Dust and the scent of mortar filled the air as the previously Imperial soldiers hoisted stone blocks up into columns, and wooden beams were nailed into place. The overseeing officer, Torlaf, checked the plans and was ultimately pleased with the work that was coming together. The iron gates should be shipped in soon, and construction should be completed in a few months. The slaughter would begin.

"Frigga!" The woman in tatters called out as the shack door slammed behind her, "Frigga, the arena has opened and they're taking combatants." Frigga, the tall Nord teenager, moved her attention from the bowl of porridge in front of her to her mother who held a piece of parchment in her calloused hand. Frigga furrowed her brow in confusion and swallowed her soggy wheat. Her mother's zeal faded, "Well, I know you're good at hunting, and, um, I think you would do well, and uh, there's prize money.." Frigga shifted uncomfortably and stood up. Pacing to the other side of her two room shack took moments, and leaning against the wall was a comforting and awakening sensation. What a life it would be, to live in a house that her mother could be proud of, rather than a hut on the outskirts of Whiterun.

"Isn't it a fight to the death, ma?" Frigga's mother sat down and sighed.

"You're such a warrior though! Remember when you took down those three wolves.." Her mother had a hopeful light in her eyes. Frigga sighed, and forced a half smile.

Shrugging, she stated, "okay" and her mother jumped up and hugged her fiercely.

Agronak gro-Olpac trudged heavily through the dense forests of Falkreath hold in search for his next meal; or victim. Agronak had no emotions, frankly. He held no remorse to end another life and it was simply the result of being tossed out of a stronghold for screwing his cousin. Tough before, stalwart now. While pacing through the underbrush, Agronak was bothered by a few rodents, some foxes, and the occasional wolf, all of which he eliminated easily with a swing of his war axe. Simple as it his days were, Agronak never felt unsatisfied. Falling asleep wherever he pleased and spending the next few hours wandering with an axe in one hand and munching on an animal limb in the other, killing whoever came with in a ten-foot radius.

This particular day however, Agronak came across a new prospect. Crumpled and slightly discolored due to weathering was a piece of paper. In carefully written letters, the ink spelled out "STONE-FIST ARENA". Agronak took a hearty bite of rabbit leg, tendons dangling off of his fangs. "East of Whiterun, at the base of the Throat of the World!" it read. Agronak readjusted his war axe, looked to where he believed was northeast, and began walking.

"The Arena!" Vex shouted, her voice echoing through the cavernous Ragged Flagon, and alerting the attention of Mai, the Thieve's Guild newest prospect. When attention was on Vex, all heads turned and saw her standing excitedly, clutching a flyer. "It's opening this weekend, and I am calling firsts, right now, on pillaging that dirty bet box." Mai rolled her eyes, and returned to tending to her bow. The strings had become frayed, and she replaced them just this morning. Her lucky bow has supported her like a crutch, and gotten her out of many sticky situations. But now the once limber wood of her bow was splintering, and it did not look like a bright horizon for the 4 year old bow. Money was short, and bows of her taste were expensive. If Lady Luck was in her favor she could head to the arena and place a bet; or get one last use out of her old friend and receive a sum of Septims. Silently, as she was known, Mai slipped out of the tavern unseen, unheard.

J'Dhannar lay stolid in his bed, inhaling Skooma like it was air and he was suffocating. He was hooked, without a doubt, and regardless of his addiction he was still well respected in the College. It's rare when a natural grasp on magic like his came along to the College, so when J'Dhannar came as a young, rather adorable Khajiit, beholding a bewildering power of the arcane ars, destruction in particular, he was instantly accepted. By age 16 he was a professor in his art, and now eight years later her continues his teaching despite his addiction. It's rather crippling, and he has been known to snap towards his students without proper warning.

J'Dhannar began to consider leaving the college. Mostly because of his Skooma affliction, but subtly because he was bloodthirsty.

J'Dhannar had been having quite gory dreams of sinking his claws into his students and setting them ablaze. Unhealthy, obviously. That's why when one of his students began blabbering on about this new "Arena" to him, his interest was sparked. Be thrown into pit where you must fight another being and the only way out is to kill or be killed. Lovely.

Evangeline rolled over and sighed, her bare chest heaving as her lover followed her over and planted a kiss on her lips. "Oh Reman," she breathed, "I never thought I'd love you so." Reman smiled smugly and tucked his head under her chin as she stroked his jaw, feeling the light stubble that had begun to accumulate. His strong arms wrapped around her little waist and pulled her close. Evangeline was such a gift to him. The sound of knuckles rapping on a brass door echoed through Vlindrel Hall, and Evangeline quickly rose from the bed and slid a gown over her bare body. Reman groaned jokingly and received a small giggle from Evangeline.

Moments later, she returned with a flyer and an envelope on her hand. She crawled back into bed and handed the courier's gifts to Reman. The letter was from the High King, as the extravagant wax stamp suggested. His nimble fingers opened the envelope and he read the letter aloud,

"Esteemed friend,
Stormblade,
Dragonborn,
Reman Caro,

-Can't he pick one?" Reman mentioned to Evangeline, who grinned and said, "I think he should've opted for lovey," she planted a kiss on Reman's cheek. He looked at her lovingly for a moment and returned to the letter. "As the Dragonborn, and hero of Skryim, and my third in command, I request that you attend the Grand Opening of our new establishment and revenue-bringing place of commerce, Stone-Fist Arena, named after our esteemed partner Galmar Stonefist. We hope to see you in attendance. Thank you.

Ulfric Stomcloak, High King of Skyrim."