Cradle of Ruin

Once hailed as the Cradle of Glory, this grand arena was where the empire's greatest champions, beasts, and warmages were unleashed before roaring crowds. The stands rose high and proud, tier upon tier of stone, filled with banners and thunderous applause. Here, legends were made — and unmade — beneath the burning eyes of the empire.   Now, silence and dust reign, and the Crimson Legion are but a shadow of thier former selves. The seats lie shattered, choked with weeds and broken bones, though a few stragglers and wanderers still gather in the shadows, clinging to the faded ritual of combat. They fight not for glory, but for scraps of purpose in a world that has forgotten triumph.   At the heart of the arena sits the Throne of Laurels, once reserved for Masters and archmages. Upon it rests a desiccated corpse clad in tarnished regalia, crowned in brittle ivy and cracked gold. It is unclear whether the body belongs to an emperor, a champion, or some symbolic effigy left behind. Yet all who look upon it swear its hollow gaze follows the duels below, as though silently judging whether any who fight might be worthy of the empire’s vanished glory.   Though no true vestigerules here, echoes of past champions sometimes stir in the dust. Phantoms born of memory and pride step forth to challenge trespassers, wielding the fighting styles of long-dead gladiators. The Cradle of Ruin is less an arena now, and more a mausoleum for honor itself.