**[Rita, Day 6]**

Rita was pissed. She was sitting in a surprisingly clean cell staring at a hideous humanoid thing. It was obviously male, a detail she wished she could forget and had bulbous clumpy masses covering its otherwise brown skin. Large muscles stood prominent on its, “His?”, hard body with only a loose loincloth for clothing. The creature’s black beady eyes seemed to pierce through her very soul with the strange, curious innocence usually associated with children. She recoiled further against the cell’s wall as it tried to poke at her with its long arms, grateful that the ground was bare stone and not covered in grime like it should have been. It might have a child's intellectual capacity and mind, but the threat was that of a full-grown adult. If it got any closer, she would defend herself since there was no way to hide further. The creature seemed to sense this; it stayed just close enough for discomfort, but not enough to be a direct threat.

Ever since they had been captured the night before, these things had been messing with them, yet somehow never crossing the invisible line of real harm. It was the same way she had seen Ivan playing with his ‘pets’ back home. He had known he couldn’t kill them right away, so he had done everything possible to amuse himself without risking their nanny’s wrath. She did not know who these monsters were afraid of and frankly was happy not finding out. As long as no one here knew the status quo, they lived. Once their boss made a decision, it was over one way or another.

If it became clear they would die, then there was little she could do against creatures twenty levels stronger than her. She would spend the last of her magic taking her own life rather than futilely trying to get revenge. It would not be worth the pain they could inflict upon her, and she would do the same for Horace if she could. However, the old certainty that death was the only option was fading as more and more unexpected things happened. She had begun to question if the stories she had grown up hearing were accurate or if there was something deeper at play. Even the base idea of the draft had come into question. Years of blind trust made it hard to think anything against the nation she loved, yet at the same time, the foundations of her understanding were crumbling. She wondered if Horace felt the same.

During their capture, she had been separated from him and did not know if her companion fared any better than she did. She had overheard enough to know he lived, at least. It was disturbing to know that these orcs spoke the same language as her kingdom, and the implications worried her. She had always been taught that monsters were monstrous, commoners were common, and noblemen were noble. It was silly now to generalize the world in such a way, but it had been how she was raised. Her time with Horace had changed one perspective, yet she dreaded the idea that a primary pillar to their whole existence might be inaccurate. If monsters could think, feel, and reason like Aiden thought, “If they were people,” then what was actually going on. Was her kingdom invading these dungeons to subjugate sentient creatures, or was it as they claimed to prevent hordes from forming? She had no idea anymore.

The garbled conversations from the things watching her, she refused to make them human in her mind until she knew more, told her that it was time for them to move. From what she could hear, it sounded like they were saying “Appeal to the king,” but she could have been mistaken. The detailed images from the dungeon's door made her hope she was since being tortured or maimed was not high up on her list of priorities right now. It did make her consider the name of the dungeon: Jesting Joy. Humor had never been her strongest attribute, so she hoped this dungeon didn’t get any weirder and require her to make the king laugh or be beheaded. Knowing her luck, that was exactly what it would do.

**[Horace]**

The orc stationed near his cage forced him to his feet and tied a tight rope around his neck. The strange men got a thrill out of touching his stump, and this one was no expectation. His bruised skin was sore and achy from the injury and recent trauma as the level twenty guards’ gentle pokes translated to hard stabs on his weakened body. He saw Rita as the passage he was traveling in connected with hers, and together they walked into a large amphitheater. A raised dais held a gilded throne, not unlike the one he could recall from the ornate images on the entrance door, but he was still surprised to see a crowned figure lying across it languidly. The ‘king’ had finer features than his molly brethren, and his status confirmed that the crown was not simply for show.

[Prince La’ Curk the Jubilant]

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Level: 30

Class: Arena Master

Special Class: Dungeon Lord

Status: Bored

Horace gulped. A bored level thirty prince who had two new toys to play with. Somehow he knew this was not going to end well for him. However, the eyes of every creature in the large room fell upon Rita when they entered, not him, which eased his fear a little. The looks were appraising and confused. The prince even sat upright in his chair as they were led towards him. His bright hazel eyes shining as he too took stock of the newcomers. They were led around the large field-sized pit that dominated the space, and from the quickly disappearing blood he could see coating the sand, Horace now could guess at one reason for this dungeon’s lack of free-roaming creatures. Like himself, the normal monsters were prey to the superior force of the orcs.

The prince was grinning and spoke proudly to the large orc standing beside his throne, “I have seen more humans these last few years than I ever did in my father’s land. The gods have delivered upon us the children of our greatest enemy, and we shall feast off the bounty of their presence.” Horace shivered. That sounded like they were about to become dinner, and he really hoped these orcs were vegetarians. The scraps lying on a nearby plate contradicted that notion.

It was only now that the prince looked past Rita. His fate was directed by the lazy wave of the orc’s large hand, “Send the cripple to the floor. Do as you wish Gar’ath, I doubt a pathetic creature like him could amuse a man such as myself. This little human, on the other hand, looks more promising.” Horace tried to fight back as the large brawny orc roughly moved him towards the pit's ledge and the arena below. Rita’s sharp “No!” paused his journey onto the arena floor, mere inches away from the edge. He turned to look at her and watched her already strong posture straighten, and he could see through the disheveled hair and grim to the noblewoman she was inside. Light coalesced in her hand as magic became a reality from her will.

He expected her to fling it at the prince, and so did the waiting guards who moved to block him, but instead, she held the glowing mass centimeters away from her bare neck. “If Horace dies, then I die. You can feast on my flesh after I am dead, it won't matter then, but I will not sit by and watch you murder my friend.” Her voice was clear and passionate, with enough arrogance to match the speech the prince had given. La’ Curk laughed. A loud booming sound that the other orcs quickly imitated.

Gar’ath slapped him hard on the back. Horace had to grab his torso to avoid being flung into the pit. “Your friend is funny human. Very good. The prince is pleased by her joke.” From Rita's faltering look, he could tell she was just as confused as he was. Despite his lacking social graces and general dislike of talking in general, Horace saw hope in the laughter of this weird group of men.

Forcing himself to chuckle, he nodded to Rita and smiled up at the orc. “We are much more entertaining together than alone, sir Gar’ath.” The orc looked delighted at the honorific, but a sharp bang from the throne made even the massive warrior cower.

"You are humans so that I will forgive the confusion as a sign of my appreciation for your entertainment, yet you must accept your new place. Here we are orcs. If you want to survive and have a chance to continue making me laugh, you will act like orcs. Bring the food.”

A plate heaped with potatoes and red meat was carried into the room by a portly orc with large tusks framing his oblong face and a massive rippling belly. It smelled suspicious, but his hungry mind caused him to salivate visibly as it was placed before them. The prince smiled with an evil glint in his small black eyes. “To the victor goes the spoils as is befitting of an orc introduction.” Horace could see the questioning look in Rita’s eyes and felt quilt for his actions only after she lay crumpled on the floor. He had known desperation and understood what the orc wanted from them in a way Rita couldn’t yet. His blow had been quick and clean. She would not have suffered like the orcs would have liked, but from their roaring laughter, he could tell they approved of his efficiency. “That is what it means to be an orc. Strength and brutality over comradery, but loyalty to me is paramount. Enjoy your meal and the spoils that come with.” The resulting smirk towards his teammate's immobile body made it nearly impossible for him to keep his face impassive as he began to eat. He should have seen this coming, and he was considering the best way to proceed.

If he refused to do anything like he wanted to, they might do worse to the poor girl. However, if he did anything or let anything happen, she would murder him when she woke up. It was a conundrum, and the food was making him feel confused. The jeering of the crowd and full feeling in his stomach caused him to lose himself for a moment. He came aware, kneeling beside Rita, and jerked back in fright at the blackout. The room was swimming. A distant clang brought his eyes to a tall blond boy facing off against the orc who had given him the meal. Aiden?