The hot Roman sun beats down on the sandy pavilion, drying out sweat and saliva alike. One could almost be overwhelmed by it, if not for the grunting of prisoners of war fighting one other. Fists slam against bare skin and elbows bash into unguarded bellies, all in an attempt to prove themselves as worthy gladiators to your wealthy superior, Macrinus.

Speaking of Macrinus, you and him are shielded from the blinding sun by an ornate canopy made up of the finest silk and gold beads one can hope to find in the world. A bowl of juicy purple grapes is available to be snacked upon at your leisure. Macrinus treats you well, as further demonstrated by the lush robes you wear, gifted by him.

At a particularly hard punch thrown by a young man, Macrinus leans over to you, murmuring, “We should really go to the baths after this. Unwind. Celebrate a new stable of gladiators.”