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!