"Of course, don't be riticoulious!" Misha pfft'ed to Meera. "Would be heppy to fight as champion, as long for honor and glory! Will put on armor and take weapons, lead the way!"

Misha will rush up to their room, change, and run back down, back in armor and with her hammer and shield.

"Ridiculous." Meera corrects, before getting up from the table and leading the way to the Coliseum and walking up to whoever handles recruiting for the fights. "Good afternoon. My name is Meera, I'm a professor at the College of Archaeology and Anthropology in Balder's Gate. The large Minotaur behind me is named Aphos and the tanned woman is Misha Praskovia. They have come a long way from their homes to participate in these games."  

"I am Misha." she brightly smiles and confirms to the recruiter.

“If you’re going into that arena, my good sir and madam, then I will accompany you,” says Dornos. “You’re the first group that has given us any hope of reclaiming Hrakhamar, and I refuse to let that hope die in the arena, not when I can guard your backs.”

Dornos considers. “Although, the bounty job sounds both more lucrative and also more personally rewarding. Pirates are no-one’s friends, after all.”

"Appreciate kinda gesture from Dornos." Misha patted his shoulder. "Do not plan on dying today. Theese is amazing opportunity for chence at honor and glory for us all! Meybe after we keel pirates, yeah?"

At the entrance to the coliseum, a thin bored looking young attendant leaning on the counter waves a hand at your approach, "Hail travelers, if you're looking to spectate, there are some qualifying matches starting up in a few minutes, if you want to see real blood you'll have to comeback... tomorrow... oh you're here to enter!" his eyes brighten and he stretches to his full six foot height. "Please enter and follow the red painted line down the steps and into the preparation area. The Master of Arms will give you a once over, then outfit you with some training weapons. If you qualify, you'll receive a hundred gold after your first match which would be tomorrow! I hear the Master of Ceremonies has something special planned since it's a minor holiday."

"A holiday? Do you mind telling me what's being celebrated tomorrow? We aren't from here, so we aren't too terribly knowledgeable when it comes to Chultan traditions."

"It's the Festival of Oota, the tortle god of the sun. Not much celebrated by anyone else, but if the Master of Ceremonies there'd be a special holiday event every day." he rolls his eyes.

"Fascinating. Perhaps we may get an opportunity to meet these tortles while we're on the island. But I suppose that's for another time. Now, is there somewhere my friend and I could watch while these three go through the qualifying bouts?"

The attendants eyes glaze over slightly, "Oh... spectators." He sighs, "Follow the blue line at entry. That'll be a silver piece for each spectator." He holds out a hand.

Musharib grumbles and pulls out three silver to pay for Meera, Sherri, and himself, then waves at the group forward.

“Daw, thanks for paying for us Mushy Rib!” Sherri smiles as she gives him an appreciative slap on the back and follows his direction.

Dornos follows the red painted line, making sure his armor is presentable. “Amazing!” He says under his breath to Aphos and Misha. “Were one to win only a few of these matches, they could set themselves up comfortably for a year. There is much wealth in these competitions. Now I understand the draw.”

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Meera looks at Aphos' gauntlet. "Excellent. You know, engineering might not be my specialty, but I am intrigued to see what that gauntlet does."

 Aphos flips a plate down with his tool and slips it into a strap on his arm as his fingers flex. An errant spark jumps across rivets studded across the back of the gauntlet's hand and forearm. Aphos smiles as a tingle runs up his arm, "The arm is only an extension of the body; the gauntlet a piece of the whole armor. Such lessons I'm sure you can appreciate, likely more than my people did." With a grip and flex on his right arm, a pair of wooden arms spring out with a wire stretched between their ends. Aphos unwinds a gear under the vambrace holding the arms and the wood pieces slacken and fall. The minotaur inspects every piece of the weapon before carefully reassembling it, "They would take a sword to a mountain if they believed it would grant eternal honor. I tried to teach them better ways, so they may keep their honor without such loss of life, but they believed that death was part of the honor they sought."

Next to Dornos and Aphos, Misha takes a knee as they wait.

"My Lord General, hear me." she says softly in prayer. "I have been given an opportunity to bring honor and glory to you, and your name. Bless my strikes and keep me strong. Your wisdom guides my mind, and your training shows my hammer the way. In your name, only in death, is my duty to you over. Make me your avatar."

She stands and smiles again, ready for the tournament.

Aphos draws his sword, leaning it back and forth. Along the fuller, a thin tube of metal runs half the length and a shimmering liquid flows within. "Let's get this over with. Been too long since a good fight, but I prefer more than sport."

Meera wants to geek out over Aphos' technology, but Sherri drags her away before she gets the chance.

Dornos gazes at Aphos' weapon appreciatively. "Pray tell, what is that shimmering substance within your blade?" 

"Soon, my new friend, ya?" Misha says to Aphos as she stands at attention holding her massive warhammer with her shield on her back. She triple checks the plates of her armor, snugly fitting her lean tight body form fittingly, her hammer having runes inscribed on it with a language from a plane far away. "Bane will bless us this day - know that we will conquer our enemies and glory weel be ours. Will be an honor to fight at your side, we weel stand together, and know we cannot lose."

Aphos smiles at his sword and rests it against his shoulder, "Creation of my own, watching water one day. Found a way to mix quicksilver and lead." Taking the blade in both hands, he raises and lowers it in a downward cut, "See how it flows with the swing? At rest, it sits at the hilt and makes it nimble. In the attack, it draws weight to the end." The blade again rests on the minotaur's shoulder, "Do you know what I was told in my homeland for this? That I was weak for needing something to swing harder than my own arm. Is it weak to swing with greater ease and power? I don't think so. For letting a warrior cleave without end from sunrise to sunset, I have named it Executioner."

Misha listens to Aphos, then nods in approval. "A feeting name for such an eempressive weapon!"