Shield Wall

Tycondrius stepped through the back door of the kitchens... and into a dungeon.

--or so it appeared. 

He was in the preparation area underneath the Ezyrian arenas.

Thus, the stench of piss and sweat was reasonably fresh and human-made.

Disgusting. 

But his surroundings were potentially useful. 

[Tycon, I got ahold of one of ours.]

"Send them."

He searched through the gladiator lockers...

Err... gladiatrix lockers--

How awkward.

He found something resembling magical reagents. He took apart a few benches. 

He blocked the door, pushing in the nails with his finger before scribing an enchantment on the wood. 

[Tycon, a few wooden planks aren't going to stop a heavenly army.]

Of course. That was exceedingly obvious if he'd considered it for even a moment. 

Tycon sighed bitterly, "I wish you had stopped me before I expended so much effort."