Well here is a new series that I hope to make alongside The Wasteland, tell me what you think and if you want more, also I'm going to be taking a small break from The Wasteland for just next week ok? Tell me what you think!\


Chapter 1

In the City of Baner in the country of Mandt lies an Arena, there are many like it across Mandt but the Baner Arena is the greatest of them all. For five hundred years it stood, surviving six wars and seven lootings, for centuries it stood the entertainment center of all the land. Thousands of men and women have lost their lives in the sandy pit, thousands more watched and cheered as it happened. The gladiators in the arena each have their reasons for competing; pride, wealth, desperation, suicide, and for a few, to learn; this is the story of a gladiator who was there for none of these reasons.
Darren was the headmaster of the Arena at the time, he was strong as all of his species, a bear, he had dark brown fur, almost no fat, and muscles that could make a bull back down. He would eventually become the most trusted General of the royal army but for now that’s unimportant, what is important that it was because of the actions of a singular fox that gave him that position. Darren met him on the fifth and final month of the year. Darren was opening the door to the basement of the Arena when he saw something catch is eye; he quickly turned around and saw a short fox. He looked like he was from the south, he had the fur: pale and thick as a wool blanket. Upon a closer look the fox was no more than a kid, barely 18 years old. He didn’t look particularly too strong or fast or even special at all, the only distinguishing figure was the scar on his neck and it wasn’t even that big. His clothes were that of one who had lived in the streets. His fur was pale red and very greasy, his shoes weren’t shoes they were sandals, and he had this giant backpack on his back, the same on soldiers carried all their gear in. However it was early in the morning and Darren didn’t notice any of this, he only saw a beggar looking for food.
“What do you want kid,” Darren sneered.
The kid reached into his beat up pants and produced a piece of paper that screamed “DO YOU WANT TO FIGHT AS A BRAVE WARRIOR? DO YOU WANT FAME AND RICHES BEOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS? THEM COME OVER TO THE ARENA AND FIGHT FOR GLORY, FAME, AND THE ROAR OF THE CROWEDS.
“You can’t be serous! Look at you! I bet you couldn’t pick up a butter knife let alone a sword!”
The kid crossed his arms and glared at him, and faster than Darren could react he kicked out is legs and pulled Darren’s sword out of its holster and pointed it at his neck. Darren just laid there on the ground with his own sword at his throat. Finally when the kid looked ready to kill Darren the kid moved his sword to the side and offered his paw. Darren grabbed it and as soon as he was on his feet he socked the kid right in the mouth. The kid dropped the sword as he fell. Slowly, Darren picked it up and started wiping the dirt and grime that was left by the kid, he must have been filthy. The kid stood up and quickly dropped into a fighting stance that was unfamiliar to him.
“Ok ok kid you made your point you can fight very well, you even caught me by surprise but it remains that you can’t join the arena, your unqualified, I haven’t even seen you around town. Plus the crowd doesn’t want to see some pathetic fox from the streets being killed by a tiger, sorry, I can’t accept you.”
With this the kid lost all emotion in his face, didn’t look sad, didn’t look glad, or anything. Darren thought he was mute, he was intrigued by him, and the kid looked like he would fall apart if a wind that was too strong hit him but something about those eyes showed Darren that he was deadly. Darren kind of felt sorry for the kid but, rules are rules. So he left the kid by the entrance to the Arena. He walked into his “office” which was nothing more than a chair, desk, and a list of the dead this week, and sat down. He got to work interviewing countless retired soldiers, mercenaries, and town locals for the Arena but no one good showed up. At midday the fights started, Darren remembered all the bedtime stories about the Champions of the Arena from long ago, the best being Logan the Horse and his sword of steel. The rules of the arena were very simple back then: no arrows, no magic, and above all no tail slicing, not at all like today where every rule is bickered over, types of weapons, what armor someone could wield, and which species could fight each other.
Seven animals reveled in glory that day and seven laid dead in a pool of their own blood, same old same old. After each fight Darren would need to pay the winner his cut, notify the next-of-kin, and reviewed some of the better fighters for larger fights, such as fighting two raw recruits at once. At about dusk he headed to a conference with the rest of the Arena leaders in the country. It was routine, they would meet every 2 months, throw around bad ideas, decided to keep the old ones, and about midnight stagger home and pass out the second they got to their homes/inn rooms. They always meet at the Nine Cousin’s Bar. It was Darren’s favorite; there were no stairs to trip over while drunk. At his surprise all the other leaders were there, he usually got there on time but still had to wait a few hours before anyone else got there. They were all seven were basically the same, they all had the three B’s, Big, Burly, and smart as Bricks. They were all bears, who happen do very well in the Arena due to their enormous muscles, except for Stela Killick who was a beautiful vixen that won each one of her fights through speed and her famous shadowsteel blade and Kell the Lizard, he has won many battles but the very first fight he ever fought was against the local champ and he won.
Darren sat down and almost immediately an attractive young wolf came up and took his order even though he ordered the same thing every time: a bottle of their homemade whiskey. Once Darren had about a quarter of the bottle he tipped her well, knowing how rowdy he the other Arena can get while drunk. For some reason every Master was nervous, not looking him in the eye and each looked like they had something to say, except for Stela, she looked as calm and seductive as ever.
“Ok, I can see something is going on so just spit it out already,” Darren ordered quite loudly, already haven drunk a quarter of the bottle.
“Look we respect the rules just as much as you but we need to act now!” Shouted Kell, the master from the marshy lands of Selborn.
“Kell speaks the truth, if we don’t do anything the Arena will die and so will the rest of them!” Screamed Gart Bluze, he was the bear of the north, braving the worst cold and the strongest creatures.
Suddenly everyone was shouting at once, all trying to get something, Darren didn’t know what, across. He slammed his massive paw on the table making it crack. The bartender looked very sternly at Darren, no doubt he’s going to need to pay for a new table.
“All of you SHUT UP! I can’t understand what’s going on here! Now will one of you blabbering idiots tell me what’s going on in a calm manner.” He roared
Not surprisingly Stela was the one to answer, “we are planning on having a huge tournament that goes against the rules set by the ancients.”
“There better be a damn good reason, you know how the officials are on this kind of stuff.”
“There is,” replied Stela, in the land of sand or Sakda, whichever you prefere, a seer had a vision, in it there were two stone carvings, both showed the symbol of this city, both showed a powerful warrior, and both showed the symbol of the Arena, but on the first one the warrior never entered the Arena and the city was destroyed, the second one showed the warrior entering the Arena and the city was saved, from what we can’t tell. The important thing is that we need to hold the largest tournament in history to try to get this warrior to come here and save us!”
Darren thought long and hard about this, if he agreed he could risk banishment and humiliation, on the other hand he had a prophecy that may or may not come true, but if it was right he and the rest of the city will die. After a full half hour of thought he said, “Alright, fine! Well hold this tournament, but if you are wrong about this you will pay, understand?”
“Perfectly,” said Kell
“But, I have a few rules.”
“Then let us hear them!” boomed Arong the oldest Master here.
“Fine, I have but three rules, one: no magic, I can’t stand it and if our warrior is a mage then he will always be outclassed by the Ancients that watch over us, second: I choose each warrior that fights, no point in throwing away lives needlessly, and the last rule is: no person that has fought before can enter, if this warrior truly is the best our Arena won’t pose a threat, none of the fighters are even near the ability of what you guys are expecting and I now a lot of guys who will come out of hiding to fight if they don’t have to waste their time.”