Ezry did not speak again, merely nodding as the Gladiator stepped out and turning away, basket still held to hip. She led the way back down from the stand she and into the darker tunnels once more, working through the maze of passages with ease. After several long, silent minutes, broken only by the crunch of gravel underfoot, they emerged in a long, wide chambers that stretched nearly as far as a third of the length of then arena above. Slots in the walls walls, wide enough to fit a an arm through nothing more, let light through into the chamber and dance do on the sand grains that littered the floor, no doubt dragged in on boots and clothing after matches.
The chamber was decorated sparsely, but not unwell. Mats and cushions, in good condition if a little threadbare in places, dotted the floor on one side of the doorway, with a few futons laid out along the same wall, while the opposite side of the room held various forms of training dummies. It was clearly a Gladiator space, training weapons and gear littered in an organised kind of chaos, and Ezry beckoned her forwards with a silent arm.
Almost immediately upon her entering, the tall form of a man sitting near one of the closest futons would meet her eyes, bent down over a leather chestplate, oblivious to the world.
