^ Prinny
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^ Prinny
Posted. (:
Prinny is the best side character, besides Ktakar of course. He'll probably be the first to die, though. :P
Prinny is the best side character, besides Ktakar of course. He'll probably be the first to die, though. :P
The chain of future fighters were led through the stone-and-marble city like cattle, imperial citizens staring at them and muttering to each other. Some who understood their fate looked sympathetic, while others grinned in excitement for the same reason.
They soon arrived at a tall, ominous structure built of black bricks which Kamnar could only assume was the Arena itself, though they seemed to be going through a back entrance; the front was probably for the spectators and gamblers. Down they went along a shoddy stone hallway, blood stains old and new decorating the walls and floor. It served as an effective warning for new arrivals, but not as effective as the smell. A sudden, wafting stench of death and gore sent a shockwave of disgust down the line of shackled slaves. Though Kamnar was not unfamiliar with this smell, it still strengthened his feeling of foreboding tenfold.
Eventually, the corridor led to a large training and preparation room, dimly lit by scant torches and an iron forge in a far corner. It was filled nearly to the brim with Arena fighters, some looking just as apprehensive as the newcomers, others more like experienced gladiators. Not seconds after did the group see firsthand the victims of this cruel sport ‒ an orc impaled through the torso and a bloodied she-elf, who had fallen from a hole in the battlefield floor above. Kamnar was thoroughly disturbed, but hardened his face as he felt the eyes of the veteran gladiators upon him; the last thing he wanted was to make enemies here by seeming nervous. Just as that thought passed his mind, the human called Prinny seemed to be melting into an anxious puddle as his dwarf companion rolled his eyes.
They were forced once again into a small corner, rough iron weapons hanging from metal racks on the walls and ceiling, a small torch barely lighting the area. The same orc from the ludus, the one who held a particular grudge against Kamnar, unchained each of them, being sure to unchain Kamnar’s own bindings unnecessarily aggressively.
“Don't touch the weapons,” the orc guard said to Eltharion after he had attempted to take a spear off the wall.
The realization that they would not be allowed weapons was unexpected, to say the least; Kamnar himself was decent enough at unarmed combat, but he feared the others would not last long. Only a moment later did the Lanista arrive, clad in a foppish purple overcoat. Leaning against the stone wall and twirling his wooden cane, he told them that their opponents, unlike them, would be armed, which snapped Kamnar’s confidence like a twig. He also recommended that they remember each other’s appearances, as they would be fighting as a team. Kamnar was not worried about that, as each of their faces have already been ingrained into his memory, fluid expressions of crimson paint.
“Well, any bright ideas?” Eltharion spoke up once more. Kamnar noticed a wall of smaller weapons, like daggers and throwing knives, on the wall behind him. The Forest Thorn seemed to be having the same idea as he, though he was staring in the direction of the spears.
“If it means survival, then the rules don’t mean anything to me. I suggest we each sneak in a small weapon as best as we can,” Kamnar said, checking around the corner for listening ears. Though they were all wearing rags, he supposed it shouldn’t be too difficult to hide a single blade in a fold of cloth, or possibly sheathed in a rope-belt. He picked a gently rusted dagger from the wall, which was almost small enough for him to completely conceal in his closed fist. If he was careful, he figured he could palm it past the guards, though some smaller-handed fighters may have a more difficult time.
They soon arrived at a tall, ominous structure built of black bricks which Kamnar could only assume was the Arena itself, though they seemed to be going through a back entrance; the front was probably for the spectators and gamblers. Down they went along a shoddy stone hallway, blood stains old and new decorating the walls and floor. It served as an effective warning for new arrivals, but not as effective as the smell. A sudden, wafting stench of death and gore sent a shockwave of disgust down the line of shackled slaves. Though Kamnar was not unfamiliar with this smell, it still strengthened his feeling of foreboding tenfold.
Eventually, the corridor led to a large training and preparation room, dimly lit by scant torches and an iron forge in a far corner. It was filled nearly to the brim with Arena fighters, some looking just as apprehensive as the newcomers, others more like experienced gladiators. Not seconds after did the group see firsthand the victims of this cruel sport ‒ an orc impaled through the torso and a bloodied she-elf, who had fallen from a hole in the battlefield floor above. Kamnar was thoroughly disturbed, but hardened his face as he felt the eyes of the veteran gladiators upon him; the last thing he wanted was to make enemies here by seeming nervous. Just as that thought passed his mind, the human called Prinny seemed to be melting into an anxious puddle as his dwarf companion rolled his eyes.
They were forced once again into a small corner, rough iron weapons hanging from metal racks on the walls and ceiling, a small torch barely lighting the area. The same orc from the ludus, the one who held a particular grudge against Kamnar, unchained each of them, being sure to unchain Kamnar’s own bindings unnecessarily aggressively.
“Don't touch the weapons,” the orc guard said to Eltharion after he had attempted to take a spear off the wall.
The realization that they would not be allowed weapons was unexpected, to say the least; Kamnar himself was decent enough at unarmed combat, but he feared the others would not last long. Only a moment later did the Lanista arrive, clad in a foppish purple overcoat. Leaning against the stone wall and twirling his wooden cane, he told them that their opponents, unlike them, would be armed, which snapped Kamnar’s confidence like a twig. He also recommended that they remember each other’s appearances, as they would be fighting as a team. Kamnar was not worried about that, as each of their faces have already been ingrained into his memory, fluid expressions of crimson paint.
“Well, any bright ideas?” Eltharion spoke up once more. Kamnar noticed a wall of smaller weapons, like daggers and throwing knives, on the wall behind him. The Forest Thorn seemed to be having the same idea as he, though he was staring in the direction of the spears.
“If it means survival, then the rules don’t mean anything to me. I suggest we each sneak in a small weapon as best as we can,” Kamnar said, checking around the corner for listening ears. Though they were all wearing rags, he supposed it shouldn’t be too difficult to hide a single blade in a fold of cloth, or possibly sheathed in a rope-belt. He picked a gently rusted dagger from the wall, which was almost small enough for him to completely conceal in his closed fist. If he was careful, he figured he could palm it past the guards, though some smaller-handed fighters may have a more difficult time.
I should have a post up by tomorrow night.
University starts mid-August for me, by the way. Assuming this is still continuing by then, I should be able to handle both coursework and roleplaying; but if it gets to be too much for me, I'll let you know. (:
University starts mid-August for me, by the way. Assuming this is still continuing by then, I should be able to handle both coursework and roleplaying; but if it gets to be too much for me, I'll let you know. (:
@Harbringer, not sure if I've mentioned it yet, but I keep going back and looking at the map of Arkreides you made, just because I'm so awestruck. You can really tell how much effort was put into it! It's great! (:
Got my post up. Sorry if it's a little late; I was celebrating Father's Day out of town. (:
So excited! Gonna flip some tables! Out of excitement!
So excited! Gonna flip some tables! Out of excitement!
When the bear-man attempted to stand, the entire carriage squeaked and groaned like an upset cat, making everyone aboard shout angrily at him to “Sit down, damn it” and “Stop that!” Kamnar managed to grip the bench to stabilize himself; some other weaker prisoners jolted forward unpleasantly. He traced the longing gaze of the beastman to a furry gray animal wrapped around the elven girl’s arm, its movements slow and calculated. Kamnar had never seen such a creature, but its snout reminded him vaguely of the wild boars that roam the outskirts of Hel-brok’thar. Why such an animal was here was beyond him; the past few days have been so jarring that he can barely be surprised by its presence.
Those individuals nearest to him – the bear-beastman, the Forest Thorn, the Skytalon, and the Thunderhoof – introduced themselves one at a time, whether they seemed particularly interested in doing so or not, and Kamnar made an effort to memorize each of their names. And though he did not recognize the male elf’s salute, he accepted it with a bow of his head. As for the ones whose names he did not know – the Canopy Strider, the dwarves, and the meek human – they have not gone unnoticed by Kamnar; every moment he has experienced and person he has come into contact with thus far have been molded to the forefront of his mind, stirring and crystalizing, in an attempt to avoid thinking too much about the events – and the individual – that brought him here. Surely, he thought, focusing on the elements around him would be a more beneficial way of coping.
At last, the never-ending quiet ceased as the sounds of a bustling marketplace gradually filled the mid-morning wind, traveling through the carriage’s barred windows. Their little cart-ride seemed much longer than it was to Kamnar; his muscles felt sore and he wanted nothing more than to stretch and breathe in fresh air. Orcs were not meant to be still for long periods of time. But he regretted almost immediately his eagerness to step outside; the distinct sounds of clashing steel, cheering crowds, and bloodcurdling cries hit his ears, and a dreadful pit in his stomach emerged. The cart came to an abrupt halt, forcing some prisoners, including Kamnar, to lurch without warning. His impending destiny as an Arena combatant matched the despicable eyes of the smirking, greasy lanista, who had pulled open the cart’s back door, making the slaves shield their eyes from the sudden burst of light.
End of the road, my friends, the aristocrat said smugly. Kamnar hesitated at first, but stiffened himself and stood up. Being closest to the door, he followed the lanista out of the carriage and down the ramp, a nearby guard promptly slapping chains on his wrists, binding him to each subsequent exiting slave and forming a long, single-file line of future Arena fighters. He looked around at the lively, bustling city, and realized at once that this was Lairea! Kamnar had been here many times on diplomatic duties; he recalled that there was an extraordinary marble forum lined with infinitely tall pillars just a few blocks west of where they were, where he often attended political meetings. Somehow, this beautiful city which used to incite fond memories in him now seemed to fill him with unease; the domed buildings appeared to loom over him like menacing heads.
He was broken out of his brief stupor by the guards pulling his chains and forcing him to move forward. The lanista’s words echoed in Kamnar’s mind as he walked along the familiar cobblestone pathway, permanently for some of you, as if this were an entirely new concept to him; he was not going to die here if he had any say in it, but he realized that if he were going to survive, then he might have to slay those he had met and acquainted himself with today. That small, incessant voice from before warned him not to become too attached, and though he knew it would be the smart thing to do, Kamnar found the thought distasteful at best. If there were any possible way to control their placement in the Arena, then he would rather see to that than face them in battle.
Those individuals nearest to him – the bear-beastman, the Forest Thorn, the Skytalon, and the Thunderhoof – introduced themselves one at a time, whether they seemed particularly interested in doing so or not, and Kamnar made an effort to memorize each of their names. And though he did not recognize the male elf’s salute, he accepted it with a bow of his head. As for the ones whose names he did not know – the Canopy Strider, the dwarves, and the meek human – they have not gone unnoticed by Kamnar; every moment he has experienced and person he has come into contact with thus far have been molded to the forefront of his mind, stirring and crystalizing, in an attempt to avoid thinking too much about the events – and the individual – that brought him here. Surely, he thought, focusing on the elements around him would be a more beneficial way of coping.
At last, the never-ending quiet ceased as the sounds of a bustling marketplace gradually filled the mid-morning wind, traveling through the carriage’s barred windows. Their little cart-ride seemed much longer than it was to Kamnar; his muscles felt sore and he wanted nothing more than to stretch and breathe in fresh air. Orcs were not meant to be still for long periods of time. But he regretted almost immediately his eagerness to step outside; the distinct sounds of clashing steel, cheering crowds, and bloodcurdling cries hit his ears, and a dreadful pit in his stomach emerged. The cart came to an abrupt halt, forcing some prisoners, including Kamnar, to lurch without warning. His impending destiny as an Arena combatant matched the despicable eyes of the smirking, greasy lanista, who had pulled open the cart’s back door, making the slaves shield their eyes from the sudden burst of light.
End of the road, my friends, the aristocrat said smugly. Kamnar hesitated at first, but stiffened himself and stood up. Being closest to the door, he followed the lanista out of the carriage and down the ramp, a nearby guard promptly slapping chains on his wrists, binding him to each subsequent exiting slave and forming a long, single-file line of future Arena fighters. He looked around at the lively, bustling city, and realized at once that this was Lairea! Kamnar had been here many times on diplomatic duties; he recalled that there was an extraordinary marble forum lined with infinitely tall pillars just a few blocks west of where they were, where he often attended political meetings. Somehow, this beautiful city which used to incite fond memories in him now seemed to fill him with unease; the domed buildings appeared to loom over him like menacing heads.
He was broken out of his brief stupor by the guards pulling his chains and forcing him to move forward. The lanista’s words echoed in Kamnar’s mind as he walked along the familiar cobblestone pathway, permanently for some of you, as if this were an entirely new concept to him; he was not going to die here if he had any say in it, but he realized that if he were going to survive, then he might have to slay those he had met and acquainted himself with today. That small, incessant voice from before warned him not to become too attached, and though he knew it would be the smart thing to do, Kamnar found the thought distasteful at best. If there were any possible way to control their placement in the Arena, then he would rather see to that than face them in battle.
Yes, please do! I'm gettin' the shakes, man!
xD Lost it at
That left the orc, who appeared to be trying to chat up one of the elves. Kinky.
The sloth should be called...
...
Michael Bay.
...
Michael Bay.
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