Surrounding the arena is a huge circle of benches where spectators watch and cheer on the gladiators. Above them rise special VIP towers where nobles, government officials and even royalty and high ranking clergy can spectate the arena. Cheering, heckling and jeering echo from their seats and many stand up and roar when the battles are particularly glorious.

Beneath the spectator stands, other gladiators await in the dungeons and training areas able to watch the fights through barred windows. Talk of the upcoming fights and records goes around, many gladiators eager to claim the championship for their own and some conspiring with others for their own gain. Few are aware of the politics behind the arena, but they exist and the wardens and guards of the arena are all to well aware of these things...

OOC: This is a roleplaying thread where players can roleplay their characters watching arena matches as they unfold. You can even respond to things actually going on in match threads by moving between different arenas on different sidelines. Many dungeons and training areas allow multiple arenas to be viewed at once. The Colosseum itself is a large network of smaller arenas all arranged in circles surrounding one grand circle (which is usually reserved for training year round until the annual championship games).
This message was last edited by the GM at 13:09, Wed 23 Mar 2016.

Quiet as the night, the Cold Rider stood by himself in a dark corner of the dungeon lobby where free gladiators awaited their next match. He was not scheduled to fight anyone today, but often came to the arena dressed for battle just to watch. He was more creature than man, rumored to be among the abominable undead because of his skeletal face, though the mages who scanned his essence when he joined the gladiators still authorized his entry under strict supervision. The colosseum attracted many strange folk with odd heritages and bloodlines and often monsters capable of thought and language even joined for various reasons. This armored being that radiated a cold chill, was just one such creature...

Variel stepped into the dungeon lobby, nodding at the warrior in the dark corner of the room. He walked slowly, still sore from his fight with Rufus just hours ago. "So you're the champion, eh?" he asked, staring at the Cold Rider with steel gray eyes.

The Cold Rider bent its neck to look at Variel without the rest of its body even budging in a creepy display of its inhumanity. The horns that grew forth from its skull-like head loomed over Variel.

"Indeed."

The last man brave enough to battle the rider had been a gunslinger who was quick on the draw, but not as quick as the rider's bow. Despite its bulky appearance, it was quite agile and took pleasure in bleeding victims. All who had seen the rider fight knew him to be a sadistic creature with no soul.

Variel shuffled over to one of the low benches in the lobby and took a seat, keeping the Rider within his vision the whole time. He decided he did not trust the creature. Whatever it was, it meant no good for anyone.

Walks in a bloodied figure with cuts and stabs as deep as bone all over but a proud look of accomplishment on his face and a mug in hand of the strongest brew available from the tavern to help with healing the scars that like letters in a book can tell stories. Rufus has come after the nearest match he has had to watch how his guild mate Sobieski will do quick work with his opponent.

He takes a viewing place close to the Cold Rider How is it being the champion with noone challenging You. How do You keep Your edge as a champion without proper contest? Rufus asks this with great interest and admiration to the champion as he takes a huge gulp out of his mug.

This message was last edited by the player at 07:58, Sat 28 Apr 2012.

The rider looks at Rufus, seeming to enjoy the sight of his bruised and cut body as if the mere presence of pain gave it sadistic pleasure.

"My mission here is for the glory of my queen. My presence here frightens those who know who we are and that alone serves enough purpose. But I do enjoy a kill when it is foolish enough to come to me."

The creature smiled a fanged grin beneath its helm. Whatever it was, it radiated a chill and cruelty only seen in the most sadistic of souls and yet it seemed more obsessed with its service to this "queen" than even its own bloodlust.

OOC: Knowledge (nature) or (local) DC18 to know something of import about the Cold Rider.

You and I are alot alike when it comes to enjoyment, champion. The difference between us is that eventually You will fall behind me if Your purpose rests with serving a queen. Rufus points at Sobieski My purpose is to make warriors into gladiators because that is what I believe to be purpose - power. takes another gulp of from his mug Guess Don didnt slice deep enough, no leaking beer AAAHAHAHAA!

Variel cringed at Rufus's loud words. It didn't help that he had suffered his last defeat at the hands of the barbarian. "Quiet down will you!" he called from his seat. "Damn orc bloods are all the same. Roaring away like they're posturing for territory."

Posturing for territory? What have You to show but words elf? Honor? Conquest? Strength? You are absent any of this and speak as if equal! Come and show action by test of strength against Rufus once more or go bark with the dogs in the sewers!

Variel scowled even more at the half-orc's words. He didn't like to admit it, but Rufus was right. He had not yet proven himself in the arena. He sat, quiet and sullen, like a child that was just scolded.

The Cold Rider chuckles at the conflict. It cared not about the gladiator's petty squabbles, but merely enjoyed the suffering it created. It's laughter bellowed at Rufus' comment not even taking the barbarian seriously.

A strong roar of pride comes from Rufus as he sees Sobieskies minions tearing up yet another one of his opponents that didn't even get the chance to lay a hand on him Sobieski the untouchable! finishes his drink just in time to go find himself some game.

As he is led back to his cell, Kolgar fumes with rage. His blade did not drink enough blood that match, and it looked like it would have been a straight up fight, with no pesky magic tricks. Perhaps he'd get another chance to kill the man.

The gladiators can hear cheering outside as one of the new guilds is announced. House Rufus had become popular but now that Kolgar, one of the favorite prisoners of the arena, had somehow mustered his own guild with a little rule-bending on the guild judges' part, the crowd cheered hearing about it. Everyone loves an anti-hero and everyone loves an underdog and few can live up to that idea more than convicts trying to earn their freedom by risking their lives in battle. The announcer roars for everyone to welcome the new guild: The Blackhearts!

After a few weeks of special training with Sobieski at the guild Rufus comes forth to the viewing area again looking more composed in his attitude now. Its been rumored that Rufus has been doing special mental training to be more resilient towards magic that manipulates the will of a subject. The reason why he has been doing this becomes ever more obvious as he walks towards the Cold Rider Champion, I Rufus challenge You! he waits for the Cold Riders full attention and then continues "You may as the champion carry Your belt on You" he then points to the Barricades There!

The cold rider accepts the challenge with a fanged smile.

"Fresh meat? It matters not to me where I gut you, bloodbag, only that chill your bones before I break them."

OOC: Barricades no special terms it is!

Rattling the bars of his cell, Kolgar laughs as the crowd cheers his new rise. The Black Hearts were but a step. The first of many.

"Anybody dare challenge me, Kolgar of the Blackhearts? What about the wimp who froze in the pit? Variel? Fight me!"

Daern finds his way to the sidelines. "Well it seems that I can't any new challengers. I don't reckon any of you might oblige?" He simply stands with his back against the wall waiting for a new foe to rise.

Variel could not hear any of the challenges being made, as he was busy training. His current style of combat was not going to get him anywhere, so he decided to refocus his efforts and learn something new. He could be seen day in and day out in the training area, working with different weapons and different movements. It seemed that he would not be fighting for some time.

This message was deleted by a game editor at 22:42, Wed 02 May 2012.

In it's arrogance the cold rider shoves the announcer aside during an announcement in the arena and points out in the crowd speaking loudly into the magic device that magnified voices.

"Ha! You weakling mortals have no idea what powers my queen strengthens me with! I could take you all on! Free for all match to the death! Who here wants to be gutted by my blade a second time? Huh? Any of you maggots have the stones?"
This message was last edited by the player at 21:27, Thu 03 May 2012.

A smiling grin was visible on Sobieski's face as he witnessed the Cold Rider become too arrogant. He knew very well what he did wrong last time and will not make that mistake again. For Sobieski to win him is not about the title but more about proving that the previous fight was a fluke.
At the end of the Cold Riders boast Sobieski noded up and down.

Daern walked into the arena after his first triumph since his fight with the cold rider. He walked over next to where Rufus stood and smiled. "I think it best he goes down first. If we can take him down, then at least there will be a new champ." He then murmured something else no one could hear and walked away.

The crowd roars in anticipation. After the Cold Rider had challenged all seekers of the championship to a free for all battle, the entire city had been bustling about the news. Seats were sold out and everyone was clamoring to get a glimpse at what is now one of the most anticipated fights in the past few years. The announcer introduced the contestants...

• The Cold Rider, the mounted master of ice and undisputed champion.
• Daern Black, the true shootin' spellslinger.
• Rufus, the invulnerable barbarian warrior.
• Sobieski, the untouchable summoner.

The crowd roared, each section of the audience cheering on a different contestant. This was going to a be a battle no one would soon forget.

The door, clearly marked on the other side with the stern warning "Gladiator's Only", opens and shuts, seemingly of its own accord and making the off-duty Gladiators relaxing in the "bar" glance around puzzled for a moment.  Then, from behind a stone trestle table walks a diminutive halfling, answering the momentary puzzle.

On his back is a small halfling-sized shortbow and quiver, and his cloak is pushed back to reveal a couple of bulky packages hanging from his belt, along with a more standard belt pouch and dagger sheath.  His young looking, but somewhat weathered face is creased into a smile, and he regards the current residents of the bar appraisingly, with a hint of a challenge in his eyes.

"You got to be kidding me..." someone mutters under their breath.

Ignoring the whispers and looks of incredulity, the halfling scoots up to the bar, vaulting impressively onto a high bar stool to stand at the bar.  At only just a few inches more than two and a half feet high, the tiny person leans his elbow on the somewhat scarred and battered bar, and gestures to the barman.  "I'll have a pint of ale" he says, emphasising the size and nodding meaningfully towards one of the larger tankards as he pushes a silver coin across the bar.   Turning to the taproom in general, he leans back against the bar and raises his voice.  "My name is Sondirra.  If anyone thinks I don't belong here - then you can take it up with me in the Arena!" he says challengingly.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:03, Thu 24 May 2012.

As a tiefling, a dwarf and a half-orc step forward together, Sondirra shrugs, his little shoulders making his cloak blur for a moment with the movement.  "All three at once then.  Tonight under the moon...  in the Colosseum" he adds as they all nod agreement.  "See you there and don't be late!" he adds with a grin, knowing that the all-seeing owner of the Arena would make sure of it - as well as making sure the audience seats were well filled.

Turning back to the bar, he eyes his pint, the tankard looking huge to his small hands.  As he goes to lift it, a small frown crosses his brow as he suddenly realises he has agreed to fight three beings all who have perfect night vision - in the dark.  Or at least near dark.  Shaking his head, he hefts the heavy tankard with both hands and drinks deeply, wondering just how bad it might get that night.  Ah well, his halfling luck had seen him this far in life - perhaps it will see him one more night!

Brushing the arena dust from his breeches, Sondirra -now back to his more normal size - re-enters the Gladiator Bar.  Hopping up to the bar stool, he nods to the bar man for a drink and nurses it as he thinks over his first match.  It was almost a shame that the tiefling had disqualified himself, and he wonders how easy he would have found the match had Harsk and Kolgar not spent all their effort killing each other and had ganged up on him.

Taking a sip he frowns.  In a stand up fight, he couldn't hope to last out against Harsk's axes.  The one hit he'd taken proved that.  Even though Sondirra considered himself more agile and more accurate with his knife, the greater stamina and speed of attack would give Harsk, or Kolgar for that matter the advantage in the long run.  Shaking his head to himself he sighs, knowing that the only way he would continue to win would be through stealth and sniping.  Not a very satisfactory way of winning though, he confessed to himself.

The Cold Rider's chest bursts and ice shatters everywhere as a dark cloud of black smoke rises from within. The bloody heart that had been caged within the icy form had exploded leaving nothing left of the Cold Rider but melted ice and blood in puddles. It was as gruesome as it was glorious. For the first time in years someone had finally defeated the Cold Rider. The crowd roared and applauded. Daern would walk away a blood-drenched champion...

Daern strode back into the spectators area after his triumph over the Cold Rider, Rufus, and Sobieski. He takes up his old bottle of whiskey and with a big grin, walks over to celebrate with his fellow Black Hearts.

A new combatant enters the bar. Tall with white hair, his slight frame attracts derision from the loudest and drunkest combatant in the bar. With a sigh, the youth walks over to the man, and in the blink of an eye draws a slender rapier, slices a curl of the man's head off and re-sheathes it.

He then sits at the corner table and with a polite smile calls out "A pint, sir, if you please" towards the barkeep, leaning back on the chair against the wall.

One of the unique features of the arena pit area was the presence of a bar in the lobby. Several guards presided over it under constant watch, but serving drinks and allowing the gladiators to watch the fights and even place their own bets on other battles kept them from getting restless between matches. Of course, this was only in the lobby area where free warriors waited to compete. Enslaved gladiators still waited in cells by the arena. And of course, the bar was a whole room and a corridor away from the actual arena pits surrounding the arena.

"Guess I'm no longer the newbie" a high pitched voice sounds at the elbow of the newcomer.  Nimbly hopping up onto a chair, the halfling grins, twirling a small dagger on his finger tips.  "So are you the new barber?" he asks cheekily.  "Or are you hoping your first fight will be a bar-room brawl?" he asks, peering past the man at the irate and somewhat less hairy drunk in the corner.

The thin elf grins at this new apparition and bows from the waist.

"Far more than some mere barber, my good sir. Consider me the new barber-surgeon." He taps his sheathed rapier. "Old Bob here will happily comb your hair a treat or dissect you in half just as easily. Whatever the customer requires, I can supply." He grins to show he means no insult.

"Call me Arkwright, my good sir. And how might I address you?"

"Sondirra" the halfling replies.  He hops up, twisting to perch on the edge of the bar so he can observe the gladiator's bar more easily.  "Pretty new here myself - only taken part in one free for all and one team event" he says blithely.  "About time I had me a one-on-one."  He turns to eye Arkwright more closely.  "You didn't have a nephew called Granville did you?" he asks suspiciously.

"Afraid not, sirrah. I have no relations. But tell me, what do you think of this arena? of the combat?"

New to the coliseum, Padraig plants himself on the cold hard stone bench overseeing the match 'twixt the female and halfling.  A beer in one hand, the other absently stroking Moyra, there'll bae ah dae.

ooc -- anyone looking for a match?

Baldemar watches the championship match with disinterest. This wasn't a fight.
 YOU BUNCH OF WORTHLESS SNEAKY COWARDS! he yells, GET 'EM ARKWRIGHT!

Olmar leans forward on the railing leisurely and watches the championship fight with lazy eyes.  Not all that impressed with what he was seeing he nevertheless had to grudgingly admit that the fighters were following through on their chosen tactics very well,  he himself would probably have trouble locating Sondirra and Eibon,  Sondirras sniping might get problematic as well as Eibon's flurry with the bow.  He might be evenly matched with Arkwright though,  might.

Seeing Eibon and Sondirra struck by fairy fire brings a grin to his face,  things should get interesting soon,  and maybe he'd get his chance at one of them soon as well,  the thought brought a warm glow into his gut,  Olmar enjoyed fighting.

The crowd roars as a new champion is born on the battlefield. Eibon, the archer, now stands as the reigning champ.

Olmar enters the stands,  tired from the last fight he decides to sit one out and watch.

From the ceiling, a portal opens and a small brass and steel servitor flies down to a position about 4 feet above a stone table.  It shutters for a second and then an illusory image of an old battle hardened dwarf drapes over it.

"Match 49 is complete.  With a devastating blow, Seresia the Merfolk Summoner has defeated Lok-Nare, the Half-Orc Sorceror!   Who shall test this Merfolk new–comer and who will give the Half-Orc the chance to regain his honor?"

The image fades, revealing the servitor once again.  It quietly flies back through its portal which quickly snaps shut.

The announcement servitor once again flies down to its pedestal.  The illusory dwarf reforms:

"Match 56 is complete.  Olmar Magna once again defeats his foe.  With three wins, one draw, and absolutely no losses; who will challenge the arena's now highest ranked gladiator?  Who will be the one to make him taste the bitterness of defeat?"

The image fades, revealing the servitor once again.  It quietly flies back through its portal which quickly snaps shut.

Match #59
The crowd roars with laughter as a newcomer is escorted out of the arena by a trio of arena wardens. Disqualified, disgraced, thus is the fate of any gladiator foolish enough to violate the rules of the arena. Harmur is declared winner by default and shoveled out of the arena without any glorious trumpets or achievements, but still getting her payment in full. The arena is not always at its most glorious these days.

Match #60

The crowd was excited to see newcomers, and for good reason. Cheers rang out for the archer, while at the same time boos did as well. The crowd was still looking for a hero in the crowd to shine out above the rest, but loving the bloody glory on the field...

Meanwhile, the benches remain full of the broken and the soon-to-be broken anxiously waiting their turn in the arena with only a few metal bars and the arena force shield between them and the action...

Match #58

The crowd begins to jeer and boo as those with bets riding on the match become increasingly agitated. Trying to break the opponent's concentration by yelling, many in the audience are even asked to return to their seats by passing guards as Baldemar and Olmar's battle drags on. It appears the two opponents are so evenly matched that it has come down to a game of tag.

Match #58

The announcer presents itself and calls the latest match, "Match 58 is complete.  In a record breaking long match, Baldemar answers the call and provides Olmar Magna a sampling of the bitter taste that is defeat."

The crowds roar and cheer as the 70th duel goes underway.

Surrounding the arena is a huge circle of benches where spectators watch and cheer on the gladiators. Above them rise special VIP towers where nobles, government officials and even royalty and high ranking clergy can spectate the arena. Cheering, heckling and jeering echo from their seats and many stand up and roar when the battles are particularly glorious.

Beneath the spectator stands, other gladiators await in the dungeons and training areas able to watch the fights through barred windows. Talk of the upcoming fights and records goes around, many gladiators eager to claim the championship for their own and some conspiring with others for their own gain. Few are aware of the politics behind the arena, but they exist and the wardens and guards of the arena are all to well aware of these things...

OOC: This is a roleplaying thread where players can roleplay their characters watching arena matches as they unfold. You can even respond to things actually going on in match threads by moving between different arenas on different sidelines. Many dungeons and training areas allow multiple arenas to be viewed at once. The Colosseum itself is a large network of smaller arenas all arranged in circles surrounding one grand circle (which is usually reserved for training year round until the annual championship games).
This message was last updated by the GM at 05:14, Sat 25 May 2013.

Latro practically swings one of the doors off it's hinges as he barges into the spectator area. As he walks he passes through the area where spectators watched his match against Joran. His blood still on the ground from where he had been cut down. Apparently the cleaning crew hadn't bothered to start cleaning up yet. He curses under his breath in his native tongue and moves onward. He'd have his revenge against this Joran fellow one day. For now, he wanted to see what this whole survival thing was about. Pushing through the crowds and nearing the edge of the sidelines, he sees the combatants locked in combat with a group of mages of some kind. Latro wasn't exactly sure what they were, nor did he really care. At this point, he needed to study each of the combatants in the arena and find their weak points if he was to achieve victory - no - dominion over this... arena.

He was not expecting surface walkers to put up such a fight against these mages which only solidified in his mind that these mages were week and not of drow standards. Then again... neither was he. He needed to gain dominance over everyone in this arena at all costs. Whatever the cost. Then they would see that he was worthy to be called Drow.

Latro pushes away from the sidelines having enough of this petty squabble between mages and swords, scowling at people who get in his way and threatening others with a menacing glare if they mock him.

The front door swings open silently, and a stocky dwarf glides in. He is wearing tightly wrapped robes and his face is covered by a carved wooden mask. He signals the barkeep for two ales without speaking, pays, and then carries them to an open table in the middle of the room. He sets one mug at an empty chair, then goes and sits down on the opposite side of the table.

He sits, not drinking, not speaking.

It almost seems as if he's waiting for someone to join him - a challenger perhaps?

Along the walls of the spectator stands lay scattered kiosks selling food and drink. Many have tables and chairs set up around them like bars where people can watch the arena fights and get a drink a safe distance from the action.

Seeing Latro burst by, the bartender quickly grabbed his bar to hold it steady and ensure no drinks fell over.

The ongoing survival mission between the new archer, Calithros and his fellow gladiators was raging on. Special magic allows viewers to see through walls, fog and darkness, though the people and creatures inside the arena were still fighting for their lives in the midst of it.

The barkeep notices Hiro as he cleans a mug with a rag.

"So, what do ya think of this archer, Calithros, eh? I hear he's an "up and coming" celebrity gladiator. Some folks say he'll be the next champion. My money was on that magus, Olmar but after that fight with the Dark One, I'm not so sure. Wonder if the archer and magus will have a bout? That'd be something to see wouldn't it?"

Rumor spread about a face off between Calithros and Olmar while others insisted Olmar would come back for a rematch with the Dark One and still more were placing bets on one of the two biting the dust before they ever got the chance...

It's been months since the arena saw the brutal fight between the drowish anti-paladin, Latro Dectus, and the dwarven monk, Hiro, that shocked the crowd to a razor's edge. Shamed, the armored anti-paladin had vanished after his defeat. Hiro has remained the reigning champion and wrestled minor demons and sharks and other gladiators.

Two barbarian orcs, Ugrim and Drunghar tore the arena apart with their vicious strength, but have yet to make an attempt at the championship.

Hiro and the up and coming gladiator, Skeex, a ratfolk alchemist fought as well and with the powerful alchemist's defeat, one can only wonder if he scurried off to the same dark corner as Latro Dectus.

After witnessing battles with both angels and demons in the ring, the audience is hard-pressed to find more interesting matches.

The arenas have been improved and remodeled and the stakes have grown higher.

Everyone eagerly awaits to see what the gladiators will do next...

A robed traveler enters the stands.  Over the next few days, he watches a great many fights, always remaining quiet, save for a few mutterings under his breath, which turn darker over the next few days, making those around him uncomfortable. Finally the robed figure can bide no more. He stands up, and throws back his hood.

"YOU CALL THAT A FIGHT, YOU WORTHLESS EXCUSE FOR A CHAMPION?"

He draws in a huge breath then continues shouting

"ALL I SEE IS THE WEAK BULLYING THE WEAKER. COUNT YOURSELF FORTUNATE THAT I, BALDEMAR, DEFEATER OF THE UNDEFEATED, HAVE BEEN ABSENT FOR SO LONG, FOR IT IS THE ONLY REASON THAT YOU NOW POSSESS THAT BELT. FIGHT ME, AND I SHALL RELINQUISH IT FROM YOUR UNMOVING BODY!"

As Baldemar shouts his lungs off, a man clad in the dark armors of Lolth passes by him. "If you want the belt, you'll be going through me first. I have a score to settle with that dwarf and i'll not let anyone kill him before i do. Come between me and my prize and you'll find my blade betwixt your head and shoulders."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:58, Wed 08 Jan 2014.

Baldemar turns.

"Then I shall deal with you." He replies quietly. "...At the proper time."

Baldemar pulls up his hood, and leaves the sidelines, in search of an evening's entertainment. He had announced his return.

The brash display in the stands had not gone unnoticed by Hiro, even as he beat the young sorceress into unconsciousness. Things were getting very interesting indeed.

Picking up the limp body of his opponent, he carried her to the healer's tent before returning to his own to prepare.

The crowd cheered as a spellcaster was pummeled unconscious by the ever-victorious champion. They grew silent as Baldemar and Latro announced their grand return to the Arena and immediately whispers and rumors began spreading through the audience as the warriors each walked their separate ways to prepare. Bets were being made and the whole arena was abuzz. Soon the storm would come...

---

Now, Latro and Baldemar face off, each eager to challenge the reigning champion for the championship belt and the prestige that comes with it, but even more eager for blood...

Rasputina and Abram face off, eager to bounce back in the game...

Ugrim and Hiro have a friendly spar...or viciously pummel each other in the name of sparring anyway...

---

OOC: Yeah, you guys pretty much are full of badassery right now.

Sheathing his weapon Latro wipes the blood spatter from his face and flicks it to the ground. "Hardly worth my time."
He turns and exits as the arena clerics go about reviving the monk back to his former self. He looks to the stands and points to the waiting area. "Do you see my new power Hiro? Soon, you too will be nothing more than a bloodstain on my scythe. Make yourself comfortable while you can, for once I have returned to my former glory, not even you will be able to stop me." He laughs a diabolical laugh and disappears from the arena in a wave of evil magic.

OOC: cast my second prepared invisibility cause i had a second one prepared in my match with Baldemar. :P

The crowd grows quiet as everyone watches opponents vanish. Many richer spectators pay additional fees to see through the invisibility though it does little good to the untrained eye.

Bets are traded with only whispers as the fight drags on.

---

Meanwhile, in the sidelines and dungeons far below the arena, the other gladiators clamor and prepare for future duels. Many are wary to give Hiro, Bablam and Olmar wide berth while many more still eye them dangerously with jealous and murderous eyes...
This message was last edited by the GM at 20:38, Fri 31 Jan 2014.

Balbam watched the matches, apparently bored by everything that was happening. Until Hiro and Latro stepped into the arena facing a huge dragon. The gnome's eyes lit up (almost literally) as he jumped up and clapped his hands. "Oh! I do hope it's the fire breathing kind!" he exclaimed and held his own breath in anticipation.

The crowds all wince as Hiro and Latro are both torn to shreds. Clearly, even the champions of the arena could not best a dragon. The great beast huffed and left, insulted by even wasting its time. Dragons always were the melodramatic types.

Soon afterwards, the short bout of two monks would seem minuscule, until one forfeits mysteriously before anything even got started.

Meanwhile, the cat-and-mouse game between the goblin and the ratfolk rages on.

Suddenly, during intermission, an arena administrator announcing in a great booming voice that a new guild has joined the arena. The School of the Voiceless Dragon will be holding auditions for membership soon.

Several runners move throughout the arena, distributing flyers. They read:

The School of the Voiceless Dragon is now accepting new students. Master Hiro will train and guide any who wish to learn the physical arts of combat. Fist or Foot, Bow or Blade, any who fight with honor and dignity may join. Members must be able to prove their martial prowess and show they do not rely on magic.

Those who wish to join must either best a current guild member or another applicant in the ring. Applicants should seek an audience with Master Hiro to arrange a membership match.

Guild fees shall be set at ten percent of any winnings in the arena.

After beholding a horrific underwater battle between two warriors and a gargantuan shark, the crowd is eager to see two warriors fight one opponent.

Cheering and placing their bets, the crowd roars. Some with money on the goblin and human and many others betting on the dwarf.

Even the other gladiators in the dungeon sidelines watch eagerly from beneath the stands to see how this plays out...

Abram's head has been held down in shame for too long. His mastery of tactical maneuvers means for naught if he cannot get a little of Lady Luck on his side. He enters the ring with one of his rivals, Maelstrom of the Serpent's Hand. Maelstrom walking in side by side is like a Giant walking next to a man. But size isn't everything, Abram will make sure the people know it.

In the Arena, there he stands. The undisputed King of the Slaves. Hiro stands there ready for another easy victory. Abram cannot contain himself, "NOT TODAY!" He shouts and points his finger down at the ground and stamps his foot. Onlookers would have seen a mere child throwing a tantrum. Well, for that matter, they may be right.

Odds stacked against them, the duo greenhorn team enters the Arena ready to make their mark...

OOC: Thought I would give this a try.

With Clerics of Lolth at his beck and call and bandages around his side, Latro watched from his medical room window the match unfolding between Hiro and the two new commers.

"Another towel!" He shouts at one of the Priests. "I think i still have water in my hair."

The gnome stood up after the last display of incompetence, and started walking towards the challenge room, leaving blackened footsteps on the floorboards. He waited long enough.

At first the crowd roared and cheered as the fire gnome and ki-powered dwarf squared off. However, as the fight drew on, more and more of the crowd began booing and jeering. Few still cheered on Bablam, for they had money riding on him, but the majority roared in protest and began rioting. Guards were hard pressed to keep the crowds from breaking lines and going on an unstoppable rampage. Thankfully, the arena wards and powerful judges intervened keeping the peace by force despite all the yelling and screaming.

No one was happy to see a champion yield, especially not after spending the whole fight hopping around while a spellcaster fluttered across the arena throwing magic. Thus was the way of the arena. "Coward" was a word being slung at both contestants for various reasons.

Even the other gladiators in the stands began rattling the bars and chains. Many demanded that Hiro not quit while others roared that the gnome should die. Others started laughing at the monk and more egged Bablam to burn the monk to the ground even after yielding. And then some very unfriendly sparring in the dungeons broke out over it.

Bablam and Hiro would be escorted by elite guards to their private rooms. They'd be under close eye until the heat died down...

It'd been a long time since a championship, and it appeared an even longer time would pass before anyone would forgive this one for it's rather anticlimactic end...

Latro spat at the ground as the new champion was declared. Now he had someone new to kill. True, hiro had still not died in the match, so Latro could still be the first to claim Hiro's life, but now he would need to kill the gnome to have the belt.

Hiro walked from the arena nonplussed. His robes were charred and his skin still pink from the healing.

The loss of the belt didn't bother him too much - really, it was simply on loan to the gnome. He had won the bout fairly, only in the sense he didn't break any rules. All the gnome had proven was that he could fly, not that he was a more powerful combatant.

Hiro was last seen striding through the doors of his dojo.

A torrent of flames formed around Bablam as his opponent retreated in defeat. His form could barely be seen, and the shadows that managed to escape the light of the fire seemed to twist and lengthen. The gnome reached out with his arms and pulled the fire to himself, a self satisfied smirk on his face. Not yet.

A slight shift in the asimaar's eyes signals the first stirrings of Olmar Magna in months, followed by a slight shift of his head as his eyes focus on his surroundings. How long had he been out? Sitting on a stool with a glass of mulled vine long since grown cold, none daring to disturb him in his stupor.

'So much has changed, how long have I been sitting here?' he thinks to himself.

Staring at his hand, Olmar flexes his fingers and releases the glass, feeling dull and stiff. Taking his hand to his chest he rubs it and frowns around at the stands. So much change. What else had changed?

Standing up Olmar walks out from the sidelines, he needed to see to his guild, he needed to see the Arena officials, how much had changed?

In the fast-paced arena, few people look twice when a hooded figure walks past or when a former gladiator returns to the sidelines. Without their fancy armor, weapons and spells, even the greatest of gladiators appears like just another amateur off the street or some noble-blooded fop.

In either case, Olmar would sit and wait in obscurity for now until he announced himself. In his absence, Hiro had risen as one of the greatest champions of the decade. Then Bablam, the fire gnome, had taken him down in a blaze of flame. The uproar was loud and it was rude and it was violent. The contenders had been escorted away by security, though both were relatively sure they didn't need it.

A new champion walks the hallways now. A spellcaster of great power. Oh yes, the arena has changed hats, but it was still the same. It was always the same. Victory demanded power and strategy and only the best walked away victorious...or even alive....

Walking back trough the doors to the sidelines Olmar pauses to look around. No one seemed to give him a second glance as he stood there, one even jostled him and told Olmar off for standing in the walkway into this crowded place. Olmar just stared at him for a moment, at a loss for words, before apologizing and moving off. Finding his usual place at the bar taken Olmar turned away, off to the view pane, half watching, half staring into space, he had a lot on his mind.

But now he must wait, and watch. He had caught up on the changes, talked to his guild and the arena supervisors. Now he must wait.

The doors to the bar opened as a woman strode in animalistic ears adorning her head the same color as her Light blue hair. Her eyes scanning the bar before walking up to a table near the viewing pane. She noticed the celestial touched man at the pane but paid him no heed as he looked like he was playing with the bunnies of thought in his mind. She rolled her shoulders a bit as she gazed out into the arena taking in the fights sorting them away in her mind for thought later. Eventually some bread was placed at her table for her to nibble on while she waited her vulpine tail swaying idly.

“Foxfolk, ratfolk, lizardfolk, Jayce and all his summons. When did the arena turn into a zoo?” He half expected to step on a turd. Maelstrom had shaken off the worst effects of his fight with the Hydrodaemon. He actually felt stronger. Seeing a nice corner in the bar, he plopped down to meditate. But before he could find inner sanctum, the crowds started to roar. “How am I supposed to mediate with all this noise?” Curiosity got the better of him. Leaning over the railing, Maelstrom noticed Master Hiro stepping into the ring with the three newcomers. “Really Hiro? Where’s the honor in fighting these inexperienced newcomers?” That said, Maelstrom continued to watch the match, eager to see the outcome, hopefully the unexpected one.

As Hiro's "initiation" of the newcomers is getting under way, those spectating notice several colorfully dressed entertainers tacking up fliers around the arena's observation areas and bar.


Soon after, a corner of the bar is taken over by a pair of brightly dressed women taking signups and handing out fliers with more information. And, in one of the lesser used arenas, there appears to be construction work going on, as well as a small display of exotic creatures to be used in the upcoming event.

It certainly looks like a spectacle of some sort has come to the arena.

In reply to Bablam Yellowflame (msg # 72):

Satisfied with things that transpired in the temple of arachnia, Bablam was ready for the change that was coming. When they appeared before the crowd, gnome took the Championship Belt he has won, and with a grin towards Hiro buckled it around his waist.

The torrent of flame returned and screaming could be heard from inside. But when it subsided, a tall figure stood proudly where everyone would expect a pile of ashes. Bablam reborn in a form more worthy of the Arena Champion. "Aaaaah. Much better."

The door to the tavern burst open, knocking a hapless drunk to the ground.

Vile Ann, the arena's newest fighter, strode menacingly in. Around her neck a still-dripping ear hung on a leather cord. Men and women scattered as she made her way to the bar, separating them like a shark's fin through water.

She convinced one of the onlookers to give up his stool at the bar (he did not require much convincing) she sat down and drained what was left of the man's beer.

Letting loose a loud and rumbling burp, she hurled the mug against the wall. "More beer! Killing makes me thirsty..."

The crowds roared and cheered loudly as the long awaited rematch between the champion and ex-champion began...

 Josep takes a drink and nonchalantly takes a look at the ongoing Endurance Challenge.

  "Have you seen this?!" he asks the patrons around him.
  "That brute just bathed in lava... remind me of that moment, if I ever feel foolish enough to go after him..."

 Mesmerized by the uncanny scene, the wizard quickly finishes his drink in shot sips, wondering whether the barbarian will survive the experience...

Latro watches from the sidelines, cleaning Olimar's still fresh blood from his scythe as Hiro reclaims the belt from Bablam. Taking to a piece of parchment, Latro scribes out a few things before going to meet Hiro at the exit of the arena.

As Hiro exits the arena, buckling the belt around his waist and the clerics rush in to heal Bablam, a crossbow bolt flies from the darkness and lands in the wall by Hiro, a piece of parchment attached to it.

"Official Challenge" it reads on the outside.

Latro Dectus hereby challenges the current champion to duel at the Howling Abyss for the right to call themselves champion and wear the champion's belt.

Latro's scythe shimmers in the darkness as the shadowy figure walks away back down the hall to prepare for the battle.

A few days after Latro's embarrassing defeat at Hiro's hands once more, a large parchment appears hung up near the bar area:


Shadow's Caress is now recruiting all practitioners of darkness and chaos into it's ranks to take the Arena by storm. Any and all who bask in the unholy light of dark forces or who toss the lawmaker's rules to the wind are invited to take up ranks with us.
MONKS NEED NOT APPLY! EVER!!!!
If your hunger for the downfall of all good and lawful knows no bounds, speak with your local conduit of darkness, Latro Dectus, about becoming a harbinger of evil and/or chaos.

OOC: If you would like to join my newly formed guild, "Shadow's Caress," you must be either Chaotic Evil, Chaotic Neutral, or Neutral Evil. Initial dues are 100 x your current HD in GP or a single hero point. From there gp due is based on your current rank within the guild itself.

Many of the spectators are amused to see Master Hiro pushing his way through the crowds, headed for his skybox. His arms were filled with tubs of popped corn and flagons of ale. Tucked under one arm was a banner that said "Go Monsters!"

 Josep enjoys the sight of the ongoing survival match.

 He is really looking forward to seeing the oversized dwarf toss the regular dwarf at the flying monster...
  "This looks fun... I should join a guild as well. Or found my own."

Latro watches from the exclusive Guild Master's box at the ongoing matches in his private chair. Taking in each and every combatant as they fight for their lives and seeing which ones would make welcome addition to his growing guild. He had his eye on a few of the new commers and he had already swayed one to his end and because of that, Latro was temporarily pleased.

His former guildmaster Olmar had been absent as of late, his personal chair collecting dust in one of the corners of the room. Having taken a brutal beating in his last match from Latro himself, the former dark-elf wasn't surprised that he was missing. this brought a smile to his face.

Hiro however was different story. He was off beating up monsters with his happy-go-lucky guild members. It was disgusting, and Hiro's continued triumph over Latro proved to be equally infuriating. But Latro was still discovering new ways to exploit the current champion's weaknesses and soon, so very soon, the belt would be his.

Sitting back in his chair, crossing his legs, and interlacing his fingers, Latro laughed silently to himself. The madness of constant defeat weighing on his shoulders had pushed him beyond sanity. Was his dark goddess pleased with this turn of events? It mattered not to Latro any longer. The only thing that consumed his thoughts now was acquiring the belt and finally laying waste to Hiro.
This message was last edited by the player at 02:32, Wed 13 Aug 2014.

Krumm, newly arrived to the Arena, smiles happily as the match between Lispro and Karma breaks out. "Now HE is a big one. I like this!" He watches on, his attention absorbed fully by the match.

After Karma surrenders, Krumm frowns. "Shame."

With several fights underway in the various arenas, those watching note that there are several entertainers tacking up new fliers around the bar and stands.


In a repeat of the last time, a corner of the bar is taken over by a pair of brightly dressed women taking signups and handing out fliers with more information. And, in one of the lesser used arenas it's obvious that the necessary construction work has begun. This time the display of exotic creatures to be used in the upcoming events is even larger and more impressive.

Up in the stands a man who had been lounging with his back against a large canvas sack that took up the seat behind his leaned forward to stare at the hordes of vermin in the arena below.  It was the first time he'd moved since an hour before the match, though a few snores had escaped from under the wide hat of lacquered straw tipped over his face.  He wore a high collared robe of dark blue silk brocade chased with whorling arabesques of yellow, white and lighter blue calligraphy that resembled knotwork.  But the fine garment was obscured in a layer of trail dust, and charred little plugs of flayleaf littered the floor around him.  With his exotic dress and dapper dreadlocks threaded through rings of metal, wood and glass the man looked like another of the hundreds of travelers who flocked to the City every year, younger sons of minor human nobles from faraway lands no one had ever heard of who went straight from the gate to the Arena to make wastrels of themselves at its betting windows and bars.  Eventually, through bravado or poverty, many would make themselves fodder for its bloodsports.

   The man rubbed sleep from his eyes and squinted again at the gob and its swarm of bugs.  He muttered jealously, "How the Pit does he train them?!  Mine never do that."   He swigged from a flask, then lurched to his feet and shouldered the pack.  "Come on, let's go get signed up.  Maybe we'll find out. No one answered or followed, but as he padded down the steps he laughed and said, "Doubtful.  But they resurrect you for free after, so.  Something to look forward to."
This message was last edited by the player at 01:09, Sun 09 Nov 2014.

Commoner #136: "Did that druid just turn into a dragon and body slam the wizard?"

Commoner #135: "Yeah, not a dragon but some sort of bat-bird...thing. And yeah...I think he just did."

Commoner #136: "..."

Commoner #136: "I love this place."

*two spectators bang mugs of ale together and drink in celebration and cheer for the stone-skinned druid*

The arena was alive and well and the matches were getting ever less predictable. Something the wardens kept a careful eye on. As long as none of the gladiators become too popular or too powerful, the wheels of the great arena would keep turning and the competition for the powerful artifact of the arena would continue to circle around endlessly...just as the Gladiator King foretold...
This message was last edited by the GM at 06:16, Fri 30 Jan 2015.

Maelstrom finally walked out of the bathroom to the deafening roar of the crowd. As he walked down the hallway the roar of the crowd stirred his curiosity. He slid in between a couple of commoners and peered into the arena just in time to see Josep fall from Lispro’s mouth. From what Maelstrom could tell it was an incredible fight. They both fought well. He nodded in respect. Then the irony of the situation fell upon him. “Do you mean the ice wizard couldn’t beat the dinosaur?” Maelstrom barked a laugh and continued to walk down the hallway.

Latro watches calmly from the shadows, observing more than anything. He was not ready to return to the arena. Not just yet. but soon he would make his comeback and strike at Hiro with all his power. The belt would be his one way or another.

The crowd gawked as they watched the poor rogue, last of his small squad left, get mauled to death by the giant orcish barbarian. The crazed warrior had survived lava baths and monstrous behemoths in the arena, so the bets had been in his favor against three new gladiators. Not that it made the victory any less gruesome. Some cheered in hearty blood-lust while the rest simply winced at the horrific sight. Sure, the arena's regenerative field made competitors temporarily immortal while inside the barriers, but that didn't make it hurt any less...

As the bodies slowly regenerate and are hauled off by the cleaning crew, the crowd gives Ugrim a cheer. A long-time veteran, but rarely a victor. Everybody loves an underdog...

Ugrim raises his arms and accepts the cheering of the crowd. Looking to the Guild Master Box, Ugrim gives a nod and departs the arena with little more celebration.

Meanwhile within the Guild Master Box, Latro sits alone, observing the fights at hand and taking note of his lackeys accomplishments. Madam Opal was being too ambitions, challenging Hiro like that. Even with the help of two other magic users, it was almost certain that she, like the rest of them would fall within moments.

But perhaps, just perhaps, the orc would prove to be Hiro's undoing. With his might, the belt very well could be, at the very least, in the possession of Shadow's Caress and at this point, that was good enough. Latro motioned to Ugrim as he celebrated his hardly worthy victory. Ugrim gave a nod and departed.

"Let us see how you fair against my Orc then, Hiro. Your power may be great, but will it stand to the full might of Ugrim Lavabathed? My fingers tingle with excitement just thinking about it."

Latro's eyes widened as he watched the Match between Hiro and the three spellcasters turn in their favor. hiro was suddenly brought down by the Ice' Mage's powerful rays, an experience he himself had felt. Latro almost felt sorry for the monk but but compassion had no place in his darkened heart.

Grabbing his scythe from the wall, Latro marched from the Guildmaster's booth before Hiro cold make it back. It was time to seek new opponents.
This message was last updated by the player at 03:58, Tue 10 Mar 2015.

The crowd cheered, the crowd booed, the crowd roared so loud it could be heard with thunderous echoes across the city. The champion had been bested in a 3v1 match. Though not an official championship match, watching the champion get bested threw the crowd into a frenzy.

Hiro haters and Hiro lovers throwing food and drink at each other. Soon the crowd began rioting with actual blows and weapons and the arena guards and wards were soon corralling the crowd out of the stands. The riot was short and easily dispatched, but for nearly an hour the arena saw chaos outside of the ring...

For a brief moment the gladiators could see where their power truly lies...in the eyes of their audience...their people...their worshipers...
This message was last edited by the GM at 03:14, Tue 10 Mar 2015.

Kazan entered on the sidelines. He was still dizzy from his last match, hungry, thirsty, tired and all in all just just a tad irritable.

When he came up, he saw all the confusion and the riot coming for the spectators and sighed heavily.

He went to get something to eat and drink, to cheer himself up. When coming back with his plates a flying boot came in his direction a knocked his platter off his hands, spilling it all on himself.

Kazan sighed again. The arena life would not be as glamorous as he had hoped. At least almost no one recognized him yet, since all the attention was on Hiro's match. He went back to get himself some food and drink, sat in the quietest plate he could find and got ready to enjoy his meal.

The bulletin board had become so crowded with useless fliers that the call to arms present by Latro had been obscured by the filth.

Grasping at foolish posters like "Buy 3 flagons, get your 4th free" and "Discount dragon eggs," Latro shred through the monotony of advertisements until his own flier of his guild was once more present upon the wall.

Shadow's Caress is now recruiting all practitioners of darkness and chaos into it's ranks to take the Arena by storm. Any and all who bask in the unholy light of dark forces or who toss the lawmaker's rules to the wind are invited to take up ranks with us.
MONKS NEED NOT APPLY! EVER!!!!
If your hunger for the downfall of all good and lawful knows no bounds, or you simply love killing things, and let be real, that's why your in the arena in the first place, speak with your local conduit of darkness, Latro Dectus, about becoming a harbinger of evil and/or chaos.

OOC: If you'd like to join my guild and do some cool guild like things, just tell the GM's in your next sheet work request. Dues to join are 100 gp x your HD or 1 hero point and you must also be of the Neutral Evil, Chaotic Neutral, or Chaotic Evil alignment type. You can even change your alignment type at no cost upon joining if your alignment does not fall in that frame. Hope to see all you antiheros soon! :D

 Josep returned to the sidelines, a little bruised from the punch Hiro had launched him. He ordered the strongest spirit available and brought it to satisfying temperature (well below 0) with a simple cantrip before sipping from the ice-rimmed cup.

 Busy as the place was, he found a quiet table with room to stretch his legs. Since his last few fights, the wizard had a tendency to create a vacuum around him, a satisfying perk.

 He wished he had taken time to share a drink with Lispro and Madam Opal, but the two had previous engagements...

 He was just in time to watch the juggernaut fight of Ugrim Lava-bathed... was the legendary barbarian over his head? Probably. Soon they would have one thing in common ; hatred for the magi. Mixing swordsmanship and the One art, how dared they?

Krumm was furious.

Not only had to failed to secure a victory, but he was thoroughly humiliated in the Arena by Haran Madar. He was still not strong enough, fast enough, or clever enough to win. Even with the glorious powers of his blood, he has yet to prove worthy. But he was not ready to give in.

He took to the sidelines to observe the other fighters in their duels in order to learn how to best combat them. He watched keenly and remained quietly as he done so, as his boisterousness only seems to have gotten him killed.

The crowd roars as the druidic dinosaur chomps down on his final victim.

Meanwhile the new bloods could walk in while seeing all the chaos and bloodshed in the ring.

Several more battle royals were scheduled that day and all promised not to disappoint...

Edward emerges from the arena, having changed out of his armor into some very stylish, and also expensive, clothes.  His first battle had been a great success!  The barbarian's tactic had been unexpected, but ultimately futile, as the tactics of unthinking brutes generally were.

He sat down to watch the matches currently in progress, wondering who he would fight next.

Chicchuan steps onto the sidelines, very clearly in a foul mood after being so thoroughly humiliated in his first ever appearance in the arena. He stands for a time, muttering angrily to himself as he looks for a place to sit. Despite not being in combat, the Lizardman still bears his armor, although his sword and shield are noticeably absent.

The gladiators in the sidelines, bruised, burnt and beaten, can hear the cheers of the crowd as more gladiators face a brutal fate. Though their wounds healed gradually with the magic of the sidelines granting a speedy recovery to all who rest within its borders, the shame of defeat or ambitious sting of second place could not mend.

It was clear the arena was full of surprises and that more than brute strength or raw magic power was needed to snatch victory from it.

 After his Battle Royale was properly finished --meaning everyone was reduced to a frozen statue of themselves-- Josep headed back to the Sidelines. Once again, it was not hard finding a comfortable spot. He wondered whether the boys from Shadow's Caress would show up that night...

 Instead Lispro appeared --the only gladiator who could claim to have tamed the ice wizard so far.
 Surprisingly, Josep seemed to hold no grudge. Quite the contrary, he welcomed him to his table and the two of them spent a long time talking, Josep sipping colder and colder beverages until he was just crunching ice. After a while, one could overhear at their table:
"The Thaumaturgical Alliance... I like it. We'll need to discuss details, but you can count me in.
 We should talk to the other magic-users... I'm thinking Haran... Krumm...
 And then there's the question of Magi... as much as I hate the style, I see no legitimate reason to refuse them entry...
 What about alchemists though?" he eyed the armoured half-orc at the bar. "I think he'd be good material, but does alchemy qualify as magic?"

 He ordered some more frozen vodka, looked around and told the druid:
"I'm telling you, I was growing tired with those Shadow's Caress nimrods... we should shut them up for good, in the Arena."

"Careful what you say, ice mage." Opal says from across the way, hiding in the shadows with Svog by her side. "You never know who could be listening."

She cackles maniacally as she seeps into the shadows, her familiar, Svog, hissing at Josep and lispro as it follows.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:06, Sun 26 Apr 2015.

Lispro enters the sidelines with ease. Not that his muscular frame couldn't push the crowd, but such brute force is simply not needed. The combination of his stern demeanor, fearsome size, and the recent carnage he inflicted in the Battle Royale serves to part the crowd in front him without any effort.

For his part, he ignores the faceless mass. They scream and chant, wail and wager, but they do not fight. They press close to the walls to give themselves the illusion of being IN the arena, but that wall is everything. It separates the raptors from the cattle.

His expression is flat as he stoically examines the sideline area and observes the match progress. Then he sees Josep. Surprisingly, his expression softens. A smile is even rumored to have surfaced as he sat.

The two stay for some time discussing this idea that Lispro has of an Alliance of gladiators. Josep does most of the talking, of course. Leave it to the wizards to fill the cup of conversation. Still, Lispro appears to enjoy himself. The ice wizard is no cattle. That much is certain. Their battle was glorious, and even in the confident glow of victory the druid knows that his victory had been balanced on a razor's edge.

The ice wizard has earned his respect, and that is why he begins the Alliance with him.

He nods, pleased for the most part, and occasionally adds a thought or counter, "...Alchemy pulls its power from the earth mother through the plants and rocks, but always the vessel must harness the power and channel it...."

When the witch enters the conversation - uninvited, it should be noted - the druid sours somewhat. He has been both partner and foe of the ratfolk, but he cannot help but find her distasteful.

Literally. She had tasted awful as he had chewed on her in their last match.

"If you ever seek a more worthy master, little dinosaur, come find me," he says to Svog. "Until then, tell your mistress to add some seasoning to you before our next match. With some sage and thyme you make an excellent appetizer," he calls after the departing pair. Then he laughs. The sound is like gravel scraping down a hill, but the mirth cannot be missed.

He turns back to the ice wizard, "I like this place."
This message was last edited by the player at 19:06, Mon 27 Apr 2015.

Now somewhat calmer after watching a few bouts, Chicchuan stands up and sets about walking around the sidelines, looking for anyone worth talking to... As he passed by the Oread and heard his remark about seasoning, the Lizardman could not keep himself from chuckling. Turning to the stony humanoid, he remarks, "I myself prefer some garlic and pepper on my meat... Maybe you should give that a try..."

Lispro looks over the lizard man for several long seconds before he answers. This one has not yet proven himself, but he fights. That is good. And he comes of strong stock. This assessment ends with a smile. "A fine suggestion. Let us meet in the arena, and I shall, as you say, 'give it a try.'" The smile remains evenly in place.

While one Oread banters back and forth with Josep, Opal the Witch, and Chicchuan, another drinks lazily by the bar. This Oread, the one called Master Shu, seems intent on acquiring as much praise as possible for his recent runner-up performance in the Battle Royale. He openly solicits fans to buy him another round and offer him their attention.

Meanwhile, another man enters the sidelines. This one is tanned and fit, but not powerful. His bone structure suggest an elven heritage, but otherwise he appears human. He wears a simple robe, and in most ways he is dressed exactly as the one called Master Shu. This half-elf walks in and looks around carefully. Behind him are two arena guards menacing all with their silence.

The half-elf's eye lock onto the monk who is boasting about his felling of Ankou. The Oread has his back turned as the stranger and the guards approach him. "Imposter!" the half-elf accuses while pointing at the drunk gladiator. The guards move forward with unnatural swiftness, and each clamps a hand onto a broad shoulder.

The Oread is surprised and drunk, and he barely registers what is occurring before his hands are manacled behind his back. The bonds seem to have some mystical power, for the strength flows from the his limbs. The half-elf watches, rigid with anger, but he speaks in an even tone to the now-shackled man.

"I have tracked you over 3 cities and across the desert. You, who have stolen my name and brought shame to my house. Did you think I wouldn't catch you?!?! Did you think you could pose as Master Shu and not be discovered?!? Your time here is ended. In fact, you shall be lucky to leave the dungeons with your life.

I, the one and true Master Shu, am now here. I shall undo your wrong, and I will fight to prove the proper worth of my name. Go, and be seen no more!"

As Master Shu confronts his imposter, a hooded Vanara very poorly stifles a laugh behind his hands.

"This is exceptionally entertaining."

He makes his way to a seat where he could get a very clear view of the spectacle.

After yet another defeat, Krumm seethed with a barely-concealed rage. Frost so cold that it burned poured forth from his nostrils. The Sorcerer watched the matches in action and slowly begin to pound his fist against the wall keeping the observers from the Arena.

"No more... No more... No MORE!!"

  "Hey Krumm!"
 Josep called from across the room and sipped his ice-cold spirit.

  "Why don't you come over here so we can discuss your joining the Alliance? We could use a solid frame like yours."

Krumm snapped his head around towards Josep.

"Solid?"

Krumm stormed over towards Josep. "This 'frame' is weak. The others in the arena have proven it with their own strength, you have seen it. I need to... I must get stronger."

Scurrying onto the sidelines comes a rather peculiar individual: a feline woman, garbed in black with a distinctly Eastern sword strapped to her back. She seems somewhat irate, although it's rather difficult to tell, seeing as only her eyes are visible as she scampers around seemingly at random, much like a domestic kitten chasing a piece of string or something.

Ugrim's ears are perked at the sound of the roaring crowd. Pushing past the crowd, ugrim peers out onto the main event stage and finds his Guildmaster, Latro once more at odds with Hiro. He crosses his arms and spirts to his left, not really caring if there are people there or not.

"Ugrim be surprised if Master Latro best puny dwarf. Puny dwarf is trickier than master thinks he is."

Brakt paces back and forth on the bench he stood on, glaring around him.  He had been held up outside the Arena for days before the guards had eventually relented that a gnome could be allowed within.  Now that he was inside though, everyone seemed to be avoiding him.  With a quick jump, he launched himself from the bench he was perched on to the top of the bar, and with a glare from the barkeep, poured himself a drink before perching back on his bench again.

Looking down at his diminutive frame, he sighed.  "I'm not that scary am I?"

This message was last edited by the player at 00:31, Fri 12 June 2015.

As Haran moves and shifts down the arena like a shadow, he sees the newcomer Brakt. Ignoring the crowd around him, Haran walks up to the diminutive figure. “How are you enjoying your time in the arena?” It only took one look at Haran to know he obviously didn’t care. He had a purpose other than niceties. He was a sorcerer after all. “Listen, Brakt is it? You need a match and I need to become the champion. Why don’t we help each other out?” As Haran waited for Brakt to accept his offer, only a smile could be seen beneath Haran’s hood. “What do you say…friend?”
This message was last edited by the player at 01:37, Fri 12 June 2015.

Brakt's green eyes flared at the words and as his foot crashed down upon the bench, he seemed to almost pass through the solid wood, standing before the human, just above his knee.
"No sorcerer yet has ever been a friend, and I doubt one ever will!  Chose the terms and post the challenge then, and your loss shall be on your own head."

Seeing the druid's foot go through the wood, Haran remarks with a smile, “Revealing your tricks already?” This creature was hot-headed and foolish. “Excellent.” Haran thought. He could use this to his advantage. “Wonderful!” He says aloud. “I suppose I’ll see you in the arena friend. Be prepared gnome.” Haran then backs away. While moving through the crowd he thinks of the druid’s words. Haran? Lose? He smiled again.

The human didn't know the half of it.  Moving himself back up to the bench which was nearly twice as tall as he was, Brakt reached a hand into his pocket and sighed.  Some things he hated, but he needed every advantage he could get, while he still had the element of surprise.  He thought about retorting after the mage, but such a futile action would only cause more trouble then it was worth.  Instead, he sunk his head into his hands and stared out over the arena, waiting for his name to be called.

Having watched the whole thing from nearby, Chicchuan casts the Gnome a sidelong glance, his tail swishing lightly as he comments, "Sorcerers and Wizards are a tricksy lot, so it's no surprise you're not fond of them. I'm sure as Hell not fond of them, as I was completely obliterated by a pair of them." He pauses, snarling softly at the memory of his utterly humiliating defeat in his Battle Royale before continuing, "But you Druids are just as tricksy, if not more so."

"How about something more straightforward then?"

Ranuth leaps down from the Rafters above. "Nothing flies straighter than an arrow!"  The Vanara laughs playfully at the Lizardman. "C'mon, you'll get a thrill from it, brute!"

Quirking an eyeridge as he turns to face the Vanara, Chicchuan scowls slightly. "'Brute,' you say. Sounds as though I need to teach you just how 'brutish' I can be..."

In the corner of a cell sits Angazudu anxiously picking at his thumb nail muttering quietly

"Dark blood clicking like an ill winded fog when it builds up itself"

Shifting into a skitter he slides forward and stares at the others

"Blood drinking braggarts and minor rapscallion full of fermenting bees and honey!!"

He shouts loudly when he sees no one looking back, dropping back down to a sit and going back to muttering

"Sick smarmy puppies of holy water ail....."

A small goblin walked into the bar that was full of other gladiators and with a little dramatic flair, jumped onto the nearest table, hoping to grab there attention.

"You may know me as the cold goblin or perhaps the number one style of goblin flavoured dinofood. I appear before you not as a fellow gladiator, but as a manager of talent. While I will accept new clients, I am here to represent my newest charges. Thumock, the gnoll 'samurai', and Saivran Drascus, the abyssal shield maiden.... oh sorry, I keep doing that, I meant to say 'the abyssal shield champion'... are looking for combatants to test their skills against. In a somewhat related note, I would like to remind you all that the Shadow's Caress is always looking for new..... *cough* minions *cough*..... comrades in our fight against the tyranny of ethics and the every present do-gooders of society. You may find me at the Shadow's Caress guild hall to request my services or to challenge my clients to a bout in the arena."

With his speech done, Ghavakus leapt down from the table and proceeded to leave the premises. His job was over now for the time being, he simply had to wait for someone to respond.

A crashing sound could be heard after Ghavakus’ speech. The spectators saw Bruhli standing beside a smashed table. “GET BACK HERE!!!” he yelled after Ghavakus! Bruhli was already in a rage. The gall of those warriors to send a messenger to issue their challenges. No! If they wanted to fight, they should have come and challenged him directly!  Bruhli had fought alongside of Thumock before when they vanquished their foe. Perhaps he could fight. “I WILL FACE ANY ONE OF THE COWARDS YOU HAVE JUST MENTIONED!!! LET THEM COME FORTH!!!” Clenching his hands into fists Bruhli yelled "I AM TRULY LEGENDARY!!!” His booming voice could be heard throughout the corridors.

In walks a well dressed and propper looking Dwarf of 4ft with a flowing fire red beard.  Grunyar starts to interduce himself " Good day all, I am Grunyar Fangblood and am honored to be accepted into your ranks.  I come from a long line of nobility and will one day be the champion of this areana.  Until then I hope to put up a challenge worth remembering."   He walks to the bar and orders a tankard of ale tiping generously the bar keep and whispers "Who is looking for a duel my last was fun I hope it was a good show my next I hope to be even more challenging?"

With a loud and boisterous voice, the arena's wardens and overseers announce changes to the arena's rules as well as new up-and-coming gladiators who have joined in the past few months.

The bloodthirsty crowd eagerly awaits the next battle as many of the combatants remain hidden in the shadows of the dungeons and hallways beneath the sidelines.

Now comes the time when each gladiator, both warrior and mage alike, will decide if they have what it takes to face the dangers of the coliseum.

 Josep pushed the door to the arena tavern for the first time in days. Since Lispro had left, actually. The mage was changed... for one thing he had abandoned his focus on Ice to play with Fire. And his classical wizardry training for a more intuitive sorcery approach.

 He ordered a scorching hot beverage and went straight to Latro Dectus' table. People were moving out of the way. Josep had been temperamental as a wizard, no one wanted to know what he'd be like as a crazed sorcerer.

  "Latro," he said in way of greeting.

 Even outside the arena, the eerie aura of despair cast by the dark paladin was unsettling.
  "Three of your guys versus three of mine. Octavo, no preparation, no immunities, no rules."

 He sat down, facing Shadow's Caress infamous Guildmaster. Downed in one sip his burning drink without a wince. Waved the waiter for two more, one for him and one for Latro.
  "What do you say?"

Latro sat at the table after the free for all match, a look of pleasure on his face. The appearance of Joseph Gavinho was a surprise to the antipaladin and his smile changed to one of mild discontent. Upon hearing the sorcerer's offer, Latro's grimaced. To Joseph's surprise, Latro's human features seems to be fading away, transforming slowly back into what he once was: A Drow elf. howwever the transformation was not yet complete and the skin of a human was still dominant in Latro's blood.

"As much as it would please me to see your forces defeated, Ugrim, Myself, and Opal are the only members of my guild that are still within the walls of the Arena. Ghavakus and Gukulka have decided to take Thumok on some ridiculous side quest in search of fabled lima beans or some such and i do not anticipate they will return in 20 days time when the arena closes it's doors to those that have not changed with the times. Normally i would applaud such chaotic behavior, but in this situation, should they return, the will receive a fierce lashing at my hands."

Latro sighs and infuses his hard ale with a vile touch of corruption, cursing the alcohol with dark energy and drinks it without so much as flinching.

"It pains me to say this, but i must decline your offer. At least until I can muster more underlings to send against your underlings."

Standing from the table and retrieving his scythe, Latro begins walking out of the tavern. "Until then, let us concentrate or larger goals. We have a meeting with Grand Master Hiro in the coming days and though I detest him with every ounce of my being, his allegiance will be necessary if we are to hunt down and slay our quarry."

 Josep sighed.
  "I'm disappointed... but then I expected to be."

 He stood and followed Lactro to meet with Hiro and discuss their coming fight.

"Then why did you bother asking?" Latro scoffs Josep. "You will get your guild war in time, sorcerer, but only when i have attracted enough followers to my side."

It was a good day to be monk! Maelstrom started his day with deep meditation. Once he was fully awake, he did his stretches and then went to his punching bag which had Ugrim’s face on one side and Abram Featherleaf’s on the other. “I wonder what happened to that guy?”

Afterward, it was his routine to go to the arena and watch the other gladiators fight. But as he was leaving his guild, he saw Latro and Josep. “What brings you to the School of the Voiceless Dragon? Have you guys finally come to seek wisdom? If not, how about a fight? Master Hiro is busy. You and me Gavinho! You are one of the best casters we have here. You would do me much honor to fight you here and now.” Maelstrom then looked to the sky and breathed softly. He'd rather sit in the stands and cheer on the others, but he was a gladiator after all. It was a fine day to turn into a popsicle. “It’s always better to face your fears head on. Bring it!”

"We seek your master." Latro says very matter of factly. "We have little time for distractions. Lead us to him and I might consider leaving this establishment in one piece."

Latro's discontent was palpable and his desire to be anywhere but at the School of the Voiceless Dragon even more so. However, as Hiro was Campion of the Arena, any meetings that were to be done with him were required to be held in his own sanctum least any ill attempts were made at the belt outside of arena competition rules.

"Ahh, Latro, Josep! I have been expecting you!" Hiro boomed from a doorway on the far side of the dojo.

"Little birds have told me you seek my help in slaying some great beast?"

"A deplorable situation to be certain," Latro says as he makes his way to the door where Hiro's voice echos from. "And one I would rather not be in. However, as House Magna has since disbanded ever since i overthrow Olmar and took his seat and Lispro has sought other accomplishments, you and Josep are the only other two guildmasters left in the arena, leaving us with little options left."

Latro casts Josep a glance as he makes his way to Hiro's chambers, Latro's features having slowly becoming more Drow than human in less time it took the two to walk from the Tavern to the School of the Voiceless Dragon than since Latro's first i'll fated bought with hiro for the championship nearly two years ago.

A booming voice coming from the far end of the halls woke Brakt for his slumber.  It took him a few minutes before he realised that this voice was actually hear, and not just in his nightmares.  Since the Anti-Paladin had attempted to curse him in the most recent match, his dreams had been filled of that booming voice, and visions of a not quite spider/not quite woman almost seeming to call him...

He made his way to the dojo in time to see Latro disappear behind his Marter's door... As much as he hated to admit it, he admired the Paladin.  There was much he could learn from the man.

Turning his attention back to the Dojo, he took his great Fauchard from the wall, and began to practice, the large weapon cramped in such tight quarters.

As soon as Latro stepped in, Maelstrom frowned. “Great, now I’ll have to purify the place.” He looked after the two. Josep’s aura unsettled him just as much as Latro’s. He couldn't say why though. For every Hiro, there was a Josep. For every Josep, there was a Latro. It was odd how the world had to balance itself out. But it still felt like, there was one more guildmaster needed. He couldn’t figure out who, but he was sure of it.

Seeing as this was guildmaster business, Maelstrom would rather not stick around. He heard Brakt practicing, Maelstrom already finished his practicing. He was Hiro's top student! With a quick bow to each of them he headed off to the arena for a sweet roll or maybe a match. “Fight with honor and integrity.”

"You have fun being a stick in the mud." Tina waved Maelstrom off, accidentally spilling some on the floor. She didn't often come to the dojo, and when she did she rarely trained, choosing instead to sit to the side and comment on the others' techniques. "Brakt, you look completely ridiculous, you know that right? What kind of weapon even is that? What's even the point of the point on the back?"

Brakt jumps when Tina sneaks up behind him, and growls at her under his breath as he digs the the polearm out of the wall.  "Of course I look ridiculous to you... But don't you think that you look equally ridiculous floating around the place like you do?  As for the point of the point..."

Brakt effortless swings the weapon around, catching Tina behind her leg and pulling her to the ground, the weapon poised at her throat with a twinkle in his eye. "Everything must come down eventually.  I just... Help them along the way.

"Dude." Tina gently pushed the point of the weapon to the side and brought herself back to her feet. "You need to chill. Here, lemme buy you a drink. I need a new one anyway, you spilled mine." She looked forlornly at the drink now seeping into the floor, then jogged off towards the arena bar.

Tinny Tina strutted into the bar, feeling on top of the world after her free-for-all victory. "Hey barkeep, gimme the stongest drink you've got." Drink in hand, she added her own little something to it before downing it in one go, then floated over to the banister overlooking the arenas. "Wasn't Master Hiro supposed to be in a match right now? Let's see how he's dooooof. Wish I hadn't looked now."

The sound of crutches could be heard in the hallway. Click click clunk. Click Click Clunk. Maelstrom huffed and puffed down the corridor. He refused to let the clerics heal him all the way. He wouldn’t let his body be healed until his dignity was restored. “I was supposed to be the best! I train every day. How could I lose?” He was happy for Tinny. He really was but a little broken inside. As such, his head was still bandaged and he was still on crutches to mimic his internal suffering. Nonetheless, he was excited to see the Guildmaster fight. “Hiro would show them! I hope I’m not late.” By the time, Maelstrom made it over Tinny was already there. Maelstrom grimaced, “I guess she had a head start because she didn’t have to see the clerics first.” He almost turned and went the other way, but sighed and hobbled next to Tina. Looking over, he saw the fight.

Maelstrom gritted his teeth. “What?” Latro abandoning his minions to their fate wasn’t surprising. But Hiro fallen shook him to his core. He felt a slight anger, how could Hiro fall to a man that couldn’t even do a pushup? Maelstrom gripped the hand railing, too shocked to do much more. “Does this mean there is a new champion?” he murmured. Perhaps Maelstrom would fight Josep Gavinho. Perhaps this is how he would restore his honor. “That’s it! I’ll fight iceman or is it fire guy now?” Maelstrom knew he couldn’t beat Josep in his current state, but he would train. And then, he would challenge Josep. Grinning from ear to ear, Maelstrom finally had a solution to his problem.  Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to let the clerics heal the rest of him. That way, he could train. "Have fun Tina! It's time to hit the dojo!"
This message was last edited by the player at 04:29, Thu 11 Feb 2016.

After an intense championship, the first new champion in three years claims his prize. Many betting men lost a lot of gold because of that wily sorcerer...many more became rich. Riots broke out, wardens and arena guards had to quell the crowd with might and magic. Temporary martial law was declared near the arena and the city saw a spike in crime. This was not unusual in the Colosseum City. A central hub for gladiators, mercenaries, spice trade, slave trade, magic item trade, and dirty dealings, Swordaine was a bastion of danger and intrigue. The gladiators fame had only grown since the city endured a cataclysmic event nearly two decades ago.

Days later, the arena recovered and was back to business as usual. Bets on the sorcerer, Josep, rose drastically and the bets on Hiro dropped. Others saw little to no change in their numbers. The city would take longer to recover, but for now, the arena was once again roaring with cheers and echoing with hecklers demanding blood...

Jayce opens his eyes, awakening from his traumatic stupor. He is hungry, body only skin and bones. He tries to raise his arm almost unable to move. All around him is darkness. A sweet voice calls out to him, begging he go back into his slumber. But alas, Jayce is not ready to go into that good night. Being weak of body, he remembers the power of his mind. He closes his, not used to the discipline any longer required to complete his spell casting. From outside his coffin in the ground, a noise could be heard. The earth rumbles, and an explosion follows. Dirt blasts into the sky a good twenty feet and hundreds of monsters and animals come running out of the hole. Moving in, one could see the coffin broken from the top as his companion, Sasha, carries him the ten feet up.

Memories start to flood him. Who he is, what he can do, and how he is to reclaim his strength...his power. "Haran...." And lastly, his humiliation. "In time..." Jayce remembers. First, kill the grave keeper for thinking him dead. Second, amass muscle and knowledge. Times have changed and he needs to familiarize himself once more with the laws of magic.

Haran stepped out of the shadows and frowned. "There's been a disturbance." "I know. What is it? Where is it coming from?" Haran began scrying for the source of this inconsistency. He knew it had to be close. Such things needed to be handled quickly before they grew out of control. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands together, searching for the source of this disruption. "It's him Haran!" Haran smiled "What an unexpected surprise."

There were only two people in this arena that had either bested Haran or claim close - Josep and Jayce. Josep was champion, though Haran would remedy that soon enough. And Jayce had disappeared. Or at least had. "Some people just don't know when to stay dead. Jayce, Jayce, I'm coming for you. There will be no coming back this time."

Ever since the School of the Voiceless Dragon's guildmaster lost the championship belt to the master of the Thaumaturgical Alliance, the arena hasn't been the same.

Some say the powerful monk, Hiro, went into exile after his defeat to hone his skills and reach greater enlightenment. Others say he merely retired or grew weary of running his dojo at the arena.

The powerful sorcerer and new champion, Josep Gavinho enjoyed the perks of the position for some time, but stopped competing and many of his students did as well leaving the arena to wonder if their positions would last long...

Over a year has passed since then...



As mages and warriors volley for superiority in the ring, another guild stood out among the crowd, a guild with calamitous intent...

Shadow's Caress remained hidden in the shadows since their guildmaster's defeat at the hands of the Voiceless Dragon's leader. Now that the Voiceless were no longer in the seat of power they once were, the dark guild began biding its time, growing its fame and resources through smaller matches that took place throughout the year. Now the sinister dark knight known as Latro Dectus has challenged the new champion and the arena has begun buzzing with whispers and rumors once again.

Some say the great mage has grown soft with inactivity and his head will soon be removed from his shoulders. Others scoff, stating that the mage who took down Hiro could surely handle some two-bit drowish knight.

With the Voiceless leader missing, and the Thaumaturgical champion having been out of the game so long, the crowd can only wonder what this next championship will hold...
This message was last edited by the GM at 01:56, Mon 27 Nov 2017.

Lyn walked into the walled city in wonder, surprised that such a place could exist only on the spectacle of the Arena.  It was nothing like what she had expected, but so little of the world outside had been.

Making her way between the carts parked on the street, she stopped at a message board to read the current events, and gasped when she had arrived just in time for the championship!

It wasn't due to start for a few days yet, so the young elf made her way towards the other arena, where she had heard rumours were swirling of a barbarian and sorcerer fighting, and thought it would help pass the time waiting for the fight to start.

Vry stands at the front of the crowd as the championship match is about to start. One could think that those around her had offered her the spot, given her height... But in truth, not one of the common people here to watch had felt the slightest inclination to do her any favors. It was not fear, not most of all either way - they had only heard of one match she had been in. Rather, they detest her and find her unnatural in a particularly unnerving sense. Still now, she has a couple of feet of clear space around her. A shadowy-gray mist-like cloud about the size of Vry’s head floats next to her right shoulder, swirling and changing shape constantly.
”Easy, Taff, I will find you a body soon enough. You did not take care of your last form, and this is your own fault.”
The champion enters the arena, but Vry does not cheer. Patiently, she waits to see her guild master enter, and command the arena in that way that only he can.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:24, Wed 06 Dec 2017.

As the contestants enter the arena and take positions, Two technicians in Thaumaturgical Alliance livery arrive in the uppermost tier of the coliseum. They take out their toolboxes and start installing a huge screen on the opposite side of the officials booth.

People ask questions, and they simply answer:
“We’ve been asked to install the latest Jumbotronik Replay Screen, apparently you’re going to need it.”
“Why??” enthusiasts ask.
“Hey, I’m just the tech guy, all right... all I know is this thing takes 1200 images per second and gives you the best Replay quality, for when things move fast.”

Madam Opal and her beloved dinosaur sit in the nose bleed section of the arena. Opal holds tiny binoculars to view the spectacle from afar. She was in the midst of making some critical adjustments to her and her precious familiar but her leader and master was about to win the championship. The tweeks could wait. She had to see if Latro truly had the ability to win the Championship after all this time.
She takes a bite out of a scorpion lollipop she had bought - well stolen - from the consessionstand and then offers some to Svog who greedily takes two or three quick comps from it leaving little to nothing for the Witch to enjoy.
"Svog, you pesky newt, now what will i savor as my master flays this fool into the next week?"
Svog looks around and darts off into the crowd of observers and returns a moment later with various half eaten candies and the like in its mouth.
Opal chuckles. "Oh you do know how to warm this old woman's heart, don't you?"

The crowd was in an uproar. It was only the second round of combat and already both combatants were giving each other everything they had.
Latro, the mighty Antipaladin, had managed to finagle and scheme his way around nearly every spell Josep had thrown at him. With a wall in between the guildmasters, Latro's own handmaiden stood her ground against the champion and managed to land a critical blow against him. Certainly she would soon meet her end, but those with darkvision glasses could see Latro smiling with devious glee as the fire struck and he managed to worm his way out of the Black Tentacle's grasp.

If this is indeed game:

Josep's Disqualification left a bitter sweet taste in Latro's mouth. On the one hand it was nice to taste victory over such a powerful opponent. But on the other hand, it was not a victory hard won. Rather one shakily handed to him on a silver platter by some incompetent servant.
Josep was clearly rusty from his time away from the arena and Latro almost felt bad for him. Almost.
But now he had more important things to worry about.
As the Champion's belt was stripped from Josep by arena officials, Latro watched in disgust as they hauled it away to be given to some lesser creature to be challenged by any and all who were qualified. Latro dismisses the levitate effect and feather falls to the arena floors, storing his bow designed specifically to aid him in his fight against Josep.
Dismissing the darkness he side-eyes the Guildmaster from across the wall of force.
"I expected better, Josep. Hiro would not have disappointed me so."
He turns his back to the mighty wizard and leaves the arena, letting the medics carry Tiaca out.

Josep crouched to pick up a scroll, but realised too late that this scroll had disappeared a few moments before in one of his three attempts at summoning monsters to fight for him. He facepalmed so hard that he sent shards of stone flying into the crowd.

The referee’s call fell as loud as a thunderstorm. Josep receded to his normal size, the wall of force and black tentacles dissipated. Latro’s darkness disappeared and he slowly drifted to the ground.

Josep would see the bitter expression on his face, as he too had been robbed of a victory.

« Come on Latro, you should be smiling!
You knew this was the only way you’d walk out of it alive.
You’ve never beaten me, and you never will. »

« Though today we learnt that I’m perfectly capable of beating myself... who would’ve thought? » he added bitterly.

Joseph waved to the crowd. For all his mistakes, he considered he had still shown a good display of spells and sportsmanship, even as he was stripped of his title. He wondered who would claim it first...
This message was last edited by the player at 17:27, Wed 13 Dec 2017.

"Hmm hmm hm hmmmmmm" Tina walked the oddly empty halls of the Arena, humming a little ditty to herself after her little warm-up against the newbie, when a leaf of paper caught her eye. "Hmmm what's this? Josep? Latro?? Championship?!?! What am I doing just standing around here!?" She ran fast as she could to her favourite spot in her favourite bar, but she could already hear the intense booing before walking through the door. "Aww, did I miss the match? Did Latro win? I mean I'd expect lots of booing if he did, but it sounds like no one is happy." Now occupying her seat and with a drink in hand, she finally looked into the arena, and she understood what everyone was upset about. And it made her upset. "Disqualification? THIS IS BULLSHIT! FIRE THE REF! BOO! BOO!"
This message was last edited by the player at 01:36, Thu 14 Dec 2017.

Haran Madar stepped out of the darkness and grinned. “Looks like the arena could use a new Champion.” He looked at the leadership board and gave a devious smile. Trails of darkness seemed to emanate from his very being. Lifting up his hand Haran created flames that sparked and danced. “Power gives me the right to rule.” Concentrating on the flames, shadows seemed to creep into the fire itself creating black fire. “Knowledge will help me rule.” He then showed his creation to all the passerbys, terrifying them. “and black fire will consumer all who oppose me. This is my promise.” “Excellent Haran.”

But Haran felt weak. While he was content to sit in the shadows as the weak destroyed each other – those who survived were actually getting stronger. Perhaps he waited too long? He needed to feast upon more victory. It angered him that one weakling beat another and thought themselves strong. He had been gone far too long. He needed to crush these fools with overwhelming force! He was given wide berth in the corridor. “Calm yourself Haran,” a strange voice murmured from the shadow.  Haran straightened up and smiled. “Of course.” He would get stronger before pursuing the belt, but how? He stepped back into the darkness to contemplate. Perhaps a Monstrous Royale?

Latro sits in his study, plotting his next move when suddenly, he feels it. A presence he hasn't felt in many months. A bell tolls on the horizon. the bell of the return of a gladiator. Latro can almost feel the roar of the crowd through the walls of his domain.
"No... it can't be!" Latro jumps from his seat, pushing slaves and servants out of the way as he races through the halls of Shadow's Caress.
"Master! I came soon I could!" Tiaca, Latro's faithful handmaiden says, running up to him.
Latro glares down at her. Fear and anger both present in equal amounts upon his face as she quivers before him.
"Tell me. Has my one true equal finally returned. Or do I worry myself over nothing. Is this bell merely for that fool Haran?"
Tiaca seems to shrink even more at her Master's aura. She can't say what her master does not want to hear. So she averts her eyes and begins to weep softy.
Latro pushes her aside. Madam Opal and Ugrim both exit from their rooms in the halls of Shadow's Caress and walk behind Latro as the  doors of the guild fly wide open.
Latro sees him. Just as horrid a sight as the day he vanished. He takes a step back, aghast that he should finally return. Innate fear and hatred run through his body. The countless times Latro had suffered defeat at the hands of this dwarf were numerable and each came rushing back to him.
But Latro was more powerful now than he had ever been before so he tucked his fear away. Instead of retreating, he snapped his fingers and in an instant, his trusty scythe was in his hands once more. the very blade which had lead latro to where he was now. He marched forwards. Through the crowd of onlookers. where once there was cheering and joy there was now fear and dismay as the most reviled and hated member of the arena walked towards the Once Champion. Seas of people parted in his wake and before long Latro was once again face to face with Hiro.

"Hiro." Latro sneers. "What took you so long? I was beginning to worry this arena would fall into my clutches before you would have the chance to die for it. Yet here you stand. I am honestly relived. for now i wish to see you take the belt back once more just so i can know the taste of victory as i take the belt right back from you."
This message was last edited by the player at 17:28, Tue 19 Dec 2017.

The arena roared with angry boos and bickering as the overseer of the match disqualified the current champion in an unprecedented ruling. Using unauthorized magic or items happens in the arena, but never before had an acting champion been disqualified during a championship. The booing grew louder and the crowd became more unruly the more the announcer attempted to calm them down and explain the situation.

Before Josep and Latro could even be escorted from the field, the crowds broke out into riots. Food, baubles, and punches were being thrown everywhere through the masses. Guards stormed the seats of the arena trying to calm down the onslaught of unruly citizens. It took several hours for order to be restored to the city.

The Colosseum's honor and dignity were on the line, and the gladiatorial arena was the corner stone of the city's wealth, fame, and sense of patriotic pride.

That day would be remembered with bitter resentment for everyone.

The next day, the city council of Swordaine would meet with the arena council in secret to discuss how they would resolve this issue.



Working out a deal with the guild masters of the Thaumaturgical Alliance and Shadow's Caress, the council decided neither would take the belt, but instead, a new championship would be held via a battle royal.

The selection of honored gladiators would be very restrictive but it would be a bloodbath between 4 of the arena's finest.

One member from each of the top 3 guilds will be selected.

In addition, a fourth gladiator, a freelancer, will be placed in the arena.

Upon the advice of the council and the Gladiator King himself, this has been the determination for the next championship which will go underway soon...
This message was last edited by the GM at 05:44, Thu 21 Dec 2017.

Brakt emerged from the arena, and waved off the clerics who rushed to attend to his wounds.  He stopped at the leader boards, and looked down, frowning.

Since his return to the Arena, he had been the only member of the Dragon still roaming the dojo halls, but in the brief time he was in his last match, he had felt something change.  The leader board in front of him didn't reflect that at all though. It still showed the Dragon with only one member.

Shrugging to himself, the Ogre slipped his hammer away, and turned towards the nearest tavern.  There was something else bugging him, someone else he could feel. Someone from another lifetime had also returned, and vengeance was to be his.

Jayce makes an entrance once again into The Arena. Gracefully stunning his opponents, he flies right back into old habits. He remembers Josep, from ages past. His old rivals Haran and Maelstrom. Good to be home.

Josep's Aliance was recruiting, Jayce thought it best to join such alliance to learn about everything that has happened in his absence.



Jayce goes to Josep's Guild Hall and petitions to join.

 Josep has a knee down and is panting. Most of his wounds are mental, but the pain is very real. His head is pounding.
  Still, as the jet black tentacles he conjured drain the last breath from Haran, he smiles.

  "This... this is what happens when you turn your back to the old lion when he looks weak..."

 "Now I want my Belt back..."

 He looked around.
 The body of Brakt, bludgeoned by his air elementals, surprisingly fast for an ogre, he had almost caught him off-guard.
 The remains of Latro Dectus, who entered the arena with only half of himself, beaten by his earth elementals and finished by Haran, without ever posing a real threat.
 The corpse of Haran, who just finished dying in the embrace of the tentacles... clearly the most talented in the arena, but sometimes talent was not enough...

 After a long fight, moments of foolish certitude and moments of intense doubts, Josep was just glad that this was over...