“This chamber might prove a bit too challenging. Maybe you would reconsider?” The monk was a kind sort of portly fellow who seemed to jiggle a bit with each breath. His words were warm, even in warning, though a set of wrinkled eyes hid a sternness his voice lacked. The boy seemed to look right through the mystic at the large stone door of simple carvings behind him. They were lit in torchlight in empty granite halls, flicker and flames drowning out the noises of The Citadel around them, and the crowds they passed in eager anticipation for the shows of might and brutality on display. Morus waved his hand in dismissal, paying little heed to the man that towered in front of him.

“I'm eager to see it,” he whispered, inattentive and craning his neck. He attempted to walk by the monk, only to be sidestepped and blocked once more. “If you'd please,” he groaned.

“We don't normally see ones as young as you enter, you know.” The monk began to lean down towards the boy, his back straining in great effort beneath his weight. His beige robes threatened to engulf Morus, who stepped back a bit in a huff on annoyance. “It is only with your great insistence that this is allowed, and I feel it my duty to warn you of the consequences of a battle here.” He reached a massive paw onto Morus' shoulder, gripping firm enough that the boy could not squirm away. “There is no shame in turning around right now, and if you're hellbent on this foolishness, even less so in surrendering when -”

The boy's hand shot up to grab the monk by his wrist. Dwarfed through it was, he drove his filthy fingernails gently enough to prove a point.

“I do not bow, or bend,” he shot back. Only break.

The monk stood tall once more, causing Morus to stumble to the ground. The boy clamored back to his feet and tried to dust himself off in the most dignified way possible, but he knew how foolhardy he looked already. The man sighed, curling a fist and shaking his head.

“You will feel everything. And you will die.” With that he left, his heavy footfalls echoing in the hallway behind.

The doors in front of him groaned as they awoke, slowly parting to reveal what hidden dangers awaited. Dust spilled from the seems, as if they hadn't moved in ages. The boy could barely contain himself and strode right into the chamber, but caught himself on the frame of the door when he felt his foot give way to nothing underneath. He gasped a bit, clinging with just his fingertips for a moment.

The room contained a single platform suspended with four thick strands of rope, above an abyss with no end in sight. As he hopped onto the wooden structure. He felt the curious sensation of sand between his toes, and the whole thing swayed ever so slightly, causing a deep put a nausea to wash over Morus. It was stark black, save for a pillar of silvery moonlight that poured into a shallow reflecting pool in the platform's center, giving the whole place the feel of some model beach. But around him, he could see a glimmer on the tip of sharp steel spikes that lined every wall were a door was not. It was as if he was in the gullet of some strange sea-beast heard of in story as a child.

He headed towards the water on uneasy feet, tracing each foot fall in the sand with a carefulness expected of a thief. The sway wasn't too much bothered by just his weight, but he didn't doubt the fifty square feet around him would become much more difficult to navigate with the addition of an opponent. As he reached the pool, he fell to his knees and dipped his hands into the shimmering depths, splashing cool moonlight on his face. The boy felt some soil lift from his skin, and the shock of it seemed to steel his resolve a little more. With his other hand, he played with the sand and let the grains of it slip from his fingers with a slow deliberation, watching it flow and wane from his grip.

He hadn't come to The Citadel for gold or glory, but to experience its unique ability to offer a safe taste of consequence free death. Morus' time in the world was marked to end when he reached the age of majority, and when it came his soul would shiver and scatter before the whims on the damned beast he'd promised it to those years ago. He knew fear and pain awaited him then, and no trip into dream or vision could truly fathom his fateful twisted horror. The arena didn't lack in selfish men whose only goal it was to destroy and butcher. And their lack of empathy was a blessing when death here meant nothing.

He closed his eyes to listen to the slow creak of the ropes held taught, and smiled a weak smile at how much it reminded him of the sound of the gallows.