly sixty meters above. He too could sense Irwain’s gaze breathe against his back, the archmage was up there somewhere.

  Irwain could be found, and hope would prosper.

  Just the,n a voice boomed over the arena-scape. It was followed by a wave of cheers and the triumphant sound of the crowd above.

  “Annnnnnnd Nowww For Our Next Contestant To Face The Lord Jaen!!!!!!!” the announcer roared.

  “Jan Theric Consul For The Archmage and…..Aloat Barka, Sheriff of Kag!!!!!!”