<img alt="Image" src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/bAWTJO6oz-o/maxresdefault.jpg"/><br/><br/>The Grand Arena of Surr, as it's called began as a pit of dirt and a circle of tents in the middle of nowhere, where people would bring slaves to donate or sell, in order to get rid of them when nobody else would take them. Some find profit in a place like this, from black market deals and sale of more exotic, stronger animals and people that would serve as entertainment. Once the owners of this combined business started to take off - long before you all arrived here, they began construction of the colleseum; a grand structure planned by skilled and well-payed artitects to make something that would last for centuries. Hired work and slaves alike worked hard on stone blocks, ten years in the making while communities began to spring up around it to support its new developing infrastructure. Now at the height of its success, brothels, shops, markets and homes have all grown around it with a central path leading to the colossal structure, centering it all.<br/><br/>And then you arrive. Not all at once, some have been here longer than others, afterall, but you seven are relatively new-comers, arriving in the right time to really shine as the 'first' famous gladiators this arena has produced. Each of you have had your own, individual success, but you shine when you're put together - entertaining the crowd that began as a dwindle and has grown into a stadium of cheers. Even nobility attend on occasion, to view your prowess. Whatever you were before, that is gone now. All you have now is the fuel of cheers and adrenaline of combat. And your final fight draws near, marked on your walls is each of your victories and spoils in your resting chambers have been good. Until today really, when a uniform was presented to you to wear. You may recognize it as an old, extinct garb of a smaller nation that was conquered and enveloped in the Surr kingdom - you're tasked with a Death Match on the expected losing side? This didn't bode well. You'd know from previous fights, when one side was 'expected' to lose, the deck was stacked against them. Against you.<br/><br/>The battle of Pyran Plain, one older servor would explain to you. He was a bit of a history enthusiast, as he leant on his broom and muddled through the basic jist of it all. Centaurs charged a garrison and overran them, pretty decisive victory due to the lack of horses-- rather horse legs on one side, while the other was a more traditional force, shields and swords. A couple of spears. You're thankful they don't have any Centaur slaves they have demonstrated, though you wonder if they have some recently aquired that might be the reason for this fight. So, with the battle only hours away and warmup shows getting the audience ready, the seven of you are left in what is akin to a dressing room, to talk amongst yourselves and decide what to do, if anything. Uniforms, weapons and shields are supplied in leu of your normal equipment; to make you look like an organised force, enough for each of you and then some. At least you had a sizable breakfast this morning. And it looks like they haven't really  cleaned up the place, so if you're quick you might be able to get a few things they normally wouldn't let you have. Eitherway, this is now your moment.<br/><br/>(Available equipment: Daggers, Heavy Maces, Spears, Slings, Gladius'es, Heavy Wooden Shields, Falchion, Uniform, Armoured Kilt, Leather Light Armour, Hide Medium Armour. Rope (hemp), One Dilluted healing potion each (1d8+1))<br/><br/>((OOC thread:l<a class="postlink-local" href="https://aryion.com/forum/viewtopic.php?f=19&amp;t=53401">viewtopic.php?f=19&amp;t=53401</a>l))