Akron Erix's page

"If you follow the corridor to the left," Akron points out to Piccolo, "you'll find the betting windows and food vendors. They'll open when the gates do," he peers out at the length of the shadows on the sand, "which should be fairly soon now."

Piccolo smiles at the Shoanti, "I thank you for the inclusion, sir. Master Swevenforey allowed me to accompany him so that I might see the games. I am looking forward to some vigorous battles that I might wager on."

Akron cocks an eyebrow. "Aye, well, there'll be wagering to be done, but I don't know how vigorous the battles will be this afternoon. Most of the men will treat this as skirmishing before the main event tomorrow; no one wants to go into Starday already gimpy from Fireday afternoon."

He leads the pair of gnomes down the switchbacking stairs and through an iron gate he unlocks with a key, then down another set of stairs and through a narrow corridor with a roof so low he has to stoop his shoulders, although it's still more than spacious for the Small folk. The hallway ends in a door which he opens to reveal a room just large enough for four chairs; it is open to the air above a half-wall though which Piccolo can see the bright sun and the ascending tiers of the opposite side of the arena, the view slightly marred by a thin wire netting with a hexagonal mesh. Climbing up onto one of the chairs, he can see that the box opens almost directly onto the sand of the arena; he can make out the grooves left behind by the rake. The box appears to be built into the arena below the first row of seats, which must be directly above their heads; he presumes the wire barrier is for the safety of the onlookers in the box and wonders exactly how strong the mesh is.

The Shoanti shrugs. "He won't risk them unless it's a lopsided fight. Still, if all you want is to see them go for the kill, a one-sided bout is all you need." He gives the gnome a sly, sidelong grin. "I wouldn't count on getting to dissect one."

"I'll get them set up," Akron volunteers. "Come along, Master Swevenforey ... and guest." He eyes Piccolo curiously, as he motions the pair back to the stairs. "Go easy on Zincher," he smiles once they're in the shadowed shell of the arena. "He's grown a little fond of those axebeaks; doesn't want to see them get hurt."

"What about a private bout?" the Shoanti -- Akron -- suggests, a look of mild amusement on his otherwise impassive face. "If the pirates make a poor showing, we can use one of them or requisition a prisoner from Shoreleave for the purpose. We could hold it in the practice arena to avoid publicity."

"You blame me?" the man himself asks mildly as he follows Phillip into the common room. "I'm the one that has to make apologies and pay amends if any of you start trouble anywhere -- or explain to Zincher why one of his prize fighters won't be making his next bout because he got himself killed in a brawl." In the meantime, the Mwangi gladiator has gotten up eagerly to fetch earthenware cups to share out the liquor.

"I've sampled a few," he replies noncommitally, relocking the latch, "but haven't yet chosen the one that will kill me. Ranef is upstairs. You know the way."

"Better than some," he replies reprovingly as he steps aside to let the halfling in and closes the door behind him. "You've had an early start, I see. That stuff will kill you, you know. Of course," he shrugs, "so will three and a half feet of steel. A man picks his poison."

"At any rate I've imposed upon you too much today already... I should take my leave..." making to stand.

"You've your feet under you?" Akron checks. "This isn't a town to go wandering the streets looking like an easy mark."

If Phil is certain he's ready to be ambulatory and responsible for himself, Akron will show him down a set of stairs and another corridor to a set of double doors. Unlocking one side, he pushes it open onto a Riddleport street; directly across the way, Phil sees the massive wall of the arena. Orienting himself as quickly as his aching head will let him, he realizes he is in the large misshapen building just east of Zincher's Arena and southwest of Betta's shop where he had intended to meet Ethel for lunch. Although he is not yet as expert as a Riddleport native at reading the time from the shadow of the Cyphergate, it's clear that it's an hour or two past midday.

letting Ranef move away before replying to Akron with similarly delicately chosen words: "It was certainly visceral... though I stand by my earlier words. I prefer such thrills vicarious rather than experienced wholesale." pausing for a few moments before continuing "Ranef was kind... he usually fights with one blade yes? And you were also kind to allow my conduct on the sand... I am in both of your debt for that..." words trailing slightly to invite Akron to speak more freely if he chooses of the day's events, or to allow him an ability to close the experience and usher Phillip out of the arena.

Akron shrugs. "Ranef has nothing against you. And he enjoys the fight for the sport of it. An uneven match just gives him a chance to try out different weapons and approaches. You were lucky; some men in the stable wouldn't have had a problem with killing you just to prove a point. As for the other, as I said, no tactics were ruled out before the match so anything went. Perhaps it will teach him to think before he acts. He has strength and agility but little discipline. Unless he learns to use his mind as well as his muscles, he'll die on the sand one day." He grins. "You made a tidy sum off the men who bet against you, but I'll wager they've learned a lesson about setting terms as well. I wouldn't count on them filling your pockets again."

"What of you then Akron? - what despite ability led you to the sands and the visceral thrill?" said with earnest personal interest as well as professional.

Akron chuckles dryly. "You found it thrilling, did you?" He pauses to pick his words with care. "Enlightenment," he replies at length, "and disenchantment. Six of one, half a dozen of the other; it all led here in the end. Ranef, shouldn't you be in the weight room?"

The Shoanti gives a barely perceptible nod of acknowledgement to Phil's statement. "'Man is born free, and yet everywhere he is in chains,'" he replies, crossing the room toward the table. "Not only at the Flesh Block." He shrugs away Phillip's thanks and apology alike. "No terms were agreed to for the match, so anything went. Though next time," he smiles at Ranef a little grimly as he seats himself, "he might think to specify conditions before he agrees to a fight."

Two separate rolls, please.

"All the men in the arena are free." A voice sounds from the corridor at the far end of the room where Akron Erix has appeared; for a large man, he appears to move quite quietly. "Even the prisoners who fight are there because they choose to be, in the hopes they can distinguish themselves and persuade Zincher or Croat to purchase their freedom. When that happens, they're what you might call 'indentured': in debt to the boss until they've won enough to pay him back. Slavery's illegal in Riddleport."

Phil can hear the other gladiators up in the stands making bets amongst themselves, not on the outcome of the match but on how long it will last. The pair of pirates reappears in the far gate to watch with interest, the loser leaning rather heavily against the stone archway and still seeming to have a hard time focusing his vision. Akron takes up a supervisory position between the two combatants. "Practice match now, men," he says with a tone of warning in his voice. "We don't want any lasting harm done. Either man calls for quarter, it's given, and if I step in, it's weapons down. You both ready? Fight!"

Initiative: Ranef 1d20 + 1 ⇒ (18) + 1 = 19
Phillip 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (4) + 3 = 7

You're up, Phil. I can make a map if it looks like we need one, but for now, consider yourself on a featureless plane 15 feet from Ranef. The practice swords use club stats (so 1d4/x2 for Phil's Small version) and do nonlethal damage automatically.

EDIT: Dang it, the rolls changed since I previewed. It's not supposed to do that. He rolled a natural 8, and you had a 14 or something. I'm sticking with the original rolls rather than changing my post. You've got init. :P

Akron nods thoughtfully. "If you win, I guarantee Zincher would pay you to fight for him," he replies with a hint of a smile. "Do you favor a shield?"

Akron can provide you with a Small-sized wooden sword (stats as a club) and a shield, if desired.

Arms held wide and non-threatening Phil replies "Following my word... I said yesterday that I'd come back to see if it was ok for me to observe and here I am. Should I leave or stay?" weight already unconsciously adjusting to his back leg in case he needs to quickly pivot and flee.

Akron looks at him sternly. "No one brought me word you got permission from Zincher."

Phil pays only idle attention to the bout on the sand, his gaze truly turned on the pair of Varisians lounging in the shade. Unlike the halfling, they are blatant about their lack of interest in the action in the arena, instead practicing quick draws with their knives. One has a butterfly knife and the other, a switchblade. These men are obviously counting on speed rather than size; grinning, they twirl the knives dexterously between their fingers, causing the blades to disappear and reappear with startling speed.

Phillip is just about satisfied that he has the two Varisian faces memorized when the clean-shaven ex-pirate takes an awkward swing at his opponent, his overreach leaving his guard down for a crucial moment. The bearded one takes his opportunity to thwack his dummy-sword upside the other man's head, and he drops down on his hands and knees in the sand, looking dazed. Akron steps between the two, grabbing the end of the victor's wooden blade in his hand. "You're not fighting aboard-ship anymore," he chides Beardy. "Go for the arm or hand to disarm, or for the thigh to disable. If this were steel, you'd have taken his head off. You're not looking to kill your opponent, just to best him. The crowd likes blood, yes, but flesh wounds spurt nicely and don't cost us for a priest -- or a funeral." He pulls the practice weapon from his student's hand. "Drag him to the water tank and give him a dunking until he's seeing straight again."

Beardy grins and hooks his arms around his erstwhile opponent's shoulders to pull him to his feet. Half-supporting, half-dragging him, he heads for an open gate at the end of the arena, leading beneath the stands. Akron turns his attention to the men waiting beneath the canopy, ready to call down another pair for practice and notices Phil's presence for the first time. "Here now, what are you doing in here?"

"Say, would it be possible to see your guys training one day? Feel free to tell me no, but I've always had an interest in the noble science and I'd be more than happy to spring for a couple of rounds afterwards by way of thanks?" smiling hopefully as he awaits a response.

"Have to clear it with the boss," Akron calls back. "You'd have to convince him you weren't looking to sell inside information to Croat."

"For sport, yes," he replies. "Anyone can fight, if they've got a score to settle. High-profile duel's a sure sell-out. But only the boss and Croat keep their own stables. They fight for money and bragging rights. Mostly friendly. Not to the death, like I said. Hard not to kill an orc sometimes; they stay on their feet when they should be lying down waiting for the stretcher," he grins. "But we've lost a few too, gone from hale and hearty to cloven in two when they haven't stepped out of the way of an axe quick enough."

The man's impassive face is hard to read as he looks up and down Phillip's admittedly limited stature. "Name's Akron Erix," he responds. "We've had Small folk in the ring before. Sailors and gladiators from Cheliax. Draws a good gate. People like to root for the underdog -- or against." He grins again. "I'm not a fighter. I'm the manager."