Place to converse "in character."

Grolsch slams the door open with a huge grin on his face.

"BEER! PUT SOME IN ME!"

He sits at a table near the bar and away from the fireplace.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:45, Tue 07 Dec 2010.

Rhakar kicked in the door, sending splinters of wood in every direction.  This was the only way he ever entered the Garrulous, and nobody knew whether this was because he like breaking things or because he had simply never learned how to use a doorknob.  As usual, he slapped a handfull of silver onto the table to pay for the smashed door and his regular mug of milk.  He had long ago learned that he was incapable of drinking alcohol without throwing punches, and that his punches tended to end lives.

Paserri followed silently behind, drinking only from a waterskin at her waist and eyeing every inhabitant of the pub as if they might try to poison said waterskin.

Walking in through the broken door after Rhakar and Passerri, Oskyx pauses in the doorway as though the orcs had broken down the door and entered first to draw attention to his own entrance.  His pale skin and hair look quite like a dark cloud that blocks the sun in the door's backlight.  Grinning and looking around at the tavern, Oskyx enters and approaches one of the tables at the far wall.  As he passes one of the waitresses, he calls out to her, "Wench, I need bloody steak and I need strong wine.  Bring them to me and be rewarded."  Sitting at his chosen table, he puts his feet up on a nearby chair and sneers at his fellow patrons.

Grolsch sees Rhakar and his sister walk in. Other orcs! Excellent!

Grolsch waves them over to sit next to him. He usually avoided company, but it had been so long since he's had a conversation in orcish.

The door had only barely been propped back into place before it blew in in a cloud of splinters under the weight of a piping voice from the other side.

Habbin skipped in, whistling a jaunty little tune, ignoring the sharp splinters he trod upon in his bare little feet, and looked curiously about the room full of large folk.

Oskyx watches the halfling prance into the pub after his show of power.  Snickering, he calls out, "Anyone think he's compensating for something?"  Taking a swig of his recently delivered wine, he continued waiting for his meat to be cut and delivered.

"No."  Paserri replied, taking a seat with Grolsch and her brother.  "Just crazy as a sack full of weasels."  As much as she hated to admit it, she had a grudging respect for the little madman.  Sure, he was small and weak, and that was inexcusable.  But his tactics were unpredictable and often unfair, and that was something she would like to see more of in the world.
This message was last edited by the player at 12:23, Mon 13 Dec 2010.

Hopping up on a chair that was far too tall for him, Habbin swung his bare feet back and forth beneath him like a small child.

"I've never been a gladiator before," he said in his clear, piping voice, glancing about eagerly.  "So I watched how people came in, to see how it was done," he said solemnly.  He wasn't able to do it by sheer force, of course, so he had had to rely on elegance instead.

"If I'm compensating for something, at my size, and they're so much bigger," he said to the much closer to his size Goblin, nodding toward the Orcs, "does that mean that they were compensating that much more?" he asked innocently.

"Oh, he's compensating for something...just nothing physical." Oskyx replied gleefully.  Once the waitress delivered his steak, Oskyx sniffed at it approvingly and tossed several silver to the table for the waitress.

Having finished his steak, Oskyx stands on his table, a drbble of blood from his steak still on his chin.  Gesturing at the other gladiators with a pointing finger, Oskyx speaks loudly with a nasal voise.  "I dare any of you fools to meet me in the arena!  Show me your courage and your strength!  Or, hide like the cowards you are."  Reaching down to the table, he picks up his glass and drinks a large swallow of his wine.

The silent warrior moves up to the bar and takes a seat, ordering a shot of strong drink. He's had a hard few weeks since he came into the arena, having come to the realization that the fighters he's lost to haven't been real warriors, but cowardly wimps who relied on gimmicks to gain victory instead of strength of skill at arms. As he swallows the liquid, he can't taste it, not having a tongue to taste it with, but the burn feels familiar enough.

Habbin giggled, and swung his feet a little more vigorously.

"I'm not brave OR strong, but I'LL do it!  You're a much better size than these big, clumsy things," he said cheerfully, heedless of the big, clumsy things within arms reach.

Having concluded his duels, and looking forward to the dragon hunt, Oskyx settles into a chair at his favorite table and orders yet another bloody steak.  Tipping the waitress heavily, he eats it with relish.
This message was last edited by the player at 15:37, Sat 22 Jan 2011.

Stepping in, the narrow grey elf, a newcomer to the arena, walks over.
"Pardon, but aren't you Oskyx the White?"

Raising an eyebrow at the unusual man who had approached him in the pub, the pale goblin replied, "Who's asking?"

Bowing gracefully, the grey elf tosses the hood of his cloak back. "Nines Vandarel. I have watched you fight."

Now the other eyebrow raised.  It is rare for anyone to respect the often-rude goblin.  Hesitating a moment, the goblin responded, "Sit and join me.  The steak is bloody and the wine is strong. Enjoy."

Taking a seat, the elf pours himself a cup of wine. "Won from your spoils?" he asks, taking a sip of the drink.

Oskyx grunts in acknowledgement.  "So, I've seen you around.  You're the one that fights like that Svari character, with Magic Missile and magical edges.  A brave strategy, considering the fact that Svari has more powerful missiles and alerted the competitors to the strategy long ago.  Or a foolish one, I can't tell."  Oskyx cut a large chunk of steak from the hunk in front of him and began chewing on it, continuing to speak as he does.  "I must admit that you've caught the new recruits mostly by surprise, though.  I haven't laughed so hard at so many fools in a while."

Oskyx raises his wine glass and speaks before washing down the steak with the strong wine.  "Well done there, my friend."

The elf shrugs. "Well, I must admit, I haven't had much of an opportunity to do much else. Nobody that closed in within range managed to close in without downing me."

He sighs, finishing his glass and pouring himself another. "I consider myself more of a paraelementalist, like you. I got a little too confident in my fight against that cleric, though."

  Oskyx shrugs.  "Eh, I don't see myself as a para-elementalist.  I see myself more as an expert in causing pain in all its delicious flavors."

  Oskyx stands, "Well, I have a promised duel against a cleric myself.  Hopefully it will turn out better than your own."  Turning, Oskyx hurries out of the tavern, leaving Nines to pay for his own meal.

Trindon enters the famous Pub for the first time. He had grown tired of dining at the more elegant locations and wanted to mingle more with his own people. The burly human - about 5'10" 220 pounds of (mostly) muscle, sat down at one of the barstools and quietly ordered a mug of ale and some meat, vegetables, an egg, and the fruit that was in season. His wicked and well used greatsword was strapped to his back as he casually looked around to gauge his fellow gladiators.

Rhakar:  Hey Paserri, I'm a cleric too!

Paserri: ...What?

Rhakar: Yeah!  I think I worship that same horrible thing you do!  I'm not sure!

Paserri: WHAT?!
This message was last edited by the player at 03:34, Thu 05 May 2011.

Bumping to see if anyone would like to post "in character."

The Bug looks around at the strangely empty Pub.

Gideon steps into the pub, wings wide and arms open.

Ah, the nectar of the gods! Bartender, some mead!

The Bug takes a seat and asks the serving wench for some meat and wine.

Requiem walks over to Mantis. Greetings insect. I noticed that you are eating meat and drinking wine. I noticed that you are consuming mammal food. Why is this? His voice is deep and is made up of sounds that sound like the clashing and grinding of various metals and stones.
This message was last edited by the player at 20:53, Sat 27 Aug 2011.

A shadowy figure sits in the corner, listening to everything, but saying nothing.

In reply to Requiem (msg #30):

"This place serves mammals primarily. The owner would likley take offense if I where to eat his patrons instead of the food offered.", Mantis answers.

Mantis delicately cleans one 'hand', his multiple mouth parts moving with swift precision as he looks over the being who approached.

Mantis points his clean hand at the fellow and asks, "What do you eat clockman?"

Requiem sits down across from the bug. I have no such weakness. I only require a drenching in blood every now and then to keep my joints from creaking. The only indicator of his bad attempt at humor is a deep chuckle voiced by two granite slabs grinding against each other.

"Isss that thunder outssside, or isss the metal man laughing?" Kruk quipped.

Mantis cocks his head one way, then the other as he studies the clockwork man.

"What do you run on? Springs?", Mantis asks.

Requiem shakes his head. I have no springs or gears. I guess you could say that I am magical in nature, though that doesnt give me any magical properties or capabilities. I had to ean those myself. Many years of training with the aged monks of the dragon. He tiltshis head to show his thought, but his face remains stoicly unchanged.

Corthan enters the Pub after a hard day's work. The human druid, roughly 6 feet tall with a rail-thin body, goes right over to a table in the back corner and orders some ale from the closest barmaid. Next to Corthan, sitting on the floor now, is a 7 foot tall nasty-looking dinosaur, named Bob. Bob is a fleshraker that has proved his worth several times over.

"Soooo......something that disrupts magic would stop you, at least for a time?", Mantis asks.

Requiem laughs, a grating thing to be sure. I have never see such happen but that is not to say it wouldn't work. I am no expert on magic. I find it a soft avenue.

The haunched, black robbed figure walks into the tavern. He does not look around or address any of the other combatants.

He simply walks over to the bar, orders a bottle of wine, a fine, dark-red vintage, and a mug.

He then takes the two over to a large padded chair by the fireplace of the small establishment and sits down, facing the crackling fire. He pours himself a glass of wine sips on it silently.

Byron can be seen drinking a pint. He is chatting up the barmaid, and enjoying himself immensely. Strangely, he has no shoes on.

Andrew stops just inside the door and surveys the crowd.  Spotting Byron, he walks up, "Ah, Byron.  I knew I'd find you here.  Up to your old tricks again I see," Andrew winks at the barmaid.  "Do tell me how things have been with you.  Last I saw you, we had just brought you back after you became a fine bloody mist..."  He pretends to brush off dust particles and wears a large smile on his face.

In reply to Andrew Fosher (msg #42):

"Well I couldn't rightly be expected to stay and fight with you after *that* incident. I mean, a tower full of wizards, and yet somehow they cast blade barrier? It was just a bit too odd for me. That and no one really likes becoming a fine mist." Byron shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "I figured I'd go somewhere safe like this."

In reply to Byron Smallfoot (msg #43):

"Well, this is true.  That whole incident still leave me a bit befuddled, but that world did have some odd rules to it.  It seems that the rules here are a bit better, though.
Did you come directly here, or were there any stops in between?  I've been several different places.  A couple of us even wound up slaying one of those giant Purple Worm things, and, after a bit of work, that blasted minotaur and his sorceress pal cooked up a black pudding for dinner.  I, of course, stayed far away from that meal..." Andrew chuckles.

In reply to Andrew Fosher (msg #44):

"Well, I did stop by this one place... There were some strange people talking about elementals and dragons. Needless to say, I left as soon as I could. I found my way here, and have been chatting up this pretty lady ever since. Needless to say, I would like to get *back* to that conversation. Don't worry. Once I have been well and properly slapped for impudence, I will come back to talking to you."

In reply to Byron Smallfoot (msg #45):

Andrew laughs heartily.  "Well, you haven't lost your sense of humor.  Anyway, knowing you, I'm sure that slap isn't far off.  I hope you enjoy every second of it.  When you're done recovering, I'll have a drink waiting for you at that table over yonder." Andrew points to a lone table towards the side of the room, orders two drinks, and wanders over to the table.

Just as those words leave Byron's mouth, a fleshraker dinosaur sails through the air. It's powerful jaw and needle sharp teeth close mere inches from Byron's throat. It quickly gulps down whatever it just ate and heads back to a human-looking gladiator sitting in a corner. Corthan gets up and says, "Sorry, my throw was a little off there and Bob got a little carried away with our game of fetch."
This message was last edited by the player at 14:40, Thu 08 Sept 2011.

Seeing that Bob's antics have left the Pub in a state of shocked silence, Corthan just goes back to enjoying his fine elven wine and roasted warpig meat.

Not batting an eye at Bob's antics, Byron turns to Corthan. "You think that's something, you should see what a blade-barrier can do. Especially when cast by mages..." Wandering off in thought, Byron's voice lowers. "I swear, the gods be crazy there. Never ever ever will I return to Tebel." Blinking a few times, Byron perked back up. "Where was I now? Oh yes. Blade Barrier. Nasty thing. Lizard dog thing doesn't quite compare."

Byron leans forward and kisses the waitress, earning his slap. Stinging but smirking, he saunters over to Andrew's table. "Ah, ale. And you got me a whole pint!"

"OY!  Tebel!  That vile place!  May I never return to it again!  I still hate those damnable Cargassian kobolds.  And don't forget how Centaurs wind up in trees, or the IMPossibilities..."
Andrew raises his glass and drinks heavily.
"Such a horrid place that was!"

Andrew gestures to Corthan, "That is quite the beast, but Byron speaks true.  That ravenous creature ranks low in the list of horrors that I've seen, several of which defy any logical explanation.  If you'd like to sit with us, I'm sure Byron and I could fill you in on some of the atrocities that exist in that world..."

"Oh the horrors! A vile Centaur bent on destroying three simple and happy hobbit ghosts, an IMPossibly IMPervious Imp, a stupid Centaur King failing to protect against a true-striking magical dart, some kind of undead thing outside the Dwarven lands, and more above-ground underground elves than you can shake a stick at. There was this one Drizzt fellow - tried to talk down to me, something about being published. I cut him up nice and good. Oh, what else was there? A prince disguised as a pauper, a princess and her lover, both beautiful women if I heard right. And the cities, so damn homogenized. A city of barbarians next to a city of evil wizards. It just didn't make any sense."

"Hey, you weren't there for that damnable undead thing.  I did tell you the stories of it, but you still don't know.  It KILLED ME!  Also, the barbarian city was about a week away from the evil mage city...we just had a teleporting cart, remember..." Andrew rolls his eyes and takes another drink.

"Also, don't talk about my wife, though she was beautiful..."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:57, Wed 14 Sept 2011.

Letting Byron and Andrew underestimate Bob as much as they want, Corthan gets up, taking his drink and plate and moves over to the odd duo's table. Taking a seat, he says, "Of course, you can always dodge a blade barrier and not get touched at all. For instance, in my most recent fight against the Lional, 'ole Bob and I were able to keep our hides intact with nary a scratch. Then again, sometimes circumstances dictate what happens and some things are unavoidable, like getting Terak's blood and guts on you after you sever his head....or so Trindon tells me."
This message was last edited by the player at 15:46, Wed 14 Sept 2011.

"Oh that's nothing. I once stole a Leonal's balls then had Andrew here sell 'em back to him."

"Is that what those tiny things were?  Ugh, I wish I hadn't have found out.  Now I almost feel bad...not to mention a little sick to my stomach.
And yes, there were many ways around the Blade Barrier, but Mr. Smallfoot here rarely thought before he acted.  I'm surprised that he's not one of those berserker types, and even more surprised that he became king...though that wasn't much of a kingship..."

"I invoked a god! I think I deserve a little kingship for that! But you're right... it got in the way if my freedom. Boring job, being king."

"Pish!  The only reason you invoked those two gods is because they were jumpy anyway.  In only one other world have I seen gods interfering in mortal lives so much.  Anyway, it did get in the way of your freedom, especially with that idiotic paladin following you everywhere.  Granted I had to follow a ranger...but that was my own mistake.  What an insufferable dolt he turned out to be."

"Oh that Paladin. I'll never forget what he said when I absconded and he took the throne. 'It's good to be king.' The nerve!" Byron shifts slightly in his chair. "But I got him good, the silly fool. Sticking his arm in a bag of devouring. I could barely keep from laughing when he did that!"

"That was, by far, the stupidest thing I have ever seen anyone do.  I feel sorry for all of the halflings that you subjected to his rule.  If I remember correctly, I think I heard that they revolted against him and his rule.  I believe they allied themselves with some order of druids and those snake people.  Ah well.  Different world, and it doesn't concern us anymore, does it?"
Andrew turns to Corthan, "So, what of your past?  Any grand tales that I can retell?"

Bump...

At that point, Udum walked into the pub minding his own business.  He had to walk around a small crowd of rowdy brutes who were singing songs to get into the place.  He looked around with a swish of his long black hair, drinking in the atmosphere.  He wandered over to the bar, his baboon fully erect nagging on behind him "Will you let me ride  the horse tomorrow then?  C'mon just once? What about after tomorrow?"  Udum did not even glance at his familiar but asked the barwench if he could have some cheese, a bit of bread, and any type of fruit for his pet.  The middle aged bar wench was taken in by the handsome young man's presence, but gave an estranged look at Mang-Mang, the walking, talking baboon, who for his part took no notice of the woman's rude stares.

"Hey! Didn't you see the sign?  It says no mangy monkeys allowed!  Or don't you know how to read?"  Cor Petit spat in disgust on the ground close to the baboon as some of the rougher looking men in the pub were chuckling at his comment.  He was leaning with his back against a column his green arms crossed over his chest.  He sounded angry but his face looked calm, a slight contemptuous smile upon his lips.  The wench maid hurried on with her business as if nothing had happened and tried to get out of the way, while some of the men looked half-expectantly at the baboon and his master.
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 20:50, Thu 02 Feb 2012.

'' I'm sorry my good green man'' a voice from below Cor said.

As he look down, the namek (?) see a halfling wearing robes and a large hat making his face disappear in the shadows. A faint smell of rot emanate from him.

'' It is expected in the magical community that a familiar should be present with his master at all times. Or do you have a problem with my buddy Skinny too ?''

Behind him stands a skeleton, is empty eyes staring at Cor.

'' And trust me he has a nasty temper. You wouldn't want to anger him, would you ?''

Cor Petit was taken aback for a moment by the robed halfling's unexpected appearance.  He wrinkled his nose in disgust "What is that awful smell?"  He looked coldly at Bollo and said calmly: " I didn't know everyone was such good friends around here, psht."  He abruptly turned away from them and walked toward the other side of the pub as if he meant no harm, but said under his breath as he flexed his muscles "The rules are there for a reason. That stinks even worse than that flea-ridden baboon".  He walked over to a table, sat down and asked the wench maid for some water.

"Talking 'bout me?"  Horiss rumbled, scratching at his fleas.  He sniffed himself.  "Nah, can't be.  It rained yesterday, so I'm still pretty clean."

''If it make you feel better, i think you smell just fine. Well sweaty and dirty, but that's what life all about isn't ?''
says the little necromancer to the towering orc.

Udum watched as Cor Petit walked away, and when up to Bollo with a frank smile on his youthful face, "Thank you, friend, that was nice of you, I was almost starting to fell uncomfortable.  Mang-mang doesn't take well to people who are rude to him, although I am afraid he has been forced to grow used to it, unfortunately."  The intelligent looking baboon stayed behind his master and looked at the halfling and the skeleton warrior with open distrust, Udum himself was only just managing to disguise his natural felt repulsion towards the pair.  But he gave a shout to the wench woman "Can you bring 4 pints of stout for me and my new halfling friend?" He turned to Bollo again, "By the way fine sir, maybe you would be interested in a duel with Mang-Mang and I?  You know.. " and he said this in a conspiratory tone as he eyed the small Halfling up and down and gave him a wink "between magic users?" .

''Thanks for the drink, but it's kind of a waste of time on me... no effect, no flavour, keep your money !'' giggle the necromancer. As the growls from the baboon grows louders, Skinny steps forward, putting himself in front of Bollo.

'' A duel ! Perfect, I got this plan in my head, and i just can't wait to try it up''

Having had more than a few new gladiators come into town since the last time he frequented the Pub, Corthan walked in with Bob by his side and took his usual spot in the corner. Hailing the nearest wench, Corthan ordered his favorite, a glass of fine elven wine and some roasted warpig meat.

Evangeline tentatively entered the Pub, looking around in dismay at the interior and its patrons. Regaining her haughty attitude, she strode towards the nearest table and sat down, ensuring that no part of her robe touched it's sticky surface. Catching the eye of the nearest serving girl, she motioned her over with a graceful sweep of her hand.

"Would you be so kind as to fetch me a glass of your finest wine? I would be most appreciative if you could see your way to giving me a clean glass as well, not that I expect such a thing could be found in a place like this."

With that, she dismissively turned away from the girl and cast her eyes over the others in the pub. Finding no one she had any interest in speaking to, she sat and waited for someone more interesting to arrive.

Approaching the Champion shyly, Bollo produce a piece a paper and say
'' Sir, i have nothing but admiration for you, please sign a autograph for me !''

Skinny come near Bob and produce a piece a paper and an ink pot so that the fleshraker could sign one too.

Udum instantly spotted Evangeline as she made her way into the pub.  Seeing that she had asked for wine he gave his pint to a surprised Mang-mang and walked towards the haughty maiden as he shooed his baboon familiar away.  He offered her the cup of wine and smiled, "I am a lucky man indeed, to find a beautiful rose amid such squalor."
This message was last edited by the player at 08:25, Wed 15 Feb 2012.

Corthan is a little taken aback from Bollo's autograph request, but smiles warmly and signs the paper. Adressing the necromancer, "I see that you've signed up for that group fight against me. Tell you what, you tell me how you want to die and I'll make it happen, if possible of course, sort of a thanks for brightening my evening tonight."

Before Corthan can warn Bollo or Skinny, Bob snaps at and devours the paper that was offered by Skinny. "Sorry, Bob's only a dinosaur, he can't write."

How i want to die ? Easy ! In my bed in 200 years after being the champion for that amount of time ! Can you really make it happen ?

Bollo tells the champion with a laugh.
Approching his hand to Bob head to pet him, he retract it quickly, the look in the dinosaur eyes telling him to move away and he does.

The druid smiles at the necro's good humor, "That, I can't make happen, unfortunately. See you in the arena!"

Corthan goes back to sipping his elven wine and enjoying another fine evening at the Colosseum's world-famous Pub.

Malificus enters the pub with an expression of pure business on his face. He begins to make his way across the pub, his minion in tow. He stops at one of the booths, the one with Bollo sitting in it. "I had heard you were doing quite well for yourself here and bringing great renown to our profession. Now that I am here, it would seem, you have fallen in to the trappings of weakness. Pathetic really...you had it within yourself to be great Bollo. It's a shame I shall have to remove your unlife. Perhaps one day you will see your errors, but the governers of death will not consider taking you back. Tis a shame to lose such talent." The man's minion finishes approaching shortly after his address to the halfling. He turns to the creature, "It would seem that Bollo no longer sees the power inherent in you and your kin Helter. We will remind him, yes?" The skeleton simply nods its head. An action accompanied by the sound of dried ligaments expanding and contracting.
This message was last edited by the player at 07:50, Thu 15 Mar 2012.

Looking at the strange individual in front of him, the halfling mage laughs.

Well i used to have the one friend too, just like you, but now the i changed focus, i have  hundreds and hundreds of friends.

The sneer on Malificus's face was a vile and unholy thing. "Your friends pale in comparison to the true tools of arcanum. Those beings you call forth are fickle things, like leaves in a breeze. You will rue your change when I gain enough prestige to challenge you conjurer. There will be no doubt that the mastery of life and death is superior to your petty summonings!" Helter simply stands behind his master, unfeeling and unchanging.
This message was last edited by the player at 09:41, Thu 15 Mar 2012.

"And on whose authority do you speak, necromancer? The only one in this arena who has the blessings to remove unlife from anyone is myself."  Nivian stood up from his stool, leaving a plate of gruel behind. As he approached the newcomer, Nivian unbuttoned his right sleeve, pulling it up and revealing the tatto of a blacked out sun on his wrist.  "The mark of Nerull.  In me lies the power to open the gateway for the dead and the living to ultimitaly switch roles.  And only I can judge whether or not one deserves unlife."

Speaking for the first time in the tavern since his entrance in the arena, Thomas step up to Nivian and put a calming hand on his shoulder.

Peace friend, this man follow your god precepts too, but his arrogance blind him. The harshness of the arena will show him the error of his ways.

Turning toward Malificus, the young man say slowly.

I understand that you wish to be respected for your might and that you try to impress us. But never speak again of yourself on as par to a god or i swear on the name of my lord that experienced or not, i will make you eat your words.

Hahahaha, petty summonings? hahahaha, your are just too funny, hahahaha you are telling me you think conjuration is all about monster, hahaha, how naive !

Bollo try to answer the inexperienced necromancer pompous words, but can't seem to stop laughing for long enough.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:20, Thu 15 Mar 2012.

Corthan sees the newcomer speaking so arrogantly and manages a quick smirk before replacing it with his usual non-telling face. He will learn.

Cor Petit smiled and spoke from where he stood, leaning against a column with his arms crossed over his chest, "Finally someone shows some courage in this place!  Look's like we might have some fun after all." He turned his head to Maleficus, "Yeah these guys are all talk, they act like they are so sure of themselves but deep down they are actually scared and don't feel they are up to the challenge.  You'll see."

Malificus only smiles at Bollo's mirth. "Perhaps. Conjuration is a potent school of magics...one I could ill afford to lose. However, my small friend, the darker arts are superior." He whips around to face Nivian and Thomas approach, a cool sneer etched in his pale face. "Gods? There is but one deity with any real power and it is neither of yours, Oerthan scum! Your pseudo-deities pale in comparison to the dark queen. I shall show you the meaning of true power. Men such as yourself are no better than the beggars lining the streets of Waterdeep. You will be shown the true might of Toril. All of you." His withering gaze sweeps across the lot of them finally coming to rest upon the champion. Corthan can almost see the hate shoot from the man's empty black eyes and pierce his soul. With that, and a small regard towards Cor, Malificus turns to find his own seat, Helter following close behind.

Maybe the reason he force that poor skeleton to follow him around is that nobody else can stand him, don't you think ?

Ask the little wizard to the assembly before turning toward Cor and whispering :

Me ? Afraid ? I don't think i remember how... But i could show you the limit of your own courage if you wish ?
This message was last edited by the player at 23:50, Thu 15 Mar 2012.

Nivian's face twisted nearly beyond human limits with Malificus' arrogance.  His eyes began to glow and a deep purple fire errupted from his fists.  What do you think the consequences would be if I boiled his blood from the inside..?" He asked his fellow gladiators.

Malificus turned his head slightly to the priest's words. "Perhaps you'd find that not everyone has blood to boil. Now scurry along a beg your god for power." He turned with a chuckle and continued on.

A mess probably. Let's freeze him ! Or shock him dead ! Or feed him to a monster !
Oh, let me, let me !

says with enthusiasm the little mage as he jump up and down in excitation.

OOC: I get really into roleplaying, and I'm nearly exploding with Nivian's need to blast you in the back of the head, lol.  We'll save it for the arena, but I'd say it would definitely be in his nature.

"I know your tricks mage"  replied Cor to Bollo, "I am young and still not acostumed to this new world.  But do not worry, soon I will be more powerful than you and all of your kind!"
This message was last updated by the player at 10:44, Sat 17 Mar 2012.

Malificus strides in, having just finished his bout with the Cockatrice, with a cocky grin on his face. He simply looks at those he had been bickering with before with a bemused smile and walks to the bar to obtain a drink. Helter clicks and clacks in behind him sporting a new necklace. Though clearly not magical it does have a sort of odd look to it. Strung through the leather strap are two ears, one human and one distinctly elven, with what appears to be the head of a chicken between them. He comes to a halt some five or six feet behind his master. Once Malificus has his order filled,a pair of ales, he strides over to Corthan and sets one down in front of the champ and then reaches into his pocket and produces a nice juicy ham steak for Bob. "Cheers!" He takes a seat at the druids table without waiting for invitation. "I thought we'd discuss how to arrange the ceremony for the passing of the crown. Im thinking that I can raises a few zombies for ushers and have Helter here take the crown from you and give it to me. It would probably be prudent to just do it here in the pub. I think the place would really open up once we moved the tables out of the way." He looks almost cheerful as he speaks.

After flicking a finger at the meat for Bob (cast detect poison), the druid lets the ravenous dinosaur make quick work of the snack. Corthan regards his new sudden table-mate with a slight grin and seems to be enjoying himself and the banter.

Corthan responds, "I'm not going to even ask your name because, in my experience, most gladiators new to the Colosseum do not live long enough to move into the top 10, let alone the top 3. When you get within sniffing distance, I'm sure it would be quite a match. However, first you need to defeat Thorn Fury and Trindon. Two similarly styled fighters of renown who help weed out the pretenders to the throne."

In reply to Corthan (msg #92):

Malficus nearly spews the mead from his nose trying not to laugh. "Fighters!? You know as well as I do that warriors are good for one thing and that's taking hits. I just prefer mine to be a bit more durable and dependable." He looks at Helter. "Perhaps you have not been watching matches as much as you should be. I happen to have made the top twenty-five in a mere three days. It will only be a matter of time. At least it should be an interesting fight, life versus unlife...it's almost poetic." He awaits the champions rebuttal, quite enjoying the chat.

Eire appears by the door out of nowhere. He walks quietly towards the bar where he orders himself a nice mild drink. He watches the other gladiators intently, making a list...

Corthan maintains the calm demeanor he always portrays. "Maybe it is you who has not been watching matches as much as you should be. Trindon and Thorn are no mere fighters. I look forward to the day when you're able to face one of them so you can see for yourself. When you get into the top 10, look me up again."

In reply to Corthan (msg #95):

Malfificus nods...perhaps you are correct. I underestimated the ogre, and paid dearly for it. I shall return once I gain some more renown... The necromancer hops up and walks over to another table. He seems a little introspective and quite compared to his previous bravado. Helter, as always, remains stoic.

Grimm finally enter the pub, sitting himself in a corner table and order a whole beef and a barrel of ale.

As his order arrive, the young ogre start joyfully and quite loudly, eating with a rage.

Mar'lafor alks in to the Pub see a notice board on the wall and places up a new flier.

---

Zindor looks up from a strange black tome he is reading and raises an eyebrow at Marl'afor's putting up a notice. When the she-orc is done he stands and walks over to read the notice. Then as the words meet his eyes he can't help but chuckle aloud. He speaks a short word (Arcane Mark to any with Spellcraft) and then walks back to his table and continues his reading his tome. Anyone looking ar the notice from this point on sees a small dark purple mark, the insignia of The Stygian Order, in the corner of the notice.

Corthan chuckles as Zindor puts his guild's mark on the parchment.  He does like the psion/mage's humor.  Going the more direct route, Corthan walks up to the posting, dispels Zindor's mark, takes the advertisement off the wall, crumples it up and feeds it to Bob.  As he walks back to his usual seat, he murmurs, "This is my place until anyone takes it from me."
This message had punctuation tweaked by the player at 06:35, Thu 15 Nov 2012.

Rhakar laughed.  He hadn't bothered to read Mar'lafor's notice, but if it made Corthan mad, he liked it.

He walked up to Mar'lafor's seat.  "Hey." He said.  "Sign me up for that thing that Corthan hates."
This message was last edited by the player at 07:45, Thu 15 Nov 2012.

Those not watching the champions antics may notice as Zindor vanishes from his seat with a word and appears sitting at Corthan's table. A series of short arcane gestures later, Zindor pops out of sight and back into his own seat with a jovial grin across his face. When Corthan returns to his seat he finds the table literally covered with glowing Stygian Order insignias.

Once again Mar'lafor retrieved a notice and posted it up on the Wall. She wasn;t too bothered about the antics of others but simply the pure joy of a propper duel beteween real fighters. she turned to Corthan "one day your time will come"

Thomas walk into the pub, which is unusual for him, as he normally pass his nights in prayer in his small chapel. Walking up directly the sign of the Knights of Nine, he place another piece of parchment on it.

Written on it, we can read :

On Behalf of the First Guild, I, Thomas White, holy knight of the Phoenix, Challenge each of you in an individual duel.
If you are not cowards, Meet me in the arena


He then proceeds to go sit on a table, acknowledging the champion with a respectful nod before seating himself.

In reply to Thomas White (msg # 104):

Pluto walks into the pub his deep crystal sword resting in its scabbard beneath a travelers cloak. He then seats himself at a table before ordering some seafood from the coast.

Maeak-Lavae watches the goings on.  Talking to himself, in gol-kaa, "your's now, mine later."  Then exclaiming outright, "Aulak thala kaua gamala." [Hunt the herd one animal at a time]

As Corthan gets back to the table, his smile widens.  Glancing back at Zindor, the druid throws a nod his way and then dispels all the arcane markings.  He sits back down with Bob lying next to him on the floor.

When Mar'lafor makes his glory seeking statement, Corthan simply answers, "Many have said the same and none have been able to back that up as I'm still here years later. Feel free to try."

Corthan nods right back at Thomas the mighty cleric and looks on with interest to see if any take him up on the challenge.

Zindor just chuckles as the druid whipes away his markings.

Trindon makes his way into the Pub.  The burly man with the heavily blooded spiked chain goes right up to the wall by Corthan's table.  He produces a shrouded head of some sort and a few nails.  Using the butt end of the spiked chain, Trindon finishes his decorating and unveils his trophy to his fellow customers.......a pit fiend's head.  "After the cowardly beast left our fight, I tracked him down and finished it."

Sitting down next to his friend, Corthan, Trindon orders up a round of ale for all the patrons of the establishment!!!!!! "This rounds on me everyone!"

In reply to Trindon (msg # 109):

Zindor raises his ale to his two seniors and drains the mug.

Having been absent for a while, Bollo enters the pub.

'' Hey many new people around.... How long have i been in the Lab ?''

In reply to Bollo the Twisted (msg # 111):

Zindor grins when the spastic halfling walks in. "Long enough to miss me taking 3rd in the rankings!"

Surprised, the little wizard explode in a giggle.

''Weren't you a newcomer last time i was around ? But you lose track of time when you don't have to sleep or eat or go to the b... do other things.''

In reply to Bollo the Twisted (msg # 113):

Zindor smiles, It has been a while my friend...perhaps you may find you self another victem of mine soon enough.

The haunched sorcerer, his face concealed by his upturned hood, even in this place, rises form his usual seat by the fireplace, where he is often found sitting in silence without drink, book, or other distraction, and walks over in Zindor's direction.
He pauses for a moment to look at the head of the demon on the wall, but after a moment, he moves on.

Pausing by Zindor, he speaks in his rarely heard raspy voice.

"Perhaps its time you showed me your new tricks. The circle?"

It is a rhetorical question though and with that, he walks out of the gladiator's tavern.

Zindor nods to the hooded sorcerer. "So be it my brother. Prepare for annihilation however you wish." With those words, Zindor simply vanishes from sight with a soft "pop" sound.

Trindon re-enters the pub after watching the anti-climatic Solitude-Zindor 3rd place bout.  He had been highly entertained with the melee and bow prowess (or lack thereof) of the competitors, but had been shocked when the fight was called when Zindor failed to act.  Being next in line, the warrior begins the mental preparation on how to defend and attack the ever masterful Solitude.  Outwardly, Trindon shouts out the result of the match for the Pub to hear, grabs another mug of ale and sits next to Corthan.

As Trindon exalts his partners victory, a foppish herald enters the pub.  Careful not to dirty himself, he approaches the announcement board.  Withdrawing a heavy parchment, he lightly taps it amidst the other proclamations.  Satisfied, the fop quickly departs the pub, a gold coin earned.

To those that bother;


This message was last edited by the GM at 01:38, Sat 15 Dec 2012.

Trindon and Corthan triumphantly enter the Pub, fresh from their demolition of the monsters.  Trindon decides to add a little squish to the evening meal and presents the cook with the Illithid's head.  Flashing a wide grin, #1 and #2 take their respective seats in the back corner of the establishment.

"Pffffft." Rhakar rolled his eyes, unimpressed.  "I coulda killed those things!"

"No you couldn't." Van replied quietly from his spot beside the orc in the bar. "But for having a herald and everything, that was disappointing.  I was expecting something a little more like Dagon himself."

Corthan, who has pretty exceptional hearing, picks up on Van's comments.  The druid strolls over to the duo and asks matter of factly, "Who's Dagon?"

Van looked up, taking a sip of his beer.  "Demon lord of the depths.  One of the old ones, from way back before the Tanar'ri started swarming all through the abyss.  From what I hear, you two might be able to take him.  I mean, if you didn't go crazy from looking at him, all you'd have to deal with is the poison tentacles and the spells..."

He shrugged.  "Don't mind me.  It's just what I first thought when I heard you were going up against something from the sea."

OOC: He's from the fiendish codex.  I was just thinking that for a good challenge, you guys would need a demon lord or an archdevil or something.

Corthan's old eyes lit up with renewed interest.  "Demon lords and arch-devils. That would be a fine battle indeed.  Thanks little one, I'll suggest those to the Battle Masters next time Trindon and I are eligible for a match."  With a new hop to his step, the venerable King of the Colosseum resumes his spot in the corner and excitedly relays the info to Trindon.

Xian enter the pub, a bit shy and go sit down on Van's Table, to get that pint they talked about.

Hilarity ensues!
This message was last edited by the player at 01:52, Tue 22 Jan 2013.

Zindor skulks back into the pub looking quite disheveled. He walks over to Sols table and takes a seat. "Well my friend, much has changed in my absence. I was assigned to fight the half-orc in the tourney. Perhaps I will be able to finish this fight." Then, with a rueful grin, the masked pion pulls a tome from seemingly nowhere and begins to read.

After destroying Solitude in one round (4 level differences tend to do things like that, nothing against Solitude at all), Trindon enters the pub and spots Corthan in his usual corner.  Going over to the Champion of the Colosseum, Trindon engages in a long and polite discussion.  At the end, the duo shake hands warmly and Trindon rises to address the customers of the Pub, "After talking it over with Corthan, we've decided not to fight against each other in the tournament.  Corthan has also decided that he wants to give up the Champion title to me and start defending the #2 spot in the highest tiers' ranking." After pausing to see if anyone has any questions or comments, Trindon sits down and orders another round for the whole Pub to celebrate his rise to the top.
This message was last edited by the player at 04:39, Sun 27 Jan 2013.

Zindor walks over to Trindon and Corthan's table with three overflowing mugs and a huge chunk of some kind of flesh. "Congrats to the new champ, a drink in your honor!" Then he tosses the meat to bob and raises his mug to the two warriors and drains it.

As Zindor's meat goes flying to Bob, Corthan casts a very quick spell (detect poison) and then nods to Bob that he could enjoy the treat.  Trindon is a little taken aback from Zindor's good nature, but manages a sincere smile as he knows that the crown could be taken away as quickly as he had been given it.

As the match between Thomas and Edward was about to begin, Zindor closed his tome and stood to his feet. He nodded to both the competitors in the upcoming match and headed out to the stadium to have a birds-eye view of the battle. It would surely be an illuminating experience seeing how the to combatants fought with each other.

Unusual for the serious young cleric, Thomas enter the pub and go straight for the table where Corthan and Trindon are sitting.

'' I was wondering if you had some advice for me as i will be fighting Zindor in the finals.''

Sitting down after their invitation , the three start discussing in low tones the upcoming fight...

Zindor walks in after having watched Thomas defeat Edward. He walks up towards his future foe as he is congregating with the two champions and speaks; "I look forward to your attempts at victory cleric. May your heathen god be with you." Zindor nods to Thomas and moves to his table. He then withdraws a particularly vile and ancient looking tome from the depths of his robes and begins to study intensely.

After Thomas approached his table, Corthan happily made room for the cleric and fellow member of the First Guild.  Even though he was a future competitor, the druid and warblade respected the cleric and wanted to help out.  They got to business.....

Zindor walked back into the pub through a rip in time and space. He was victorious over Thomas, but he had a respect for the cleric. The young man had fought well, and had even surprised him a few times along the way. In the end though, his experience was too much for the acolyte to handle. He sat back at his table and removed his tome from his robes to relax and read as was his custom.

Tel'adrel sends a pint off to Zachariel. On the bar napkin, the message is written in magical ink:

"A pint to the new champion. Give them Hell!"

It was signed with Tel's spider like sigil.

Tel left the Pub to enter himself into the 9-15 bracket of gladiators.

Corthan and Trindon enter the Pub with Trindon hauling a huge sack behind him.  As he passes the bartender, he says with a smile, "Not sure this one'll fit on the wall.  Any alternatives?"

While the Champ waits for an answer, Corthan allows a smirk to cross his placid face and continues on to his favorite table in the back next to Trindon's other trophies.  As he began to sip the elven wine, he mutters, "Glad the house mages somehow keep the rot and smell at bay."

A man sat a table in the middle of the room. He hadn't always been there, or perhaps he always had been but unnoticed. Quietly reading to himself a book in demonic writings 1000 ways to serve a human the man had an uneasy air about him. The mask he wore was made to make his face look more demonic than it likely was, and the heavy cloak he wore gave much more to wonder about.

Luckily for Trindon, the Pub had recently added a trophy room to the establishment, so the highest ranking Champion took the huge Kraken head out of the sack and held it up for all to see. Seeing the bored expressions on the patrons, Trindon heads off to the trophy room to mount his prize.

Corthan notices all the new faces entering the Pub and tries to size them up...there are some interesting ones as long as they stay the course.

Ajah stares at Trindon as he entered the pub with his prize as she leans over to Wiley Are Corthan and Trindon a cute couple? They get a long so well" as Ajah waited for Wiley to respond he squeaked a few times as Ajah laughed "No, I think Trinadon is the man since he's number one now...I think well you could ask him." As the poor weasel drops his cutey face to the table.

"Even if they were a couple, they would both remain men." Bogan gave Ajah a pitying look.

"Ignorance does not look good on you, dearie." Tel'adrel added.
This message was last edited by the GM at 18:12, Sun 24 Nov 2013.

Corthan, who has superb hearing, catches the newcomer's whispers. He laughs at the misguided bravado and shouts across the Pub, " If you wish to send your animal over for a chat, feel free and we'll enlighten him. You can come as well." Corthan loves educating the ignorant and arrogant alike.

Corthan enters the pub after his victory over Solitude the Master Mage and sits down in his usual corner spot next to his fighting companion, Trindon. With a resigned sigh, Corthan says, "End of an era my friend. At least the title rests in the hands of one who is truly deserving.  Solitude has defeated everyone but us...it is his turn and he shall do just fine."

Drinking to drown one's pains in sorrow ....