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Nonetheless, Tremaine was certain that the third
inquisitor - and ONLY the third inquisitor - had worn a thin,
elegant pair of gloves.
*****
Arryl Tremaine stood outside the tall walls of the
arena, staring at it with disgust and loathing. Until his
misguided pilgrimage to Istar, he had considered the
Games the one aberration, the one pit of darkness he had
been willing to admit existed in the holy center.
Certainly he had not thought to ever find himself
inside, sentenced to fight for a crime he had not committed.
Now he was just one among a group of dour men, standing
in a wagon that had drawn up just outside of the stonework
leviathan. The arena looked massive enough to seat every
citizen of Istar. From where he stood, he could see a
portion of the field where men killed one another for the
amusement of the masses.
In Istar, holiest of holy places.
"Step down, step down!" ordered an ugly, scarred
dwarf, who apparently was in charge of the arena. "My
name is Arack. This here is Raag." Raag was an ogre.
Yellowish of skin, he was taller than even the tall Tremaine
and had a warty face that Arryl doubted even the proverbial
mother could love
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