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Post by Humble Chris on Apr 19, 2022 22:45:21 GMT
As dusk settled upon the city of Vynne, the excitement in the city only began to grow stronger. The crowds in the streets and marketplaces which had surged all day now drew closer to a single spot in the city: one where men and women young and old from every social standing and strata of Vynne would come to watch the sports of old: The Arena. Once upon a time, the Arena had been the centerpiece of entertainment in Orgthengaar: the Circus for their policy of control through Bread and Circuses. Here, the Orgthengaar Empire would put on grand displays of combat under the guise of entertainment, but also to show off the prowess and might of their armies, and the futility of resistance. But, despite their best efforts, resistance had come from Vynne, and in the end the city had thrown off their yoke and began to forge their own destiny. With the downfall of the Arena came an end to the games and a new role for the space as a training ground for soldiers and guardsmen alike. But once a year, the Arena once more took up its old responsibility and became the viewing ground of the sports of old. Now, just as then, the Arena stood as an ornate symbol of the Old World; one where twenty five thousand Vynnetians could now sit in anticipation of the violence to come. Well beneath the Arena, in the old Gladiator Training Rooms, those who have come to make a name and possible fortune have gathered to have themselves put into the roster. Being underground, the chamber is dimly lit save for the dull orange glow of the illumination stones set in the walls or dangling from the ceiling on short iron chains. The main chamber was round, with smaller rooms branching off for training, resting, and healing. In the center of the round chamber was a long wooden table where a group of clerks were taking down names and directing the would-be heroes to be examined by apothecaries and given rudimentary tests of skills by a discerning human woman in armor. Standing behind the clerks was a tall, older human in a less ornate style of armor than the woman, but it was clear they were the most competent fighters in the room. Far as they were concerned, that is. |
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Post by Cyrus on Apr 19, 2022 23:28:49 GMT
Cyrus of Ghent had arrived in a timely way, going through sign-in and the skills testing without difficulty. Hale and hearty, the pirate had little fear of a bit of competition, and he had approached his practice with no small amount of ferocity. Only a loose, white shirt, a pair of flowing linen pants and his trusty boots covered his body from his enemy's blows, but some of the blows that reached his skin in the training were simply shrugged off with a wicked grin and a laugh.
He looked insane.
That was par for the course for the Red Saint. Anything less would be a disappointment.
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Post by Lavandul on Apr 20, 2022 1:18:25 GMT
The cleric's hand trembled a bit as they numbly signed the paperwork, earning an eyebrow cock from the other humanoid behind them. The apothecary was reluctant to ask the Dominé to remove their mask in public, leaping to the assumption that it was connected to an oath of some kind before taking the swaying suit of armour behind one of the room dividers. Lavender answered the unsure questions with a tired patience, allowing the employee a cast attempt in a shimmer of healing energy before the individual leaned to scan the room for a more senior medic. A woman with an iron braid soon joined, repeating everything the other apothecary had already asked in terms of odd temperatures, nose bleeds, and other strange features to differentiate what was normal, what was illness, and what was within her scope to address. After a not-so-quiet recommendation to visit the Order of St. Isaac, Lavender held their tongue and shouldered the feathered cloak.
The woman in lion-studded regalia watched the exchange with a slight shake of the head. Without warning, she swung the staff straight into the head of the punch-drunk clergyman with the intent to put him down before he hurt himself further. With a loud thwack that echoed through their immediate surroundings, the wood vibrated as it hit Lavender's armoured skull and knocked their cranium to the left from the force. Their hand slowly raised in surprise as they straightened their posture, before ducking at the second incoming swing. The woman chuckled, satisfied that it wasn't a debilitating concussion. Without wasting further time with the queue, she immediately started demanding the regular series of physical testing.
After puking outside, they sat against the wall on one of the hay bales. Frost started to collect, drumming their shield absently as they watched Cyrus screech and laugh.
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Post by Talsyn on Apr 20, 2022 2:47:03 GMT
Talsyn quietly studied the others in the room as he waited for his turn to sign up for the tournament, his features hidden behind the wooden mask covering his face.
The sounds of gruff laughter, followed by the loud thud of a body hitting hard ground. Steel ringing against steel in mock combat. The occasional shout from some type of marshal to break up those whose blood has run too hot in the anticipation of the violence to come. Nothing out of the ordinary, it seemed.
The wild elf and the clerk at the table barely regarded each others' presence as Talsyn signed his name. His eyes briefly dart across the other names on the numerous ledgers strewn about the tables (8 for Perception). He then backs away to a secluded corner of the room, inspecting his gear while still glancing occasionally at the other competitors as they file in.
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Post by Akshoon on Apr 20, 2022 3:07:08 GMT
Akshoon arrived without much fanfare, saying little beyond what was necessary as he provided his details. The wiry Orc smelt like the wild, his skin and clothes bearing the signs of life spent beyond the borders of the city in the form of dirt and the scent of sweat. Physically, he seemed to be a figure of little promise, as Akshoon was thin - for an Orc.
However, when the druid uttered words from his strange language and empowered his staff with the magic of nature, his strikes issued forth with far greater force than his form otherwise conveyed. As for the blows which hit him in turn, Akshoon would grunt. Wiry or not Akshoon was still an Orc, empowered by the storied hardiness of Orcish blood.
The Orc would continue until the overseers were satisfied, his staff cracking against shields and armor. When it was done and he was dismissed, Akshoon moved to the back wall, his scarlet eyes falling on the hopefuls to come. He observed in silence, staff in had as he settled into a comfortable stillness.
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Korruk
Visitor
Name: Korruk Logar Race: Orc Class/Level: Paladin 2 XP: 480 Maximum HP: 21 Alignment: Lawful Good
Posts: 98 
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Post by Korruk on Apr 20, 2022 5:31:28 GMT
There are cases in which the greatest daring is the greatest wisdom.
Chainmail rattled, the shield was visible with a diagonal line separating the eerie deep green and metallic grey with the outlines of the bulls head splashed across the two colors of station. The axe had been cared for, polished and sharpened, the shaft worked with a salve to help with grip, the finely carved wood would need to resist slipping. Sweat, mud, and blood had that effect.
Without his coat which did little to diminish his frame, Korruk still looked larger, as if he was no longer simply mingling, but rather asserting himself. Personal heraldry did not draw the ire like the colours of the Empire proper, but more than a few would hiss.
Regardless, Korruk had arrived in one piece. Just as he had promised.
“Cyrus, you look like the Jubilee in the Arbiters' clothes - You know this is no orgy right?”
A sneer crossed the knight’s face, knowing the face all too well, similar to Havoc’s of the Legion - fierce and barely clad shock troopers that know no pain and display the purity of Orcish might. It made Korruk want to cross blades with the Red Saint in a test of his own convictions. That was for another day, today was the two of them here to put the competition to heel.
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Post by Lavandul on Apr 20, 2022 14:10:14 GMT
Dominé Lavandul watched the wiry orc alight his staff with the magic of the land with a quiet familiarity. Why a druid was battling for entertainment was an interesting question. Why they were battling for entertainment was still a question, other than investing some time with Cyrus and-
And Korruk showed up with the complete rejection of their advice. Even after four assassins were running around with a dead end contract and the city was ready to whip his ass. The cleric clucked tiredly, taking in the full measure of the noble's insatiable pride as they dragged their feet to join the two. The air was chilly as they became a shorter shadow.
The colorful elf caught their eye with another flicker of familiarity. It was a distinct costume that likely attracted the occasional homesick mercenary. Maybe they were a bard of oral histories.
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Post by Vecchio on Apr 20, 2022 14:49:27 GMT
Don't ever be one of the first people to sign up for a gladiatorial event. At least that's how Vecchio felt as he was sitting on the ground watching the variety of competition sign up. The surge of confidence he had earlier quickly disappeared. The diverse weaponry and abilities that were on display made the young tiefling question his decision-making skills. All he had was an old crossbow, a couple daggers, and some paltry tricks. Some of these guys had swords bigger than him.
Vecchio walked over to one of the clerks at the sign-in table. "Excuse me. By any chance is an armory nearby that I can peruse for last minute equipment?"
Persuasion Check
1d20 (2) + 3
Result: 5
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Post by Cyrus on Apr 20, 2022 17:12:50 GMT
"You know what they say. Dress for the job you want."
Smirk. The Red Saint gave a chin-jut to Lavender and Korruk, and he found a seat nearby, resting the huge blade across his lap on its flat. The Tiefling asking for equipment brought a chuckle to his lips.
"Maybe you can put in an order for the finest plate for me, while you're at it." The joke was matched with a grin in Vecchio's direction. "Come on now. They're not here to garb you. Just to watch you bleed in the name of freedom and make sure you're fit enough to survive the show. What's your name?"
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Post by Humble Chris on Apr 20, 2022 19:48:54 GMT
The clerk threw Vecchio a sort of bored expression before pointing over to a table where a few other wannabe champions had gathered. A handful of weapons and armors had been set up on the table, with a few pieces arranged for display on armor racks. The wall was lined with stands for spears and polearms of every make and model. "Armours and weapons are half their normal price if you want to borrow them; full price if you want to buy." he droned on. "All proceeds regardless go to the Kitchens of the Empress to feed the hungry and needy."
After the clerk finished his sales pitch, the two warriors overseeing the sign-up huddled together and discussed something in a hushed tone. Both of them spoke in a foreign tongue, but their shared accent was that baritone drawl common to the tiny nation-state of Hire.
When the two broke away, the elderly man stepped back and let his counterpart take center stage.
"ALL OF YOU!! LISTEN UP AND GATHER ROUND!!" her voice was deep and commanding; the words sharp and practiced. Stern black eyes appraised each of the combatants gathered before her. "I'm sure you're all eager to go out there and win glory, honour, and enough coin to lay with a clean whore tonight. But before we let you do that, there are a few things we need to get straight." The woman began pacing in front of the crowd with slow, heavy footsteps. All the while, she kept darting from person to person, seeking out the obvious cracks in the armor.
"Tonight you're going out to stage a mock battle in honour of your Deliverance Day." She continued, "But that doesn't mean it'll be easy. Your opponents will not aim to kill, but the weapons both you and them are using are real and will cut flesh regardless of intention. If you don't want to risk injury or death in the name of glory... then I don't know what the fuck you're doing signing up down here in the first place. Either way, this is your last chance to leave before we go up. And if you do..." she gave a curt nod as she said the next part, "Leave the weapons and armor you bought at the door."
A long, silent pause filled the room. A few of the combatants exchanged nervous glances, but none of them moved.
Nodding in satisfaction, the woman continued, "In that case, I turn the reins over to Rodger La Hire to explain what you'll see up there."
"Thank you, Nuumaidi." the older man stepped forward, his Hire accent stronger and thicker than hers. He walked with a heavy gait, and carried himself with all the airs of a seasoned mercenary. "We'll be dividing you into two teams, although you'll all be starting in the center square of the arena, so everyone can get a good look at you." He sniffed as he paced in front of them, "The first round will be a fight for survival - you will defend the Square from attackers. After that, both teams will fight your way through armies on opposite sides of the arena to plant these flags you see here." Rodger paused as Nuumaidi retreated out of the room for a moment and returned with a pole in each hand. The flag of Vynne hung proud from each one.
"One member of each team will be the Standard Bearer." Rodger explained, pointing to the flags. "You will protect the Standard Bearer so they can plant their flag in the enemy camp. If your Standard Bearer is wounded and drops the flag, the closest person must pick it up." His gaze fell upon everyone present, "Fail to pick up your flag, and the Revolution is over. No Deliverance Day. You've just changed history forever."
It was Nuumaidi's turn to speak, "Are there any questions?"
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Post by Vecchio on Apr 21, 2022 3:32:49 GMT
"Right. Sorry for the inconvenience." Turning away from the clerk, Vecchio began to make his way towards the equipment table before he heard the joking voice of the muscle-bound, red-headed scoundrel mock him.
The young tiefling rolled his eyes and gave a brief sigh before looking towards the man who was accompanied by a strange being in a mask and an orc who appeared to carry an air of nobility. The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself, especially from the burly competition.
Hoping to diffuse any tension, Vecchio simply shrugged and nonchalantly smirked. "I'll keep that mind. Forgive me, but my name is not so easily given away."
Looking away from the trio, he could feel his heart pounding as he approached the table. Don't need to be making any enemies before a fight. Vecchio looks at the equipment and spots a beaten shortsword that he could manage with.
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Post by Cyrus on Apr 21, 2022 21:48:48 GMT
The Red Saint grinned at the stranger and muttered to Korruk and Lavendul.
"Gonna give that one a name solely based on his performance today."
Hopefully, the Tiefling would earn a legendary moniker.
"Let's get down to business."
Apparently, he had no questions.
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