OOC: Tags
@Rhi-Rhi and
@Saber-Five
Skies were scorched with the bellowing cries of men, their faces slick with the sweat and dirt of work, and their voices laced in blood. What had begun as a peaceful rally in the castle square outside the front of the Grand Duke's palace, in a far away land... in the North... in Connlaoth, turned into something wicked. It was a poison he could only preach against. And though his eyes burned with the pain of those suffering in this war, he could not stop what it had evolved into. Not after the Grand Army stepped in, their guns spitting fire into the crowds of many.
'Men are Fools. And I am but one of them. Yet I can only continue on the path in which ignites me.'As the men screamed in agony, carrying on for an end, for peace, and for more blood....
He had to wonder...
'Oh, Angsar.... Forgive us all but we are men plagued with hatred so consuming its spread like a wildfire and plagued every inch of this blessed nation. And here we stand, to speak of peace, when all sides can do nothing but call out for war. I ask for you to forgive them, to help them see, that we are but men, not untamed beast. And that the illness of war be banished. For this to you, I fervently pray.'He witnessed the horror first hand as the cannons of the army boomed into the crowd in Reajh. Blood and arms splattered across the square, breaking up cobblestone and bones.
"What are you doing!?" the priest's eyes were wild. What was happening!? Why were the men attacking with war weapons when the people only protested with angered words, and a few- stones? "There are women! There are children!"
But the screams of soldiers and the cries of the fallen swallowed out the logic as the square was soon swollen in dust.
How many more canons would fire? How many more innocent would die? A bullet singed his shoulder, the closeness ringing in his ear as he let out a cry and gripped his shoulder as blood came warmly through his fingers. He nearly dropped the Book of the Word of Angsar from where he stood, bracing himself against his make shift pulpit. More canons were fired, and the ground shook, threatening to over turn him.
He couldn't believe this madness. He didn't want war. He wanted peace!
And despite the insanity that thundered around him, he got back up again onto his pulpit, words spitting from his mouth until he could no longer scream-
"WE ARE HERE FOR PEACE!" he bellowed. "WE DO NOT WANT THE BLOOD OF OUR MEN ANY LONGER! WE RALLY FOR PEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAACE! FOR PEACE IN THE NAME OF ANGSAR! IN THE NAME OF OUR PEOPLE! WE CALL OUT FOR NO MORE BLOOOOOOD!"
But perhaps it was all for nothing? Perhaps it was foolish to think that, even with a just avatar as Angsar, his own empire had been built on blood. War... it was a funny thing. A necessary evil, perhaps. But this evil... this war...
He lost sleep at night, tossng and turning over the very idea of it as his stomach burned him from the inside out. This was a war he knew even Angsar himself would condemn.
But he couldn't give up. He couldn't run away. And the sight of those who suffered carried him through the fray, that even long after the dust began to swell, his hoarse voice called out...
"Peace! We are here... here for PEACE!"
And it was the sound of boots crunching across the broken cobblestone that had him turned. And there he saw a group of soldiers look at him. They were angry, they were worn, and though they were armed with weapons, and he had nothing but 'Angsar's Bible' in his arm, he turned to them stlll, and used what voice he had left.
"It is never too late!" he croaked. "Peace must come to Connlaoth! Peace before the death of our brothers. Peace before the death of our sisters, our mothers and our wives. Our children! Peace before.." he went on shakily, weak. "Before we make our own nation fall! And Angsar's heaven turns to Hell."
And he wondered if the men had pitied him, staring at him as he was half draped over his pulpit, as they simply walked by. By then, the square had emptied...
and what was left in the dust were the simple soldiers to clean up the mess that a rally of peace had erupted.
But his story hardly ended here. In fact....
This was only the beginning. For though the day had come and gone and more riots begun to errupt soon after, he retired to his lakeside home near the Matron. And from his porch at night, he watched the moon waver against restless waters. Clouds were moving in, but they did not snuff out the stars, the stars in which he looked upon, to stars to which he prayed.
He had gone out to his porch, the soft chirp of crickets, though calming, only reminded him of the calm before a storm. And even through it, he heard the foot falls approach. But he did nothing. The candle along the railing had nearly gone out by now. But he didn't think it would matter to replace it. And when the foot falls stopped, he tensed, but did not turn around and kept his eyes upon the lake.
"Father Danning Gates?" came a gruff voice from the darkness.
For a quiet moment, the priest enjoyed the tranquility of the Matron lake, and how the stars danced across its surface. It was peaceful, but it was just a reflection. The real peace was in the stars above. And he had to wonder when that peace would come to earth. Or were all men doomed by the damnation of anger that tainted their blood?
"Yes? I am Father Gates." he replied. And those would be the last words he'd speak in a good long while.
----------
A lethargic, creaking moan lulled him awake, into a world where everything, even his vision, hurt. And when the same creak came again, he felt himself being rocked in a new direction. There was something cold, and what sounded like a metal rattle, though in the same breath, it also had a sweet chiming ring to it. But it was when something tickled his arm did he jerk around to see...
A rat! A rat on his arm! He let out a cry, and jerked even more, despite the protests of his body, and the apparent, heavy metal chains that bound him, upside down int he hall of the boat...
With a hundred other men and women bound like himself.
His eyes were wild, and he moved futilely against his chains, as he simply swung back and forth at his own avail- and at the mercy of the slow rocking of the ship. And though he spent countless days.. weeks in the hull....
The worst part of these days where to watch the sufferings of men.
He didn't know when the boat had stopped rocking, or when there was the call of birds at the bank their ship had now perched. But when light flooded down into the room, those weary men in chains who remained alive could only lift their heads blindly, as they were released from where they hung, and whipped to walk, even though most were too weak to even stand.
Outside the boat the sun burned hotter than he'd ever known, and the world glowed yellow, an ironic contrast to what he pictured might be hell. There were trees with throngs and strange birds with long legs, and as he stumbled across the gang plank onto land....
Despite the thick grasses...
There was sand. Sand all around.
I'm gonna stop this here or else this post will become a monster XD Feel free to set up your character scenarios as you see fit~ I'll eventually get Danning towards the Colosseum lol.
Meeta Nefertari had been training for this moment. As a half-breed slave she didn't have many options to improve her fortunes here in the sacred land of Essryn. Well thanks to the sponsorship of her master Qashmin and the training by provided by his bodyguards one path was opened, as a gladiator. She strove down the dark hall thinking about what it meant. Meeta had heard the stories from other slaves and even watched the fights in this arena as a spectator with her master.
It can be quite the bloody affair, she knew that but accepted its risks all the same. Was the long life of a glorified pet preferable to the certainty of suffering violence and maybe even her death in the colosseum? That is a question she needed to answer for herself. In her point of view there was no turning back, not now. She gripped her dual swords with both hands in nervous anticipation once she came in sight of the gate.
By Hakeshna I can heard them! Meeta thought when the shouts of the crowds uttered outside. Then after what felt like an eternity the massive door opened up, revealing a flash of light from the sun in front of her. Dazed only for a moment, Meeta Nefertari shielded her eyes with a raised arm and jogged toward to the center of the dust-filled arena. Once she did so and stopped Meeta looked around the stands covered with multiplies of people.
Several of them cheered aloud but not for her, just the for fact her presence signal bloodshed they craved was coming.
She felt like an insect in comparison to the sheer size of this place, but Meeta steady her nerves, remembered her training. Closing her eyes for a second the young raven haired girl took a deep breath then exhale. She felt slightly more confidant and turn her head to face the opposite gate, awaiting for her opponent whoever or whatever it be to come out.
Yasmin stood before the portcullis, scimitar in hand and katar sheathed at her hip, and drew a deep breath. She really didn't want to be here. The only benefit of being owned by Karime is that while he had her, she hadn't fought any matches--and she had been hoping beyond hope to finally leave that behind her. Already her fingers were marked up, and she couldn't stand the thought of adding another line to her tally, especially when she didn't have to.
But here she was, taking one for the team like the self-sacrificial bastard she was. Karime may be dead, but they needed to keep up the pretense that he wasn't, and so here she was, fighting in his name so peoples' eyes were on her--and not on the place where Karime should be, but wasn't.
She hoped for one of the assholes. She hoped her competition was someone that--sick as this sounded--she wouldn't hate killing. If it was one of the savages, one of the brutes that enjoyed the killing, she could justify it to herself when she spilled their guts into the sand.
The portcullis creaked, and light shone through as it began to lift. Yasmin took a deep breath, wiped her sweaty palms off onto her light tunic, which was long enough to reach the tops of her knees. She wore armor atop it--cingulum, manicae, and ocrea, with a small shield in the hand that didn't hold her scimitar. She wore no helmet, and no cuirass, for mobility and speed were her strength.
As soon as the portcullis opened enough, she pushed away her anxiety and adopted her usual, carefree persona, jogging out into the arena and saluting the crowd with her sword. She blew kisses, the best she could with both her hands occupied, and spun in a circle so she could get the full panorama of all those bloodthirsty faces, all the while beaming like she was excited to be here.
And then she turned, finally, and looked at her opponent for the first time.
Her face nearly fell before she caught herself.
This girl was new, and young. She hadn't seen her before.
Fuck.
But she kept the grin plastered to her face and gave her a mocking salute with her scimitar while she waited for the signal to begin. "Fresh meat, eh?" she asked, and wiggled her eyebrows.
[OOC: visuaplace gave me permission to go ahead and make another post.]
When the other fighter was revealed to be Yasmin, Meeta was both impressed and nervous. She knew about this gladiator and watch her fight a few times in this very arena. Yasmin was one of those fighters the crowds usually favored due to her cunning and showmanship. Her entrance fit perfectly with that description as Meeta watched the crowd buy into it. The younger woman felt pings of envy in reaction, she never received any high praise like that.
Where a part of her was wary to be facing a tough rival, another part was actually thrilled. If she could beat or even slay Yasmin glory awaited. It would be a grand step toward the eventual goal of achieving freedom. In comparison to Yasmin's attire and weapons, Meeta's was a bit different, it consisted of leather shoulder armor, knee caps, a loose and revealing tunic, matching shorts and a pair of brown sandals. As for her weapons they're were gladius, short swords meant for stabbing.
When Yasmin looked at her and made a comment about her being fresh meat, Meeta tried to maintain a calm expression and simply replied by getting into a fight stance. Her amber eyes stared back at Yasmin in an defiant matter, ready to begin once the signal is made.
The roar of the men were like animals hungry and ready for a hunt. And there were so many of them, ugly and unkind alike as Danning found himself stumbling as he made his way across a wooden stage, his thick, heavy chains dragging on the ground.
He had only been in this place for an hour, and already his body was feeling the affects of the sun through his ratting and rotting clothing, because that's all that was left of his priest robes, and any coloring they may have had had since faded and all of it appeared as one, mud colored rag.
He could feel the affects of atrophy from being hung upside down like a gutted pig for the month or so long boat ride with each strained step he took. But his eyes were wild, his body in survival mode, as the vision of the roaring crowd of slavers before him reminded him back to that day in Reajh.....
"TWO GOLD!" a boar faced man boomed.
"Three, and a 20 bit bag o' silver!" called another.
"Make it ten!" shouted a woman, who was at least twice the size and twice as mean looking as either men. Danning was having a hard time keeping up, and barely registering that this game of shouting was a means to getting the highest price for the best stock-
Which apparently is what he was proclaimed as by the boat's captain as one of the few slaves to be that made it through their journey at sea without looking completely sick and green.
But when the money was collected, a surprisingly 200 gold piece for him, he suddenly found smeone grabbing him by his hair and giving him a light shake.
"You were well worth the investment, gold hair. The Essyrni crow for such... exotic men."
Danning made a face, still uncertain what this meant before the man shoved him along.
"Come now, back tot he showers with you. Can't have you reeking of piss before your new master fetches ya."
OOC: Again going to end my post there and will continue next time I reply, but feel free to post whenever you'd like. I don't think we really need a posting order for this thread :)
"Oooh. Tough crowd," Yasmin said when her remark drew no response, and she let out a low whistle. "What a shame. Lighten up, will ya? This might be your final hour! Trust me, you don't wanna leave this earth scowling."
She slid into position, lifting both scimitar and shield and giving her sword a twirl, just to show off. One of the judges gave the signal, and Yasmin began to circle Meeta like a hungry predator, studying her. She usually didn't like to attack first; she much preferred to get a feel for her opponent's style and adjust accordingly.
And in this case, she wanted to see just how green this girl really was. Who knows? She could be a trained killer--and part of her hoped she was. After she and Agrian's defiance in the arena, she had even less of a heart for the bloodsport, especially against an innocent.
"Know how people always tease you that your face will get stuck if you make an ugly face? It's true! When people die, rigor sets in. Your face gets stuck like that! I've seen it a lot."
Meeta tighten her hold on the blades as Yasmin continue to taunt. Yasmin was living up to her alias as the lioness when circling the younger woman. The singal had already been given but Meeta stood her ground watching her opponent closely, waiting for an opening. Yet the other fighter's words were getting under her skin, threatening to ruin Meeta's focus. Just as the scowl grew tighter until she thought,
Letting her get to me isn't going to help. Fine, if the lioness wants to play, let's do it.
With that in mind the twenty year old girl finally loosen her frown into a playful smile and adding a mock bow to the effect commented.
"I'll keep that in mind in the future, thanks darling. But be sure to follow your own advice now when I cut your head off!"
Suddenly Meeta dash forward straight for Yasmin. Then when close enough she twist around into a spinning attack with both swords. Meeta slash them into the direction for the left side of Yasmin's head and shoulders.
Sigh. The girl was vicious and obviously well trained, but even the best formal training had a tendency to fall apart in the arena, where the fighters didn't follow the same rules. Often the newbies tried to show off, going for flashiness over skill, aiming for predictable target areas, and Yasmin telegraphed Meeta's moves mere moments before she made them.
She dropped down low, ducking beneath Meeta's whirling blades, and thrust her shield out hard at her legs, aiming to knock her down with sheer blunt force.
"That's why I smile so much!" she laughed. "I've already had the practice, green leaf!"
If he felt like a dog before, he felt much worse now. His clothing had been torn off and he was thrown among a crowd of other people, in such a variety of types he wasn't sure he even could guess their ethnicities, but when the cold water began to fall down over their heads from a series of bucket showers, he yelped at the cold, and soon was found himself being prodded down with a long poll with a soapy brush on the end.
The only relief was that he felt clean, but all the good it did to him once he was put back into his old attire and dawned a thick metal collar and two matching coughs paired on his wrists. And when asked to march, he didn't understand the native tongue,- but he'd learn it soon enough when the mighty crack of a whip bit at the skin of his back.
And the unfortunates continued when the priest found himself before a man as vile and vulgar as the puss toothed breath he spoke with. Though he spoke common to them, it was garbled and obviously not his native tongue, and when he took stock of Danning, he used the grip of his whip to press up Danning's chin as he began to inspect him.
"You're awful pretty and unscarred, golden hair," he went on, continuing to look the man open, while Danning was yet again, stripped of his clothing. But upon seeing the new whip mark on his back, he only grinned.
"Ah... so it is so. Your skin is as virgin to the whip as I'm sure the rest of you. Good."
And the dark look in his eyes made Danning's stomach drop.
Meeta swore like a sailor when her foe's shield based into her legs, causing instant and intense pain as she fell backwards to ground, right on her butt. The crowd at the stands roared with laughter, greatly amused at what just happen as a look of utter disbelief plastered on her face. That and Yasmin's latest insult stung worse than the injury she just recieved. Sure Meeta didn't expect this contest to be easy but she never consider it would begin in such an humiliating matter. She got control of herself and rolled away and got up twirling her blades while the agony in her legs continued.
Can't let one mistake control me, this fight is not over. She reminded herself.
Then Meeta Nefertari charge again, this time no whirling stunt and made sure to keep an eye out for another shield bash to the legs. Once within reached she unleashed a furry of thrust attacks with the swords toward the chest and neck area.
The Colosseum was alive! Cheers from the crowd could be heard from the street, and even rumbling the ground as the fight began to get good. Danning, along with a few other new purchases, were walking in a line with a small caravan, following after their master and being escorted by two large men with stiff grips on their spears and bulging muscles that made one think twice before even wanting to approach, let alone look at either the wrong way. But though they had one direction in mind, their new lord stopped his caravan and gave a cock of his head.
A smile grew across his lips as he snapped his fingers.
"Before we take these green slaves home, let's stop at the Colosseum. It seems there's a fight going on that's not one that should be missed."
The girl took a hard fall, and if Yasmin wanted to end the match--and her life--right then, she could have. Instead, she took a step back to give her space to get back to her feet, glancing up around her at the roaring crowd and lifting her arms in a dramatic shrug and cocking her head like, "What the shit?"
The girl was back on her feet, though, and this time Yasmin met her head on. She swung her scimitar up to parry and thrust out her shield to block, encouraging those high strikes aiming at her chest and neck--so she could suddenly do a vicious, forward kick at the woman's chest, the flat of her foot aiming for her stomach to drive her back hard--and drive the wind from her lungs.
Suddenly Meeta felt the wind get knocked out of her as Yasmin's kick stuck true. Meeta moaned in pain as she dropped her weapons and feel to her knees right in front of the other gladiator's feet holding her stomach. For a moment Meeta struggle to breath as she looked down to the sand, briefly drowning out the crowd's jeering at her. In their point of view, this newblood had become noting more than amusement considering how Yasmin kept humiliating her and they let it be known loudly.
The slave's frustration and despair mounted. It's quite clear she being outclassed by Yasmin and was being played with, otherwise she would already be dead by now. What could she do against someone like the lioness? The very thought drove her mad, until Meeta realized how close she was to the other fighter. Thinking that, she turned her body backward as if to crawl away in panic when she swiftly used her feet to sweep Yasmin's legs.
The act would cause Yasmin to fall backward, stunning the everyone in the crowd. Standing up now and quickly grabbing her blades Meeta pointed them downward, aiming for her opponent's stomach.
Jostled along at the behest of his new master, Danning found himself in an overwhelming world to the senses. Not only was this place immense, but the roars of men were deafening, and sent his ears ringing. And there were so many people, all shouting, all thrusting fists and cries in one direction, that as Danning followed their gazes, he tripped over his own two feet at the sight of two women fighting in a large, dirt arena.
A heavy boot to his side had Danning coughing, and the man wheezed and curled in to where he had been harmed. And if he thought the putrid smell of humans was bad while they walked through the crowd, it had nothing to the pungent odors trapped at their feet. He could have gagged, and was actually thankful when one of the buff men yanked him to his feet. And soon he was pushed forward and commanded, "Walk, slave!"
"Seriously?" The girl fell, and once again Yasmin looked about the crowd in exasperation. She jabbed her scimitar in the girl's direction, a frustrated gesture. "This is what you send me? Really? A pup fresh from the block? You may as well have sent me a child! Where's the challenge here--oof!"
...Maybe she should have kept an eye on the girl.
With a grunt, she fell and landed hard on her ass, and it was only a quick thrust with her shield that saved her. She heard the swords thunk against her shield and she rolled away, hopped to her feet, and lashed out with her scimitar in a sweeping blow for her thigh.
Meeta swore once again when her opponent blocked her attack with the shield then rolled away. Still Meeta took silent pride in that she knocked the veteran down even though it was for a split second. The fact it happen wasn't lost on the crowd either, and were even more crazed with excitement that this fight was continuing. It was a only temporary success however as a moment later Yasmin counter-attack with her blade, aiming for the thigh.
The younger fighter jump back before she could be cut down. Meeta brought her blades at chest length as she began to circle around Yasmin, staying on the defensive.
"Does your butt hurt kitty?" Meeta asked jokily, parodying Yasmin's other name the lioness in the process.
So walk he did, but he couldn't keep his eyes from the arena. And to hear the thunderous roar of the crowd was simply savage! And though he did not know the common tongue of Essyrn, those who were shouting excitedly in common, were shouting and crying for blood.
Danning felt the blood freeze in his veins as he stood, stalk still at the very realization...
"Those women... they're battling to the death-"
And the second Danning stopped moving, one of the guards clobbered him over the shoulder- hard. And Danning fell to one knee.
"Keep moving slave, or we'll throw you in there out of insolence!"
"Nawww, but it is a little dusty now, mouse!" Yasmin answered with a sweet smile--right before she threw her shield at the woman's head (it was just weighing her down, anyway, and she was far more agile without it) and ducked down low for a quick swipe with her blade, aiming for the woman's belly.
It wasn't intended to be a deep cut; Yasmin was going for minor wounds here. She didn't want to kill this girl if she could help it, but she did want to stop her.
Meeta ducked from the shield toss at her but only to be faced with Yasmin's thrust for the stomach. The younger girl twisted her body away from the attack avoiding a fatal wound. Nonetheless the blade still met flesh, cutting into to the left edges. Once more the crowd roared, blood had been at last spilled. Grunting out in pain, Meeta slammed a hard right hook into her enemy's face in reaction. As Yasmin would staggered back Meeta wounded yet enraged threw her swords down then tackled the other woman to the ground.
They proceed to roll all over the dirt, with Meeta throwing punches to wherever spot she can hit Yasmin. Meeta just to wanted get even with the lioness beat her to a pulp, thinking of noting else. Thus she was ignoring the fact that the adrenaline rush she was feeling would soon fade away giving into the full agony of the sword wound. Also Yasmin more experienced and cunning than her would most surely be able to seize on this mistake.
The cry for more blood from the roaring crowd was too much to bear. He thought he was going to be sick, and as his heart pounded away mercilessly beneath his chest, he ignored the snarled warnings of his captors and took a step forward, and found himself shouting, "STOP! STOP CHEERING! DO YOU NOT SEE HOW YOU ALL CRY FOR MADNESS!?"
But it seemed like no one could hear him, and those that did, gave him only a single look before continuing on with their shouts.
One of the guards gave a tug to Danning's chain.
"Hey now, keep your tongue still, slave, or we'll use these chains to silence you!"
Ouch!
...She did pack one mean punch, this girl.
Yasmin staggered, briefly surprised as blood spilled from her nose, and she was just beginning to recover when--
The girl did the crazy thing.
The girl actually tackled her. She dropped her swords and tackled her.
Guess she'd struck a nerve!
Rather than fight the tackle, Yasmin rolled with it--quite literally--and let it happen. She landed on her back and used the momentum to roll, flipping them both head over heels until she landed atop the girl. Immediately she pinned her, straddling her waist and grabbing her arms, forcing them down before planting her knees atop them. Then she grabbed her about the throat--
But she didn't squeeze.
Instead she leaned down, close to her ear, and hissed to her, "Stop fighting and give up. I'm trying to save you."
Pinned to ground and utterly frustrated Meeta struggled to break free until Yasmin grabbed her throat. Yet the fighter on top didn't squeeze and even bend down to her ear. For a second Meeta expected another taunt but instead the dark skinned woman whispered for Meeta to stop and yield because she want to save her life. Meeta's eyes went wide in great shock, this was the last thing she expected to receive from the legendary lioness. Questions flooded her mind was this a trick, a final insult before finishing her off?
No it can't be, she could've slew me few times earlier without bothering with a lie. But her words still don't make any sense.
Meeta wondered silently. Staying motionless Meeta didn't know what to do until she finally whispered back in an cautious yet puzzled tone.
"Why would you want to do that?"
"Because I'm not a murderer," Yasmin growled back, though the black lines on her fingers told a different story. "And you don't want to be one. Yield!"
Murderer? This gladiator didn't want to kill her simply out of that notion? It is so strange that a champion like Yasmin would think in such matter. Meeta never thought gladiatorial combat as murder then again she never fought in one until now. This whole event so far been brutal for her, revealing how the struggle of life and death here was not to be taken lightly.
Yet she crave fighting and she wanted to earn a way out of slavery. If she yielded now it would bring great disgrace upon herself and her master and may even ruin her chances to securing her future. Yet dying here and now would serve no purpose either. Maybe she could salavge,her honor later if she lived to fight another day. Still the feeling of surrendering still felt most shameful and it took a another moment of internal struggle before she finally decided her fate.
With bitter tears of humiliation running down her cheeks, she resignedly said.
"Fine...you win, I yield."
Despite the men trying to calm Danning's tongue, the man was as stubborn as ever and chains would not get in the way of his heart, of his faith. And when the fighting stopped suddenly, the crowd grew silent.
And at that moment, Danning was anything but, as he shouted, "DO YOU NOT SEE THE WRONGNESS OF THIS FIGHT!? TO PIT A MAN OR WOMAN AGAINST ANOTHER MAN FOR SPORT, FOR BLOOD IS SIN! SIN AGAINST OUR OWN! SIN AGAINST OUR GOD AND THE PATH OF THE GOOD! DO NOT LET YOURSELF BE SWAYED AND TEMPTED BY GREED AND LUST, FOR THOSE WILL CONDEMN YOU NOT ONLY IN THIS LIFE, BUT THE NEXT!"
By this time, the crowd was growing irate, beginning to shout and boo- and throwing rotten fruit at the preaching preacher, and at the women who simply stopped their fight. And the entire place was beginning to chant, calling for blood.
Danning felt overwhelmed, as if he were drowning in a sea of fools. Did they not see what they were doing? Did they not fear the consequences? And when the men tried to detain him, Danning fought back, struggling against the chains when one of the men lost his footing in the struggle, and fell down the steep steps of the arena, where he tumbled and his body cracked off the hard stone steps until he fell to a rest at the feet of those sitting on the last of the risers...
Where he was now bleeding..
And dead.
Things went quiet again,a nd soon all heads were turning towards the 'slave'- and before Danning knew it, someone yanked his chain and shoved him forward.
"Move along slave. For your transgressions, you will die in the arena you so much loath."
"Good," Yasmin said, and she lifted Meeta up a bit just so she could slam her back down against the earth, leaning forward over the girl to try to give the impression that she was putting more weight into her "strangling". "But you can't just give up. You're gonna fight me, and I'm gonna knock you out. I'll make a show of sparing you for the audience's benefit, because the fight was so boring and you need time to...marinate as a fighter. And you're gonna live another day. But these fools want blood, so we're gonna give them a little before--"
A rotten pomegranate hit her shoulder and exploded in a mess of red, streaking her skin in a manner akin to blood, and Yasmin smacked Meeta across the face before rising to her feet, delivering a quick kick to her side. She glanced up at the crowd and picked up her scimitar, spreading her arms wide in an exasperated shrug.
"I wanted a lion, and I was given a cub!" she shouted. "The little whelp isn't even worth killing! I want a challenge! An opponent worthy of spilling my blood! Is this--" She pointed at the girl with her sword. "--The best you've got to offer?!"
And no sooner had she said that when, suddenly, a man was shoved through the opposite portcullis.
A pig-skinned foreigner, of all people.
Yasmin stared at him in exasperation. "REALLY?"
And he had to be literally shoved through, as he was fighting and refusing the entire way. And the second he was through the massive doors and in the arena, he stumbled over his feet and legs still bound in linked chains and down into the sands he went, face first.
And the tall guard who had hauled him in kept his head up high and declared- "None of you leave until there is death!"
And that was enough of an awakening for Danning to pick his head up, gasping as he noted the heavy portcullis beginning to close.
"N-no! Wait!" he tried to protest, but by the time he got to his feet and tried to run out of it, the door closed and once again, the foreigner tripped over his own two feet to land back in the sands.
Bruised and bleeding, Meeta laid where she was on the sand groaning in pain. Her pride was crushed and her wound untended, despite what Yasmin said, she felt no sense of relief from any of it. Meeta felt mixture of graditude and resentment toward Yasmin while gritting her teeth. The lioness can just use her reputation to appease the crowd after disappointing them and they will forgive her, Meeta herself could not. She began to doubt they will let her live after such a defeat even if Yasmin would not kill her someone or something will after this.
Suddenly Meeta heard the opposite gates opened and she looked into its direction. To her surprise a pig-skin man was shoved out into the arena. Struggling to her feet Meeta willed herself up and listen to a guard's declaration for death to occur or no one will leave. Looking to the forigner Meeta realize what that statement meant, either she or Yasmin kill one another or this man or their fates are sealed. The contender tried to escape but only to fall down to his face.
She cringed in reaction, this newcomer definably had no business being here.
No bloody way.
This right here? This was a nightmare, as Yasmin found herself stuck with a cowardly foreigner that had no business being here, and a girl she'd brought to tears. Yasmin stared at the man, then at the girl, and realized with building horror that she'd have to kill one of them if she wanted to live another day.
And Hakeshna help her, she did. She was not that selfless a person. She hadn't fought and struggled and survived this long just to lay her life down so that another could live. It was a shitty, fucked up situation. That was all there was to it. And, with a sinking sensation, she realized...maybe this was a punishment. A punishment for her rebellion with Agrian. Maybe she was being sent these people on purpose.
Yasmin closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and let it out slowly. Well. She had already promised the girl that she'd spare her. That meant the man must be the sacrificial lamb.
"Really?" she shouted to the stands as she pointed at the foreigner. "I ask for a challenger and I get cattle? Very well, then. A slaughter, it is."
Twirling her scimitar, Yasmin squared her shoulders and strode toward the man, lips set in a hard, thin line.
The olive skinned girl watched her oppenent/savior move toward the newcomer after having stated her intend to killing him. For a moment Meeta was tempted to stay down and let Yasmin do the deed and save them both. Yet a part of her soul that was a fighter cried out against the notion. Yes she had no chance against Yasmin but she needed to prove to herself that she can fight on just a bit longer against the champion to regain some shred of her honor. It likely that Yasmin will kill her for the course of action she was about to take but Meeta made up her mind, she was going to do it.
Hakeshna guide me.
Struggling to her feet, Meeta gather enough strength to charge toward Yasmin. The crowd having been mostly occupied, watching their favorite gladiator go in for the kill when they spotted Meeta's attack and exclaimed loudly. It alerted Yasmin who quickly turned around when the younger woman swung another fist this time into the left side of her face. Meeta followed it up with a hard slap to the opposite side as payback to the slap Yasmin done to her earlier. Then finally she drove a knee strike into Yasmin's gut.
With the rival dazed by the assault Meeta the grabbed ahold of her neck into a headlock squeezing tightly. Then she whispered to Yasmin.
"Like you said we gotta make a show of this."
Meeta said this to remind the lioness to knock her out as part of the plan. Whether that option still stands will be determined in the next few seconds by Yasmin's next action.
The roar of the crowd howling for blood made his stomach drop and curdle. As he turned around, and the gaze of the fierce warrioress was focused upon him with a deathly glint, he froze up and could have pissed himself. But thank Ansgar... he was saved when the other woman jumped into the fight, and for the moment, he was left, stunned.
"Gah!" Those quick punches saved the man's life as Yasmin was left wheezing just long enough to get her pulled into a headlock. For one panicked second she thought, shit, maybe she'd been naive to think the girl would follow her crazy advice and how shitty would it be to get felled by a green leaf, but then the girl whispered in her ear and...thank Hakeshna, she was still in this.
Acting fast, Yasmin bent forward and slammed her fist into the girl's crotch, over and over, and silently apologized. So many women missed that opportunity, but Yasmin could attest it hurt just as much as it hurt a man! She yanked free as soon as she felt the slightest bit of slack and rounded on the woman with her scimitar held defensively, panting a little and sore as fuck.
"Fine, you first, then!" she said, and looked back at man, "You'll get your turn."
Hopefully the girl knew she was still in on the plan, too!
But making a show of it wouldn't do anything at this point. It didn't solve the issue! The terms had been clear--no one got out of here until someone died, and Yasmin simply couldn't afford another mark on her record. Her first little defiance had nearly resulted in her execution; another blatant one would spell her end. The girl could fight her and make a show of it, and she'd spare her as she'd promised, but the man still had to die.
That was all there was to it.
But at the very least, they could squabble enough amongst themselves that, maybe, the foreigner would stop looking ready to cry and actually do something! Yasmin wasn't going to kill a whimpering coward. Goddess! Why did they have to keep throwing kinks in her plans!
Seeing how vicious the women scuffled made his heart sink. He could almost feel their frustration as they continued to harm one another, seeming fully intending on making the crowd pleased. It made him sick, and his heart went out to these poor women until he couldn't stand it.
Fear of his own death aside, he was not about to take this sitting down and in a flash, he tore across the sands over towards where the women were fighting and suddenly shoved the pair away from one another and stood there, breathing heavily, looking haggard, as his blue eyes shined.
"DO NOT LISTEN TO THE VENOM OF THE CROWD!" he preached, voice booming as he looked from one woman to the next. "DO NOT ALLOW ANGER AND BLOOD LUST TO CLOUD YOUR JUDGEMENT, TO MAKE YOU KILL! TO MAKE YOU SIN!"
The crowd began to quiet, curious as to what the foreigner was going on about- but only those who spoke common could even figure out what he was spewing, and soon the crowd was roaring and prompting more fighting, more blood.
"YOUR LIFE IS TOO PRECIOUS TO GIVE AWAY!" Danning went on, sweat making his long hair stick against his shoulders and forehead, as well as the meager clothing he wore. And though he had lost weight on his travel, he still held some strength in the way he stood, passion for peace, for the savior of one's soul, was more than enough to grant him the power to stand there between those two women as his blue eyes pleaded.
"YOU ARE NOT SLAVES!" he urged. "YOU ARE WOMEN IN YOUR OWN RIGHT AND THEY-" He turned on his heel and pointed an accusing finger at the crowd. "THEY ARE BUT BEASTS WHO ARE BLINDED BY LUST, GREEN AND BLOOD! THEY ARE NOT OUR MASTERS! BUT WE ARE MASTERS OF OURSELVES!"
Sore from Yasmin's punches out of her chokehold, Meeta could barely keep herself standing as the blood loss from the eariler sword continue to get worse. She was about to make another move when the foreigner came between her and Yasmin, shoving them away from one another. Then he proceeded to passionately rant for them to stop fighting and accuse the crowd of being savaged. The shock of his act quickly wear off when people in the stands eurped in angry curses and threw vegetables of fruits down in the direction of the three contenders, especially at the foreigner.
Meeta realized if something wasn't done, they were all going to suffer for this man's idiocy. Knowing this, the younger gladiator rushed him and then grabbed ahold of his shoulder then viciously knee him in the crotch. Then Meeta head-butted him and shoved him out of the way. Upon seeing this, many in the crowd loudly cheered her for the first time. With the strange man out of the way, Meeta pull a long knife from a sheath on her rear and charge at Yasmin.
Meeta knew this was likely her last move in the fight and so needed to show off to make it good despite her exhaustion and wounds. She suddenly stopped and kicked up the dust in front of Yasmin to create a distraction. A moment later Meeta rolled to the direction of Yasmin's right flank and made a slash attack, aiming for the neck.
Surprise and fear filled his eyes when Meeta approached. He hadn't even a time to properly respond as he took a single step back, but when she attacked, he was winded, and the pain- more than he could bare as he dropped to his knees and wheezed, his eyes prickling with tears as he grit his teeth and viewed the back side of Meeta against the horizon of sand he had dropped onto, and watched how the blood lust continued to win over.
The flash of her blade made him wince even more, and though in pain, he tried to push himself up off those sands. He would not fall so easily, and when Meeta struck out at Yasmin, it was then he grabbed onto her ankle and begged,
"PLease... Please stop! There is no need for blood!"