Looking For Quality Meat (Open)

[Sceawar]

Sceawar Nalbandian sat on the far edge of The Citadel’s front steps for as long as he could bear, watching as all kinds of people entered and left the ancient building.

Two weeks ago he had been sent to Radasanthia by his father-in-law, the wealthy Medas Terberon, owner of the famous Dancing Dice casino in Estl, to scout prospective talent for one of the older dwarf’s new entertainment ventures. Medas, a man who loved profit above all other things, and who made the pursuit thereof his only religion, desired a Citadel-like environment to call his own, a show where patrons of the casino could spend their money and watch human beings fight to the "death."

“Those idiot monks,” Medas had told his son-in-law, “Have no damn idea what kind of money they’re giving up. They’d be the wealthiest men on the planet if they knew what they were doing! Why can’t others watch – who gets hurt if the fighting isn’t even real? Since no one dies people will love it!” Any psychological effect of such a spectacle on its audience did not concern Medas when his son-in-law had brought it up, and any moral objections the young dwarf could voice were briskly swatted aside as well. Less then an hour after their meeting one of the Terberons’ private vessels was equipped to sail, and Sceawar was on a journey to Corone in search of talented people, or at least those willing to surrender their freedom in return for fame and fortune.

He did not think he would have to look very hard.

But having not yet seen any man, woman, or child enter The Citadel that piqued his curiousity, Sceawar decided that he would go inside, get a room, and wait for an opponent to come to him. While doing so would make it less likely that he would find someone of interest, he hated inactivity more then inefficiency. So when a monk asked the dwarf what kind of setting he would prefer for the battle, Sceawar repeated, verbatim, the specifications of the arena that Medas was having built.

“A grassy circle, sixty feet wide at its largest point,” he said. “Surrounded by a thick glass wall standing 20 feet high, above which are seated thousands upon thousands of drunken spectators, each shouting their own unique curses at the combatants. Behind the glass, on the ground level, separate from the lesser folk above, the combatants can see private boxes where noblemen sit, feasting as they watch the blood sport.”

[Patois]

Angio grimaced and threw his head back, dropping a small glassful of some murky liquor down his throat. It slowly burned on the way down as if he had swallowed the smoldering wick of a freshly extinguished candle. Pursing his lips, he made a sour face as a hand clapped on his shoulder, a hearty laugh bellowing out from beside him.

"There ya go, Angio, m'boy! See? I told ya that a Chimera's Breath was a real man's drink!" said the gap-toothed sailor on his left. The gangly shipman ushered his arms out widely, pivoting on the stool he was on, gesturing out around the room of the bar that they sat in. "May as well live it up while we're here in Corone. Th' cap'n is gonna set off from here tomorrow morn; should go ahead and paint this town red while we got the chance."

Angio held a single finger up to tell his companion to wait, stifling a few small coughs. The burn had hit the bottom of his esophagus, and sent a tickle running up the length of his throat. The bartender looked up from the other side, eyeballing the coughing fit in contemplation of if it was time to cut off the two men. Angio tried to squeeze his words out between the tickling coughs.

"Tha*hack* why I *cough*nt to be *hurk* in the cit*ackaaa*"

His crewmate squinted at him and chuckled. "Sorry, come again? It seems you were chokin' on the malarky in there..."

Angio finished coughing with a hard gulp, narrowing his eyes angrily but his lips curling up in a grin.

"Oh, very funny, ya bastich. No, I say that this is why I want to be goin' to fight in the citadel here."

His fellow sailor sat for a moment, his face dropping seriously. Angio started reaching forward for another drink on the bar in front of them, but his crewmate's hand clasped on his forearm.

"Have ye lost your mind, Ang? We already had to pull your hind-end from the fire once since bein' in town..." the sailor paused, jabbing a finger against the front of Angio's shoulder. The fingertip prodded a long gray scab resting under his shirt, grinding the herbal powder being used to help heal it against the wound painfully. "...and now you want to go back int' a fight?"

Angio jerked his shoulder away from the accusing point of his companion, scowling. "Aye... This is different. It's the Citadel. I mean, what's the worst that could happen?"

The sailor beside him opened one eye widely, squinting the other tight as eh gawked at Angio like he was crazy. "Oh, you mean, besides dyin'?"

"They can ressurect you, y'know."

"Yeah, but ressurection ain't exactly a pleasant feelin' thing."

Angio frowned, reaching again for a drink. This time he was successful.

"Look, how many times do I get to do this? We don't come through Radasanth often, especially now with the troubles of the Empire. Come on, you said it yourself, we need to live a little."

He threw back the drink, gulping it like a shark snapping a fish out of the water. The sailor beside him shook his head.

"But you wouldn't stand a chance."

Angio swallowed hard, the sour face immediately giving way to one of irritation.

"Come again?"

"Well, I mean... you don't have any armor. You've got a shoddy sword, an' you're not very good with it. Almost anyone you'd go up against is going to outmatch ye' in equipment and in skill."

Angio frowned deeply, hopping off his barstool and marching towards the door.

"We'll see about that..."

His crewman hurredly dug a few coins from his pocket, tossing them onto the bar to pay before chasing Angio out.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Equal in skill, my ass." Angio said, shaking his head as he signed the ledger at the Citadel. He had stayed mute with irritation and determination the entire walk over the the famed arena, his friend protesting the entire way. "You have to remember, Jean: in a fight, the skill with wielding a weapon is only one aspect."

The monks looked on at the arguement quietly as the large man scribbled with the pen. He turned the ledger around when he was finished, and one of the monks looked it over, nodding that it was acceptable. Another one stood next to the large front desk, and motioned for Angio to follow. Almost defiantly, the moor marched in the direction, Jean following him with a look of protest.

"What's the pirate code? Deception. Fear. If you can't have the advantage, make them think you have the advantage. And in turn, you will have the advantage. You get in someone's head, it's just as powerful as stabbing a blade into them..." Angio continued, marching down the hall.

Stopping in front of a pair of double doors, he turned to his companion, reaching up and clapping his hands on the sides of each of Jean's arms. "So don't worry, and just wish me luck."

Rolling his eyes, Jean reached up, brotherly gripping the arms of the dark sailor. "Yeah, you'll need it, ya' pig-headed mare's ass."

Each grinned before Angio turned, stepping through the double doors and into the luminescent portal in front of him. Blinking for a moment, he had to let his vision correct momentarily from the magical transport into the arena. As he looked around, he saw a teeming crowd surrounding him in all directions, teeth gnashing and crying out for a bloody fight.

Oh, my... and I get a crowd, too. Lucky me.

His hand fell to the scabbard at his side as he turned, looking for his opponent...

[Sceawar]

Sceawar almost laughed out loud as he watched the other combatant materialize before him, the smoky image waving to-and-fro for three or four seconds before it settled into place. The entrance was certainly impressive, be thought, but not everyone could enter that way at The Citadel of Estl. Better that a single fighter have such an introduction, one that made him, her, or “it” stand out amongst the other regulars.

The one had potential – Sceawar had beaten the odds as best he knew them. His opponent’s appearance would do well at Estl, as the man’s long arms and legs gave him an exotic, almost insectesoid look, a body most like a praying mantis. The man’s hair, a ponytail of dreadlocks down almost to his waist, was not very practical for battle but most appropriate for spectacle. Give this man a garish hat and a crimson cape and he’d be a keeper.

But now came the need to test this man’s martial prowess, a necessity much less entertaining to the Dreccar then his imagined makeover of his opponent. With a long sigh, all for effect, Sceawar pulled out his falchion and dagger and took a step forward.

[Patois]

Angio surveyed the surroundings again, his gaze tracing along the transparent ring encircling the arena. It segregated him from the mass of humanity clamoring for blood. Him... and one other. He looked over the stout dwarf in front of him, his nostrils flaring slightly with contempt.

I'm no rich man by any means... but a bath in the river is free.

Angio's eyes saw his opponent draw his weapons a few seconds before his brain registered it, the anxiety hitting him and making him step back- albeit delayed- in caution. Apparently they had not just found a savage vagrant, but an aggressive one, too. The moorish sailor stared hard at him, looking to his eyes for clues to his next move. Inside his head, Angio felt a slight dulling, as if a small cloud starting to billow up inside his skull. He tried as hard as he could to keep it from showing on his expression.

Damn it! I shouldn't have had those drinks before the fight. This is going to make things tough. Gotta remember to be more careful now; and make sure I conceal this from the bum. Now, remember Angio: deception...

He twisted his torso to the side of his sword and crouched slightly; Angio gripped the hilt of the cutlass tightly. He drew the blade smoothly and cleaved a large arc through the air as his stood and untwisted his body. He continued the over-dramatic gesture by giving a twist of the handle as it came down beside him, flicking it around in a quick circle. With the flashiness of the move, he hoped to impress on his opponent the idea that Angio had much more skill with the blade than he actually possessed.

...and fear.

Closing his eyes slightly, he opened them back to let them fall right on the dwarven face. His eyes had changed hue slightly, as he used the Eyes of the Sea. If the dwarf was foolhardy enough to look him in the eye, it would be another step in unnerving the opponent. Nothing enough to cause outright fear, but in a battle every little bit counts. Holding his blade parallel to the ground at the tip of his outstretched arm, Angio leaned forward with a malicious grin.

"No need for pleasantries. Let's get started."

With that, he rushed forward several steps to close the gap between the two and swung a wide horizontal slice through the air.

[Sceawar]

The dwarf held his opponent’s gaze, wondering if he had mischaracterized this man when the other stepped back in fear at the sight of the falchion and dagger. This lapse was thankfully brief, as the human composed himself and then drew his weapon, a cutlass, waving it in the air in pre-match ritual.

A second later, though, something had changed – Sceawar couldn’t tell what it was, but it made his opponent seem more imposing then he was before. It unnerved Sceawar a little because he couldn’t tell what it was, but at the same time pleased him because it confirmed this man was special, and that a suitable offer would have to be made after the battle to bring his opponent’s services to Estl.

So deep in thought was Sceawar that he couldn’t make out what the man had said to him, and this, coupled with his curiosity over the man’s newfound maleficence, nearly put an end to the fight before it had even begun. At the last moment the Dwarf saw the cutlass coming in on his left side, and he turned to the side and put up both his weapons instinctively to block. With his feet not planted properly, the force of the blades’ impact pushed him backwards a few awkward steps.

Since you didn't say otherwise and didn't mention the trajectory of your stroke I'm assuming your character is right-handed, like mine

[Patois]

*CLANG!*

The cutlass slammed against the other two blades loudly and the crowd roared in unison with the strike, a small chip of bronze flying loose from the spot where it hit the steel falchion. Angio was more stunned than anyone: he had actually expected to miss altogether, instead he had knocked his opponent stumbling back.

However, his footing was not exactly assured either. Already the drinks were still taking effect on him; in fact they worked more rapidly with the sudden adrenaline rush sending his heart rate up, the alcohol perfusing his brain and causing a slow degrade to his balance. Between this, his surprised state, and the effort of trying to stop running on the soft grass, Angio found himself staggering a step in the opposite direction that the dwarf had gone, but keeping his feet under him. He closed his eyes for a brief second to get his bearings.

Good, it's already working. Already caught him ill-prepared. Have to try to keep my head straight, think as sober as I can. Now that I've started, I have to keep the advantage; I have to stay in his head.

Angio braced both feet firmly beneath him, standing straight up. His dark lips curled up and unraveled a bright white smile beneath. He peeked his eyes open again, looking at his opponent with a poker face of confidence. Slyly giving a snort of amusement, he held the cutlass out again, this time pointed straight ahead, looking along the length of the blade the way a rifleman would gaze down the sights of his gun.

"Very good. But that was just the beginning..."

As he stared, each eye looking at the dwarf cautiously from opposing sides of his blade, he noted the small chip that was made in his blade. He tried to mask the concern and displeasure that entered his mind, still wanting to appear confident and even menacing if he could.

I'll have to be careful about that, too. His weapons are sturdier than mine, and it'll do me no good to have the sword if I tear it to pieces on his steel...

The crowd's roar had abated, but they were obviously much more interested and outspoken than when the men had first gotten into the arena. The combined hot breaths of thousands of bloodthirsty, yelling fans mashed together in the stands made the entire arena feel warm, and a bead of sweat rolled from Angio's forehead down along the left side of his cheek. It hung on the base of his chin for a moment, before he surged forward, digging his heels into the soil and tearing grass beneath his boot with the sudden lunge. He rushed the few steps difference between the two and thrust the blade directly out, aimed right for the abdomen of his opponent.

Let's hope my luck holds up.

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been waiting for over a year. If you would like to complete it, or work on it further, you can PM myself or another staff member and ask for it to be moved. However, till that time, it will be resting in the Citadel Archive forum.

Thanks,
~Task