Upstairs brimmed with activity, servants and slaves alike hurried under the Lords’ commands. Lady Emelda and young Leandro wore their finest attire—elegant, bright pieces with golden and diamond ornaments for her, and a more sober, military-inspired outfit for the teen, following his father’s instructions. Lord Derreick donned an embroidered military suit, each fine detail handcrafted by masters, commemorating his past exploits. The Lord held his spirit tight while treading the edges of prudence. With a balanced act, he assuaged everyone’s nerves, including his own. Husband and wife glanced at each other, aware of the stakes.
“Good morning, father,” said Leandro.
After his son’s languid greeting, Lord Derreick rewarded him with a stern gaze.
“Despite your condition, keep your head high. I’m sure you can manage this,” remarked Lord Derreick.
“Yes... father.”
Their usual routine.
“Be thankful to your House, make it proud, and the House will take care of you. Your great-grandfather’s beliefs have brought us this far. Don’t forget it.”
Leandro sighed. “I won't forget, father.”
“Dear, calm down. It’s an ominous day. We don’t need any extra agitation. It’ll be fine, you’ll see,” Lady Emelda soothed her husband’s spirit.
“As long as he remembers,” stated Lord Derreick, embracing her arms with his. “And you’re right, today’s an important day for us,”
X and High Mountain joined the commotion. Lumis, Ruianne, the beargang, and half of the human servants participated as part of the Lords' entourage. Servants and slaves alike wore neat and stylish garments, provided by the House, according to their status. This special occasion required everyone to look their best. However, no one had yet realized the family gathering was short one member.
“Ah, the slave of the hour.” Lady Emelda faced the new arrivals. “Your moment of triumph has come. You did trouble us a lot, you putrajado, but everything has its comeuppance. Hear me well, everyone,” she addressed the other slaves. “This is what happens when slaves don’t know how to obey simple commands. Be good slaves, keep quiet, and— Eh? Why wasn't he dressed properly, Head Slave-Butler?”
"I... my Lady... I apologize," mumbled High Mountain.
“Well, in this case, I’ll allow it.” She turned her head, her eyes fixed on the male elf. “It’s not in our House’s name you march towards your own death, but your death will preserve our honor. What a curious turn of events. Not for you, of course.”
While Lady Emelda’s one-sided conversation carried on, the redheaded elf peeked at the slaves and saw cracks in their facades. Their veneer of sanity crumbled, revealing simple, everyday beings yielding to pressure. Head Slave-Butler Gnome’s grip on him trembled. They all shot nervous glances at each other, blood boiling through all present sentient creatures. X prayed they’d hold it together before screaming their hearts out.
How many times had X been under such circumstances? Hard to say even for him, but he remained calm, taking deep breaths and focusing on his real and tangible present. The atemporal could wait.
Contrary to everyone’s expectations Lord Derreick didn’t address the elf in question but instead interrupted Lady Emelda’s monologue.
"Where's our daughter?" questioned the Lord.
"This girl is going to be the death of me!” exclaimed Lady Emelda. “I told her not to be late, especially not today! I'll go—"
"I don't want to be late. Perception is everything in these events. Lumis!" spoke the Lord.
Lumis stepped forward. "Yes, mieww Lord!"
“Make sure the oversleeping young Lady of this House is dressed appropriately, and I want her at the arena at the earliest. And by earliest, I mean now. Your fur is on the line. Go, go,” instructed Lord Derreick before turning his attention to the redheaded slave-elf. “For those of us already here, everything.”
"Everything," X replied in kind.
"We go now," ordered the Lord.
Those uttered words bound Lord and slave in an unspoken understanding. The family boarded a lavish, custom-made carriage, purchased for the occasion, while an entourage of strange beings followed their every move and obeyed their every whim. The streets outside overflowed with excitement, as sentient creatures from all walks of life made their way to the arena. Such an event demanded a festival of equal proportions. Music, dance, and food welcomed each new arrival into a stage prepared for their satisfaction. House Liame entered through a VIP gate and separated upon arrival. Lady Emelda, Leandro, Ruianne, High Mountain, and their human servants headed to the family suite, while Lord Derreick stayed behind with the redheaded elf.
As Lady Emelda and her son entered their suite, two knights and a captain stood at attention, offering salutes. The Lady was surprised to encounter knights from the Jetual Order, the military organization her husband had been a member of since his youth, stationed there. ‘A display of strength will do us good,’ she thought and settled in after introducing herself and her son. The suite offered ample space filled with luxurious snacks, comfortable seating, and various refreshments. Servants and slaves alike made themselves useful attending Lady Emelda and her son.
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Crowds of people flocked into the arena as did most Houses, and the few not present sent representatives. The prominent families occupied their own suites, while those of lower status sat according to the color of their tickets, reflecting the cost. The rest of the attendees claimed a seat on a first-come, first-served basis until no more people could fit in.
At these events, the influential Houses kept a watchful eye on one another, using the opportunity to exchange messages through personal invitations distributed by the multitude of slaves populating the venue. Every minute spent in public presented an opportunity or a setback, and each social cue merited a careful consideration.
After a considerable wait, with the arena at capacity, Saint Jaulea's Mayor and his wife finally made their way to the central podium stage, accompanied by military officers, politicians, and other colorful personalities. The mayor addressed the entire crowd, from those in their VIP quarters to those standing or sitting at every step, shoulder to shoulder, gathered there to get a piece of the slave, who, after festivities, would be dismembered with most body parts thrown to a raging public while his finest parts would be auctioned off. And the mayor played his part too, a politician first, he took every advantage of his position to spew the party line. He rambled on until the faces of the Houses that supported him looked satisfied.
With his political duties fulfilled, the mayor began his final address. “Sisters and brothers, citizens of Saint Jaulea. We’ve gathered here on this blessed occasion for justice to take place before our own eyes. Due to the putrajados’ heinous acts, we always come back to this brutal arena. It is by their lack of propriety, decorum in social situations, and most aggravatingly, their failing intelligence to learn the most basic manners that bring us together here today. Slave education is our duty, they cannot rule themselves nor decide for themselves. Nor should they. Today’s lesson will be imparted by Sir Mitchell ‘Putrajados’ Bane’ Andarlo under the Adventurers’ Guild auspices, without which we would have been, long ago, overrun by savage beasts from the west. And to everyone else, we shall act as witnesses, by design of our almighty Gods and fervently favored by Deistel-Gajjuan, First Aspect of Battle... Let the duel begin!”
To a thunderous applause and raucous screams, expectations rose for soon-to-be-spilled blood. All eyes in the arena fixed on the east gate. The heavy metal bars slowly clinked open, revealing a shining figure in full armor and regalia. Mitchell yelled with both arms raised while he toured the arena. Every child, woman, and man went wild, screeching and throwing flowers as he walked by them. A group of ladies, front-row attendees, admirers of the Adventurers’ Guild and Mitchell’s clique in particular, sang the Guild’s hymn with burning passion.
In a contrasting light and to deafening jeers and whistles the arena’s west gate rose, revealing an exhausted, weak elf. A new daunting experience, having such a vast audience observe his every move until his last breath, welcomed him. Being the center of attention riled his nerves. Too late for an episode of stage fright, and under an explosive ruckus, the redheaded elf spat down, raised both arms, and saluted his dear public with one finger raised on each fist. Crass. A show they wanted, a show he’d give them. Adrenalin began to flow through his body, a known feeling, a nostalgic feeling.
Mitchell's voice cut through the noise of the crowd, silencing everyone. “We are here today, in this blood-soaked arena, blood of the weak, the bad, and the downright despicable... All because this slave, a mere putrajado, pretended to pass poor judgment upon me and thus, upon all of us!”
A roar erupted, a thousand voices echoed his sentiment.
What a sight. Some folks take things way too seriously.
X glanced at the public, trying to spot known faces. Nothing. Wherever they sat didn’t matter, everyone’s faces faded into rivers of unknowns. Near the gate he came from stood one well-known figure, Lord Derreick. However, the Lord didn’t move, didn’t revel in the spectacle before him. No. Standing still, unamused and calm, he focused his mind on one thing: being ready for action.
Despite the record number of attendees, not everyone enjoyed these events. Within the crowd, strained faces tripped all over, running errands for their masters, trying their best to calm their shaking spirits. Never ones to enjoy their fellow slaves’ torture, death, and subsequent dismemberment, this morning a different set of expectations ate their souls away as seconds slipped by. Last night’s gossip overshadowed their usual reasons for discomfort, a dark cloud of unforbidden consequences embracing them. Ruianne had told her trusted fellow slaves, from different Houses and privy to their plans, to zip it—there would be no more talk or discussion before the signal. Those slaves had to muster all their strength to stay collected under watchful eyes.
The Lords of House Liame had left behind two human servants, the beargang, the half-she-orc, and Lumis, who was desperately trying to find the young Lady. Lumis lost her composure in her failure to locate the capricious girl. She feared what would happen to her if she didn’t find the young Lady, the Lords’ punishment would be severe. For a brief moment, she forgot their time to act drew near. By mere automatic reaction, she had driven herself into a corner, but in a lucid moment of sobriety, she remembered that today she’d either end as a free kinkat or a dead one. She stopped her search and told the human servants the young Lady had already departed and should already be with her family. The servants took Lumis at her word. They played it nice because they yearned to watch the ongoing spectacle. Soon enough, everyone found themselves drawn in by the fervent devotees of fresh blood and guts, with roaring screams rising in an unstoppable crescendo crashing through Saint Jaluea’s wealthy district.
Sir Mitchell's voice boomed through the arena, filling the air with his passionate words. “Our Adventurers’ Guild has done much for Saint Jaulea in numerous occasions. And we will continue to do so, for as long as we, adventurers, draw breathe. An invaluable alliance growing stronger each and every day... to be disrespected in such ways! But alas, while we want to blame everything on this unruly slave, guilt also lies with his masters! The discipline they have neglected to give, I’ll impart it now!”
Another ardent uproar rumbled through the arena. People watched entranced, many not caring what Sir Mitchell spoke about, they wanted their morning gore. Most Houses’ members agreed with him—every single slave’s action reflected back on their Lords and their respective Houses. Some thought it unfortunate, while others saw an opportunity. Those in the Adventurers’ Guild could not thank the Gods enough for this golden chance to show off and shame House Liame and, by affiliation, the Jetual Corps.
Time for talking had ended. To blaring acclaim, Mitchell lowered his helmet’s visor. Both duelists took center stage, staring at each other. Screams vanished, and silence reigned. A muted crowd locked sight on those two figures. It could end in one strike, it had before.
The redheaded elf’s shallow breathing betrayed his composure. His expectations of success and failure fed his heightened senses and growing adrenaline surge. It was do or die, not only for X, but for everyone involved. They just didn’t know it yet.