Shu's Quest

[CATS]

"A man who actively seeks out his creditors? Usually it's the other way around, especially in times like these. Good to see that some people still have a sense of honor left. As for Fargo Capcillion, I don't know of anyone by that name hanging around, sorry. I do remember a guy called Capcillion who owed me some money a few years ago, but I don't know where he would be now. I'd guess he's either dead in a ditch, holed up in a cave somewhere, or else doesn't go by Capcillion anymore. When I knew him, it seemed like his debt to me was by far the least of his troubles," Kyle said to Rutem.

At this point Dom went off to search for the kid, and the group as a whole got moving soon afterwards. Kyle was pretty sure that the kid would be fine--with the show Eltiar put on, any nearby monsters should be keeping their heads down for quite a while--but it wouldn't hurt to have someone looking out for him. In the meantime, he couldn't wait to make it to Alabaste and get out of this tin can. Armor's great for adrenaline-fueled, life-threatening combat situations; you get some serious protection, and you're too caught up in things to really notice its weight or the fatigue it brings on. When it comes to ho-hum walking situations, though, wearing a suit of armor is a bit like building a furnace around yourself and lighting it. Extra heat and extra weight. And as if that weren't bad enough, Kyle really had to pee.

Edited July 2, 2010 by CATS

[Purg]

Short of charred ground and a burnt corpse, there was no sign that the boy had gone past this spot - Dom simply couldn't explain it. Perhaps he had used his magic to fly away into the trees, moving forwards on his own. He was tempted to do that himself - continue alone, not use (non-existent) magic. While traveling with a group made it less likely to be attack, traveling near a group scared monsters away from them, and any smaller groups nearby would be safe by association. If he hadn't suggested they look for him if he took too long, the choice would have been clear - not that he would expect them to look for him for long, if at all, but he couldn't chance it.

The road was a welcome sight, as was the group moving ahead. He joined the tail end of the survivors, hunching his shoulders forward and keeping his eyes down. Even armed, he now appeared as though he were just another fear-stricken and despairing villager, and thus would be more likely to enter the city without condition. A man who had lost everything was rarely asked to give what he didn't have - although, if rumors were true, Alabaste was already crowded by refugees from other villages that had met similar fates as Oakheim had. He wondered if, perhaps, these raids and burnings were serving some purpose for a greater power - but such thoughts wouldn't bring back the homes of all the displaced people, nor the lives of those who couldn't run fast enough.

He could see the others from the tavern near the front of the group - the shield-wielding magus had yet to show himself again, so he was forced to assume he had left of his own will. Perhaps they would find him again - perhaps not. He was having trouble caring too much, though. It was much better off to focus on the lives currently in danger than one that may have already been spent.

It wasn't long before the city walls rose to greet them. Once, they had been pristine and proud, with banners and gleaming guards on display. They had been soiled, though, as everything else in the kingdom had, and refuse and beggars occupied the road leading up to them. It appeared the rumors of overcrowding were true - there was even a ramshackle community of tents set up within sight of the gate, populated by a group of dirty-faced beleaguered peasants. Dom slipped through the gate past the guards, without either of the bored men giving him a passing glance - it appeared his idea had been correct. They had clearly seen so many broken people pass between these gates, that one more that fit that description wouldn't even be questioned.

He made his way into the city, intent on finding a forge, or some other shop that catered to a mercenary's needs.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

Alabaste, the merchant city. It was always a din this side of the gates, the shouting of merchants was a hard noise to bellow over. That was the case until 5 years ago. Like so many things, it was a fun house mirror version of itself, the shouting of merchants insisting their deals were second to none, until you found a better deal, in which case did they ever have a deal for you, was replaced by the shouts for food stuffs, cries for charity. Looked like the prosperous town decided that foreigners weren't worth the effort to keep fed and alive. If they couldn't pay the tax, they didn't need any shelter.

Stark pretended he didn't know these people's fates were probably going to be the same thing. Not that there was anything he could do about it. What was he supposed to do? Go find some ancient lost treasure to be able to buy them food? Start his own town, clear out all the monsters, build up a community out of nothing, turn corrupt and then burn alive as the first fire elemental that wandered past did the same thing to Starktonia as it did to Oakheim?

"This place has gotten even worse since the last time I saw it, are you sure it's even..." Eltair wasn't walking beside Stark any more. He had probably found his way to the back of the group, or chatted up one of the guards at the gate as the group passed. Stark had been too focused on the city itself to keep tabs on him. He stopped walking and the group stopped with him. That was...odd. Sure, he was at the head of the group, but he wasn't the leader or anything. If anything, Eltari was...

"Eltair! Eltair?" The group eyed him as he called out. Where had that silly old man run off to? "Eltair!" He called out again, sure that the extra decibal he mustered into his voice would bring hios old friend to him.

...two hours. Stark had been searching for two hours, with no sign of Eltair. What was that bastard up to this time? He was always doing things without explaining himself first. Like the crazy shit he did was so obvious it was Stark's fault for not following along.

...Damnit, where did everyone go?

[rn7]

A single man was among the foreigner's camps. He wore a suit that used to be expensive. Time had long worn it down to a humble, broken state. Bifocals adorned his eyes, large lens for what was such a tiny frame. His face had small wrinkles appearing here or there, and on his head was a powdered wig. He walked slowly around, his cane making occasionally clanks wherever he went. He was interested in the people's stories, wanting to hear firsthand what exactly had happened in Oakheim, and whatever else places were affected. Every story was heard by him, even managing to get words out of reluctant people. Each word, each emotion, and every story was carefully penned in his notebook, completely raw and without alteration. The man moved like the gears of a clock, methodically and rhythmically, from each person to each person. With each ending story, the man would clasp his hands with the stranger, wish him luck, then plant a generous amount of money in the stranger's open palm, leaving before the stranger had a chance to thank him.

From daylight to nightfall this continued every day, until every story was told. Word had passed in the camp of the kind man, who paid people to tell their stories, never once commenting nor criticizing, and leaving with only the words, 'Good luck, I wish you well'. In an attempt to try to find and thank the man, several foreigners formed a group. They fanned the entirety of Alabaste in search of the man, asking everyone they could, and looking in even the deepest corners of the town. It was to no avail. It was as if the man himself had disappeared into thin air, his only purpose to offer charity and kind words. The foreigners found themselves disappointed that they did not even get the chance to hear his name. The search teams were disbanded, and life resumed as usual. The man's charity could only last so long, and when the funds ran out, the foreigners fell into the same hole the old man had carried them out of. The absurd prices of basic commodities did not help, either.

Desperation lead them to extremes, and one person went on the solo pursuit of the old man. Knives to throats, backalley beatdowns, torture. Aggression, frustration, and anger, displaced. But it paid off. The solo operative had found the old man, sitting upon a park bench, gazing out onto the stilled pond.

"Who are you, exactly? Why have you hidden yourself?" The man was asked. No response.

"Old man, answer! Why has it been so hard to contact you, why do so many people go to the effort of concealing your location?" More questions for the man. The same number of answers.

"Fine. At least tell me your name." The old man stopped his gaze at the pond, and looked at the solo operative. In a slow yet solid voice, he responded.

"Victor Novel."

The solo operative was never heard from again.

[Purg]

"This whip's seen a few too many winters to be much good to you," the merchant said, holding it across his hands. It was true, somewhat - the leather was worn and ragged, fraying at the edges, and the grip was losing friction, a dangerous problem for an exotic weapon. Dom shook his head as the man began gesturing to a few whips wrapped around the post of his shop, taking his own back and leaving without another word.

That was the third man who had said the same thing - that his weapon was ancient and beyond repair. He wouldn't hear it, though - even if it had it's problems, it would be easier (and cheaper) to use it than to try to break a new whip in. Or perhaps there was a third option. A stand that matched the condition of his whip sat off to the side, a man not much younger than Dom sitting behind it, looking glum as men and women passed by, ignoring the ruined stall. The sign read, Ow n's Ex tic We apo ry in fading letters - clearly some had already vanished, but the meaning was clear. Crossing the crowded marketplace, it was only a few moments before he stood in front of it, hiding his curiosity. "Excuse me," he said clearly, pulling the shopkeeper out of his daze, "You must be Owen."

"Nah, Owen was my grandpa, he passed a few years ago, the name's Charlie. Whaddaya need?" he asked as he stood up, bearing the first genuine smile Dom had seen all day. "Those stilettos, they look pretty high quality, they still got their point?" Already, he was impressed by the man's knowledge, but he wouldn't let it be apparent, or he would try not to. "Oh, a whip. Heh, that thing looks older than me. Maybe I could-"

Dom let out a sigh. "I am not going to replace it," he said plainly. "It has... sentimental value to me."

Charlie laughed loudly. "Replace? Nah, that's a bit expensive, especially with the new taxes! I was going to ask if you'd want me to work on it - I can replace the worst of the leather, and keep the core intact, it should be easier than breaking in a new one, and it'd cost a lot less." He gestured, taking the whip in his hands. "Tell you what, I'll go ahead and get to work on this, and if you leave your knives with me, I'll sharpen 'em for you, free of charge. Don't give me that look, no hidden costs or anything, it'll just be... 150 Ducats, how's that sound? That's cheap for a refurbished whip and sharp pointy things," he said, grinning.

The coins clinked as Dom set them down neatly on the table, putting his stilettos and all but three of his throwing knives alongside the payment. Charlie scooped the money up, putting it into his own wallet, before carefully stacking the knives. "Heh, thanks for your patronage, kind sir! Just find your way back here around sunset and it'll all be ready for you, promise."

Nothing to do for the rest of the day. His wallet was now much lighter - he would have to find work soon, or he would be like the beggars on the main road. Perhaps...

"Eltiar? Eltiar!" That voice... Stark? "Eltiar!"

And that was the name of the elder mage. He supposed it would be as good a time as any to see what the others had planned. He approached the swordsman, tapping him on his shoulder lightly to get his attention.

"I have no idea where the others have gone, and it appears you share that lack of knowledge. Did you have any plans once you had arrived here? Or are you, as I am, without direction?"

[rn7]

"Hey guys, how've you been? Been a while!" Fargo greeted the pub escapees group. He made a note to remember to come up with an easier, more superbadass name. "What've you been up to, huh? I've been trying over and over to get a decent meal, but geez do they overcharge! Costs as much to get a piece a' bread as it is to shine a sword! Ridiculous!"

"Say, Rutem, weren't you lookin' for someone? I figure if there's a place to find someone, it oughta be the arena down ways over there." Fargo pointed his finger at a giant colosseum adorned with multiple decorations and banners. The cheers of the rowdy crowd could be faintly heard from where they were. "That's where I'd be! Nothin' like two gladiators, beating the brains and guts outta each other!"

"Unless you ladies want to go shoppin' some more. I bet the food's cheaper there too! Hehe, mystery meat on a stick, here I come!"

[CATS]

"I assure you, sir, you are holding the finest craftsmanship this side of the Daggerfrost Mountains! That spear in your hands has been passed down from one generation to the next in a family of legendary warrior-kings! Its blade was crafted from the rarest, most exquisite metals in all existence, mined from the deepest depths of the dwarven mountain-kingdoms, then processed and refined for years in a process so powerful and complex that no man has ever been able to comprehend it! Its shaft was crafted from a strip of bark taken off the great elf-king's sacred tree of life, presented as a holy gift to the ancient master-smith who crafted this spear! That weapon has known countless gallons of goblin-blood, even the vilest monsters will cower at the first sight of it, and--"

Kyle interrupted the man by stabbing a nearby wall with the "legendary" spear, as hard as he could. It snapped like a dry twig against the hard stone.

"Sorry, maybe the next guy will bite," Kyle said.

He tossed the two halves of the scam back at the merchant, then moved on. The marketplace was a nightmare. With all the refugees nearby in such desperate need of so many things--materials for their tents, weapons to defend their tents, never mind food and water--the merchants had swooped in like a swarm of vultures descending upon a rotting corpse. They gleefully hawked the most absurd lies in order to sell worthless junk to the refugees, then turned around and charged outrageous prices for anything that was actually useful, preying on people's desperation to squeeze money out of them. Apparently some merchants were attaching price tags to their valuable items which simply read "100%"; indicating that the item's price was equivalent to one hundred percent of any potential buyer's money. Widows were turning over their life savings for a bottle of clean water, men who wanted to protect their families were shelling out cash for shiny imitations of weapons that would break at the first sign of real combat. It was disgusting, and there was absolutely nothing Kyle could do about it.

All he wanted was a new spear.

"Yeah, I was in a bit of a hurry the other day, didn't really have time to grab it. Look, can you just tell me where to get a decent replacement, without paying every penny I have for it?" Kyle said to the next merchant.

"Sorry buddy, read the price tags. One hundred percent. No bargains here," the man answered.

"You can't just cut me a little slack?"

"Sorry pal, if I give you a deal, then everyone else is gonna want one too, eh?"

"What's wrong with that? If you just lower your prices below those of your competitors, everyone will flock to your shop. These people, including me, can get things at a reasonable price, and you'll get rich because you'll have the best deals in town. Everyone wins, eh?"

"Sorry man, no can do. See, you gotta have a permit from the trader's guild to sell things here in the city. Us merchants, we're all in the guild together. So if I lower my prices, and I take all the customers away from the other merchants, they're not gonna like that. See where I'm goin' with this? They don't like me anymore, they revoke my permit. Guard shuts me down, divides up my merchandise in a game of poker, and I'm the town's new laughingstock, see?"

Kyle sighed. He started to walk away, but stopped, then turned back around. Enough was enough.

"Alright. You win. I'll buy that one," Kyle said, laying some coins down and indicating one of the spears marked with a "100%" price tag.

"Hold it, that ain't all your money. I can hear more jingling in your pouch."

"It is all my money. If you think it's not, I might be able to convince you otherwise," Kyle answered, moving a hand to his sword.

"Heh, like that's gonna work. Guard's gonna be on your ass in seconds if you try it, you'll prolly be hung before the sun sets."

"Oh, I didn't mean here. I meant later tonight, when I break into your house while you're asleep, slit your throat with no witnesses around, get away with it, and steal the spear afterwards."

"Ha ha, you gotta be kiddin' me! You think I'm gonna let that happen after you threaten me about it? I'll just tell the guards, they'll watch my house tonight. You ain't gonna do shit, buddy."

"Really? What if a few coins fall out of my pocket on the way in? Guards might be too busy picking up my money to notice a stranger walking into your house, eh?"

This caused the merchant to pause for a moment. After letting the big grin slowly slide off of his face, he spoke up again.

"Eh heh, you're a real kidder, you know that, pal? You almost had me goin' for a second there. Now come on, be reasonable, gimme me the money. We both know you ain't really got the balls to do somethin' like that."

"Maybe I have the stones for it, maybe I don't. You don't know, do you? So even if I don't, you still won't have your peace of mind. You're going to have lots of fun sitting up in bed tonight, wondering if that psycho from the market is gonna deliver on his promise, knowing that all he has to do is give a few coins to the guards outside and then he can just waltz on in. Wouldn't it be nice to lay down tonight, knowing for sure, that no such thing is going to happen? Think about it. I'm not even asking that you give the spear over for free. I'm just asking that you sell it to me for a reasonable price. All you have to do is be a decent human being--sell something at a fair price, just this one time--and you won't have to worry."

Kyle topped his sales pitch off with a bright smile. It was several long seconds before the merchant's answer came, but it was clear that he'd bought it.

"I see. My mistake, buddy. Don't know why I thought you had any more money than that, I guess I just sorta went crazy for a second, ha ha! Here's your spear, thank you for your business, have a nice day, go on, get away from me!"

"Thank you," Kyle said.

He took a deep breath as he walked away, still trying to make sure he'd really done that. Yep, he was holding the spear, his purse was a bit lighter. He'd really done it. It was a bluff, of course, if the merchant had stuck to his guns, Kyle wouldn't have stuck to his (although he sure would've relished the thought of that merchant, wide awake in the wee hours of the morning, worrying to death over it). Trespassing, stealing, murder......he wasn't a criminal and he wasn't going to become one, no matter how much someone might deserve a criminal's attention. Even threatening to do those things had felt wrong, but in the end, he was glad that he'd done it. Fighting the corruption and getting away with it--even a little bit--felt like a breath of fresh air. The new spear didn't hurt, either.

After that little bit of business was done, Kyle wandered over to the nearest inn, rented a room, went up, and then stripped off his armor as fast as he possibly could, which was like another breath of fresh air. He pulled up a floorboard and stashed his armor under it (a natural precaution when any thief could make a profit by bribing his way into your room and robbing you blind), grabbed his spear, then went back out on the town. Kyle proceeded to wander around town, checking things out, getting a feel for the place. He was also looking for the other guys from the pub in Oakheim; he didn't know anyone here, and it would be nice to have someone to eat dinner with, if nothing else. As luck would have it, Kyle soon heard a voice shouting for Eltiar, and quickly located its source. The shield kid was saying something just as he ran up.

"Say, Rutem, weren't you lookin' for someone? I figure if there's a place to find someone, it oughta be the arena down ways over there." Fargo pointed his finger at a giant colosseum adorned with multiple decorations and banners. The cheers of the rowdy crowd could be faintly heard from where they were. "That's where I'd be! Nothin' like two gladiators, beating the brains and guts outta each other!"

"Unless you ladies want to go shoppin' some more. I bet the food's cheaper there too! Hehe, mystery meat on a stick, here I come!"

Kyle looked around at the others, shrugged, and took off after Fargo. Stark, Dom, Rutem.....sadly, he didn't see Eltiar, but aside from that it looked like everyone had stayed together. Oh well. Wizards tended to be very busy men; it was no surprise that Eltiar didn't have time to stick around with a small group of ragtag refugees. Admission to the arena was free, surprisingly enough, and Kyle soon found himself in the stands. Why were they here again? Oh right, Rutem's elusive creditor. Kyle asked a few spectators if they knew anyone named Capcillion, but with no luck ("Yeah, that bastard! I'm lookin' for him too! Son of a bitch owes me money, let me know if you find him!").

He was soon distracted by the fight going on in the pit below. Not because it was entertaining, but because it seemed rigged. On one side there was a team of large, muscular, well-armed men, who clearly knew what they were doing. On the other side there was a team of men in dirty rags, mostly armed with rusty daggers (or less; one guy just had a spork), who looked like they hadn't eaten a decent meal in a couple weeks and hadn't been in a decent fight ever. The real gladiators took down the vagabonds in seconds, then lined them up, made them get down on their knees, and beheaded them all at once. The crowd went wild.

"What is this, some kind of joke? Is this the way criminals are punished around here, maybe?" Kyle asked a random guy standing next to him.

"Naw, not criminals, not a joke."

"What's going on, then? Why were those men in the pit? They pretty much just committed suicide."

"All those refugees gotta pay for their food somehow, right? As you can imagine, most of them run out of money real quick down in the marketplace, considering most meals down there cost a hundred percent. There's not too many job offers around here, so if they wanna keep eating, they gotta get creative. Some of 'em, they turn to stealing, mostly the guard kills those on the spot. Some of 'em, they leave, think maybe they'll be better off somewhere else. And some of 'em, they think they might as well try their luck in the arena. They ain't got no armor, no weapons, but they ain't got a choice, either. They got a better chance in there than they do anywhere else. Course, they still ain't got much of a chance, so us proper citizens get to see plenty of butcherin' these days. No more bullshit where you have to sit through a long, evenly-matched battle just to see some blood. These days, it's a straight-up bloodbath, much more entertaining. Pretty great, huh?"

The man looked thoroughly confused when Kyle shot him a nasty look. Kyle pushed back through the crowd and ran out of the stands, then went down into the area alongside the pit, where teams signed up to compete in the arena. Sure enough, there was a line of refugees stretching back out the door. Kyle walked up to a group near the front of the line and introduced himself. It was a pretty hasty plan, but he had no idea what else to do. There wasn't time to figure out anything better; these people were dying right now. In the time that it took him just to run down here, another team of refugees had been slaughtered by the reigning champions.

"You're not going to last two seconds in there. Let me fight with you," Kyle said to his chosen group of refugees.

"But you're only allowed a certain number of fighters per team," one of them said.

"I know. Let me replace one of you. Your odds will be better with me in there, and if we win, we can split some of the winnings with whoever sits out."

The refugees started to fight over who would get to sit out, but Kyle stopped them and pointed to the smallest one of them, a little guy who looked like he was still going through puberty.

"You. Tell them I'm replacing you. Now, I have some friends, and hopefully we can replace all of you with real fighters. We can split the money with you afterwards, assuming we win, and assuming my friends are in on this. If they're not....well, I'll deal with that if it happens. Right now, I need to see if my friends will join me on this. Be right back."

"Wait! Why are you helping us? You know even with you on our side, we're probably all gonna get massacred out there. Even if you replace us all, you're still putting your necks on the line for some strangers. You don't even know us!"

"What are you talking about? Look, it's simple: If no one steps in, you're going to get killed, along with everyone else in this line."

Kyle and the refugee looked at each other for a moment, each thoroughly confused by the other's mindset. Then Kyle turned and ran back into the stands. He reached his companions and explained the situation to them.

"Look, if we win, then not only do we save one group of innocent people, but we'll be the reigning champions. We can declare draws in all of the following matches, against all those other refugees. In a draw, the arena will split the prize money between the two teams, and everyone walks away with their lives. We'll get some cash, and all these refugees will stay alive and have something to eat, at least for one more day. Even if you guys aren't going to help me here, I'm going in by myself. It might be suicide, but I think I'd rather go down fighting than try to live with myself if I walked away from here and left all these people to be murdered in that ring," he said to the others.

[rn7]

"Grgrlpbhtss phssttt!" Fargo managed, through a mouthful of mystery meat on a stick. He paused for a second then swallowed. "Can you believe how cheap these things are? Delicious too! I've already eaten 30!"

"Patooey! I've already on my 164th!" claimed the rotund spectator, scarfing down multiple sticks at once.

"Yea, well I'll get there, you'll see." Down below, someone's head got severed off, then was diced in half while in mid-air. The two halves of the head collided with the ground at the same time as the body. "Oh-ho-ho! Whoa-oh-oh! Man did you SEE that!"

The entire crowd roared and cheered with every blow that struck. The champions were clearly being showmen, competing for kills rather can cooperating. Still, they easily managed to stave off the waves of weaker opponents. Fargo was completely lost into the bloodletting until he saw a strangely familiar figure down in the ring. It was Kyle.

"Ooo, oo, sounds like fun. Lemme get in on it!" Fargo stuffed several meats on a stick into his mouth and leapt into the fray.

[Purg]

Prisoners, monsters, refugees, warriors, cheats, and optimistic youths out to become the heroes they heard in so many bedtime stories. Dom had never seen such a crowd, and such variety among it - everything from the now-scarce nobles to the ragged and worn poor sat in the stands, watching the massacre in the center. And Kyle wanted them to join the upcoming slaughter? He'd be lying if he said he cared about the refugees' lives - it had been their choice to gamble them on the battlefield, it was their responsibility on what happened to them, not his. Then again, his wallet was now quite a bit lighter - even if he only received a fraction of the prize money, after a few matches, that would add up to quite a bit. He followed the two already in the arena, declining a rented weapon - not only did he doubt the quality of the offered wares, but that would only detract from the money he would receive.

The other team in the match were larger and meaner-looking than he and his companions, but they looked complacent, as though this would be an easy fight. One of the foes wore heavy plate - Dom smiled. "Leave the tin can to me," he said confidently, running towards the steel-clad opponent, reaching for his stile... Where were his stile- fuck. He couldn't stop, that would only make him an easier target, but his throwing knives would be useless against the man, at least for their intended use. He dodged right, evading a spear thrust, leaping forward to kick off of the knight. He launched himself back, landing roughly on one knee, standing quickly to survey the damage of his attack. His foe had staggered back from the kick, but hadn't fallen over. If he was clever, though...

He dashed forwards again, kicking again at the knight's elbow, this time from the ground. The contact shot pain through his knee, but he heard the plates clink and the spear drop onto the bloodstained dirt. He picked it up quickly, giving a shout as he charged the knight, sticking the spear into it's owner's shoulder. A little more pushing forced the disarmed knight to the ground, the spear still sticking into the armor. Dom kicked the helmet off of the knight, smirking, revealing the pained face of... a girl about his age. Well, to be fair, she hadn't said a word or given a shout that he had heard (although the crowd's roars could have easily covered up anything she had to say), and the armor certainly didn't strike him as feminine. She struggled to stand, but he simply stomped on her chest to keep her down - the move pained her, clearly. She spat on his foot, saying something he couldn't hear, but he recognized the words: "Go ahead, kill me!"

He pulled the spear from her shoulder - she gasped, and blood was visible on the tip. He hadn't meant to harm her, simply incapacitate, although she had likely killed her own share of people that were as defenseless then as she was now. Still, he didn't feel prepared to end a life, not right now - but he had best make it look good, so the crowd didn't demand more. He held the tip at her throat - he could see fear, mixed with defiance, in her eyes. Pulling the tip back suddenly, he smashed the side of her head with the butt of the spear - her spear, which now only had her blood on it - and was satisfied to see her unconscious.

He spun the spear, sticking it in the ground point first beside her, and looked back to his companions, to see if they needed help.

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

Snapping into awareness, Jeph realized he was being ushered into an arena by his comrades. He had a vague recollection of agreeing to this, though he wasn't willing to hazard a guess as to why. The man he recognized as Dom ran off to fight (and subsequently defeat) a knight clad in heavy armour, leaving the rest of the combatants to themselves. Quickly, Jeph decided it would be best to do something similar, so he analysed the remaining fighters. There was a mage beginning to cast a spell behind the rest of the fighters. He knew that would be a problem, but he also wasn't the best choice to confront it. he barked out that someone should take care of the caster, and then continued his analysis.

His gaze fixed itself on two swordsmen approaching from the left flank. Ultimately, if he could hold off two fighters on his own, it would allow for his team-mates to more effectively focus down their other foes and eventually get numbers on their side. As such he drew his swo- wait a second... this wasn't his sword. His sword wasn't nearly this balanced. This one felt like it was just an extension of his arm rather than a heavy club to be swung at his opponents. He could deftly thrust and parry with this one. It felt weird. Come to think of it, the armour he was wearing also felt different. The simple plate he used to wear was now replaced by a well crafted suit of scale mail with gleaming steel vambraces, breastplate, tasset, gauntlets, pauldrons, and boots. The weight was properly balanced across his body instead of resting solely on his shoulders and waist, plus he could barely feel the weight of the polished steel shield emblazoned with the Archer family crest (which ironically had nothing to do with actual archery, but instead featured a willow tree on top of an image of a thunder storm). His matching tabard also seemed to be made of a high quality fabric. he had no idea where he got any of this.

Regardless, Jeph was soon over the confusion and in a confrontation with the two swordsmen. The two swordsmen both carried matching swords, and wore simple studded leather armour. This told him that they probably were related by blood or training (or showmanship), and fought with hit and run tactics. He'd have to keep an eye on both of them to make sure they didn't outflank him. First, the Left Swordsman approached Jeph's shield arm and went for a quick thrust around his shield. Jeph moved his shield further to the left to knock the sword away and prepared to parry the anticipated slash from the Right Swordsman. Surely enough, the Right Swordsman came in with an overhead slash which Jeph caught with his blade in a parallel parry, and then brought his metal foot up into the Right Swordsman's ribs. As he staggered from the kick, Jeph went for a quick thrust to the leg (which he still wasn't entirely used to). The man had clearly never been stabbed before in his career as a slaughterer of the weak and defenceless. He quickly fell to the ground and clutched the bleeding wound.

Turning his full attention to the Left Swordsman, he found that the man was going for another thrust, this time into Jeph's back. Fortunately, the thrust had very little actual strength behind it. It appeared this man was more trained for traditional fencing rather than trying to kill each other, and the blade glanced off the well crafted armour creating a small tear in the new tabard. Jeph turned around to face his assailant, and brought his sword down in a high arc over his head. As the sword neared his opponent and flashed in front of Jeph's eyes, the Left Swordman deftly stepped out of the way and rammed into Jeph with his shoulder, knocking the out-of-balance ex-guard off his feet and onto the ground. Quickly, the Left Swordsman put his sword against Jeph's neck.

"Not so tough now, Mr. Knight-in-Shining-Armour?"

"I was never all that tough, you guys are just pretty weak yourselves."

Clearly not listening to anything Jeph had to say, the Left Swordsman began to spoke louder, almost boasting to the crowd. "You fell easily to the mighty Ghost Step! You see, while you slash there is a split second where your blade blocks your sight of me. In that infinitely small fraction of a second, a skilled swordsman like myself can easily move out of the way and counter-attack!"

"Well explained, but I've got a special technique too."

"Oh? What is that?"

"It's called The Goblin Punch!"

And with that, Jeph kicked the man square in the groin with his metal boot. The Left Swordsman doubled over in pain and dropped his sword on the arena floor. Jeph stood up, repositioned his tabard, and stabbed the man in both wrists. If he died from that, he probably deserved it. He then ran off to see how his team-mates were faring, and on his way by stabbed the Right Swordsman in the other leg.

[CATS]

The match almost immediately dissolved into a small cluster of individual duels. Kyle and co. had absolutely no teamwork or overall strategy going on, on account of not having worked together much and not having time to come up with anything; their opponents weren't any better, because they were accustomed to utterly dominating their opponents without need of any serious tactics. As his teammates broke off to face down various adversaries, Kyle found himself looking up at a huge bear of a man. The man's belly went out father than his chest, but it was obvious that there was plenty of muscle hiding underneath that fat. The man carried a large studded mace, which was currently slung over his shoulder. He eyed Kyle with an expression of casual arrogance.

"What are you doing here, little man? This is no place for children, geh heh heh," the giant said.

What a jerk. Kyle wasn't small, he was even a little above the average height. He just wasn't huge like this guy.

"You've been slaughtering helpless beggars all day long, and you still have the nerve to insult your opponents? What kind of sick bastard are you? Come on, you could at least make the insults clever."

"Oh ho, you think you are smart, little man? Well, we will see if you can outsmart my mace, geh heh!"

The mace swung inches away from Kyle's face as he leapt back, simultaneously raising his spear. The giant charged in, swinging his mace blindly and relentlessly; given his size and reach, this was a depressingly effective strategy. Kyle was forced to keep backing up while trying to find an opening in the man's assault. Most opponents had a shorter reach than he did, and weren't strong enough to effortlessly bat his spear aside before charging inside of its range. This guy wasn't most opponents, though, so Kyle didn't have very many options.

Luckily, the giant wasn't much good at pressing his advantages. His hasty, uncoordinated swings were easy to avoid, and soon enough he made a crucial mistake; he swung the mace in a vertical, overhead attack, bringing the mace straight down towards Kyle's head. This sort of move looks really cool when you're finishing off a downed opponent, but in practice, it's easy to see coming, even easier to sidestep, and will often get your weapon lodged into the ground if (or rather, when) you miss. Kyle moved aside, then stepped forward and thrusted while the giant was busy tugging his mace out of the arena's dirt floor. The spearpoint landed squarely in his side, causing him to shout in pain and step back.

The wound wasn't fatal, but that was on purpose. Kyle was aiming only to incapacitate. That turned out to be a bad decision, though, as the giant did something unexpected. He grabbed the spear, yanked it out of his body with another yell, then pulled on it. Since Kyle was still holding onto it, this sent him stumbling towards the giant, who let go of the spear and slugged him in the face as he approached. Kyle hit the ground hard and felt a heavy foot pressing down on his back before he could get up. The giant knelt down, removed the shortsword from Kyle's belt, then held it to his neck while keeping him pinned down. He could feel blood dripping onto his back from the man's side.

"Who is the smart one now, little man? Geh heh heh! Now, if you tell me that my insults are clever, perhaps I kill you quickly. If not, perhaps I make things a little more painful for you. So go on, say it. Say my insults are clever!"

"Uh, guys?!" Kyle shouted.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

The market didn't interest Stark so much, besides only having 30 Ducats, he was prettry satisfied with his sword. Dom seemed to not be holding his whip, though, so maybe he had something he needed. Stark wasn't really interested though, honestly. Beyond finding Eltair, he had no idea what he should do next. Naturally, he didn't want to hang out here. Maybe just find a place he didn't hate, or spend a while looking, anyways. Just cause the world was shit, didn't mean everywhere had to be shit, right?

Jeph came around a corner, dressed in the fanciest armour Stark had seen in a long time, nice weapons too. "Jeph, how in the Hell did you get that stuff?"

"I dunno what yertalkin abou I always had it yer dum go fugyersielf."

Stark stopped for a second, raised his hand, opened his mouth, but couldn't find the words, so opted instead to move on with his life, just let it go. "Alright, has anyone seen-"

"Stark, we're going to the arena!" Fargo shouted out excitedly. The more Stark hung around trhe kid the crazier and less connected to real life he was. He was seemingly settling into kind of a mascot role, maybe as some kind of escape from his problems. Maybe he was actually mentally ill. Either way, Stark wouldn't infringe on his right to be a batshit insane mascot, that was his thing. Also, hey, the others were with Fargo, everyone but Eltair was together.

~~~

The Colliseum, not anything too grandiose, nothing to the one in the capital city, but with the same overall purpouse. People have trouble being miserable and watching people tear at each other at the same time. Honestly, Stark was in the mood to watch a good fight.

...That's why when Kyle showed up and insisted they step in the ring and take over, Stark wasn't really up for it. The champions looked pretty tough, at least individually. Stark didn't think it would be a sparring match either. He didn't feel like risking his life for a bunch of people dumb enough to forfeit theirs. It looked like he was tyhe only one though, even Dom stepped up to fight. Jeph more stumbled into it, but he was sobering up...maybe?

~~~

Stark walked into the ring, most of the fighters in the challenger side were the group from Oakheim now. "Okay guys, we need to-" ...And they were gone, fof to fight their own fights. Stark sighed, and went after them. Dom first. Dom had a female knight downed, which was great, except for the throwing knife headed for his skull. Stark's blade found itself in the way of the knife, barely. He didn't have time to space it away, and the force of impact still smacked the flat of his blade into the side of Dom's skull. Stark didn't stick around to apologize. "Come on."

Stark went to help Jeph with two swrodsmen he was foolishly taking on, the hopeless drunk, he'd have to be careful here. Jeph would be more of a hindrance then a help...No, no wait, he had sobered up somewhat and won. Good for him. "Come on."

Kyle was underneath some fat guy. Stark briefly entertained the notion of a drop kick, but he'd probably just bounce of uselessly. Instead, he shoulderchecked the ogre of a man from behind. Luckily he didn't stomp on Kyle's head or anything in his wild stumble. He didn't fall, but Kyle should be free. "Come on."

Rutem seemed to be protecting the remaining rookies, and Fargo was..eating meat sticks. He gave them eacht he same "Come on." As he gave the others. If they were gonig to win, teamwork was key,a nd since they didn't know each other well enough for it, someone had to team them up for them. Stark turned to his guys, while the big guy was getting his rage all sorted out, and several others were closing in cautiously, worried about the actual challenge these newcomers had presented so far.

"Right, here's the plan. Fargo, Dom, you both hang back. If anyone on our side is about to die, make that not happen. Rutem, your blades are more suited to the big guy, you don't need to kill him, just make sure he don't kill anyone for a while, we need to take care of that mage before he finishes whatever the fuck he's doing. Kyle, think you can take him down while me and Jeph use the old guardsman's parry tactic to keep his four guards at bay?"

[rn7]

"It's okay!" Fargo said, staying back as per Stark's orders. "I'll stay here and watch the back!"

Fargo nibbled on another helping of meat sticks. His fingers had a nice, thick layer of the sauce on it, and Fargo lacked the proper means to clean his hands. So he crept up behind the mage casting the spell, popped open a flask the mage was carrying, then wiped his hands on the mage's robes. All without the mage noticing. Fargo was either just that good, or the mage was really into his incantations.

"Alright, I'll totally ready to sit back and defend! Bring it... hurk." Fargo gripped his stomach. Perhaps he had one too many meat-on-a-sticks. "On second thought, I'll just lay here and be useless. Don't let me die or nothing, kay guys? You ol' kidders."

Fargo slept soundly while the battles raged around him.

[CATS]

"No problem," Kyle said.

He started moving immediately. The longer they held back, the more time that mage had to work his magic. His spell could go off at any moment now. Kyle started to run in a semi-circle around the enemy team, keeping both his spear and his eyes on them as he moved. The opposing gladiators kept a watch on him but didn't move in to attack, instead choosing to focus on the greater threat at hand, namely Kyle's multiple companions. They likely thought Kyle was just flanking them, and thus didn't consider him a threat until he actually moved in to attack their flank. Since Kyle had no intention of performing such a maneuver (not while that mage was still standing, at least), this was a convenient arrangement. It soon allowed him to get most of the way behind the enemy team.

With the other enemies now completely pre-occupied by his allies, Kyle turned towards the enemy mage, who was just beginning to notice him. The mage broke his concentration in order to focus on Kyle, which caused the energy that had been gathering around him to dissipate. It was good to see that the others would be safe from whatever the mage had been about to do, but now Kyle had to worry about himself, seeing as how the mage had just chucked a fireball at him. Kyle rolled to the side and got back to his feet just as the mage was crafting another fireball; he proceeded to hurl his spear at the enemy before the fireball could be cast. The spear wasn't a javelin, so it missed by a long shot, but it did distract the mage long enough for Kyle to run up and tackle him.

The mage tried to do something with his hands as they hit the ground, but a couple punches to the gut stopped that from going anywhere. Kyle rolled over on top of the man and started pummeling him. He reached into his cloak to pull out a small dagger, but Kyle immediately grabbed his wrist and bent it back until it snapped, causing the mage to scream and the dagger to fall uselessly to the ground. Kyle snatched up the dagger, raised it over his head, then smashed the hilt down on the mage's skull. The man was out cold.

"Whew."

Kyle got up and looked back at the rest of the fight, hoping his part of that plan wasn't the only one that went down smoothly.

[Purg]

Fzzt.

The mage had been incapacitated, but the crackling energies he had been controlling had yet to leave the battlefield. Without focus and a master to control it, the forces drew together, coalescing into a large, shimmering orb that hummed, a sign of the power the now-unconscious mage had controlled. For a moment, the shining sphere floated lazily a few feet off the ground - then, it exploded outwards, forming numerous smaller globes around the arena. Many of these fizzled out, unable to form anything - others exploded dramatically, sending fire, shards of ice, or pillars of sharpened stone skywards, but they were ultimately useless. A few of them, however, glowed a deep red before forming... he couldn't remember their names. Sinewy wings, lithe, humanoid forms, mottled gray, and holding sharp spears of magewrought steel. Oh, gargoyles, he thought suddenly as he evaded one of the points, the construct crowing loudly as it tried to attack again. He thrust a knife into the beast's gut - even though the creatures of myth were carved from stone and animated, these appeared to be more reptilian in nature, so the dagger slid in easily, the pain driving the gargoyle into the ground. He picked up the spear it had dropped in it's throes, judging it hastily - balanced, sharp as one of his stilettos, and suited for throwing. It would work, for the moment, although he doubted it would last much longer.

He threw a knife suddenly at an archer that was aiming too close to the sleeping Fargo - the bowman deftly caught the knife (in his arm), and dropped his bow in pain. Hopefully, that distraction would let one of the others deal with him. He had to conserve his weapons as best he could, as he was now down to two knives, and the gargoyle's spear. There were still more of the fliers circling the fight, but, oddly, they didn't appear to have an allegiance, as one of them dove to attack the injured archer, taking him out of the fight, perhaps killing him. It would be wise to dispatch them, but, in the air, they were almost impossible to hit - the combatants would have to wait until they were in range if they were to be dealt with.

It appeared the others were acting according to Stark's plan well, though - it appeared his skill with a blade wasn't his only quality that lent itself to a warrior.

[rn7]

"Hubba wuzzat huh? Oh, crackles, gargoyles!" Fargo woke up to a surprising start. Chaos and general ruckus was exploding all around him, and it was like he was in the middle of an intense circus act, limbs flying and all. At least, from what he could remember. Either way, it looked like them stone beasties wouldn't leave him alone. Fargo fastened on his bucklers and prepared for whatever was to come at him.

An odd situation it would be. The gargoyles were probably too heavy for slipstream, and even if they weren't, they could fly. What a bother. In the air, Fargo would have an easier time manipulating them, but would probably accomplish nothing more than pushing the things around. He had no idea what his more offensive magic would do, though seeing as one had some daggers sticking out of it.

"Ahh, forget it. I'll just turtle here until someone needs my help!" Fargo stood his ground, and pushed away anyone that dared come close.

[CATS]

It looked like Kyle hadn't been fast enough to stop the mage's spell after all. On the bright side, it also looked like the summoned gargoyles wouldn't be taking sides without their summoner awake to control them; a roar went up from the crowd as one of the gargoyles dove down and snatched up a wounded enemy archer. That didn't mean the monsters weren't a problem, though. If the two teams attacked each other now, the gargoyles would be the real winners, as they'd swoop in while the humans were busy killing each other and take out both sides. Hell, the buckler kid was already turtling. Smart guy, Kyle thought. Any soldier could tell you that a retreat was the best option here, except that wasn't an option, no one would be allowed out of the ring until the fight was over. They had to finish the fight somehow, yet it would be too dangerous to go on the offensive.

Without the mage conscious, the constructs he summoned had no purpose or direction. It seemed that they were directly affected by the mage's condition, so maybe there was a way to return the fight to its original two parties.....Kyle went back to the mage he'd knocked out, and once again picked up the guy's knife. He knelt down beside the unconscious body and hesitated for a moment, but only for a moment. It was either this, or the lives of his companions would be put at great risk. The mage deserved it more than they did, last time he checked, Kyle's buddies hadn't mercilessly slaughtered any innocent refugees today. He raised up the knife, then jammed the blade straight into the mage's heart. The mage was dead in seconds. At least it was painless for him.

Without the mage alive, the constructs had nothing left to support their existence. They fell out of the sky and began to dissolve as the life passed from their summoner's body; by the time they would've hit the ground, there was nothing left. The wounded archer that had been taken by them rained down in several pieces, prompting Kyle to duck and cover his head. Meanwhile the crowd booed emphatically, extremely disappointed by the fact that they wouldn't be seeing anyone else torn to bloody little bits during this fight. Now there was just the same arena team they'd been fighting in the first place, and last time Kyle checked, they'd been winning that fight.

[rn7]

"Sir! The champions! They're... they're... LOSING!"

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!? Do they not understand what we are paying them for? I want all of Novel's benefactors dead! ALL! I did not pay them to make a spectacle, or to die!"

"Well, they are."

"Oh, okay then. RELEASE THE LIONS! KILL THEM ALL! ALL OF THEM!"

"That seems a tinge excessive, sir. Perhaps you can reconsider?"

"Hmm.... no, I've made up my mind. Lions, now."

Two large iron gates at the bottom of the arena flung open, and the sound of flailing chains followed shortly after. Grumbling growls of fury and hungry escaped from the blackened hallways, and out emerged the grand king of all beasts themselves, a lion. Two of them, in fact. They roared and gnawed at the air, their chains finally yielding and breaking apart. Two mad animals were now lose inside the arena, and they didn't care who was what as long as they got food in their bellies.

"Don't worry, guys! I've... nevermind, you go do it, Kyle, you're on a roll today!" Fargo almost thought about doing something important today.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

Jeph was flouncing around with his two guys, but somehow still winning, Stark figured he could do the same, probably. His two guys were a guy with a broadsword in hands, like Stark, the other one looked to be some kind of rogue or something, he had a curved kard like dagger in his hand, and his other behind his back, as though it wasn't obvious he had another knife there. These guys weren't the least bit worried, which was weird, given the utter destruction their side had taken on with no casualties on this side. Stark figured the thing to do here would be to not get surrounded, use an opportunity knocking away the broadsword to take a deep slice at Mr. Knives, then smack the shit out of his broadsword buddy.

In practice, he got a knife in the side while trying to keep the swordsman at bay. It hurt like a bitch, and he caught the flat of the sword across his face. He was pretty done. He wasn't even really sure why he was in the arena. The three of them gathered over top of Stark to savour their kill. No wait, one of them was a gargoyle, what the fuck happened? It seemed to be pretty content carrying knifey way too high for a safe landing and digging into him with his claws. Stark wasn't about to cry him a river, and he used swordy's confusion to his groin kicking advantage. Then his chest stabbing advantage. He wasn't going to pull back for these assholes. They could die.

As Stark stood up, Ol' Knifer made a very messy splat not ten yards from him. Turns out the gargoyles were dead for some reason already. Awesome then.

"Uhh...Are we still-"

Lions.

"Well god damnit."

[rn7]

"Stall for time, stall for time!" Fargo picked up the mage's dead body and chucked it on over to the lions. Luckily, the mage's body had been lathered in mystery-meat-on-a-stick sauce, making him quite the delectable meal for the starving lions. On the other hand, their hunger compelled them to consume the meal in mere seconds, and so it wasn't really that effective at stalling after all. And since the second person in the ring lathered with mystery meat sauce was still there and not yet eaten, the lions made the charge against Fargo. Realizing running from a lion would be just as effective as avoiding raindrops, Fargo used one attack to make the first lion slip and fall, while he used the remainder of his energy to pin the other beast to the wall. It wasn't a tight hold at all, more of a pressing push. Fargo would likely only be able to hold it for a few minutes, at which time he would be too exhausted to react.

"Hey someone! Go stabby-stabby on this critter, will ya? Quickly!"

[Purg]

Lions. Monsters, wolves, gargoyles, human combatants, and now lions. Perhaps hanging around with this group would be good training, although this much danger didn't sit well with him. But this wasn't the time, he wasn't sure how long Fargo would be able to hold his spell. He considered throwing his last remaining knives, but decided he would be best served by conserving them, and he still had the spear that the gargoyle had left behind. He held it straight as he charged at the struggling beast, pinning it to the wall through it's ribs, although it still struggled. He stepped back, content that the wound would kill the starving beast, even faster if it pulled away from the spear. He didn't get much time to admire his work or evaluate the rest of the fight, though - the other lion had regained it's balance and pounced, pinning him face down against the muddy ground. He couldn't lift his body up, but he could feel the immense weight of the beast, as well as the sharp points where the claws sank through the armor.

He was certain that he couldn't do anything, and, without some aid from the others, he doubted his survival. He simply found himself lucky that he hadn't tried the mystery meat on a stick that seemed to be increasing their hunger.

[CATS]

"Don't worry, Dom! I'll save you!" Kyle shouted.

Kyle raised his spear and made a mighty charge across the battlefield; he nimbly dodged the falling bits of human flesh from the deceased gargoyles, fearlessly shoved bad guys out of the way, quickly slipped between Jeph and some random arena fighter as they dueled. Now he came thundering across the ground towards the foul beast which held his friend captive, his victory all but assured. The lion noticed him right as he passed Fargo, slipped on some mystery-meat-on-a-stick sauce, and fell face first. His spear flew out of his hands, then somehow vaulted off the ground and into the stands.

"Oh, crap!"

The lion leapt off of Dom, now turning its attention to the man who had mystery-meat-on-a-stick sauce all over him. Kyle threw up his hands, but it was no use; the lion savagely ripped them off, and the rest of Kyle's body followed suit in short order. In a grand total of about five seconds, he was gone, entirely gobbled up by the hungry lion.

[Purg]

The knives had left his side and embedded into the flank of the lion. He was now unarmed, but still the fight continued. Most of the human opponents had been dealt with, and the others were still standing - but the lion, though wounded, was still hungry, and still had some fight in him. It turned it's head, snarling at him as it charged, trying to maul him. He stepped back, the claws barely missing scoring a heavy hit on his chest, but the beast didn't stop there, pouncing again. Again? Suddenly he felt himself falling backwards, but realized quickly that there was no force against his chest - the lion wasn't the source of his fall, which became apparent as the predator leapt fully over him, almost as surprised as he was.

A long-handled axe had been caught in the mud, dropped by one of the felled combatants, and he had tripped over that. Instinctively, he had grabbed it and used the long shaft to stand faster. He was disoriented, but knew behind him was the lion, probably ready to strike once more already - so he turned quickly, swinging the axe parallel to the ground while pivoting in one spot. The reward of the attack was nigh-instantaneous - a startled growl, and a sharp crack, and the lion fell to the ground, no longer moving. The crowd roared in disappointment, having wanted to see the lion maul more vulnerable combatants. But with the human foes all either incapacitated or dead, and the two lions both bleeding and dying slowly, there were no more foes to fight. He let the axe drop to the ground, retrieving his knives from the lion's form. He wasn't going to bother looking for the third he had brought with him - it had been in the archer's arm, and, from what he had seen, the fool had been torn to literal pieces by the gargoyles before they, too, fell apart. Somehow, the combat in this ring struck him as a bigger tragedy than what had happened in Oakheim - less people had died, true, but there had been a cheering crowd for the entire thing, not screaming villagers or crying children.

Regardless, the fight was over - it was time to collect their winnings and get the hell out of this lawless arena.

[lunarAegis]

Jeph

After the dust had settled, the casualties were intense. Blood covered the ground, you could hardly walk two metres without tripping over someone's disembowelled corpse, and whoever wasn't dead looked just about as bad. And to top it all off, there was deafening cheering coming from the crowd. The piles of meat and contagion that surrounded the pool of dirt, blood, and corpses all screamed for more. Jeph looked at the bodies, and back to the crowd. He knew what must be done.

Jeph thrust his sword into the sky. The approval was deafening.

[mr_e_s]

Stark

Okay, best way to deal with lions... He was pretty sure he had a lecture on this before, back when Alabaste was a decent place. Back when the arena was for fair fights without this kind of bullshit. Damn armour guy, bringing them here, what was his name again? Kyle? Either way he was a douche and Stark hoped he died painfully.

Oh, look at that, he did.

"...Fuck!" Stark ran past Rutem and the big guy, still going at it in one of the most epic offscreen fights he'd ever not seen, and picked up a spear. He wasn't sure whose, it had a chunk of human on it, though. He figured it was more suited to lion fighting then a sword. Turned out the lion was distracted with Kyle's meaty goodness to notice the shaft heading for its throat. It wasn't a clean kill, not by any measure, the beast was still alive, just bleeding out and suffocating at the same time. It tried to charge at Stark, but the spear, lodged in it's neck, hit the ground and pressed itself further into the beast, causing death about halfway through the final run of what should never have been in an arena in the first place. Lions weren't like most of the beasts out there, they generally didn't kill people, unless they were disturbed. These ones had likely been starved for a week before being set loose. Artificial monsters...

The crowd's cheering had grown louder, Jeph seemed to be egging them on. Stark looked around, everyone was still alive on their side. Well, the peasants that were left to fight witht hem were all dead, and Kyle, but most of them were still alive, and that would be good enough for now. Stark pulled Dom aside. "Before we get ushered out of here, let's you and me see if these guys had anything worth pawning off, be a shame to leave it behind." Stark took a dejected look at Kyle's body. "Him too. Be discrete, I don't know how Jeph or Fargo would take it, but I'm pretty sure that knight guy wouldn't appreciate us looting the dead."