On the Colosseum Sands, Pt. 1
Aclidia: Colosseum Stands
The Colosseum of Aclidia can easily hold half the city's populous within its massive circumference. A total of five levels of seating circle the sandy arena, each level holds several rows of seats, which are more akin to one really long bench carved of solid stone; the rich bring cushions. At the center of the Colosseum is the area, a sand covered wooden platform where all the gladiatorial contests and public spectacles such as re-enactments of famous battles, executions and dramas are preformed.
Below the wooden floor of the area lie the preparation rooms, where contestants and even scenery are stored and prepared for their respective events. A total of fifteen vertical shafts are placed at regular intervals to allow instant access between the dungeons below and the arena floor. These allow the rapid placement of new contestants into the arena, and refresh the pace of lengthy events. In the eastern region of the stands, at the bottom level is a private box for the Provincial Governor and other high ranking beasts in the Empire. On both the eastern and west walls of the arena are two stone archways that lead directly down to the preparation rooms.
Exits: [E]xit the [A]rena
Characters:
Gaius
Alyssane
Titus (spoof)
Tigess (spoof)
Midday. The Aclidian sun hangs directly overhead, looking down upon the area like the burning eye of an enraged god. Great sail-like awnings have been unfurled over the arena stands, sheltering all present from the god’s red-hot gaze, save for the contestants that will soon be ushered into the arena. The noon-time games routinely draw a large crowd, pulling rich and poor alike to relax an hour or two and see someone lose a pint or two of blood. However, the private box reserved for the city’s distinctly upper-crust is rather empty, the nobles swept up in the litigation of the day. Among the nobles not stuck in endless Ordinatio meetings is Alyssane Ironarm, looking decidedly more polished than a scarce couple of nights previous when she might have been spotted roaming the merchant road in a lowly tunic. A lace trimmed white blouse and neatly fitted black trousers are a telling sign that the heiress has been up to some official business of her own, and today her guards are dressed in full chainmail and insignia. Across the colosseum, perched above one of the entrance gates and flanked by drummers who silence the crowd with a thunderous beat, a portly rat bellows out today’s program. “Ladies and Gentlemen! Lords and citizens alike! We welcome you to these games on the third day in the month of Quintilis! On this day, we bring you a special event, the reenactment of the Hero Aggripa Prima’s victory in the name of the god Martis over the champions of rival deities, winning his place amongst the pantheon of Heroes in the great halls of the gods!”
A crowd pleaser, clearly, as the arena erupts into cheers at the venue. The drummers begin their rhythmic clatter again, silencing the crowd as various pieces of scenery are quickly hauled onto the arena sands; various wooden constructions that, when combined together, form a field of ruins. Some of the pseudo-ruins have been covered in pitch, and nearly half are set ablaze. Once the scene is set, the rat begins again. “On the hot sands of Tartarus, deep below the darkest reaches of the mortal realm, the wicked chosen of the dark gods waited the arrival of the Champion of Martis! Among them, Titus Avento the Barbarian!” The rat gestures to the eastern side of the arena, where a brutish weasel is unleashed upon the scene. A clamor of howls are unleashed from the crowd, rebuked by ‘Titus’ who beats his shield upon the black scutum he carries and thumps his unarmored chest. “With him,” starts the rat again, “Hera the Bloodthirster, who drank the blood of one thousand legions!” Attention is drawn the west side of the arena, where a female ferret makes her entrance. Although she receives her fair share of hisses and boos, there are more than a few cheers for the jill as well, for this is none other than Tigress Agaul, an arena favorite. Silence is called for again, the announcer letting it linger for a moment before finally calling in the hero of the tale. “And facing them both, alone and bloodied after the annihilation of his army by the worst demonic fiends that Tartarus could throw at him… Champion of Martis, Aggripa Primaaaaaa!!!” The rat earns his keep, thundering the hero’s name with unnatural intensity.
The crowd's reaction to this even is a new one to Gaius, his campaigning having taken him far away from Aclidia during the event's inception. Such a shame; he would have very much liked to witness the first battle of this event. However, it seems that past missed opportunities are about to bet set straight, as now Gaius finds himself acting the role of the Champion of Martis himself, something he wholly welcomes and that his ego relishes. He decided to come out with his helmet on, so that he might not ruin the illusion, the black Thracian helmet polished to a gleaming shine, covering his face. Gaius makes his entrance when the name of his character is called out. He's dressed in his finest armor, blood red cape flowing behind him as he strides forwards. His scutum he left home, though Gaius' sword is still his constant companion at his side. He draws the weapon and holds it into the air, playing his role and calling out loud as he can, his own voice booming inside of his helmet, "For the glory of Martis!" Any applause he gets he'll soak up, swinging the sword back and forth to point towards his other opponents and drawing a claw across his throat to make it clear that he intends to dispatch the wicked champions back to the black pit from whence they came. He plays to the crowd and coaxes out their enthusiasm, holding his arms open and tilting his head up so he can gaze at them, spinning around and letting them lavish their praise.
What marvelous splendor. It almost makes Alyssane sick just to imagine the silver coins spent on arranging this distraction for the masses. And yet, as she watches “Aggripa” glimmering in the sun, she feels the same rise in her chest that every Aclidian feels at that moment. It’s a story told to every child in the Empire; one that they know by heart, from Aggripa’s rise as a general to his eventual invasion of Tartarus to win his place in the halls of the gods. Wasteful, beautiful, entrancing splendor. The explosion of sound that greets Gaius is eventually curbed by the droning of the drums, which stretched out for nearly a minute before suddenly ceasing, and a great bronze gong is struck. The signal to begin. Titus Avento is quick to move onto the field, quickly moving into the ruined scenery even though he has a completely obstructed view of the arena before him. Such is the placement of the ruins that none of the contestants can see one another, and must instead work their way into to fiery wastes, either headlong like the Barbarian or at a measured pace like Tigress, who lets her trident lead the way. The burning fires provide only one challenge to the fighters. At the whim of the arena’s overseer, more of the ruined set pieces can be set ablaze by archers arrayed along the edges of the stands, or slaves unleashed from trap doors under the gladiators’ feet. It should prove to be an interesting match.
The roar of the crowd... it's intoxicating! Gaius feels the blood already pounding in his veins along the with the empty-stomach feeling that comes from fighting in the arena. It's very different from the sickly feeling that comes from preparing to fight in an actual battle. This one is more exhilarating, one borne out of the desire to put on a good show for the audience rather than a true fear for one's life. Gaius is well aware that a particularly nasty thrust could snuff out his life, but that knowledge is pushed far to the back of his skull against the need to prove that he deserves the right to play act as a legendary hero. Gaius' tactic for striding in once the gong has been rung is quite different from either of his two opponents. Rather than hanging back or striding towards them, he starts to saunter forwards at a slow and determined pace, playing his role, lifting his sword so that the blood almost touches the brim of his helmet, both hands gripping the hilt. He calls out. "Hark! Let the sons and daughters of the black lands come forth and have justice done upon them! I am Agrippa Prima to my people, but to you who stand before me, my name is War!"
Very dramatic, and Alyssane observes it to be a very obvious beacon for the other two fighters to follow. Unsurprisingly, Titus is the first of the dark god’s champions to hearken the call, thudding through the maze of flame and ruin towards the Champion of Martis’ call. He moves quickly. Too quickly. And before he can mount a faux ruin of painted wood that would give him a clear view of Gaius an arrow streaks from the edges of the arena, alight with flame and embedding itself in the pitch covered woodwork. The plume is spectacular in its own right, the flames roaring fifty feet into sky in a column of hellfire. The Barbarian curses his misfortune, but before he can seek a way around the burning obstacle one of the arena’s hidden entrances slides open, and three slaves are forced into the fray. By no means do they look like simple slaves on the street however, as these beasts have been adorned with all the war paint and bleached bones that their savage urges desired; wild-beasts from far off lands that relish battle even if they have a poor capacity for it. Gaius and Tigress are delivered similar distractions. Two slaves armed with clubs and bedecked with skull helms and red warpaint are thrust onto the field before the Imperator, snarling and charging him almost immediately. Tigress, who is still furthest on the edges of the field, is exposed to only one slave whom she gores with her trident, snarling through sharpened fangs at the pitiful ease of dispatching the creature.
Gaius had hoped that one of the other champions would have heard him and answered the call without interruption, but instead it seems that the way to victory is to be blocked by flames. The inferno is easy to see even from the ground and around the prop ruins, and the curse that sounds out once the fire ignites is impossible to ignore. Gaius knows now where one of his enemies are, but before he can make his way towards his foe, the secret panel withdraws and lets the two barbarians into the arena with him, and Gaius sneers inside his helmet at the sight. Clubs and war paint against a worthy blade and armor? Clearly this is meant to be little more than a test of his abilities; an opportunity for Gaius to show off his skills in stylish murder. He approaches the first of them, sword arm outstretched, taunting the other beast. A club blow hits the sword, but rather than letting the blow knock the sword away, Gaius carries the sword in the same direction of the blow, surging forwards at the same time and ramming his elbow straight into the barbarian's face, knocking him flat. A nonchalant sword thrust into the chest followed by a savage and brutal twist that scrapes the heart dispatches the beast.
A theatrical kill that, in Alyssane’s estimation, suits her impression of the Imperator perfectly. She shifts her attention to Titus, just in time to see him thrust his spear through the neck of one slave, but the stoatmaid is momentarily distracted as a servant arrives carrying a platter of wine and olives. The distraction momentary as it is, was enough for the barbarian to finish the trifling challenge posed by the slaves, leaving their corpses behind in bloody ruin before he takes off at a jog, circling around the props blocking his patch and finally coming within viewing distance of the Champion of Martis. The brute sneers and hefts his spear, launching it at the Imperator with a heave that’s preceded by a coarse bellow. It’s a powerful throw, aimed directly at Gaius with only just enough time to react by the time he’s destroyed the second of his slave opponents. Across the arena, Tigress perks her ears, the clamor of fighting and Titus’ yell betraying all she needs to know about her opponents’ location. All pretense of caution is thrown aside, the ferret moving with unnerving grace and speed as she sets off at a sprint. She takes a obtuse path that should lead her around to the back of Gaius, moving too swiftly for the game’s overseer to try and redirect her with flames. The only challenge laid out before her is the opening of a fourth trap entrance, but before the first slave can set foot on the arena sands Tigress strikes him down with the butt of her trident, sending him tumbling backwards into one of his fellows. She cannot yet see the Imperator, but instinct gives her direction. The contest is quickening, both challengers closing on their prey.
More style from Gaius, as he has just enough time to react to the thrown spear, and to defend himself from it in the most awe-inspiring way that he knows how. He hasn't yet dispatched the second barbarian, having been facing down the beast whose courage is starting to wilt after seeing his friend so easily vanquished. But the kill does not technically go to Gaius at all, as when the spear is throw, Gaius quickly grabs the other beast by the neck and pulls him into the path of the spear, letting the spear go straight through beast's back. The tip explodes out of the barbarian's chest and creates the barest metal ding as the point flicks Gaius' armor. With no regard nor respect, Gaius flings the dying barbarian to the side and faces Titus, lifting his sword and charging the far larger beast, shouting out a wordless war cry. He does not yet know that Tigress is making her way towards him, but he intends to try to dispatch Titus before the pair of them even meet.
White-hot rage thunders from Titus, who fits the roll of the Barbarian well as he draws and unsheathes the kopesh as his side, charging headlong to meet Gaius. His attack is brutish; a downward chop at the Imperator with enough force to split the ferret from shoulder to belly. But only if his attack finds home. Titus has strength, but his movements are unrefined and telegraphing, and even from her seat Alyssane can predict the weasel’s slash. With a grim smile she wonders if the Barbarian is meant to be a reoccurring face in the arena, or if he was brought in just to play the part of the hulking mountain of flesh. Tigress, who is still streaking around the edge of the arena, but now with two angry barbarians in tow, is the far graver threat in the stoat’s estimation.
Indeed the blow can be seen from a mile away, and Gaius is already leaping to the side when Tidus swings downward, sidestepping the attack in its entirety before retalliating as well as he knows how. He swipes his sword upwards, aiming slice to Tidus' chest, one that could cut deep should it hit. But Gaius knows that against so large a foe, a single blow may not be enough to secure victory. He pulls back his weapon and aims a downward blow with the sculpted pommel of the sword, aiming straight between Tidus' eyes. A heavy blow that Gaius hopes will stun the larger beast. Anybeast, no matter how large, can be felled by damage to their brain.
Gaius’ blade finds its mark, cutting deep into the weasel’s chest and staggering him in-place. Bellowing like a wounded boar, Titus lashes out again with his sword but strikes only the thin air in front of Gaius, the large beast’s weight carrying him dangerously close to the Imperator. The next blow would certainly be the end of Titus, if not through instant death then by stunning him and removing the giant from the fight entirely, but fate would have it different on this day. Just as the Champion raises his sword to bring the pommel crashing down, Tigress appears seemingly out of nowhere, or at least that might be what it feels like from Gaius’ perspective. The jill, moving quite noiselessly across the sand covered arena, closes the distance between herself and the male ferret rapidly, and only a few feet behind him she mounts the nearest terrain piece by two steps before launching herself into the air from it, needle-like teeth bared as she gains the height and speed with which to attack the Imperator more effectively. Her assault is sudden, the three tongs of her trident coming down upon his back before she herself makes contact with the earth again, tucking into a roll to save herself the full impact. But Tigress does not linger to examine her handiwork, slipping away into the smoke and haze again as the two slaves tailing her rush onto the scene also, their eyes alighting on Titus and Gaius. They divide the combatants between them, the slave armed with a club bull-rushing Titus and taking him to the ground, his club crashing down repeatedly onto the weasel before he has time to react. The second savage attacks Gaius with wild abandon, making up for his lack of training with sheer aggressiveness in the movement of his curved sword.
To be continued.
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