The November Report: page 1

[Miranda Frost]

Similarly to Miranda, November carries a journal of his own. Journal entries will be put here.

November.. what kind of name is that? My mother always told me it was the month I was born in, but was there anything more to it? I never really got a straight answer. There was, I just would never hear it. The town name wasn't very imaginative either. I was never good with numbers so you can understand if i can't write it down. Maybe its my memory that's the problem, because i cannot remember for the life of me whether this place used to be in what was Nevada or Texas. I can tell you that the days are long and hot.

I don't really mind.

Thes skies are blue and the birds sing beautiful songs. The townsfolk are fair, honest men and women. The children are happy just to live free. We young people, though, are pressured by the transition from childhood into adult-hood. Generally as long as certain positions and jobs are filled, the lifestyle you choose is up to you.

However...

My parents are what the townsfolk call, "Champions". I remember as a child asking them "What is a Champion?" I had never gotten such mixed responses in my life. Some said "Our Saviors", others mighteve said "They were survivors". The one answer i could never quite swallow was "Murderer".

Our parents didn't know about this inquisitive phase nor would they ever would. A child should never have to ask their mother or father if they ever had to kill someone. Deep down in the damp darkness of my heart, i knew well that the townspeople didn't lie to me.

If not bothering the town with my curiosity, i was bothering my sister, Miranda, with my competitive nature. We were both around the same age, what age i couldn't say. What I could say is that she was the best friend i would ever have, though at the time i would never admit or see it. I'd always find her on a hill a hundred yards from the house, staring off westward to where the Colliseum was, just right of the horison. The gentle breese barely lifting her pale white hair off her fair skin. She would sit there for hours, ignoring me as I tried to pester her into playing with me.

Occasionally i was able to interupt her idleness with a game of chess, but she always won (Her best win being only in eight moves). Eventually as time progressed i would sit out there with her. When I asked her why they were sitting out here, she would respond with , "We are enjoying freedom, while we still could."

In hindsight, I knew she was right. The very next day our training would begin, and many of my questions would be answered.
It may not seem like it, but that afternoon was the best moment of our lives.

The next day was Selection Day, the day which would decide what we young folk would do with our lives, only... we would never go. Our father no longer was the quiet, soft man we knew him to be, but the cold hard self that was worthy of the name Frost. We spent the first month getting into shape. Freedom was a privilage now, one that was not given lightly nor often. Day in, day out Miranda and i pushed our bodies to the limit.

To be frank i loved it, but Miranda despaired.

I can't remember how many times i had to stay up at night, helping her get to sleep. Compared to me, she was rather frail and weak, and her heart was as soft as the summer breese, like her mother's. I was her support. When she fell I picked her up. Her body was that of a young woman, but she was just a sheltered child at heart, like mine. Hell, if we belonged to another family i'd be fending off bad suitors right now. They say its the simple things in life, and that was one of the things that would never happen.

Once our bodies were fit, Miranda's tears ran dry. She no longer cried out when struck. She became silent. Sometimes i would catch her attempting to sneak out of our room, a knife in hand. She became resentful of father and his abusive ways but I always knew it was to prepare us for the future ahead of us. Killing a short term misery would doom us to a longer suffering.

Combat training was my favorite part of our training. If numbers weren't my thing, then the edge of the sword was. Miranda may beat me at chess, but she couldn't beat me in sparring. I can't remember how many times i disarmed her or accidentally knocked her out because she couldn't keep up.

Her progression was incredibly slow at this stage. Though we weren't in a particular hurry, there was no reason for us to be stuck on the basics because dear Sister couldn't wield a sword. I mean Come on!? Three whole months? I urged her to consider seeking something else that would work for her. As if the heavens opened up and granted her good fortune, she was finally able to compete with me, and catch this, UNARMED. Hell, she was able to keep up with me and, at times, over power me. Once father approved, we moved on.

Survival training was quick and easier than combat and physical training. This stuff we already knew as children, camping out in the far reaches just over the town's limit. I remember packing every thing i thought would be useful to the trip. Miranda only brought herself and a water canteen. Her eyes held a deep fire within them, and to this day i cant say what fueled them. My only guess was the challenge.

Out there in the wilderness, i once witnessed her wrestling a deer to the ground and taking it out with nothing but her strong hands. She was getting strong. She had changed into someone else entirely. To be honest she looked like Mother, but with less hair.

[Miranda Frost]

On Departure's Eve, the day before our town ships its contestants off to the Colliseum, each contestant is given one item to help guarantee their survival. Our town is a farming town. We are as rich as the food we grow. For nearly a decade we have failed to reach our surplus amount. Without the surplus crops, its hard for us to trade if merchants decide to stop by our poor corner of the country. Champions of the Colliseum are sent money monthly. By this town's standard that amount is considered filthy rich. With both of our parents as champions, our family donates where we can but we cannot support an entire town like this. If we can obtain more champions in the name of this town we may be able to.

There is not a limit to how many champions a town can send, but they have to send a minimum of two. If there happens to be more than enough contestants, preliminary rounds are held. Well this town won't be the ones to cause that. That's for sure. Lucky, or unlucky, for Miranda and I we get to be the only representatives of this town this year. Everyone else is too young to qualify, and the adults aren't eh... in their prime anymore. Our parents would no doubt go in our stead, but champions are prohibited from entering.

For Departure's Eve, I was given our family's sword. The name changes from wielder to wielder and I was to find out later that that blade usually didn't keep that name for very long. My father was one of the lucky ones. It was something straight out of the pages of those stories Miranda loved to read, and probably one of the largest swords I'd ever seen. At six foot in total length, this double edged sword was lighter than it looked. I still haven't figured out what exactly kept it that light, though I found that by twisting the hilt in a certain manner, the blade width increased by a large margin, to a maximum of one foot. The wider the blade, the heavier it became. I believe it may have to do something with the black crystal that's revealed when I do this, but I never did have the smarts to look into it. All I know is that it's good for training.

I think I'll call it Frostbite: after the cold aura my dear sister bears. Hell, it is the only think she would have received that day. She would fight without weapons and without armor. She carried only her pride with her.

To be honest... I worry gravely for her.

I'm confident she will do well, but we have no idea what we are up against. For the first time in ages I prayed: To whatever god hangs above, to the spirits within us, to our ancestors, to whatever power this world may have to swing the course of destiny in our favor. As I prayed, I remembered a verse of a song once sung some time ago.

"Gods of darkness, heed my words of warning.
When the worlds collide and skies fall down -
In a pit of hell we'll be.
In damnation, crucified and tortured -
Our spirits guide us through the fear to our immortality."

I pray that this may be true.

[Miranda Frost]

The first day, if one could even call it day, was dark. Hanging low above the Colliseum, an cannonade of dark thunder shook everything. Before that day I had once never felt rain upon my skin. Even for our elders, rain was a scarcity of mythical proportions.  It was lukewarm like tears, but then I could have mistaken the rain for my own "rain"


 Things began to become clear. We weren't fighting for the honor of our home towns or cities but rather our own lives. Even then the message was obvious: We all belonged to the Lord of Colliseum himself. The nameless man was the only source of light that day, clad in radiant golden armor with a halo crafted from the sun itself. For many he was the most beautiful thing alive, but I knew better.

 Behind that bright mask of his held a heart darker than the emptiest of voids.

 Us contestants... no... prisoners were kept in cells beneath the arena. Stripped of our weapons we were forced to watch as two of us at a time were brought to the surface to die for His enjoyment. I was still weak at the time. Was this my purpose? To die for something not worth dying for? I had never even begun to live my own life. I was merely a puppet wishing to be cut from fate's strings. It was tragic really. If I willed myself to, I could have freed myself from my cage and gotten away from it all. I couldn't though. In the cage beside mine was my brother. He was the prison I could not free myself from. He was my flesh and blood. He was the only one I ever truly loved, the only one I would truly die for. For his sake I forced myself to be broken down and built into my father's image. For him I hated the world.

 No words were spoken. Even when a round's winner returned to his or her cell, there was no celebration. The bodies of the lost were taken away, never to be seen again. I decided then they would not take me. I would leave this hell hole on my own two legs. But then... what about my brother? In this fatal tournament, there was only one victor. Did I have what it took to kill my own sibling? I remembered becoming sick thinking about it. Die and be erased from existence, or lose something dear to me. It was one and the same and I could not choose. 
Could not choose.

Would not choose.

Will not choose.

I. Never. Chose