The Price of Freedom

Welcome to the Arena

Yeah... this is um... fun.

20 of the lesser races (with a hodge podge of fallen as well) strapped on armor and readied swords, clubs, and spears. You heard soft crying from off in a corner somewhere. Before you knew it, you were stepping into the arena.

A wave of dog crashed upon you. A lion-man cracking a whip behind them. An unlikely bunch stepped forward (or backward, in some cases) and faced the wave as it broke upon them. Swords rose and fell, goblins, orcs, and fallen humans were torn to shreds by the dogs. All the while, the spectators pointed and laughed. The wanton slaughter of lessers and fallen is something that relieves their stress and gives them something to brighten their day. A group of six stood out, rising to the occasion. As quickly as it had begun, the fight ended. The last remaining hyena being torn in half by the werewolf, and the leader being struck down and beheaded. The crowd gasped and sighed in disgust and delight… then began to chant. It took only moments to realize that their chanting had a purpose. Out into the daylight walks a massive hobgoblin, a long spiked chain spinning over his head. He calls out to the crowd, and grimaces when their response is to cheer on both him and his opponents. He shrugs and readies himself for the attack. He knows how to handle competition…



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