An ordinary flower picked gently by the gladiator's master.
No-one knows why the legendary gladiator wore this flower on his chest. It was the brutal warrior's only weakness.
He made a brooch with it and pinned it on the gladiator's chest, it came to symbolize his gentler side.
Before the gladiator became a living legend, he once strolled with his young master in the garden.
The master picked a flower and gave it to the silent slave.
"Not all gifts are given out of benevolence. Sometimes they are nothing more than acts of whimsy."
One day in the far-off future, the gladiator's sly master would say these words to him.
At that moment he recalled a dream he had had many years ago.
"Such beautiful flowers, I wonder when I'll be able to begin my own journey to see them."
"I'd like to see how beautiful the wild flowers are."
The end had finally come for the triumphant gladiator.
A feather of dreams that soars free like an eagle. At the end of the gladiator's legendary life, this parting gift was left upon his chest by a bird that knew true freedom.
The young challenger paid her final homage to the gladiator.
When the vanity of victory and desire for freedom dissipated into the air like the morning fog,
and when the light of dawn finally shone on the arena through layers of blood-soaked clouds, the gladiator saw a flying bird.
One battle away from being free, the gladiator was defeated by an anonymous girl.
Cries and howls burst out in the crowd like pounding thunder,
but the victor refused to humiliate her opponent by execution.
She refused to plunge her sword into the opponent's throat and end his life like that of a slave.
He eventually set off on a journey, finally as free as a bird.
His destination was the place where flowers bloom and birds soar.
The gladiator crafted this hourglass himself. He would flip the hourglass before each battle.
A timepiece that recorded the gladiator's days in the bloodstained Colosseum. To him, it counted down the days on his long road to freedom.
When the hourglass stopped flipping, the gladiator had long since died in a pool of his own blood.
The gladiator would put this hourglass aside before entering the arena.
When the fight has ended and the crowd started to cheer for him, the sand in the hourglass was still flowing.
In her eyes, he saw both the timidity of a young girl and the ferocity of a young lioness.
From his step, the girl saw the unbreakable shackles of age that the gladiator wore.
It was a fight like the old gladiator has not had in years. Fierce, yet satisfying.
But the fight ended in a flash. The sword plunged into the gladiator's heart and the sand in his hourglass crawled to a stop.
A lavish goblet made of gold. It was a gift from the champion gladiator's master.
The golden cup a champion gladiator drank from in ancient times. It brimmed with his glory for years until the fateful day of his fall.
From this goblet the champion gladiator drank, be if fine wine or the blood of the defeated.
Another victory for the gladiator. Covered in wounds, he dedicated the victory to his master.
More intoxicating and pain numbing than the fine wine was the victory, honor, and applause from the crowd.
It was an exquisite goblet, made specially for him. A symbol of how much his master cared.
But the golden chains of vanity had bound the gladiator and the poisonous snake of desire had strangled him.
By pausing to wait for the wine of victory, the gladiator missed his chance to seize a fleeting chance at freedom.
A helmet of the gladiator adorned with feathers.
The helmet of a legendary gladiator from ancient times, who would proudly stretch out his bloodied arms to welcome the thunderous applause of his audience.
To zealous spectators, this helmet was the symbol of invincibility.
The legendary gladiator had fought numerous battles. None had ever stood a chance of survival before his sword, be they human or monster.
On each triumphant day, the champion gladiator would walk through the gate to a hero's welcome from the adoring crowd.
Only in moments of victory could the slave have a taste of what it felt like to be a master. But the cost of this vain aspiration was for the faint glow of freedom to be shrouded by darkness.
On the day of his triumph, the gladiator finally caught a glimpse of the world outside his cell. He was a step closer to freedom.
But only when his helmet fell down on the arena floor did he and the spectators alike realize that it was all just a farce.
The offering of his petty life made no difference. He would always be a worthless slave in the eyes of his master.
- This artifact set's lore ties in to the Deathmatch weapon's lore.