Slaves of EMOR IC

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Prologue
You are one of the masses of slaves. Some stand tall, determined to be defiant in the face of an uncaring universe. Others cower and whimper, despairing at their face. The slave lot huddles in a deep, square pit with barbed, iron spikes pointing downward from the rim. The sounds of the hustle and bustle of the slave market sink into the pit over the fanged lip of the pit. The sun is high and the air is still, leaving the wretched slaves with nothing but hot, muggy air and their own stink. The atmosphere is almost as oppressive as the Namorans themselves. Almost.
A few shadows stab into the crowd from above. With the sun behind them, the figures are barely distinguishable, but their words can be clearly heard. “As you can see senator, we have several candidates for the games.” The voice of the head slaver is high and reedy.
“As what? Feed for the beasts?” This voice is proud, and strong. Used to being heard.
“My lord jests, surely. True not all of them will be gladiators of renown, and some of them are indeed destined for a monsters belly.” He continues over the sobs. “But look again. There are strong arms to hold shield and spear. We have exotic races here for you, some more monster than man.”
One of the shadows, wider than the rest but with broad arms and shoulders, leans in and whispers to the senator. “Very well. I will take a few, but I won’t pay your exorbitant prices.”
“Senator, I will happily offer you a discount, in honor of the service you do eternal Emor. Please, make your selection and we will discuss the final price.”
The wide shadow extends his hand to begin his selection. “You. And you. Over there the orc. No the other orc. Actually, we’ll take both of you. And you, the furry one. Yes you, do you see anyone else covered in fur? The elf next. And uhmmm, you. You’ll do.”
As he makes his fateful choice, a ladder is lowered through a narrow gap between two spikes. The selected slaves leave the pit past points stained brown with the blood of prisoners who thought they could escape. On the ground level, the chosen few are greeted with a cool breeze. It is a simple thing, but after so long with nothing, even something as mundane as cool air can seem luxurious. Perhaps a sign of better things. Or not. Around them buyers and sellers argue whether a life is worth 500 septims or 525. There are a dozen pits like the ones they just left, each filled wall to wall with forsaken souls.
Manacles are locked around each wrist and the slaves are marched to their fate.

[JNAProductions]

Trixie has her eyes closed. She's muttering to herself, voice faint and hoarse.

[BtripleM]

Alwin

Alwin looks at the manacles, theorizing on how best they might be opened and, subsequently, how quickly he'd be killed. No. Best to figure out the rules first.

Looking and listening, he mutters into the air "I wonder what precedent decided our value"

[Donan]

Shadows in the Wind

Shadows rose his head as his name was called, manacles clinking with a metallic sound as he adjusted his posture. As he'd done a number of times throughout his captivity, he'd sought a brief reverie from his surroundings by drifting within his own mind and fading back to happier times, better memories.

The two of them reclined together on a bench lined with several cushions and carpets, sipping wine and overlooking a sun baked landscape from the balcony they rested on. The drink was poor quality, the cushions old and tarnished, but for two Tabaxi, it was enjoyable, the sun stirring over their bare fur and the wind taking the bite out of the heat. Fish in the River turned to look at Shadows, her mouth opening as if to ask a question..

And it faded into scattered shards as others pushed Shadows forward, the man lowering his head to acknowledge his fate and trudging to the ladder to make his way up. He hadn't lost his inherent grace and agility, but the punishing fights and the poor food and cramped conditions had weakened his muscles and strength and left his form appearing slightly wasted.

His eyes move to the others alongside him, taking their measure as his tail twitches in unease. "Whim, friend." He mused to Alwin in a soft purr of a voice. "We appeared interesting." A slightly sardonic smile showed. "Interesting enough for water, I hope."

[BtripleM]

Alwin

The tabaxi sees a human male, wearing clothes that, in a different circumstance, would not be out of place in any court. His black hair is of a short, fashionable cut, and while he has the dejected air of someone brought low from high station he does seem to carry some humility.

"Whim, brother to foolish consequence. Let us see what he has in store"

After a brief pause "I am Alwin. I'd shake your hand, but..." he rattles the manacles.

[astragalos]

Mantika Thraissa Half-Orc Cleric of Olidammara AC: 12 HP: 12/12 Passive Perception: 13 Condition: Enslaved The female half-orc does not cower or whimper, but she does not make her inner defiance outwardly noticeable either. She is scheming. And praying. Her husband was killed in the arena, and she never expected that she would be forced to fight herself. Olidammara, Masked Lord, Trickster, help me turn the tables on my enemies. She clutches a ragged strip of cloth, a mask of sorts, her secret representation of her god. When she is selected by the Senator, no doubt because of the stereotype that all orcs and half-orcs are fearsome brawlers (and her muscular physique does nothing to discourage that notion), she climbs the ladder in silence. She savors the small blessing of the breeze across her face, and hopes that it is an omen of the winds of change to come. Then the manacles clamp around her wrists. She surreptitiously eyes the other slaves who have been selected along with her, wondering if any of them would have the courage and cunning to participate in a revolt if the opportunity presented itself. Nearest to her in the line are a half-elf who is muttering to herself with her eyes shut, and a human man who is having a rather philosophical conversation with a humanoid black panther. The panther seems just as graceful as one would expect from a cat-person, though frightfully emaciated and scrawny from captivity. This one has promise, though. Seeing that the slaves are not (yet) being punished for speaking among themselves, she joins the conversation. "He's paid coin for us, so yes, let's hope for water. Water is life, and where there's life, there's hope."

[Donan]

Shadows in the Wind.

A faint nod to Alwin, the Tabaxi blinking slowly in the glare of the sun. "Shadows." He offers in reply to the given name. "And it doesn't feel out of place if I'm a foolish consequence.." He chuckles, the sound a touch forced. "Let's see our fate then, friend Alwin."

He turns his attention to Mantika as she speaks up too, his tail coiling around his leg, the Half Orc a somewhat daunting figure. "And hope's most needed when it's hard to find, Mistress Orc. I'll agree to that notion. If there's any here, best we keep it to hand." A slight smile shows, whiskers twitching.

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Fate. A fitting concept for the party to discuss on their journey. The Namor see the Great Games as a chance for mere slaves to shape their destiny, so they named the main route from the slave markets to the colosseum district the Path of Fate. Few slaves appreciate the Namorian perspective. The road is one of the busier roads in Emor, being one of the main thoroughfares that leads to the city’s primary attraction. Those of the slaves who are not used to Emor are immediately overwhelmed as thousands of voices compete with one another to be heard. The press of Erom’s citizenry nearly smothers the forsaken band. Hundreds on top of hundreds pile to hawk their wares. The arena is a source of revenue for many, and one man selling blood red wine is making an enviable profit off of the unending crowd. Some of the populace mock the poor souls as they pass. Others offer good luck and blessings. Most simply go about their day, indifferent to the party's misfortune. The senator brought a few well armed bodyguards with him who forced a path through the throng as the group marches towards the Colosseum district.

Spoiler: Image Credit

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https://www.deviantart.com/muratgul/art/Street-648150630

[astragalos]

Mantika Thraissa Half-Orc Cleric of Olidammara AC: 12 HP: 12/12 Passive Perception: 13 Condition: Enslaved "Indeed," she responds to Shadows as they are marched down the Path of Fate. Coming from a remote mountain tribe, she finds the cacophonous noise and sheer numbers of the marketplace dizzingly overwhelming. It's somewhat like the din of battle, and she supposes that daily life in Emor is its own sort of constant warfare, but it's much louder and bigger than the guerrilla raids and ambushes she is used to. She silently seethes with rage at the citizens who mock her and the other captives. Those that offer blessings are a confusing though somewhat encouraging surprise, but mostly she just sees apathy on the faces of passerby. She didn't expect many allies here, though. Forcing herself to focus on the conversation with the tabaxi and the human in order to not get lost in the sensory overload, she adds, "I'm Mantika Thraissa, of the Maidi tribe. Where are you two from?" She notices that some of the red wine has spilled into the gutters, and takes it as another omen. May the blood of the Namor run in these same streets, soon.

[JNAProductions]

We are NOT going to die, Trixie says, much louder than her earlier mutterings. Not yet, at least.

[BtripleM]

Alwin
HP 7/7
Conditions - worried

The market seems both familiar and alien to Alwin; at once a reminder of the life he has left behind, yet frightening and distant. He glances impassively, trying to focus on 'normal' things that may distract him from the current circumstance.
When Mantika asks about home he turns his head to face her.

"You probably wouldn't know it. Home is...was... a small kingdom to the south, Bakea, on the edge of the Elven dominions.". He then offers a warm smile to Trixie, that she clearly doesn't see, as she continues her mutterings.

"We is good, friend. We can help each other get through this"

[astragalos]

Mantika Thraissa Half-Orc Cleric of Olidammara AC: 12 HP: 12/12 Passive Perception: 13 Condition: Enslaved "You're right," Mantika says to Alwin, "I've never heard of Bakea. We're all a long way from home, I suspect. I'm from Aikarht, to the northeast." She lowers her voice and whispers, "We're still fighting the Namor, or at least we were when I got captured." When the half-elf speaks up audibly, she revisits her initial assessment and dismissal. Perhaps she might be of some help after all, if she has the will to live. She nods approvingly at Alwin's encouragement as well. He, too, is more than he seemed at first. "Agreed. They will try to divide us, but if we stick together, we have a better chance at surviving this."

[Donan]

Shadows in the Wind

"I called Namor itself home." Shadows admits softly, glancing down at his bound hands. "I don't anymore. It's become something I can't recognize." He shakes his head. "I served the Order of the Fair Hand, but that's another life now, or so it feels."" He glances at Trixie himself, a smile showing on his face as he nods in agreement with the others. "You're not alone. And as long as he feels we have value, as a group, he may keep us that way."

[JNAProductions]

Trixie nods. I... she begins, but shakes her head. No. I'm not like him.

She looks to the others and manages something approaching a smile, though it's clear that that is something she's out of practice with. We'll make it out. I'll make sure you guys see happiness again.

[BtripleM]

Alwin
HP 7/7
Conditions - none

"Thank you for your vow friend but our happiness can not be the burden of one person alone. It is a load that we can all share".

As the group walk, jostled and cajoled as they are by the crowd, Alwin eyes his companions more and more. An observant or intuitive individual would notice thoughts, perhaps calculations, working through his mind. He doesn't know if he can trust all these people, but he does know that a functioning group is built on honesty. So, arguing as a proponent for the first instance in a long time, he decides to speak.

"One assumes we are to be pit fodder. If we are all prizes of this senator, then perhaps we will not be pitted against each other. It may be of benefit that we understand the structure and breadth of our capability". He coughs, dryly and nervously.

"I am, to any eye, clearly no fighter; but I am, to the delight of many a tutor, of gifted intellect and well read. I say that not as brag, bluster or boast, but as basis for where my confidence lies. I am a practicing arcanist, able to abjure the blow of a blade and provide respite against the other worldly.
I believe that I can provide some assistance, at a distance, to those best suited to a front-line duty".

The next is said softly, wary of prying ears.

"I believe I also have skills that may be of some use to an influential man, and a nascent plan for our release, but I shall not say more until I know the true state of our affairs".

[astragalos]

Mantika Thraissa Half-Orc Cleric of Olidammara AC: 12 HP: 12/12 Passive Perception: 13 Condition: Enslaved "I'm a prophetess and priestess of Olidammara, the god of wine and masks," Mantika replies. "And liberation," she adds in a low voice. "I'm no warrior, but I can hold my own in a fight."

[Donan]

Shadows in the Wind

"I am.." The Tabaxi stops. "I was, a monk of the Fair Hand. We stood for the freedom of others, and to protect them from evil." He smiles sadly. "Most of that is ash, now. But I will do what I can to help you all, for as long as I can. I can fight and have a way with the shadows. One thing you will need to know, I won't use my claws unless I've no other choice."

[JNAProductions]

My name is Trixie. I'm a fair hand with weapons, but nothing too special, she says.

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Eventually the streets gr,ow wider yet somehow even more crowded. Everyone is now headed toward The Hill. Before you, rises the Colosseum district and it rises far. The original colosseum was constructed on the top of a great hill. As the games became more and more popular, there wasn’t enough space to accommodate everyone on game days, quite impressive when you consider it is the second largest building in all of Emor. So they built a second arena, not as big as the original, but still impressive, just below it on the hill. When that got too crowded, a third arena was built, and then a fourth, each smaller and smaller, and further down the hill. Now dozens of arenas in all shapes and sizes circle the hill, with the Prime Arena, as the first and greatest arena became known, sitting on the top like a heavy crown, slowly crushing all underneath it.
Lining the boulevard on either side are statues of gladiators past. Mortal goliaths, immortalized for all time in marble. Men and women in heroic poses hail and salute the soon-to-be gladiators as they march on. The honor would be more touching if it weren’t for the layer of pigeon **** and the odd clothesline strung between the statues. A man vomits in front of the party before the senators’ guards roughly remove him.
The road meets the main gate. Street vendors hawk sweet and salty snacks to an audience whose hunger is for bloody games. The senator walks past the crowds and the guards as though he owns the place. As a legal representative of the people of Erom, he does, even if it's less than a single thousandth. A few brief words with the gate guards and a side door is opened, revealing a long tunnel. The torches seem to be there only to remind the party how dark the hallway actually is.
The senator and his guards abandon the party to the bulky man, the slave master. They walk together down the dark hall. The hall splits and bends through many locked gates, which the slave master always seems to have a key. Finally, they reach the armory. Dozens of weapons rack hold every variety of killing tool imaginable. The room has a high ceiling, with walkways ten feet above the floor. Crossbow armed guards stand ready to kill any one who steps out of line, and in case they fail, there are several wizards who seem eager to turn the entire room into a lump of charcoal. “Alright you louts. Choose what you’ll die holding.”

[BtripleM]

Alwin
HP 7/7
Conditions none

This place terrifies the young wizard, the crossbow and scorch marks at once making his fate feel more real than it had up until this point. He looks to the slave master, the hope of what he may find in scattered books helping give calm to a trembling voice.

"And when are we fated to die, master of slaves?"

As he asks the question he picks up a rusty but passable dagger from a pile, and turns his attention to the pile of books. He sighs, counting the waste of life that each represents, compounded by the sorrow, and some anger, at the lack of care for what a spell book means to a wizard.

His own book, long gone, bore the marks of his own life. A cursory glance would reveal a treatise on philosophy and argument, with odd scribbles in the margins. A deeper delve would reveal notes on training sessions of the guard that he had surveyed, questions on how a man moved to attack and defend, what it meant to parry, and apparent debates with himself about the benefits of various military strategies; all occluded, of course, by dozens of arcane scribbles and verses of draconic and elven.

He flicks through the books, not holding much hope of understanding the arcane processes of another and is pleasantly surprised to find a leather-bound volume whose spells do indeed make some sense. On inspection it appears to have belonged to a painter, also of noble birth, who longed to challenge the status quo. Alwin is pleased by the spells he finds, similar to his own scribblings, and holds the book to his forehead.

"I wish I had known you better friend, and sorry this is all the world has to remember you by. I promise that if... when... I make it out of here, that I shall carry you with me"

[astragalos]

Mantika Thraissa Half-Orc Cleric of Olidammara AC: 18 HP: 12/12 Passive Perception: 13 Condition: Enslaved Avoiding eye contact with the guards, Mantika steps forward and armors herself in a suit of battered scale mail, picks up a metal shield crisscrossed with slash marks with her left hand, shoves a nasty looking dagger through the back of her belt, and picks up a blood-stained spear with her right hand. It'd be suicide to attack them right now, but it does feel better to have weapons and armor again, she thinks.

[2D8HP]

Ossian "Ox" Half-Orc Fighter AC: ? HP: 12/12 Initiative:+3 Speed:30ft. Passive Perception:13

Looks through the armory hoping to find a bow, arrows, suitable armor, shield, and a sword

"What do we have in this fresh Hell?"

[Donan]

Shadows in the Wind

Tabaxi Monk
AC: 16
HP: 9/9
Initiative:+4
Speed: 40ft
Passive perception: 14

For himself, Shadows takes no weapons, no armour. It might seem laughable, the dark furred Tabaxi bearing no weapons and wearing nothing but tattered trousers, and ready to face all the dangers of the arena, but he doesn't seem troubled by this. Slowing his breathing and clasping his hands, he settles himself, orienting to what's to come.

"Whatever we face." He tells the group quietly, paying no heed to the slave master. What matters now is doing what he can for their survival. "We stand a greater chance of living by standing together. And if we're fated to die, better be on our own terms."

[optimumsquare]

"Alright arena meat, inside the cage!" He cracks his whip towards the aforementioned prison. Along the inside are a series of gears bite into an ascending chain; an elevator. From above comes spears of light and noise. What a noise. Hundreds, thousands of voices laugh and jeer and cheer. You didn't notice before, you had other concerns, but now you can feel the walls and the floor thrum with the footsteps of the throng. One by one you huddle into the cage. As the slave master locks the door behind you, it is clear that opposite the door are no bars. Only the smooth stone of the wall keeps you inside.
The gears turn with a groan and you rise. As you draw closer and closer to the opening providing the light, you one voice boom above the others. "From the south gate we have the noble Senator Venatus's team. Our gracious representative has scoured the empire and beyond at great personal risk. He sought only the finest warriors to compete in the tournament for you! This is their debut in the great games. Let's see how far they go, eh?"
The cage finally reaches the surface and the only way out is through the opening that was against the stone wall. As you are blasted with the full force of the arena, the heat, the smell of blood and sweat, the noise of the crowd, the bright sun after being in darkness, the announcer continues. "Facing them from the north gate are the terrors of the Palaegean Woods. These green assassins have been the bane of may a traveller, thinking nothing of roasting a helpless Namorian alive. Fortunately, our brave legionares, blessed by mighty Heironeous, were able to pacify these creatures, and bring them here, so that they may justice before you today. I give you, the Palaegean Goblins!"
Hunkering out the dark they come. 2, 3, 5, 8 goblins wielding spears, swords, axes, knives and shields make their way from an elevator opposite you.
What do you do?

Spoiler: Battle Map

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https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets...it?usp=sharing

[astragalos]

Mantika Thraissa Half-Orc Cleric of Olidammara AC: 18 HP: 12/12 Passive Perception: 13 Condition: Enslaved Mantika has no wish to kill goblins, having known quite a few in her homeland of Aikarht, but it would appear she has little choice in the matter right now. She charges forward with spear and shield in hand. Olidammara, Lord of Trickery, give me victory now so that I might fight my true enemies soon! She plans to fight with weapons alone in order to conceal the miraculous powers her god has given her. Spoiler: Mechanics Show Dash 60' to L9.

[Donan]

Shadows in the Wind

Tabaxi Monk
AC: 16
HP: 9/9
Initiative:+4
Speed: 40ft
Passive perception: 14

This isn't a situation that'll end peacefully. The Goblins will be fighting for their lives as much as Shadows and his companions and blood will be spilled. But the Tabaxi doesn't intend to do the slaver's killing for them. He'll fight, but as long as lives can be spared..

As Mantkia settles in place, a streak of black fur flashes past her, Shadows curving a foot out before him to control his sudden halt in front of the foremast Goblin, a light spray of sand kicked up by his movement. He's still in motion however, spinning on one foot to send a jab punch at the Goblin that the creature manages to deflect. That first strike however, is seconded by a powerful round house kick that collides with the side of the creature's head.

Still in motion, Shadows completes the circle his kick started, dashing back across the sand to stand near Mantika, dropping into a light crouch with a nod to the Half Orc as he awaits the Goblin's response.

Spoiler: ooc

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10 damage dealt to Goblin K4. Now on square K8

[BtripleM]

Alwin
HP 7/7, AC 15
Conditions - none

Nowhere near as keen as his new friends, Alwin stumbles forward in the glare and the heat. Mist rises from his hand as he mutters wordlessly and points at a goblin dead ahead. A streak of frost flies out in front of him but the goblin is too quick and the blast hits the back wall.

Spoiler: mechanics

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Safely assuming, I'd think, that the 9 to hit is a miss

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As Mantika and Shadows rush forward, a third warrior who gave his name as Iolrath, rushes forward. "You won't die alone Orc!" he says with a grin. He has a whip and a sword in hand. "I'll see if I can trip one and you can finish it off. I won't lie, I hate your kind, but we're in this toget-Urghk-!" His words are cut off as spikes shoot up out of the ground, piercing his stomach and his groin. The spears do not retract, and his body hangs limply in the arena. He was mere feet away from Mantika and Shadows.
"AND FIRST KILL GOES TO THE ARENAAAAAA!!!!" Screams the announcer. A thousand throats try to be louder than the magically amplified voice.

Spoiler: OOC

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Perception rolls please, and please include your reflex modifiers

[BtripleM]

Alwin

Spoiler: details

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Perception: (1d20)[19]
Dex save: +2... will include going forward

[astragalos]

Mantika Thraissa Half-Orc Cleric of Olidammara AC: 18 HP: 12/12 Passive Perception: 13 Condition: Enslaved Mantika curses in Orcish as spikes erupt from the earth and impale the orc-hating Iolrath. She stops her rush forward as quickly as possible. Spoiler: Mechanics Show Perception: (1d20+3)[5] Dexterity Save modifier: +2