The stench of sooty fires, rotting garbage, and unwashed bodies wafts through the loosely
nailed wooden planks of the slave cart. After a long, uneventful ride through the streets
of Rome you have arrived here, wherever here is. The cart itself is low ceiling, with only
small holes cut in the front for air through which the rank smells of the outside now waft.
The cart's driver mutters something in Latin, though it's hard to make out through the
Print "thick wood planking. The cart rolls forward again, slowly this time until it creaks to a heavy and weary stop once again. Through the heavy rear doors it's possible to hear someone unlatching the locks and bars holding the two doors together and before long the full light of day shines into the dank, smelly cart. 'Pile out scum, and do it quick before I decide to kill you before the arena does.’ comes a harsh, gruff voice. The glare of the sun is excruciating, and for the first few seconds it's impossible to see as the other slaves are yanked into the brightness and shadowed hands grope through the brightness before you too pass into the glare.

The glare fades away, reveal a bleak and plain dirt square, flanked by smoke blackened stone buildings. Your fellow prisoner and being lined up near the cart and having the heavy irons around Their necks, legs, and arms knocked off my a burly man wielding a huge blacksmith's hammer. A meaty hand shoves you into line with the rest of the slave and with several stinging blow that come frighteningly close to your body your irons fall to the ground. One of the guards, arrayed in dirty and half rusted steel and leather armor nods to the blacksmith before turning to address the ragged line. 'Listen up hog spawn, this is the Ludus Magnus, the greatest gladiator school this side of the Mediterranean. You've been purchased by the lanista of the school for one purpose, to fight. This is where we'll take your sorry, slime soaked hides and turn you into blade fodder for the
entertainment of the Roman people, and the better you die, the more money we make on you.' The guard grins, showing two rows of nasty, crooked teeth, 'And the better you fight, the longer you live. Now get your sorry corpses to the east, the Lanista Ravilla is waiting to inspect his stock.'

Several other guards herd you and your weary companions into a ragged line and shove you along to the east, where a large field of trampled grass churned down into the thick black mud has been surrounded by huge, sheer stone walls. In the midst of this slimy, dirty practice field two rows of thick wooden posts have been driven, and several gladiators, so with wooden or rusted practice weapons and cloth armor, others in simple but fully functional armor, and still others in very well wrought and elaborate armor, sparring about the field, or against the huge wooden posts. The guards, using a mixture
of force, threats, and vile language to shape the group of dirty, weary slaves into an abysmal mockery of a line in front a tall Roman dressed in fine, freshly polished leather armor. The tall Roman's razor sharp gazes measures up each person, clearly discounting them with mild contempt until he comes to you. He raises an eyebrow, his cold blue eyes looking you over like a piece of livestock. He nods and turns to the leader of the guards, the one who addressed you outside of the wagon and speaks in the calm and commanding voice of one who used to having his orders followed well and swiftly. 'Take these slaves to the training fields, instruct them and give them their practice weapons, leave that one with me. The guard bows respectively, and leads the line of prisoners away, shouting obscenities at them for no apparent reason. The tall Roman turns to face you again, his cold, steel blue eyes cutting into your own as if searching for something deep inside.

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Of course God knew what would happen if they used their freedom the wrong way: apparently He thought it worth the risk.
C.S. Lewis

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You too? I thought I was the only one.
C. S. Lewis

www.christiangaming.com

...

Nice story, Ereon! Why a "text RPG" though?

------------------

Of course God knew what would happen if they used their freedom the wrong way: apparently He thought it worth the risk.
C.S. Lewis

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You too? I thought I was the only one.
C. S. Lewis

www.christiangaming.com

I was thinking that perhaps you can have simple graphics.. like having a couple peaces of art work or something to help give a vision for the world and game.
There might be someone willing on gamedev or ccn who can paint a few pictures.

------------------

Of course God knew what would happen if they used their freedom the wrong way: apparently He thought it worth the risk.
C.S. Lewis

Friendship is born at that moment when one person says to another: What! You too? I thought I was the only one.
C. S. Lewis

www.christiangaming.com