Why a Gladiatrix Must Fall

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=<* A03: Steel von IronBrew's *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

The tavern butts up against the Arena walls--at every score, every victory, its walls shake with the often thund'rous responses of the crowd. The tavern here is large and domed, though the windows are by wisdom, bricked in, and tables nailed to the floor. Or welded. The furniture is thick and heavy. The food, though, changes every week or so to something odd, unusual, or fickle, and the small stage here is the most oft-used outside of the theatre district.

This as much as anything is the tavern's calling-card, as well as the stories told that by tradition, only become grander with the retelling. An aged half-sildanyari, her shoulders scarred as much as her face, oversees the bar and it's said she's never cracked a smile in thirty years. Her partner, a smallish gnome in Tarien's brilliant hues (and often soaked by ale-spots), appears to do most of it for her. The bar itself is carved in the shape of some serpent that Tarien is said to have tricked ages past, and stolen the secret of flight from before gifting it to the birds. It lies there, its expression surprised as though not have expecting anyone to have been half so clever.

The beer and ale are modestly priced, though what's available changes with the menu and what merchants might bring in from various parts of the world. A drink known as the "Fire Bird's Brew," a dedication to Angoron's declared love for Ceinara, is always available, however, and is the one constant. The cuisine is, as always, unique and changing, a part of the greater world.

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Celeste         A muscular half-oruch woman who looks like she's just 0s   1h
Malik           A sandy-haired tsuran with blue eyes.                 19s  4h
Seldan          Red-blonde Eldanar man wearing Eluna's colors and sym 1m   1h

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It's late evening in Steel von Ironbrew's, and the tavern is practically throbbing with rowdy merrimaking. Afterall, it's the start of a fresh season tomorrow in the adjoining Arena, and a large number of hopeful gladiators are here having fun and, for many of them, getting drunk on drinks bought for them by fans of the sport who are just that excited to see them all fight, starting tomorrow. One might say most of the participants are here, but not all; for those in the know about the lineup, a few are missing, including one Half-Orc who was formerly a Charnese gladiatrix.

One gladiator who is present, however, and towers above everyone else is the giantborn warrior, Vargr. The man sits at a table more or less to himself; and he seems content enough to buy his own drinks, and observe what is going on around him with a stoney expression, the look marred by just a slight, mildly disapproving smirk.

The average patron doesn't notice Vargr, or his expression; those few that do just sort of... instinctively give him a wider berth.

Seldan is both out of place and not, walking through the doors and looking around for a seat. Ginger-blonde hair is limp and lank, falling around his face and into his eyes untamed. He is dressed down, his clothing warm against the night but neither fancy nor particularly neat, a plain shirt, trousers, and boots, a steel chain visible inside the shirt. Some of the Angorites around may well know his face, though.

He pauses, eyes falling over Vargr, and then away as the table is clearly occupied. Not many places to be had, but eventually, he'll find one and make his way over to the bar.

Malik follows in right behind Seldan, rubbing at his shoulder a bit. "I've never seen a piece of wood so heavy in my life," he laughs. "Part of me thinks that someone changed the core to iron."

Glancing over to Seldan, he asks, "Is it always like this before a fight?" A quick survey of the drunken fighters, and their adoring, drunken fans. "I think I may be in the wrong line of work." Though his eyes fall on Vargr as well, giving the giant an easy nod. A disapproving smirk is something that he can respect.

The bar is a pretty busy as well, but it's a place to get drinks; right now it's pretty much THE place to get drinks. There's a trio of women with plunging bodices running around distributing ale and food, or at least doing their best, but keeping up with this crowd is absolutely impossible. There are two bartenders, both dwarves and both (probably) male, busy doing their level best to keep up, and mostly succeeding.

Vargr, it seems, is getting tired of waiting. His eyebrow raised when Seldan and Malik walked past; and now it seems, he's decided to join them at the bar -- leaving his table vacant. It's quickly filled of course, though not as quickly as one might've thought.

"Ale," demands the giant, as he takes a spot at the bar -- partly by just sort of moving in and taking space, regardless of who else was standing in it.

"I would not wager against an Angorite doing so," Seldan answers back to Malik as he approaches the bar, laughing, although the rub of the shoulder does get a frown. "A good workout, I think. Did you slip?" The giant, though, is right behind him, and crowds up next to him. He frowns at the peremptory behavior, but the giant was here first, so he does not yet object.

Malik shakes his head. "Think I might be overdoing it a bit," he laughs. "Between practicing with the sword and lifting whatever the abyss they have lying around there, it might be time for a day or two of rest." He seems content to wait patiently for orders to be taken -- though as the giant approaches, Malik's attention turns decidedly -there-, looking up at the large man as he presses into the crowd, the barest hint of a smile there as he glances back over to Seldan, raising an eyebrow.

Vargr receives his ale soon enough; he doesn't get jumped up in the line, no matter how intimidating he seems to be trying to be -- one does not intimidate the bartenders at Steel von Iron Brew's, apparently -- and once he has it, he seems content to remain in place and down half the mug in a couple of gulps. "Another!" he declares. Is he just getting himself lined up for a serious bender? Maybe?

"Any sign of the coward?" he inquires of the bartenders, or anyone else who might be nearby. One of the bartenders just rolls his eyes, and requests (possibly for the umpteenth time) that the giantborn warrior please stop referring to regular patrons in that manner.

"HAH!" Vargr slaps his leg and barks a laugh. "If the wench's outfit fits, she should wear it. You two," he declares, turning his gaze on Malik and Seldan, "Do you know a half-orc who calls herself Celeste? I would have thought she'd be here."

Seldan shrugs in response to the giantborn's demand, looking up steadily at the man. "Such a one is not known to me." A distinct Myrrish accent laces the words. He looks over at Malik, eyebrows raised as if to say, _what about you? Any idea?_

A pair of ales are slid in their general direction while he is looking away, and he absently places a few coins on the bar to pay for them, then picks them both up and hands one to Malik.

Malik lets Seldan do the ordering. He's still scanning for a spot to sit that won't end in bodily injury before the night is over. Though when the giant starts asking his questions, he says, "I'm afraid that the coward and his strange harem flew off in his impossibly large airship. Probably to some other plane, if I had to take a guess. Though if the pattern holds true, he should be back in a few thousand years. Give or take."

Glancing over to Seldan, though, he asks, "-Do- we know a Celeste?" Clearly the name isn't ringing a bell for him, though as the paladin confirms his suspicions, he simply offers a shrug to the giant. "Sorry." <OOC> Celeste gives Boshter a moment? And the door to Ironbrews open sonce more!

It's not Celesate, though. Instead, it's a very tall Arvek Nar who is ineed as orange as a tangerine. He makes his way inside with a cheerful smile, having a seat at the bar immediately, more or less. "Hello," he booms at the bartender, loudly.

Way too loudly.

Vargr looks up at the sound of the door opening; it being nobody he knows, he shrugs and returns his attention to the two people beside him. "Well, then. A suggestion for you both; if there comes to be a fight between Vargr," he thumps himself on the chest hard enough that some of the mugs on the bar shudder, "And a coward of a half-orc named Celeste, bet your money wisely and heavily on Vargr, and you will win and make a lot of money, after I live her laying broken in the sand -- never to fight again, if I have my way." He humphs! triumphantly. "She is lucky we are not still fighting in Charn, or I'd take her head."

As for the Arvek Nar, the bartenders don't spare him so much as a glance, no matter how loudly he greets them; they're swamped. After a couple of minutes, though, an ale appears on the table in front of him, as if by magic. Magic! It's got a full head that foams invitingly over the side. Only the best at Iron Brew's, naturally.

The claim, and the statement, draws a frown from Seldan, and his bearing changes to one that is impassive and reserved. "What is your grudge, Vargr, that you would leave an opponent maimed and do so with glee?" His tone is carefully level, and cool, and he does not drink from his ale, but sets it aside on the bar top. Malik raises an eyebrow as Vargr goes into such creative imagery about the fight, and this person that they don't actually know, looking a bit surprised, but otherwise just casually sipping from his own ale. The paladin seems to have question time under control, and is the smoother talker anyway.

Boshter, of course, simply orders himself a stiff drink and then squints at Vargr. His head tilts to the side, of course, and he seems a little alarmed. "You'd take her /head/?" he queries. "That seems sort of, I don't know, mean!" He gives him a wide-eyed look.

Of course, it'd be hard to miss the way he moves, with the sort of ease and deliberate grace of someone totally at ease with themselves, and more importantly, /trained/.

The giantborn man rolls his shoulders, and drains the rest of his ale, just in time for the second one to arrive. "I would," he confirms, looking down at Boshter. "And she'd deserve it, believe me. Besides, we were both gladiators in Charn, how do you think fights there ended? Not always death, certainly, but it wasn't assiduously avoided like it is here. The crowds came expecting to see a few gladiators perish and there was glory in that."

Vargr leans against the bar, and takes a long gulp from his second ale. "What did she do? Phah!" he snorts, "It was what she didn't do. She didn't face me, as she was meant to. She ran. She *ran*, when it was meant to be our fight. I had to crush someone else, when it should have been her in front of me. So, she built herself up to a name, and then fled before her most important fight -- our most important fight? Coward, I say. No honor."

"And you expected her here, tonight, in this place?" Seldan's question is delivered again in that cool, level tone. He looks over at the Arvek Nar as the other man speaks, offering a nod of acknowledgement both to his presence, and to what he says. Though he is easily shorter and slighter than most if not all of the fighters here, he, too, holds himself with that controlled grace that suggests an experienced and trained fighter. The Arvek hasn't escaped Malik's attention. He looks over to the orange man, especially as he chimes in, leaning over to whisper to Seldan, "I don't think I've ever seen one in robes before." As if it were the most curious thing in the world. Though the giant is the most immediately pressing concern. "There are plenty of fighters here," he suggests. "Wouldn't it be more glorious to fight against one of them? If this other fighter has dishonored herself, and is fleeing, it doesn't seem like it would bring you much glory to crush her. A waste of your time, really."

"So you.. want to fight someone who does not want to fight you and possibly even kill them, when they don't want to fight you?" Boshter asks, tilting his head. "You are not in Charn, you silly giant." He jabs a finger in his direction. "Why are you bringing the Charn out of Charn? That seems rather backwards." He takes a drink from his mug, offering warmly, "You should drink instead. Also, go find a vampire to punch. Or perhaps an ogre."

Vargr scowls darkly. He snorts, and doesn't so much put his ale down, as slams it down hard, causing half the contents to slosh over the side. One of the dwarven bartenders gives a baleful glare, but the giantborn doesn't notice. "Oh, she wants to fight me, that was confirmed last time I saw her. I don't give a damn about her honor or her reasons. Our fight was to be a championship match; always to the death. Always. And I would have killed her, but I would have respected her for fighting me. But she *RAN*."

He picks up his ale, and downs the contents in one gulp. "So naturally, they found a different opponent for me. The fight had to happen. When I won I was given my freedom and enough prize money to buy any slave I'd wanted. Many, had I been so inclined. I was interested in only one; the woman I loved, who they chose for me to fight in Celeste's place. So yes -- I want to kill her. Very, very much. Slowly. In front of an audience, so everyone can see her fall."

Seldan's frown does not vanish as he listens, although he does snort at Malik's remark. "Hardly the strangest thing I have seen today," he remarks, but his attention returns to the giant quickly enough. "And killing her would bring back the woman you loved?"

Malik, who has been listening attentively, finishes off his ale, watching the Arvek make his various observations as the giant tells his tale. Leaning over the bar a bit, ostensibly to set his glass closer to one of the staff, brings him coincidentally close to the paladin's ear. "There's love involved, and revenge," he muses. "There'll be no talking him down from this cliff, I think. Reason has fled the city." Standing back up straight, he claps the paladin on the shoulder, then gives the giant and the Arvek a pleasant nod. "If you'll excuse me for a moment," he tells the trio, "I believe the ale has gone right through me, and I need to go relieve some pressure. Try not to have too much fun without me." And with that, he heads off to find the nearest spot to do just that.

"...ah, well. That certainly explains a thing or two," says Boshter with a nod. "But was it not those who chose her to blame for the loss? They wanted drama. They got it. And they set you on a course you now walk. You may have bought your freedom but you are no less a prisoner, of your loss and your hatred."

He has sa drink from his mug.

"Vardama teaches me no less."

Vargr watches Malik walk of, and then snorts aggressively at Boshter. "I am not interested in the teachings of paltry gods," he sneers. "The blame does not rest solely on Celeste's shoulders, I will grant you, and I have already held several people responsible. Their bones have been strewn in the alleys of Charn, picked clean of flesh, for some time now I'm sure. Only Celeste remains, and she is the *most* guilty. All those others simply did what was expected that they would do. Celeste is the one who RAN."

The giantborn snaps his head to face Seldan, and he quirks an eyebrow. "It would not," he replies, curtly. "But it will allow her to rest. Once the coward's bones lay in the dirt, picked over by crows, then the woman I loved can rest. And that will be enough."

"Then I know where my coin is best spent." Seldan picks up his mug from the counter, taking a swig of it. "I know not your quarry, and I know not if you will find her here." He looks over at Boshter, inclining his head, as if something is explained to him. "I understand your quest, but there are those more deserving of destruction, whose deaths will serve more than vengeance."

"He speaks truly. If you seek to serve death, well, there is a lovely Vardaman temple up that way. I can point you in the direction of many more deserving quarries, as can the Guild of Explorers. Mn." Boshter drinks his mug. He's definitely sober, and as slowly as he's drinking, he will be for some time.

Vargr smiles. It's not a particularly pleasant smile; but one gets the impression that his craggy face and braided beard are really not capable of much else.

"One thing at a time," he replies, plainly. "One thing at a time. Celeste first, and then we shall see." He rolls his shoulders, before he pushes off from the bar, and makes his way directly to the door, pushing through it and out into the nighttime air.