One emerges - THE GLADIATOR

"I'll match the three thousand."

A voice says it hesitantly from the crowd. It catches the attention of the whole market. The fat man freezes mid-flourish. It takes all of the strength in his body to not let his expression sour. His eyes lock on the speaker. In the back of the crowd, where the wealthiest dominas lounge on shaded cushions, a single male in unassuming garb has stepped forward. The wealthy women all look on in mixed curiosity and envy. The fat man clears his throat and forces a smile.

"Ah, perhaps somebody's eyes are bigger than their wallet. Alas, I misspoke, the starting price is actually three and a half thousand velors."

"I'll match it." The buyer responds without hesitation. The fat man's restrained sour expression becomes openly .

"Right... do we have a match for three and a half thousand? Perhaps somebody else would like to match?" The fat man asks.

Nobody responds and he adds "This is no mere pit fighter; they could tend your field, maintain your house, save your job." He emphasizes the last part as he looks desperately at the plants in the audience.

"Nobody is taking it Bubastis, start the countdown." A wealthy woman in a gold and ivory lounge declares, her voice is playful.

Some of the armed women wearing the uniforms of the royal city guard and not Erana's group have started to take notice of Bubastis's stalling. They motion his way.

"Very well, very well! First call to match." He asks nervously.

Nobody responds as he continues through the following calls. The fat man gulps.

"It's... sold." Bubastis sighs. The buyer steps forward and takes the handle to your collar. Despite the young man's gleaming youthful face, his body is sickly and wire-thin. He's half your height if that. Overpowering him would be as easy as beating up an infant, but you can't do it here. You give him a friendly smile as you envision crushing his skull in your hands. He hands Bubastis a bag of coins almost bigger than his own head, which Bubastis takes sulkily. Your new owner offers you the meager clothes you had been given before, which you accept gratefully and re-dress.

"Well well, Corren, never easy to predict what you'll do next." The woman from the gold and ivory lounge purrs as she saunters over to you and your new owner. Her long raven hair stands out against her pure ivory skin and curve-hugging red dress. She's like every raunchy fantasy you've ever had about elven women come to walk the earth, just missing the being pumped full of your potent seed part. She eyes you playfully before coming to embrace your new owner, partially against his will.

"Have to keep people guessing Lady Moira." He forces a chuckle.

"Indeed, and by my guess, that's more than half of my loan you just spent darling." She tuts as she strokes his chest.

"D-don't worry domina, I'm good for it. This new fighter will pay for itself in no time!" He says nervously, he slaps your ass demonstratively. You grunt and remind yourself to snap some limbs before you crush his skull.

"Indeed..." Moira responds. "Of course when you fail to pay back your debt it will make a most interesting addition to my collection. Just a matter of time sweet boy, don't keep a lady waiting."

She kisses your owner on the cheek and departs with another blown kiss. When she climbs back onto her platform a gathering of ornately dressed slaves hoist her up on their shoulders and leave. As soon as she's out of earshot, your owner takes you into a waiting carriage and clasps his head in his hands.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck." He mutters. "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die."

He seems to forget you're there as he all but collapses into a nervous ball.

"Uhhh, you okay?" You ask him.

"Fuck! You can understand me?"

"Yes?" You respond.

He sits back up and looks at you, a ball of anxiety and fear. "I have to run, what's it like outside the kingdom? What if I want to never be found? I can start a new life. You're from the black woods, maybe they'll keep me as a pet."

You give him a quick shake. When release him, he catches his breath.

"What's wrong with you?" You ask concernedly.

He looks up at you "I'm very small and I have no money. Can you imagine the kind of stress that I'm under?"

"Let's go slowly, what is your name?" You ask.

"Correntius Thibeaux, my friends used to call me Ren."

"Used to?"

He looks confused at the question before realization crosses his face. "I guess you wouldn't understand elven politics very well. I'm a Subi, one of the last."

You look at him confused.

"Right, never heard of them. One of the original thirteen families that founded Velouran, built the black tower. Smallest in size but greatest in magic, at least allegedly."

"Allegedly?"

"Well we can't weave firestorms and we're no good for maintaining the barrier, we have magic inside of us that keeps us from aging."

"So, like a normal elf?"

"Right but like a million times stronger. My grandfather was old enough to remember the days before the empire. I just celebrated my two hundredth with the last of us still free. It's just that we're... harvestable. The other families have driven mine almost to extinction."

"I didn't think the eleven families fought."

"Not violently we don't, that witch Moira uses something far eviler." He leans in for dramatic effect. "Economics."

"She harvested your family through money?"

"The witch thinks she can harvest us to stay young forever, so she drives us out of business and gives us loans we can't hope to repay. Then when we can't pay she claims indentured servitude and takes ownership of everything the person has and keeps them as a . She's shown me what she does to them, she taunts me with it every time I take a loan from her."

"Why take her loans?"

"She's not just part of the council, she's one of the Matrons of the Black Tower. Every bank and moneylender in the city reports to her. I need the loan to beat her at her own game, the only way I can fight the system is with the tools of the system."

"By taking a loan you can't repay?"

He gleams "That's where you come in! I've found the one business she can't bully with her money. Moira hates the gladiatorial games, if you can win even a couple I can pay back my bet with interest!"

"You want me to fight in the arena?"

"Well yeah, you're an orc, right? A born warrior?"

You don't have the heart to tell him that all of the knowledge of combat that this body had likely left with the past consciousness to inherit it, you nod with feigned pride.

"Exactly! You win a few rounds so people know you're good, then when the odds start to favor you I can bet against you and you can throw the match. Win or lose, we get paid, you get freed, and I don't get harvested for my magic for the rest of time."

The carriage travels for a long time before it slows to a stop, when it finally does the sun is starting to set. Ren steps out.

"Behold, warrior, my Ludus!" He says squeakily.

You step out of the carriage. The building he stands in front of is little more than a pair of sheds at the foothills of the greater estates. Even if not surrounded by the larger and more lavish buildings, the place is an absolute dump.

"This is a sty." You tell him flatly.

His face doesn't change "You're telling me. But it's the last of my inheritance, so it's my sty."

You step into the walls of the lot, when he attempts to close the gate behind you it collapses onto the street. There are two buildings inside the desolate sandy lot, one is prison-like with metal bars across the windows and a door with a deadbolt. Inside is a simple bed and the most basic of amenities. The other is a more decorated bedchamber, albeit no less dumpy of one. The prison-like house has a sign out front that says "Beware of Gladiator."

You step into the decorated bedchamber and do a quick eye check of the bed to make sure you'll fit. You settle down onto it, your entire legs from the knee down hang over the edge and rest on the floor. At least the mattress is comfy.

"R-right, you can have that room. I'll take the other one." Ren says. You sigh and close your eyes, trying to settle in.

"I never got your name." He coughs.

"Erana called me Cent." You grunt back.

"No, your real name."

You're taken aback, "Yreda" you answer.

"Right, Yreda. Can I ask you a favor?"

"I'm your , you don't need to ask." You grumble.

"R-right. Please... don't escape."

You open your eyes, Ren looks dejected.

"Like, I'm at your mercy here. If you want to go I obviously can't stop you, hell you'd probably be right to. Just... please? Give me a chance?"

You look at the pathetic little elf in the doorway. Despite everything, it manages to twist some sort of knife deep in your stomach.

"I'll consider it." You grunt.

"Thanks." Ren says as he ducks out. You close your eyes as the dark closes on the city.

The night is cold, at least you think it is, it's always cold here. You're woken by a chill against your body. You open your eyes to see if you can find where the draft is but instead see Ren curled up against you shivering. You think about crushing his skull again, but you feel the knife in your stomach twist again. You pull the blanket around him and lay uncomfortably on the undersized bed.

Fucking elves.