for blood and glory

[Talon]

D A E M O N

Ash 20, 122

The chamber was filled with the noise of men going through the motions of preparing themselves for the upcoming bout. Solunarium was on the eve of celebrating the platinum jubilee of its sovereign, the queen who had ruled over them for a century. As a result, the capital city was abuzz with activity. The common folk were being delighted with celebratory festivities at every turn in an effort to dazzle them with the wealth and power of the crown. It was a tactic that he was not unfamiliar with. House Novalys had ruled over the Synnekar Avialae for generations and had always gone out of its way to find reasons to provide entertainment and celebration for the masses.

While other fighters were stretching, sharpening their weapons, or tugging on pieces of their armor, he was seated upon a stool and simply pondering the days leading up to the current one. He had fought in the underground rings in Tertium. It had been slow going at first. After learning from the mistakes of his first fights, he had been steadily making an effort to be more entertaining for the masses that came to watch him. Sometimes he could end a fight quickly and decisively. Other times he needed to take his time and provide a show for the people who were watching. He had yet to meet a real challenge in the streets of Tertium but that had been expected. Here in the Luxium however, he expected that would change.

He had not yet made a name enough for himself to be of any real note. At least, not outside of Tertium as far as he knew. The match he was about to enter was a group one where most any challenger could throw their lot in. It was a free for all as far as he knew and the contestants were simply meant to survive. This was not a fight meant to be for the best of the best. It was a bout meant to serve as pure bloody entertainment. He glanced around. There were faces in that room that likely would not live to see another day. He did not know fully what was in store but he did know that the challenges ahead were intended to be deadly. The sovereignty of the queen was to be glorified with bloody reverence as the Solunarian culture demanded from what he understood.

“Well, well, the Demon of Atraxia.” He looked up at the sound of a voice that was clearly directed at him. In front of him stood three men. Each of them was well built in their own way. Their skin was bronzed by days in the sun. The middle one, clearly the leader of this small pack, was smirking at him. His muscular arms were folded over his chest. Across his back was a battleaxe that in the hands of any other was likely nothing more than dead weight. He had a face that bore a few scars, likely from battle but he was otherwise not unpleasing to look at. His hair was a dark black and his eyes were a deep shade of green. Talon placed him as human upon first glance. He simply arched an eyebrow at the man.

“I heard of you. Mountain of a half-elf. Probably some spawn of a half-giant and one of those elven bastards. Throwing himself at whatever petty fight he could get himself into in Tertium.” The man sneered. “If you think you’re going to come in here and rob us of our glory, foreign born scum, you’re mistaken. Look around you.”

He did not need to but the man gestured regardless.

“You’ve no friends here, if I were you, I wouldn’t step out onto those sands.” The man stared at him steadily. Talon met his gaze with an unwavering one of his own. “What? Too good to speak to us? I heard about your silent treatment. Opponents barely worth a nod of your head.”

He did not think that. Every fighter he had met thus far had been worthy of his acknowledgement in some way. This one, perhaps, was not.

“Well? What are you? Mute?” He could tell that the man wanted a rise out of him. He simply stared at him blankly. The man’s face darkened with irritation.

“You should ready yourself for the fight ahead.” That was all he said as he rose to his feet and turned to walk away. As soon as he had his back to the others he heard the shifting of the dirt on the floor. He felt the change in the air behind him. He turned, ready to defend himself against the oncoming attack.

[Pharaoh]

20 Ash 122
Fortis Lacerta Arena

► Show Spoiler

Morning began early at the Fortis Lacerta Arena. The slaves and their overseers began to toil in the morning hours ere Varvara's subtle, graceful lustre gave way to the blazing severity of Aværys' radiance. The Royal Box was painstaking prepared to host the highest magnati to attend today's bouts, and the podiums and mezzanines that would house lesser elites were made pristine as mages reinforced the protective wards that separated the audience from the talent... et al.

Outside the walls, excited Solunarians of lower castes would begin to queue up at first light, in hopes of having the coveted opportunity to spend coin saved over seasons to enjoy the same diversions as the very royals- Albeit from a far more distant vantage. Many would be turned away today, for word had spread that the games presented this afternoon would boast a rare distinction from those enjoyed over the past few seasons.

As the sun approached its zenith, the sounds of a boisterous throng would be heard in the antechambers beneath the stadium. The stadium was full to capacity from the lowest podium to the highest balcony. From the lowest caste to the highest, the energy was electric- elves, humans and mixed bloods intermingling with even a few odd peregrini of other races. All of them here for the purpose of enjoying what promised to be an unique, and memorable event. Although the format might differ somewhat, the outcome in these battles was ever the same. What the Vastians called: Balneum sanguinis.

Musicians spread across the arena began to intone a percussive, martial rhythm that stirred the crowd to even greater excitement heralding, as it did, the battle was soon to commence. In the midst of the fanfare, all eyes turned to the royal box as a stunning light began to crest from out of view. Like a rising sun, it rose beneath a balustrade that served as its horizon. By and by, that blazing orb- a miniature sun, swirled between gyrating halos of fire that floated in the middle of a glowing crown that churned with luminous red, as if it were still within the forge- Molten and moving. The elf who donned the crown, if one could call it donning when it seemed to hover just above his golden locks without ever touching down, would have been striking to look upon even without the pomp, circumstance and literal fanfare. But with a golden harness criss-crossing his toned, bronze, bare torso, and a cape of white that sparkled like a sea of stars billowing behind him, he was downright ethereal.

"Omnes, genua flectunt!"
(All kneel down!) Called a herald, and the crowd grew quiet, kneeling for the dashing, prince of the divine dynasty.

"Ante Claudius Danann-Sol'Aværys Drævyn Princeps, illustrissime Domine ac conditorum proles, omnes genua!"
(Before His Serene Highness Prince Claudius Danann-Sol'Aværys, Scion of the Founders, all shall kneel!") Rabble and noble alike lowered themselves to their knees and bowed their heads, as Drævyn looked out over the empty arena and smiled stoically at the dutiful obeisances of his inferiors.

As silence swept over the arena, the only sounds to be heard were the rattling of heavy chains, and the squawks, roars and bellows of the creatures stowed behind heavy metal gates that had inspired this massive turnout for the games of the day. Even in their silence, the energy of the audience's excitement was palpably electric. And Drævyn so no need to withhold it from them any longer.

"Omnes surgunt!"
(All rise!)
The elf called out in a voice that filled the expansive stadium without seeming strained or shouted in the least. Were even the very voices of the Unbroken Line of Sol'Aværys blessed with His empyreal grace? Whatever the case, the crowd obliged returning to standing or sitting positions as suited their class and place in the pecking order. Drævyn lifted his sceptre skyward and proclaimed:

"Ludi incipiant!"
(Let the games begin!)

The sounds of rising gates rattled instantly, as if punctuating the command of His Serene Highness the Princeps Consul. The crowd was cheering again, as they saw the pitiful hopefuls stepping into the open pit, armed with weapons provided by the facility. Some of these were glory-seekers, who hoped to earn fame and coin with their martial prowess. Others were convicts, subjected to a popular form of observing the Lex Agni, but one of the few that could ultimately result in liberation. Others were slaves who had been trained to serve as gladiators for the profit of their masters. None of them were gladiators of note. But, if they survived what was to come, they might rise toward such an aspiration. First the beasts would whittle down the field of competitors and the beasts were, indeed, what had drawn so large a mob to this particular event.

As the last of the competitors marched out, the gates closed behind them as, on the other side of the arena, another set of gates rose. The ground shook, as a stooping, gargantuan humanoid stomped out onto the stands. Once it had cleared the gate, it rose to its full height. Standing over thirty feet tall, the Cyclops let out a thunderous bellow and lifted its two, giant maces into the air. There was something wrong with the creature... unnatural. Its race was known for thick, elephantine skin and tusks, but this one was larger than most and one hand was of a green, scaly reptilian bent, whilst the other had a thick patch of feathers. Rather than tusks, the lower half of its mouth protruded like a beak and the top lip was missing altogether- revealing razor sharp teeth beneath its nostril slits.

To the right of the Cyclops emerged a two headed basilisk, with a lean and hungry look about it. And to its left was a giant Sandlion- a giant, armoured insect that seemed to match the colour of the sand on which it trod- Snapping its giant mandibles together twice with a loud, chitin clicking sound, before immediately burying itself into the sand below and digging itself out of sight.

As the mutant cyclops and basilisk began to stalk toward their prey, a small army of loping, bipedal reptiles began to pour out from behind them. With quick, agile legs ending in a talon with a curved razor sharp claw, the creatures began loping at blinding speed toward the gladiators and leaping onto them to feast. As they drew closer and came into better view, they looked wrong as well- As if halfway between death and life- Some half decomposed. As the battle began, the Sandlion erupted from the earth behind the combatants- leaving them utterly surrounding and battling for their lives.

Drævyn grinned. This was what he'd come to see, along with the rest of the crowd. It had been so long since the arena had hosted Mist Monsters. The prince turned to his herald and winked:

"Ego pugnam Chimæram amo..."
(I do love a Mutant mêlée...)

[Talon]

D A E M O N

He turned on his heel and caught the fist that had been sailing toward his head. To another assailant, he kicked their feet out from underneath them then planted his foot firmly on their chest. He knocked the fist of the third assailant away from him then grabbed their harness, bringing them in for a headbutt that left their nose bloody. He then turned his attention back to the man who had attacked him so dishonorably. He squeezed the man’s fist until the soft creak of bone could be heard. Not enough to break but enough to make his point clear. The man winced and as he bent the man’s wrist, he was brought to his knees. He stared into the man’s eyes steadily as he held in his cry of pain. He did not say anything. He did not have to. His point was clear. With a mere flex of his muscles he could break the man’s arm. He had but to apply just a little more weight to the chest of the man beneath his boot and that chest would cave in. After a silent exchange of clear warning, his assailant dropped his gaze. Talon shoved him back, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

“Fortune smile on you.” That was all he said as the drums signaling they were to begin making their way to the arena began to sound. He looked around him. How many fighters would die that day? He did not know. He surmised most would not see the next sunrise, let alone sundown. Many would likely die within the next hour. He did not focus on that. He was not there to lead men into battle. He was not there to save the lives of those people around him that were throwing themselves into bloody sport. He was there, for truly the first time in his life, for his own personal glory.

As he took his place among the throng of gladiators that were lining up to make their way into the arena, he steeled his nerves. This was to be his first fight within the arena of Luxium. He would need to do more than just survive. He would need to stand out. He needed to inspire awe. He needed to inspire period. He joined the forward march through the lower tunnels until the light of the desert sun fell upon him. When he saw the amount of people amassed within the stands, he felt a momentary flutter in his stomach. There were thousands. That number alone meant that whatever was about to transpire within the arena would need to impress every last one of the people watching. That boded both good and ill.

It meant he would likely get the chance to actually push himself. It also meant that the vast majority of the fighters around him were walking to their graves. Seeing the crowd that was cheering, shouting and crying out for entertainment, he knew that the spectacle for them would need to be grand. His estimation of how many might survive dropped even lower.

Finally they all came to a stop. He heard the fanfare and his attention was drawn to the royal box as an elven man materialized there. He joined the rest of the fighters in kneeling but from what he saw of the man, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was one of the higher royals. The sheer opulence of his appearance and the manner in which he commanded the attention of the masses as well as the subservience he was afforded, it was clear enough. Even if the light that radiated off of him seemed manufactured and stale. When they were commanded to their feet and the royal declared the games begun, he stood. Even among this crowd of fighters, he towered over most of them that were there.

As he rose to his feet, he heard others gasp and exclaim as that which they were to face was unveiled. He looked to the colossal form of the cyclops that stomped its way out of its holding cage. The thing was massive with every inch of its body displaying some malformed manifestation that he knew would visit a new dynamic to the fight. He saw the insectoid like creature that chittered and snapped its claws before digging into the ground. He saw the two headed basilisk that looked mad with hunger. Then he saw the beasts being released into the ring to make things even more complicated. The reptilian hunters that would thin the crowd of its weakest fighters.

This was going to be a bloodbath.

As the fighters around him began shoring themselves up or rushing forward, Talon took a moment to look skyward. He beheld the open skies, endlessly blue. His eyes drifted to the sun as its light and warmth filled him. He let that sunlight bathe his skin. He let it fill him with its strength and vitality. He spread his arms with a deep breath to center himself. Then he opened his eyes, summoned his pact blade to his hands and affixed a Shield to his forearm. He tasked it with simple blocking of both physical and aethereal manifestation, unspecific until he got a clearer grasp on what these creatures might hold.

Talon angled his body, then sprinted forward. He bashed aside the skull of one of the half-dead bipedal reptiles, following through with a clean slice of his blade. In that swing, he enacted Morphosis to make the edge of his pact blade even sharper. With a single swing he decapitated the creature then turned and leapt toward others. With every swing of his shield or sword, more of the reptiles were cleaved. His actions sparing more than a few fighters from an immediate and bloody death. His attack on the creatures only stalled when the sandlion erupted from the earth. He deflected a clump of dirt with his shield and looked between the insectoid creature and the rest of the battlefield. Already he could see the fighters trying, and failing, to coordinate something close to a defense against everything headed their way. Making a quick assessment of the battlefield he settled on the sandlion as the most pressing threat. There were fighters on the ground skilled enough to handle many of the half-dead reptiles attempting to gorge themselves on the crowd of combatants. At least, enough that he could focus on the more looming threats.

The cyclops they could see coming. It was impossible to miss. The basilisk was also a beast that could be seen. The sandlion burrowed and could appear with minimal warning. Not only would it weaken the ground they stood on, it would fill the rest of the fighters with paranoia and panic as they tried to focus on what was in front of them as well as what could come from below.

The sandlion had to die first.

Talon sprinted forward dodging out of the way of a leaping half-dead reptile. He slid across the dirt, raising his shield over his body to protect himself just as the cyclops swung one of its maces. He felt the air give way to the power in that mighty swing as it grazed over the surface of his shield. He barely managed to get out from under it as it connected with the ground in an earth shaking smash. He did not waste time looking to see all who had been crushed. He rolled to his feet and transitioned his pact blade to his bow and arrow.

“Let us see how thick that armor is.” Talon raced forward and used the back of one of the half-dead reptiles to further propel himself skyward. He pulled back on the string of his bow, summoning his pact arrow. With a thought he varnished the arrow. Fire and air gathered in a spiral around the tip of the arrow until the two elements sparked, exploding into a crackling manifestation of lightning. He coated the arrow with kinetics and as he reached the pinnacle of what his jump could propel him into, he aimed and fired it.

He used the kinetics coating the arrow to send it blazing forward. Jagged lightning split the air in its path. Upon impact with its target, the arrow would release not only the lightning but would blast the sandlion with kinetic force.

Talon watched his arrow sail through the air.

[Talon]

D A E M O N

The arrow sailed through the air slamming into flank of the sandlion with concussive force. Lightning skittered across its surface. As he landed back on the ground, he wasted no time. The sandlion let out a shriek of rage or pain, he could not tell. Sprinting forward, he went for the quickest and clearest path toward the monstrosity. He dematerialized his bow and arrow, the tingling pain of lightning and the weight of a kinetic blow reverberating across his form but he grit his teeth and pushed through it. He summoned his blade once more and as he neared the sandlion, he jumped up on one of its chitinous legs using it as a bounding point to get onto the creature’s back.

This close he could see that several of its legs had been blown off along with part of one of its forelegs. As he jumped onto its back he opened his senses up to the creature’s aura. Simplistic emotions filled the expanse of the aura. Hunger. Rage. A desire to hunt but at the moment, a desire to survive after having suffered pain. On the battlefield there were other fighters now attacking it. Some were skewered by its sharp legs. Others were tossed aside as it writhed. Bringing up his blade, Talon varnished it with the magic of Traversion. He coated the blade with a portal, weaving the essence of the Slipspace onto the sword. As the sandlion shrieked and bucked, he let himself be tossed into the air. Twisting in the air, he spun himself until he neared the creature’s front then he drove his sword down into insectoid monstrosity’s head and released the portal into the inside of its body.

The effect was immediate as the monster stopped writing. Its legs twitched as it stumbled. He watched as its body caved in on itself. He had just enough time to yank his blade out of the creature’s body and jump back. The sandlion collapsed into a heap, partially in the hole that it had exploded out of. As he landed on the ground, Talon turned on his heel and began sprinting his way toward the basilisk. He paid no attention to the bipedal half-dead reptiles that still darted around the arena. He paused only long enough to cut down any that got in his way. As he ran, he did notice that some of the other fighters had taken up sprinting alongside him. As some of the creatures neared, they stopped to cut them down. He did not rightly know what to make of that but he did not dwell on it long.

Dismissing his sword he summoned his bow but not his arrow. When he was within decent shooting distance he came to a full stop and took aim. As he pulled back on the bowstring he summoned the power of his elementalism. He drew upon the solidarity of the earth willing it to gather and compress into a crystal shaft that became a pointed arrow. Blending together the elements of earth and fire he created a compressed pocket space inside of which he left a bead of condensed fire. He kept his eyes trained on the basilisk even as another fighter cut down one of the half-dead reptiles jumping for him. As one of the basilisk’s heads reared back, releasing a gout of venom that splashed over the body of a few unfortunate fighters, they all screamed as their muscles and bodies spasmed. Within moments the reptiles leaped on them and began tearing them apart. He trained his eyes on the neck of the basilisk’s nearest head. He released his arrow. He darted off to the side, keeping his bow aimed at the nearest head. He conjured a second crystal arrow within which was contained the compressed fire. He released a second arrow. Then a third.

When the first arrow hit, there was a tinkling chime as the sound of shattering glass reached his ears. This was followed by a whoosh of air as the compressed fire ignited in a concussive explosion that slammed into the nearest head. The thick hide of the reptilian monster spared it from the worst of the damage but as the second arrow slammed into it, followed by that same explosive fire, he watched as a chunk of that hide was blown completely off. When the third arrow hit the beast’s flank, the basilisk was sent stumbling back. Out of the corner of his eye he saw other mages among the group releasing spells against the cyclops that was on the other side of the arena. He would deal with it in time.

The basilisk regained its footing. Talon summoned another arrow and released it. He then dismissed his bow and reached into the wellspring of his aether in order to tap into the power of Kinetics. Extending his influence into the world around him he brought the aether flux into a slowed crawl condensing it into a solid form that took the shape of a spear. He raised his hand as he brought the kinetic ice spear into his grasp. Sliding to a stop he took aim at the nearest basilisk neck and hurled his spear. It cut through the air, slamming into the creatures neck as it let out a gurgling shriek of pain. Talon clenched his fist. The spear exploded into shards that he immediately grasped and sent diving back into the basilisk’s neck. Each one blasting apart as it dug into that thick hide until various chunks had been ripped off of it. The head sagged, its eyes rolling in pain as the other head spat and hissed, snapping at anyone and anything that neared. Some fighters unfortunate enough to be near were grabbed and bit in half by its jaws.

Bounding forward, Talon summoned his blade running up to confront the remaining head directly. The snakelike beast did not disappoint as it hissed and released a gout of its venom in his direction. Talon raised his shield. He brought it up to protect his face and body but did not slow his approach. He felt the impact of the venom on the surface of the Negation barrier and though he felt some splash upon his legs, he ignored the tingling it caused, shrugging off the paralytic effect. The head of the basilisk reared back then snapped forward. He had a split second to sidestep the beast’s head or else be caught within its jaws. Talon sidestepped and twisted on his heel to bring his sword down upon the basilisk’s neck. Gathering his inherent strength he pushed it into his muscles and brought it into the force of the swing. The thick hide resisted for but a moment before his sword plunged through the neck, slicing through the meat of the neck. He felt spinal cord snap and sever muscle and sinew. With a grunt of exertion, he finished the slice and cleaved the head from its spine. He brought up a foot and gave a fierce kick in order to shove some of the bulk away from him.

Talon did not wait to see the corpse of the basilisk drop. The other fighters would make certain it was thoroughly dead now that it was very vulnerable. He twisted on his heel and bounded his way toward the remaining major threat on the battlefield.

The cyclops.

The towering colossi was facing him, one of its massive maces raised. With a guttural roar, it brought that mace down onto the ground. The reverberating shake that quaked the earth sent ripples through his body but he was not dissuaded. He picked up his speed, panting with the effort, feeling that for the first time in a long time he was truly being challenged. It was exhilarating. He understood in that moment why so many threw themselves at the challenges of the arena but he did not linger on such thoughts.

Sprinting forward he leapt into the air as he reached the bulbous end of that mace. He enacted Seeming onto the surface of the mace as he darted up its length. The cyclops did not miss his bold move. It let out a growl and began raising its mace. He felt the shake of it beneath his feet but he kept running forward. When the mace was raised high enough to change the angle so that he was now facing downward, Talon let himself drop. The cyclops opened its mouth wide as though to swallow him whole.

It would not get the chance. He angled his body and with a push of his willpower, nudged himself toward its eye. Bringing up his blade he grasped the hilt with both hands and plunged downward. Too late did the cyclops realize its peril as its eye went wide. Talon drove his sword down into that wide eye feeling its jelly-like texture split open. Blood gushed over him. The cyclops thrashed and he felt himself get tossed about but he held onto his blade tightly. As the cyclops dropped one of its maces in order to bring a hand to its face, Talon yanked his sword out and allowed himself to fall lower but he would not fall idly. With a narrowing of his eyes he drove his blade back into the flesh of the cyclops as he reached the pinnacle of its belly. His whole body jerked as he was brought to a dead stop. Grasping his sword with both hands he let out a roar of exertion as his muscles strained. He turned his blade and with a cry of fury he began slicing open the cyclops belly. Grabbing himself with his kinetics he pushed himself downward goring open the cyclops, eviscerating him.

Down and down he continued until he reached the creature’s hips. It howled in agony as it split open and its innards began spilling out onto the sands of the arena. As it lost its balance, Talon took that opportunity to find his footing and yank his blade out, leaping from the tumbling body of the cyclops. He sailed through the air but was struck in the back by the cyclops flailing arm and was sent spiraling through the air. He landed hard upon the dirt just as the giant collapsed fully onto the ground, blood and guts making a loud splat as it fell. Talon dismissed his blade and let his body go limp as he impacted the ground. He rolled until after a moment he stopped. He lay there, dazed. His head spinning. With shaking limbs he pushed himself up from the dirt. His head was still spinning when he found his feet and managed to stand up. As soon as he tried to straighten himself, he nearly collapsed but was surprised to suddenly find a pair of strong arms grabbing him.

Blinking away his dizziness he looked up into a familiar face. It was the face of the man who had taunted him in the tunnels below. It took him a moment to process what was happening. There was a look in the man’s eyes that he could not quite wrap his head around. When the dizziness cleared he finally recognized it.

Shock. Awe. Even fear. Most of all however, there was reverence. He hoisted Talon’s weight up.

“Easy, Daemon. Easy. That…” The man’s voice shook. “I’ve never seen anything like what you did. You really must be a demon.”

Talon gave a light grunt as he worked to find his footing.

“Is…is it over?” His muscles were tense and yet shaking with anticipation. The man helped him steady himself. The dust from the cyclops fall was beginning to clear. His ears were no longer ringing and instead they were filled with a different sound.

“See for yourself, Demon of Atraxia.”

The thunderous roar of applause. The chorus of cheering.

They had done it.

He had done it.

[Pharaoh]

Prince Drævyn was a true devotee of the arena. In addition to being the most regular occupant of the royal box at the Fortis Lacerta Arena, he was also a major sponsor of the highest tier of mainstream blood sports in Solunarium proper. The Keeper of Coin was no dilettante when it came to gladiatorial bouts, tourneys and melees. He knew how wildly popular they were and he understood why. As a genuine connoisseur, he knew how special this battle was from the outset.

These beasts had not been augmented under the careful supervision of mages, nor reared and trained to fight in the pits for show. These were wild, untamed beasts of chaos that had been born of the Mists that had afflicted the realm (and apparently all of the known world) in middle Searing. But, to the prince's surprise, the mutants were not the most remarkable surprise of the event.

Drævyn noticed the unusually statuesque, silver-haired fighter early on in the battle and, once he'd garnered the prince's interest, the man didn't lose it. Golden eyes followed the path he took, and regarded the many magicks he employed to complement his already formidable martial prowess. The unknown fighter not only cleaved through beasts that had taken dozens of trained mercenaries to capture alive, but he wound up saving quite a few of his fellow combatants in the process- Extending their lives at least for a few minutes, before some other beast came to collect its blood price. But some even survived to the very end of the melee. That was something of an inconvenience.

The fell beasts had been captured at the cost of many lives and great sums of coin, and they had done their job by filling the stadium on this sunlight, desert day. They had not, however, been expected to be slain to a beast when pitted against the first round of fighters. In truth, they ought to have lasted until the final round- slowly winnowed down by better and better combatants. There was even the mild hope that the beasts might win the day to draw in the crowds who'd missed the chance to view this match. But even though this upset turnout promised to lose him coin, Prince Drævyn was among the first to rise in ovation.

The roar of so vast a crowd was far more booming than that of any beast that had trod the sands of the arena that day. It was deafening, as the flowers, trinkets and even the odd slip of subligaculum were thrown onto the bloodsoaked arena as gifts for the survivors- But most were aiming for the clear victor, whose showmanship had awed and whose prowess enabled the others to survive.

"Procuratorem stadii affer mihi."
(Bring me the stadium master.)
The prince instructed an attending slave, who rushed off to comply. The Paterfamilias of Gens Danann-Sol'Aværys had been well and truly impressed. He hadn't seen a match quite like that in all his many years attending bouts at the Fortis Lacerta Arena. It was exciting, engaging, enticing. He felt the electricity of the crowd and he was part of it. But impressed was not the only thing he was... Something about this scenario caused him great unease. The ovation persisted for some time until Drævyn's voice washed over them like a cool rain, calm and soothing though somehow no louder than the cheers it quashed.

"Homines Solunarii!"
(People of Solunarium!)
He began, as a hush fell over the crowd. His gyroscopic crown making slow, countering rotations as it glowed like the sun above. With gravitas he regarded the bloody sands littered with corpses and errant limbs, and lowered his head as he spoke:

"Hunc Sanguinem in Sacrificium Fundatoribus sanctificamus. Oramus ut Deus Aværys et Domina Varvara eorum animas devorent. Conditores epulantur splendore et gloria resurgunt!”
(We do sanctify this blood in sacrifice to our Founders. Let us pray that Divine Aværys and Archmistress Varvara devour their souls that they may feast in splendour and rise in glory!)

The crowd was somehow able to swallow their excitement enough to bow their heads in reverent attention.]

"Deus vult!"
(As Aværys wills it!) Drævyn called.

"Eos alit!"
(Nourish them!) The crowd responded.

“Sicut domina imperat!” Drævyn called.
(As Varvara commands!)

“Eos alit!”
(Nourish them!) The crowd responded.

And in unison, the voice of the prince married with that of the crowd as all intoned:

“Laudandi conditores!”
(Founders be praised!)

And with their religious obeisance complete, the gates rose to admit a small army of burly labourers who set about the work of removing bodies, sweeping sand and guiding survivors off of the arena floor, so it could be reinforced in the aftermath of the Sandlion's burrowing. There would be much work to do as the stadium scrambled to attend to a back-up plan that had been rendered on the off chance that the monsters failed in the first round.

“Omnes reliquiae procedent!”
(All survivors will advance!) Drævyn announced, nodding in respect to the surviving combatants as they were led toward the gate under the royal booth. As the silver-haired hero of the day was guided out of view, the stadium master was ascending the steps into the royal box.

“Quis est hic victor?”
(Who is this victor?) The prince demanded, his voice no longer pervading the stadium- barely even loud enough to be heard within the box with all the commotion surrounding.

"Peregrinus puer Dæmon vocatus, Serenissimae Celsitudinis tuae."
(A foreign lad called Daemon, Your Serene Highness.) The man bowed low, and the prince pursed his lips, considering.

“Mox iubilaeum est. Gens Danann gladiatores torneamentum imperatricis præbere debet. Fortasse idoneus est ad usus nostros usus. Eum perpendere. Diligenter eum æstima.”
(The jubilee will soon be upon us. The House of Danann must provide gladiators for the Empress’ tournament. Perhaps he is suitable to serve our purposes. Assess him. See to a careful evaluation.)

"Ita, Serenissima Celsitudo Tua."
(Yes, Your Serene Highness.) The dutiful servant obliged. The prince would wave him off, and turn to his attending slaves.

"Plus vini."
(More wine.) He demanded, as the stadium master rushed from the box and delegated the task to one of the overseers who dealt directly with the gladiators.

A gruff, bearded man with a face like a map of scars would appear in the antechamber where the survivors were cleaning themselves up- Most dreading the next round of bouts, though some seemed to feel their contributions had been significant and portentous for a victorious day. The bearded overseer called out:

"Dæmon!" His brown eyes fell upon the man he sought out, for he was hard to miss. "Dæmon? You, to survive this day, anticipated." The man had clearly gleaned enough to know he should speak his broken Common, as the foreign juggernaut knew nothing of the local tongue. His accent was thick- rolled Rs and a voice that sounded like a rock crusher. "If this be so? You and you sponsor meet here- Tomorrow, noon. You are obliged. No late." With that he grunted, and turned on his heel to depart with a slight limp.

[Talon]

R E W A R D S

Name: Talon
XP: +15 XP
Requested Lore: +8 Lores

Note(s): An exciting event! We will see whether or not Talon acted wisely or foolishly.