“Choose one of the following that best describes you,” I say. “Warrior, mage, priest, marksman, assassin, battlemage, berserker, healer, technician, druid, or other.” 

A pen rests in my hand, poised to record his answer.

Udrick the Executioner frowns. He is a huge man, tall and wide, with a messy red beard that is also tall and wide. His stench reaches me from where I sit behind my desk. His axe is inlaid with a fist-size gemstone emitting dark light, and he shifts the weapon from one hand to the other as he growls:

“I, Udrick the Executioner, am a warrior-mage.”

I shiver a little. Unlike the first few clients I dealt with, Udrick is the real deal. A powerful, seasoned adventurer, exactly the sort of person I idolized as a kid. I briefly wonder how many people he has killed.

“Okay,” I say, making a mark on the form. “I’ll put you down as a battlemage. Great!”

“No! I’m a warrior-mage, not some sissy battlemage! Change it.”

“Um, Mr. Executioner, there isn’t an option for warrior-mage. It says to pick the option that best describes you, so I put battlemage, even if it isn’t exactly the same.”

Udrick raises his considerable weight from the chair until he is standing at his full height. He stops toying with his axe, instead holding it perfectly still at his waist. I can see his sizable muscles taut, ready to unleash violence at any moment.

I try to swallow, gag, and make an audible gulp. “Alright! Alright, Mr. Executioner! I’ll put you down as ‘other’ and write in ‘warrior-mage’.”

He sits and rumbles: “This is acceptable.” 

I scratch an X through the already circled battlemage option, and circle other. I wish I had some whiteout, but I don’t see any on the desk, and I don’t want to spend time looking through the drawers. I decide to just leave it, and hope the system is able process my revision to Udrick’s form.

“Okay sir, next question. Do you have any special dietary restrictions the tournament catering staff should be aware of?”

Udrick twists his fingers in his beard. “Dietary…restrictions?”

“You know, like gluten free, or lactose intolerance, or whatever?”

“For meals?”

“Yeah.”

“I prefer to dine on the marrow of the bones of my enemies. Flesh is okay too.”

I almost protest, but think better of it. “I’ll make a note of that. Is that all for dietary needs?”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

“That’s all.” 

I write prefers to eat his enemies if possible. 

“Okay. I have to read you a legally mandated thing, then you sign, then the machine can process your form and when it’s done you’re good to go to your lodging. You ready?”

He nods.

“Okay. Um, here it goes. I (that’s you), Udrick the Executioner, intend to enter the Tournament of Fire and Death as a contestant. In previous years, contestants in the Tournament have suffered harms including but not limited to scrapes, bruises, bad breath, mild to severe burns, hair loss, miscarriage, ulcers, back pain, breathing difficulty, trauma, vocal damage, depression, heart attacks, bad luck, loss of limbs, erectile dysfunction, insanity, soul damage, and death. I understand these risks, and I waive any and all legal rights associated with my personal safety while on the arena floor, as defined below. The right to sue the Tournament of Fire and Death corporation or any affiliates is also waived. 

“The arena floor is a circular or elliptical marked area at the center of a stadium. It extends vertically 399 feet into the air and 599 feet into the earth. Note that legal protection is waived exclusively for contestants, and that this waiver is in effect for the entire duration of the month-long Tournament, from the end of the Opening Ceremony to the end of the Crowning. This includes Tournament matches as well as times between matches, including nighttime.

“Sign here to show you understand and agree.”

“Sounds like this is gonna be fun,” he grins.

 Udrick takes a good thirty seconds to write his name, and I am reminded of why I have to fill these forms out for the contestants. Most of them can’t read.

“Thanks, Mr. Executioner!” I say when he hands the form back to me. “The machine is going to need a few minutes to process your form, and then you’re good to go.”

I feed the paper into the machine. I have no idea what goes on in that mix of technology and sorcery; hell, I don’t even know what its purpose is. All I know is, my direct superior told me to put the forms in, and so I do.

A few minutes later, the machine is still buzzing and whirring. “It usually doesn’t take this long,” I tell Udrick. “It might be having a bit of difficulty with the warrior-mage thing, but it should be done soon.”

Ten minutes pass, and the machine is still chugging away. Udrick is giving me a very prolonged, very menacing look. I pretend to be organizing the papers on my desk just to give myself something to do.

Another ten minutes go by. Udrick looks extremely frustrated, and I would sympathize except for the fact that he keeps almost raising his axe at me. I’m on the verge of calling my superior when Udrick speaks to me:

“I’m going to tell you a story of my adventures.”

“I’d love to hear it!” This is true, and not just because it’s something for us to do while waiting. When I was little I wanted to be a legendary adventurer, and although I eventually realized I am not cut out for the job, it is still something that interests me. It’s part of why I applied for this position, although the lack of alternatives was a much larger factor.

“This was seven-odd years ago,” Udrick begins. “Me and a couple others was adventuring along the far side of the Emerald Ocean. You probably don’t know, but there is a whole continent there, way far East. Anyway, we had this tiny ship, and we was sailing past near everything. Whales, serpents, savages, you name it. But the strangest thing was these Icemen, who I thought was just a myth.”

I stop fidgeting with papers, and listen in rapt attention.

“These Icemen was the strangest thing you ever saw. They get born, live, and die all inside a glacier. Huge chunks of see-through ice, as far as the eye can see, and inside them, the Icemen. Somehow they live entirely encased in ice, frozen solid! But these Icemen, they aint like us, aside from just being in ice. They live for thousands of years, on account of their lives being so slow. Me and my companions was there nearly a week, and there was this one Iceman we would look at every day. He managed to take only one step in that entire week, that’s how slow they move.”

Udrick is standing now, pantomiming along with his story.

“And these Icemen, it’s the strangest thing, you can see them in the middle of whatevers they doing, lifting their feet to walk, jumping with joy, throwing a punch, or having a fuck. It was absolutely crazy. I thought to myself: ‘Udrick the Executioner, you have surely seen the slowest thing in the entire world.’ But I was wrong.” 

Here Udrick pauses and sits back down. He strokes his beard before continuing:

“...Because I had yet to encounter this idiotic tournament paperwork and this gods-cursed machine!”

He leaps to his feet, his axe raising in the air. It swings to just shy of my neck. He holds it there, and I have to lean back lest it press uncomfortably into my throat.

“Now tell me, how much longer is this going to take?!”

“Um...I don’t know what to tell you....”

My first day as an intern is not going well. 

Mercifully, the machine decides this is the moment to spit out Udrick’s form. Udrick backs off, and I glance at the form.

“All done, sir. Just go through that door and someone will show you to your lodging. We hope you enjoy your time here at the Tournament of Fire and Death!”