Spikey almost never speaks to the other gladiators but speaks up immediately. "If there is a chance, I will leave."
"A chance there is, yes." Rikkan replies. "Years in the making, it has been--but our gaolers have become... suspicious of us."
"That is why we have asked you here." The ratfolk rubs his paws together. "You are new--not yet trusted, but not yet distrusted entirely, either. You are in a position to ingratiate yourselves with Volatexia."
"Here is what I propose--we have heard whispers that the Daughter intends to hire your services out tomorrow. Do what you must to keep them happy--and in so doing, put yourselves in a position to act with more freedom."
"Yes? Yes?"
Torsten shrugged. ”Keeping them happy means not dying for a day. I’m in for a way to get out. But so far ye don’t ask much.”
Spikey nods in agreement with Torsten. "I despise them but I will follow my orders and fight well."
Serisa agrees as well, "I had not intended to displease her."
She looks at the rat folk and thinks, "I wonder if this is a setup to get back into good graces? Better keep an eye out for betrayal."
"That's what I been saying since we got here, stay on their good side. No qualms from me."
Drahkn laughs, a hissing sound, as he shakes his head. "So you want us to...do what we've been doing already? Easy enough."
"Excellent." Rikkan claps his paws. "Now, when the First Daughter gives you your assignment, be on the lookout for our contact, a purple-scaled kobold. His name is Kitterix--and he can give you more details of what must be done for our success."
Spikey cocks his cranial nodule to one side then imitates a shrug. "Alright then. Is there a way he'll know he can trust us?"
”My charming personality isn’t enough?” Torsten scowled. Making it nearly impossible to tell if he was joking.
Jazrok looks at the duergar appraisingly. "Clearly we'll need a passcode. Something inconspicuous like "definitely nothing suspicious happening here!""
”I don’t know.” Torsten said, running his fingers through his beard, he said with a straight face ”Sounds somewhat suspicious, and we need to fool the Drow. Take out the ‘definitely’ and it might work.”
"Hmm. A Purp. I've never met one before. They're usually cast out of the tribe they're born in."
"Hmm. A Purp. I've never met one before. They're usually cast out of the tribe they're born in."
"Indeed--and he's quite lonely. Lonely, small, and sneaky. Ideal for our plan." Rikkan nods. "Provide him with a welcoming ear, and he'll eat out of the palm of your hand."
"Alright then. Is there a way he'll know he can trust us?"
"He'll be waiting for you at your... 'assignment'." The ratfolk leader taps his claws together. "He'll ask you 'How fare the spiders?' When he does, you tell him 'They hunt long and well', and he'll know you're with us."
Spikey nods. "Clear enough. I can do that."
”Aye. Nay issue here.” He then muttered ”Still probably gonna die here. Fookin’ worthless hope.”
Jazrok gives a ridiculously ostentatious bow and says to the kobolds, "We'll hunt long and hard then."
"I've never met a kobold not of my tribe before. This will be interesssting."
"Yes, yes." Rikkan nods. "Now, retreat, and quickly. It will not do to be seen together--not now."
The ratfolk withdraw to their cell...
--------------------------
Starday, 7th of Sarenith, 4705 AR
When the gladiators are awoken from their cell today, there's an order going out to assemble in the main dining hall. The other gladiators of the ludus are assembled: the orc-blooded team, a team of five drow (four males and one female), the pack of ratfolk, the terrified-looking Gavin and the quietly angry Caladrel.
First Daughter Alaunirra is standing at the entrance to the ludus with a drow male dressed in immaculately-kept military dress. His dress shirt and trousers are fashioned from matching jet-black silk, with burnt orange cufflinks and hems. Two medals--an iron spider and a silver dagger--are pinned to his shirt, with an orange badge with crossed silver axes pinned between them.
"Gladiators!" Alaunirra steps forward. "Today, we have a most distinguished guest." She gestures to the black-clad male next to her. "This is Lord Jaezred. He has come to me with a most unusual request--he has asked me for the services of some of our finest warriors."
"Lord Jaezred, if you would?"
The decorated male starts walking down the line of assembled gladiators.
He pauses at the all-drow team, his eyes momentarily widening in recognition of the leader. He then snorts in disgust and moves on, leaving the males behind him to grumble among themselves.
He gives the orc team a cursory look before shaking his head. "No discipline."
He doesn't even bother looking at the ratfolk.
He passes Gavin and Caladrel, pausing only to match sneers with the glowering surface elf. Gavin's face blanches.
Finally, he reaches the party. He does a double-take when he sees Jazrok. "Done. These five will do." He says with only a cursory glance at the others.
"What?!" The leader of the drow team stamps his foot and runs a hand through his normally straight, pristine hair. "But they're not even the best! WE'RE the best! Hells, the ORCS have seen more combat than them!"
Alaunirra turns a harsh glare on the leader, but he either doesn't notice or doesn't seem to care.
"Why THAT motley collection of iblith and not me?!"
Torsten remained silent, as he knew when speaking could be fatal. What did this mean? He had passed over the orcs, so this wasn’t a ‘smash n’ bash’ job. He passed over the ratfolk so it wasn’t a ‘sneak thief’ job. And he didn’t choose the Drow, meaning that this likely had some political ramifications. So what was the job? And would they be more disposable than usual?
Jazrok taps the shiny buttons and meaningless baubles on his uniform with his club and says "Clearly House Caldrana has need of the more highly decorated unit." He winks at Lord Jaezred and lazily salutes with his club. "Reporting for duty, sir."
Spikey, never much one for submitting under the drow boot, chafes waiting to hear what the job is. But they certainly weren't going to be told in front of the others anyhow.
Drahkn remains silent, but opens his jaw slightly, in reptilian (nay, draconic!) imitation of a smile. His forked tongue flicks out a couple of times, in rhythm to his tails swish back and forth across the floor.