"..y...ey!....Hey! Ya ole' fart! Get up! We're 'ere."
Baroth's eyes slowly fluttered open as his hazy vision began to clear, revealing the shaking wooden floor of the wagon he was chained to.
Chains?... Baroth thought, lifting his head slowly to look about his surroundings. He felt pain flash from the side of his temple and neck. He must've been knocked out. Had he ben knocked out? Was he... And almost immediately, he got his answer. Down the center on the floor of the cart, there lay a long strip of black metal with loops housing chains. Chains that led up in a lazy arc to separate rag-clothed people, sitting side by side on opposite sides of the wagon.
Eight of them, including himself.
Prisoners... Baroth thought grimly.
So they did catch me after all....Damn it.
Baroth looked up and around him as he heard the cart's wheels leave stone to join the rough road once again. Above them, there passed a stone arc, smoothly carved but obviously worn and torn from the years of wet and hot weather. He looked ahead and spotted a pair of...Imperial Guardsmen, walking slowly from their positions at the gates to meet the slowing carriage. Baroth quickly reverted his gaze past the men to see a single, stone pinnacle not so far in the distance.
No.
Not stone.
White-gold.
He was in the Imperial City! But how? He was no where close to the capital. He was in Hammerfell... Deep in Hammerfell. Wasn't he?
As his mind quickly scrambled for answers, the carriage stopped at the command of it's Imperial driver and met the two approaching guardsmen.
"Whoa, Whoa there!" The studded imperial cooed to the horses, pulling on their reins as they bucked softly. "Evening Arlmalo. I got another batch here, fresh from the Great Forest."
"And what'd this one do?" Arlmalo inquired, resting his hands on his belt.
The driver shrugged. "I heard some of them were all caught assaulting a patrol of Thalmor. Two of them died, I think. The rest were found trying to cross the border into Hammerfell."
Arlmalo nodded, his gaze shifting to the prisoners at the back of the cart, who returned his curious look with icy cold stares of their own. He quickly looked away and nodded to the driver, as himself and the other guard parted to allow the wagon through.
"Go on ahead, then. I'll have a patrol help you escort them through the city."
And not three minutes later, had the wagon been hitched and the prisoners released and organized into a single-file line. They stood for almost an hour before the patrol of five heavily-armed guardsmen arrived and began ordering the prisoners forward. The large gates opened to give way to what Baroth knew to be the Talos Plaza.
And just before he'd entered the city, Baroth had looked up to see the finely carved outer walls cut out the morning sun's light. It was then Baroth saw this city differently. It was then he felt the cold winds of imprisonment.
How the hell did he get here?
What in oblivion happened to him?
..........
All throughout the Plaza, civilians looked down their noses at the small escort of dirty prisoners and bulking Imperials. Some held their coin-purses tighter and quickly walked past them. Others quietly whispered to each other and pointed at a few individuals. Most, however, silently stared at them, judging them behind blank faces or contorted ones of focus. All mutely judged them with their eyes.
Criminals...Scum...Murderers...Vagabonds...Peace-disrupters.....Outlaws...
Baroth averted his attention elsewhere.
Awkward glances aside, the bustling city of the Imperials couldn't have been more busy and chaotic as far as Baroth saw it. Nearly every sidewalk was filled with finely clothed Imperials and Altmer, the former being the most dominant, rushing to and fro with heavy pockets and swift feet. Something big was going on in the city, and it had everyone lined up to spend most, if not all, of their coin on. It couldn't have been dangerous because the guards hardly payed them any mind. A new product on the market? No. Baroth would've caught wind of that via the loud conversations around him.
But no. He believed they were part of something else. Some form of....entertainment.
A few minutes of silent walking passed, and Baroth found himself standing in the circular stone plaza of Green Emperor Way where the gold-trimmed guardsmen met with their escort and a Thalmor convoy. They talked for what felt like hours but proved to be just a few minutes, and in hushed tones they concluded and parted. Arlmalo approached the so-far silent prisoners and made an announcement. Baroth could tell by his tone that he was either upset or guilty.
"Alright. Change of plans. This batch goes to the Arena, under the Emperor's approval. You will all fight and live in the Arena for continuum of your sentences in any and all forms of preferred combat. Whereafter, those who are left will be released into the Great Forest with their respective equipment. Good luck. Get moving!"
The prisoners' groans and complaints helped nothing along, and in the end, they were silenced by the yelling commands of the Arena prison guard captain. The exchange was then silent and the prisoners more so as they were assigned to various cages in the dark, damp halls they were to be housed in. The other inmates took no breath as they harassed and taunted both the escort and it's captain, who simply kept walking. Baroth, sadly, knew how this process went.
The other prisoners would take jabs at them, whenever they wanted, however they wanted. They'd test them, and those who failed would be punked into being a slave for the rest. A definition Baroth soon learned was slang for the word 'bitch.'
Baroth remained silent all the while, and kept his eyes forward. He was in safe context saying these prisoners had no idea who they were f***ing with. But they'd find out soon.
And soon enough, it was here Baroth would find himself, unchained and yet, bound to yet another structure. The necessities one would find in normal prison cells were noticeably absent here, with only a wet stack of hay and linen cloths to serve as his bed and a small chamber pot to serve as his toilet. The fact that the walls on either side of him consisted of bars made no difference in how he already felt by being here.
As he settled on his rather dry bed, he heard the familiar shouting voice of the captain as he strolled the circular isle of cells, his eyes burning their mark into each of the inmates he passed.
"ALRIGHT, SCUM! QUIET DOWN! STOW IT, ALL OF YOU! My name is Anor Yslef but you will refer to me as 'Sir' or 'Boss'. For those of you who have been here since the start of the games, you know the drill and how our schedule goes! But for the newbies and those unfortunate enough to end up here, our daily schedule will go as follows," He stopped and turned on heel to stroll back up the isle.
"Wake-up at six-thirty for stretches and preparation of the day, and at seven-thirty you will be scraped from your cages and escorted to the lower dining hall for breakfast. At eight-ten, you will then be bulled to the 'mats' next door to the kitchen, where you will be given a weapon and provided a dummy and a spectral to train with. There you will work in turns and teams as the director commands it under the watchful eye of MY personal guard. And ANY who raise their arms to harm anything but the provided dummies and spectrals shall hastily be executed and used for fuel in the kitchen! Yoslin will not care whether he uses wood or you!"
"Then, at eleven-thirty, you will be escorted to the 'hole' where you will all wait patiently until you are hand-picked by the Arena Master himself to fight in a match. Around mid-day, between one and two in the afternoon, the Arena and it's games shall take an intermission of one hour and thirty minutes, where you all will be called back to the dining hall for lunch. In the evening, when the Games commence for the day, you will be swept back to your cells after an hour and a half's worth of dinner. But takes this as a warning, newbies: Those who misbehave in anyway shall and will be executed with no remorse by either myself or any of my well-trained men. That said.."
He took one final glance around the cells nearest him.
"Welcome to the Arena."
He turned on his heel and slowly paced out of the isle, shouting back.
"Breakfast will be skipped today, so be prepared for the mats in the next thirty minutes!"