The Final Coliseum: Victory, Death, or Humilation

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Deleted User - 819397

Cheers rang out as the Champion of the great Coliseum of Klemstre finished off another rival. It seemed impossible to the citizens that two years ago he was a nobody. Now, no one could best him, or even come close, in the ring of honor. Much of his past was still unknown, but he had become so popular no one cared. All they knew was that he was the best of the best. What they couldn't have even come close to guessing, though, was this man had more sinister plans then fighting in the arena for the rest of his life. And was the day they came to fruition.

As the owner and lord of the Coliseum came to congratulate the man who had become a legend in the span of 800 days, the Champion turned...and thrust his sword into the throat of the rather fat man. As chaos began to erupt in the stands, the man threw out his hands, magically forcing each and every one of the audience members back into their seats.

"Today starts a new world order!" the Champion boomed, in tones much darker than before, full of malice and hatred. "I shall be the new Master and Lord over this place...and not just here...but the entire planet of Klemstre!" Sweeping his helmeted gaze around the terrified crowd, his eyes began to glow red. "You have grown used to fat, lazy, incompetents like him ruling you," he continued, pointing with his sword at the dead man by his feet. "You have grown complacent. You have forgotten that an evil older than life itself lives in this world. Because of your foolishness, I have freed myself from my prison at last, and taken this form, my most powerful ever." The voice was continuing to change, becoming more and more evil, and beginning to sound like a cacophony of voices speaking in unison. "No more shall you fight in meaningless battles against cowards like the one I faced today," he stated, and without looking he killed the man he had fought with a single pulse of dark energy. "From now fight for my amusement...all of you...or face my wrath. I have plenty of tortures prepared for those who refuse, and I would love to make some of you suffer the way I suffered those years. So...make your choice...fight, or die."

Eight hundred years have passed since the day the Overlord seized control of Klemstre. Since then he's refined his method of choosing combatants. Rather than force everyone to fight, he sends out search parties to find only the ones that show promise, forcing them to fight until the day they die. The Overlord no longer has a physical form, but rather has his presence in the arena. He still maintains all of his magical abilities though, and random bolts of dark energy have been known to kill people that later were proven to have thought of resisting the eternal regime. Everyone across the globe comes to the Coliseum to see the fights at least once a is mandatory to do so. No one can resist, and no one who is wise tries.

The RP:

You are a new "recruit" in the Coliseum. You've been yanked from anywhere on the planet to fight in these "games" until you die. A huge tournament is coming up, and all fighters are required to participate. Therefore, you must be prepared to deal with both other new combatants and veterans to survive.

The Rules:
1. All CS rules apply, with one slight exception.
2. God-modding is being slightly eased up here. As a fighter with some promise, you have to have some sort of special skill(s) that will aid you in combat. This is a medieval-era RP, so no guns for arms or whatnot, but make it interesting! This isn't just a fighting fact, I don't want that to be the focus. I want this to be a creativity challenge RP. Come up with something ludicrous.
3. The character sheet does NOT have to be completely filled out at the beginning. That's right. Have a power, but don't want to share right away? No problem! However, to prevent true God-Modding (one hit kills everything, etc.), I would like you to PM me your power(s) for review. I'll accept everything that I can, and tweak things that are a bit too much to prevent God-Modding. As things are revealed, have an OOC at the end of the post saying something like (New information on Character Sheet!) to alert people that something important was revealed, then go and edit the sheet in your first post. Again, creativity is key here!
4. I am not planning on having many PC vs PC fights...if anything, that'll constitute the final couple of rounds (should this RP last that long). I don't want people dying in the first round and having to sit the rest of the RP out.
5. If your character dies (by your choice) early on, you MAY make a new character. This tournament is HUGE. It's not unlikely that there's several other cool people somewhere in the arena. I will announce when this is no longer an option. Try a character, and if it doesn't work let 'em die and try a new one. Creativity, people!
6. Don't be invincible. You're going to take can't come out of a major fight completely unharmed. The powers may be unrealistic, but no invulnerable skin or whatnot. You can be can lose limbs...etc. It's up to you what happens to your character, but don't be perfectly fine throughout the whole tourney.
7. I will have one PC at a time (following rule 5), and I'll control each of the NPCs that everyone fights. This way I keep myself involved in everything, and make things more interesting for everyone (it's no fun to keep engineering your own fights top to bottom).
8. Have fun. This is a "how creative can you be?" RP. We've got some pretty creative people here, and this is a chance to test it out. Make a fighter however you want, test them out...if you don't like them scrap 'em and try again, if you do keep it going! Also, keep in mind that this won't be constant fights...there'll be scenes where the characters can interact with each other between fights (If you've ever read the Deltora Quest series, think of how the Rithmere Games that are played in The Shifting Sands work...everyone eats, talks, and trains between matches together) so there'll be time for traditional character-building and the like.

The Character Sheet: (Things that are required from the start are bolded...the people in the stands have to know SOMETHING about you. Everything you don't want to add right now put Unknown)

Appearance:(Include both physical appearance and what you're dressed in)
Place of Origin: (where in Klemstre did you come from?)

One final note before I put my sheet up. There are three ways to end a fight. Win, Die, or Surrender. The first two are self-epxlanitory. The final one means you officially surrender to your foe, and they automatically win. However, you are then at their mercy. If they leave you alive, you go to a loser's bracket, where three consecutive victories mean you enter the tournament again, taking the place of someone who can no longer continue (they won, but blood loss killed them, etc.) If they decide to kill you, you no longer have any say what happens. Therefore, be careful who you surrender to, or else face the potential death of your character. (I'll be nice unless you make a habit of surrendering :razz:)

One truly final note. Please remember this is a medieval RP. Please keep things to that era :)

Ok, ready? Let's delve into this idea I had and see if it works as well in action as it did in my head!


Name: Laura Krends
Age: 17
Gender: Female
Appearance: 5'7", blue eyes, heart-shaped face, blond hair that falls to her shoulders, slender, rather cute. Dressed in boots, leggings, and a tight-fitting top
Personality: Unknown
Place of Origin: Baticul, also known as the City of Light.
Powers/abilities: Unknown
Bio: Captured by the recruiters after being jumped by a gang. Her defense against the group was the first time she ever used her ability...recruiters saw this and took her.
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Name: Ferruccio Fernando
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: 6’1”, olive skin, brown eyes, short black hair, semi-athletic build, usually seen wearing black trousers with black paratrooper boots, white dress shirt, and black cloak or trench coat, with a black fedora, sometimes seen wearing khaki pants with tan boots, khaki button shirt, sometimes with brown duster, and khaki pith helmet
Personality: very charismatic and full of energy, enjoys talking a lot, is somewhat reluctant to fight, but that’s why he brought some khakis with him
Place of Origin: A city near the north shores of Mare Nostrum, Castrum Villari of Calavira, in the Appenninica Peninsula
Powers/abilities: unknown
Bio: All that’s known about Ferruccio is he comes from a history of carriage and cart manufacturers, who sometimes dabble in weapons
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Name: Frank Jefferson (sticking to the new one, I like it)
Age: 24
Gender: Male
Appearance: Frank is a tall man with rippling muscles and powerful legs, he has brown wavy hair and hazel eyes. He wears shorts, a tunica erecta (it's not what you think, look it up, however it relates to the time) and a helmet like a thracian on the battlefield. He fights with a hand and a half sword relying on agility and swordplay to see him through.
Personality: Quite quiet, Frank keeps to himself, If he had it his way then he would never have fought at all, the only reason he knows how to hunt and fight is that he had to know to survive.
Place of Origin: The Great Forests of Klemestre.
Powers/abilities:Extremely heightened agility and stamina.
Bio:All that is known is that up until being brought to the arena Frank spent his life fending for himself in the forest. He was captured when a party found out his abilities and ambushed him using a tiger. He lived in the forest hunting deer and other creatures to eat, He was good at cooking due to the fact that he spent most of his life teaching himself to cook. When times were bad he would steal as a bandit, usually on merchant parties or rich people with little protection. Anything of value he took he would sell off in a village out side the forest and buy useful things with the money. Something once happened with a woman in the forest that makes Frank want to help Laura.
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Name: Catherine Warr (I'll fit myself in)
Age: 18
Gender: Female
Appearance: Short and thin, long brown hair tied back.
Personality: Often quite ambitious and big headed, she doesn't quite know her limits.
Place of Origin: A bog-standard city.
Powers/abilities: Wielding only a short knife and a small shield, she relies on her speed and quick movements to ensure her survival.
Bio: unknown.


Name: Argent

Age: 26

Gender: Male

Appearance: Ghostly white skin is accented along the exposed portions of his arms by dark black lines that swirl upwards towards his shoulders, disappearing into the plain black fabric of the tunic he wears. Blowing back from his face in a breeze, his bone white hair hides similar black marks sliding their way up the sides of his neck and disappearing into the hairline, only ever touching the sides of his face. Similar black marks would be seen upon his legs and feet if you were to ever catch him without the black leather boots that come to mid calf on his legs and the dark black trousers that his shirt is tucked into. His only weapon a pair of light gauntlets, long since burned black as night, that he wears dangling about his waist most of the time, each finger ending in a sharpened point and the back of the hand serrated with razor sharp blades. Light pink eyes accent his appearance with just a touch of color.

Personality: Consideration and compassion are the two main traits that mark him as different from the majority of the other fighters. The only way he speaks is quietly and in a calm, soothing voice that insures safety and understanding to all who hear it. A background of quiet contemplation and his Klemstrian Code dictate his every action.

Place of Origin: The Monastery

Power: The power of Aerandir Linwëlin (The power of the Klemstre People). Over a lifetime of study, contemplation, rigorous physical training and meditation, Argent has learned the latent powers used by the people of Klemstre before they began to write their histories. For a small amount of time his corporeal form appears as normal, but completely transparent and trailing a flowing white banner behind each movement. The inhabitants of The Monastery have been using these skills to better the lives of the surrounding villages for centuries.

The Aerandir Linwëlin is most difficult to learn, requiring unflinching dedication and belief in The Monastery's laws and code. Many of the monks practice it their entire lives and never are able. Over the centuries it seems most Klemstrians have lost what their ancestors prized so highly. While in this state, the Argent is capable of inhuman feats of speed and strength, and while in this state he is as a ghost, able to pass through solid objects without problem, and in battle, able to reach into an enemy and pulverize their vital organs.

However, these powers are sacred to The Monastery's inhabitants and are only to be used for peaceful purposes unless directly threatened. Even when threatened this is a last resort to the peaceful monks of The Monastery.

Bio: Every 25 years The Monastery asks the surrounding villages if there are any who wish to give up their worldly lives and live inside, learning the rigorous honorific code of the Klemstrians. Argent's mother and father were both far too young for a baby, a night of unabashed love resulting in the nine month long ordeal that ended with the snow white baby's birth. His mother and father, only 19 years of age, were horrified as their baby was revealed to be a monster, and it was both family's decision; to avoid the unimaginable embarrassment of one of their families spawning a defective, it was decided that the babe was to be given a quick death and drowned in the birthing water.

And that was when the Monks arrived. One of Argent's aunt's - 14 years of age herself - mortified at the thought of a baby's life being ended by no fault of his own, fled the house and caught one of the horses hitched outside. She thundered across the valley to the great mud and brick Monastery that housed the Klemstrians. Reigning in outside the gates of The Monastery she called desperately to the monks inside, who, upon hearing her earnest pleas for help, moved the Day of Joining up a a single week. They made haste to the house where Argent was about to be drowned in, beating the door and begging for those inside to release the babe to them, where he would never be tied to the family. It was the best solution for all involved, the family knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Monks were honest and their word was as good as gold; none would ever know where the baby came from. The Monastery got a new member and the babe would be able to live as long as he was able -- despite his premature parentage.

It was as the family handed the baby through their door and his condition was known that the Monks gave him his name. It was a full moon and its light cast down, bathing the new life in silver. He was named Argent, and thus his life in The Monastery began.

The day the boy was able to walk was the day he began his Klemstrian training. Each morning The Monastery awoke before the sun's light peeked over the tops of the snow covered mountains that sheltered their valley from the prying eyes of outsiders. Every man, woman and child went to the grand mud and brick courtyard and began the day with three hours of physical training, the young ones spend this time walking and running, but as they get older the training becomes more complex, more sophisticated; martial arts and the inner focus required of this were taught when the young ones began to grow into adults.

Once the morning's exercise was completed, the monks retreated inside and sat about their own personal schooling. Some studied architecture, while others learned of foreign languages, a few learned the mythology of the Klemstrian people. This was the time when those inside learned the many skills they used to help any who asked. The children were taught to read and write from an early age, there was not a single person inside The Monastery who was not constantly improving his reading skills. Inside their numerous classrooms, the monks would spend three hours before the morning meal.

Meals consisted of light foods such as lettuce and vegetables. No meat was ever served, as the Klemstrians valued ALL life beyond any jewel, down to the smallest sapling.

And thus began the afternoon, where the Monks who were allowed would venture out and down, into the valley, where they would begin their own personal tasks for the villagers in the surrounding countryside. Some aided in construction, others tilled fields for sick families. Once, Argent was present when a group of the oldest monks used the powers of the Aerandir Linwëlin to wade into a rushing stream and piles rocks as to begin the building of a dam that would help irrigate all the surrounding countryside.

After the day's exertions they would return back up their mountain and spend the rest of the night in meditation, contemplating the day's events and how they can make their world better the next day.

So Argent grew to adulthood.

It was a peaceful, happy existence devoted to the betterment of all around you. There was laughter and song, the strong sense of belonging, not just in The Monastery, but with all life everywhere.

Until the Overlord found the remote valley, home to the Klemstrians. Until that night of fire and screams, of babies crying out for mothers before being smashed upon walls. Before Argent watched his mentor, his friends and his brothers die by the sword. Until the morning he awoke inside a great runed cage on the back of a wagon, the sound of the wheels rolling over and crushing the bones of his family loud in his ears. Until the day he'd been thrown into the Coliseum, where the runes and guards and dogs kept him in the barbaric world outside the peaceful valley that was his homeland.


"What is her name, my friend?" Argent dipped the quill into the inkwell, gently scraping the excess from the tip as he found a piece of parchment and arranged it in front of him.

"Vera." The rotund man that sat in front of him upon a hard barrel answered, his eyes cast to the makeshift desk the pair sat at. "I was gonna marry her, whitey, I really was. Had no idea I'd be chosen for this." Fat tears began to form at the corners of his eyes as he stared at the rough plank stretched between two barrels that Argent used as a desk during the day.

"Calm yourself," Argent told him his free hand reaching across the space and grasping him by the shoulder "wherever she is, I am sure she is thinking of you." Argent touched quill to paper and spoke aloud as he wrote

My dearest Vera,

I am thinking of you always.

Stopping for a moment, Argent looked up at the man "Is there anything specific you wish her to know, Albert?"

"Tell her I didn't mean to leave." he whimpered "Don't tell her where I am."

I hope to be home soon, my dear. I'm sorry. What happened wasn't my choice, I wish by all the gods I could be there with you.

Please know, my love, no matter what happens I will always love you. I will always love our child, no matter if it's a boy or girl.

If I don't return, know that I will be watching over you always.


Dropping the quill inside the inkwell, Argent took the paper from the desk and gingerly blew on it to dry the ink. The parchment was dirty, but it was as clean as the Klemstrian could get it without risking the parchment being destroyed, only a few stains - the origins of which Argent wished not to know of - showed upon it. The ink dry after a few seconds blowing, he handed it over the desk to Albert, who took it reverently in both hands and stared at it silently. Argent could tell by the way he looked at it right-to-left that he knew not how to read. The gladiator only gave it back to Argent when the tears in his eyes began to fall and wet the parchment, his hand going up to his eyes, wiping the tears away. Argent reached below the desk and took a piece of fabric from a pile - the extra clothes he was given when he entered the pit - and gave it to Albert. "Thank you, whitey."

"It was my pleasure."

The Klemstrian turned away from him - as he loudly blew his nose - and padded across the courtyard to a nearby ledge. Sitting upon the ledge were a few dozen pigeons. Argent quietly cooed to them as he approached, reaching out a hand to one. Taking the pigeon into his hand, he fiddled with the small string attached to its foot - also made out of the clothing he was given upon admittance - and attached the note to it.

Thanking the bird for its service, Argent opened his hands and let it fly. It flew from between the bars that stretched across the open ceiling of the courtyard and out into the city beyond. Argent knew that the odds of Albert's fiance finding the bird were astronomical, but he also knew that the small gesture was hope to the big man who sat crying like a small child in front of his desk. Yet this was how he spent many of his days in the pit, sitting at this makeshift table, writing letters to wives, husbands, children, aunts and uncles. The Code dictated this, it was Argent's duty as a sentient being to make the world a better place everywhere he went, and this was only one of the ways he was doing it, as he sat back down on the hard barrel and watched the large man lumber away, drying his eyes before any of the others saw his tears.

Glancing around, Argent quietly called for anyone else who was waiting for his services.


Name: Taranis an Dearg
Age: 20
Gender: Male
Appearance: 6' tall with straight dark red shoulder length hair, green eyes and a slim but muscular build. His face and arms are covered with the intricate woad (Dark Blue) tattoos of the Sais people. Across his back are three long scars like those inflicted by a bear or a big cat and another set of similar scars run across his left arm.

He is dressed in deer skin boots, leggings and when not in the arena a simple shirt, about his neck there is a pendant carved from some kind of ivory. He is armed with a pair of traditional Sais knives (look like Kukri's)
Place of Origin: Nomadic but mainly in the north
Powers/abilities: I'll tell you later
Bio: Born a member of the nomadic Sais people, Taranis spent much of his life learning how to hunt, fish or fight as was traditional for a Sais man was to do so passing his test of manhood at the age of eighteen and earning his "painting" or tattoo's are they are called by the rest of Klemestre.
However at the age of twenty due to events outside of his control Taranis was forced to leave his clan and wander the wilderness an outcast, surviving on what little he could scavenge or steal from the forests and out lying villages making him tough and lean.
Caught unawares by a group of the Overlords men, Taranis despite slaying four of the heavily armoured men was captured and dragged away to the arena in chains

Deleted User - 819397

It was dinnertime. Each and every one of the unwilling combatants were situated around the room, a luxurious plate of food in front of them. They had been told that they could eat as much as they wanted of anything, as they needed to keep their strength up for the fights. Being treated well between the battles was an attempt to blur the lines between being forced to fight and wanting to fight, with mixed success. The meal progressed as the head Warden of the Coliseum stepped up to his podium, and began to outline the tournament rules.

"This is a tournament amongst the new members of our fighting circle here. Therefore, the veterans will have this time off to train for later fights." At these words, the veterans, clearly visible through a mix of scars, lost limbs, and eyepatches, settled back, relaxing visibly. They weren't being asked to die. "You newbies will be duking it out yourselves. You all know the rules about how to leave the arena. In one piece, the victor, in pieces, dead, or in questionable shape, the coward. If you do not put up a good fight, you will be killed slowly by one of the lower Wardens...and they desperately want to have at least a couple of you. You all have abilities, use them. There is to be no fighting between official matches, and to that purpose there will be guards at all times. You will train and eat with the other combatants. You will sleep in your own room, which shall be locked every night to ensure your safety. We need you alive and well for the games. Relax and enjoy yourselves each minute you aren't fighting, for there's only one way any of you are leaving here, and it involves a funeral pyre. The tournament begins tomorrow" Without a word of consolation after that statement, the head Warden left.


Laura was sitting at the end of a table, as far away as the person next to her as possible. She wasn't eating, and was trembling visibly. This was awful...truly awful. She hadn't expected to end up here in a thousand years. Until a week ago, she hadn't even known she had any powers. It was only when a street gang jumped her as she walked home from her monastery that she found out about this ability...and after a week of frantically experimenting with it to see what its limitations were, she still didn't fully understand it. Try telling that to the Coliseum "recruiters" though. They had been following the gang, trying to see if any of them had something worthy of being taken to the arena...when they jumped her, her newfound ability had bloomed, and the target had been her.

Now here she was, a life that was going to end before it could truly begin. She'd never even had a date before...and now she was going to die. All that she could do was hope it was quick, when the end came. She hadn't had the chance to say goodbye to her family...surely they were wondering where she was...they'd never know for sure, but they'd suspect. The Coliseum didn't send out death notices to the families of those who fell, but if a body was never found for a missing person...there was really only one explanation. She couldn't eat, could barely swallow a couple sips of water. She was avoiding eye contact with another of the fighters, afraid to show weakness. Her life was over...she wouldn't lose what dignity she had was all she had control over now.

(Bio Updated! This part I never really wanted to hide, but I wanted to give a possible example of updating the bio as new things are added.)
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To say the meal was unappetizing was an understatement. Roast animals, grease dripping from their cooked corpses sat skewered at either end of the table and the men he sat with took knives to them and cut great strips of flesh from them. Pots that held some form of soup sat between the roast animals and Argent took the great spoon stuck inside the bowl to lift a little to view, there were bits of creature inside it as well. It seemed the people outside of The Monastery survived by brutally murdering and then consuming the flesh of their life-kin. The thought made Argent want to vomit, and he would have too if his stomach had not been completely empty -- he'd been surviving on starvation rations for weeks and it was starting to show, already it took him longer to summon the will to get up in the morning and start his meditations.

Looking up and down the line of food, Argent desperately searched for a sign of green -- just a trace of something that hadn't once been mobile. He finally spied it, a small pile of baked bread of some kind, mostly ignored by the men around it. He reached out a hand and took two of them, dropping them onto his empty plate. Taking one of them in his hand he seized it by either end and tore it in half, then the meat slithered from where it had been hiding inside and plopped onto his plate with a sickening slapping sound. Argent took a deep gulp as he looked at the strips of meat stuck inside the bread. Taking the spoon from next to his plate, Argent stuck it inside the roll and did his best to pry all the bits of meat from it. He worked at the roll for a long time before he was satisfied there was no more bits of once-living creatures inside it, and then devoured it in a single bite. He still felt dirty and savage, eating something like that, like a wild creature who'd ventured from its cave to bask in blood and gore. By the time he swallowed the last bit his appetite was long gone and all he could do was slide the meat onto the plate of the eye patch wearing man sitting next to him, his eyes sliding over the plate where all the rolls had been a moment ago, every single one was gone.

Argent melted into his chair, his stomach still roiling. How could human beings be so vile? What was wrong with these men that made them keep all of them here? Caged like animals? Made to fight like the prized fighting chickens some of the villagers in the valley owned. What happened to these poor people to ruin them so?

It was as his eyes roamed the places on the table that didn't contain masticated creatures that Argent's eyes fell upon the young woman sitting across the table from him. She was too young to be in such a place, her blonde locks hanging almost in front of her face, that look in her eyes was the one Argent expected of a woman walking up the front steps of the gallows he'd read about in his younger years. Now that he looked at her, Argent didn't recognize her. She must be new. He reached out a hand to her across the table and laid it on her own, which sat next to her empty plate, he spoke quietly words barely heard over the loud din of nearby conversation "Sister, I have yet to see you at my desk in the courtyard. Have you not written home yet?"

Deleted User - 819397

Laura jumped as the man across from her laid his hand on hers, tearing it away. However, he was looking at her with a kindly expression, and talked of writing home. "I...I just got here today..." she stammered. "I didn't know...what would I even tell my family? My parents were so happy to have a normal daughter, one without any special powers...and it turns out I had something after all, inside me...and now the rest of my life I'll be fighting just to survive, knowing that each fight I win only prolongs the inevitable. If I tell them that...they'd be devastated." She realized she was babbling and stopped. "Why are you being nice to me anyway?" she asked, genuine curiosity in her voice. "We could be fighting'd have to at least try to kill me, and I you. Why do this?"


Raising his hand from hers as soon as she tore it away from him, he held it palm outwards in the universal sign of peace and goodwill. "I mean no harm." Argent said "I am sorry, sister."

The pigeons he caught from where they perched in the courtyard could only take messages out of the coliseum and even then Argent was sure that the only reason he hadn't been stopped yet was that the messages gave just a glimmer of hope to the fighters and they battled better the next day.

"Sister, we are all special. We are all born with these gifts. Do not feel cursed."

"It is my duty to make the world better, what happens tomorrow is of no importance to what good I can do before I sleep this night."


Name: Aughr Kuenack
Age: 19
Gender: Male
Appearance: A cold, hard, bony face, a shaved head and a skinny body, dressed in black leather armour, and a painted skull cap, (the traditional headgear of his tribe), his only weapon being a short bow, with quiver on his back (I'm presuming ranged weapons are allowed).
Personality: Reclusive, nihilistic
Place of Origin: the tribal wastelands of the south-east
Powers/abilities: crack shot with bow
Bio: Born into the Dauhtor tribe, the dominant tribe of the wastelands, a society focused around death, all it's children are taught to fight from birth, which has led to many myths about the tribe using infant soldiers on the battlefield. at his coming of age he was given his bow, and he and the other new warriors were sent north to ambush a rival tribe, however on their way Aughr was in turn ambushed by slave dealers, the rest of his group was killed in a bitter struggle, and he was taken prisoner, he was sold into the Coliseum, and has fought since.


Aughr sat at one of the long tables, he wiped his mouth of the remains of a roast bird of some sort, that was all he had eaten, his tribe had never really been big eaters, unlike the city scum. the fact that he didn't eat much accounted for his skinny, bony, almost malnourished body.
He looked around at the other people, most were just cramming their mouths full of food, talking and laughing. How could they live like that? not even acknowledging the sweet embrace of death that would surely come for them, most probably from Aughr's bow.
He almost smiled at the thought as he sat and watched.


He moved slowly through the throngs of people gathered about the tables, despite the pain caused to the bruises inflicted upon him during his capture Taranis forced his way through crowd snagging the leg of some kind of roasted bird before heading over to a bench.
Sitting down upon the rough hewn wooden benches Taranis threw the other two occupants a glare as if daring them to try and steal his food, the first proper meal he would have after many weeks living off what he could find within the forests. However one look at the other two told him that they would be no threat to him; the girl was visibly quaking in fear with an empty plate before her and the other appeared to be some kind of priest causing his to take hold of his pendant and mutter a few words in his native language before ripping into the what would transpire to be a chicken leg.
The meat was overcooked for his tastes preferring his meats to be somewhat bloodier as of late but he ate it all the same. Glancing over at the girl Taranis sized her up as a potential opponent, she was small, slim and looked to weigh next to nothing even when wet causing him to wonder why they had chosen her, she was cute with her long blonde hair so why not send her to a pleasure house and earn some money off of her rather than use her as an easy kill in the arena?
With those thoughts still running through his head Taranis quietly hoped that he would be drawn up against her and was appropriately appalled with himself so what have you become Taranis? Have truly turned into beast? Look at her! There is no honour in killing her she doesn't even eat to keep up her strength!
Rising up from position on the bench Taranis storms back over to where the food had been set out before returning with another pair of drumsticks. Standing beside the girl slams the drumstick down upon her plate snapping the word "Eat!" as he does so in his near impenetrable accent "...I do not wish to feel guilty when I am forced to kill you" moving to sit further down the bench still furious with himself and the girl he continues to eat sullenly.

Deleted User - 819397

Laura examined the person sitting across from her for the first time. "'re a priest. My family and I have always been religious...I'm sorry I was mean to you. Out of everything I was expecting to get here, kindness wasn't one of surprised me is all. Thank you...I'll be sure to come by after parents need to know what happened to me..."

She looked like she wanted to say more, but the man who had recently been sitting next to her slammed a chicken leg down on her plate, demanding she eat so he could feel good about killing her, then moved off down the table. Laura, who had finally managed to stop trembling, started again. "T-that's more of what I was expecting to get," she stated sadly. She hesitated for a moment, then decided that she had to tell someone, and she could do a whole lot worse than a priest. "I don't even know what triggers my power for sure...until a week ago I didn't know I had it. I probably won't make it past the first fight." She looked down at the chicken the man had slammed on her plate. Despite her reluctance to do anything that he told her, there was a bit of truth to his words...if she didn't eat, there was no chance she'd be strong enough for a fight tomorrow. Picking up the leg, she began to eat slowly, not really hungry, not really tasting it. "Oh, I'm so sorry," she suddenly exclaimed. "I'm Laura...may I ask your name?"


He tried to keep eye contact with the girl, even as she took the chicken to her mouth and began nibbling at it. All of his will was spent staring straight into the middle of her forehead, desperately trying to blot out the sight of the flesh being tore from the bird with each bite she made and the smacking sound hat accompanied it. The bump in the middle of his throat bobbed up and down as he took deep steadying gulps of air.

Finally he could bare the sight of the masticated bird no longer and he looked down to his hand, which was unconsciously balling into a fist around the spoon he'd used to scrape the meat from his own meal. The dark lines that traced up his arms and across his shoulders started with a deep pool of black on the backside of his hands, he focused on the markings as he spoke to the woman, blotting out the smacking sounds around him "My name is Argent, I was a brother in The Monastery before," he let his eyes roam around the walls of the room meaningfully, before returning them to the back of his hand "this."

"Perhaps priest is the wrong word, sister." Argent shook his head a little "I am Klemstrian," The brother tried to put words around the concepts of The Code and how it moved him "the only thing we hold sacred is life itself. We have no gods, though we understand the concept is quite popular among other peoples." Argent drummed his fingers against the table as he tried to explain "We cannot prove or disprove the belief in deities, instead we offer sanctuary for all, understanding to all and the only devotion we have is to the betterment of life for all who are fortunate enough to live it."

Argent was silent for a long time "It is difficult to grasp for many."

Deleted User - 819397

"Only thing you..." understanding of Argent's sudden behavioral change came in a flash. "Oh, I'm so sorry!" Laura exclaimed. "I didn't know..." she put down the chicken leg. "I...I should probably get going now...I want to find my room while it's still light so I don't get lost later on. I'll come by your mailing station later, ok?" She stood up and made to leave, then stopped. "Thank you...for helping me calm down. I truly appreciate it." With that, she left the dining hall.

Moving quickly through the halls, Laura was careful not to make eye contact with anyone. Fighting may not be allowed outside of the actual arenas, but there were plenty of ways to subdue a person without causing physical violence. The assault of the gang had opened her eyes to the fact that not everyone was nice and respectful, and here in this place, where people knew the only way out was to die, emotions would be running high...and any way to blow off some steam would be appreciated. Her clothing didn't help matters any. She was into jogging, and a dress wasn't overly conducive to that hobby. Her parents, supporting her wanting to be healthy, had bought her the outfit she was wearing now, and the people who had brought her had informed her that the Coliseum would provide several more pairs of similar clothing, so that she would have something clean to wear should her original outfit get bloody or torn. This meant that she'd have to be very careful indeed...


"Do you wish me to accompany you, siste-" Argent was about to ask if she wished his help, but she'd already got up from the table. She'd already faded into the crowd and, while Argent searched for her, she was no where to be found. Argent stood from his chair and pushed his plate towards the center of the table, the offending piece of meat-laden bread still upon it, trying in vain to tempt him. Argent wished to stab it with the small knife upon the table, but would not; another hungry priosner would be along shortly to consume it, no doubt.

Wishing to escape the dining hall with all due haste, Argent made for the exit. A pair of guards stood at either side of the door, obvious from their coliseum attire among the milling groups of gladiators who came in and out. They seemed almost bored as they absently stared about, not really seeing anything. As Argent passed them and stepped outside he was sure he could have marched by in nothing but a loincloth while chanting at the top of his lungs and they wouldn't have noticed. That seemed strange to him, as he walked out into the courtyard and looked up at the late-afternoon sky through the criss-crossed bars that kept he and his fellow wards inside.

The extent of the revelation only hit Argent when he went back to his desk and sat down. He blanked his mind for a moment, putting an elbow on the table and sitting his chin in his palm. Something went across the toe of his boot and it made Argent look under his makeshift desk, a medium sized rat was dragging a bit of cheese across the courtyard -- making for a stack of empty crates in the corner. That little rat had crawled into the dining hall, taken a piece of cheese from the table and walked out -- without anyone being the wiser. Argent let a small smile cross his lips as he cupped his hands in front of his face and blew into them to guard from the slight chill in the air. "Thank you, my small friend." he whispered into his hands.
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One week prior:

There was a heavy knock on the front door to the Fernando estate. “Half a minute!” yelled Francisco Fernando, current owner of the Transportation Workshop, Maker of Fine and Reliable Carts, Carriages, and Other Wheeled Devices. When he opened the door, Francisco was confronted with a squad of Overlord soldiers. “We come for Ferruccio Fernando. He has been given the great honour to fight in the Coliseum.” Francisco gulped, hesitated a moment, then said, “He is upstairs. Third door on the left.” The squad leader nodded at Francisco, an indication that his immediate cooperation had earned him the freedom of hassle, and led the squad to Ferruccio’s room.

Inside his room, Ferruccio was drawing a design on a piece of parchment, an idea for a new cart design, using bars of iron and collapsible pillars attached to the wheels to lessen bumps and jolts. When the soldiers barged in, Ferruccio calmly looked up, and waited. “You have been given the great honour to fight in the Coliseum, Ferruccio Fernando. Comply peacefully, and you will be better off.” Ferruccio nodded. “Of course I will comply peacefully. May I pack up some things first?” The guard replied, “You have 20 minutes.” Ferruccio got up, and packed some clothes, a few candles, writing materials, and a lute into a couple of bags. “I am ready to leave now.” As Ferruccio was escorted down the stairs, he waved to his parents. “Looks like they found out I have some special powers in me. We knew I couldn’t hide from them forever. Better they found me in the prime of my life, then when I’m old and feeble, or young and naïve. Goodbye mother, goodbye father. I’ll try to make it home someday.” The soldiers gave him a queer look. “Legally of course. Ave Overlord!” The soldiers took Ferruccio to a waiting carriage, put him in the back of it, and rode off to the Coliseum.


“And I shall cross the sea again, and return back to my home.” Ferruccio set his lute down, and watched the fighters in the dining hall. Every night since he arrived three days ago, Ferruccio had played his lute during dinner. He hoped he was raising everybody’s spirits, even if it was just a little bit. Some of the fighters stood out a lot; there was the pale monk, the herdsman, and the Cruithni soldier. And there were the two young ladies, neither of them could be much more than 18, or maybe 19. Their powers must be very extraordinary to be brought here. Ferruccio picked up his lute, and headed over to the food table, where he picked up some venison, beef patties with cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, and a roll, and a glass of red wine, diluted with water. Sitting back down where he was before, Ferruccio ate while he listened to the Warden give a speech introducing the new fighters to Coliseum life. It was a grand speech indeed, full of vinegar and hardships.

After the speech, the Warden left. Ferruccio was hoping he would stay a bit, maybe talk to a few new fighters. Of course, why would wardens do that? They’re different then fighters, therefore, probably above fighters, meaning fighters aren’t worthy of friendly interaction with wardens. No big deal. Ferruccio would go associate with some of the fighters, then. After he had finished eating, though. A few minutes later, Ferruccio had gotten up to head back to his room, grabbing a couple bottles of wine, and placing them in his lute bag for safe keeping. Ferruccio returned to his room, and wrote a letter to his family back home. Grabbing a bottle of wine, and a couple of cups, Ferruccio headed to the room of the monk. Since the guards refused to send his letters, he would have to rely on the monk and his pigeons.

Arriving at the room, Ferruccio knocked, and entered before the monk could speak. “You are the monk with the pigeon post officials, correct?” A quick look saw a few pigeons, answering Ferruccio’s question. “Great! I can’t convince a single guard here to post my letters back home. Do you mind if I sit?” Ferruccio sat down and placed the bottle, glasses, and letter on the makeshift desk. “I’m Ferruccio Fernando, ex chief designer of Transportation Workshop. I had it made in the wheeled vehicles business, until the Overlord decided to take an interest in me and my ability. If I’m correct, you’re one of the monks who can turn into a ghost. We sold a few carts to you guys a few years back.” Ferruccio paused a moment, then continued speaking again, this time he was pouring some wine into the glasses. “I didn’t ask your name. Forgive me for that.” Ferruccio paused to allow the monk to answer, then spoke again. “Here, have some wine. It’s not the best product, but it could be worse. I have a letter to send to my parents. Doubt it’ll get there, it’s three day’s carriage ride to the Fernando estate. But maybe the letter will make it. Can you believe I was brought here in one of my carriages? I designed it a few months ago, for the local constabulary, but I guess the Overlord liked the design.” Ferruccio shrugged, and drank from his glass. “You know that woman you were talking to earlier? She came here only today, I think. If I’m correct, based on her attire, we’re both interested in running. You know where she went? I’d like to find out if she’s been in any of the same races I've been in.”


Every night before the wardens came in to force the prisoners back into their cells and lock up, Argent took his small desk from where it sat outside his room and brought it inside. Argent was afraid that a clumsy - or mean spirited - guard might knock it over and break it, then he'd be back to writing for people on the steps that lead to his cell and that always made the quill strokes look bad. His hand writing was one of the few things Argent was proud of.

After taking the four barrels and single wooden plank into hiss rather small cell, Argent sat them back up, leaving his door ajar to remind any who wished to send a letter that he was still glad to do so. Crossing his legs upon the hard barrel he sat on, Argent sat his hands palm-upwards in his lap and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath and held it in his lungs, then one-by-one he flexed every muscle in his body from head to foot -- only after he did this did he exhale and take another breath. He repeated this process with each inhalation and he was soon in the meditative state he used to practice with the brothers and sisters of The Monastery. He blanked his mind of all outside stimuli and turned inward, preparing himself for whatever trials would come tomorrow.

Argent knew not how long he sat upon the barrel before a knock came to his open door and his eyes opened. He trailed his legs off the front of the barrel and stood to greet the man, who held a bottle of wine stolen from the feast in his hand and a pair of cups.

"I am Argent of Klemstre." He responded when the man introduced himself, bowing slightly to him before sitting back down "Those carts helped the villages in the valley more than you will ever know, on behalf of all my fallen family, I thank you."

A brief smile came to his lips as he thought of the pigeons he caught as a post service. To call them a post would be almost as accurate as calling a man trapped on a desert island putting messages into empty wine bottles and casting them into the ocean a delivery service. Still, it gave those who used it a small amount of hope. Argent hoped to begin tutoring any who wished to learn to read and write themselves, but none had wished to do so thus far. The monk honestly wondered why no one would want such skills.

Accepting the letter across his desk, Argent looked over the hand writing, not reading the words. A nod of approval was elicited from him, before he stood to take the message to one of the pigeons -- who sat free on a ledge just outside his cell. After attaching the message and thanking the pigeon for his service he gently tossed it into the air, watching it as it glided out from between the bars that kept him caged and off into the sky.

Returning to his seat, Argent sat down heavily. His stomach growled angrily, now that he was away from the feast - and the carnage inside - he was hungry again. He sighed to himself as he realized he'd be getting used to this feeling, before looking back up at Ferruccio "Ah, I am sorry, brother my mind wandered there for a moment. You have excellent penmanship. As for Sister Laura went to find her cell before night fell and she had to find it on her own. I worry for her safety, but she seemed intent upon finding it herself. That is good, she will need that determination. Sadly, I know not where her cell is."

Argent's eyes then fell upon the bottle and another thought came to him, as he took the cup of wine from where it sat on the table. Putting it to his lips he took a small drink from it, it tasted like grape juice. As it seemed Ferruccio was about to leave, Argent placed a hand on his sleeve before he got up "Brother, I hesitate to ask, but may the bottle be left here with me? I fear I may have use of it later."



Taranis sat sullenly upon his bench silently watching the people within the hall as they ate drank and talked knowing that he would have to kill one of them when his time to fight came. There was no fear over the upcoming battle after all many of these people were mere city dwellers that had never handled a blade before in their life he however was a Sais, trained in the ways of a warrior not to mention his own unique talents.
Watching the shadows as they grew longer Taranis listened to the angry buzzing within his head, thoughts and feelings that weren't entirely his own, the first time that it had happened he had been terrified, tearing at his hair and ears in an attempt to block them out now he merely accepted them as part of what he was.
Being almost the last to leave Taranis found that the dank stone corridors had grown somewhat dark, his eyes taking several moments to grow accustomed to the gloom as he searxhed for his cell.
Passing by the seemingly endless rows of cell doors he spots a familiar figure within one of them causing him to stop, an evil smile pealing across his face as he spots the blonde from the dinning hall. There’s something special about that one there has to be its the only reason to leave someone like that in a place like this "You should lock your door at night little girl...there are some very nasty people in this place who would just love a girl like you" chuckling darkly he leaves her doorway and carries on down the corridor finding his own cell only a few doors down.
Closing the door behind him and shooting the internal bolt, a guard would no doubt coming to shoot the external ones later in the evening; Taranis settles himself down on the straw mattress and waits for the dark embrace of sleep to take him.
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Deleted User - 819397

Darkness was truly beginning to fall as Laura finally found her quarters. It was little more than a bed, a desk, and a chair. A door was off to one side, and upon opening it, she found a bathroom. There was a bell next to another door, that when tried, was found to be locked. She assumed that this was how she was to alert the staff that she wished to have a bath, so water could be brought. It seemed that The Overlord truly wished to make their lives comfortable, so that they could fight better when it came time. In the room there were also clothes identical to the ones she currently had on, the promise she had received being true, apparently.

She had returned to the main room, considering setting out to find Argent to get a letter sent home when a sinister voice sounded from in the corridor.

"You should lock your door at night little girl...there are some very nasty people in this place who would just love a girl like you"

Jumping and spinning around, she saw the same man who had demanded she eat leering at her. Without waiting for a reply he skulked off down the corridor. Laura felt anger beginning to form in her gut, and she clenched her fists. Suddenly, her right hand opened slightly, as though a cylindrical object had forced its way into it. Staring in shock at her hand, she thought to herself, It's never happened when I was angry before...what could this mean?

She forced herself to calm down, and her fist slowly returned to being fully clenched. She suddenly had doubts about going to find Argent's room now...the man's words had a ring of truth she couldn't ignore. The gang's assault had forced her eyes open to a whole new world of possibilities, none of them good...and in a place like this...

She had almost convinced herself to wait until tomorrow, when she realized that there was a good chance she wouldn't BE here tomorrow. The thought wasn't pleasant by any means, but the thought of her parents never truly knowing what happened to her...that was worse. She left her room, being sure to close the door, and turned in time to see the man who had threatened her walk into a room just a short ways down the hall. She groaned outwardly...that was all she needed...someone who seemed determined to make her life miserable right by her. She went the other direction, not wanting him to open his door again and see her.

Another half hour later, darkness had truly fallen, and a guard she passed warned her she had to be back within another 30 minutes to make curfew. Randomly wandering the halls finally paid off again, as an open door revealed Argent. She walked inside, then jumped slightly as another man came into her view. "Oh, I-I'm sorry," she stuttered. "I'll wait outside until you're done." She made to move back into the hall until she saw the other man looking at her with interest and stopped, silently cursing...she had no reason to trust Argent...surely she hadn't been so swayed by a few kind words? And yet, now she was here...if this had been a setup, she had no time to run...