Ready yourself for the games

You awaken as the sunlight pierces through the uncovered window into your eyes. You squint and look around to find yourself laying alone in your mother's bed, but it seems she has left you a gift...

You stand and see a bust beside the bed, adorned in a thick black leather kidney belt with a matching pauldron, a studded leather skirt, and a short but deadly sword well suited for close combat in the arena. The leather greaves also please you, adorned with bright metals that will reflect in the light in the arena. Your hand runs up the armor feeling the quality leather until you see the helm. It pleases you to see the brightly shined steel with a built in mask to intimidate your foes and a large thick crest to deflect blows to the head.

A magnificent piece that while worthy of a champion you figure must have come at a significant cost for your mother. You look at the small note beside the armor and see it has your mother's seal. Opening it with interest you read,

My son,

A great king is not afraid to dirty his hands in the pursuit of what is rightfully his... take this gift and rise a god in the arena. Just please ensure on completion of your task that you return to me with haste!

It is customary for noblemen to enjoy the company of a champion... and I certainly have... needs... that need to be taken care of tonight.

After reading the note you know it could do quite a bit of damage in the wrong hands. Walking over to her fireplace, you smile at the thought of another evening with your new insatiable lover as you drop it in her fireplace, watching the evidence of your illicit affair burn into ashes before you. Stepping back over to the armor, you consider the risk of the games while you strap on your meager protection.

It feels much lighter than the full plate and mail you are used to wearing during tournaments, but offers much less protection. But while tournaments are a civilized venue for nobility to enjoy friendly competition, the gladiator fights are to appease the commoners. The crowd and especially Silva love to see blood... and the gladiators are lightly armored to fulfill that desire.

Setting the helmet on your head, you realize you are about to fight amongst and against criminals and prisoners of war, those damned by Silva to **** with the few survivors having a chance at redemption. You grasp the short sword with a bone handle and step out down the hall to her atrium where a short man in a fine tunic greets you.

"So you are to be the queen's champion...?" He smiles as his eyes run over the fine armor. "I certainly hope you can make a good showing, many people place bets on the champions that royalty purchase for the games..." Leaning in he whispers, "At least I hope you can die well..." Chuckling he adds, The last champion I sponsored ended up with a javelin in his back! Very pathetic end..."

Unsure if he would recognize your voice you simply grunt in response.

"Mmmm quiet one... better that lesser educated men like you remain silent I suppose... Now come! The crowd awaits!" He says with excitement, seeing him count the betting slips as you board a wagon full of several other gladiators. As you look around you see most of them appear to be starved prisoners... excellent entertainment for the initial round to get the sands of the area red with blood.

You remain silent during the ride over to the arena, an intimidating structure originally built by the old imperial architects from an age long gone but the steady flow of slaves to Silva's lands has given him several Engineers to assist with the upkeep. As the wagon stops you are herded into a large room below, a cold and dark area full of weapons racks, blacksmiths, and caged animals to be unleashed on the unlucky few set for execution.

You find it a barbaric practice, but Silva was never known for his kindness...

As you line up with the other champions, all adorned in various armor and carrying a variety of weapons you are briefed the head trainer on the days events.
A large dark skinned man, heavily scarred from his own days in the arena looks at you all and shouts, "When Lord Silva arrives you are to bow before him and pay respect! Do not turn your back on him or speak unless spoken to... violation of these rules will get you sent with the rest of prisoners to try your luck with the lions and bears..."

Examining all the weapons and equipment he shouts, "No rules for fighting... just make it look good and don't die a coward. If the crowd is not pleased by your performance then again... its off to the lions..."

Pausing as he hears a loud trumpet he shouts, "All right you bastards... you're up! If you need to puke or piss yourselves do it now before the crowd sees you!"

Some of the men chuckle as a few of the prisoners in the front vomit and try to beg for their lives, only to be struck by the head trainers cane.

You follow the rest of the gladiators out, the light from the arena blinding you before you step onto the sands. You remain silent while the rest of the gladiators are in awe at the sheer size of the arena and raise their weapons to the roar of the crowd... wondering what is in store for you.