Two slow and measured and two rapid strikes upon the drums alternated. Chains grated loudly below the plateau where the announcer’s voice introduced the first team of gladiators fighting for their freedom and their lives. “Good people of the city, I welcome you too on this pleasant day of Mineirvia! Let me introduce you to the team, once brave legionariir of the Seventh who fought in the distant western provinces of Vhalleryon, who became victims of their own greed and gluttony, but now were offered to gaze at the light of Dawn and hear the whisper of our Dawnfather.”
Terrianis still ablaze, watched eagerly as the gladiators slowly entered, wearing crude, dull imitation of the Legion’s varied, yet uniform panoplies. All six wore the grayed brass breastplates of a perfectly symmetrical, angular silhouette, overlapping pauldrons tapered down to their right elbows, and tattered, dimmed and dull red garments offering little protection whilst a loincloth dangled to the whims of warm winds. Five wore crested helmets with crested domes and flared rims scribed with various, broken symbols, whilst their faces hidden from the harsh light behind the T-shaped openings filled with needle-slim bars numbering in hundreds. A few rings adorned each of their forefingers, set with blue and yellow gems of low-magnitude spells sharpening their focus and granting them endurance and strength beyond what their honed forms could provide in the coming bloodletting.
“It is their hour of penance and emendation, exercised in the frozen wastes of northern province brought to our brilliant capital.” Terrianis closed his eyes, inhaled the searing warm air into his lungs.
As the tall, lanky men stepped out from the vomitoria, Terrianis swept his hand. His course hair slithering out from his helmet billowed as gloomy clouds gathered above the colosseum, the sand their sandals sunk in altered into freezing cold snow. His arms quivered at the sudden, freezing breeze, his fingers crunched as he tightened his grip on the long trident reaching far above his meagerly toned frame. Behind, the dusky southerner followed equally quivering if not more. Striped tattoos of golden and luminescent teal hidden under his breastplate, trailed down on his exposed arm holding the round aspis shield bossed with the tentacled head of one of Septurrion’s sons governing the seas and their nature. In his other, he too chosen a long weapon, a spear of polished oaken body.
Abreast, five heads shorter came a dwarf of auburn braids trailing down her breastplate. Under the helmet, she smiled wide, her eyes glimmered at feeling home in the freezing environment. Her chosen weapon, a long hammer she held in her arm free of plates, protection, in the other a scutum casting its rectangular shadow over her. Behind her came a mer-kin of the southern shores, his exposed arm covered in warm golden scales contrasting the grayed panoply, abreast of him, a northern man with skin pale as the dwarves, tinted with a little pink. Voluminous hair of golden blonde denoting his virdrian heritage flown out from the helmet, whilst his belly compressed within the breast plate, making his steps awkward and slow compared to his brothers and sisters in fate. Still, he held his twin-bladed battle-axe with the dumb pride of northerners, held with both his bulky hands.
The last a magus and the fairest of them all, the single one wearing a high-collared and properly covering robe of red and gold accents beneath the breastplate. A half-blood coming from the union of an aevhe and an orc, though the latter seemed the dominant, overwhelmed the orkhish hideousness. Her deeply sunken eyes were drawn in the contour of felines and dragons, shimmered in a pale blue color, a deathly pallor settled upon her smooth, dry skin and her long hair fell in softened waves whilst a cloak draped over her head. Beyond the breastplate, she wore no pauldron, only two vambraces fastened on her forearm, set with large blue stones to keep the Rage away, push her deossos-given limits.
“An interesting lineup. What were their sins, that now they must fight for penance and amends?” Aurelithae who stood by the bulwark, shadowed by Albrion on her left asked, looking at the first team.
“In their cowardice of those dwelling in Vhalleryon’s lush forests, turned to banditry, to the trading of their fellow Elevated-Kindred.” Terrianis answered, appearing besides her without walking. “But as with most deserters who gave in to their vices, well they weakened greatly from their glory days.”
Two more sharp strikes of the drum split the air, heralding the gladiators of the opposing team, the chains whirling followed once more as the Announcer’s deep, gravelly voice boomed across the cheers of the crowd. “And opposing the disgraced children of the Dawn, the servants of the Black Serpent captured three years before as they stalked the northern snow-clad wastes after the woeful army crumbled in the siege of Vhoragos!”
From the thick shadows of the opposite vomitoria, walked forth first a towering brute, part flesh, part ice with orkhish features including sunken eyes, a gaunt visage, tusk long and sharp as icicles. His massive form encased in a peculiar armor drawing the attention of Aurelithae, who first witnessed the grim craftmanship of the Host of Dusk.
Broad plates shaped unevenly and layered over each other, skeletal filigrees on the chest taking shaped into a massive ribcage fit for the size of the Khimmerian-Orkh fitted into its center a grim dragon of the House of Dusk, two elliptically curving sharp pointed horns ran along the broad breast section, stopping at the round neck. The back plate, similarly filigreed along its surface, resembling a ridged, draconic spine. Similarly, the gauntlets and the metallic boots of dusk toned metal were lined by bony ridges, flutings. The greaves and shoulder guards on the other hand were of smoother, simpler designs.
A black helmet fitted onto his large, bald head, possessing a diamond’s outline, with prognathous cheek guards, a broad line opening nearly halving it to let his roundish ears be breezed by the wind–and for better hearing–whilst from the top the hair of Sleipnir cascaded down on the elegantly rugged surface, contrastingly inlaid with phosphorescent silver like the rest of the panoply.
Under all the plates, thick jet-black garments adorned their forms of a fine fabric absorbing the light instead of reflecting it, consisting a tunic with snow white fur trims, heightened collars with the closure slanting sideways instead of slipping rigidly in the center, a loincloth ornated with the cycles of the old realms’s moons along the broad piece, whilst the legs seemingly in pants of a wrapped appearance.
“Quite a dreadful sight, aren’t they?” Terrianis asked, caressing Aurelithae’s long red hair bound into a high bun, ornated with gold and silver jewelries.
“Yes father. Quite so.” Aurelithae answered, her voice smooth as fresh, thin ice over a lakelet. And just as dishonest to the careless and prideful.
Four more followed behind the Khimmerian Orkh augmented with the flesh and blood of northern giants, carrying a long, black bladed sword with a blade tall as him. Though their plates lacked the curious filigree forged and sculpted by Teneavhei and the Dwarves of Dusk, they still appeared well-crafted, better than their opponents. Aurelithae looked questioningly at Terrianis, but found no sign that it would bother him. Contrary, she saw mischievous confidence gleam in his eyes.
Behind his massive frame, shadowed the a tall gobokh of an aevhe’s honed, lean frame, and white apish fur trailing down to its dancing tail, contrasting his bluish-black complexion in a lighter panoply, and armed with a trident held in both his ape-hands, his purple eyes focused on the clapping and chanting crowd. A mer-kin of the cold northern seas came not far behind, his skin a deep blue and white as the snow, his face menacing and austere. Long black dreaded strands trailed down his head with icy blue tips dribbled out from his helmet adorned with a pale white crescent attached to the forehead. And a katana rested in its sheath, dangled on his back, in its scabbard running across his shoulder.
An eyeless vampyr trailed her steps in the conjured snow, harsh lineaments drawn around his round maw, as the harsh sounds harshened to the cavities serving as ears. No weapon he carried, similar to the disgraced magus across, and wore only his sweeping robe tinted the blacks of midnight, the deep blues of storms, rippling like ink with every movement forward, its hood he drew over his hairless head, of pinkish pallid and waxen skin. Behind him, followed another gobokh, a maiden of experience in battle and war. Half her homely, apish face marred by the flames of dragons, lids melted over her left eye, her wide lips etched irregularly with deep strokes, penned by swords and even axes similar to the one she held in her right, whilst the left held a twinned-crescent shield.
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Terrianis could not help, but let a thrilling ripple stride across his soul and body at the sight of the five contestants of Dusk. He forgot how much he missed standing on a battlefield, to command over thousands and leap into the fray once triumph felt assured. Closing his lids, he recalled a gloomy day of chilly winds and showering snow, when three of his legions formed before the dark masses of the Night across and slightly above on the rugged terrain of the North. ?
“Are you excited my dear daughter?” He turned at the silken sound of liquid being poured, faced Aurelithae who took the goblet filled nearly to the brim on the small table. Thick, dark red liquid, almost like blood, almost like their hair. As she stood, her servants draped her in a voluminous, droopy cloak fit for the northern cold reaching into their suite, its winds fluttering the white fur of the rims and elliptical collar.
Terrianis noted how with each passing year, she resembled more and more of her mother. Her hair just as red as blood, her skin lustrous and pale as untarnished snow, whilst equally smooth, devoid of blemishes. Her eyes refined, as colorful as his in the almond frame, calm and serene yet there was a soft shadow over it, hiding her true feelings, the same thrill he himself experienced in the anticipation of bloodletting.
“I am father.” She answered truthfully, tone accompanied by the up curving of her luscious lips. They both turned at the blow of the horn, and watched as both teams made their formations, their leaders ahead, the rest taking the Diamond-Formation. Spear and tridents aimed by each vanguard, magusos protected by those of shorter armaments at the rear.
“Let the game begin!” The Announcer’s voice was quickly drowned by the cavernous baying of the khimmerian orkh. Each step shook the black, frozen soil beneath the snow, each step landed in tandem with the clashing of palms, each step rippled unease, then terror through the six contestants of Dawn.
“Tell us, have our speech touched your soul?” Terrianis walked back upon the dais and sat on the gaudy, oaken throne. A glass of fine wine manifested in his right hand, and took a delicate sip.
One more step, and the tall, lanky gladiator bellowed his own, trying to supplant his own fear, in the shadow of Dusk. His eyes focused upon the two massive hands raising above head, whilst a few balls of flame–each the size of oxen–crashed before an invisible wall, rinsing down ethereal snow and particles of ice. Despite his legs trembling, they felt hard as hardened cement, moved only at a great exertion. And in time as the gigantic blade slammed where he stood, sunk deep into snow and soil.
A hopeful chuckle the man allowed for himself, whilst searching for a gap. Once he found one, thrusted quick and true, then let out the gasp of the confounded. The three-pronged head flew off, sunk into the supple snow before the blade came claiming his life. Like butter, it ran from the dome of his helmet, down even slicing the loincloth in two. A splash of gore painted the snow red, and both halved tumbled onto their backs, pushed by the violent wind of the force.
“I am not quite sure what you mean, dear father?” Aurelithae walked over the rail, sipping her sweet-flavored beverage like wine. Watched as a black and rich violet haze enveloped the blade almost as long as Dumath was high in her near-proper manifestation. For the uninitiated, it seemed the gargantuan orkh hacked at the air, whilst she saw streaks of gold and faint blue flitter and fade, each from a ward kept reforming by the lone half-blood magus.
The cracking of the aegis sparked guffaws from children watching, and even some adults and adolescents, all noticing its presence at last. It seemed neither cared who shall win the day. Cheered almost aimless as the great sword rose, whilst a chilling smile spread across the orkh’s visage.
Then as it shattered, its pieces evaporated into golden dust, then nothing. Violet veins sinuously trailed beneath the pallid skin covered in membranous growths of frost. The dark blade found its way once more into metal, and as darkness slithered about its sharp edges, small inky tendrils latched onto his opponent’s weapons, eroding its shaft, and giving way for the enormous sword to taste metal, flesh and blood in quick succession. The southerner gladiator’s shriek was short, drowned by the increased cheers of the onlookers who took queer joy in the demise of another of their supposed champion.
“Do you mean the tonal components woven into the air parting from your lips and throat?” Aurelithae watched the orkh’s armor gleamed in crimson and black, approached the opponents straining their whole forms to combat their own fears before facing the khimmerian orkh. Their own formation shifted, the magus glided each of them across the snow, as the blade came to claim the dwarf next.
His companions remained still, except for the Vampyr who rotated around, following the opposing team’s motion with hands enveloped in translucent darkness, blurring the taloned fingers hiding beneath the baggy cuffs. Both Aurelithae and Albrion observed with squinted eyes, scraping their chins almost in perfect unison. An amusing sight it was to Terrianis. Though he himself sensed the earth soften beneath the snow, anticipated the shifting earth. The whole team amidst their elusive gliding tumbled and now drawn towards the grinning gargantuan orkh standing still. His shadow lengthened over them, and it was the shadow of death.
With one cleave–and the blade wreathed in a cloak of the Dusk’s eroding aspect–their armor broke, their weapons shattered as they feebly tried blocking the reaping blade. It went through both metal and flesh unimpeded. Both the dwarven warrior-maiden and the mer-kin shrieked their last, whilst their panoplies rusted, their flesh blackened and withered, from their gaping waists and neck, crimson leaked forth and painted the snow red.
“You latched the arkhaine point between the esophagus and our core to the channels of the Leylines, letting your presence spread across the Island.” Terrianis nodded, feeling pride at the deduction of his daughter whilst watching her delicate, snow-white hands move along the points.
Though it lasted not long, sensing the essence of the Night leaking from the gladiators of Dusk. His mood tarnished a little at the slight revelation, pondered a little if the enemy had any other tricks up their sleeves.
Contrary to what his corpulent appearance would suggest, the northern gladiator stood his ground till the end, even charged at the signal of the sorceress of mixed blood. He lifted his twin-bladed axe, as the gargantuan orkh sunken quick into the snow and softened soil, but neither strike of his dented the dark plates, nor severed the soft looking fabric, thick and barely any wrinkles forming upon its surface. Albrion recognized the feint arkhaine scent of the spell, whilst his eyes easily followed what others perceived as after images imprinted upon the space as the gargantuan blade moved quicker than the wing-footed messenger of the Eight. Fat and blood sprayed onto the snow, as the corpulent gladiator halved in a mere blink.
“Good, good. This makes this whole farce much more bearable.” Terrianis arose, mockingly clapping his hands, whilst holding back his anger, fearing the repercussions as he was still latching their whole being to the Nexus Point.
Below, the mixed-blood sorceress held no illusions, knew she stood in the shadow of Solemn Shepherd, who awaited her in the Fold where higher beings lingered unseen. She inhaled the crisp and spicy air of sweet memories, permeated by the foul stench of the orkh, and of the corpses of her comrades in doom. She felt her strands caress her face. A pleasant breeze preceded the blade swung by a single, long arm. Thrice her head rolled in the air before it landed facing the cloud hidden firmament.
The cheers grew to the surprise of many on that day, but not to Terrianis who sensed the taint lingering in all their heads. Without words, he complimented the magus whose chains proved unbreakable even for him.
Aurelithae quivered as his anger leaked forth, in small amounts, and feigned confusion as she followed his gaze moving across the grandstands, searching for the culprit. But he ceased the vain efforts, Terrianis raised up his arms to silence the crowd, before he realized their cheers held meaning. Afar, beyond the towering walls of the Colosseum, bells rang and a faint waft of smoke reached his nostrils, carried by the wind and its hidden spirits.
The triumphant team stood patiently, awaiting something. Terrianis struggled, even trusting the plans of his sons, Drussaev and Sussuovar, he found it hard to swallow the audacity of the Shadow and the Nightscale, their agents for poisoning his flock, and ruining an age-old tradition established by his grandfather himself. He tried swallowing his pride, tried seeking tranquility in the small things, in Aurelithae but it was her presence the two calculated not into their plans, and which led his arm to draw a wide arc over the bulwark.
Where the five stood, the snow melted revealing the scorched, blackened earth and smoke billowing towards the skies. Where the five stood, snow melted, evaporated in the shape of a creeping crescent. Yet the crowd ceased not its maddened cheering. Fear gripped him, when power waned from his limbs, felt wet tendrils wrap about his being and push him down. Even breathing proved a challenge, though a small at that. For a moment, the sight of the arena, the circling grandstands vanished and he found himself nearly tumbling off his own throne amidst shallow breaths and his body clad in perspiration. Neither cold nor warm.
Around him, golden speckles flittered about, then flew into his body, lulling the indescribable, mild agonies manifesting slow as he risen back onto his feet, to the sight of chaos unfolding in the arena.
