"There's a humming in the restless summer air
And we're slipping off the course that we prepared
But in all chaos, there is calculation
Dropping glasses just to hear them break
It's clear that someone's gotta go
We mean it but I promise we're not mean

And the cry goes out
They lose their minds for us
And how it plays out
Now we're in the ring
And we're coming for blood

You could try and take us
But we're the gladiators

Glory and gore go hand in hand..."

It was a fine day to crack some skulls, Fidelius thought with satisfaction as he pondered the selection of weapons before him. The young half-drow frowned in concentration as he hefted a greatsword experimentally and took a few practice swings. No, too heavy if he was forced to wield it before the rage lent him strength. He similarly passed up a warhammer – too messy, why did the Masters even have that in the armory? He'd been yelled at for being wasteful the last time he'd smashed an opponent's head to a pulp.

Fidelius - Fido for short, though sometimes he preferred to think of himself as Del - eventually selected a double-bladed battleaxe from the rack of weapons. He frowned at a patch of rust on its head, but it wasn't like the other weapons were in any better condition.

Are you quite done? The broadcast is about to start.

The voice in his head radiated amusement, with a touch of impatience. Eldriss must have been watching through Del's eyes as he selected his weapon for the fight ahead.

Hefting his axe, Del proceeded to the doorway at the end of the room. The circular portal slid open, then shut behind him. He found himself in a darkened hallway, too dim even for his keen vision to make out any details. But Del didn't need to see his surroundings since he knew this place by heart.

Del paced up and down the hall, trying not to let nerves get the better of him. The anticipation was always worse than the battle itself.

Be ready. It begins.

Del straightened up at the warning, grabbing his weapon and proceeding to the far side of the hall. He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, waiting for the gate to open.

There! A sliver of sickly blue light pierced through the door, quickly widening as it became a portal into the arena. He strode through the gap, projecting confidence with his stance and the easy way he hefted his axe. The door closed behind him, fading into the wall as if it had never been there.

Del found himself on the ground floor of a large amphitheater. The sand-covered floor danced with flickering shadows, since the chamber was lit only by blue globes set into the walls that gave off a cold, sickly light. The arena had no seats, only stone walls that sloped up at an angle and gave it the appearance of a giant bowl. At two of the four cardinal directions, large crystals hovered near the tops of the walls, glowing faintly as they transmitted multisensory impressions of the upcoming battle to any interested viewers. At the other two points of the compass stood raised platforms for illithid competitors, all the better to control their thralls at close range.

Today these platforms were empty. Eldriss stood at the rim of the bowl with a few others who were here to view the fight in person, but this was to be a true battle between independent-willed humanoids, not a dominance tournament between illithids with a score to settle. Del wondered who they would pit him against today. A prisoner? A fellow thrall? Some manner of exotic beast from the surface or other regions of the Underdark?

The door on the other side of the arena began to slide open, and Del braced himself for what would emerge.

At first, nothing. But then a single humanoid figure appeared, walking hesitantly out of the darkened hallway and emerging into the arena. A human, indeed. A man with shaggy dirty-blonde hair, looking to be around Del's age but probably younger due to his lack of elven ancestry. The man had the look of someone fresh from the surface – he'd been allowed to keep his chain mail armor and sword, and he actually had a tan. He clutched his blade as if it was a comfort object rather than a weapon as he looked around every corner of the arena with eyes wide as saucers.

And then the man stopped short, gaping at Del in a mixture of relief and horror. "Jonas?" he breathed incredulously. "By the blood of Lathander... Is that you?"

The crystals hovering in the stands thrummed with what felt like a collective intake of breath.

Del frowned, looking at the strange man. Something about him seemed vaguely... familiar? But he had never seen this human in the thrall caverns, the arena, or the market... Anywhere he'd been allowed to go in Oryndoll, really.

"You must be mistaken," Del said coldly. He'd lived in the Underdark his whole life, and in Oryndoll for most of that. He certainly didn't know any surface-dwellers. "My name's Fidelius. Guess I've just got one of those faces."

The man gave Del a strange look – was that pity ? - that set his teeth on edge. "You've got to fight this, Jonas. They're controlling your mind!"

Del cracked his knuckles, stalking closer to his opponent. He'd received no command to fight or kill or just get on with it already, so he presumed that any viewers were enjoying this conversation as a prelude to the main event. All right, then. He'd give them a show... Taking one hand off the hilt of his weapon, he waggled his fingers at the human.

"Nope, all me this time. Look, no strings attached!"

The man backed up a few steps as Del approached. "I see they haven't changed your sense of humor," he muttered. Then, louder: "It's me, Tyron! You have to snap out of this."

Del said nothing, stalking ever closer, the blade of his axe pointed at the ground but ready to be raised at a moment's notice. Can I? He asked silently, knowing his master must be listening. Something about this situation was starting to rub him the wrong way. He felt as if he was the subject of a joke he didn't understand, but everyone else was laughing.

Meanwhile, the man continued his inane rambling. "Jonas, I came to save you! I don't want to fight."

Del's instructions came in the sudden rush of anger that swept through him; a surge of adrenaline so intense it made his hands tremble and the edges of his vision tinge with red. Del hefted the battleaxe higher, its weight suddenly feeling like a feather in his hands. He bared his teeth and growled .

"Jonas?" the blonde man's voice trembled. "What's happening?"

"I told you already." His voice started off soft, but the volume increased with every word. "That's NOT. MY. NAME!"

One step, two steps, three... As soon as he was within range, Del leaped toward his opponent and swung his weapon in an arc toward him. The man held up a hand to ward him off, an utterly useless gesture without the shield he was clearly used to having... Or so Del thought. Somehow, his blade didn't even dent his opponent's armor, but seemed to hit an invisible barrier an inch before making contact. Then the man held up a hand wreathed in strange glowing energy, and Del found himself thrown backwards by an unseen force.

"You filthy sorcerer!" he spat as both of them scrambled to their feet. "Using magic? Here? "

"I'm a paladin, you thick-skulled idiot!" The man was moving his hands in an odd gesture – setting up another spell? "They did something to your head. Stay still and let me heal you!"

Del roared a war cry and charged forward again, forcing the other man to abort his spell mid-cast. "Damn it all!" he screeched, throwing up his sword just in time to deflect the swing of Del's axe.

With a cry of anguish, the paladin threw himself to the side, and Del's next strike clattered uselessly off the armor that covered his torso. Why had he been allowed to wear armor and Del hadn't?

But there was a weakness. The man wore no helmet, and his neck was unprotected. Additionally, the armor itself wasn't a full metal plate, and could probably be cut through with a strong enough swing at close range. It was hard to strategize when he was enraged like this, but Del tried to catch his breath and think through this.

The paladin was on the attack now, finally realizing that he couldn't get out of this arena without putting up a fight. He advanced on Del in a warrior's stance, his jaw set in a firm line but eyes still radiating regret. The two fighters circled each other, each looking for an opening. The paladin lunged, feinted, and drew back again, testing Del's guard. "Last chance, Jonas," he growled through gritted teeth. "I'll try not to hurt you too much, but it's got to look convincing."

Del's only reply was a wild swing that sent the human reeling. As the other man regained his balance, Del was on him again, forcing him back toward the edge of the arena. He blocked or deflected every strike of the sword with the blade of his axe, though the other man threw in some surprise moves here and there such as a kick in the ribs that sent Del stumbling back for a moment... but then he was at it again. He became so focused on driving his opponent back against the wall that he didn't notice the subtle word and gesture signifying another spell until it was too late.

The paladin's sword suddenly blazed with a radiant light, blinding Del's dark-attuned vision. He blinked once, and that was enough of an opening for the man to slam Del's face with the flat of his sword. Del felt his skin break and the cheekbone underneath splinter.

"Damn!" cursed the paladin, and Del realized that this hadn't quite been the intended effect of the blow. But it didn't matter. He doubled over for a second, trying to clear the ringing in his ears and continue the battle. His opponent used this momentary pause to leap away from the wall and put some space between them. But then he made a critical error by pausing before mounting another attack, giving Del a moment to recover.

Still half-blinded with pain, Del roared and charged forward, bowling the paladin over entirely. The other man was taken by surprise, and fell to the ground with the wind knocked out of him. Del looked up into the stands for just a moment, making eye contact with his master even though Eldriss was too far away for him to make out their expression.

"I won't do it," the paladin gasped, catching his breath. "I vowed to bring you back alive or die trying, not kill you in battle. Please, just listen to me!"

Oh God-brain, this was agony. Del wanted to just kill him already so he wouldn't have to listen to any more of this. With every moment his resolve came closer to failing, as the blonde man's words stirred something in his heart that his brain no longer remembered.

Maybe Eldriss could sense his thrall's pain and confusion, because the command that Del was waiting for finally came.

Finish him.

Before his opponent could get up again, Del swung his axe at the man's chest with as much strength as he could muster. It clanged off the armor, but Del felt something in the chain mail give way beneath his blade.

The man spasmed, nearly throwing Del off with a last desperate bid for freedom, but Del held on and tried again. His second blow pierced the armor properly, sinking deep into the flesh below it. This time, when he pulled out the axe it was followed by a great gout of blood. Rather than getting up immediately, Del knelt there in the sand with blood soaking into his torn pants at the knees, waiting to see whether that had been enough to finish his opponent. Or perhaps, though he hated to admit it, listening for any last words...

The paladin groaned as he looked up at Del with those awful pleading eyes. They were blue, he noticed now. Blue as a lake on a summer's day, though Del had no idea how he knew what that looked like.

"Jonas," whispered the dying man, each word already an effort. "When you wake up from this -" A pause as he caught his breath, pink foam forming flecks on his lips - "You'll be sorry. But know that I'm... not...angry..."

And then he took one last great gasp and lay still, eyes half open with the pupils fixed and dilated.

As he stared into those dead eyes, Del felt strangely nauseated. "Oh shit..." he found himself whispering, though he didn't know why. "What have I..."

Suddenly Eldriss was there, beside him in the arena. They must have levitated down from the stands as soon as the battle was over, and somehow Del had been too absorbed with his opponent to notice.

You did it, my boy! they congratulated, wrapping an arm around Del's shoulder and lifting him to his feet as if he weighed nothing at all. Stand proudly and acknowledge your victory.

"But I... I..." Del frowned. Despite his master's words of congratulation, something about this outcome felt wrong. "Should I have done that?"

Eldriss patted Del reassuringly, and his body relaxed as a wave of contentment washed through him. Of course this was proper. Of course this was right. He was Fidelius, the strongest and most loyal of all his master's gladiator thralls...

We extend our congratulations on behalf of the Nourisher creed.

Del and Eldriss looked up to see another illithid had joined them. This one was taller than his master and had a deeper violet hue to its skin. Its outfit was more elaborate, with a taller crest and a series of complex shapes woven into its robes that hurt Del's eyes to look at too closely. Most unusually, it had six tentacles rather than the usual four. Its very being exuded an aura of respect and authority. An ulitharid!

That battle was delicious, it continued. You are wasted as a Possessor. Why spend your days grubbing for gold when you are capable of such exquisite craftsmanship?

It indicated Del with a sweep of an extra-long tendril, and he realized that he was the object Eldriss had 'crafted.' He stood quietly, barely daring to breathe. He hoped the ulitharid wasn't about to make an offer on him...

My thanks, Eldriss replied smoothly. I am an illithid of many talents, though of course none compare to your nobility. But the Encephalithid in Its wisdom allows us to allocate ourselves wherever we see fit to best further the Design. I have no interest in breeding thralls aside from my own. Speaking of which, you can see that my loyal fighter here is injured. I must tend to him.

Del allowed himself to be taken by the hand and led out of the arena. As they passed out of view and into the hallway, he leaned against Eldriss despite his best efforts not to, as the injuries he had suffered began to take their toll. Now that the adrenaline of battle was fading, the whole right side of his face had begun to throb with every heartbeat, and his side ached where the paladin had kicked him.

You did well today, Fido, Eldriss practically purred, one of their tentacles twining around his neck like a scarf. I think you deserve a promotion. How would you like to sleep at my domicile from now on, rather than here with all the other thralls?

Del's ears perked up at the thought, his pain forgotten. Eldriss had technically owned him for years, but he'd had to spend most of the time between battles in the communal thrall caves above the arena. He had stayed at his master's home for brief periods when recovering from injuries, or when Eldriss was showing him off to various colleagues and acquaintances. But to actually live there? That was only one step below being elevated to the status of personal thrall!

Eldriss let out the mental equivalent of a chuckle, taking Del's thoughts as their own answer. They led Del away from the arena complex and down the curved streets of Oryndoll. The bulk of the city was laid out in a series of interlocking rings, reminiscent of enormous wheels with guildhalls and businesses at each of the spokes. The rings themselves were outlined by broad central avenues, along one of which Eldriss now led Del. The street was lit by bioluminescent lamps, and bordered on one side by a qualith-inscribed wall carved out of the natural stone. The other side overlooked a central cavern, which contained various smaller plazas and gathering-places.

As Del walked through the city with his master, they passed by many others going about their business, illithids and thralls alike. Blank-eyed lizardfolk carried packages and wheeled carts full of goods for delivery. An ulitharid floated by, surrounded by its retinue, and everyone else left a wide berth around it. Eldriss scoffed at a well-dressed illithid leading two humans on leashes attached to golden collars. How pointless. The collars I understand, but leashes? Either those are just for show, or the thralls are poorly trained. So many half-broken and disobedient creatures for sale these days...

Eventually they came to the domicile, set into a cave wall alongside many others, but Eldriss's door led back into a space nearly twice the size of its nearest neighbors. They were not one for dramatic displays, but were still quite wealthy through their work for the Possessor Creed. They were one of the more adventurous members of their Creed, venturing forth to distant locations within the Underdark and even visiting the surface at times. This put them at an increased risk of attack by those who hated mind flayers, but also opened up opportunities for trade that few others dared to pursue.

Despite his injuries, Del held open the door for his master to walk – or rather, float through, since illithids tended to levitate a few inches above the ground at all times. Once inside, Eldriss waved off Del's attempts to help them further, and instead led him to an empty bedchamber off to the side of their main room. Del was given a healing potion to drink, and he sighed in relief as the aches in his face and ribs faded to a more manageable level.

He stretched out on the small but comfortable bed of moss, feeling that all was right in the world. Except...

Del frowned. He was almost ready to pass out from exhaustion, but one small thing kept bothering him.

"Master? Is it all right if I ask a question?"

Eldriss paused. They had been about to leave the room, already focused on other pursuits. But now Del felt the illithid's attention focus on him once again, a bit alarming in its intensity.

Of course, ask away.

"Who was that man earlier, the one I was fighting? He said he knew me."

Eldriss's eyes flashed. A lie, designed to prey on your sympathies. Only trust a surface-dweller as far as you can throw them. You did well for not giving in to his manipulations.

Del sighed and rolled over onto his side in the moss, careful to avoid the side of his face that had been ruined by his opponent. It was mostly numb now, but he could tell that a single potion wasn't enough to fully heal the injury. He hoped that it wouldn't scar too badly and lower his value or his master's affection toward him.

Eldriss must have been listening to Del's inner monologue, because they showed him an image of himself as seen through the illithid's eyes. His cheek was still swollen and bruised, but the bleeding had stopped after drinking the potion. The surface wound would indeed scar, but the bone underneath was mostly mended and his face was far from ruined.

Eldriss sat down beside Del for a moment, stroking him fondly with a tentacle. He shivered as the appendage traced the path of the cut on his face, then slid down his neck, leaving a faint trail of dampness behind it. It came to rest at the collar of his shirt, idly playing with the edge of the rough-spun fabric, then descended to his chest. Del found himself wishing that it would continue further, but all too soon it pulled away. Another tentacle brushed the hair away from his forehead, and the illithid hummed to themselves as they did when deep in thought.

So long and unkempt, they thought. Something must be done about that if you are to be seen with me. And you'll need fresh clothes too; ones befitting of your station. Now rest. Your new duties start tomorrow. You will still fight for me if need be, but in the meantime there is a... vacancy in my retinue that needs filling. You will serve as my personal thrall until I can find another, or until you prove your worth in areas beyond the arena.

"Thank you," Del breathed, all earlier thoughts of his opponent forgotten.

His master stood up and turned to leave, floating out of the room without a sound aside from the clicking of the lock on the door. The moment they left, Del's eyelids grew heavy. As he closed his eyes, lulled to sleep by a mixture of fatigue and mental suggestion, his last waking thought was a vow to prove himself worthy of this new position.