The Sandstone Arena

In the Pits, there are few ways to really improve your lot. A sure way however, is to win fame and fortune in the Sandstone Arena.
Built originally as a training ground for the Red-Clad, the sparring matches soon became the highlight of the Rest-Day for a large group of workers, who had started to bet on the Red-Clad's matches. Within weeks, the bets became a secondary source of income for the Pit Lords, a way to keep the more belligerent denizens in check.
And after a rebellion was completely crushed beneath Ras' heel, he noticed the most loyal of the Pit People had been the ones that had seen the Red-Clad fight every Rest-Day. They wanted to become one of the Red Guardsmen. And Ras smiled.

From that time, the Arena has been both a site of bloody combat, but also of joy and revelries aplenty. Gladiators have become the local celebrities, and the best of them are rewarded by the Sorcerer-King once the season of Water sets in.

The Pits have their own stables, their own heroes to cherish and cheer for. Any prospective gladiator has to be vetted by the Lord or Lady of their respective Pit.
For years, the Champions have either left the Pits for service in the Palace, or perhaps even been sent away from Horai itself with a generous gift.

Prospect are plenty. And die a plenty. With little to no training, eager would be gladiators are told to land a blow on one of the cherished heroes. Most of these pay the prize for their courage, in the blood that gives the sands of the arena their characteristic red hue.

On special occasions, large events are staged in the Arena. Shipfighting. Clashes of armies. Even enormous beasts either from far away lands or given to the arena by Ras.
The bestial spectacle is overseen by a tiny man known as Mehmet. Not a soul dares to draw their blade upon this man. For many a tale speak of his swiftness that rivals the hooded cobras that he is so very fond of. They also speak of his lost lady love, who's disdain turned him into the cruel creature he is today.
But such tales are spoken of in hushed voices only, lest to suffer the wroth of the Master of the Arena.

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