Leader smiled, and shook her head. "Thanks, Mathias," she said. Her voice came from a face that was obscured by shadows, although her cheshire grin was plainly apparent, with sharp, white teeth glinting in the soft candelight that swelled up from a single point on her desk. She sat, drawn into a lounging position with her hooded head resting on her up-drawn palm. The tone of her voice was sly and calculating - smooth, like it was trying to convince Mathias of something other than her intent. But, the vandal knew that it was merely the default of her existence to be that way. She was, in truth, caring and compassionate, hidden underneath the very secretive and well-guarded exterior. That was what she had to be - cold and calculating. How else could anyone be the Leader of the Scara Scourge?
However, his knowledge of her good intentions did nothing to sooth his anger. "Now, let me tell you a gods damned something," Mathias shouted in protest. "I didn't sign up for this shit! Once my debts are paid - I'm done, do you got that? Done! Once Cruz is dead... once we've found him and once I've killed him... I am done with this."
His deep blue eyes were ablaze with a ferocity unprecedented in him. But, it couldn't be helped, Leader assured herself. He was under a lot of pressure, and the situation wasn't helping things. Mathias had become a Chapter - a lieutenant in the Scara Scourge, and he'd only taken up the mantle due to the circumstances. The former Chapter, Cruz, had betrayed the entire Scara Scourge, as well as the alliance they'd formed with several other crime organizations in the city. They had gathered in an effort to deal a crippling blow to the Blackhood Syndicate - newly arrived foreigner upstarts who indulged in things so horrifically unethical that even the elder and wizened criminal groups of Scara Brae would never think of having a hand in. But that was what had made them so dangerous, and so powerful. They gained a great deal of influence much faster than any group like them before - and they were much more methodical.
But Cruz, whom Mathias had looked up to like an older brother and a hero, had led them all into a trap. He had switched to what he perceived as the winning side, and he left his former comrades to die. The planeswalker had been kidnapped and forced into the slavery of a rather twisted and sadistic wizard, known as Morian. A lich, as a matter of fact, hailing from the lost continent of Antioch. And the youth had been used as gladiator and assassin, until he was rescued by his comrades in the Scourge.
And yet, even before that, Mathias had known a life as a fighter for hire and as a mere source of violent entertainment. In fact, that was how he had come into contact with the Scourge, having been a cage fighter in the Zirnden, earning money to eat and sleep and pay off his medical bills at the hospital, where he'd shown up, almost crippled and amnesic.
But now, this was where he came into use for the Scourge. He wasn't so much a source of fear in the Dajas Pagoda, as he was a source of outrage. He had been placed there as a hierarch, without any prior fighting experience there. Solely on the influence of Leader was he allowed to enter and do battle - but infamy was what they were hoping for. If Mathias could garner enough attention... then it was quite possible that his movements would start being noticed by the Blackhood Syndicate, and they would attack him. And that would draw out Cruz, and that would allow for the thing that the planeswalker desired most: vengeance.
~
Mathias opened the sliding door, a very thick white reed paper framed by mahogany wood that had been specially imported from Akashima, and stepped into his room, his feet finding comfort on the bamboo matting after he kicked off his boots and moved them to the side. He took in a deep breath - the smell of sweat and blood had soaked into it long before he'd ever gotten the chance to use it. However, arenas were able to be molded to the specific desire of its occupant, and Mathias had yet to reveal the true nature of his battlefield. It was an extension of his own abilities, with the whole place able to transcend the Firmament and become a part of another plane altogether. But that was, in and of itself, a situation that would only be activated by the desperation brought by combat. The other hierarchs, from what he had surmised, had much more practical arenas that had much more obvious applications. But, even then, he'd barely stopped to study any of them.
As a matter of fact, he'd yet to grow accustomed to the nature of the building and the people within it. He'd only spoken to a few of the monks, and he couldn't recall a single encounter with any of the other hierarchs. Despite the ranking and the rigidity of the Pagoda, he felt there wasn't much cohesion, or any sense of relation between anybody. It was more like a place of combative business than the Zirnden or the Citadel - much more formal, stuffed, and senseless. He felt no glory in his position as a Warrior - especially since it had been handed to him by the Scourge's influence. He wasn't here on his own particular will, or because of any real desire to fight. But it was his duty - and he knew he needed the training and the experience if he was going to fight Cruz... his vengeance was truly the sole driving goal of his existence. He felt it was his obligation as Chapter to vindicate his friends... the members of his cell in the Scara Scourge... especially Cleric. Her elder sister had trusted Cruz... had even loved him. And that had gotten her killed only months ago.
He took off his jacket and threw it towards a corner, and began stretching himself. He hoped that it would ease his tension and give him something else to think about, other than the millions of thoughts of revenge rushing through his head. It would be wise, he told himself, to think of the challenge you have today... rather than the challenge with Cruz... that hasn't been made yet.
With that on his mind, he silently resolved himself to maintaining his position as a Warrior in the Pagoda. To that end, he started thinking about what opponent he would have today, and what they would be like. Honestly, he'd been surprised by the variety and scope that those who would seek glory encompassed. It was highly unfathomable to even place some of the people he'd met into the title of "gladiator," and yet... there were those who were the most unlikely to fit that description that happened to fit it the best. He probably was one of them, as loathe as he was to admit it.