A sudden clang woke Horace from a dreamless sleep. He attempted to open his eyes but found them covered in grit from the stone floor he had himself pressed up against. Using his arms he pushed himself into a plank position before rising.

"Guess I shouldn't have bothered with the mattress. You ready?" Gar'ath stood leaning against the open door of the enclosed room.

Horace looked around blearily. His head ached as did the rest of his body. He considered if working out into the early hours of the morning was as wise a choice as it had felt the night before. Shifting his arms up to put on his threadbare tunic, he knew it definitely had not been. Gar'ath chuckled at the tentative way he was moving and ushered him out once he was fully dressed and somewhat awake.

"I had a talk with La'Curk about how to best go about training you and Lady Ry'ha suggested that we arrange a mock tournament for you. She had no place intruding in our discussion but the prince quite liked her idea so this afternoon you will be fighting with my tutelage."

Horace brightened at that. Fighting with the giant warrior to help him would take a lot of the stress away and allow him to learn with real enemies. He vowed to thank Rita for her intervention later.

"What will we be doing now?" He noticed they were headed in the opposite direction as the arena.

"You have such a low level it would be a waste not to try and capitalize on getting you a suitable class. Both the prince and myself were fortunate to be allowed to prepare for our class making levels which allowed us to receive better options than our fellow orcs. This morning I will be attempting to trigger a better result for you."

Horace looked at the man before him in shock. It may have been for self-serving reasons, but helping him to get a better class meant so much to Horace. He had assumed he would get warrior or maybe the soldier class if he was lucky. He decided to use this time to inspect Gar'ath to see what class the enforcer had.

[Honored Gar'ath]

Level: 29

Class: Lord of Axes

Special Class: Honor Guard

He starred confused at the results before him. The man was both a Lord of Axes and an Honor Guard. He could guess at how he got the second class, but Lord of Axes seemed like an impossible class for a someone between level five and ten to earn. At level thirty it is said that a person can upgrade their class, so if Gar'ath was just one level higher he would understand. He made the choice to question him about it.

"How did you get your class? Did you get the option to evolve it early somehow?"

Gar'ath looked him over and Horace felt this very subtle itching sensation.

"It is considered rude to evaluate someone without consent, I trust you felt me return the favor?"

Horace nodded and tried to look apologetic. Gar'ath scoffed and continued talking, "Probably felt like nothing to you but as your level growth the sensation will deepen and it becomes quite annoying. I do not know of a way to evolve classes early nor do I believe there is such a method. I acquired mine at level ten as my last option. None had felt suitable before that. My skill with the ax and noble birth enabled me to be granted such an option. I do not hold out such hope for you, yet I have been surprised before at what is offered. It is possible your transition here will be enough to allow for greatness to be bestowed on you."

Horace gulped audibly. The words themselves seemed thoughtful to his ears, but his eyes only needed to meet Gar'ath's for a moment to see the veiled threat. They would use him if he was just a warrior so it was not life-ending for him to get a basic class; however, he could tell that such an occurrence would stop any special attention like this from happening again. He would end up like the caged animals he was passing in the dungeon around him.

The problem was his inability to manifest a strong desire for any specific class or even a direction in the first place. Horace had always wanted to be strong but that strength was to protect his family. Unlike most kids, he had not dreamed of being a hero or adventurer. He had enjoyed his simple life with his mother and sister. That was what he wanted. It made him feel torn between two worlds. Little was truly known as far as he knew about the factors that influenced level choices, yet it was commonly acknowledged how important motivation was. Horace felt that Aiden had enough confidence and optimism to get a class beyond the norm, and that was possible for him too if only he could make himself feel passionate towards it. He sighed into the silent hallway around them. Passion had never been his skill.

"No need to be so glum. All classes can be adapted to be quite useful and it is likely you will live to advance your class." Horace lifted his head to stare at Gar'ath, "Don't look so shocked. My master isn't as cruel as he seems. His position is all about status, and all of us rely on him being able to maintain the respect of the other orc clans to keep our position secure. You are an asset towards this goal as are your companions. However, unlike your friends you have to fight, but that is why he placed you under my care. I fought in the arena myself years ago when Prince La'Curk was being trained to oversee the matches. It can be exhilarating."

Horace tried to picture the imposing, scared, and smiling orc before him facing down someone in the arena and felt pity for the poor sap who once faced this beast of a man. Gods preserve their souls.

They had finally reached their supposed destination nearly ten minutes later. Horace looked around to find something to distinguish it as special, but it looked like a dirt clearing. The room was only a dozen paces across and had a ceiling so short Gar'ath had to stoop to stand inside.

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"Perfect! Now try out your new arm on some sand moles. They are weak little shits, so I will be upset if I need to interfere." Gar'ath waved his arm towards the far wall where Horace could now see small plate-sized holes dotting the lower section. He looked behind him to see his advisor leaning against the wall picking his nails with the tip of a gleaming dagger.

Steeling himself, Horace moved to grab a sword but stepped back when Gar'ath glared at him. "Gladiators who cannot fight weaponless die." Horace waited to see whatever sage advice the man would give him, yet that seemed to be it. He sighed and moved to the wall unarmed and adorned solely in his damaged clothes.

He waited near one of the closer holes and bent to peer inside only to jerk back as a long furry creature lunged out at his face. His panicked movement caused him to fail to get a good look at it, so when his instinctual smack slammed it into the wall beside him in a bloody heap, he was unsure what the creature looked like. He peered down in amazement at his hand and barely resisted the urge to dance around in glee. It had been so easy. If this is all it was then he wouldn't advance. He needed a challenge and with Gar'ath there to keep him from killing himself he remembered something.

"What is the end goal of enhancing one's senses using meditation," he asked Rita as they sat beside a campfire on their journey to the dungeon.

"Well, I have heard of warriors who fight like they have eyes on the back of their heads and it is nearly impossible to sneak up on someone who has honed their perception in such a way." She had seemed almost bored with their conversation as if she was talking about what was for dinner and not a way to greatly enhance his fighting potential.

"Why didn't you learn this then?"

"I was not on the path to be a warrior, but I did learn it in a way. Magic requires mediation to understand oneself and learn control, but my dance instructor also used it as a way to feel my own aura to manipulate a ballroom and sense the people around me. It is weak and focused yet when combined with my graceful trait, it made me quite skilled." She had flushed with the memory and he was surprised she was so proud of a useless dancing skill. To him, it seemed a waste to skew a powerful defensive power for something as banal as dance.

"How did you train it? How can I train mine!" He found himself getting louder in his excitement and tried to calm himself. She seemed shocked at his outburst as well.

"My instructor made me dance blindfolded with a broom around our ballroom at home as the servants danced around me. We were all bruised and embarrassed by the end of the first session, so it amazed me when months later I got through an entire waltz without touching a single person. I remember being convinced they had been pranking me." She shook her head chuckling, "Once it clicked though, I could feel so much. It was like I could feel their movements in my soul."

Horace snapped back to the present and recalled Rita's awe-inspiring battle against the orc a few days previous. She had dodged and weaved like an expert. He felt bad for judging her skill before. Tearing a strip of fabric from his shirt he wrapped his eyes and braced himself. Scooting forward to where he thought another hole was, he nearly yelped as sharp teeth dug into his shin.

He dropped into a kneeling pose, crushing the wiggling body under his weight. Another sharp pain formed at his elbow and he shook his arm out forcing it to release him. More and more of the creatures started to assail him and his body began to slip as the blood and gore from their crushed bodies made the dirty stone floor slick. With his eyes covered, he found himself disoriented and off-balance. He struggled to keep upright as his foot slipped beneath him.

A small creature, presumably a sand mole, sunk its fangs into the soft human flesh of his cheek. The previous bites had been lessened by his molded stone-fleshy torso, but this one hurt beyond his ability to compose himself. He slapped straight down on his cheek. Blood gushed into his mouth and coated his blindfold. These creatures were shockingly fragile. One good hit tended to render them little more than pulp and he had no time to spare to wipe the bits off his stinging face.

He was adjusting to the blindness slowly, yet was having no luck sensing any attacks before he felt the pain as they landed. A strange sound was filling the room and it took a few moments of frantic battle for him to realize it was laughter. Gar'ath was laughing at him. He ripped off the blindfold to see what was so hilarious.

In front of him stood a small army of... hamsters? His sister had loved the little things, so he knew a hamster when he saw one. His mind failed to compute the image of these fluffy small animals with the savage bites and smushy forms he had been feeling before. Their continued lunges and assaults convinced him these were in fact what had been attacking him, but he proceeded to retreat back to Gar'ath. Gar'ath was still seated when Horace turned around to jog back to him; however, the orc was hunched over with tears in his dark eyes and he looked like he may pass out from lack of oxygen. Horace spared one second of concern before continued breathy guffaws made him scowl down at the man who was supposed to instruct him.

"What is soooo funny." He was starting to feel insulted.

"You...blindfold.. my lord! I wish the whole clan had seen that." Gar'ath was so overcome with mirth that his words only came out between chuckles and Horace deepened his glare. Gar'ath calmed down for a second only to spew spittle at Horace as their eyes met. Finally, the laughter calmed and Gar'ath wiped a lazy hand across his face as if to wipe away sweat.

"You may want to brush off the mole head you have smushed on your cheek. It is quite distracting."

Horace rushed to wipe it off only to find that the creature's small teeth were latched into his flesh, Gar'ath smiled toothily and helped him removed it. Horace starred at the head of the sand mole until Gar'ath hid it away in his pocket. Horace worried over what stories the man would tell using it later and was actually thankful he did not get to join the others for dinner. It had small beady black eyes with tufted ears on top of its delicate skull. If intimidation was a stat then this animal would be an even zero.

Horace tried to crack a joke, "At least I was the mountain in this molehill." He forced an awkward chuckle only to freeze at Gar'ath's perplexed expression. He decided to move on to try and make them both forget his shameful attempt at humor.

"How did I do?"

"How do you think you did?" Gar'ath's pointed look at his bitten, bloody, and gross body made him flush again.

"I wanted to try and hone my senses to grow my abilities. Rita gave me the idea." He didn't want to reveal any of his friend's secrets, but his fear of the orc in front of him made him blurt it out unintentionally.

"She has a battle sense? That explains much. You on the other hand do not. These are also not the beast opponents to learn it on, though, it can't hurt to try since death by them would be too shameful to allow and may create a conducive learning environment. Hmm... okay, continue on. I will endeavor to control myself."

Horace looked from Gar'ath to the wall where no sand moles, he preferred the term 'samster' as it seemed more fitting, were visible. He took his time moving back to investigate some of the more intact bodies to find they had rake-like claws on their long front legs and short stubby back paws. He rubbed at the smarting wounds on his chest and questioned if he had been feeling mostly stabbing claw attacks and not the biting he had imagined. Three feet away from the wall he replaced his red-colored cloth on his eyes and tied it behind his head. It was time to train and these 'samsters' might be the perfect practice dummies.