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He nods toward the halfling girl. "We'll make it quick." She would be somewhat pretty, if not for the ridiculous haircut. Knowing all too well where her mouth had been recently, he gives her a quick kiss on the cheek and leaves. "Back to the cage?" he asks Jade, dangling the key victoriously before putting it in a pocket.
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As Radric and Jade approach the snake-haired woman's cage once more she shifts within, her ophidian coiffure hissing excitedly as she reaches a hand through the bars,
'You have it?' she asks in a whisper, 'Hurry! It's almost time for them to take me!'
The snake-haired woman unlocks the metal blindfold binding her eyes, takes a moment to make sure it will open, but leaves it in place as she hands the key back,
'My thanks,' she says, sounding much more confident as a grin spreads across her lips, 'if nothing else, then at least my time in the arena should prove... memorable...' she laughs to herself, then several of her snakes glance towards Jade, '... Ah, but I promised to tell you how to enable my pet to enjoy one last laugh as well, didn't I? The trick is to insert the blade at an angle, like this, so that it pierces the venom sac and coats the blade in one smooth action. If you hold the jaw here and...' she goes on to explain how each of the giant snake's two heads can be used to envenom a blade once, although again cautions that the venom won't last long in such a state...
'Radric! Where have you been?' Pharnox snaps as the two late-commers show themselves at last, but a quickly adds, 'Actually, never mind that... come with me, there's an "entertainment" which Rann wants you to participate in...'
Pharnox escorts Radric to join the drow gladiators and Hull, before leaving them all in the capable hands of Rann's slave-girls. Like Hull, Radric is stripped nude and slathered all over in dark make-up by the two halfling slave-girls. That done, they fit white wigs to each of the painted halflings, and help them select some appropriate looking 'drow child' clothing to wear... They're only just finished when a half dozen guards arrive to escort the three drow and two disguised halflings to the arena...
Near the entrance ramp up to the arena the chosen gladiators are led into what appears to be an armory: racks and racks of melee weapons of all varities (including a few shields too). A hard-looking middle-aged drow guardswoman with a bejewelled patch over her left eye, clad in a fine set of silvery metallic breastplate armour sporting indications of rank, looks up from an intricately etched rapier she's examining as the gladiators enter,
'They're supposed to be children?' she appears to direct the question towards Nathrae and Lorelei, paying little heed to Kyzrak, and talking about the halflings as if they weren't even present, 'Pathetic... but I suppose the people who dream these things up know what the crowds like...' she shakes her head, then adds, '... or don't last long in the job...' Replacing the rapier in one of the weapon racks with a smooth, well-practiced motion, the guardswoman gestures expansively towards the selection on offer, 'we have many weapons suitable for your roles in this... "re-enactment"...' she still appears to be talking to just Nathrae and Lorelei as she continues, '... what's your preference? And what will you assign your boy and the slips?'
Pharnox returns to Jade, Ivan, Segovax and the other gladiators not participating in the 'entertainments' accompanied by Rann; the latter of whom seems to be concluding a conversation between the two of them as they arrive,
'... said she'd been directed to the shrine of Izyagna - She of the Sevenfold Swarm. She's a minor diety, to be honest, but her role as patron of angry mobs gives her a certain dominion over the crowds of the arena. I'm led to understand that quite a few of the gladiators like to make offerings to her before bouts (and I for one can't see any harm in hedging one's bets...), so I imagine that's what she's about. I've sent a slip to find her for you anyway.'
Pharnox bows to the priest,
'My gratitude,' he offers, casting a brief glance in Jade's direction as he adds, 'these latest recruits have proven most difficult to keep track of.'
Rann waves off the gratitude magnanimously,
'Oh, no need to thank...' he begins, but is interrupted by a loud bellowing from just outside the chamber. Grinning, the priest moves to the doorway, 'Come see,' he encourages (to the room in general), 'your man Segovax may like this: it's a minotaur we managed to acquire! I didn't have the heart to waste such a magnificent specimen in the beast fights... plus we had that whole serpent theme going on this year... so he's scheduled to provide some entertainment after your stable's re-enactment. We've got a priestess of Iomedae - that's a surface-world goddess of honour and valour and all that nonsense - who's a genuine virgin. That cost more than a few coins, I can tell you - to purchase and to preserve down here too... Anyway, she's top be tied down, and we've pumped our bull-headed friend up with aphrodisiacs, so that...'
Once more Rann's interrupted by loud bellowing, but this time followed by screams of, 'Look out!' and 'He's loose!'. Moments later Rann and Pharnox are forced to duck aside as a guardsman's body slams into the edge of the doorway with a sickening wet crunch, blood spurting from the man's lips before he crumples to the floor, extremely dead...
'Oh dear...' comments Rann, with a sigh, before looking at Pharnox and asking, 'I don't suppose you could deal with this for me, could you? I am so frightfully busy right now... and try not to hurt him... too much... it would be a tragedy if our lovely young priestess remained a virgin...'
As Rann hurries away (in the opposite direction to the bellowing...) Pharnox seems to slump a little,
'Fine...' he mutters to himself, before turning to the gladiators and saying, 'You heard the man: go deal with it!'
Nathrae takes a look at the weapons on offer before taking a gladius and a heavy shield, if allowed.
"These suit me just fine." She gives the gladius a few practice swings before turning to the rest of the assembled group. "The male fights with two of these--" She twirls her gladius. "--the halflings can fight rudiarius style, and... Lorelei?" She turns to the sorceress. "Which would you prefer?"
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An entertainment? This could either be really good, really bad, or anywhere in between; drow tastes for entertainment seem to vary widely. He says nothing as he is stripped naked, covered in dark paint, and given a white wig-- presumably to make him look like a drow. A very small drow, he thinks with a chuckle. Could anyone possibly be fooled? When he's helped to select children's clothes, it suddenly makes much more sense. He still has very little idea what all this could be for, though when he and the others are invited to choose their weapons, it gives him a big clue. I'm starting to lean toward "really bad"... Judging by the drow guardswoman's complete disregard for Hull and himself, and her large disregard even for Kyzrak, Radric guesses that he's expected to defer to Nathrae and Lorelei. He keeps his mouth shut, and waits for Nathrae's permission before picking up his accustomed pairing-- a rudem as his fighting style weapon, and a kukri as his off-hand weapon that, really, has gotten much more use of the two. So far, he has yet to use his rudem at all in the arena. That may change today. He really only has the energy for one more good spell today, not counting the minor tricks that are at this point effortless to him, and he might need it.
Ivan weighs the weapon in his hand.
it be no hammer, but it be forged almost as good as ye would expect of an elf. I just hope its durable.
finally, something to vent some frustration on. Let's have a bit o fun.
With little hesitation ivan belows and charges in.
Lorelei moves up to claim what weapons that she wants. "I will take a short sword and a handcrossbow."
She gives a little sigh looking at the halflings. "Maybe from a distance the make up will be more believable."
"I doubt it'll matter much when they're covered in blood." Nathrae shrugs, twirling her gladius and sheathing it at her side.
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He grins at Lorelei, unable to resist the temptation. "Hey, I think I make a great drow." He points his rudem at her accusingly, with as serious an expression as he can muster under the circumstances. "Now fight others to the death for my fleeting amusement, or I'll have you flayed for insubordination! Come to think of it, I might have you flayed anyway, because that sounds really entertaining."
Nathrae isn't impressed by Radric's attempts at humour, and with that in mind, she doubts the guardswoman was as well. She takes a dagger from the rack and sets it in her belt.
She then turns to the guardswoman, seriously contemplating lighting her hand on fire.
"Would you like me to slap him?" She asks, hoping to smooth things over before the arena match.
Taking advantage of Radric's distraction, Kyzrak helped himself to two daggers as well as two gladii. The merchant's clothes were much more suitable to hiding weapons on his person than his normal outfit, hidden beneath.
I may be glad to have an extra weapon or two if there are any surprises.
Suitably attired, he adjusted his feathered hat and grinned. He would wait 'til the guardswoman wasn't listening to ask Radric how things had gone with the one-eared overseer, assuming Nathrae didn't set the halfling's head on fire.
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'No,' the guardswoman says in reply to Nathrae's question, 'I can do my own slapping, if needs be... but later - I wouldn't want to mess up the boy's make-up before the show. Besides,' she cracks just the barest hint of a smile, 'he reminds me of my youngest... he's not funny either...'
Weaponry issued, the gladiators are led to the base of the ramp up into the arena. The noise of the crowd, ever-present as a dull background roar in the tunnels below, once more becomes something much more distinct, immediate... and demanding... some laughter and applause, along with plenty of jeering and shouting, drifting down as whatever entertainments proceed the upcoming 'historical re-enactment' are concluded. A few of the demonically dressed attendants trot up and down the ramp, dragging away severed body parts and the like... then, finally, the gladiators are urged to again step upon the sands...
... They emerge into the scrutiny of the crowds only to find that the arena now seems to contain maybe a dozen or so statues dotted about... life-sized statues of gladiators. A couple near the centre of the arena are sculpted in suitably dramatic poses, but those further out appear to have been fashioned to appear as though there were frozen in place as they fled for their lives from something dreadful... The workmanship is really masterful: the statues are incredibly lifelike. More dark stains are scattered over the sands than the gladiators recall from before, and even some of the statues have been splattered with blood (indicating that there's been some action in the arena after their placement).
As the gladiators make their way to the centre of the arena, the editor's voice rings out, describing the scene of 'innocent elves, only trying to survive the great disaster which befell the world above'. As the tale he spins turns to the dangers these 'innocents' faced, the gate opposite that the gladiators used to enter scrapes open, and ten dwarves are driven out. In contrast to the editor's desciption of 'a cruel, barbarous, people, blessed with every resource, but willing to spare none for the poor elven refugees fleeing annihilation' the dwarves who stagger onto the sands all appear to be pathetic, starved, specimens, most elderly and bent over in a manner which attests to a lifetime of hard labour, others simply crippled - one missing an arm, another dragging a twisted and useless leg behind him as he limps forwards. The dwarves are clad in little more than filthy rags, although they are armed - each carrying a shortsword which, even from a distance, can be seen to be heavily corroded to the point of near uselessness. Despite the obvious discrepancies between the editor's description and the actual specimens presented, the crowd appear to react almost as if the editor's words were true: spitting at and vilifying the 'cruel dwarves' as if it were these dwarves who had persecuted the drow who make up the crowd - not some ancient dwarves lost to memory who persecuted the distant ancestors of the crowd... even if the tale is to be believed...
The dwarves have shuffled unenthusiastically to within about thirty feet of the gladiators as the editor whips the crowd to a frenzy by painting his verbal picture of how the downtrodden and outnumbered innocent elves refused to give in to such a loathsome foe... and the signal to start the slaughter is given...
Pharnox frowns as Segovax asks for his Master's weapons, but Narsius quickly pipes up, in common Taldane,
'I'm not translating that, and I strongly suggest no-one else does. You may want to get yourself killed, half-blood,' he says to Segovax, 'but please make any such attempts when I'm not around!'
Narsius then says to Pharnox, in undercommon,
'Segovax wishes to thank you for letting him be in the presence of a minotaur, Master... something about the worship of his god?'
Pharnox shrugs,
'Whatever,' he retorts, 'tell him he can worship whatever demon lord he wants, as long as he gets the job done.'
'The Master suggests you shut up and get on with it,' Narsius offers to Segovax in common Taldane, as way of translation, 'and I for one concure. Now, I assume we'll first attempt to reason with the...' he trails off as Ivan belows and charges from the room, boulder-helmeted head down... '... of course,' Narsius sighs, shaking his head, 'I mean, what was I expecting?'
Charging from the chamber, Ivan is the first to encounter the minotaur - a full twelve feet tall it barely fits in the tunnels hunched over, its body and arms those of a powerfully-built man, its head and legs those of a bull. The thing's hide is jet black, its eyes glow a deep red, and its curved horns are carved in intricate symbols. A brass ring is pierced through the minotaur's septum, and other rings pierce its nipples and the tip of its pizzle - which isn't hard to miss, considering it's rampant and pretty massive... Thick shackles appear to be welded in place on the minotaur's wrists, from which dangle loose chains which drag along the floor, but that's as close as it is to actually wearing anything... Several unconscious or dead guards and attendants lie in the corridor about the beast... It bellows its roar again and turns towards Ivan...
... just as the charging dwarf's reinforced helmet slams full-tilt into the minotaur's... ahem... family assets... The minoatur howls (at a somewhat higher pitch than before) and staggers back a good five feet, clutching its hands to its... wounded pride... as it does so...
Stepping out of the chamber Narsius rolls his eyes,
'Oh yes - I'm sure that's exactly what we needed to calm the situation down...'
Following Ivan and Narsius out, Zandu asks, his tone nervous,
'So... do we attack it, or what?'
Before the fight, Nathrae takes a moment to admire the statues on the battlefield. Wow... great decorating!
The sight of the old, crippled, ill-equipped dwarves shuffling out to face them is enough to make Nathrae cringe inside. These'll hardly be a challenge... but I'm going to have to do it.
Once the signal is given, Nathrae springs into action, lunging forward at the nearest dwarf while staying under the cover of her shield. Her gladius lashes out...
...for first blood!
Pathetic. Well, I might as well put them out of their misery.
Whipping out his gladii with a flourish, Kyzrak leaps from a running start into a roll, intending to spit one of the slaves in the stomach as he comes up...
...but the dwarf manages to twist aside, leaving Kyzrak to pretend that he'd only been toying with the poor slave all along, herding it toward the other gladiators. He danced about the dwarf, poking at it with his swords to make it jump.
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He raises his weapons in preparation as the gates open... then lowers them. These creatures are pathetic. Most of the dwarves look hardly capable of putting up a fight if they wanted to, and the weapons they wield do them no favors in that regard. They should call this what it is. This isn't a battle; it's an execution. Radric always hoped the Dawnflower would forgive him for killing in the arena; it is a matter of survival, after all. But this... this is something else entirely.
"Ahh! A dwarf!" he yells in his best childlike Undercommon. He dashes forward and swings, keeping his rudem up defensively, aiming for the creature's weapon so that his swing might appear to be batted harmlessly away.
Not wantig to make the minotaur angrier, Jade tries the softer approach. She intercedes, moving between the bobine hulk and the unfortunate dwarf.
In Common.
"Listen to my brother's wise words - tho' you be in purgatory here, delights await- why not taste them?"