As I stepped past the kitchen door that was next to the stairs, I walked into an unusual scene for The Shivering Hen. The patrons were all quietly talking with one another, nursing mugs and steins as they looked at the ceiling. The central support column that ran all the way through the building had several cloth ribbons tied on it, as well as a variety of colorful flowers at its base. It was clear that news of Dana’s passing had reached the regulars, tempering their usual rambunctious attitude into a sort of quiet reverence.

I spotted Tellon, the gnome waiter and bartender of the inn, as he was serving a human some ale. I waited at the edge of the counter, peering out at the customers looking to spot Flesk. After a minute of scanning the various races, all of which I had already encountered in their full or halfling forms, Tellon approached me.

“Mr. Faust. Mr. Hork said he would await you by the cart. He said he needed to fetch something,” the gnome bowed slightly and moved to serve another patron that was waving his flagon in the air. While I didn’t question the gnome’s grieving, his professionalism threw me off. Making my way around the tables, I wondered if I was taking Dana’s death too personally.

As soon as I stepped out of the musky inn, the smell of a clean city and dozens of types of food assaulted my senses. The energy of Milton was contagious. I hadn’t seen the city properly in the daytime, considering most of my time had been spent fighting in near darkness or stuffed inside a cart full of crocodile meat, I felt excitement brewing. I moved around the inn until I spotted Flesk rummaging around our cart. I dropped into a crouch and saw the outline of my hands become fuzzy, like an unfocused magnifying glass.

“What’s the plan, Flesk?” I said as I stealthed up as close as I could to the half orc.

My friend jumped up into the cart with a very un-orc-like scream and turned, glaring at me. “Well, Faust, I need some tradeable items for us to make it into where we are going,” his irritation at my surprise was apparent, but it quickly faded as he turned back to collecting some of the weapons we had taken from Marauder thugs. “I wouldn’t say it's exactly... sanctioned by the Wingmen, but it was a good source of cash for me while I moved between jobs,” he continued.

“Well, now you have me curious. I don’t think one’s vassal is supposed to keep secrets.” I mockingly questioned the half orc as he waved his hand dismissively. Flesk was usually a lot more proper when interacting with others, but after saving his life a couple of times, and giving him the opportunity of awakening his magic, he was slowly letting go of the formalities.

Flesk handed me some weapons wrapped in the thug’s leather armor and led the way. I glanced back at the inn as we joined the bustle of Milton’s streets, thinking of what Dana would have wanted me to do, before hurrying after my orc friend.

*****

It took nearly thirty minutes to make it to our destination. The late morning traffic in Milton was claustrophobic. While most of the population was made up of stocky dwarves and half dwarves, the presence of the occasional elf and the large number of humans made the density of people even greater. Once we were done wading through the soup of people, we arrived at a squat stone building at the foot of the outer wall of the city.

The only notable feature of the building was that there were four, different colored flameless torches on the front. There were gray torch and blue on the left and a red and green pair on the right. Flesk had been silent the entire way there, leaving me to wonder where we were going and to glance around at the marvels of the city. As we approached the iron banded door that led into the building, Flesk grabbed my bundle. The half orc knocked on the door three times and scraped his hand along one of the metal plates.

An instant later, a slot I had missed on the door slid open and a pair of big brown eyes stared out at the street crazily. “You got the password?” the male voice whispered.

“There is no password, Clem. There is no need to be paranoid,” Flesk replied calmly, his formal tone back in his voice.

The pair of eyes focused on Flesk for several seconds before the slot slammed shut seamlessly. A moment later, an impossible number of latches were snapped open on the opposite side before the door swung open a crack. A wild haired man that was a head shorter than me stared back at us. He was sporting a thin haired goatee. As he looked us over, I scanned him also. The moment I did, I realized he had goat feet for legs. The realization kickstarted another memory dump. Memories of joyous, dancing and mischievous nature loving satyr topped the dam at the edges of my mind. A light wind chime tone sounded off from one of the ones playing a pan flute.

Since arriving at the Hall and, subsequently, Muraglen I had not been able to properly remember things from my past. The only thing that had helped my recall was encountering things that I had some reference for, in this case a goat man. The satyr, as my brain informed me, looked askance. “Who’s the weirdo? And what happened to yer tusks?”

“This is my liege, Faust Swift. As for the tusks… had a tough fight.” The half orc straightened as he presented me, but idly touched the corner of his mouth where the jagged tusk had rubbed his lips raw.

The satyr, Clem as Flesk had called him, didn’t look convinced. “If you really were Flesk, you would know I can’t let randos-”

“I brought appropriate down payment for the Gladiator.” Flesk cut him off before he could continue. The goat man bit his lip, but offered a short bow and opened the door fully to reveal a torch lit passageway. A musk wafted from within, but I schooled my face into remaining flat. Making a note to talk to Flesk about leading me to sketchy buildings, I followed the other two men into the hall.

Clem remained silent as we made our way inside. At the end of the hall was a spiral staircase that wound down, an opening in the middle allowed me to see that it went down at least fifty feet. I felt some sweat drip down my back. The memory of my fight against a drake surfaced and sent a slight shiver through me. The dragonkin were definitely not to be messed with. For the next few minutes we slowly made our way down the stairs, the only sound the rattle of the weapons Flesk held bound.

At the bottom of the stairs was a small armory of sorts. A few weapon racks lined the walls of the circular space and randomly placed tables held assorted shields. Clem turned to us as he regarded the bundle Flesk had.

“What yah got?” asked the goatman.

“Clem, we both know I dealt with Darin directly.”

At my vassal’s response, the man huffed and pulled open a door that was opposite the stair landing. The moment the man tugged on the door handle, gray mist flared across the frame and the volume in the room exploded out. There were cheers, groans, moans and any assortment of sounds coming from the doorway as bright light spilled from within.

Flesk threw a smirk over his shoulder and led us inside.

“You do know you look more sinister than amused when you smirk like that, no?” I said.

Without missing a step, the half orc trudged through the doorway. The sight of the underground colosseum blew me away. The door had put us on an overhang that looked down on a colosseum easily four hundred feet wide at the narrowest section. The oval shaped perimeter of the fighting area was lined with stands and several dozen people filled the stands. The muted roar of the spectators filled the space. A little ways down the overhang, the shouts of peddlers and their goods could be heard, fighting for dominance against the audience.

“Welcome to The Mountain’s Bowels. Premier market and entertainment center for the mundane and unsavory,” Clem stated flatly. I imagined that if the doorkeeper was someone else, the introduction to the Bowels would have had a fair bit more fanfare.

It took a few seconds for me to recover from the shock. The sheer size of the cavern the colosseum was set in and the fact that the city guard allowed it to exist baffled me. Frowning slightly, I looked at the fight that was ongoing between the frightened man and a lion-like beast.

Probably having spotted my frown, Flesk spoke up, “The Guard allow the Bowels to run because it’s the only real form of entertainment for the city’s fighters. The Guard is even known to send some of their prominent recruits to be pitted against the suggestions The Gladiator provides.”

“Not entirely convinced, but who is this ‘Gladiator’?” I asked.

“That would, indeed, be me.”

At the voice all three of us jumped spun in surprise. Without even realizing it, I had called green mists to the fingertips of my left hand and tried to reach for my sword, but grasped at air. Similarly next to me, Flesk had pulled his bent morningstar and dropped the bundle on the ground. Clem, well, he looked annoyed more than anything.

Before saying anything further, the man motioned behind us, towards the ‘fight’. I watched the man get overtaken by the lion creature before a net of green mana erupted around the lion. The man scrambled back to a booing audience, but I could swear I saw the relief on his face from here.

“I only push people to their limits. That is, indeed, the only way to grow,” the man said before exclaiming, “ My manners! Darin Rogelto, The Gladiator, at your service.”

With my breath back in a semblance of order I looked the man over. He was easily eight feet tall, but had somehow managed to sneak up on our group. There were a series of scars running down his arms and bald head, some reaching further on his body, hidden beneath his spotless white robe. The man had a relaxed smile on his face as he looked in my direction, obviously allowing me to give him the look over.

“Satisfied?” He motioned at my still misting hands, when I looked over to Flesk he had already relaxed. With a shake, I dismissed the mana, stood up straight and nodded. “Perfect.”

“How are you, Darin?” Flesk asked. There was a familiarity in his voice that Flesk hadn’t used with anyone, not even the other ex-slaves I had rescued him with. I was strangely upset by that development, but quickly dismissed it. The half orc had a reason for his familiarity and comfort in the Bowels.

There was a faint smile on Darin’s face as he walked closer. “Good, though I’m hemorrhaging money since my golden egg left before it could hatch.” A brief shadow crossed the man’s face before the faint smile returned.

I could see Flesk stiffen slightly. “It wasn’t the right time for me. You know I wanted to do more, and, well, here I am. The ‘more’ found me instead.”

There was tense pause as he regarded Flesk, then turned to me. The man crouched so that we could be at eye level. “My apologies indeed, being half giant has its benefits and its flaws.”

At the man’s words, his stature triggered my mind. Memories of towering individuals with the strength to wield trees as clubs and to topple city walls flashed through my eyes. When I refocused on Darin, he had a puzzled expression on his face. Behind the Gladiator I heard Clem, “He do that often? He did that with me didn’t he?”

“I’m sorry. My name is Faust Swift. I… have had a stressful couple of days.” I stuck out my hand, and the half giant shook it firmly. I didn’t need to tell them about the sudden bits of background I had acquired regarding some of their dispositions. I felt extremely self conscious, the memory flashes were coming in fast and furious the more new things I encountered and I worried they would occur during a fight.

“Indeed… Well, since you are here and you obviously brought your entrance fee,” the man pointed to the bundle on the ground, “I imagine you two are intent on entering the arena?”

Flesk nodded and I nodded slowly, realizing what my vassal’s idea of a ‘walk’ entailed.

“Great! Clem, get back to your post. Sara will guide them to the waiting area. I need to review who I can pit them against… I think I can make some good coin indeed.” The man chuckled and left walking through the crowd. As I watched him, people seemed to move out of the way without noticing. I was instantly reminded of Salix, the Master Guard who had strong-armed us into a meeting with the General of Milton a few days prior. The two were doing something to the people around them, but I couldn’t pinpoint what.

Before I could continue with that line of thought, I heard a light scratching at my foot. A small armadillo, maybe two feet tall was scratching at my greaves. Next to me, I heard Flesk whimper and noticed Clem swiftly making his way back to the pseudo-armory. I looked back down in confusion at the cute brown armored creature then to Flesk.

“Heeeyy, uhhh Sa-sa-sa-ara.” The half orc was a stuttering mess, even more than when he had been told the Orc Chieftains might be preparing to storm Milton lands.

The armadillo, Sara, spared a look at Flesk with her beady black eyes, then moved down the road, rolling every few feet in a ball.

“She’s cute.”

“Nooooooo.” Flesk took off after the speeding armadillo. I was confused by his and Clem’s reactions, but followed behind nonetheless. As we jogged I admired some of the food and goods in the stalls while Flesk fussed over where the armadillo had rolled to.

The half orc definitely had an interesting past.