In the years since, Razmiran, as the theocracy came to be called, has expanded its borders five times at the expense of various River Kingdoms and Ustalav. Threatened the Outlaw Council made up of rulers of all the kingdoms predominated by Daggermark, Gralton, Lambreth, Mivon, Pitax, the Protectorate of the Black Marquis, Sevenarches, Tymon and Uringen met up and discussed the growing powers of Razmiran.
In order to appease the living god Razmir, the Outlaw Council agreed and signed a pact to recognize the divinity of Razmir. As a show of their declaration of Faith, they have agreed to send their finest warriors every year to Thronestep to take part in the arena games. To keep these warriors in check, the Priest administered a highly addictive drug, the Tears of Razmir which is a combination of narcotics and hallucinogens which was created by Razmir.
The winner of these games will be given a choice to either ascend Priesthood by traveling to the Exalted Wood for training and acting in league with the faith despite any previous misgivings. In return, the kingdoms of these warriors will be given amnesty from Razmiran and even tribute and military might for the next 3 years.
It is called The Immortal Games.
The preparations are in place your Holiness
A gold masked priest wearing with the the symbol "α", the first of the Visions bowed before a Living God.
A council of high-ranking priests known as the Visions. The goldmasked priests carry out Razmir’s erratic mandates, each in a unique way. While some Visions are gifted sorcerers, and others still use honeyed words and bribes to accomplish their goals, a significant portion is skilled at martial combat from the winners of the Immortal Games.
The Revelations is made up of 5 priest among the Visions. They are the most blessed and Razmir closest council.
A divine being clothed in bright shimmering robes that captures the bright sunlight beaming above him through a glass ceiling atop and reflecting the beams all around the throne room. Looking at him, you would believe his divinity as he looks like an Archangel that descended unto this world. He wears an ornate Ivory Mask of a Serene Visage as he looks down at his council upon a 31-stepped mithril throne, in reference to the steps he supposedly took to achieve divinity.
Release Omega to Tymon...Alpha..
It has been done my Lord...
Chapter 1: The Sacrilege
The city-state of Tymon lies southwest of Daggermark on the very western borders of the River Kingdoms, next to the kingdom of Razmiran. It is renowned for its gladiators, as Tymon boasts both a huge arena and many prestigious gladiator colleges. Tymon's history of gladiatorial excellence goes back to its founder,Maldar Tymon, who was a renowned Taldan gladiator and hero of one of Taldor's Fifth Army of Exploration. Unfortunately, this proud heritage has made Tymon a visible target, and the living god Razmir greedily eyes the city with conquest on his mind. the current ruler of Tymon is Ullorth Ungin.
A dark shadow cast upon the town as a floating ship powered by Arcane Magic flew past the Colosseum where Gladiators are fighting each other to the death. The loud cheering of the bloodthirsty crowd drifted off into silence....A gladiator lifting to bring his huge axe downwards to crush the head of a prone defeated gladiator paused as he place his axe down and relaxes his grip as they cast their sights upon the engineering marvel.
Turning around he offers a hand to the fallen gladiator as he pulled him to his feet. It is unspoken but it means.
Tomorrow we will be opponents once more. Today...we are brothers.
The floating ship caused commotion where its shadow passed as the crowds started following the ship. The destination castle Stone Rock of
Ullorth Ungin. Loud trumpet can be heard as it bellows within the town signalling the gladiators college, townsfolk and nobles to gather in the town's square. The king of Tymon walked out and formed the welcome envoy as the ship maneuvered to land in the town's square. It's ship hull brushed upon one of the buildings as the flag bearing the symbol of Tymon crushed under the weight of the ship and fell into the town's square.
How the mighty have fallen...
Ullorth Ungin looked at the fallen flag and thought its appropriateness of Tymon's shame. The enforcer of that shame walked out as a set of 31 steps slide down from an opening of the ship.
Gold plated Razmiran soldiers rushed out and formed a formation around the king as a being of impressive proportion walked down the 31 steps. His huge form was concealed under a heavy silk white cloak. he wears a golden mask with the symbol "Ω" imprinted on the forehead.
Tymon welcomes the will and divinity of Razmir!! We prepare and present ourselves for the Immortal games.
Omega looks impassively at the King before responding in a booming deep voice.
Glory to Razmir...
He walked towards a platform made of steel ignoring Ullorth Ungin. Clenching his fist, the king is visibly burning with fury as he calmed himself and followed after Omega as they ascended the stairs to the platform.
Facing the gathering crowd, a large golden chest was carried by a 4 Tymon guard and placed at the feet of a weasel looking man as he stuck his hands into the chest scrambling the hundreds of golden ingots bearing the names of the various gladiators names.
We will now choose the representative for the Immortal Games! May they bring honor to Tymon!!
Alright, You may start as doing something in the town or arena and then saw the floating ship before heading to the towns square. You may indicate your feelings perceptions emotions as you stand in the crowd looking at all this. Your names is written on one of the golden ingots in the chest. Your thoughts can be an inner conflict to be picked or not to be picked.
Ariella had been in the training yard of her college when the airship flew over Tymon. The steady thunk, thunking of her arrows into the center of the target thirty paces away had lulled her into a sort of trance that wasn't immediately broken by the commotion. It took the shadow of the great lumbering craft falling over her target to break her concentration. Looking up she saw the ship, and knew what it meant. It is time, all that I have worked for is upon us. Quickly gathering up her things, she jogged out of the college and down the many streets and alleys of the city-state, following the Razmirans' progress. She arrived at the square just in time to see Omega ascending the steps and brushing off the King. Good, that arrogant bastard deserves all the disrespect he gets. Scanning the crowd, she sees her father near the dias, looking furious and uncomfortable at the same time. A wicked grin makes its way onto her face. Lovely. Unable to see well through the mass of people, she leaps off a couple of stacked crates and up to the low gutter of a nearby building, taking a seat on the edge. She watches the weasel man anxiously, awaiting her fate to be decided.
|The Drunken Snake|
Sprawled over his prized keg of ale, the drunken snake-man awoke when the massive shadow of the ship momentarily interrupted the warm rays of the sun that he enjoyed. Looking up, he realized that it was once again time. Just as he had each year for the past several years, he turned his keg on its side and stood upon it, taking backward steps to propel himself forward while his to-and-fro and general ale stench let people know to get out of his way or he might run them over. "Keg" being a particularly slow method of travel, especially with people in the way, the drunken snake-man arrived well after the commotion that the landing made. He took his place as many others now did, waiting to see if his name was called.
|Garris aka "Dragon"|
The Dragon sat and meditated as he had done every day this month and contemplated if this would be his year. He had invested so much and waited so long to be chosen. He has seen every game, but it has only been the last 10 that he himself has been eligible for and passed over. It seems fate has not smiled upon him yet. Surely this will be the year. With the armies at our borders and our only hope as a kingdom is to win the games I must be, no will be chosen. I will perform as my master so many years before me. We will be victorious.
As these thoughts run through his head the dragon feels a break in the sunlight as the massive shadow of the ship comes over the garden.
Ah the time is here. He stands gathers up his few things and heads to the town center.
Riggar was just finishing training with his teacher with Crane Style. His teacher taught him a valuable lesson, 'if one cannot get hit one cannot feel pain'. It was these words that stuck with him, which is why Riggar trained extensively on neutralizing his opponents through various take-down maneuvers trip/grapple/sever. After taking a quick break to catch his breath and absorb his teachers wisdom, the sky turned dark.
Looking above him, Riggar saw a massive ship flying overhead. Riggar wondered to himself Aye wonder who gonna be chosen for these Immortal Games tis year? If it me, so be it. I be happy to show those Razmiran thugs a thing or too about humility and honor. They be thinkin twice about conquest and all that nonsense.
Riggar gets up quietly and makes his way to the town square, to join the ruckus and see who get's to represent Tymon in this year's gladiator games.
The Half-Orc has spent the last month almost purely in the Temple of Pharasma. Usually, a hulking barbarian in a temple like this would normally cause some tension, but not this. A strong follower of the Goddess of Death and Fate, Jhock prays during this time, not for help during the upcoming challenges, but for the souls he'll be sending to his Lady of Death, including his own. When the huge ship blots out the sky and causes commotions outside, he stands, and walks out of the church. "So the time has come my lady." He simply says, before walking away from the church, with a few of the priests blessing him in his goals. He heads to the town square, and awaits for what is to come.
The temple of Gorum was abuzz with activity. This was a big day. One man in simple robes and rope sandals is carrying a tray of simple food when he pauses in the hall seeing a co-worker and brighten with hope. You tell him the ship has beeb spotted and will be here soon. he pleads to another acolyte, trying to push the tray towards him. I had too wake him yesterday and he struck me for it. That one is not right. A new bruise had risen on his cheek and was developing some nice color. Not likely. the other, who was carrying water to fill the cistern at the temple, responds. Your duty. Not mine. Besides he struck you because you spilled his breakfast. That was stupid of you. He has never hit me. And its a waste of time anyway. Its his first year to have his name in the draw. I don't believe all that destiny trash. Its strait odds and odds are against him, angel or no.
When the servant enters to wake Azrael he is already awake, sitting in his lotus position deep in meditation wearing only a loin cloth. Eyelids open at the soft sound of sandal on tile and golden orbs take in the room. The space is spartan and efficient. A sleeping mat. I wash stand. An armor rack holding the golden plate armor, spikes and all. A great sword of black metal standing near. No fire warmed the chilly room. And if Azrael felt the chill he did not show it. He never had. It is time. he said. You shall help me dress.
Emerging a short time later is the warrior priest Azrael in full plumed splendor. A halo hovers over his yellow hair and his armor has been shined so that it reflects the sun in golden sprays as he moves. Priest flank him as an honor guard as he walks to the drawing, to his sentencing. ...the will of Gorum... one is heard to say as they walk past people gathering in the street. Some point at him, recognizing him as a new gladiator with a few successful bouts to his name. Most do not. That will change.
The RUMBLING of the airship outside…
Chips of loose stone crumble from the ceiling of a stark cell.
Strobes of sun-light streak through the bars of a cell window revealing…
A RED-SCALED TIEFLING
brooding in the corner. His red eyes follow a falling chip as it impacts on the floor. He glances up at the tiny window and then back forward. A deadpan stare.
Two guards approach his cell. One of them fiddles with the lock with a set of keys. The cell door CLANGS open.
“Out,” he motions.
The tiefling takes his time standing up. He trudges forward slowly emerging from the shadows. His sense of balance not impeded by the shackles around his wrists and ankles.
He trudges out into
with several attendants. In the center of it, on a stand, a full set of hellknight armor ornately decorated - the one he would’ve proudly worn had he exercised a bit more discretion in a prior life.
“Front and center, slave!” The guard nudges him forward, while the other closes the door behind them.
As the tiefling steps front and center, two attendants remove his shackles.
A MYSTERIOUS FIGURE suddenly appears on the veranda overlooking the ground floor. He speaks in a commanding voice.
“They say a man never really knows himself…"
"Until his freedom has been taken away.”
“I wonder. How well do you know yourself?”
“Egorian convict 666:"
Each attendant begin to take a piece of armor from the rack and step off to the sides.
“But as you soon will learn…Even freedom has its price.”
A wave of his hand and the attendants begin to assemble the Hellknight armor around the tiefling piece by piece. Leather/chainmail sublayer. Breastplate. Hipguards. Gauntlets. Vambraces. Spiked Pauldrons.
As the final piece is secured, the attendants step away.
“You can carry your prison with you in the Immortal Games. Your former trappings will be your new cell in the arena.”
“Make no mistake. War is coming. With all it’s glory and all it’s horror.”
“Hellknight Diablo, your freedom awaits.”
An evil smile creaks across the tiefling’s face as he growls:
“By the Nine Hells...It’s about time.”
He slams down his visor. Red eyes gleam through the faceplate, as...
The double doors into the colliseum fly open.
LET THE IMMORTAL GAMES BEGIN
Clanging away at the anvil of the gladitorial arena a room littered with various weapons in various states of repair. some new some battered and broken but all bearing the dwarven rune the rune of a "Kegbreaker"
As the airship flew overhead Breunnor stopped his work and headed to the window of the forge glancing skyward.
Blasted skyship, Of all da days ta be comin' ah well best be headin' ta the square. Breunnor mumbles to himself
its been may years he has avoided the picks but he couldn't avoid it any longer his time had finally come and Breunnor could feel it.
grabbing his cutom crafted weapon and his old arena armor, armor he hasen't worn for many years Blast hope it still fits
with a bit of tugging and stretching the armor finds just right fit . Breunnor heads out
Time ta be facin me fate
Omega nods to the weasel man.
He digs his scrawny hands into the chest as he draw out a gold ingot.
Aerin Manis, gladiator of East College proceed forward!
The crowd started murmuring as they looked around for someone to respond to that.
A well built man in his 40s raised his hands as he stood beside his wife. His wife cupped her mouth in a silent scream as she shakes her head in denial and sobbed.
Noo!! Not my Aerin!!
Razmiran guards rushed down and separated them as the woman screamed loudly and Aerin put up a struggle.
Bring them both up!!
Omega boomed with an authoritative voice. His voice silencing the crowd as the guards escorted the man and his wife up the platform.
Reaching out his hands, he pulled the sobbing quivering woman to his side. His height overpowering the tiny woman. He wiped her tears away as he gazed at her through his gold faced mask as the woman looked around confusingly at what is happening.
No!! Get away from her your monster!!!
Aerin struggled as 3 guards held him in place.
Trailing her neckline, Omega suddenly shifted into a choke hold and started choking the life out of the woman. There was a loud snap as her neck broke.
Aerin punched the gold plated guards in their face as he draw the sword of the stunned guard. Lifting his weapon he charged towards the gold masked priest.
Razmiran guards rushed forward but Omega lifted his hands to stop them in their tracks. Aerin did a 3 footstep twist with a somersault bringing his sword towards Omega's chest.
At the absolute last moment, Omegae side stepped and thrust his palms upwards onto the chin of Aerin. There was a loud crack as the blow disoriented him while Omega grabbed his sword arm and thrusted another attack at his elbow joint upwards disjointed it in an awkward position before disarming him plunging the sword upwards into his ribcage piercing his lungs.
Aerin wheezed and spluttered before sliding off the gold plated armor collapsing unto the feet of Omega. Throwing the bloodstained sword on the ground, Omegae turned towards the shocked crowd in his now blood stained white silk cloak.
Do not mistaken the kindness of Razmir for leniency!! Let this be a lesson for you Tymon!! I am Omega, Wrath of God!!
As Omega stared down the furious king. Ullorth Ungin clenched his fist as veins popped out on his reddening neck flushed with blood brought on by his anger. After what feels like an eternity as the guards all tensed ready to draw their swords and defend their Lordship, Ullorth looked away and spits onto the ground.
The weasel man scampers and started digging into the chest once more drawing the name of the next unfortunate soul.
You guys may continue to post if you want while waiting for all to check in. BTW Diablo, great intro but you need to make your way to the town square while they call your name.
Donned in his new prison, Diablo arrives in town square just in time to see the altercation.
His red eyes peer through the faceplate, entertained as Aerin and his wife are dispatched by omega gold-mask. He snickers.
"These Razmiran shure know how to put on a good pre-show entertainment! Hah!"
Azrael watches on impassively. Wrath of god is he? What god? Not mine. Perhaps one day I will get to fight him. Not yet though. My power still grows.
Riggar arrives just has Omega thrusts his sword into the woman. His fists clench and he thinks to himself, no man should have to see their loved one suffer like that! I would love the chance to make this Ramir "God" suffer like he makes others suffer. I must continue training in my teacher's way to give myself the best possible advantage possible should I get my chance.
|Alicarus Vorasik, "The Mantis"|
The man in the Red Mantis garb watches this all impassively, as if it it something he is used to. Death is our way, he thinks behind the alien mask, arms folded, hands resting on the hilts of his sabres. Blood to our Lord, the highest gift. Fight in its name, exacting its toll.
Alicarus looks at the man, Aerin, disdainfully behind his mask, though no one can see his expression. Strong, trained for battle, and yet a coward. Pitiful. Alic returns his gaze to the priest, Omega, on the ship, waiting for his name to be called. Of course, the ingots and cauldron were all a show, at least as far as the Mantis were concerned--after all, they had already assured that Alic would have a place in the combat.
He was merely waiting his turn.
|The Witch Queen|
A commanding drow female laughs out loud and claps excitedly before getting a shrewd look in her red eyes. Looking down at the man before her, she takes back the gold she'd just given him, dropping her wager chit in his palm.
"How charming!" She thought, "This little godling has all the sublety of a child, but it's a vast improvement over what I've seen in the past week. Maybe I should get to know the gold masked one better for when this gets boring."
Ghilanna Daevon'lyr moves through the crowd giggling in excitement. When she reaches the crowd's edge nearest the man in the gilded mask, she stops expectantly, hoping he will continue.
Breeunnor arrives as the show ends.
Hmmm, funny thing about mortal gods, they eventually die One just needs to have patience Breunnor mutters to himself definately not loud enough for anyone up there to hear.
I will wait until the time is right
lets get on with this I got orders ta fill today
The weasel looking man digs in and pulls out a gold Ingots as he held up in sunlight glimmering off it as he squint his eyes before shouting out.
Breunnor Kegbreaker, gladiator blacksmith!
After which he continues to dig up more gold Ingots and reading it out loud.
Alicarius Vorasik, gladiator!
Drunken Snake, gladiator!
Azrael, Battle priest!
Diablo Rojo, gladiator!
The weasel looking man took out the last ingot looks at the name and hesitated for a moment before looking at Omega's deathly gaze. Licking his lips he shouts out.
Ariella Morraine, noble!
The last proclamation send a wave of chatter among the crowd.
Alright make your way to the stage Feel free to describe the crowds reaction to your arrival etc, your emotions thoughts or any protest or family friends that you may come across on your walk up.
Golden orbs turn upward at the calling of the name Azrael. Destiny fulfilled. intones one or the priests of Gorum serving as his escort. The angelic man shakes off the hands of the priests and stands at his full height, golden armor and helm catching the sun and reflecting it in many directions as he turns to the stage. From here I walk alone. he tells his escort who only nod their acceptance and back away into the crowd.
Walking as if called by his father, Azrael quickly makes his way through the crowd. A few onlookers point and say his name, but most have never seen this new contestant. As he reaches the edge of the stage and before ascending it he removes his helm and all the crowd can see his halo; a nimbus of illumination encircling his head slightly above his hair. He is a handsome creature; many women, and even a few men, upon seeing him thinks lustful thoughts.
He takes the steps like he is walking the stairs to his home. Ignoring the weasel looking man he first bows to Omega, paying the respect due to his office and power, and then salutes his king. I, Azral, Warior Priest of Gorum, and son of this city accept this call and my duty to you and my fellow citizens. I shall fight for Tymon with all my ability and with my fellows win you a victory the bard will sing about for an eon. He then turns back to Omega and takes his place as a contestant.
Perform Oratory: 1d20 + 13 ⇒ (8) + 13 = 21
|The Drunken Snake|
the drunken snake looks to be smiling, at least slightly more than usual (for those familiar with snake man facial expressions). He takes a deep swig of what is assuredly not water from his waterskin. In a manner that would seem clumsy to most, he rolls his barrel up to the stage.
On the way to the front he meets Jimnas and his wife, bartender and bookkeeper of the bar he most commonly frequented. "We will be sad to lose your business, but we wish you the best, Nis'sk," said the woman before Jimnas shared a parting drink with the snake. He took the drink, and nodded in a rare solemn moment before rolling the rest of the way to where the other contestants were gathering.
Ariella hops nimbly down from the roof, and begins walking towards the stage. Her battle-gear, aquiline looks and grim manner make it obvious to the people in the square that she must be one of those called. As a path clears for her, she keeps her gaze locked squarely on Omega, trusting the common people to clear out of her way. Mounting the stage, she pointedly ignores the King and her father. She gives Omega a curt nod, and then turns to face the crowd. She simply stares grimly off at nothing in particular, her brow furrowed in determination.
Riggar, hearing his name stiffens slightly. Knowing that the moment of truth has come, to take all his training and put it to good use. To gain victory for his nation of Tymon, but more importantly honor for his teacher. He gives his teacher a final bow and says his final goodbyes to his fellow students he had trained with over the last few years.
He turns and walks toward the stage and takes his place amongst the other gladiators called to participate in the games along his side. He gives Omega a slight nod, but otherwise stares blankly into the space in front of him, preparing his mind and spirit for the bloody journey ahead.
Upon hearing the first part of his name, Diablo has already taken the first step.
He lumbers to the front in his ornate hellknight armor. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.
Stops to scare a kid. "BOO!"
Intimidate 1d20 + 19 ⇒ (1) + 19 = 20
Continues on. CLANK. CLANK. CLANK.
Takes his place by Omega. Stands stoic and says nothing. Only his glowing red eyes betray his thoughts - gleeful antipication to kick some asses and take names.
|Garris aka "Dragon"|
As the Dragon hears his name he pulls back the white hood and takes off his gi revealing his tattoos a few people around him gasp. It’s him. DRAGON!... We are saved; the student of Grand Master Karek has been called. The man in the crowd slowly starts to chant. Dragon, Dragon, Dragon...
Garris continues making his way to the platform, sizing up the others, formulating strategies with those that have been chosen. By the time he reaches the stage the crowd has grown to a low roar with the chant of Dragon.
Garris stands at the front of the stage arms out stretched to his sides basking in the admiration of the people. People of Tymon, the time has come once again. The Immortal games will be won this year. Go home love your families and know the Dragon makes you safe. The chant changes to cheers
|Alicarus Vorasik, "The Mantis"|
The Mantis walks forward, striding purposefully toward the stage, the armor softly clinking as it moves toward Omega and the other gladiators. Alic knew this was coming, had prepared for it and expected it, but he still felt his heart pounding a little faster and stronger at the thought of the impending combats and bloodshed.
"For my Master," he says with a nod to those onstage as he steps up. The Mantis takes its place and waits, still and silent, hands loosely gripping the hilts of its sabres.
The half-orc moves up towards the stage upon hearing his name, not looking the least bit suprised of his name being called, like he expected to this happen, like it was fated to happen. The crowd quiets as he moves past them, eyes wide like they are staring at death itself. He is death, death for those who defy their own fate. He gets up on stage, quiet, his large, very well kept scythe strapped to his back. "Fate comes for all...Even to the gods themselves." He says, to nobody specific.
|The Witch Queen|
Ghillana watches each fighter approach the steps before moving. She appraises each carefully, giggling twice and only breaking into actual laughter when Azrael takes the stage.
Shaking her head, she saunters out from the crowd, her hips swaying sensually. She pauses, crouched beside the two bodies before looking up at Omega with a beaming smile. Rising, she continues to the stage, aimed for Ariella. Mounting the steps, she gives the young noblewoman a wink and blows her a kiss before sliding into place beside her.
Omega looks at the contestants disapprovingly.
Despair and know that come next spring every single one of them you see here will be dead!
Do not worry however, for you will all join them soon!
The Razmiran guards surrounded the gladiators and pushed them to indicate for them to board the flying ship.
As the gladiators walked up the stairs, a certain Tymon guard ran in and pushed a piece of note into Areilla's hand and whispered.
Read this only when you are alone.
The Razmiran guards pushed the Tymon guard aside as they flanked the gladiators.
Stepping inside the ship, it seems they entered into another world as magical devices hummed softly in the background with Razmiran guards dressed in cloth robes scrambled to pull levers, switches and draw navigation on a floating map.
The gladiators are then passed to a priest with long black flowing hair wearing a iron mask of Razmir. He wears a a long black robe revealing his broad chest. Behind him, a few more priest wearing the iron mask surrounded and then ushered them into a small room with chains and shackles attached to the wall.
After shackling the gladiators, the priest left the room and locked them behind a large solid iron door as it slams shut. Moments later, the ship started to shake and tremble as it whirled to life. It started to tilt sideways before the gladiators sense the ship is in movement as the force of the forward thrust forces the gladiator against the wall momentarily.
Alright you guys may RP a bit to get to know each other while on the way to Thronestep.
|The Witch Queen|
Ghilanna glares as they bind shackles around her wrists.
"I seem to spend half my time on the surface in shackles." Looking to Azrael, she gripes, "This Razmir is supposed to be a deity. Is this the best surface deities have to offer - steel shackles?"
She clinks her chains together, testing their length to see if she has room to lay down or relax.
She continues, muttering mainly to herself, "There is supposed to be a certain artistry to these things. A delicate horror as you realize that the freedom you once thought you possessed has been stolen and you are nothing but a rat caught in a maze. Instead, I get some half-dressed Numerian reject."
Looking to Snake on her left and Alicarus on her right, she rests one heel on the wall behind her, her knee jutting out.
"I wonder how many of them died trying to get Col'Argath aboard this flying monstrosity."
Ariella stays quiet for now, hoping to learn about her new companions by listening to them. She assumes the most comfortable position afforded by the shackles and tries to maintain a passive expression though waves of varying emotions sweep over her. She can't help but let her eyes wander over the drow's athletic body. Wonder if she was serious about that kiss, or if she's just a b*%&*?
|The Drunken Snake|
Azrael tests his bonds, Strength Check: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (6) + 4 = 10 but when the ship begins to maneuver he thinks better of it, realizing that these chains might serve to hold him safe if the trip gets rough.
My god is Gorum, god of Battle, dark one. Some say Rasmir is a false god. But that is a foolish thing to say as surely all can see he holds significant power. And what is a god but power?
He takes in his new comrades, studying each in turn. Shall we fight each other? Or shall we fight others from other cities? And if the latter, will it always be one-on-one, or will there be teams? he asks no one in particular.
Riggar isn't used to being shackled or forced into a such a position. He wonders to himself if he will get the chance to put the "god-like" Razmir in such a forced position. Teach him some honor and humility.
Aye aint a big 'ol fan of da bonds, but I even a lesser fan 'o bein in the air. If Dwarf were meant to be flying creatures, aye we woulda had wings then, Riggar takes a couple deep breathes as not to vomit on anyone.
|Garris aka "Dragon"|
I have watched all 20 of the games over the years. You can be assured they are always a bit different. Usually we will be a team. I have waited and trained for these games to win them as my master did before me. He received a mortal wound in these games but made sure his team one. I am here for Tymon and I offer each of you this pledge as well. Tymon will be victorious.
|The Drunken Snake|
"I, too, have hoped to be chosen for the games. I seek to perfect and grow my art through combat, but have no desire to run afoul of the law or wander around in musty dungeons and tombs to do so."
|Alicarus Vorasik, "The Mantis"|
"Speak not of falsity in Razmir," Alic says to the Gorumite and the drow. "It matters not if is he is a god--he is the ruler. He has power, and therefore I will not see him dead."
The Mantis doesn't bother straining against his bonds, although he prefers freedom. "We are here to fight--what more do you want? Are we not all of us gladiators--excepting the noblewoman, there."
Jhock glares at the pitiful shackles, but shrugs his shoulders under his robes. He looks around at the others, examining them all, sizing them up, including any guards or priests that are left in the same room with them. The flying doesn't seem to bother the half-orc, his eyes closed as he relaxes. "The Living God, Razmir He snorts, and murmurs a prayer "All who live must face her judgment."
|The Witch Queen|
Ghilanna laughs with Diablo Rojo, appreciating his nerve while overlooking the insult. "I'm going to have to see what's beneath that armor before you get your chance to try, human. I'll need to see whether yours are as big as mine before hanging them with the others."
Turning from the devil to the angel, Ghillana listens to his thoughts on the gods while snickering. As Riggar begins to speak, she intones, "The Divine Word is brought to the heathen drow..." And then in a brighter voice, "Destiny fulfilled!"
Looking around the room, she sees that everyone is now paying attention to Dragon and so sinks down to her haunches, bored. The words of the snake and the noble girl seem reasonable enough and for a fleeting moment she wonders if she might be in the company of kindred spirits.
Her sigh of disappointment after listening to the bug and the deadhead however, speaks volumes.
Diablo laughs some more at her quip, his low resounding chuckle harmonizing with her light feminine laugh.
He takes a gander to the others. So serious!
He looks back at the elf and studies her. She looks bored.
"Hey Elf, don't be so sad. I'm gonna win this thing so I can request you as my cell mate. Then I can show you mine if you show me yours, hehehe. And don't worry about comfort..."
With a quick snap of his neck, Diablo whips his visor upwards, revealing...
A very human visage. Red scaly skin, deep set pupil-less eyes with the infernal glow of a blood ruby and a maw full with overgrown canines.
"Once you go 'Red'...you won't need the bed."
His maw curls into a grin.
|Garris aka "Dragon"|
The metal door clanks open interrupting the gladiators conversation as the Priest with the long black flowing hair and an iron mask stormed in with 7 more other priest in iron mask and black robe.
He carries a black scimitar as the priest each carried a wooden clubs impaled with sharp nails throughout.
Stand Infidels! My name is Lanusha Xylea, personal aide to our lord Omega the one whom has attained the 25th steps of divinity. I myself have attained the 14th step. Now for refreshment, a gift from our God the one whom attained 31 steps.
The priests surrounding the gladiators each produce a vial of milky white substance.
According to the memorandum signed by the Outlaw Council, section 14 says the Tears of Razmir will be administered to the chosen representatives of the Immortal Games. Failure to do so will result in a breach of contract, amounting to a blasphemous proportion to our Lord Razmir. The consequences of such acts warrants a punishment of death and an invasion of their home nation.
Loving the raunchy theme here lol ...should I name the campaign as The Immoral Games instead?
|The Drunken Snake|
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Hmph, so be it.
Seems the Razmir god is fraid 'o some gladiators taking him out, Riggar thinks to himself as he steels his gut against the foul liquid.
fort save: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (6) + 9 = 15