Tarmaan wakes up looking at a dank rundown jail cell. His dazed eyes adjust slowly, he remembers just as slowly the events that took place a while ago.
Tarmaan had been investigating a mysterious disappearance, someone close to him. He ended up in Port Krez after fleeing from the Cliffscrape guard. He had been snooping around for too long and the people in Cliffscrape didn’t appreciate that. They didn’t know what he wanted exactly but his investigation seemed too suspicious. He was mistaken for one of House Medani, an inquirer, and nobody liked investigators in that town, it attracted too much attention.
After about two months of hiding Tarmaan decided to travel from Port Krez to Regalport so he could continue his investigation somewhere else. He couldn’t let anyone know the details of who he was seeking and this refusal would be his downfall in this shanty town. Tarmaan needed a ship to travel and Sharkmaws crew had the cheapest sails to afford the journey. He had spoken to Sharkmaw himself. This Sharkmaw had a reserved, gruff attitude towards strangers, not uncommon among pirates of low wealth. Once arrangements were settled, Tarmaan asked Sharkmaw about the expectations of his ship. Unfortunately a drunk and elated crewmember asked him about his buisness. Tarmaan gave him a general explanation but sharkmaw wanted no secrets and he sensed hesitation and gaps in his answer. Tarmaan refused to say more, this made the captain truly angry. He remarked, “If ye refuse to ansa, then ye a spy.”
The attack was quick but Tarmaan’s parries were quicker. Slaying three men, he was finally overwhelmed. The crew threw him in a filthy alleyway and ruffed him up. A patrol of Mika’s Pirates arrived after Sharkmaws crew left. While unconscious they took him as a prisoner slave.
Luck of the draw, Tarmaan soon found out he was especially chosen as a fighter to be sold. He awoke in pain, bruised, cut. He immediately heard an uproar of people from outside. The yelling had a high and low rhythm, as if excited one moment and disappointed the next. The cell was roughly opened by a guard. Getting startled by the clank of metal he didn’t notice the longspear quickly pointed at his direction.
“Get Out!” yelled the guard. Tarmaan slowly left the cell, carefully eyeing this well equipped man. The guard noticing his suspicion quickly said, “what are you looking at! Go and get a sword! It is time to display yourself to the good buyers outside.” The guard chuckled loudly.
Tarmaan left towards a barren room with weapon racks erected throughout the dirt floor. He picked up a poorly smithed scimitar. It had rust in a few places around the edges. At once he missed his equipment and wondered where the guards placed his armor and weapons.
He swung the weapon a few times with refined technique and felt a little more comfortable holding the cheap scimitar. A prisoner arrived and took a spear, looked at Tarmaan for a brief sullen second, and left towards an open doorway. tarmaan followed close behind, anticipating danger as the crowd grew louder and louder with every step. He arrived at a barred doorway that streamed light towards this darkened hallway. Gripping the bars and looking at the scenario beyond him, he witnessed a bloody rivalry taking place in an octagonal arena. The fights were a couple men from the opposite side against one man from our side. These fights took place every time the standalone man won, or was brutally killed. The bout would end with a loud merchant selling the winner to a buyer, or solemnly announcing the end of a lost bout with a quiet recession from the audience. The next bout would begin soon afterwards as the barred gate was raised, and another shaken prisoner left the hallway with weapon in hand.