The Playground: Whispers of Taelarys IC

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, Minutes before the Main Event
Anselme aside with Claye

Anselme chuckled nervously, blushing visibly and uncharacteristically. He covered his eye patch with the palm of his hand as he did when he was feeling self-conscious... which was seldom. At least, he wasn't inclined to let people know when he was. It may have been hard to believe the man has a consciousness or a conscience. Men with eye patches tended to enjoy a modicum of respect (or fear) but came with an air of nefariousness; people thought ill of you or your intentions. Anselme was many things, sly, too smart for his own good, batty and he possession of a uniquely dark sense of humor. But, no one could say his smiles and flush cheeks weren't genuine. Beneath the debonair facade, the fine clothes and intimidating eye patch, there was a real person. It was quite a lot to take in over a moment, but his one downcast eye said so much.

"Well, I just thought you might enjoy a break from that charmingly vigilant Rhetizian. You speak his language quite well, by the way. Oh, I overheard in the shop. No worries, I'm hardly fluent. I just though I'd inquire as to where you learned. And if you say Rhetiz and leave it at that, well... I'll just be disappointed, I suppose."

Though, he certainly recovered form quite quickly.

[Swordslinger]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Main event
The Lord's Arena
Amandre


At the beginning he had tried to listen in to the discussion between the nearby guests at the arena. However he quickly found that it was impossible to follow what they were speaking about. Their talk about various diplomatic and political matters might as well have been another language for him. Nothing he could understand was particularly useful. He did however hear one of the mechanics speak about the machinery that was humming away in the background, which he found interesting. What marvelous inventions they were, keeping the room much cooler then it would normally be which he was thankful for. Soon all the talk in the room blended with the hum of the cooling machinery and it all became background noise. He spent his time trying to keep track of the locations of his master and the son, annoyingly they did not seem to keep together much after entering the arena. Right now they were both seated at the other end of the room, watching out into the arena. He heard the cheers of the crowds as the main event started, some traitor was to be executed for participating on some cult thing, and he did not really know all that much about it. His master had not volunteered information about it and he had not asked, he was told what the needed to know to do his job and that was enough for now. He looked around, there were few people left at this part of the room now, and from where he was standing he could not see into the arena, it suited him fine. He saw death and murder often enough, usually dealt from his own hand. Yes, he saw too much of that. So he stood at watched as the crowds cheered.

[ForzaFiori]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:24 p.m.
Xavier de Forza, Claye, Mikado

"Ah, Mr. Mikado! I wasn't expecting to see you here. I'm amazed at how quickly you managed to get an invitation to the Diamond Club. Someday you must teach me the trick." Xavier says with a smile. How is the your search for a house going? He asks, before realizing that Claye hasn't been introduced. "Oh, please, excuse my manners. May I present Claye Kilnmyr, Mechanist 1st Class, and my partner in creating this." he gestures behind him to the generator and mass of pipes. "It's a prototype 'Air Conditioner'. My own name, could probably use some work. It's how Jameson has managed to put so many people here without the ladies sweating through their makeup. With any luck, we should have them marketable soon."

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Main event
The Lord's Arena
Xavier de Forza

Xavier found himself at the balcony as the match started. He had been slowing moving his way over, wanting a better seat, and was extremely glad to have it when Davis came out. The difference was amazing, and Xavier found himself getting more and more excited for the fight. As the first few fights, always boring, were taking place, Xavier found Claye. Can you handle everything for a second? I'm gonna go place a bet." He asks, heading off towards the bookies, and bets 10 marks that Davis gets through the 12th fight.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The main event
The Lord's Arena

A third round, a fourth, a fifth without slowing. Davis seemed to have no trouble and the crowd was enjoying it. The sixth, seventh and eighth. Each stronger than the last.

In the crowds some crowed his success enjoying the blood or with bets on a higher round. Others vented their frustration losing money they thought sure. Jameson manages to stay calm for he knows that starting round 10 the odds will quickly swing out of Davis's favor as he begins to fight teams of trained warriors.

On the field though, the gladiators who walked out could feel a wrongness as this tempest of steel rushed towards them. His eyes were mad, his mouth curled into a smile so horrid that one of the men had even wet himself.

Each one to the man, as their life slips from them with davis' steel and mad eyes gouging in, they seem the things swirling about and hear their chattering. The audience cannot tell that the men's screams of pain turn to screams of fear.

Davis chortles as the latest kill slumps to the ground and brings the blade to his face, licking a line of blood off of it.

Sooooonnnnn . . . you shall be free . . . .

Soooooonnnn . . . . the trap . . . dooor . . . .

Soooon our power . . . yours . . . .

The trap door . . . .

He smiles and for a brief moment considers that if he does flee he will miss all this fun, but his thoughts are interrupted as new gladiators walk out onto the stadium floor.

[daelrog]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Bleeding Wasp (Tavern and Whorehouse)
Grey District
2:27PM
Sevran Morn

The lights were lit dim in the dingy, sour-smelling pisshole called the Bleeding Wasp. One of a few dozen establishments within the Grey District known for its ill reputation, the afternoon proved to be a slow day. Many had gone to the surrounding area outside the arena to be the first to hear of some traitorous noble’s death, while some of the other repeat customers had recently found some work, now that murmurs and rumors were spread of potentially new players in the power struggle were coming out.

Still, the whores were lined up on the side, at least those who had the day shift. None of them would have been soft on the eyes under the revealing light of day, but in this place of shadow and dust, one could pretend their silhouettes surrounded a beautiful creature within. A rail thin barkeep sweated, leaning against the mirrored wall to filthy to see any reflection from. A couple, both scavengers, covered from head to toe to fingertip in rags sorted through their findings from the morning’s sweep of the gutters.

Then there was another patron, sitting at the far end of the bar. He appeared to be motionless, save for two fingers gently tapping on the wooden counter. Covered from crown to buttocks in a grey cloak, and covers below in black trousers, the stranger kept his face hidden. However, one who looked closely enough could see black line at the edge of his left cheek, a tattoo, or maybe a soot mark. The man motioned, and the barkeep lazily poured another drink, and left it just within reach of the man’s arms. As the man reached over, the hood of his cloak fell off halfway, but the shadows still covered his features to all but the two scavengers who were used to seeing the dark. Whatever they saw, the stranger’s visage caused them to hurriedly gather their belongings and leave the Bleeding Wasp.

The man started drinking his amber nectar.

[Andural]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The main event
The Lords Arena
Turin

Turin arrived as he had planned, just a bit late by usual standards. He had been briefed on his way in by an associate, so while he hadn't been there himself, he knew exactly who was present. Passing by the guards at the door, he takes in the room.

Quite an august gathering, this party. I wonder what they all want..., he thinks to himself.

Up ahead he sees his host. Apologizing to those he passes by, and nodding to those he knows publicly, he makes his way over to Jameson.

My dear Jameson. I see your event is progressing quite nicely! I trust your purse is feeling heavy as well. But, you look distraught, or am I wrong? I must say that I myself feel like something isn't quite right... At the risk of insulting you, I must ask: are you confident in the safety here?

[the_druid_droid]

7th of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Grand Inquisitor’s Office
Tarin and Maxis

While the junior Inquisitor spoke, Tarin wore a thoughtful expression, and his eyes seemed to gaze past Maxis at something else. When the account of the Cult was finished, Tarin nodded slightly before speaking.

“You make a good point, Maxis; I too had wondered if the proliferation of cultists might speak to something deeper at work. As you know, it’s been a very long time since we’ve dealt with genuine heretics, and even longer since those heretics had the power to back up their schemes. If this group does, they merit our closest attentions.” As he spoke, the Grand Inquisitor scribbled a few lines on one of the papers at his desk. “I will bring up the issue at the Council meeting; in the best case, they may provide us with additional resources to combat any perceived menace. However, it is quite possible that they will request we continue to maintain a low profile and work within our current budget; I think some of them quite regret the unfortunate excesses of Fawkes’ rebellion even to this day. In any case, I appreciate your input; first-hand information is always valuable.”

Seemingly done with the conversation, Tarin returned his full attention to the cluttered parchment on his desk. Then, just as Maxis was preparing to leave the office, the older man spoke again. “One last thing Maxis. In contrast to what I’ve already said, I’m afraid it will seem harsh, but I urge you to think of it as advice rather than criticism.” Suddenly, the Inquisitor’s cold blue eyes were trained intently on the young man. “I understand that your noble birth entitles you to a number of...privileges; at the same time, I would hate to think that such pleasures could distract you from attending to the central purpose of our Order. Although it is unpleasant, I want to remind you of a truth about the Inquisition: the day you swore your Oath, you became a Disciple of Pain - a monster, a night-terror - and there is no longer a place for you in the waking world of men. Do not let the idle words of dancing girls and pretty slaves deceive you; others hate and fear you, and if you try to live like the man you were and not the monster you have become, you will soon find yourself locked in a madhouse.”

Tarin's eyes stayed locked on Maxis for a moment longer, until he gestured for Marcos to show the young Inquisitor out.

[Jade_Tarem]

23rd of Logiscae: 3814 AoT, Masurao Castle Dungeon (Ikoku), Shortly before dawn

Outside it was beautiful. Everything was just coming into bloom, even the cherry blossoms, and dew sparkled under the moonlight on the leaves of every still surface. It was quiet and still, with Masurao Castle rising peacefully and majestically from the nearby rise, overlooking the critical Thousand Sword Pass.

Inside the Castle's dungeon, the scenery left much to be desired. While well maintained, there are some stains that you just can't get out of old stonework, and the heavy iron cages didn't add anything to the decor. Weak, anemic torchlight spattered the walls with flickering and ghostly illumination, and rodents darted through the shadows, occasionally pursued by one of Lord Shigeru's many cats. And as for quiet...

"Nooooobohhhddddyy knowwwws.... the troubllles Ah've seeen! Nobody knows my sorrows! Nobo-"

Claye's off-key singing was interrupted by a slight cough from the shadows. She stopped suddenly - she had thought she was alone in here, and would be until her scheduled execution. She hadn't quite begun to panic yet - she'd been in worse scenarios than this, although she couldn't remember when off the top of her head.

"Who's there?" Claye rolled her eyes. Her knowledge of the local language was spotty at best, and in fact was part of what had landed her in the cage. She had yet to meet the Ikoku native that could speak her own tongue.

So imagine her surprise when the answer came back, tinged with amusement and an accent, but nonetheless clear. "A better question might be, what am I to you?"

"...what?" Maybe his grasp of the language wasn't as good as she thought.

"I do not mean to be cryptic, Miss... Claye, was it?" The hesitation suggested that he had gotten her names reversed on purpose. "However, I myself, like you, am not supposed to be here."

"That's not what that 'Lord Shigeru' said. At least, Ah think that's what he said."

"That is what happens when you insult a Samurai Lord with such a fragile ego, no matter how accidentally. Would you mind if I asked you a question?"

Claye snorted. "So long as yeh can spit it out before sunrise."

"Ah, you still have a sense of humor. Excellent. Now, here you are, scheduled to die in the very near future. You have traveled from a distant land to this country, thrown defiance in the teeth of a very powerful man, caused an amount of chaos and property damage far in excess of what a single woman should be able to, and now face, with rather considerable grace and poise, near-certain death via trial-by-combat with an extremely accomplished warrior."

Claye's eyes narrowed. "An' yeh want t' know why?"

"I do indeed, though that is not my question."

The corner of Claye's mouth quirked upward. "Someone important t' me came this way. I've been followin' him for three years. He's the last family member Ah've got."

"I do not remember any similar foreigners arriving, but I'll grant that you may be telling the truth. Now, you have to know already that the fight tomorrow is anything but fair. You are denied the use of your sorcery, which leaves you with a weapon that you can barely pronounce, let alone wield, versus a man twice your size who has used it all his life."

The prisoner sniffed. "Ah can pronounce 'noduchy' and 'wacky-sushi' just fine, thank you. What's the little sword for, anyway?"

The man planted his face in his hand. "They will tell you if you lose. May I continue?" Claye nodded.

"There are certain options available to a person in your position which the good Lord Shigeru has apparently 'forgotten' to mention to you. Among them is the ability to name a champion."

"A champion?"

"Someone who will fight for you. That is the correct word in your language, yes? I thought so. If you can name a willing champion, then he or she may take your place. The system could not have lasted this long if those with political power had no way to defend themselves from those with martial skill."

"An' yeh'll fight for me?" Claye sounded dubious.

"I? No. But I do have someone in my employ who will, at my order. I am confident that she can best Shigeru tomorrow - or today, rather."

"..." Claye sat there for a moment. It sounded too good to be true. Her eyes narrowed. "There's a price, I take it?"

"There is. I do not go around leasing out Chiyome for free."

Claye gestured at herself and rattled the door of her cage. Other than her basic battle-mage outfit, everything had been taken from her before she was imprisoned. "They took my pack. An' Ah wasn't exactly rich before that."

"I am not short of material riches - what I want from you is more abstract. I have heard some... interesting things about Taelarys. In particular, I've heard about a certain stockpile of powerful weaponry..."

"You're jokin,' right? Even out here people have heard 'bout the Dark Armory?"

"And the names that go with it. The others may have missed the significance of the name 'Kilnmyr,' but I did not. The price for your salvation is simple - should you ever find it, I wish to know. When the time comes, you will tell me, through whatever means you see fit, where, when, and how to get in."

"It won't be as easy as you're thinkin,' an' there's no guarantee yeh could even survive inside. Besides, how do yeh know Ah'll keep my end of the bargain?"

"Those are risks that I am willing to reexamine in the future, and after you see Chiyome fight, I doubt you would want to cross me like that." The man glanced out the window, noticing the slow brightening of the sky. "You wanted me to ask my question before sunrise, so here it is - do we have a deal?"

Claye grinned. "Ah'd like to know your name, first."

"Of course, how rude of me. Miss Kilnmyr, you may call me..."

8th of Bargenholt: 3817 AoT, The Lord's Arena, 2:24 p.m.
Claye, Xavier, and Mikado

"Mikado!" Claye exclaims, momentarily stunned. She remembered him, oh yes, and not from the river, either.

She takes a moment to remember, but then manages to one-up expectations by bowing properly in the style of Ikoku - and to the correct height, no less.

"Ah'd hope yeh'd remember me, although Ah admit the lack of a cage might make me hard t' recognize."

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, during ongoing combat
Claye and Anselme

The mechanist grinned. "Would it surprise yeh t' learn that Ah picked it up from my grandfather? He taught me a lot of what Ah know, but for some things yeh just have t' get out an' about..." She gets cut off by the start of the fighting - the part she'd more or less been dreading.

Claye watched Davis plow through one gladiator after another, gritting her teeth. What a senseless waste of human life. Eventually, though, a worry began gnawing at her. "Anselme? Wasn't this Lupil guy a merchant? An' middle aged? When's the last time yeh've seen a middle aged merchant fight like a rabid tiger?"

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The Lords Arena
Jameson speaking with Turin

Jameson steps away from his seat as Turin approaches, he can't help but continue glancing over towards the arena where Davis is killing."Turin, I am glad you could make it, you have been missing quite the show. That fat bastard Lupil somehow got in shape and remembered how to fight. I am going to get killed in the long bets, the odds they were playing . . . the payouts."

He shakes his head sadly.

Jameson looks back to the arena and winces as Davis skewers a muscled gladiator with the mans own spear.

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The Lords Arena
Round 9

From his position Anselme begins to suspect that much is amiss with Davis, but despite the view he is not close enough to really see. Perhaps if he got closer?

Something had been bothering Claye for a few rounds, she had seen Davis not too long ago and he should not be able to move like that. By round 9 she is positive that his abilities have been enhanced with some sort of magic.

OOC - any character that hits a 4 with int/cunning/magic will suspect something is very wrong by round 9. Any character that hits a 6 will see it as a magic enhancement. Anyone that rolls well above that PM me. Those who want to get much closer may see more.


8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The Lords Arena
Start of Round 14

Jameson, sitting back next to the prince is feeling nervous enough that it is breaking through his normal self control. The prince however, looks bored.

"Is this to take all day d'Milverton?" the prince says. "I came here to see a lord killed, not watch a traitor slaughter your poorly trained warriors."

"Your highness," Jameson says, "I have more skilled warriors, each group fiercer than the last, I am sure one will put that dog down soon."

As he says that Davis nearly decapitates one of the gladiators.

"No, you are playing with forces you have no control over," the prince replies. "Allow me to show you how this is done, order your men to begin dumping extra weapons into the arena, everything available."

"Your highness . . . surely you jest . . .

"I do not Milverton, these people want a blood bath, let us give it to them." The prince snaps his finger at Bursop. "You are his man correct? Give the order to dump the weapons in, your lord is too busy sputtering, or I will have both of your heads."

Bursop moves quickley and before the round ends baskets of knives and swords, spears and other weapons are dumped into the arena, enough to arm a small army.

The prince looks to Jameson and gives him a bright smile, "This is the start of round 15 if I am not mistaken . . . I do believe I bet on this round."

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, during ongoing combat
Claye and Anselme

Anselme had been more interested in Claye than the fight and it wasn't until concern crossed her face that he turned to peered down to blood drenched arena floor.

"I supposed I'd fight with abandon if my life was on the line. Or maybe he made a last minute deal with the..."

Serafino's parting words echoed in his mind. "One more thing. It will get complicated. You picked a tough city to play with! And something wicked this way comes... better remember. Fast."

Two days? Oh you've got to be kidding. Without returning his eye to Claye, he set his hand firmly about her wrist and whispered, "We should go. Now."

[Andural]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Lords Arena
Round 9
Turin, Jameson

Turin notices Jameson becoming a bit nervous. Looking around, he sees a lady machinist's eyes open just a bit wider as she looks at Davis. Curious as to what she saw, he turns back to the arena.

Hmm.. now this seems unlikely... he moves like a snake, not like a merchant... he thinks to himself.

Jameson, are you sure you placed the correct man in the arena? Something seems very odd here to me...


After his conversation with Jameson, he will move over to Claye and Anselme. Claye has noticed something odd as well, it seems.

Turin, Claye, Anselme
Excuse me for interrupting, he begins, having noticed Anselme grabbing Claye's hand, but perhaps you can help me. My name is Turin, and that will have to do for now. I have a bad... let's say feeling about this execution. It appears to me you noticed as well, so I was wondering what you saw?



14th of Auravath, 3817 AoT
ATC Holdings Conference Room
7:00pm
Anres family

Turin surveyed the assembled Family. He sighed, inwardly. It was so unusual to see them all together. Aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews... and his father. His father was proud of him, he knew. He only hoped that he would continue to do so in what came next.

"Nice to see you, everyone. Please have a seat, there's some snacks and drinks over there," he motions with his wine glass. "As you know, we have a new member of the Family Council today. You all know Melaine, she's shown she's capable and we're happy to have her voice join ours." Melaine, a girl of 16ish, smiles confidently. He was happy to have her, she was a strong supporter, but not afraid to voice her opinions. Many of the older members had been forced to silence for years under his Uncle Antas.

I have some things to say later on, but first, I'll open the floor to you. Does anyone have any issues they'd like to raise?

Most of the evening was taken up by minor, but important, Family issues and reports. Turin sat back and let the debates wash over him, only speaking to keep the discussion on track when necessary. He found it rarely necessary to contribute unless something pertained to ATC directly, or to him. The Family was fully capable to work out the small details.

When business settled down, he spoke up.

"Nice to hear everything is going well. I wish to discuss something different then the usual business. I've been perusing the Family records, and have come across something interesting." He looks around the room. "None of you, nor I, were around back then. As it turns out, we... played a bit of a role in the turning around of the Crimson Cult. I've checked with my grandfather, and he confirms the story. Now here's the interesting thing. We didn't turn this around via ATC, or via monetary means. The way we accomplished it was through a pooling of our strength in Chance. The Family murmurs. This had, as far as I can tell, never been done before. And, I feel that this can be used to a serious advantage. Now. And, here is how I propose to do it...

[Xondoure]

7th of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Grand Inquisitor’s Office

"I assure you grand inquisitor, such idle pleasantries are but a distraction of the flesh, my true purpose remains strong."

8th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Round 9

Something was not right. Dolen remembered Davos, even if it wasn't his memory. And this man was not the same.

[Lady Serpentine]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The Lords Arena
Round 9
Kyranis, Liella, Tera

The three Ostrim begin to push through the crowd, to get a better view. This was supposed to be an execution, after all, not a slaughter of slaves.

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:24 p.m.
Claye, Xavier de Forza, Mikado

A brilliant smile found its way to the Ikokuian's face as the redhead recognized, and even bowed to, him. Rather than return the bow, however, he reached for her hand; in a gallant demonstration of his understanding of local manners, he took one step forward and breathed a gentle kiss onto its back, briefly looking upward to lock his gaze with hers. "How could I forget? It's a rare occasion one meets such a fiery woman in my homeland as Claye Kilnmyr." His use of the common tongue was without a trace of an accent, carefully practiced and clear.

He stood up straight again, inclining his head slightly. "I was afraid you would not recognize me, actually. After the journey here, I'm not quite myself."

The tall man -- surprisingly tall for the people of his native country -- chuckled as he indicated towards himself; though already on the mend, the signs of prolonged fatigue and undernourishment were still there. Even more obvious to Claye, as the image of Mikado in his prime still lingered in her mind. Gone was the powerful but lean frame that resembled the grace of a panther as he moved -- there was still evidence of his training, of course, as evidenced by his smooth movements. But he was almost painfully thin by comparison. "I'll remedy that, but it will take some time."

The black-haired man frowned briefly as a thought occurred to him; for a moment, he stared intently at the red wine in his glass, before his brown eyes sought out those of the mechanist before him once again. "I'd like to invite you to my new residence in the city, come to think of it. It has been almost three years, hasn't it? There is much to discuss." His eyes briefly unfocused as he thought back to his first inspection of the place, and the fact that there were far too many secret passages Jameson had happily pointed out for him. "It will need some work first before it's presentable, of course. But I already spoke to Master de Forza about that." He chuckled, patting the inventor next to them on the shoulder briefly.

Considering their past relationship, Claye was fairly certain that Mikado wouldn't be opposed to hiring her services as well; he likely simply didn't inquire right now because it would be impolite to do so. Plus, the foreigner had already made an offer to Xavier and he wasn't one to go back on his word. Perhaps he also considered it impolite to ask for her mechanist skill to fix up the place he had invited her to as a guest, but that was mere projection.

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
Main Event
Eris

The fight was actually uncomfortable to watch. Eris did not pay attention to it very much. There was no interest in the fighting, she was a sorcerer and well above the pitiful level of these fighters. And there were still foods and drinks to serve to the guests.

She was not uncomfortable of the fight. Eris was still uncomfortable because of Anselme, and then after him, the stranger who had taken a canape off of her tray. That had been a dangerous, evil feeling.
More challengers were killed by the prisoner. It was a waste of life, Eris felt disdainful. Truly the city had changed if this is what happened every week.
There were games and gladiators when she had been young of course. But she did not go to see them.
Now she wondered if it always had been this way.
Eris maneuvered through the crowd.
Then the weapons began to be put in the arena.
Why?
Eris thought that was a stupid idea. But the Prince ordered, so many of the servants had to go to do the task.
Stupid Prince. Eris thought darkly.

[TheDarkDM]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson, Mikado, and the Prince

Darston looked away from his Blood Guard slowly, his fiery red eyes boring into the minor noble and the foreigner. The Imperial Scion made no attempt to hide his disdain for both of the men before him, though Mikado thought he caught a glimmer of curiosity in the Prince's eyes. Deliberately, the Prince's head moved down a sliver, clearly the closest Mikado would get to a gesture of greeting.

"So, this is our mysterious foreign visitor. How do you find our fair city, Ikokuan?"

8th of Bargenholt
During the main event
The Lord's Arena

As the main event progressed, Ghedim noticed a strange air about d'Lupil. The Rhetizian couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he'd seen all manner of men fight. Desperate men, foolish men, men with no place in combat, and the flacid, broken noble below him moved like none of them ever could have. Moving to the edge of the arena, Ghedim focused all his attention on the combatants, his eyes narrowing until they were naught but slits in his face. The dark spray of arterial blood and the bubbling foam of desperation painted d'Lupil's face like a grizly portrait, but that only hid something else, something deeper. The sixth round passed, then the seventh, but on the eighth Ghedim finally realized what had caught his attention in the first place. It was not d'Lupil's sudden prowess, or his sudden amazing strength. No, it was the simple fact that his skin seemed to be moving on its own, before the rest of him. It was a quick thing, subtle, the kind of thing one would miss if one hadn't grown up around vipers, but before every strike d'Lupil's skin would ripple towards his target, dragging his arm along almost as an afterthought. And the speed and ferocity of it were only growing more intense.

Turning on his heel, Ghedim surveyed the crowd. The Prince, surrounded by his Blood Guard, was addressing Mikado and Jameson, and Anselme and Claye seemed deep in conversation. Then his eyes lighted on Tarin and Ghedim moved forward. Feigning a trip, he bumped close enough to the Inquisitor to whisper in his ear.

"Prepare yourself. Something very dangerous is happening to d'Lupil."

With a meaningful look, Ghedim pulled away with a mumbled apology, his hand brushing against Tarin's as he left. As the Inquisitor processed his brief warning, he felt his hand close around something sharp, and on examination found a push dagger of dull black steel lying in his palm.

Making his way through the crowd, Ghedim eventually reached Azlian. Taking her by the arm and murmuring apologies to the flock of highborn ladies around her, Ghedim led Azlian into a shadowed alcove of the terrace. Away from the luminaries of society, Azlian's gay demeanor cooled to a languor that belied deadly professionalism.

"Ghedim dear, I do hope you have a good reason for interrupting this lovely soiree."

The sarcasm in her demeanor was well concealed, but it was obvious that Azlian found the proceedings near as boorish as her countryman.

"No time for banter Azlian. Something is going very wrong in the arena, and I fear it may become dangerous very soon."

"What's going on?"

"I think d'Lupil might be possessed."

Immediately, all relaxation melted from Azlian. Reaching to the back of her belt, she pulled a flat silver plate free with a soft click. Her hands moved with practiced speed to dismantle other discreet elements of her dress, until the silver plate had become a hand crossbow.

"Most of these nobles will panic if you're right. This place will become a madhouse."

"Get to a high place. I'll try and position myself to get them out of here as quickly as possible."

[Mono Vertigo]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
Before the Main Event
Eiko

Eiko fought against the itch. On the bright side, there weren't nearly as many ribbons and frills as she'd feared, the clothes favoring the sheer quality of the fabric over excessively fancy details. On the other hand... silk, wool, whatever it was, the sleeves were made out of an alien material she wasn't used to. And the collar. And the long skirt.
Oh, and the upper class was annoying as well, but at least, she got to get away from them. At first, the gossips she gathered weren't relevant to anything at all, mentioning family members she had no idea even existed. Part of her wondered what the heck she was doing there; the rest brought back the promised rewards. The Tengu just sighed and went to look harder.
If all else failed... well, she could always ask a sparrow, or something. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to resort to that.

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson, Mikado, and the Prince

Mikado sent a calculated look of disdain into the direction of Jameson as the Prince studied them, certain that the informant would take no offense by it if he noticed -- after all, to mirror the obvious sentiments of a prince was usually a good idea, and the man was certainly used to his business partners treating him like an unwanted pariah amongst company. Not that Mikado considered di Milverton a business partner at the moment, but they had indeed already done business, at least.

He had, of course, bowed quite properly and according to local etiquette when he had come into the Prince's sight, only raising his own gaze and voice when so bid by the royal scion.

"Your Royal Highness," he began, announcing both his respect and understanding of the man's station by using the proper form of address as a greeting. Mikado found the noble's red eyes quite curious, bit kept himself from openly staring -- it wouldn't do to look like a dumbstruck commoner before Darston.

"Dirty," the Ikokuan announced with a surprising amount of honesty. "But fascinating."

He inclined his head slightly, a questioning look surfacing to see if the Prince had any objections to him continuing to speak or wished to reply. If not, he continued in a formal manner:

"As a representative of Ikoku by merit of my presence here and descent of the first Emperor of Ikoku, Korei, by blood, I would like to announce our best wishes for your nation and its capital. I am Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado of the former Clan Tatsudoshi, now its sole descendant."

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, during ongoing combat
Claye and Anselme interrupted by Turin

Anselme started when a voice came from behind. In the same instant he'd felt for the sword that wasn't on his hip, he instead pushed his heart back down from his throat, swept the left side of his coat back and slipped his hand down from Claye's wrist to intertwine with her fingers.

"S-saw?" he stammered, apparently having not heard the preceding remarks, "Please, sir... oh you won't tell my father, will you?"

He made an awfully good show of a desperate plea, "I know she's just a commoner, but, oh, look at those eyes! Can't you see that we're..." He yanked Claye's arm aloft and waggled the conjoined pair of hands at Turin. Already leading Claye away and towards an exit he continued his star cross lovers speech. "Think of my poor mother! You won't tell, will you sir? Oh bless you, sir! Bless you!"

Once out of sight he turns to Claye with a sheepish, if not altogether unapologetic look.

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, 2:24 p.m.

Claye nods. "Ah'd like that." Mikado certainly had changed, at least physically, although if he'd sailed straight from Ikoku then the voyage would take its toll on anyone. She brightens momentarily, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. "But you're far too charitable. After what happened to Masurao Castle Ah'm surprised yeh'd want me under a roof at all."

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, During Ongoing Combat
Claye, Anselme, and Turin

Beet-red, Claye starts to stammer something out before being almost literally lifted off her feet by the taller man, but she manages to keep up with the charade, if only just.

Once out the door, she starts to resist earnestly, though. "Anselme!" she hisses, "The people back there are gonna get hurt. We've got to get 'em out of there!"

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, During Ongoing Combat
Claye, Anselme, and Turin

Anselme grits his teeth and finally releases Claye before throwing his shoulders exasperatedly into the adjacent wall and running his fingers through his hair, perturbed and begging for more time.

"Damn you woman. I gave up playing the hero a long time ago." He finally dared to looked at her from between his splayed fingers. "I don't suppose you have a plan for herding nobles calmly out of the building? Free shrimp cocktails in the mezzanine!?"

Running his gloves down the length of his face, he mutters to himself, "And I hoped to beat the rush..."

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena (Antechamber), During Combat

"What, yeh mean if my amazin' eyes don't win their hearts?" Claye snarks. "Ah'm not askin' yeh t' be a hero, but you... Ah've heard yeh talk. Ah bet you could sell seawater to sailors! If yeh help me, Ah think we could convince 'em."

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, Round 14
Moments after leaving Claye with a plan

Anselme, having climbed onto a serving table, unceremoniously nudged a number of glasses over the edge with the toe of his boot. After the brief cacophony, he cleared his throat and began speaking with a clarion voice, calmly commanding the attention of anyone who hadn't glanced over at sound of the shattering crystal.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that there is a small, but very real fire in the direction of the kitchen. Should be under control quite quickly, but until it is, we," he gestured to himself in the royal sense, "Would appreciate your cooperation in temporarily vacating the premises in an orderly fashion. This is only a safety precaution and we do appreciate your cooperation in this matter!"

"Ladies first, of course!" he shouted while leaping from the table and taking the nearest noblewoman by the arm and gently urging her towards the door. "Follow me, everyone. Double file, if you please!"

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, Round 14
Moments after leaving Anselme with a plan

Her first instinct had been to follow Anselme's advice - to cut and run. But the image of her Grandfather's disapproving face had lodged itself in her skull and stayed there. She couldn't run - not while she knew she could still help.

"Those with power are expected to use it with integrity, Claye. It is far easier to live with scars than regrets."

Claye darted into the kitchen area - the place was packed, but she would soon fix that.

The place could have given the Machinist's guild a run for its money in terms of dangerous equipment. While Jameson tried to treat his employees well, things were backing up in the kitchen due to the sudden workload, hot surfaces were everywhere, and there were corners of the place that were nearly walled off by the many stoves, pots, pans, and other assorted cooking gear that had been piling up for the last three hours.

She made her way to the back corner of a kitchen, snagging a hanging apron along the way. She was a terrible cook herself - she had once burned a boiled egg, somehow - and knew that this new experience wasn't going to end well either.

She found an unoccupied spot in the back, crammed a bunch of assorted ingredients into the stove there, and timed the moment such that no one had a line of sight to her at the time of her shot. She concentrated. This is gonna be tricky. I need a fire big enough to scare people, but small enough not to burn the building down.

Holding out her hand, a small ball of fire materialized in it as her eyes took on a bright red-orange glow. She then stepped back and flung the ball of fire into the stove while slamming the door shut.

The result was more or less what she'd hoped for. She tossed her apron on top of the hot metal and darted out the back door seconds before flames began to shoot through the piping and the door slats. Smoke began billowing out - but so far, every flaming object was contained on or in the metal stove. If the staff moved quickly, they could probably put it out before too much damage was done.

Claye grinned as she heard the shouting within. Anselme would be getting everyone's attention any moment now. She turned and made her way back into the Diamond Terrace.

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Round 14
The Lord's Arena

Of course, Mikado hadn't exactly missed what was going on -- he had recognized that something was wrong with the supposedly old nobleman rather quickly once the fighting had started. The main question he had pondered, as the Ikokuan had watched the proceedings with a renewed interest, was how he might take advantage of such a development. Still, ponderances or not, Anselme's sudden announcement was hard to ignore.

With his realization of the current going-ons in the arena, it was fairly obvious what Anselme was doing. Mikado knew all too well that the man didn't belong to the local staff, and that Jameson was far more likely to keep such a faux-pas as quiet as possible if there was an actual fire.

As the former Dragon Emperor's eyes darted towards the man he himself had invited, he couldn't help but notice his female accomplice. He remembered all too well that where Claye was concerned, flames usually had a way of breaking out very easily.


Ultimately, Mikado stepped forward from behind a column just as Claye was making her way back into the Diamond Terrace, ironically mirroring something Anselme had done not so long ago as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Admirable effort," the foreigner noted leisurely. "I knew I dragged that madman out of the river for a reason." He casually glanced towards the direction of the arena, continuing on more quietly. "I may be weakened, but I can still hold my own -- if that goes berserk, I'll do my part. A flaming sword might help, if such a thing could be found in the vicinity." The confident grin that made its way onto his face made it clear what the man was implying, though Mikado himself wasn't sure if a quick enchantment was within the scope of magical skills Claye possessed.

While he wasn't really fully aware of the current problem around Claye's sorcerous abilities, he had concluded something close enough already. Xavier had not mentioned a sorcerer title, and in this city there were certain monopoles to consider. Hence the more subtle approach.

[Andural]

After watching the strange man and Claye disappear in a hurry, Turin judged his chances. Something was clearly going to go awry. Perhaps he should leave now, but there was something to be gained by staying, he felt.

"Hmmm, perhaps moving closer to the men with all the guards would beneficial."

Turin moved to stand by Jameson and the Prince, close enough to hear, but not just yet participating in their conversation. He gazed around the room...

[Mono Vertigo]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Lord's Arena
Round 14
Eiko

The servant only really took notice of the fight because of her own experience. A few glances here and there, but only did the logic kick in. Hey, the guy wasn't very young. Or muscular. Having not paid much attention, she didn't remember what exactly he was there for, but she was fairly certain he hadn't been condemned for mass murder. Which he'd doing currently under her eyes since he started fighting.
What the heck.
And yet, while she was bothered by the sight – that man shouldn't be able to do that move so smoothly, she'd know it, she lost her balance last try she attempted that swing – she didn't register the event as particularly worthy of notice.
Mainly, because she didn't know enough about magic to be suspicious as to the cause, and she wasn't interested by things she didn't understand;and secondly, some warning made itself heard immediately. Where was Mikado gone? She left the area reserved to servants and looked for her employer, pushing not too ceremoniously the worried crowd. “Sir Mikado! Is everything okay?”, she shouted.

[Lady Serpentine]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Lord's Arena
Round 14
Kyranis, Liella, Tera

"Well, that was unlikely"

"Indeed. The Sword-Servitors probably couldn't have pulled off that move, and they're trained for this."

"So. That's not the real Davis d'Lupil down there."

"It seems that way. Stupid of Jameson to have substituted a real fighter, though."

Then there's a fire to worry about.

"And now it seems the idiot can't even get competent kitchen staff..."

The trio move over toward the line that's forming.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Lord's Arena
Round 15

Chaos is a simple thing really. One minute order, the next too many things occur and suddenly chaos.

Near the exit on a table a charismatic man attempts to help, loudly, his efforts clearly moving those near to him. In another area, a small group notices the smell of smoke.

For a moment, order seems to hold and a number of nobles and their servants begin making their way towards the exit following the nice man with the eye patch.

And then it comes crashing down as The prince stands. Perhaps he had not heard Anselme, perhaps he did and did not care or maybe, those with more sinister minds might think, he heard him and had already expected something like this to happen.

The prince speaks, this is important because as those there could tell you, he did not yell, he simply spoke. Yet his voice carried loudly through the Diamond Club balconies, through the club and out across the arena, reaching the ears of all watching the spectacle and even Davis himself who stood watching his new four opponents moving in towards him.

"My countrymen," he said causing an audible hush to fall through the arena. "On behalf of our emperor, I offer a new bounty to any man woman or slave who enters the arena, 100 soveirgns to the person who kills Davis, weapons have been made available to you."

For a moment everyone stopped to process this, the nobles who had been starting to exit pausing, this idea so unexpected that even the threat of an unseen fire did not hurry them.

In the crowds of the Arena no one spoke as for the briefest moment as orders fingertips grasped for any hand hold. And then it fell with a roar as some began to scream in delight and as dozens of men, and even a few women, began scrambling to the arena and climbing down the inner wall to reach the weapons. While those who survived would suggest that the entire audience poured in, the reality is that it was only a small portion. But even 5% of a crowd of thousands is enough to cause pandemonium.

Men and women, some trained, most not, some sober, most not, grabbed for weapons and began charging at Davis, the thought of 100 soveirgns so powerful that most forgot that only moments before they had cheered this former noble on as he had slaughtered trained gladiators. Their ends where the same. Yelling with glee Davis began to cut them down.

Up within the Diamond Club, Anselme still had an effect. Wiser heads prevailed, fun was fun, but fire was fire. A good number of nobles continue to exit because of his and Claye's actions. Not all though, this new spectacle is too much, this scene of chaos, too much for their eyes too ignore, not as long as a more present danger did not present itself. Anselme though, will note a feeling of something darkly evil staring at him and gets the specific sensation that he has unknowingly interfered with somethings designs. He cannot place where the sensation is something from and as soon as it comes, it goes.

The prince stands with a smile on his face and deep down even Jameson shudders, for this seems cold and callous even to him.

"I told you he would fall in round 15," the prince says softly, "I just helped a bit."

No matter what one might think of the Prince and his morality, there is one simple fact, one man cannot stand against hundreds. For every three that Davis cut down, a spear would pass through, he began to falter and this was when it happened.

Nowwww . . . . . let . . . ussss innnnn

The trap . . . . dooor

A cloud of dust and energy erupts from around him as the swirling shapes begin to dive and push into his bodies. It sends the first row of living attackers flying back into those behind, the dust cloud it kicks up blocks all view. However, those in the audience and above can see that the fools rushing in for the kill have started running, running back and those closest see some attempting to flee suddenly being pulled back into the roiling dust.

The event lasts seconds and as soon as it had billowed up the dust begins to settle, dozens of people scrambling at the walls of the arena trying to climb back out and only a few in the stands remaining to help them up, most fleeing.

As the dust settles Davis is gone, but a large opening is seen in the Arena floor roughly where he had stood, the explosion seeming to have burst it open. In addition, some of the fallen seem to be twitching and trying to stand. Some of the more intrepid citizens seem to be ignoring this and climbing down the hole in pursuit of Davis.

Up above, in the diamond club, another type of chaos was about to be unleashed. As soon as the explosion starts, the rooms fill with the screams of men, screams of horror and pain, followed by numerous shocked screams.

OOC - Roll resuts

Diamond club notice checks -

Spoiler

Show

2 - a number of men in guards outfits have suddenly fallen down screaming as their skin shrivels in, after only a few seconds they look like corpses dead a few days.
4 - a group of nobles have drawn daggers and are advancing towards the Prince, Jameson and Turin
6 - It is clear from the way the men are moving that Jameson is their target, not the prince.

Noticing in the arena checks -

Spoiler

Show

2 - the people switching don't seem to be moving like normal humans and you think you can spot that a few seem to be very injured.
4 - Some of the switching folks trying to stand have clearly suffered mortal wounds. In addition, for a moment you clearly saw a huge creature, that looked like a grossly bloated human climbing into the hole in the arena
6 - You got a clear glimpse of what davis has become, nearly 9 feet tall and bloated like a gaseous corpse, his hands end in claws and his mouth seems filled with rows of huge teeth

Magicish checks in the diamond club

Spoiler

Show

2- you can guess it was a magic effect that killed the guards
4 - you recognize necromancy when you see it.
6 - you can see a dark mark on the back of a few of the fallen guards necks, something infected them with this dark energy and then drew all their life force at once.

Special for Eris - You feel a chill as the guards begin to scream that feels just like the sensation you had when the stranger took the canape off your tray.

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, 2:24 p.m., Before Combat

A frown briefly showed on Mikado's face, as he recalled those events ...

23rd of Logiscae: 3814 AoT, Masurao Castle Gates (Ikoku)

As Claye made her way out through the immense, wooden castle gates, she found that the man who had arranged for her freedom suddenly stood next to the foreign woman, apparently having waited there for her release. To her credit, however, it really wasn't very hard to sneak up on someone passing through these huge, unwieldly and very loud things when they were opened outwards like that.

A confident smirk was plastered onto his face as he met her gaze, folding his arms behind his back as he indicated towards the road with a brief nod. "I realize leaving quietly is not in your nature, but I still suggest you do so, before Shigeru's son takes command and sends his samurai warriors after us."

It was a good thing that Shigeru had been a thorn in Mikado's side in his function as the Dragon Emperor for some time, being a direct retainer of the Province's daimyo he had always strongly opposed the general acceptance of the Ninkyoudantai as a necessary part of society and had actively hunted its members, rather than merely in retribution for too daring crimes.

Now, he was dead, slain in combat by Chiyome. And he had the heir of a powerful foreign house in his personal debt; not as the hidden visage of the Dragon Emperor, but as Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado. Life was good.

Or so he thought, until the sound of hooves became louder and louder and two small troops of samurai rode around the castle walls, heading directly towards them with grim expression on their faces. They were only four each, but the odds of eight trained warriors versus two still weren't something to casually laugh at.

"That was surprisingly fast," the native offered as his grin was quickly replaced by caution, his muscles going taut as he prepared himself for an imminent attack.

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, 2:24 p.m., Before Combat

"What's life if you never risk it?", he then offered, as his memories of the past faded. He casually took a sip of his wine, then turned towards Xavier. "These 'air conditioners' are quite something. I'll have get you to install some of these at my place."