“We all, sometimes, have illusions where our past leads us to believe ourselves more experienced than we actually are…”
Xophorus Satterson stared out at the open sky, trying to let the sight of clouds and the feel of the wind calm his turbulent thoughts. He was sitting cross-legged on the roof of a massive howdah that was strapped to the back of an even more massive bird. The black-plumed avian creature was broad enough to seat six people, with a wingspan of fifty meters and a long feathered tail that one would more expect on a lizard. The dark-skinned young man had lived to see twenty two winters thus far, with nearly a quarter of his life had been spent in the Academy. He looked the part of a Baldemian mage, with a high-collar white waistcoat highlighted with royal blue trims. Like the jacket, his matching pants and headband, and even the two cloth ribbons that hung from two brooches on his chest, were all weaved with protective enchantments that acted as armor. His black hair was coarse and somewhat unkempt, but long enough that he had tied the back into a ponytail, and he had an unusual black stripe that ran down from the bottom of his left eye to his jawline.
Xoph leaned to look over the side of the howdah at the landscape rolling away beneath him. Reaching into one of his volumous sleeves, he pulled out a black feather that he had plucked from the Broadwing before he snuck on board. The mage closed his eyes and began to focus as he brushed the feather against his forehead, and a line of dim blue light began to etch itself into a symbol on the back of his hand. The feather began to radiate the same light, before it disappeared into blue wisps that flowed into the mage’s eyes and resculpted them into those of the avian. A broadwing’s vision was many times stronger than a human’s, and Xoph was able to see clear details of the land below. The region of Shadarrin seemed much larger than his homeland of Baldeming, though most of it was a sandblasted wasteland. History once spoke of Shadarrin as a prosperous land, filled with all types of different creatures and vegetation. A massive calamity changed all that, and now many of the orcs, dwarves, and other races that called Shadarrin home struggled to find resources. Not so for the humans, though. Humanity had found a way to thrive, coming together to create new agricultural technology and forming protected cities known as Districts.
With a sigh, he closed his eyes and dispelled his enchantment. He couldn’t use magic where he was going.
Within another hour, the Broadwing flew in sight of their destination. A large island southwest of Shadarrin hosted the region of Valmun, and as always Xoph had to marvel at the island’s unique architecture. From above, the land looked like a giant well. Bowl-shaped with a pit that went down farther than the eye could see, many of the buildings on the island were all constructed ontop of a giant 1800 acre bridge built in a cross-shape over the top of the island and connected to ramparts that made it nearly impossible to enter the island without flying in. Valmun was an independent island country, and had trading ties with all three main regions. It’s monarch, King Khoma, had turned the land into a tourist attraction and trade hub for weapons, exotic spices and herbs, jewelry, and most prominently slaves.
Especially the slaves.
In the center of the bridge lied a massive amphitheater. The 200 meter tall structure was a marvel of human and dwarven craftsmanship, and was often the main reason for a visit to Valmun. Everyday gladiators from around the world came to compete, and so gamblers from around the world came to bet. Slavers from around the world came to buy and sell the best indentured fighters and so nobles from around the world came for the best guards money could buy. While not everyone who fought in the arena was a slave, Valmun housed so many thralls that the King had created an undercity in a tower beneath the amphitheater where they could all live.
As the Broadwing landed, Xoph merged with the rest of the crowd of tourists newly entering Valmun. It was more crowded and busy than usual, but he wasn’t surprised. Today was a special event that held the promise of wealth for anyone smart enough to seize it. Once a year, on King Khoma’s birthday, the king would hold a grand celebration with special themed gladiator fights. Gamblers often walked away with several times the amount of shells they had entered with, and sometimes the king would even give away some of his most famous gladiators to the highest bidder if that warrior had happened to lose a match on the day of the ceremony. That thought didn’t help Xoph’s growing frustration with the line was forced to wait in. Though he was as patient as anyone else in his craft, the Baldemian could tell that it would take hours before he was even admitted into the coliseum; and there’d be no good seats by then!
After what felt like an eternity, the line had finally progressed to where the mage could see the entrances of the amphitheater. He could also see that the line was being split, and once he got to the guards standing at the first checkpoint, he understood why. “Name, homeland, and financial status, sir.” Xoph had to take a moment to realize that the guard was asking him a question and not making a statement. “Um.. Xophorus Satterson of Pharais, Baldeming.” He said, expecting the guards to be surprised at his prestigious background. Pharais was the crown city of Baldeming and the envy of almost every other place in the world… But if the guard had any recognition, he didn’t show any.
“Yeah, ok,” He said noncommittally, looking at Xoph’s outfit in disgust. The Baldemian’s elaborate, embroidered white and blue suit often looked out of place in Shadarrin culture. Few places outside of Baldeming had appreciation for spellcasters, and Xophorus’s appearance made no effort to hide the fact that he was a mage. “Do you have any magic on you and have you studied in the Art?” Even as the first guard spoke, his companion was standing behind Xoph and bidding him to spread his arms wide. Despite the uncomfortable frisking, Xoph answered the questions honestly. “I do, I carry two orbuculum and a collection of-“
“Be aware that any and all use of magic is forbidden on Valmun on pain of death!” The guard interrupted harshly, and much louder than Xoph would’ve liked. Despite himself, Xoph cast a quick nervous glance over his shoulder, to see the some of people in line directly behind him stepping back, looking at the mage warily and talking amongst eachother. “I… Yeah. I understand.” The young man responded as confidently as he could, surprised at his own apprehension despite the fact that he had been to Valmun before. The mage was certain that no matter how many times he visited this oppressive island, he’d never feel comfortable. “Now please accept your entry stamp. Consider yourself lucky today, spellcaster. The king’s favor falls on you, and the first fifty of your profession are granted special seating.” The guard said, his companion’s grim look turning into a bemused smirk. Xoph quirked an eyebrow, but still turned his back as the main guard stuck the head of a diamond-shape stamp into a pouch, dusted it, and stamped the back of Xoph’s neck with an ink that made his skin tingle. “The brand will fade overtime, but with it you can better hear the king’s will and we can be assured of no uncanny magic use.” The mage nodded despite a sudden dull ache in his head, and he was led to a much smaller line separate from the lines that divided people by financial status. It didn’t take long after for him to gain entry into the arena.
Maybe it was the pain in his head, but he never noticed that the guards never stopped smirking.
The cheers of hundreds of thousands filled King Khoma’s ears. The copious ruler sat on a high balcony overlooking the arena, his arena, idly sloshing about wine in a gem-studded chalice. “Large” was too small of a word to describe the great king, but “Grandiose” fit nicely. His lavishly tailored clothes draped his six and a half foot frame in velvet silks of purple, white, and gold. Each finger wore golden rings sporting different colored sparkling stones. Beneath a gem-studded crown, the king’s grey-white hair came down in rows of curls along the sides of his head, and his mustache managed half of a loop at the ends. As usual, he was stroking his long, wide beard with a wry smile on his face.
Your world is forever hollow.Despite his smile, despite his inebriation, wicked thoughts haunted the king’s mind. Khoma let his gaze roam across the applauding masses. Valmun’s finest, humans mostly, had travelled for miles from their homes to celebrate with their king. Visitors from Shadarrin and Baldeming filled many of his seats too, and through the mark each had been branded with, he could understand their language and speak to them – each one – as if he were standing right next to them. They were all here because of him. For him. They were all his.
“Mm.” He grunted, a smile creeping to his lips.
“Your majesty,” a soft voice to his side drew his attention, but not his gaze. “all of the preparations are set. At your command, we can begin the ceremony.” His servant, Sayra, informed him. She had curly black hair often kept in a ponytail that reached her mid-back and skin like …cinnamon. Her scent always reminded him of spices from his childhood. She had worked very hard to set his birthday celebration to his exact specifications, making sure everything was absolutely perfect, as if her life depended on it.
Because it did.
But would she have put together a celebration for him if she wasn’t commanded to? Would any of these people, his subjects and loyal servants, have shown up if there were no incentive given to them? Did any of that even matter? Khoma took another long gulp of his wine, and only Sayra noticed how tense his grip on his chalice was.
“Mm.” The king grunted again, stroking his beard. “Begin.”
Xophorus wasn’t a fan of large crowds. He never enjoyed the feeling of people’s shoulders jostling into him or the rain of spittle that sometimes accompanied wild cheering from those positioned higher up than he. He had always felt that concerts such as these were best enjoyed with a friend or a group of friends, where the shared energy of the group could enhance the joy of the individual. Some people could attend a mass gathering alone and gain that same excitement from a bunch of strangers, but Xoph was not that type. Instead, he found himself sitting politely, uncomfortably, between rows of roaring, excited masses. He kept his arms folded as he watched the opening chariot races, as if that dignified pose would lessen the stain on his shoulder from someone’s spilled drink.
“Special seating for mages, huh?” The spellcaster grumbled to himself, his left leg tapping anxiously as he glanced around. The seating section he was positioned in was the closest level to the arena grounds, with only about ten feet separating the closest spectators from the battlegrounds. “Mage” seemed a very lose definition for the assortment of people he had been seated with. None of them appeared to be from Baldeming and few had magical implements such as staves or totems. Of those who did, their magical tools seemed fairly cheaply made or worn down. A few seemed to be dressed in fabrics designed to facilitate manipulating ethereal energy, but none wore robes of a true wizard. They were all humans, Xoph assumed, and likely from underdeveloped regions of Shadarrin. He guessed more than a few were simply pretending to be magically inclined for the sake of the “special seats.” Xoph tried not to smile at the growing sense of superiority welling inside of him. None of the other “mages” here had the training that he had, and he was certain that if it came down to combat he could defeat them all… Maybe all at once!
The blaring of horns pulled him out of his conceited musings. The cheers rose so loud that he could feel the sound in his stomach, and everyone around him suddenly rose to their feet. An announcer stepped out onto a platform beneath the king’s balcony, an armored warrior of a woman who wore an amulet over her neck that seemed to enhance the volume of her voice. “Good people of Valmun! Raise your voices and shake the heavens with your excitement!” She held her arms out wide, and Xoph had to wince at the sudden volume raise as the cheering redoubled. “By the gods, nothing’s even happened yet.” He couldn’t even hear his own voice over the din.
“As you all know, today is Valmun’s most holiest day! It is the day of the birth of our great king! Lord Khoma!” She gave a practiced pause for more cheers. “And in accordance with tradition, we have a special event in store. A spectacle worthy of filling our King’s eyes and your purses!” Xoph blinked and squinted as a purple light shined out from sconces set all throughout the amphitheater, bathing everyone beneath the king’s balcony in a violet glow. The light only lasted a moment before seeming to shift into an ultraviolet spectrum, and Xophorus suddenly felt as if he was being choked. He found himself gasping for breath, felt his chest constricting and a sharp pain rolled down his spine. From the sounds of groans and complaints near him, it seemed the other spellcasters were feeling the effects of the light as well, though most of the audience – in fact, everyone that wasn’t in the mages section – seemed unaffected or only slightly uncomfortable.
“Everybody knows well the dangers of magic,” The announcer began, “and everybody’s lives have been affected by it in one way or another. Shadarrin was a paradise before it was destroyed by wizards! In Baldeming, those who can use magic dominate over those who can’t! And of course, we all know the monsters that sorcerers love to create or summon from some other dark realm!”
Xoph’s head was pounding, and so he had only barely noticed that the rows of chairs in his section seemed to be sliding into the ground. The entire platform that made up the mage’s section was mechanically shifting into a slope. It was only then that Xoph had noticed how many guards were positioned by all of the exits and entrances to the other sections. They were using their pikes to prod anyone trying to escape, and helping kick people down the slide and into the arena. Dread pooled up inside of him as he twisted and put his chest to the ground, trying to scrabble up the incline. The surface had become near sheer but the segments that had allowed the stands to transform made decent enough handholds. Picking his spots carefully, Xoph started to spider-climb up to safety, but more than once he almost fell while trying to maneuver around people who were still sliding down. He knew he’d have to figure out a way to deal with the guards, but he was already working on a plan when he felt a sudden yank on his leg hard enough to send streaks of pain through his knee. He lost his grip, and slid down several levels before he found a decent grasp. Glancing down, he saw a woman holding onto his leg, desperate not to fall. There was a man holding onto her waist just as desperately. Looking up, Xoph could see that some of the guards were laughing! Here these people were, struggling for their lives, and the guards were amused. “Okay. You know what?” Xoph said through a strained growl from his exertions, he looked down to give the woman holding onto him an apologetic smile, and if he could he would’ve shrugged. Her screamed intensified as he let go of his hold and allowed himself to slide into the arena.
“I’ll indulge this nonsense.”