~*Chapter Eight: Dining with Gladiators*~
A few days following his excursion to the temple, Halldór’s mind had once more been firmly gripped by the cycle, a self-perpetuating loop of thoughts of dishonour, of shame and defeat, constantly flowing through his mind. As the days wore on, the thoughts grew in malignant potency, eventually causing all to be ignored – food from two days ago sat untouched by the flap in the door. Eventually, those who provided the food to the prisoners realized that the food was not being eaten, and though concern was not great for most, when the news reached Roghr, his ears did indeed perk up.
A heavy knock on his door did little to disturb Roghr from his reverie, and Roghr entered unnoticed by the sole denizen of the room. A sharp slap to the face, followed by a gruff voice saying, "You’re doing little good to few by starving yourself to death, lad."
A shocked Halldór whirled around, and his stomach deigned to grace the room with a rumbling growl, eliciting a short laugh from both Halldór and Roghr. Halldór leapt up from his bed towards the food, eagerly devouring the lukewarm meat and bread, stopping only to gulp down water. After he had finished all the food, he returned to the bed with a small smile on his face. "I guess I should be thanking you, then."
"Aye," came the reply. "I suppose you should, but I’m not much for caring. I did what I had to." Roghr’s words seemed to catch Halldór off-guard, and no response was forthcoming. "I think it’s time you were introduced to the rest of the gladiators. Perhaps they’ll keep you from your self-imposed hell," Roghr said with a slight chuckle, and motioned for Halldór to come with him.
The walk through the stone hallways took them past many cells, some heavily guarded as was Halldór’s, others less guarded, and some, as they neared their destination, even sporting windows.
27-May-2008 21:13:09
- Last edited on
27-May-2008 21:28:58
by
Poller5