It was the twenty-second break in Quacia's Lair, the small village filled with sin and disreputable forms of entertainment and material goods. Despite housing numerous forms of drugs, alcohols, and pleasures, Fridgar had only scraped the surface and only visited the fighting pits and drank a bottle of whiskey. The fighting pits had been something of his most popular haunt in the past couple of trials. He'd gone there looking for a drunken brawl but encountered a powerful mage Lotharro, who ended up challenging him to single combat. Fridgar, because he was inebriated and without his totems, was knocked out and left on the street in the dead of night by Calvin and Darwin, two stocky humans that worked in the fighting pits. After crawling home with a few broken bones and torn skin, Fridgar was found by Loque, his slave Ithecal. She quickly discovered that he was a mage when he regenerated all his wounds in less than a bit, so he brought her with him on this quest and she'd proven quite useful.
For one, she provided some outside perspective on the world, words that weren't the product of his own mutated and muddled mind. Then, she spotted threats that he didn't and even put her life on the line to defend him. Then, she volunteered to act as bait for the trap they'd just finished setting. After breaking back into the arena, the pair were confronted by Darwin and Calvin. Calvin held them both at crossbow point until he was persuaded to help the Protean. The two humans revealed that Rhostus, the mage that had beaten him, paid the arena to tip him off about strong fighters and then challenged them to single combat. He'd always walked away as the victor, so what was the old man up to? Fridgar didn't yet understand his motive, but his defeat twisted his spark. He had decided that it wanted whatever magic he used and would force him to do so if that's what it took. So, Loque volunteered to be bait. Calvin and Darwin would tip Rhostus off about their new strongest Competitor, Loque, and lure him into a trap where Fridgar would intervene and challenge him for a rematch, then demand to be initiated in that magic.
The trap was set now, Loque was in position in the arena's waiting room and Fridgar was hiding among the stands. It wouldn't be much longer before Rhostus showed up to greet the orange-scaled ithecal. So, he waited in the quiet, out of sight and out of mind. At least until he heard a scuffle, that was.
The room Loque was sat in was an empty stone room that stretched in a half circle around the fighting ring. The walls were cut stone bricks and the benches that fighters would sit on were much the same. A large metal gate was the only access to the circular fighting ground, guarded by Calvin, who was dressed in full plate armor and carried his crossbow in his arms. "You've got guts, lady. I wouldn't fight Rhostus for a whole Onyx." Calvin spoke his words of encouragement with a sour, serious expression. Time went by in the room and before long, a rather old looking Lotharro with a grey, short beard, and tan, liver-spotted skin entered the room. "...Wow, it's like a funeral in here." The older man announced as he looked around the room a brief trill, then focused his eyes on the slave. He raised a brow, they didn't look like much of a challenger after all.
The older man walked closer to the Ithecal before sitting at their side. "I heard you've done well in the pits totrial, Miss Loque." The old man pat her shoulder with a firm, heavy grip. He looked to be in his fifties or so but retained a lot of his muscle despite his spotted, old skin. "How about a friendly spar? Don't worry about holding back, I can handle myself fine."