Sunday Social Fight Night
Log Info
- Title: Sunday Social: Fight Night!
- Emitter: Whirlpool
- Characters: Ashes, Thurid, Kira, Pasithea, Iuitl, Morgan, Edinaz, Rumbo, Shalethiste, Merek
- Place: A03: The Colosseum
- Time: Sunday, November 15, 2020, 9:48 PM
- Summary: It's a social Sunday Fight Night in the Colosseum, the stands are packed and various notable adventurers have shown up. Two participants take the field, a scythe wielding man versus an axe wielding woman. Battle ensues! The Axe-woman wins. Meanwhile, there is drama in the stands as Rumbo fires off his dragonspitter. There is also a battle, of something, between Griva the Resurrectionist, and Akorinil, the Delegate from Charn. Everyone is steadily ignoring the two, except for Ashes, who attempts to offer some social advice and gets sucked in. Akorinil tells the mourner about Thul, and Barntos, and how they are celebrated in Charn, and that the ashen Arvec would be appreciated there. She thanks the woman for the information and leaves as Merek arrives, considers a few things, then speaks noncommittally with Griva. The second battle, between two dwarven brothers and two lucht acrobats goes to the dwarves, while the one in the stands doesn't have as clearly a resolved winner.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A03: The Colosseum *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-
Crafted largely of stone, the Colosseum sits heavily in the midst of the district. Effectively a giant arena, seats form its sweeping sides like the forefront of a great stage. At its center is a stained, stone floor. Each end is overseen by the opposing statues of Kor and Angoron, their arms raised and each holding weapons in gestures of triumph. Staged at a crossroads, their stone gazes stand in eternal challenge over the battlefield floor. Angoron's statue appears to have something of a smirk, opposing Kor's dreadful scowl.
Construction here is on the massive scale. The Arena's stone form was carried piece by piece from the Redridge. Borne on the shoulders of ancient oruch and formed by the tireless hands of the khazad, it is second to none in ancient craftsmanship. Old tribal and clan symbols, nearly worn away, reveal themselves when blood and sweat pools in their minor crevices. Their unusual display brings to life, if only for moments, memories of warrior traditions past. It is for this reason the Arena serves as a diplomatic grounds for some cultures, as well as sport and competition.
Beneath the arena's stage are preparation rooms for competitors, and retiring areas for the wounded. Here, warriors are tended to by aids and medics, by coaches and priests. Tarianic laughter echoes from the chambers on the Angorite side. These unseen areas run alongside a cleverly, khazad-designed system to flood the arena's floor for certain performances. When flooded, the arena draws waters from the nearby Tornmawr. During these occasions anything is possible, as even the Nar-Sektoth have been known to visit from far off Am'shere, and display their powers beneath the gods' banners.
The encircling seats provide a grand view, while vendors often walk the aisle ways between, selling food or taking bets. Clear as blood is the single, red line drawn down the arena's center between the twin statues, daring an opponent to cross.
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-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Appearing, in Order -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Ashes 5'11" 177 Lb Hobgoblin Female A somber arvec in grey clothes with a skull face Thurid 7'1" 249 Lb Giantborn Female Bright-eyed, muscular, blond Giantborn woman. Kira 5'0" 120 Lb Human Female Blonde woman in simple robes with an eye patch. Pasithea 3'2" 38 Lb Halfling Female Tall female lucht, willowy, Hair dark as night Iuitl 5'2" 149 Lb Sith-Makar Female Short sith, mottled black scales, tired green eyes Morgan 4'10" 79 Lb Half-Elf Female Short pixy like half elf with fair skin Edinaz 6'10" 296 Lb Half-Orc Male Grey-skinned half-oruch, extensive black ink. Rumbo 3'2" 35 Lb Goblin Male A gun-toting gobber with a wooden peg-leg. Shalethiste 4'6" 96 Lb Shadow Elf Female A copper maned elf maiden, hued in the night sky. Merek 5'10" 215 Lb Human Male A black-haired, dusky male with golden eyes. -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Notable NPCS -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Griva Brassbringer Khazad Female Spokeswoman of the Resurrectionists, frumpy grey dwarf Akroinil Belvade Shadow Elf Female Charn Delegate, Priestess of Taara, friendly and fashionable -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--= -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- As the GM -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Whirlpool Otyugh I am stinky! -=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=
The sky is grey-black, without sun or gap in the cloud cover. It's hard for human eyes to see anything in the deep shadows round about, without a light. The wind is chilly.
A figure sits in the stands, stiff and upright. Her dark grey clothes flutter in the wind. She has a small penant on a stick, which she is holding with hands tucked into the front of her jacket. A small bucket is held between her ankles and she is watching the activity on the fields. She looks like any other fan, except for the skull markings on her face.
What sort of Angorite would miss a night of scrapping at the colliseum? No self respecting one, and not this Jotunblooded cleric, for certain. And so Thurid, too, is here. Though whether she intends to join the fighting, or simply spectate, or perhaps offer healing to the wounded is not clear. What is clear, however, is that she is more than pleased to be here, enjoying the pre-fight energy of the stone Arena.
Kira may have some mixed feelings about the competition, but that doesn't stop her from attending. People may need tending afterwards, even if the confrontations are to be respectful and regulated. Training and competition is good; doing it for spectators... she's not entirely sure of.
Sitting off in the seats is a dark-haired Lucht. Her eyes half open she leans apon her spear as if for support, even sitting down. Her attentions /are/ on what's happening or not happening on the field. Yet every now and again she seems to close her eyes and fall asleep until a loud sound or roar from the croud occurs.
Ash breaks off from her staring to look around the stands. A couple of the people nearby look like they should be competitors. The jotun at least. She recognizes Kira, starts to raise her hand, then becomes uncertain. She must have seen her, so there could be a reason she hasn't come by. Attracting her attention and getting an affirmative negative would be unpleasant. There is the possibility she didn't look her way however, in which case the solution is something that draws attention in an unfocused way.
Ashlee waves her pennant back and forth. Her voice is raised, remains monotone. "Good Fight!" There, that should be noticeable.
Though she might not be the intended one, Thurid's attention is drawn by that raised, yet monotone, cheer, and she glances up towards the Arvek in the stands a little ways off from her. She chuckles to herself at the dissonance between tone and words, but then turns her attention back to the sands of the Arena.
It's a lovely night on the Festrival Grounds and a great many notable Alexandrians have found themselves here in the stands, overlooking the incoming fights. Notable figures dot the crowd. Nobles, for example, for the Council of Lords, such as scions of the Alexandros of Telenil families. There was a time when they ruled more directly over the city, and still do with their presence on the governing council of the Republic.
Griva Brassbringer is here as well! She's in the crowds, sprawled with a few of her resurrectionist comrades, and looking thoroughly ready to be entertained.
Iuitl is seated in the stands, her Raven seated on her shoulder. She has a sleepy look to her features. She's seated fairly near Griva and her companions since it pays to be near people she's currently associated with. A hand idly scritches and pets at the bird on her shoulder, while the Raven croaks and warbles at her in approval.
Kira isn't ignoring anyone. Not intentionally. She is at the lowest level, nearer the combatants than the stands, and her attention is more upon those who will be engaging each other physically than the spectators above. No offense to the spectators; they're just less likely to get injured that the combatants.
Pasithea wakens with a start as the croud noise swells upwards. The yell from Ashlee makes her head turn and she spies the skull-faced one. There is a slow and sleepy blink and then a nod before turning back towards the sands.
Rumbo makes his way through with a dragonspitter held out in his hand and a wide smile that only a Gobber can manage; gleeful, maniacal joy! He eyes the grounds where the fighting takes place as he waddles along on his peg leg trying to find a place where he can stop and see the action from his lofty height of three feet two AND a half inches.
Morgan comes in slowly as she is behind two large humans that are taking there time. But when she has a chance she gets around them and she finds a seat.
Thing's seem to be heating up on the field and more people are filing into the stands. Ash paid for her whole seat, but she's only using the edge of it, perched forward so she has a better view.
Until Rumbo ends up directly in front of her, several benches down. The mourner waves her penant loudly, flicking it back and forth.
Thurid seems as though she's had enough of standing in the stands, and she makes her way over towards the the entrance to the area where fighers are preparing. It seems like the blond can't resist the urge to try and join in with the fighting, even if it means missing some of the action waiting for her turn on the sands themselves.
Two combatants emerge onto the festival grounds. One, a man wielding a wicked looking tapered scythe. The other, a woman with a simple battle axe and shield.
A voice, magically enhanced, calls from the center of the arena and it belongs to a Lucht who's doing announcing duties today.
"TONIGHT, WE BLESS OUR COMBATANTS IN THE NAME OF ANGORON, IN THE NAME OF KOR! May the strongest carry the day!"
The two combatants take their positions.
The crowd is sitting up, now, paying attention, as is Griva.
On the other side of the colosseum, a collection of hooded individuals have taken their seat. Hooded, except for Akroinil Belvade, a Shadow Elven woman sitting in plain sight.
Morgan sits as she looks "I wonder if a body limb will hit the stands." said mostly to her self. She reaches in her havesack and gets some apples she offers to the ones sitting near her.
Pasithea startles awake again as the magicly enhanced voice is heard calling out the next fight. She watches the two come out and face off as the blessings are called. Blue eyes take in the warriors and thier weapons and she frowns a tad. Her eyes manage to stay open however.
Rumbo lifts the little dragonspitter in his hand high over his head and waggles it about like a flag as he shouts repeatedly "Gunahkar! Gunahkar! Gunahkar!" That maniacal smile fixed on his gleeful face. <goblin-talk>
Thurid emerges again from the peperation area, looking disappointed- she'd left it too late, and they weren't accepting any new combatants. She doesn't let her disappointment foul her mood, though, and collects herself a drink from one of the vendors making the rounds of the stands, and finds a place to watch from where hopefully her tall frame isn't completely blocking anyone's view and settles for watching the combat instead of participating, this time.
The dark-haired lucht stands and leaves the stands.
Ashlee remains seated where she is, as social as she wants to be, with a clear empty zone around her. Her penant waving has slowed, to one flick every minute or so. Griva's arrival, as well as Akroinil's entourage get her attention, those are some crowds and she's glad she isn't a part of them.
GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20: (13): 13 (for Scythe) GAME: Thurid rolls 1d20: (7): 7 (for Axe)
First round does, indeed, go to the scythe wielder as the lucht gets out of the way. The exchange of blows is fast and furious but the scythe pierces through her breastplate and jabs into her shoulder. Not a fatal wound, but definitely a firt blood.
They back off with a curt bow to each other and one of the Angorites is out to stop the wounds bleeding so that the fight can continue.
They square off again.
Griva is sitting up in her seat. She hasn't noticed the presence of the Taaran Shadow Elf over there, or if she has she's not giving any heed to it.
Akorinil herself, on the other hand, is hard to miss compared to the somewhat frunpy, grey dwarven woman. Her scarlet hair is absolutely going to stick out in a crowd, and she's definitely geting some *stares*. Mostly hostile ones.
Iuitl sits quietly beside Griva and stares unendingly at the shadow elf.
Kira heads into the colosseum to assist with the healing.
Rumbo cries out in joy and stamps his wooden peg leg onto the floor as he watches the fight with glee.
Between swigs of her mug of beer, Thurid lets out bellowing cheers in support of her favored combatant- the one with the shield and axe, and she thumbs a fist on the back of the seat infront of her when the scythe wielder lands a blow, much to the chagrin of its occupant, whom she may also be spilling beer on in her riotous support. Her dissapointment that her supported fighter lost the first round does not last very long, she chugs her beer and waits in anticipation for the next.
Morgan wows as she watches that and says "wow good thing I dont fight with weapons."
Which diverts a few stares.
Edinaz is late getting to the party, as is his wont. He starts working his way down towards the front, so he can see what's going on.
GAME: Thurid rolls 1d20: (15): 15 GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20: (9): 9
Ash has not picked a favourite, although she is staring at the small lucht fighter. Her spirit is inspiring, and she is making comparisons to the other luchts she knows. They are not goblins. If she had to claim a side, it would probably be for the Grey Lady, the Feiu of the Tears. She picks up the bucket from between her feet, opens the top and starts slowly eating the popcorn.
Between handfuls she looks around, and ends up staring impassively at Akorinil, largely because the Mul'niessa is on a line from her.
The score is now one versus one.
The axe-wielding lady this time dodges beneath the scythe after deflecting it and knocking it wide with her shield. She sweeps in and cuts across the warrior's midsection for another point.
The crowd cheers, to be sure, and she's dropped back into a ready stance while again the cleric comes out to stop the bleeding. It's a minor use of maqgic and doesn't make the fighting any less dangerous. Either one of them could die, though it's clear they're performing more for show than lethality the contest of skill seems real enough.
Akorinel lets out a whistle, seeming to quite enjoy the fight, while Griva has finally had her presence pointed out to her. Her enthusiasm for the match has become considerably muted.
Edinaz gets as close to the front as he can, apparently eager enough to bear witness.
Witness
Morgan looks to the fight as she leans as she watches with some intrest.
Thurid lets outa holler at the turnaround performance of her chosen of the two combatants, lifting her mug into the air and stomping her foot in encouragement as she does so. She drains what remains in the mug and then grabs herself a replacement from the beleaguered goblin who is ferrying the refreshment cart around the stands.
Rumbo frowns and mutter to himself during the lull in the fighting, "Why is that wizard interfering with magic?" <goblin-talk>
WITNESS
Rumbo points with his dragonspitter down into the arena and shouts out as loud as his little frame can manage to boost his voice "Stop meddling with magic and let's get to the killing part!!" <yrch-speak>
"She's healing," Ashlee calls down the stands to answer Rumbo. A minute has passed, so she waves her penant again, once. "It's part of the fight."
Somehow she has ended up managing the goblins again. Oh, she's the only Arvek Nar in the near area, that might be it. The mourner can also tell something important is going on in the stands, but isn't able to pick out the details.
She tries to think of something inspirational to say, and again calls out in monotone, 'Death comes for us All.' Perfect. <goblin-talk> Edinaz scowls towrds Rumbo, then looks back towards the fighters. "Good work!" He's feeling cheery, at least.
GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20: (2): 2 (for Scythe) GAME: Thurid rolls 1d20: (17): 17 (for Axe)
Deeaaaaaath
Thurid glances up at the awkward Hobgoblin's call from a nearby stand, "Aye, but not today!" she yells back in response, drumming her feet on the stand below and chanting for the tiebreak along with much of the crowd nearby.
Akorinil's presence surely seems to bother some, but it's not as if Shadow Elves are completely unknown in the city. They're just not usually surrounded by Alexandrian guards, and their own guards as well.
...which she is.
She has a drink of wine from the goblet she's secured.
Griva lets out a sigh, mutering ot her associates. The two are definitely *not* looking directly at each other, but there's certainly a ... kind of communication going on here.
Meqanwhile, in the fight, the scythe wielder readies his weapon and goes on an aggressive attack, bearing down on the warrior woman with the axe. He keeps her on the defensive, wailing away aqth er and it definitely doesn't look good for her for a time, given how many steps back she's taking, and how many staggers she has in the process. But then there's another advance and then a flash of steel and bloodas she buries it in his side. Again, a wound that isn't ... *usually* lethal. It could be, barring magical healing.
The kind that's on hand to seal and clean wounds, it would appear, but he's going to need some serious stitching. That's gonna leave a scar.
He topples back from the axe-wielder and hits the gorund, clutching his side and writhing in pain.
Thurid continues shouting her cheers as the scythe wielder presses the woman back, offering her support for the beleaguered competitor. And when she strikes back- and decisively at that, she lets out a mighty bellow of approval followed by a deep belly laugh of satisfaction that her chosen competitor comes out ontop in the end. She finally goes to find a proper seat, instead of standing and hollering where she's a nuisance, and spends the rest of the evening enjoying the festivities and the drinks, oblivious to the political maneuvering going on in the more noble section of the stands.
Shalethiste emerges at the boundry of stands and field, hands clasped neatly before her to watch the festivities. Her interest is twofold, yet largely professional; to help tend any wounds, should other's gifts in that regard be expended, and, perhaps learn a new trick or two to either practice, or theorycraft a counter to in the event she encounters something akin in the field. As the axe-wielder collapses, the other Mul'iessan ginger moves out to tend to his injuries.
Edinaz watches intently. "Well played!" is his call, even as he watches the fallen fighter. After all, he notes, fists balled in his lap, that could be him.
Rumbo cheers loudly and fires the dragonspitter with a loud KABLAM! as it barks in his hand and errupts with sparks and smoke towards the open sky.
Ashlee does not cheer. She flicks her penant once. Her ears are large, so she would have a chance of overhearing nearby conversation. She is not trying to, and Griva and her group do not seem to be communicating in the usual way. Perhaps, much like the Mourner's can speak through stares, glares and indifferent shrugs, they have something appropriately themed for Animus. Absent minded moments, clumsiness, deep sighs. She can only speculate.
There is no change in her expression as the fighter falls. She seems equally happy and indifferent that some sort of combat was going on. The subsequent healings are of interest. If they had asked her, she would have happily stood by.
For lack of anything better to do, the mourner returns to staring at Akorinil. Then her ears hurt.
The sith'makar beside Griva whips her head to stare at Rumbo.
Immediately, there's screaming as Rumbo fires off a GUN in a CROWD. People are responding and ducking their heads and looking aorund in shock.
Needless to say, he's getting some serious stink eye, and one of the guards is making their way towards him. THERE IS GOING TO BE A LECTURE, SIR!
As the fallen fighter is tended to, and the axe-wielding woman celebrates her victory with a traditional roar that speaks to her Dran heritage, Griva and Akorinil are Not Having a Stare Down. Griva scratches her chin, shrugs her shoulders, and then nods.
Perhaps they're having a conversation thorugh means unseen?
Edinaz turns, spinning on the balls of his feet. He's got one sword out before he really thinks about whst's going on. Why the hell is the goblin shooting, and where is the shot going to land?
Rumbo frowns as one of the guards storms up and begins to lecture him. The dragonspitter is lowered to cradle gently in both hands as he protests feebly with his poor Tradespeak. "Don't point dragonspitter people so Rumbo just points up. Don't wave about loaded dragonspitter so Rumbo just put powder, not ball... Now say don't shoot at all?! People shout! People wave flag. Blank Dragonspitter just like tootling big horn! Celebration. Right?"
The little pixie shadow half-elf has seen enough and leaves.
Ash doesn't react to the gunshot at all. Rumbo has fired his weapon near her before, much closer. She also knows, that hearing the shot usually comes after feeling it, so the lack of sudden, unexpected pain means she wasn't hit. Worrying about where the bullet went also tends to take care of itself; whomever is hit will make a noise, and whatever is hit will fall over. Those tend to be fairly apparent also.
And it apparently wasn't even loaded! The mourner decides she doesn't even need to stand. She watches Rumbo and the guard discuss the situation, and both have good arguments. Oh well, Ash returns to not noticing the not-staring contest and watches the field for new combattents.
Shalethiste hears the shot and actually ends up throwing herself on the fellow to try and protect him, on the chance that he's the target. Her chain makes an spine-tingling sound as it scrapes over his, and the little Mul shudders before she draws up from him with a concerned, "Are you alright?" before scanning the high ground to see if she can figure out where that came from. She gets a foot under her, hand settling at the hilt of her long blade and suddenly she notices the knot of guards... and the Mul'iessan within it.
Edinaz sheaths his sword, shaking his head further. Then, he leans on the railing ant watches Griva and the ambassador look at each other.
The guard is relieved, of course, to find out that the gun was unloaded. It's not the first time something like this has happened.
"Next time, let one of us know you intend to celebrate with a bang, oi? It's not the celebration that' the problem, it's the scaqring people. WE don't need a stampede. You good with that?" he says to the goblin. "SOmetimes, the wizards get a little too racuous or whatever. Seen one send a fireball into the air in Rune, back in the day." He grins at him.
Meanwhile, Akorinil and Griva both seemed ... immune to the explosion. Interestingly enough. Something is definitely happening thetre at this point.
Rumbo nods his head a few times as he sheathes the dragonspitter in the holster at his side. "In Blod wizards zap all time for fun. Big booms. Sacrifice chicken or ... you know.. for luck in stands. Good times. Here fight celebrations are subdued."
Awarenes finally dawns in the ashen Arvec's minde. There is something going on between those two women! Griva and Akorinil. Yes! She recognizes it. There was something in her pamphlet, and 'Bina has been carefully instructing her in ways to appear normal, as well as giving some general advice.
Advice that would be excellent to pass along.
The mourner stands, and walks up the stands until she's directly in front of Griva and blocking visibility. She steps to the side, so that Akorinil can see her again, and this way she can stare at one, then the other with her expressionless Skull-Face. Her advice is offered.
Loudly, and in monotone of course, so the other might overhear. Exactly what 'Bina said, "If you like her, have the confidence to tell her so and ask her out. It's the only way to advance your relationship."
"We get people who think like you do every now and again -- it's fine -- but you have to respect that there are one too many people who've been on the other end of a dragonspitter. The noise ain't good for their nerves, or mine for that matter, especially if you're not expecting it. So just respect your neighbors and you'll be fine. I woiuldn't say they're *subdued*, but they're less likely to result in death, so I guess maybe more subdued."
He snorts at Rumbo.
Then Ashes breaks Akorinil's concentration. She looks at her. She blinks her eyes, once, owlishly, and then bursts out laughing. Laughing, then clapping.
"I approve, my young friend! Have a seat and a drink on me."
Shalethiste can't hear the conversation between the two dignitaries, nor the advice from the Mourner. The sudden applause from her 'countryman', while she isn't sure of the impetus, is only more concerning for the lack.
She rises, then, and sets her feet to help the fallen fighter to his feet, offering her hand, though her attention yet lingers on that spot up in the stands.
Edinaz continues to watch, arms folding across his chest. He can't necessarily hear it all, so he's mostly watching body language.
"Ok." Ashlee has an invitation. She drifts over to the offered seat beside Akorinil and takes it. The mourner comes with her own chill that is more than cold, reinforced by her skeleton tattoo and her skeletal face. The sugar-skull is decorated with a small blue butterfly on one cheek. Her posture is straight as she settles in, and puts the bucket of popcorn in her lap. She tilts it, so the popcorn in can be shared, and holds her hand out for a glass. She has no plans for dancing later, so she requests, "Just one."
Rumbo turns his attention to the fighters and, now with the dragonspitter holstered at his side and not out in his hand, seems like he has become a subdued spectator himself.
"I like your aesthetic. You'd be quite popular in Charn," says Akorinil to AShlee, warmly, offering her a goblet of wine when it's poured by one of her attendants.
As this occurs, Griva turns and mutters to her companions, shaking her head violently at something they say.
There's a murmur from the crowd as the next pair of fighters bein to queue up. This time, it's duoos. A pair of dwarves with unmistakable family resemblance, brothers more than likely, eemerge from one side. On the other, a pair of lucht.
The small versus the smaller, one would guess.
Shalethiste, her obligation discharged for the moment, makes her way out of the immediate area of engagement, resuming her place as the new fighters take the field. Hands clasped anew, she glances back out into the stands to see what's going on up there.
Edinaz turns, leaning on the railing, watching the set-up intently. He claps for both groups. That act is the thing.
"Butterflies are nice." Ashlee agrees, taking the goblet and then a sip from it. She rests it on her thigh, steading her popcorn which she eats with her other hand. A few kernels at a time, and a lot of chewing, her gaze fixed on the two fighters who emerge. She can see the family resembelence, but doesn't know a lot about dwarves. Still, too sibilings could have any reason to fight.
Again, her skull marking obscures her expressions and her mannerisims are quiet and slight. It's not quite like having a ghost companion, but she's a good approximation. She's hung around a lot of dead people and adopted their body language. At least she doesn't smell.
Another sip of wine, a little more popcorn. She observes.
Rumbo shouts out cheerfully as he watches the fighter's eye each other before the fighting begins. "Teach 'em little fellows who the boss is!" His hand drops down to the holster but, after his fingers brush over the handle, comes back up empty and waves in the air. <khazdul>
Merek walks along and into the Colosseum, watching the people about while he finds a place to settle in, scarf adjusted along the features while he wears the dark attire. He finds a place not far away from Ashlee and everyone else that's watching.
GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20: (8): 8 (for dorfs) GAME: Merek rolls 1d20: (7): 7 (for luchts)
"Thul's presence is always felt in Charn. You know, once every three years, the day of memory comes and --"
Akorinil cuts herself off, shrugging, "Ah, you probably don't need to hear about that." She glances towards Griva, who is staring in her directrion again. No hostility. Curiousity. Thought. *Something* is clearly going on still, but it remains unclear what.
Meanwhile, the Khazad edge out the Lucht in the first round of their fight. It's bare thing. The Lucht, using a combination of bola and spears, *nearly* pull it off, but dwarven stability keeps them from falling prey to it and allows one of them to strike the firrst blow, batting one of the lucht to the ground with a heavy club from their maul. The blow is pulled. The fight is fancy and the crowd has some blood thirst to it, as one would expect for gladitorial combat, but it isn't intended to be the death.
The Altheans sighs, moving in to check the wounded.
The grey-skinned half-oruch heads down to congratulate the winners.
Shalethiste, despite her curiosities, isn't overlong in her attentions kept from the fighters. As they break, she, too, moves in to assist the Althean with her own meager gifts, as she will for the duraation of the festivities....
Ashlee raises her hand and waves at Merek. She's sitting beside Akorinil, so he has positioned himself near her and her delegation where he can hear their conversation.
Which is short. The Mourner is listening as Thul is brought up, as well as the Day of Memory, only for it to be left incomplete. Her lips tighten as she thinks back to her comparative religion class. It was unique, and perhaps imaginary, and not terribly enlightening regarding the pantheons.
"I didn't." Is an appropriate response. Ash is less certain about being told she doesn't need to know. That prompts an answer of "Oh."
She waves her pennant, watching the two dwarves overcome the two luchts. That seems interesting enough. She's familiar with some of the tactics, and while there's a calling to her militaristic side, it's not that big of a side.
Griva's gaze is definitely intense, the mourner remains unsure what to think. Perhaps this is some strange jealousy inducing effort, where she is being used as a pawn with Griva secretly wishing to be seated in Ash's place. She exhales slowly, sips from the goblet. No one explains these things to her. The living are so hard.
Merek looks at who is beside the mourner, is that the delegate from Charn. It is. She is in the crowd. There is a frumpy, grey looking dwarven woman who seems significant. It comes back to the Seer, she's the spokeswoman for the Resurrectionists. She's not with the delegate; they are nowhere near each other but are clearly engaged in ... something? Meaningful glances. Without actually interacting.
None of it appears hostile. That's saved for the colosseum field.
The seer's debates, how far is his ex-girlfriend from the would-be ground zero. He considers a moment. There are a lot of civilians in the stands too.
Merek looks along and to Akorinil, while he then would look to Griva, while he begins to lift a brow in thought. He doesn't comment, while he nods to the nice fighting. And offers a light wave to Ashlee.
GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20: (9): 9 (for dorfs) GAME: Merek rolls 1d20: (16): 16 (for luchts)
This time, it's the halflings who turn the tables on the Khazadi. With impressive acrobnatics, the nets they've drawn this time around entawngle both dwarves as they pull them apart, preventing them from relying on each other's stability in the face of their treachery!
On the ground, they are, with the spears at their chests. They have to give up, quickly. Quite the decisive win for the Lucht this go around, but it's unlikely it'd work again.
Akorinil turns her head towards Ashes again with a warm smile. "It's a celebration day in Charn, that's all. Unimportant unless you ever get to visit during it, but it's when we remember our fallen, and honor those who came before us. It used to be a little different before the arrival of the Chosen -- you know, 'Barntos'." The namqe is hard to forget for an Alexandrian, or even an ARvek. He's the patron of the Garnak clan of vampires, and Thul's chosen whoi resides in Charn... and a vampire. And who sacked the temple of Vardama in Alexandria.
Indirectly, he helped build Blar itself.
Griva lets out a breath, her eyes going towards Merek.
"Oh," she says, "It's you! You were at one of the meetings, weren't you?"
The fighting is observed, and the ashen Arvec shows no reaction when the two dwarves are defeated. The weapons and the tactics are interesting, but generally she doesn't fight.
Akorinil's information is received with a nod. Merek taught her well. She nods again because some of that information needs some extra processing. The sacking of the Temple of Vardama was definitely bad, as was Barntos' escape. Killing off their vampire overlords, freeing themselves from the hierarchy of evil, becoming the Sunrise Children, that was a good thing.
Ash would feel obliged to kill Barntos if she met him. This might require a small army. Hopefully with a lot of cavalry. Horses are nice. Probably would upset Thul; Vardama would be on board though.
Still, she needs some sort of response. The Mul'niessa is smiling at her, being friendly, asked her over even. It calls for somethign diplomatic, which is just as futile as saying Ashlee should break out into a song featuring small singing forest creatures. So, monotone it is, "I see. Remembering Barntos then. I imagine a large celebration."
Merek looks from the Charn diplomat and Ashlee along to Griva, "Ah, we have, we met with a few of the meetings that you were doing and all," he notes, "Nice to see ya!"
GAME: Merek rolls 1d20: (11): 11 GAME: Ashes rolls 1d20: (18): 18
...and this time its the Khazad!
The odds were never in the Luchts favor, as acrobatic as they are. The khazadi were experienced warriors, and in the end, that counted for it. When the acrobats again go for their tricks, the Khazadi are ready and simply, well...
...hammer them down.
Not too long after that, the cleric is back in the mix and the mostlyy undone Lucht are dragged off the field to a cheering crowd.
A salute later qand the Khazadi are walking back the way they came.
Meanwhile, Akorinil laughs at Ashlee's words. "No, no one can forget him. Trust me, he won't let us. No, just the character changed. More ... focused in a particular view of Thul, which I suppose is what he wants."
She shrugs her shoulders.
Griva is nodding towardws Merek, however, giving the Charnese diplomat a look herself.
"I see you've met the city's other big guest, from the way you're glancing at her. Tell me, have you learned anything new? Not about her, of course."
Rumbo draws his dragonspitter from his holster with a gleeful whoop as the dwarves win the battle but, after a moment frozen in mid-pose where the gobber stares at a guard in uniform, he holsters the weapon and slowly forces himself to clap as he grumbles to himself in goblin-talk.
"Yaaay." The mourner waves her penant, with a monotone cheer. The dwarves won.
Ashlee stares at Akorinil as she explains the Day in some more detail. After this she follows will a very long sip from the goblet where she drains it down. Empty now, she places the goblet on the seat between them then pats the Mul'niessa's thigh. "Thank you. That was interesting and the wine was excellent."
She stands, "I have to go for prayers." She turns and drifts off, silently and without farewell. Those are typical social niceties that don't always occur to her.
Especially when she's starting to suspect that Griva and Akorinil aren't romantically involved, but are perhaps entwined in some more sinister way. Occupied by these thoughts, and a name she hasn't heard in a while, the ashen Arvec goes on her way.
Merek would nod a little bit to the Griva while he thinks about it, then waves along with Ashlee while he smiles.
At some point the seer might fill Griva in on whatever is on his mind. If he feels she deserves to know what that is.
Rumbo manages to catch sight of, as he reckons, his friend Ashlee just as she begins to leave and offers her a broad smile and parting wave. He too then begins to make his way out of The Colosseum. His hand rests firmly on the grip of his dragonspitter as he moves even if he doesn't quite pull it free.
The mourner didn't think to say hello to her friend, so it would never cross her mind to wave farewell to Rumbo, or even glance his direction. He seemed to be doing okay, meeting the city guards. Ashlee has a few things to think about herself: the glances her ex was throwing in her direction, and the overt overfriendliness of the Charnese Delegation.
And the connection with the Resurrectionists? There was something going on.
Clearly, something more than the fights on the fields, but clearly what is beyond the mourner.
=Dramatis Personae
Pasithea
This willowy young Lucht is tall for both her race and gender, standing just over three feet in height. Her slender form gives the illusion of more hieght then she actually possesses, especially when leaning apon her spear that she often carries and uses as a walking stick as well as weapon.
Her tresses are long and loose, flowing to the top of her legs and are the color of deepest night, shining a dark blue in bright light.
Her eyes are perpetually at half mast, as if tired or nearly asleep. When they open wide enough her blue eyes are more clearly seen.
Her outfit is of soft wool that is wrapped about her upper body tightly and looped over her arms yet leaving her lower legs bare to the world and showing off the 'clydesdale style' dakr hair apon them and covering most of her bare feet. When her arms are also bare they are seen to be covered in henna markings as well as the palms of her hands. Twisting and pretty flowers and vines adorn her skin. When she walks and the soles of her feet are visible one may note blue tattoos emblazoned apon her skin there.