Introduction to Battle Magic.  The course itself had seemed intriguing enough at registration, and the speculation was that everyone who had been baptized into the Templars had taken it at one point or another in their studies and Judoc was eager to take it as soon as possible.  Indeed he was one of only three second year students though most were planning on taking it later in their schooling.  The other two were Marcus and Vincent, both from the Hall of Bishops.  Everyone else was beginning either their third or fourth year.  The class had started innocuous enough, with studying missile spells from scrolls and practicing their aim against dummy targets.  Today represented a marked divergence from that trend...

"We shall put your knowledge to the test."  Brother Moloran had started out that morning.  "Academic study will be of no use to you in the Megalan armies if you cannot employ it when faced with an actual foe.  Therefore you will be given a foe against which to show your adaptation in combat... you will be given that foe today."
This message was last updated by the GM at 03:57, Tue 01 May 2018.

The walk from the college to the Arena at Azer would normally be somewhat less than grueling, though the abnormally hot day for fall made things worse, and Brother Moloran's discussion of today's lesson may have also been partially responsible for the dryness in Judoc's mouth.  "The men you will fight today are hardened criminals.  Most of them murderers.  Because it is All Saint's day they are being offered the chance of forgiveness of their sins - that chance is a fight in the arena.  You will fight until incapacitation or forfeit, at which point the winning combatant will have the option to kill or spare his opponent after the crowd and the governor make their vote known.  However, I encourage you not to take pity on convicted criminals.  These are all small purse fights, and you are welcome to keep your winnings and any tips thrown in by the crowd.  The longer and more desperate your fight, the more likely the crowd is to favor you but I would advise not taking that too closely into consideration - losing the fight would be a very poor decision.  The Duke has agreed however if any of the students lose to cast his vote to spare them.  If you win your fight you are given the rest of the day off from your classes to do as you wish in Azer or the castle, your other mentors have already been informed.  If you lose, you will have the option of the healers at the castle or those of your classmates who may have those skills.  You will be expected to make the rest of your schedule."

A few paces behind Judoc, he can just barely discern Vincent and Marcus whispering desperately to each other...

OOC:  This is a thread for Judoc only

Judoc has only begun his second year of classes, but already he is up to his chin in study and preparation.  Given his long-term goal of becoming a battle mage In the Megalan armies, he had jumped at the chance to enroll in Battle Magic, and he had enthusiastically thrown himself into his coursework.  Practicing on dummies and memorizing incantations had whetted his appetite, but now they were going to get into some real combat, and Judoc is energized to be given a stage to showcase his ever-growing talents.  At the same time, however, he feels an uncharacteristic nagging doubt in the back of his mind.  The man he would be fighting would likely have killed before.  Judoc has never taken a life, although he had once been angry enough at Brother Loke to strangle the man.  That hot rage had cooled considerably, although the young mageling still harbors a secret desire to take revenge against the Templar.

As he walks, he thinks back to Mariana and Elliot's tragic duel.  The whole affair had been terrible, and as much as Judoc had been loath to admit it, incomprehensible to him.  After the demon's summoning in their first year, the small group from the Hall of Soldiers had fractured.  Giles was gone, kicked out after a second infraction.  Mariana was dead.  When Judoc saw Grobbik and Indrid in the common area, he made small talk with them, but their conversations were never beyond the superficial.  Perhaps it was just as well.  They were all rivals, after all, and the majority of each class never made it to the end.  Judoc planned to be there, of course, and he relished the thought of that sadist Loke's face when Judoc would ultimately reject a commission with the Templars.

But what had driven such a wedge of hatred between Elliot and Mariana?  There had been whispers that the two had briefly been lovers, although Judoc had discounted that out of hand.  Mariana had been sensible, for a woman at least, and she had seemed to take pity on Elliot more than anything else.  As for the funeral pyre Elliot had crafted for Mariana, who would have guessed that the fellow had learned his lessons so well?  Elliot had always been the weakest of their group.  Ironic, Judoc muses.  Likely Mariana's tutelage had ultimately been what killed her.

Today, though, he banishes these ghosts of the past.  Today would be the next step in Judoc's career as one of the most brilliant battle mages to ever serve Megalas.  He imagines how he will describe the day to his future biographers, how he will completely dominate the wretch sent to face him in combat and how he will graciously pardon his adversary after Judoc's inevitable triumph.  He mentally runs through his list of spells, smiling broadly.  Brother Moloran had cautioned against showing pity to the thieves and murders they would face, but Judoc the Merciful has a nice ring to it.

Catching up to his tutor, Judoc asks a few questions about the rules of the combat.  "How will our opponents be armed?  Are any spells off-limits?  What tactics will work best in a fight against physical attacks?"

While none of the Templar monks were particularly warmhearted, Brother Moloran had a penchant for fairness.  Unlike others he never punished for the sake of punishment: rules were clear and though they could be enforced sternly it was not often that one of his students was surprised with reprisals.  Therefore, it is with no trepidation that Judoc hastens his gate to catch up to the brother and peppers him with questions before any of the older students have the opportunity.

"Opponents are armed through a lottery, so you may be facing an unarmed man who has never fought in his life,"  He pauses for a moment, perhaps thinking better of his words.  "Though I wouldn't count on it or you could be facing a seasoned veteran with full armor.  Weapons the criminals carry are often not ones they have trained with before, though I wouldn't discount the possibility.  When slaves or freemen enter the arena, they are outfitted with their own equipment, or that provided by their master, so you are free to take any weapons you wish into combat."

"As for rules, they can change from bout to bout, the great fights often involve some intrigue or extra considerations though for today I would expect no rules barring your use of spells.  And it would be difficult to say what spells work best.  While flashy shows of force often get the job done the truly great mages use their creativity to win the engagement.  Today you will be one on one which is different than facing an army.  Some men have won before by convincing their opponents to believe something which is not true without ever being hit by a single blow.  Others have embraced the combat and used their magic only to defend themselves, damaging their weapons and morale before overpowering their foe.  I cannot tell you which spells will work best, only that the way you use them will matter most, both in your success and in learning how to become the greatest battle mage you can."

As the group walks along, a few more questions are asked about money and opponents, with one question specifically ensuring that the students have the day off after they win the fight.  And while Moloran repeats that they are free to do whatever they wish until sundown he is mostly evasive on the specifics of the arena.  "I can only tell you what has happened before"  He repeats more than once.  "What will happen is subject to many factors I am not privy to.  I encourage you to use your skills to the best of your abilities and to win."

It does not take long until the group finds themselves standing outside the Arena.  The stonework is enormous, it must be more than an acre in size.  It boasts large archways leading inwards to the stands and seating which are already beginning to draw the crowds of the citizens of Azer.  Moloran stops in front of another opening, this one with a stairway down to the underground of the building.  "If you have no further questions, this is the way to your registration.  One fight is required, I would not suggest attempting to shirk this responsibility, you will likely make up your deficiency in a much less benign way.  Good Luck men."

The older fourth years lead the way down confidently as some others stay back for questions.  Some others hesitantly make their way towards the arena.  Marcus and Vincent walk quickly towards the doorway but stop just outside still engrossed in quiet conversation.

Listening carefully to Brother Moloran, Judoc processes the new information he's been given.  Basically, the rule seems to be to expect anything.  Plan for the worst case scenario, then, and if something else happens, be pleasantly surprised.  Judoc begins running through a slew of different scenarios and the spells and tactics he might apply in each given case.  He has spent his first year focused almost entirely on learning new magic.  He sees now the wisdom of not neglecting mundane skills as well.  Of course he will be able to easily overwhelm the foe he will draw through his superior knowledge and abilities, but versatility will make Judoc an even greater threat.

Creative displays of magic, eh?  Judoc wonders how he might pull off such an exhibition.  He craves success and recognition above all else, and it would be immensely gratifying to put on a good show today.  He knows that arena combat can be dangerous, even deadly.  Maimed limbs and permanent blindness or crippling are very real possibilities.  Of course, none of those results will happen to someone as gifted as himself, but he would do well to remember the consequences of failure.

The student hangs back to hear the answers to other students' questions.  Perhaps he can learn something more that he can turn to his advantage in the arena.  But Marcus and Vincent, the other two second-years, seem to be having an interesting conversation.  Judoc casually positions himself to eavesdrop on what they're saying.

OOC:  Hang back and listen to the other students' questions, but in a natural sort of way, move closer to Marcus and Vincent to listen in on what they're talking about.

Though most of the crowd heads in towards the Arena, enough stick around to ask questions to serve as an innocent circumstance to eavesdropping.  Interested in the conversation behind him, Judoc continues to face Brother Moloran but slowly paces himself just far enough away to attempt to overhear the conversation between Marcus and Vincent.  He curses inwardly however as Marcus begins to talk, just as one of the third years, Balkus Wright, asks Brother Moloran a question that drowns out the quieter conversation.

"Sir, but if we were to lose..."

Without even looking at the features of his face, Judoc knows that Moloran is exasperated with the question - and why shouldn't he be?  What good would Balkus be to the armies, or worse yet, the Templars if he couldn't best some ruffian?  Still, Moloran's response shows more patience than Judoc feels as he strains to hear the words of the conversation behind him.

"Balkus, every effort has been made to keep you from losing your life if you happen to fail in combat.  However, that luxury will not follow you if you graduate from this school.  While you are still learning your craft, success will dictate your path throughout your tutelage as well as your career, and starting out on the wrong foot at the first opportunity is hardly the way to solidify your good impression."

Behind him, Judoc can hear Vincent now talking, agitated, as Brother Moloran's voice drops off into silence.  "Because I fucking saw him, Marcus.  He went to the Jesuits."  Unable to stop himself, Judoc peers over his shoulder at the two, attempting to get some clues as to Marcus's response, though he only sees Marcus leveling his gaze straight back at him and Vincent's turned back.  While Judoc attempts to smile lamely in response as if he has heard nothing, Marcus roughly grabs Vincent's shoulder as he pushes him towards the downstairs entry.

"Well, good luck then all."  Brother Moloran finishes as he realizes that there are no further questions and that the remainder of his class seems to be simply stalling for time.

OOC:  Because there doesn't seem to be any skill for listening without being recognized I resolved the situation by a contest of IQ.  You beat Vincent by a good margin, though Marcus managed to get the edge on you and you were noticed listening in.

Judoc only half listens to Balkus' sad answer.  Lose?  That alternative hadn't even occurred to Judoc.  He imagines that perhaps his opponent might get in a lucky shot, but in a contest of pure skill and talent, the poor blighters they're going up against haven't a prayer.

As Moloran patiently explains to the poor sod that yes, they don't want their students to die, but no, they're not going to coddle their students, Judoc moves a little closer to try to catch what Vincent and Marcus are discussing.  He only catches a little of it, someone going over to the Jesuits, but he doesn't understand the significance of what they're saying.  Of course, the Jesuits and the Templars are hardly friends, and who knows what secrets the Jesuits might be keeping, but who are they talking about?   Curious to find out more, he risks a look over at them, and Marcus catches Judoc eavesdropping.  The student forces a grin, but Marcus isn't buying it, and Judoc is disappointed to see the two leave without saying anything further.

"Thanks, Brother Moloran," Judoc says, flashing a smile.  "I can't wait to get in there and get my hands dirty."  He turns and follows Marcus and Vincent down the stairs and into the arena to get ready for his coming bout.  He pushes down butterflies that have suddenly sprouted in his belly.  Surely, Judoc the Merciful isn't getting nervous, is he?  Nah, it must have been the gruel he had for breakfast.

Though he is fifteen feet underground and surrounded by the shadows cast by flickering torchlight, it is the throbbing of the crowds above that overwhelm Judoc's senses.  Rhythmic thunderbolts pierce the stone ceiling; chanting voices muffled into the deep bass of wardrums that vibrate each surface and shake dust into the choked air.  In each of the million different scenarios in Judoc's mind the voices are shouting 'Kill!  Kill!'...  He does not bother with the possibility that his future would be saved on the off chance that the crowds are benevolent.

It has been the better part of an hour underneath the arena.  Judoc has moved from registrations to indoctrination and then to the waiting area, though little actual progress has been made other than the slow trickle of his classmates ebbing out before him.  It is difficult to discern any words from the fights above but the concept of the matches have been explained to them well enough.  Since it is the feast day of saints, the matches have been designed around the city's patron saints, and the great saints of history.  Each of his classmates that have departed have been issued some sort of prop.  A wooden sword, a scepter, a shepherd's crook, though there is little preparation for each of the fighters as to what they are supposed to do to play the part.  A small man simply descends to the room, presumably from the sands above, murmurs a few words and the next gladiator stands to take his moment of glory in the arena.

So it is when the small man arrives again, clutching at a braided wig attached to a mask.  "Judoc."  He says in a hoarse whisper.  Judoc stands at his name before he quite puts together the expectation that he is to meet.  "Catherine of the Wheel."  He throws Judoc the wig before quickly turning his back and starting from the room - the implication that Judoc is to play the part of a woman shouldering in the ensuing silence.

OOC:  I stopped the play here just for the moment to see if you would resist the role.  If so, feel free to role play appropriately.  Make any social influence rolls as appropriate to get your way.

As the minutes pass, Judoc waits in uncomfortable silence, wishing he could see what was happening above.  He can't wait to get up on the arena floor and demoralize his opponent before finishing him off.  He can see it now.  His opponent snarls and runs toward him, brandishing a sword.  Judoc sidesteps the attack effortlessly and begins summoning a fireball.  Or perhaps he will cast a Great Haste and simply pummel the fellow into submission.

The props attract his attention.  They are certainly odd and seem to be chosen haphazardly. Judoc wonders if the participants are supposed to use them some way during combat, or if they are merely for show.  Likely the latter, he decides, unless they actually expected them to use the wooden swords and shepherd crooks.

And then a wig and a mask are shoved his way, along with a name, Catherine of the Wheel.  Huh?  They want him to be a woman?  Before he can object, the man is moving away, but Judoc calls out, "Hey!  Wait!  No one said anything about playing dress up!  At least give me Saint Thomas!"  Growling, Judoc pulls on the ridiculous mask and wig.  Unfathomable!  He looks through the mask and wonders how he must look.  Like a buffoon, no doubt.  Snarling, he grips his staff and marches stiffly to the entrance to the arena.

Though the situation is laughable, Judoc playing a mere woman in the arena of gladiators, he ultimately puts on the wig and mask, not wanting to miss his chance at glory by griping at his lot.  The mask stinks of sweat and the attached wig seems little more than a hive of fleas but  as he adorns them Judoc begins to hear the percussion of the crowd picking up around him again.  He makes his way towards the small man who ushered him out of the room and then up a ramp towards the painful glint of daylight.  At first the single voice picking up over the crowd is barley audible.  "In the second century of our lord was born a daughter to Constus, governor of a far away land.  Catherine, as she was named, learned wondrous things of her god, studying the Madonna in a vision that came to her from God himself.  The emperor, Maxentius, was heathen, and put Catherine to the test..."

As he ascends towards the light, the magically amplified voice grows in his ears, until Judoc is finally standing even on the sands with the voice of the moderator ringing in his ears.  "But God's creature was greater than the temptations of man, and even when she was turned on by the rulers of men, she destroyed with a touch the spiked wheel which was to be her torture.  Ladies and Rogues of Azer, I bring you Catherine of Alexandria!"

The crowd revels.  They cheer drunkenly at the next fight even as Judoc in his black wig and mask are the only ones on the sands.  Behind him, a portcullis closes the way leading back to the gladiator's respite as another opens across the other side of the arena.

"Enemy of humanity he wanders Yrth, harvesting souls of the lost commoners and nobles alike.  He is checked only by the grace of God and bravery of those who would stand against him.  Gentle peoples of the audience, I present to you Death."

He is not what Judoc would expect.  Much like himself, he is forced with a mask, though his is a rough-hewn skeletal face cast in red across a black background as though his substance was nothing but shadow.  Other than that, he seems poorly armored, with only a leather thong covering his waist and thighs.  Still, the man seems well enough equipped with a single scythe in one hand, and the long, curved blade of a knife in his other.  Behind him, the portcullis lurches closed...

"Gentle people of Azer, we are pleased to bring you a battle as old as time.  Catherine of the Wheel our Saint and Protector against Death!"

OOC:  You got one step ahead of me with the staff, but just in case if you have anything else you want to enter into combat with please post it in OOC or private in the next post.  You stand about 24 yards from your opponent who seems poorly armored, though well enough armed on the far side of the arena.  You both have moved well enough away from the walls of the arena to meet each other on the center of the sands.  Please post three rounds of actions.

Conflicting emotions assail Judoc.  First and foremost is the effrontery of having to play a woman, making what should be an opportunity for him to dazzle the crowd into little more than a broad farce.  He looks across the sands.  This guy is supposed to be Death, huh?  Well, he does have the scythe going for him, but he bets the poor sod is about to soil himself from fear.  Judoc only half-listens to the legend of Catherine, but he idly wonders if the Saint were perhaps a mate.  Her miracle sounds like a spell out of the Making and Breaking college.  Now, that would be impressive, if he could replicate a miracle here today.

"Death, you are already defeated!" he calls out across the sands.  "I have more power than you can possibly imagine!"   He raises his staff above his head like a prophet of old and begins walking leisurely toward his enemy.

OOC:  Begin slowly walking forward to meet Death.

The crowds around swell with the commencement of the fight, cheery madly as the two close distance in anticipation of gore.  Taking perhaps his only opportunity to appraise his surroundings, Judoc notices the stadium is filled.  At each the center of each his right and left side, a set of boxed seats rises up slightly from the crowd, on his left he easily recognizes the ceremonial dress of Baron Graves, the Provost of the Templar College, surrounded by a small entourage of the mentors.  To his right, there is only a single man in grandiose chair, lazing disinterestedly across one of the cushioned arms...

Though Judoc walks slowly towards his masked foe, the other man wastes no time, reversing the knife in his left hand so that it arcs downwards along his forearm even as he starts a loping jog, not directly at Judoc, but at just enough of an angle that he has to turn his head slightly, keeping his left side and the knife between the two of them.

The man moves lithely, and though he is no musclebound ape, he seems strong enough, with a well defined chest and thick shoulders and biceps.  Perhaps the man is even as strong as Judoc himself, though inwardly he doubts it.

OOC:  Over three rounds you have closed distance with eachother, Judoc at a walk, the Gladiator at a brisk jog.  You have your staff ready and are at a distance of 5 yards with the Gladiator along the line of your front right hex.  The Gladiator has a ready knife in his left hand and a hand sickle ready in his right.  Please post 1 turn of action.

Judoc drinks in the adulation of the crowd.  In his mind, they are cheering for him, Judoc the Mighty!  Baron Graves, the head of the Templar College, is here today to witness Judoc's triumph, and the young man smirks under his mask.  If only he didn't have to masquerade as a silly woman!  Saint or not, a female such as Catherine is a degrading and humiliating choice for a serious wizard.  Judoc wonders who the man is to his right.  He has no hangers-on like the Baron does.  Perhaps he is the mayor of Azer, or some other distinguished lord, here by fate today to witness Judoc's skill.

"Last chance, knave.  Surrender, or face utter destruction!" Judoc says, his staff in his hands.  The fool.  Doesn't he know who is fighting?  Judoc the Invincible cannot be beaten, not today!

OOC:  Wait.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:06, Mon 20 June 2016.

The gladiator does not halt his progress, but lurches forward toward the mage.  "You're a fool if you think the crowds will help you."  The words echo from inside the bone mask, just loud enough for Judoc to hear them, though Death's red-stained teeth are paralyzed in a hideous grin.  It is only a moment before the form is just a step away, his curved steel blade swinging in a wide arc that cuts the air just an inch short of the Judoc's hands gripping at his staff.
The crowd cheers as the fight starts out as a melee... it seems those mages previous had started off their fights with much rangier attacks...

OOC:  The gladiator is now at range one.  One more turn of action.

"Ha!  Help?  You'll be begging me for mercy!"  Under the girlish mask, Judoc sneers with contempt.  This won't even be close.  He'll simply take to the air and rain fireballs down on this sad buffoon.  But first, he will toy with his prey before he eats.

OOC:  Attack, random target location.

The two foes stand but a few hands from each other on the sands of the arena.  Though the red masked death swings first, it is Judoc that catches the first hit of the day.  He swings his staff in a low arc, expecting to catch the man unawares, though instead of flinching away into the strength of his blow the man twirls forward bending his body away from the blow.  However, it was destiny for the shot to meet, and a dull thwack reverberates as the staff meets his left knee though it is not the brutalizing blow that Judoc had hoped for.  In fact, the effigy of death seems little the worse for the hit, instead stepping forward again as he slashes out neatly with the knife, though it is caught expertly by Judoc on his staff as he takes a step backwards towards the portcullis he entered through...

OOC:  you won the defense battle on that round, parrying his single attack successfully, though he failed his dodge by a smidgeon.  However it wasn't much of hit and doesn't seem to put much of a dent on your assailant.  Since you only walked forward at the start of the fight, you only put about 3 yards between yourself and the edge of the arena, 1 of which you just ate up in your retreat.  You are still at range 1 to your attacker with your left rear hex facing the edge of the arena at 2 yards.  You can attempt to start circling to the right if you wish, to keep your back from being against the wall.  Please specify if that is your intent in the next post.

Beneath the woman's mask, Judoc sneers.  Apparently, the mage is a superior fighter to this fool, as well.  But enough games.  It is time for Judoc to display his true power.

One hand on his staff, he gestures and murmurs a few words of power.

OOC:  Concentrate.

With a wild set of slashes, the form of death whips out at Judoc, first bringing down his sickle in downward arc followed nearly instantly with an upwards slash from the knife.  Handling his staff admirably, Judoc neatly diverts both swings, sidestepping consecutively to get his back away from the wall while concentrating on a spell to make the gladiator seem foolish in his inevitable defeat.  He focuses his mind and diverts the mana through his staff, knowing all the while his success is inevitable... and the spell succeeds... at least it should have.  Still, the red masked foe has his feet firmly planted on the sands and he readies himself for another attack - somehow, the spell had no effect, and Judoc somehow knows without question that it would be frivolous to try again.

OOC:  I did two rounds that time since your spell required 2 seconds of concentration and you succeeded all of your will and defense rolls.  You managed to shift your back so that your left side is now facing the arena wall and you are free to retreat.

Waggling his fingers and murmuring a few words of power, Judoc concentrates on his Levitation spell before letting the energy flow out of him, through his staff, and to his helpless opponent, whom Judoc expects to go flying straight up into the air.  When this fails to materialize, Judoc's eyes narrow in anger.  Impossible!  The man should have simply flown away!

Biting back his growing annoyance, the mage tries again, this time with another spell in his repertoire.

OOC:  Concentrate.

Undaunted by his first failed spell, Judoc winds his fingers together, willing a second attempt through the mana around him.  His attacker continues his attempts, though Judoc ducks this way and that to avoid the blows.  First the knife, a sidestep to avoid the sickle, but then the gladiator comes with a flurry of attacks, first the knife, easily twisted away from, but then the sickle as well, which Judoc was not expecting.  The steel slams into Judoc's flesh, just above the hip, ripping into and out of his body with equal fervor.  Blood gushes from the wound, spurting the sands on that side before the red fluid settles into a thick turgid flow.  The pain is staggering, though somehow Judoc manages to keep his feet and his senses.

OOC:  Judoc has taken a major wound to the left hip (torso) but has avoided stun so you can move freely (at 1/2 move and -4 to skills) for the next turn.  Your staff is currently unready and in your left hand
This message was last edited by the player at 03:57, Wed 27 July 2016.

The pain is staggering!  Judoc gasps out in surprise as the sickle rips into his flesh.  Until this very moment, Judoc had not even considered the possibility that the Death masquerader would even cause the young mage to get out of breath, and now, here he is, with blood weeping out of the wound to his thigh.  A deep rage bursts out of him, and he grips his staff in two hands.  "Pig-sucker!  You will die for that!" he yells, his face splotched red.

OOC:  Ready staff.  All-Out Defense.

Pain was erupting from his waist.  Though his wound's initial gush of spurting blood had stemmed it was still a weeping a torpid ooze, spilling down over his thigh and back.  Even still, Judoc stands, perhaps by will alone.  He grips his staff now with both hands, expecting the attack to come again from the steel in each of the gladiator's hands.  Instead, the attack comes from his whole body.  Thinking Judoc nearly finished, the gladiator lowers his shoulder and charges forward to knock him onto his back and out of the fight.  Though his reactions are not what he would want them, Judoc manages to get his staff in front of him and swing his feet in the other direction as the gladiator charges past.  Thinking himself out of trouble for the moment Judoc puts his mind to another spell - thought the gladiator swings again in a wild arc with his cycle short of Judoc's staff by a few inches...

Watching the other gladiator warily, Judoc concentrates on his opponent.  Doubt begins to seep in to his normally iron-clad confidence.  Could he lose here?  Is it possible?  Judoc had underestimated this man, thinking that in his magical prowess he was more than a match for his adversary.  His lips pull back in a sneer.  He still is the better man.  This knave can only attack with his mundane weapons.  Judoc wields far more potent abilities.

Once more, he attempts to cast his spell.

OOC:  Concentrate.

Though the blood thumped in his ears and churned through his clothes at the gash at his side, Judoc is far from out of the fight.  Indeed, as the attacker comes forward again with a brutal slash of his knife Judoc swats the weapon aside with a concerted effort, his staff connecting at the hilt and sending the steel harmlessly to the side.  Removing his hands from the staff, Judoc makes a few quick gestures, this time the spell radiating into his body and the surrounding air.  Judoc launches into the air, not some leap or human feat, but as a rocketing force that does not stop until he is out of reach.  Perhaps seeing the effects written on Judoc's face, the man attempts another swipe with his sickle, though Judoc is already soaring from the ground and the blade does not make contact.

The stadium makes a collective gasp at the stunt.  Now seemingly invulnerable, Judoc revolves to stay facing the gladiator.  His blood is still dripping down the length of his side and pattering the sands below though Judoc smiles as he had not since the beginning of the fight since he knows there is nothing the gladiator can do to harm him now.

OOC:  Two turns of action.  First move was a concentrate and cast flight, the second was an upward movement to get you out of range of his weapons.  You have moved up in the air about 12 feet, or about what I thought you would feel comfortable with.  If you want to move higher let me know.  Without throwing something at you, it isn't likely he'll be able to connect without a running leap.

Concentrating, his eyes still on the masked Death before him, Judoc draws in mana from around him.   He is panting now, and still bleeding from the deep laceration that ripped a chunk out of his hip, his ridiculous dress now stained deep red.  He has practiced this spell numerous times before, though never with a gaping wound oozing blood, but as the energy flows through him and propels him upward, it is all he can do not to yell triumphantly.  Such power!  Glorious!  For a moment, he forgets the crude mask, the demeaning wig.  Why didn't he do this at the beginning?  The mana rushes through him, intoxicating in its sweetness.  He laughs out loud in victory, and looks down on his opponent, trapped on the ground.

Fool!  Death should have surrendered when he had the chance!  Now he will BURN!

OOC:  Begin concentrating.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:17, Thu 10 Nov 2016.

Judoc throws his head back and erupts in laughter at the doomed foe below him.  What was Death against Judoc?  He was nothing, he was less than insignificant, he was a mere step that Judoc would climb on his way to being the greatest battle wizard the college had ever seen.  Knowing his own disadvantage, the gladiator begins moving in slow outward circles, careful to keep his face to Judoc though he is mostly just looking up.  Judoc murmurs a few words of power while making gestures with his open hand.  A mere moment later, a crackling ball of flame erupts in his hand popping and sparking madly, though Judoc seems unhurt.  Judoc bides his time, judging his enemy as the spell flickers and belches flame in his hand.  Below, the gladiator also seems to size up the situation, moving at a slow and determined pace.

And then Judoc launches his missile - seemingly at the foe's foot, though the gladiator jumps back and easily avoids the blow... however when the spell hits the sands, it does not fizzle into nothingness, but erupts into a brilliant crimson dome just knee height as it emits a dull and muffled boom!  Caught completely by surprise, the gladiators legs are caught at the edge of the explosion though luckily for him, apart from singed hair and cherry toned skin he seems little the worse for wear though the sand at his feet is hardened and black.  The crowd shrieks and cheers with the blow, the surprise ending to what had seemed like a miss.

Death does not slow, instead he continues his deliberate pace sideways his eyes deadlocked with those of Judoc as he moves.  Judoc does not waste time, but gathers the mana around himself again and again he succeeds with the spell as the same merry imp of flames spouts from his fingers.  Judoc continues to eye his prey savagely as he aims with his missile of flames...

But then the man below launches his knife from his left hand and the missile screams upward!  Judoc propels his body out of the way with his mind, the dagger just barely clipping the long hairs of the wig over his left shoulder as it sails by and lands some seconds later hilt deep in the sands behind him.  Judoc retaliates with a scream and launches his fire again.  The crowd roars with expectation at the throw and then screams again as this time death is ready and dives sideways out of the path, again just escaping the worst of the blast.  As he falls towards the sand, the gladiator tucks his shoulder underneath and tumbles gracefully, launching himself back to his feet and starting a full-on sprint towards where the knife is now buried.

Judoc's expression is crazed as he draws in the mana yet a third time, and again the sprightly flame flickers and crackles in his hand.  Following the masked gladiator easily, he sees the man turn after a moment though he still walks backwards to his weapon.  Judoc flings his fire forward.  The stadium erupts in stomping and cheers as the gladiator attempts to throw himself backwards with a handspring, though his foot catches on a rut before he gets going and this time he takes the effects of the spell in full...  The muffled boom is completely overshadowed by the screams of the man below, caught full in the flames and fire he falls backwards, his mouth split open like a chasm.  Judoc can see the flesh of the man's left calf burned back to the tissue, higher on his thigh he can see angry red welts spattering his skin.

OOC:  I did about 20 turns assuming you wanted to keep going until something drastic changed.  You did three iterations of the spell, hitting (the ground) each time though doing minimal damage on the first, the gladiator managing to get a hex away from the hit on the second, though on the third you managed to hit with max damage due to the fact that he didn't get out of the hex.  The gladiator seems stunned and is suppine, you are approximately 5 yards away, though it is mostly in your height above him.

Judoc's body screams at him to stop.  The young mage has been badly injured, and even now, he is siphoning off what little remains of his energy in explosions of fire, hoping to force his opponent to surrender.  But still the masked gladiator fights on, even as he is hit by one explosive fireball, and then another!

He had never thought he would be in a position like this, fighting one in one in an arena, doing his damndest to kill another person.  Does he even want this man dead?  To Judoc, the question lingers a moment as he looks down on the results of his magic, the burns and welts, the flames.  Judoc is not a sociopath.  Yes, given the chance, he has no doubt that the man on the sands below him would not hesitate to gut him.  The gladiator is no doubt a killer himself.  How had Death killed his victim?  Had the act brought the man pleasure?  Had it been with a knife, a jab, a twist?  Or had he simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time, a victim of fate more than anything else?  Who could tell?   God, maybe.  Is it Judoc's fate to be this man's executioner?

With all his might, he steels himself.  If he summons one more fireball, pulling just a sliver more mana could very well kill him.  Judoc has suffered indignities today, forced to wear this ridiculous garb, gored by his opponent.   He will come out on top here.  He must!

"You're beaten," he calls out, hoping he can put some conviction into his words.  "Surrender, Death, or you . . . will . . . die."

OOC:  Give Death a chance to surrender.  If he won't, Ready staff and fly down to beat him with it.

Judoc hovers in the air, high above his foe, his whole body feeling the exhaustion and pain of the arena.  Still, though it seems he has the match won by all rights he was still raining teardrops of blood onto the sands below.  Deciding not to test his luck if he does not need to, Judoc offers the man a last chance at surrender.  Below, the masked gladiator drops his sickle though he does not communicate verbally much more than screams and shouts of agony.  Judoc looks out to the stands for guidance though the first voice he hears is a taunt from one of the corners.  "BOOO! Kill him!"  The rising chant is slow to build, though it's message is unmistakable.  Each arm seems to pump with fists raised, thumbs down in the gesture of death.  In the top boxes, one in the middle of each side of the arena, Judoc can see the Baron Graves, mimicking the crowd with his thumb turned down.  In the other box, sits the governor, though at the moment he seems to be turned and talking to another man who sits at his flank.  "Kill, Kill, Kill!" The crowd chants even as the man below finally manages to regain his voice.  "I yield."

OOC:  Another 10 seconds have passed - I think in the long run the difference of time will affect you much even if you do fly down for the kill, but I thought I would allow you to role play your reaction here.

Barely hanging on, supporting himself in the air by almost sheer will alone, Judoc floats, waiting for Death's response.  What was the other gladiator's crime, he muses.  Murder, perhaps.  Theft, maybe, or rape.  Judoc imagines himself on the battlefield, serving the armies of the Megalan Empire, perhaps in situation quite similar to this, his enemy broken and defeated before him, his fate in Judoc's hands.  Such power - the power of life and death itself.  A shiver of pleasure races through him.

When Judoc offers mercy, the crowd roars out its displeasure.  They want blood!  Death!  How little they value human life.  Animals.  They are as far beneath Judoc as the sad gladiator, crushed on the sands.  "Are you not entertained?" Judoc calls out, heat in his words.  Fine Christians, these.  Bloodthirsty animals.  Let them come down to the arena's floor, put their blood and bone to the test!

His staff remains in a two-handed grip.  Judoc will not be judge and executioner here.  An instrument of God's wrath?  A hangman?  Judoc aspires to far greater things.  "I accept your surrender," he haughtily tells Death.  Looking up, he sees Baron Graves.  Will the Templars see this as weakness?  Is Judoc in for even more punishment at their hands? He doesn't care.  He is not here to please the Templars.  He is here for himself.  The Templars are only a means to an end.

Turning in midair, he flies lower to the ground in the direction of the exit.

Unfettered by the prodding of either the crowd or his provost, Judoc accepts the surrender of his foe, propelling himself in a swift arcing hover towards the gates of the arena.  Though his response elicits some smatterings of boos, the vast majority of the crowd cheers, and quite a few even lob coins in great glittering arcs until they litter the sands.  Judoc does not fawn over them but instead makes his way to the medics.

OOC:  Sorry for the lag here, wasn't sure exactly how I was going to set up the next post (this thread is not over) and I've also had family in town for the past few days so I haven't had much opportunity to think on it.  Between the purse for the fight and your tips you made $525 though you were charged $200 for your medical attention (a complete ripoff when you can heal yourself I know but when you work mostly through potions these things can get expensive and like any scam artists they didn't let you know the price before the healing was administered) so you end up with a net $325.  I assumed that you would heal yourself for the remainder of the damage, so you have cast minor healing on yourself before leaving the arena to get to full health.  I've edited your character sheet to show full HP/FP and your winnings.  Standby for more.

Judoc leaves the Arena an hour or so later completely healed and his strength restored.  He makes his way towards the markets, his coin purse tinkling happily despite having been savagely depleted from the charlatan healers in the medical tent.  Still, he had been more than happy with the amount of coin he had received from the crowds in tips, more than making up for the fact that his winnings had been decimated.  As he walks, his thoughts stray to that afternoon: the medical tent and the rest of the class.  It was only a few minutes after he arrived that death himself was brought in, his burns rubbed liberally with potion not far away.  The two did not talk, nor did any of the hostility that the man had shown in the arena carry over.

After the matches the class had dispersed naturally.  There were no other classes to attend that day and as such, they had been given liberty in the city to spend their winnings or make their own way back to the school grounds.  Many of the class had not been more than fatigued due to a fight with some scruffy thief.  Indeed, few others had seemed to fight anyone of actual skill in battle, even fewer that had a weapon they knew what to do with.  The only other one who had been badly injured had been Balkus Wright who had missed with his first spell and been bawled over by a gladiator who had resembled more bear than man.  Luckily, he had been granted a reprieve by the governor and was not in serious jeopardy of lasting injury.

The sun had already passed it's zenith in the sky and many of the vendors in the market seemed not yet to have returned from their midday closure or perhaps they were still making their way back from the crowds of the arena themselves.  Judoc takes a narrow alleyway near the end of the market separating the ironsmith from an abandoned merchant's guild building.  He is nearly at the end when a wiry youth steps out in front of him with purpose...

OOC:  Right now you are in the market, and though it is bustling at most times, the heat in the summer to early fall generally drive away both the customers and the vendors.  Additionally, the games at the arena are probably keeping the crowds away.  Still, there are a few dozens of people wandering about and it would be nearly impossible to start a fight here unnoticed.  Right now you are at the end of an alleyway, and your way forward is blocked.

As Judoc soars out of the arena, coins sail through the air, accompanied by more cheers than boos.  Momentarily surprised, Judoc stops, turns back to the crowds, and raises his staff in victory and thanks before resuming his flight out of the arena.  His heart beats a little faster now in pride at his accomplishment.  Doubt had never entered his mind that he would emerge victorious.  Even without his spells, he was simply the better man, and no common criminal could hope to best Judoc the Merciful, Judoc the Just, Judoc the Greathearted.  Still, the coin and the cheers was a validation of sorts, not that he had succeeded despite long odds, but that he had approached a forgone conclusion and still made his inevitable triumph entertaining.

Later in the healing tent, his good mood is soured by the healers' insistence that he suffer their ministrations.  What a scam.  Send men to the arena, and make them pay for the injuries they receive.  Judoc suspects some cunning contract in place, probably an agreement that ensures the Healers Guild earns a handsome living off the suffering of others.  The indignity of it all!  Do no harm, indeed.  Judoc is more than capable of tending to his own wounds, but he sits in silence as they apply their creams and potions.  At least he can afford it now.  He thinks over what he will do with his winnings.  Perhaps a new outfit, or another Powerstone to supplement his own impressive mana reservoir.

When the man who had been Death comes in and his wounds are treated, Judoc nods slightly at his former adversary.  Good, the man knows when he was beaten.  Judoc didn't think he would have to repeat Death's lesson.  One good curbstomp had been enough.  It doesn't even occur to Judoc to offer to pay for the man's wounds, especially with the recent stab wound so fresh.  He idly wonders what will happen to the man now.  Back to prison, he muses.  A better fate then being burned alive, the man's flesh melting on the hot sands.  How the crowds had been hungry for blood, for death!  The fame of winning appeals to Judoc, but he takes no pleasure in others' suffering.  Unless it was that rat bastard Loke.  Judoc tries to imagine a duel between himself and his torturer.  One day, perhaps sooner than Loke suspects, Judoc will be ready.  Then, he wants Loke to feel what Judoc had felt, that feeling that he was about to die.  At that moment, Judoc will spare his teacher, but not before Loke comes face to face with his own mortality and comes to regret his wanton cruelty to his betters.

His wounds fully healed, Judoc saunters off toward the markets, his gold burning a hole in his coin purse.  He wishes briefly that he had some company with him, but he hasn't forged any connections with the other students in the battle magic class.  He thinks of Grobbik, of Indrid, of poor, doomed Mariana.  Through entirely no fault of his own, Judoc has found himself alone with no one to cheer his spectacular success today.  The thought deflates his mood.  The cheers of the crowd had been validation.  Now he finds himself wishing for a friendly slap on the back, a "You really kicked that guy's ass, Judoc!"  Even the sight of Brother Loke choking on his surprise would have cheered Judoc at this point.

Idlely, he wanders along.  Perhaps he should visit an enchanter's, or a clothier's.  He isn't even paying attention to where he is going when he finds his way blocked by a young guy who has interposed himself in Judoc's path.  Was this a robbery?  The marketplace isn't particularly busy, but still, there are potentially dozens of witnesses around.

The young mage grips his staff in both hands and sneers.  "Believe me, you don't want any of this.  I take it you didn't see the last fellow who got in my way today."

OOC: Judoc expects some kind of trap.  He will ready his staff and begin to evaluate the other man, but he won't take any aggressive action unless attacked.  Defenses are Retreating Block, followed by Retreating Dodge.

Judoc grips his staff more firmly, his eyes darting this way and that looking for some sort of trap.  However, nothing seems to come at the moment and the stranger looks slightly taken aback and seems tempted to laugh as a corner of his lip curls up in a smile at Judoc's words.  "Actually, I did see your last fight...  It was a damn decent thing you did at the end.  Not many of your friends did the same thing.  I just wanted to let you know that there are plenty of us that appreciate it, might even see it as a favor that a friend of ours is still alive and is back on the streets.  Just wanted to say thanks, you saved a good man whether you knew it or not."

The stranger's words take Judoc by surprise, and he raises an eyebrow as he takes a hand off his staff, holding onto it now as walking stick rather than a weapon to defend himself with.  So this wasn't a robbery attempt, then?  Good.  He doesn't want to spill any more blood today, not after the show he put on back at the arena.

"I see I misunderstood you," he says, smiling now.  If his act of sparing Death's life had earned him some measure of respect among the criminal element, then that was just fine with Judoc.  He questions whether the other gladiator had really been a "good man," though.  Perhaps good as far as his fellow criminals was concerned.  So are they all, all honorable men.

He nods his head.  "I simply had no wish to play judge, jury, and executioner toward a man I didn't even know," he says.  "I don't know what the man had done, but we were told all the other gladiators were murderers and thieves."  He shrugs.  What chance had the other man had against one so well versed in the arcane arts?  Now perhaps if Judoc had been blindfolded, gagged, and restrained, the story might have been different.  As it was, the other gladiator had been lucky to have gotten in his blow.

"So, you mentioned 'plenty of us.'  Who are the 'us,' if you don't mind my asking?"

"Told you they were murderers eh?" the man smiles bitterly.  "Perhaps there were a few from the dungeons who did such crimes, I would not know, but most of those who fought today were simply there because they were caught in a raid of a safe house.  I will not say those men were saints but a few even if you tallied all their crimes in life were guilty of no more than trading with undesirable people. It matters little as all of them were only charged with 'collusion' before they were put in the arena.  Today's events were little more than a legitimized slaughter of political foes - I'm sure that you worked out that the cards were stacked quite in your favor?"

The man hesitates slightly before answering the last question though he does not seem to guard his words.  "We belong to a guild of sorts, one that has fallen out of favor with some of the city.  However, we are making inroads to bringing justice back.  I think perhaps after some of today's events we will make directions into evening the score."

As the young man speaks, Judoc's curiosity grows.  It seems that he has been part of a retaliation to stamp out some kind of political cell.  He wonders what the basis of the conflict is.  Judoc is no lapdog, eager to learn news of misdeeds so that he can hurry off to report the news to his Templar masters, but neither is he eager to become embroiled in any kind of political dispute.  Still, he lingers, curious as to what else he can learn.

"A guild, you say?  What kind?" he finds himself asking.  Megalos does not condone dissent against the established order.  Perhaps these men are supporters of some alternate political ideology.  Or perhaps they are - what is the term - Protestants?  That would make sense, given the ridiculous roleplay this afternoon, with Judoc dressed as the female Catherine of the Wheel.  A guild that has fallen out of favor.  He wracks his brain, trying to remember what guild might have been shut down.  A Thieves Guild, perhaps?

And what did the man mean by "some of today's events"?  Judoc knew that this combat today was important as a test of sorts, and apparently it had darker implications than he had been aware of.  Were these fellows going to throw off the yoke of oppression and rise up?  Maybe throw a few paving stones, have a little riot?  Likely as not, they'll get even more of them locked up.  If so, then Judoc has little desire to be seen in public with one of the agitators, though his curiosity is screaming now as to what is going to happen next.

"The events of today, eh?  The arena, you mean?  Yes, it is galling that we students were misled on this front.  Fighting fairly in the arena is one thing, but setting trained battle mages on poorly armed men isn't very sporting."

OOC:  Current Events check to see if Judoc remembers any kind of guild being disgraced or disbanded.

"The illegal kind."  The man laughs, though he does not expound further on the comment and does not offer many further comments on the guild structure or purpose.  "It probably would help everyone to keep things light on the details.  Let's just say there was more going on than just the fights today.  But I stopped here just to let you know we appreciated it.  Look.  If you have interest than you can put a message here."  He motions over his shoulder to the dilapidated building behind him.  "I wouldn't get yourself too involved too quickly, it might not go over too well with your chosen vocation.  But like I said, if you need a favor, you might find yourself a friend if you need one.  Just shoot me a line."

OOC:  There aren't any particular guilds that Judoc knows of that would fit the bill for what the man is talking about.  You have heard rumors of an organization called "murderer's row" although for the most part it seems to be stories of epic thieves and fighters rather than any stories of a true guild.  The motion from the men is towards the abandoned merchant's guild.  Unless you plan on trying to do more aggressive networking in this post, there isn't too much need to stretch this out.  Feel free to make the next one a wrap up unless you have a specific goal in mind - and in that case let me know with an OOC tag at the bottom and I'll make the appropriate rolls if you didn't already.

Judoc nods his head in a noncommittal sort of way.  Friends are always good to have, although these particular people aren't going to help him get any closer to his goal of becoming a battle wizard in the Megalan army.  Still, it could be useful to be able to call in a favor or get some help if he ended up in a tight spot someday.  The life you save may be your own, he muses.

Guilds, guilds.  The only disgraced organization he can summon up is something called a murderer's row.  More an adventurer's guild, really, or a thieves' guild.  Had the man he had fought earlier today been part of an organization like that?  Intriguing, but not really something Judoc is interested in getting mixed up in.

"Be careful out there," he says.  "It can be - murder - out there."  He makes a mental note of the ruined merchants' guild.  Hopefully, he won't need to make use of the favor.

Turning from the youth, Judoc saunters off, looking for a place to get a drink and possibly a new powerstone.

Judoc quips as he departs his company, the other nods with a half smile.  "That it can... that it can."

As the day passes, more of the crowds from the arena make their way back into the town and Judoc is happy to find that many of the people of Azer recognize him, though he is horrified that most of them remember him by the only name he was ever given: Catherine.  He is quick to correct the error - though he is still surprised to find that he is known most for his mercy rather than his overwhelming power... still, the wave of good feeling was a nice change from Brother Loke's cold hatred and the ambivalence of most of most of the other teachers.

OOC:  Well done not only on succeeding in the match but also roleplaying your character phenomenally!  Character points will be denoted in private and annotated on your character sheet.  I'll get the next thread up as soon as I think through to what the next step of this spider's web will get us to.
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:50, Fri 31 Mar 2017.