I gaze out on the sun-parched hills in silence. On cold, clear mornings I can almost see the desert from my corner room. On mornings like this though, with the heat rising from the dry earth in confused clouds of shimmering air, I can only see the hills. I have lived here in this Sofree "luxury" apartment for five years now, a long time by local standards. People usually move every few years around here in a vain attempt to disappear deeper into the crowd and start new lives, but I think at this point I don't care who knows where I live, so I stay. Besides, I have a great view.

    Sofree is short for South Freeport in case you haven't heard that term before. I like it because it reflects life in this part of town perfectly; people here are free to do as they will and live by their convictions. Of course these convictions often end up getting them killed, but hey, they're free to die too.

    On the way to the market, two militia goons who demand to know where I'm headed harass me. They must be new on the job otherwise they'd know to steer clear of me. If they tried this crap at night they'd be choking on my daggers, but there are too many people about, so I grumble a response and push past them. They don't follow me, probably because it's too hot for a chase. If there's one thing you can count on, any time of year, it's the incessant laziness of the militia. It's a poorly run organization, made up mostly of renegade and "retired" vagabonds who still enjoy exploiting citizens and generally making trouble. Basically they are swaggering and haughty representatives of the dregs of human society. It is rumored that their main source of income comes not from the Freeport government, but from the coffers of Neriak, the Dark Elven city. This theory is supported by the fact that the militia is in constant conflict with the North Freeport soldiers, followers of Mithaniel and Erolissi Marr. I don't delve too deeply into politics because they don't govern my life, but only a fool would ignore the subconscious vibe of society; the dark undercurrents of daily life. And by my observations, the already shaky walls of Freeport society will soon come crashing down around us. I hear Qeynos is nice this time of year.

    The smells of the market remind me too much of my childhood. After my mother's death I was taken in by a society of street children. We roamed the markets and alleys, begging for food, stealing copper, and marking our turf. I was good at what I did, maybe a little too good, and by the age of twelve I had risen to great heights within my gang. But by thirteen I was run out of Freeport by the militia; something about a missing captain's helm and 500 platinum. At any rate I found myself alone on the outskirts of the North Ro desert. I scavenged enough food and water to fill my pack, buried most of the money I was carrying (which was amazingly close to 500 platinum) near a huge dead tree, and started walking.

    The days and nights blended in a sea of browns as I walked through the deserts of Ro. I had no idea where I was going, except that I was heading south. The desert is a strange place, dead, but very much alive. It will swallow you up and play with your soul, and if you dally too long your it will claim your mind as well. I think it's safe to say that madmen make up the highest desert population. On my journey I passed camps of bandits and cutthroats, wandering undead and enormous sand scarabs. Occasionally I followed the paths of caravans, looking for scraps, but usually I walked alone. At night the temperature dropped drastically, and I could often hear specters of the living wandering aimlessly in the chill night air. More than afraid though, I found myself feeling sad and lonely. I was very relieved when I finally saw a tree line in the distance.

    The sturdy green trees slowly gave way to hanging moss and mosquitoes, and before I knew it I was knee deep in dark brown muck. I had heard of the Innothule swamp in childhood horror stories. Freeport mothers used to warn their children about wandering trolls from Innothule who gobbled up naughty little children. I used to laugh at such folklore, but soon after I entered the swamp I felt like I had walked into one of those stories. I was the little boy, mischievous and dejected; I would make a fine meal for a wandering troll. I would have turned around and sought the shelter of the tall pines but I had become hopelessly lost by that point. My shaggy black hair clung to my sweaty face in wet clumps creating perfect nests for the swarms of insects. What a mess.

    A few hours into the swamp I started to feel like I was being watched, stalked. Every time I stopped I heard only the buzzing of insects and croaking of frogs, but when I'd continue walking I could feel movement all around me.

    "Crrroak!"

    I spun around, tripped over a tree root and plunged into the water. Sputtering and spitting, I frantically wiped water and mud from my eyes as I struggled to rise to my knees. I could see three shapes standing in front of me with spears pointed at my head. As my vision cleared I realized that they weren't trolls, nor were they humanoid. These were frogs! Giant, green frogs, standing on two legs and clutching wooden spears in their slimy webbed hands. I burst out laughing, partially in relief that they weren't trolls, but mainly because this was the funniest situation I could ever imagine being in. Fully armored frogs with spears, I couldn't wait to tell someone about this. Spikes of pain tore through my body as one of the frogs plunged its spear into my shoulder, pinning me to an old gnarled tree. This wasn't so funny anymore.

    "What be you to do ere, rooak?" asked one of the frogs.

    I was shivering with pain and fear. Why had I left my home and walked all this way?

    "Answers to these now umon," demanded another frog. My mind was racing as I tried to think of a way to escape the beasts.

    "Roak! Kill eem for now" the third frog ordered. The frog warrior twisted his spear, wrenching my chest, and suddenly my world went black.

    I awoke on a small, hard cot, the smell of mold filled my nostrils. It was very dark, but I could see well enough to know I was in a large bamboo cage in the center of an underground room. My body ached, especially my shoulder, which felt as if the bones had been removed and then put back. Someone had placed a moss salve on the wound though, which I took to be a good sign. A door opened and a colorfully armored frog entered the room flanked by two guards.

    "Answer me kestions uman if you to see tha next day, roak."

    I decided that I should answer this time.

    "Have you been to see tha troells?" he asked.

    "No" I answered.

    "Have tha troells to sent you?" he asked.

    "I've never seen a troll" I replied.

    "Where you from uman?"

    "I traveled from Freeport" I told him.

    "Mmm, croak! Tha uman plaece, I knows it." He bent over and stared at me for another minute, his bulging black eyes two hands from my face. Finally he straightened up, "Croak! You ave not seen tha troells so you will live today. Tha next day you will do Shin Kao." Judging by the gleam that entered the eyes of the two guards I knew that I had no reason to be relieved by this declaration. Something told me I was scheduled to die.

    That night I was transferred to an enormous, dark cavernous prison, large enough that I couldn't see the other side, and divided up into several large bamboo cages. Several races were represented, most assigned to different cages, I suppose in an attempt to keep intra-prisoner violence to a minimum. There were four other humans in my cage along with a couple elves and a dwarf. Scanning the rest of the room I also saw some orcs, kobolds, mushroom-things, and goblins. Everyone, be they orc or man, looked downtrodden and defeated. The elves sat huddled in a corner talking quietly to each other, but everyone else was silent and brooding. I wasn't in the mood for conversation anyway so I took a seat in a far corner and dozed off.

    When I awoke some time later the room was completely quiet except for the snoring of the orcs and the occasional whining yips of dreaming kobolds. A pungent odor filled my nostrils, making me fairly nauseous, and I realized my hairs were standing on end. I slowly turned my head to find a pair of bright green eyes no more than a foot from my face. This was one of my first life-lessons: Always check for trolls before you go to sleep. It was in the neighboring cage, and I probably could have jumped back before it could have grabbed me, but I'd never seen a troll before and was helplessly frozen in place.

    "Hullo," said the troll.

    I couldn't find any words.

    "U gonna bash tomorras?" he asked.

    I nodded.

    "Me gonna bash to, me Gorn," he said.

    I took a closer look at the thing. He wasn't as big as I had envisioned, nor was he very scary looking. He was sitting down with his legs crossed underneath him and his long, spindly arms hanging down to the floor. His dark skin was devoid of lines and looked like the bark on a beach tree, as if it hadn't had time to age. His face was rather pudgy aside from the huge, angular nose, which poked partially into my cage. Other than the fact that he was probably 6'5" and weighed well over 300 pounds, I started to suspect that Gorn might be about my age.

    "I'm called Mordier," I offered.

    "Mooder," he pondered, "dat gud. Me wuz out looking for da bwown snakes for mees eats and me saw dat capper (he pointed at a mushroom-thing across the room) and taut dat be gud for mees eats to. So me gonna bash da capper when about a whole lot of froggies runs out and jump on Gorn. Me tink dey kills me and now me here for to bash da shin froggies. Den Gorn goes home."

    Shin Kao, as Gorn struggled to explain to me, is the annual rite of passage for froglok warriors. After years of sparring, enduring horrendous tortures, and learning tactics of battle, young frogloks have to pass this ultimate test of prowess in order to become Shin warriors. On the appointed day, all prisoners are matched up one on one against a froglok apprentice. If the froglok wins he becomes Shin. If he loses, he is either killed (if he wasn't already) or appointed as an herb farmer, serving under the shaman guild. This fate was considered worse than death to an aspiring warrior. The prisoner, on the other hand, would either be killed in battle or set free, although Gorn had never actually heard of any trolls returning home after Shin Kao.

    The more he talked the more I kinda felt sorry for the big guy, and the more I identified with him. We were probably about the same age, although Gorn wasn't very good with numbers, and he too was an orphan from what I gathered. Eventually he grew tired of talking though and rolled over on his back. He was snoring within seconds. I decided that sleep was probably a good idea as well so I crawled a few more feet from the cage bars and closed my eyes. I had taken a liking to the troll, but I certainly wasn't about to sleep within reaching distance of him.

    The arena was enormous. Thousands of froglok onlookers crowded the benches surrounding the battle pit. The croaking was deafening. Twenty-four prisoners, each in a cage, formed a circle along the walls of the sunken battleground. A door opened in the far wall and a lone, heavily armored froglok hopped into view. The crowd went silent as he made his way into the center of the ring.

    "Togetha we witness tha powa of our ancestors, rroak!" he shouted. "Our waey of life is maede through Shin, and by Shin we will continue!"

    A cage was opened and a large orc raced across the arena beating his fists mightily on his chest. The froglok general waited until the last second, then sidestepped the orc and brought his curved sword down in a deadly arc. Suddenly there were twenty-three prisoners. "I now pronounce the glory of Shin Kao! Roak!" the general shouted.

    Any beliefs I had that frogs couldn't fight were quickly dashed like elven glass on the rocks of Timorous. Frogs or not, these were highly trained, extremely agile warriors. The first ten fights were each over in a matter of seconds. One human, five orcs, three kobolds, and the dwarf all lay bloodied and dead on the ground. Each prisoner had been let out of their cage and given their choice of weapon and armor. I was actually impressed with the selection. The frogs obviously wanted their warrior apprentices to face a true test of battle on even ground with each prisoner. It didn't seem to matter though; the slaughter was sickening. And now it was Gorn's turn.

    Gorn straightened his back as he stepped out of his cage. If it's even possible for a Troll to do so, Gorn looked scared. Walking over to the armament table he scratched his head and pondered his choices for a long time. Finally, after being prodded in the behind by a spear, Gorn picked up a large horned helmet, a thick leather tunic, and a vicious looking war hammer. He squeezed into the tunic, plunked the steel helmet down on his head and walked to the center of the ring dragging the club behind him.

    His opponent hopped gracefully out of the tunnel and took a few furious practice swings with its blade. Gorn looked back at me with a look of sadness, lowered his eyes, and turned back to face his doom. Without hesitation the froglok leapt past Gorn, slicing his thigh and getting out of reach well before Gorn's hammer blasted the dirt. After three more attack runs Gorn was bleeding pretty badly from cuts on his legs and chest while the froglok hadn't been touched. Gorn fell to one knee. Sensing his victory the frog hopped directly at the troll for the killing blow but was met in the face by Gorn's war hammer. Sputtering and croaking in shock the frog went tumbling backwards, finally coming to rest at the foot of an elf's cage. With a roar Gorn lumbered over and finished the job, smashing the frog's head into a shiny green pulp with one crushing blow. The crowd was hissing and croaking wildly but Gorn didn't seem to hear them. He dropped his weapon and ran over to my cage.

    "Me is da guddest basher!" he said excitedly, "Me can now go back to da Grobb an eat me snakes!" Thud. A long spear sank deep into Gorn's back, vibrating there as if it was trying to dig deeper. A look of utter confusion crossed his face as he sank to his knobby knees. "Mooder me sposed to go now," he muttered as a tear fell on his cheek. "Dey lie, da froggies."

    "Crroak! Youa tearn uman," a guard growled as he unlocked my cage.

    Stepping over Gorn's body I walked over to the weapon table. I've never been one for armor, it's too restricting, but these frogs were covered in mail, so I picked out a few pieces of leather and put them on. Maces, swords, throwing axes, blah blah blah. The list went on and on. I chose a long steel saber and a short parrying dagger, as well as a couple smaller daggers I pocketed while pretending to show interest in a battle-axe.

    My opponent came hopping out of the tunnel, did a flip, and landed in the center of the ring with his sword drawn. I hate showoffs. I turned to face him and he charged steel rang on steel as he whirled past me. Somehow I had managed to block his attack. He came at me again and this time I caught a slash on my arm. His third attack sent me sprawling on the ground, my parrying dagger tumbling out of reach. As he jumped in for the kill I let loose one of the throwing daggers causing the frog to lead with his shield which I easily avoided. He hit the ground in a perfect roll and sprang to his feet in the same motion. I hadn't even attacked yet.

    If I had been a religious person I would have been praying with all my soul. The priests of Marr often visited Sofree, looking for downtrodden people to take under their wings. Servants of Bertoxxulous, the plaguebringer, did the same. Many of my cohorts followed Bristlebane the trickster or carried out "justice" under the guise of The Tribunal. They all believed in higher powers, yet they were never saved from death, disease, hunger or abuse. These same people would call such hardships "tests of faith", but I found early in life that I didn't need a god to endure such tests, and their gods didn't deliver them from suffering. I was my own judgment, my own salvation. I, alone, would determine my destiny. I suddenly realized this more than ever and a strange calm overcame my body as the froglok grinned and charged ahead. My saber clanged off his shield as I spun out of his reach and I heard it snap as I hit the ground. Damn, damn, and double damn. Seeing my vulnerability the warrior rushed forward, his sword raised and shield at the ready. I had one chance to live. From my knees I raised my right hand above my head and heaved the broken shaft of my sword at the frog's right leg. At the same time, with my left hand, I flicked my last small dagger at the charging green fighter. He brought down his shield and easily blocked the sword hilt, but the dagger thudded into his scrawny neck. The warrior went into a frenzy, throwing his shield and sword to the ground, he wrenched the dagger from his neck, and grasped frantically at his bloody wound. With a scream of anger I launched the heel of my hand into his nose while plunging two fingers from my other hand deep into his wound. Then I hooked my fingers around his pulsing artery and yanked. It was over.

    The frog hung from my left hand by his neck, twitching in its death throes. I dropped it to the ground and turned to face the scowling general.

    "Shin mei un ta kao," yelled the general, and the crowd went silent. "Crooak! Go now uman, you have bested tha Shin."

    The gates opened and two guards emerged to escort me out. With a nod to the general I left the arena, covered in blood but very much alive. My mind was numb and my limbs ached with a dull, throbbing pain. I was shaking all over. When we neared the cave opening the guards shoved me in a dark corner and went on ahead to the sentry house, talking in froglok the entire way.

    "It's not over yet uman," a voice whispered out of the blackness, "they won't just let you leave."

    I scanned the darkness as best I could but I couldn't see anybody.

    "They will let you out uman, to show tha hona of Shin, but they will track you dowen, you to be sure."

    "What do you suggest I do then frog?" I whispered.

    "You have two choices roak. Leave and laern, or enta my hell. Boeth may lead to death, but hell will maek you stronga." If the frogs found me in the swamp I wouldn't stand a chance.

    "Show me your hell and I'll be the judge," I answered.

    "Very well uman rroak," he hissed, "first lesson is embraece the darkness."

    And my world went black.