Brevka's charge practically bowls the retiarius over, and her chop cleaves through her trident to carve a bloody swath across her chest from shoulder to hip. Avaxa collapses, unconscious and bleeding.
Alaunirra applauds, and the rest of the assembled crowd joins in. It soon becomes a standing ovation.
"An exceptional display from, truly, the finest of our prospects!" The First Daughter calls out from the luxury box, her tone nothing short of impressed and jubilant. "I haven't seen a performance like that since 4700."
"Attention, victors." Terrix calls down to the arena floor. "Once you've had a chance to get your bearings, see yourselves to the chapel of Nurgal. There, you will officially be inducted into the ludus."
A group of drow guards arrives from the eastern gates, bringing with them a team of ragged-looking human slaves. "As to the rest--bring the lucky one and the darthiir to the ludus for treatment. Throw the corpses to the beast pens--it appears our pets will feast well this day."
Alaunirra clears her throat. "And to those of our audience who are interested in contracting out our warriors--Terrix will be more than happy to answer any questions you have." With that, she disappears into the viewing box while Terrix makes his way down to the stands.
The slaves begin the unenviable task of cleaning up the wounded and the dead.
It looks like a small disc with a bat-winged butterfly on it.
As the bout ends Brevka resheathes her blade and squats for a moment, resting her hands on her legs. It makes it all the easier for taking the small disc to go unnoticed...
"Hey, Runt. Can you help Legs? Better for her if she can walk out of here on her own power. No one wants to spend a lot of coin or luxuries on a gladiator who won't last."
Anabel sighs with relief to see Erevas has survived. She nods to Brevka and moves to Kaxatja's side. "Spirits heal you, sister," she prays as she presses her hands to the hole in the drider's abdomen.
As the wound seals, she turns back to Brevka. "You are injured as well. May I?" The elf hesitates a moment before gently laying her hands on the half-orc's breasts to mend her injuries.
Brevka coughs in surprise, but quickly draws what was left of the arrow from her chest as she feels the healing energies at work. "Thank you. I was just going to cut that out later, but..." She smiles sadly as she looks at her dead. "This wasn't a battle to remember; no need for a new scar."
Lyra'an smiles as she looks at her victorious companions. Smirking at Brevka she pipes up, "So looks like I owe you."
Brevka looks at the blood that spatters her skin and gear with less pride than she wished she felt.
"Looks like you do." With an effort of will she returned a smile to her face. "Let's get off this sand. You can help me with the armor back at the Ludus."
Kaxatja stifles a scream with all of her fortitude as the trident pierces her abdomen. She sways, only the bolstering infernal song keeping her on her many legs.
Stay up! Let them not know how truly that struck...
Kaxatja lowers herself to accept Anabel's soothing magic, and nods deeply in thanks.
The drider chides herself thrice, once for failing to kill Kamala outright, once for ignoring the threat from a netted Avaxa and a third time for being punished so easily for that second failure. She is angry too that her vengeance on the slaver was taken, and angry that Kamala yet lives to hold a grudge. Though she is proud of her work today she knows luck played its part, and she must also pay credit where credit is due.
She sees Brevka gain a trinket, but says nothing, turning instead to the group at large.
"Well done...Sisters. We fought well, together. And Lilamma, my heart is yours for one battle. As you saved me, I too will save you if it be within my power..."
Lilamma seems sad, and pouting, grumbling in a near childlike voice
Not funny.. no one hurted me.. and I hurted no one...I hope I'll be punished, at least, for being such an inadequate fighter…what will my god say, if I can't spread his words of pain...
The gladiators depart from the Exhibition Grounds through the imposing brass eastern gates, leaving the coppery scent of freshly spilled gore in the sands behind them. The stone tunnel leading from the arena is a depressingly familiar one, its walls carved with reliefs of scantily-clad gladiators, men and women alike, doing battle—some with strange beasts, but usually with each other. They pass by a couple of stone doors to the south before passing through an archway that leads to a brightly lit stone corridor.
The corridor blazes with what feels like an unnatural perversion of sunlight, lit every ten feet by brightly-glowing obsidian rods. The sheer radiance shining from the rods stings the eyes as the party makes their way forward, the stone floor beneath them feeling warm beneath their feet.
The corridor opens into a large oval room with a thirty-foot high vaulted ceiling, its stone floor covered in an expansive orange rug styled to look like the sun. Standing at the far eastern end of the room, up a small flight of stairs, is a massive stone statue of a creature with a lion’s head and lower body, but the torso of an impeccably-fit humanoid male. One of the statue’s hands holds a very large heavy mace, its head carved to look like the sun. Bright golden light radiates from the head of the mace. Several archways branch off from the north and south ends of the chapel—two main ones to the north and south, along with three smaller passages on each side.
Several male drow guards are arrayed on the edges of the room, their dark armour and weapons making them stand out in the bright light. Almost all of them have their eyes screwed shut, staring at the floor or both. Kneeling before the stairs are several surfacers and drow females. The surfacers are each dressed in white satin cloth that’s barely enough to preserve their modesty. The drow women are more modest, wearing flowing white silk robes and bearing symbols of a lion’s jaw closing around a sun around their necks.
At the base of the stairs is an older, imperious-looking drow woman draped in gold, silken robes and adorned with a headdress fashioned in a facsimile of a lion’s mane. Several small rubies sparkle in the headdress. A bright gold symbol of a lion’s jaw closing around a sun hangs around her neck.
”Ah—the newest of House Volatexia’s gladiators, yes? Yes, I see.” The high priestess speaks, making a little beckoning gesture to a few of the guards near the chapel’s entrance. ”You will not need your weapons or armour for this ceremony.”
Five guards approach the party and expectantly wait for them to disarm.
With no idea what the significance of everything she was seeing might be, but sensing that this was one of those moments where obedience was important, Lyra'an steps forward, removing her armor and handing over the elaborately detailed daggers.
After a moment of hesitation she also hands over the khukri, she keeps as a concealed back up weapon.
Lilamma strokes her spiked chain, trying to soothe and calm the steel
Taki, Taki, Taki... we'll soon meet again, don't worry. Next time you'll quench your thirst for blood, I hope.
She removes quickly her armor, hoping feverishly her exposed flesh will soon be flailed, whipped, and cut for failing to beat anyone in the arena.
With shining eyes, she looks quickly at the high Priestess of Nurgal
Anabel calmly surrenders her bow, arrows, and dagger. She removes her manica, greaves, and balteus and hands them over as well. The shaman stares up at imperious drow, figuring she must be somebody of importance.
It's just a matter of time. Soon, my chance will come, and I will show her the error of her ways.
Tik-takking quietly along the corridor on her arachnid appendages, Kaxatja frowns at the hated lights. The bright fane further irritates her. She has no idea who the priestess is, but realises she is in no position to dispute terms.
As if in a daze she likewise hands over her trident and beloved net, then removes her lorica manica and harness. The straps have left weals and grooves on her dusky flesh and as she comes to recognition again feels even more a monster now that her horrifying form is naked to all.
”Legs”! The one thing I no longer possess. Oh, I have eight spider legs, but nothing will return me to who I was...Was Niletha there, outside, watching? Would I even remember her...recognise her face? What is this life?
She felt as if she should recognize the woman. Something in her voice conjured memories of kisses that burned like ice, but promised no safety or comfort once Dawn had rent the lying veil of night.
Brevka bit the inside of her cheek until the taste of blood in her mouth tethered her to the here and now. Stop it. She's dangerous, but that doesn't mean she works the same.
Silently Brevka handed over her borrowed blades, and began to strip away her armor. Belt, greaves, arm guard and helmet clanked into a pile on the floor, once she gratefully removed her strange furs she stood confidently before the court in her bloodied smallclothes, trying hard not to think about smashing a guard to the floor and taking his weapon.
Who knows what they can hear?
Once the party has disarmed, the high priestess beckons them forward. ”Come. Stand before me.”
Once the party walks up to the steps before her, she spreads her arms wide and turns her gaze skyward. ”Holy Nurgal, behold the warriors standing before you, newly christened in the blood of the battlefield. As they steel themselves for the battles ahead, we ask that you grant them your blessing, so that they may follow the path you have set before them. May these gladiators, their blades sharpened and their bodies honed, find their true purpose amid the dust and carnage that is your holiest of practices.”
The carved sun illuminating the room begins to shine with a blinding and searing light, forcing the guards and slaves in the room to shield their eyes and the acolytes to kowtow before Nurgal’s statue in supplication. The high priestess’ eyes stare at the blazing light source with a manic grin on her face, never flinching from the brilliance. The roiling warmth of the light enters the party’s bodies, and they can feel whatever lingering fatigue and pain being burned away.
The shining light eventually recedes to a far more tolerable level, and the priestess closes her eyes. Several tears are streaming from the corners of her eyes. ”The Shining Scourge has given you his blessing, gladiators. Return to your living quarters. Choose a living space for yourselves. Or perhaps ask of an acolyte for… indulgence. For now, the day is yours.”
”But do not think to rest upon your laurels. Tomorrow, there are more battles to be fought.” She turns away from the party.
Anabel suppresses a shudder as the demon lord's light suffuses her. Nurgal is not the sort of entity she wants to accept any blessings from, but it is just another indignity to suffer in pursuit of the cause. Once the priestess has completed her benediction, Anabel takes her leave and makes her way to the living quarters. She tries to track down her fellow elf, Erevas, to speak with him.
The gladiatorial living quarters are easy enough to find--you remember them well enough.
The living quarters are a combination of mess hall, kitchen, living space and bathhouse, all carved from the same cold, unfeeling granite that makes up the rest of the House's tunnels. Twelve stone tables with benches are arranged in two columns, with a scant few gladiators you don't recognize eating at them. A dark stone structure stands to the north of the dining tables, with a window providing a view of the kitchen facilities beyond.
To the east stand a pair of double doors, painted gold and engraved with an image of the blazing sun. There's an inscription in Undercommon above the doors.
The actual living spaces for gladiators is to the west of the dining area. Rows of stone living cells are to the north and south of the large cage against the western wall--the cage you remember as the one where all the trainees were kept like animals. It's completely empty now--and much like the other cells, it appears to have been freshly cleaned.
You find Erevas' cell in the middle of the northern row. A drow priestess of Nurgal emerges from the cell with two guards flanking her. She gives you a disdainful look as she stalks away.
Erevas himself is lying on a straw cot in the back of his cell, curled on his side and shaking.
Anabel kneels beside Erevas's cot, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Rest, brother. You have survived another day," she says in her native tongue. "I am sorry my teammates were forced to cause you pain. You are my kinsman. Is there anything I can do to help you?"
Erevas looks up at you, his eyes cracking open slightly.
"...I don't suppose you could drop this entire cavern down on the drow's heads, slay any survivors and flee with me to the surface?" He asks, his Elven sounding tired and on the verge of breaking. "Probably not, but since you offered, I felt it wouldn't hurt to ask..."
"...at least, not any worse than the brute's blade."
Anabel smirks slightly. "Unfortunately I do not possess those abilities. But I have come here for a purpose--not to slay the drow, but to save them from themselves. Stay alive, and you may yet have the freedom you seek."
Erevas' eyes open some more. "...save them? Are you insane?"
"You've seen their cruelty first-hand--you've suffered it first-hand. They kept us in that..." He looks past you to the cage outside the cell door. "...that cage like we were animals. How can you still think that?!"
"I am Shin'Rakorath. I have seen firsthand that some drow are not wholly evil. They can be redeemed, they just need somebody to show them the way," Anabel says resolutely.
Erevas' expression softens and he sits up on his cot. He's quite fit, certainly up to House Volatexia's standards for a gladiator. He's lithe and slender, suiting his archery style perfectly.
"...a Lantern Bearer?" He softly repeats. "Then you are brave, indeed--or mad."
Now that he's sitting up, you can feel his eyes taking you in. He's no longer shaking so much.
"I doubt the noble-born drow will be inclined to listen to your message of peace... but..." He trails off, something occurring to him.
Anabel blushes slightly as she feels Erevas's eyes on her. The attention is not unwelcome.
She quirks an eyebrow when he trails off. "Yes? Is there something that might help the cause?"
"...I think you'd have better success with the guards." Erevas leans forward with a conspiratorial whisper. "From what I've seen of some of the guard, they don't really enjoy working for the Matron--they don't have the depth of faith their surface raiders have."
"I'm no diplomat, but if you play on the guards' distaste for their employers, you might find some help down here."
Anabel smiles up at the other elf, her heart beating a bit faster with excitement from Erevas's advice, not to mention his proximity. "Thank you! I will do as you recommend." Her amber eyes sparkle.
"Uh, don't-don't mention it." Erevas sheepishly scratches the back of his head. "...really, don't mention it. You never know who might be overhearing."
A blush is starting to creep onto the archer's face. "...do you want to get the door?"
The cell door--and for that matter, every other cell door in the ludus--is a sturdy-looking wooden door with a barred window at eye level.
"Oh! Uh, okay..." Anabel quietly closes the door, then turns back to Erevas expectantly.
Erevas stands up, his legs slightly shaking and his loincloth looking a bit tighter than normal.
"I don't know how much longer I have left to live, and I've brushed with Pharasma once already. I'd, uh..." His eyes dart nervously about his cell before he sighs. "...oh, Hells with it. Do you want me?"
He makes no move to approach you.
Anabel hesitates, then steps closer to Erevas. She places a hand on his bare chest and nods. "Let us join our spirits and bodies together, and give thanks for being alive," she says.
She leans against Erevas, hands wandering across the tightly corded muscles of his back, but she lets the much taller elf take the lead.
Brevka endured the blessing as if she'd just been flung into the cold plunge, teeth gritted, and unwilling to show any discomfort.
She murmured something appropriately grateful, and withdrew. Wincing as she walked past her armaments. Damn, I was supposed to get Baby Blades to clean those... A thought struck her and she clapped a heavy hand on Lyra'an's shoulder. "Don't think you're skipping out just cause you don't have to shake all that in a barrel of sand. Grab a strigil, I'll meet you at the baths."
Unfortunately, she didn't know the layout that well, and the signs were in gibberish... "Where the Hells am I going..?"
Once you make your way out of the chapel, you find your way to the living quarters without too much difficulty.
A couple of the newer gladiators are kind enough to point you to the east, through the gold-painted double doors with the sun engraved on them.
He sucks on your earlobe for a bit, a little moan of his own filling your ear.
His hands aren't shaking anymore. He trails kisses down from your ear, to your breasts, and past them to your belly...
...before coming to a rest before your nether lips.
There's a moment where nothing happens. Then you feel his lips upon you, his tongue sliding into you and his hands holding your thighs close.
He starts to hum a little tune as he works, sending very pleasant vibrations into your pleasure button.
He doesn't linger for long--he pulls away from your mouth to whisper in your ear. "Turn over. I want to mount you."
His length is very stiff and throbbing.
You feel the head of his member gently rubbing against your very wet flower, coating himself in your moistness before sliding in. He lets out a gasp and an excited moan as your inner walls surround his length.
He starts to rhythmically pump into you, fondling your bottom while periodically giving it a smack.
"I surrender myself to you, Erevas," she groans. "My body belongs to you!"
"Ahh... Haa... Haa--" His eyes start to roll back into his head, and you feel him start to go rigid. He pulls his member out of you and starts thrusting between your glutes. Moments later you feel his warm seed splattering all over your back as he climaxes, still thrusting.
His member still feels quite rigid against your body, even after he finishes. He must have been really pent-up.
You feel him gently rubbing against your soaked nether lips again. "...that was..." He says between breaths. "...it's been too long since I've done that."
His shaft easily slides into you again. His hands move to your bottom cheeks, tenderly caressing them as he remains still inside you. "Would you like another?"