Bloody Repercussions
As Judoc soars out of the arena, coins sail through the air, accompanied by more cheers than boos. Momentarily surprised, Judoc stops, turns back to the crowds, and raises his staff in victory and thanks before resuming his flight out of the arena. His heart beats a little faster now in pride at his accomplishment. Doubt had never entered his mind that he would emerge victorious. Even without his spells, he was simply the better man, and no common criminal could hope to best Judoc the Merciful, Judoc the Just, Judoc the Greathearted. Still, the coin and the cheers was a validation of sorts, not that he had succeeded despite long odds, but that he had approached a forgone conclusion and still made his inevitable triumph entertaining.
Later in the healing tent, his good mood is soured by the healers' insistence that he suffer their ministrations. What a scam. Send men to the arena, and make them pay for the injuries they receive. Judoc suspects some cunning contract in place, probably an agreement that ensures the Healers Guild earns a handsome living off the suffering of others. The indignity of it all! Do no harm, indeed. Judoc is more than capable of tending to his own wounds, but he sits in silence as they apply their creams and potions. At least he can afford it now. He thinks over what he will do with his winnings. Perhaps a new outfit, or another Powerstone to supplement his own impressive mana reservoir.
When the man who had been Death comes in and his wounds are treated, Judoc nods slightly at his former adversary. Good, the man knows when he was beaten. Judoc didn't think he would have to repeat Death's lesson. One good curbstomp had been enough. It doesn't even occur to Judoc to offer to pay for the man's wounds, especially with the recent stab wound so fresh. He idly wonders what will happen to the man now. Back to prison, he muses. A better fate then being burned alive, the man's flesh melting on the hot sands. How the crowds had been hungry for blood, for death! The fame of winning appeals to Judoc, but he takes no pleasure in others' suffering. Unless it was that rat bastard Loke. Judoc tries to imagine a duel between himself and his torturer. One day, perhaps sooner than Loke suspects, Judoc will be ready. Then, he wants Loke to feel what Judoc had felt, that feeling that he was about to die. At that moment, Judoc will spare his teacher, but not before Loke comes face to face with his own mortality and comes to regret his wanton cruelty to his betters.
His wounds fully healed, Judoc saunters off toward the markets, his gold burning a hole in his coin purse. He wishes briefly that he had some company with him, but he hasn't forged any connections with the other students in the battle magic class. He thinks of Grobbik, of Indrid, of poor, doomed Mariana. Through entirely no fault of his own, Judoc has found himself alone with no one to cheer his spectacular success today. The thought deflates his mood. The cheers of the crowd had been validation. Now he finds himself wishing for a friendly slap on the back, a "You really kicked that guy's ass, Judoc!" Even the sight of Brother Loke choking on his surprise would have cheered Judoc at this point.
Idlely, he wanders along. Perhaps he should visit an enchanter's, or a clothier's. He isn't even paying attention to where he is going when he finds his way blocked by a young guy who has interposed himself in Judoc's path. Was this a robbery? The marketplace isn't particularly busy, but still, there are potentially dozens of witnesses around.
The young mage grips his staff in both hands and sneers. "Believe me, you don't want any of this. I take it you didn't see the last fellow who got in my way today."
OOC: Judoc expects some kind of trap. He will ready his staff and begin to evaluate the other man, but he won't take any aggressive action unless attacked. Defenses are Retreating Block, followed by Retreating Dodge.