!!n/u1A/69L4w 09/08/10(Wed)06:20 No.12002359|
rolled 27 = 27
A roar sounds from the beast pens. A slavering
The creak of wagons and the lash of the whip combine to make a cacophony at the arena entrance. Tordek dips his thumb in ink and spits on it, making his mark on the papyrus the black robed templar pushes over to him. ‘Just sign here, here …and here,’ the bored government worker says, focusing most of his attention on Sandria as she stands by Tordek, her dress subtly clinging to her ample assets. Why couldn’t Illiene just deal with this stuff, Tordek wonders, peering at the undecipherable symbols. Why wasn’t he back yet?
“Tordek, son of Tordek?” an imperious voice speaks, and the young templar immediately straightens up and looks busy, shuffling papers. Tordek looks up into …. a rather familiar face. Its ‘Wart’, that Templar who bet on Watapon on his rookie engagement.
“Please follow me,” ‘Wart’ turns imperiously and leads Tordek down into the bowels of the arena’s staging area.