The rays of the stark blue sky beat down on Marcus's shoulders as he sparred a veteran of the ludus. His vision blurring from dehydration, it took all of his strength to remain standing. He was holding his own for the most part,  relying on dodging and swift counter attacks to land a fleeting blow on his opponent. Still, when his opponent connected, as he oft would, Marcus's world would go blank, and he'd find himself prostrate, his mouth full of bitter sand. The doctore would chide him, seeing a resilience in Marcus that needed to be cultivated. Through his taunts he hoped reveal the inner beast. He heard stories of the cruelty of<em>Cruentus</em>, how he sold himself into slavery to dodge the death penalty for treason and homicide. Such an unforgiving person would surely sell well and bring glory to his master, and subsequently himself.  Dusting himself off and settling back into his fighting stance, Marcus did not protest or make snide remarks towards the doctore like some of his more brazen comrades. If he was knocked down, he would spring back up immediately, much to the enjoyment of the doctore. He feared the whip that the man held and tried his best to not even look at it. Something about the implement evoked a seething hatred. Deep down, a part of himself shrieked to break loose.<br/><br/>As Marcus was beaten and ridiculed in the scorching heat, he couldn't help but smile. Marcus was content. There wasn't an incident for months, and the unforgiving gladiatorial life excited him. He was bursting at the seams to participate in his first bout, to relive his glory days in the Roman army. He was nervous as well, though. If he didn't improve soon, he was either going to die or have to revert all his progress. Still, there were other issues that could arise. He was not particularly fond of killing as he had done enough of that as is. Indeed, he also already started taking a liking to his peers. There was the other new recruit, Leonidas, who resided in an adjacent cage. Marcus was intrigued by his dignified air which contrasted his own rural manners. The common experience of having the entire ludus out to get them slain led Marcus to watch over the other fresh gladiator. There was the towering man from the north, who spent his time in his cell brooding, his dull green eyes fixed on the ground, looking into a different place and time. Marcus tried to befriend this man, but the man's disposition towards Romans was colder than his gaze. There also were the pretty little slave girls that would from time to time find themselves underneath the mass of the gladiators at the Dominus's bequest, stumbling back to their quarters with a child in their bellies. Marcus often contemplated having such a romp with these gorgeous ladies, but the last time he had seen naked women, he was sprinkled with their blood.<br/>And so he chuckled to himself as he reclined in his cell, a home fitting for the likes of him. A life of glory and pain isn't so bad, though pangs of desire for a life of freedom lost to him often slipped into his mind. Hopefully next day's training session will make him forget.<br/>