Eternal Souls | GENESIS

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Lady Sabine, Jun 12, 2014.

Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.
  1. OOC Thread

    The first setting is the island-city of Phaerexes, loosely inspired by ancient Greece, Rome, & Persia.

    The island is two miles long and a mile wide at its thickest point and is located off the Southestern corner of the cetral continent of Meus. It has a warm, semi-Mediterranean climate, suitable for the growth of olives and grapes. The entire island slopes off of one central hill, Temple Mount, where the six Phaerexian gods have their halls of worship.
    Phaerexes was once sparsely populated and inconsequential island, until, according to legend, they were visited by a God. Astroph, God of Civilization, flew down from High Heaven to bless the island and her people. Once they had knowledge of the Five Tenets of Civilization, the Phaerexians began to conquer and enslave the lesser peoples around them, seeking to spread their primary God's influence around the world. In the five hundred and thirty-eight years since Astroph's Coming they have done an excellent job and the Phaerexian empire now spreads almost a thousand leagues West, including the coast of the southern continent Namir, and then upwards five hundred leagues into the cold and bigger Beartooth Fjords.
    The five Tenets of Civilization are Order, Foresight, Industry, Cleanliness, and Art. They are what the Phaerexians believe separates them from the rest of the world which they disregard as "barbaric".
    The social status is very rigid. Slaves cannot be freed save by serving Phaerexes as soldiers. Soldiers alone may also marry into any social class: the Plebes (peasant and laborers, above only slaves), the Bouge (land or business owners), or the Alphas (upper class nobility & priests).
    Phaerexes is ruled by a Triumvirate. The Caesar, or General of the Entire Armed Forces, holds up the military end. The High Priest of Astroph is responsible for interpreting their God's will and the will of the people. Financial and other matters fall to the Chancellor, who is elected by the Alpha class.

    The six Gods of Phaerexes are: Astroph, his two Favored Brothers, his two Wives, and the lesser brother.
    • Astroph is depicted as a fair-skinned, blonde man with white wings sprouting from his shoulder blades, who holds in one hand the Lyre of Culture and in the other the Scepter of Command, and wears a pure white toga with the hem dragging the ground. The priests of Astroph also wear the toga, but carry either Lyres or Lashes, depending on whether they follow the path of Art or Authority. The High Priest of Astroph sits on the Triumvirate.
    • His Warlike Brother is Merax, who is depicted as a fearsome warrior or gladiator, always shirtless to show his muscular physique. He carries the Gladius in his right hand and the Javelin in his left, showing Phaerexian domination both near and far. His priests maintain the Fighting Pits where weekly Gladiator Games are held, and are also heavily involved with the military. Highly ranked priests of Merax are known as Centurions.
    • His Industrious Brother is Odeoss, who is depicted as a powerfully build blacksmith wearing a leather apron. In his right hand is the hammer, used to forge the strong metal that Phaerexia was built on, while his left hand holds the Needle that represents the delicacy of craftsmanship required by a Civilized society. His priests oversee practically every craft industry, and getting temple-made weapons, clothing, or other goods is seen as a sign of great favor.
    • His Wife and Mother of His Children is Hephera, who is often shown as a homely middle-aged woman with wide hips and a gentle face. She carries the Bowl of Plenty in her left hand and the Swaddling Clothes of Prosperity in her right, representing her two most important tasks: to maintain the home and bear as many children for her husband as possible. Priestesses of Hephera are known as Mothers, and are Midwives and Healers for the wealthy, but also run charity for the poor. Temple slaves are often trained as battlefield medics and undertakers.
    • His Virgin Bride is Sapphaera, who is depicted as a teenaged girl, nubile and lovely and without flaw. She is pure and innocent, and represents the height of female beauty and compassion. She carries nothing with her, because it is not the role of young woman to labor. She exists as a nearly-unobtainable ideal. Her temple is small and has few Priestesses, but grows beautiful flowers that are said to bestow blessings of peace, beauty, and love on those that are gifted one.
    • The lesser brother of Astroph has no name. He is depicted as a simple young man of swarthy complexion and thick features, who wears the Shackles of Subservience and a Cloak of Shelter. This represents the exchange between slave and master: obedience for protection. His temple is small and run-down, and the priests that work there are all slaves themselves who are rewarded with priesthood for good behavior, but give up their own names and take on numbers. The Numbered Priests are responsible for the disciplining of disobedient slaves and for recording every new slave, every sale of a slave, and every slave's death.

    PLOT ||

    The temple slaves are growing restless. Rebellions have been tried before and failed before, with unspeakable tortures and horrible executions befalling those unfortunate enough not to perish in the fighting. However, with the Wars of Conquest heating up on the Northern frontier and soldiers leaving the city by the day, the time seems ripe for a rebellion. The only problem will be stirring up slaves and Plebes across the city... it will take a small but focused group to start the flame that will set the powder keg of tension alight.

    these characters can be changed, especially genders and backstories, so long as they can still do basically the same things. ^^
    • The Lion | The greatest Gladiator in all of Phaerexia, the Lion is a slave brought in from his homeland far away. He loathes slavery, loathes Phaerexia, and loathes the entire social city. He has become a symbol of strength and is sometimes considered a miracle from Merax himself. He can be the leader of a rebellion, if only he finds a plan and a support team.
    • The Hound | A city guard assigned to the temples, the Hound is from a lower class family. He is a good and moral man, who believes in the current social system only because he has never dreamed any bigger. He could be a great ally or a great enemy to the liberation movement.
    • The Lamb | An Oracle in the temple of Astroph, she is blessed with the ability to see brief glimpses into the future... apparently. Some think she's a fake, but her predictions have been uncannily accurate so far. So far she has never dreamed of a different world, but when she does, she has the influence and the mind to make it work.
    • The Doe | Daughter of one of the city's most important men, the Doe is said to be as beautiful as Sapphaera herself and twice as clever. She loathes the luxury and privilege she is surrounded by on a daily basis and will do whatever it takes to escape her arranged marriage. She has seen the Oracle several times, and the two of them are near as close to friends as a Slave and Alpha can be. The Doe has the spark to start the rebellion, though once she sets the city on fire she cannot put it out.
    • The Beaver | A temple slave of Odeoss, the Beaver has spent long years laboring over the forge. He is content enough with his life, for he has been treated well and has everything he needs, but recent dreams have started to trouble him. He dreams of a hammer that will smash chains to thousands of little pieces, and knock over the only world he knows. The thoughts of crafting such a weapon frighten him, but they thrill him as well.
    • The Crow | Somewhat outside of the current social order, the Crow is an opportunist. He goes wherever the profits do- if the rebellion draws him in, he could be a valuable soldier or spy or conspirator. But if the priests and Alphas pay more, there is the risk that he could be a traitor. He will do whatever thinks will bring him the greatest fortune.
    #1 Lady Sabine, Jun 12, 2014
    Last edited: Jun 26, 2014
  2. Cassiphaea's cell was the only one on the ground floor, a courtesy extended because stairs troubled her more than they ought to have. It was a great kindness they extended her in moving her from the traditional Oracle's Chambers at the top of the temple down to her current more comfortable room. The mattress on the bed was soft and smelled vaguely of lavender; her sheets were changed twice a week and she had all the blankets she requested; they were very generous. Every morning one of the domestic slaves would put a new vase filled with flowers on her desk; their scent never failed to brighten her day, and Cassi knew that she was more fortunate than many freemen to have such a luxury. The soft linen shift that she slipped over her head might have been a bit coarsely woven and old, but it was the worst thing in her rather extensive wardrobe that also included the simple woolen cloak that she put on after, and they were all hers to wear when she was not working, which was a beautiful thing indeed. The sandals she slipped on protected her bare feet from the roughness of the cobbles outside; how many slaves could boast the same? They trusted her so much there was not even a guard in her hallway. The lightweight staff that came just to her shoulder had been a gift a long time ago; how many slaves even received gifts? She was blessed indeed to be a temple slave, a devoted one of the great Astroph.

    Nights like tonight, though, she wondered if she would not rather make her own blessings.

    It was an ill thing she did, sneaking out of the temple like she did. Every echo and slight shuffle made her cringe and her breath catch in her chest, waiting for the other shoe to drop. If she was caught she would surely be punished; slaves were not permitted to walk about like free folk. How was anyone to tell, though? With the hood pulled over to hide her pale skin and beeswax from her candles stuffed into her bell to dampen the sound, she could have been anyone... or so Cassiphaea tried to convince herself.
    Heart in her throat, the young woman closed the hidden door behind her, stepping out into the narrow alley behind the temple complex. It was not an exit many knew about; in truth even she was not supposed to know it. The priests thought they were stealthy, to spin her around so her sense of direction would be confused whenever they guided her through it, but they were the blind ones in that way. She acted the part of the naive and contented child, so that was all they saw. None of them could see with their hearts. Hers was beating much too fast at the moment to be of much use, but surely if anyone had seen her stealthy escape they would have raised an alarm. More quickly now, wary of a roving patrol scanning the alley, she hurried to the magnolia tree on the corner of the square, hoping to blend in until her friend arrived. Once Alexandria was with her, no one would dare question them. Until then, she could only pray that her ashen locks, stooped posture, and staff would help her play the part of an old woman. She had been told that, for a woman of three-and-twenty, her hair was pale enough and her posture poor enough to pass for a crone. It wasn't a subject that she would really have much authority on.

    Fortunately, nobody seemed to have noticed her... as far as she could tell. The scent of flowers and burning brands was in the air, all smoke and perfume and incense and dust. The Festival of Fire burned in effigy the demons of ice and snow and cold, and the smells to prove it permeated the balmy spring night. So far there were relatively few voices, the shuffle of feet subdued. It was an hour still until midnight when the ceremonies began, and in Phaerexian society, there was no such thing as fashionably early. Fortunately for her, a familiarly bright presence made itself known... though at that distance, she could not tell whether or not it was her friend. There were a few people she could sense, as though her sightless eyes could still be drawn to the sheer force of the spirits within.

    Whether that was part of her oracle gift or something deeper Cassiphaea could not say. It was only a vague feeling, yet it never quite went away. The sense that she was not alone, though she had no family and, in truth, no real friends. None she could entrust everything to, certainly. As kind as Alexandria was to her, Cassi knew better than to let an Alpha know her doubts. And she did have doubts. The doubts, though, were as vague as the tenuous threads connecting her to the few bright souls that stood out in her mind's eye. She was a slave-priestess, an Oracle. Her powers were only to change the individual lives of those wealthy enough to pay tithe to the temple; doubts or no doubts her life was set in stone... and in silver, the silver collar around her neck, just tight enough that she couldn't easily ignore it but not tight enough to truly be uncomfortable.
    #2 Lady Sabine, Jun 16, 2014
    Last edited: Jun 17, 2014
  3. Alexandria was pacing her breathing for she was excited for what this night would hold for her. She was to meet the only person she could even consider a friend and that alone was an adventure. She knew that Cassiphaea may have a difficult time getting out of the temple - especially with her status - but it did not dampen her spirits. If anything, it fueled her opinion that society's system was greatly flawed and needed to be corrected.

    She waived away the servants that were trying to attend to her every need, and wished that their hard work actually amounted to something. She turned to face a mirror and took in what she saw. Her hair was up in a popular style that included beads and other decor that shone brightly in the black hair. She turned to look at it from different angles, only to decide that this dress was a bit overdone. But as a daughter of who people consider a very important man in their city, she could not get away from anything less. She shook her head in disgust. Her blue eyes stood strong as she turned to look out upon the city. A celebration was to be happening tonight but she could care less. Servants and those of lower status were recommended to not go. Another example of the terrible state that she hated most.

    She turned and looked up to see if it was near time to meet her friend. She smiled and quickly turned to exit her room, her dress flowing behind her. She was commonly called beautiful, and she did not care if it were true. Because of voicing her opinion and her beliefs, she had been shunned from most of her peers, and was alone in anything she did. Her father would consider her an embarrassment, but apparently her beauty amounted to something - as long as she kept her mouth shut.

    She walked out in the streets, the smells and effects hitting her. It was a bit strong, but she could handle it as she began to look for the one she wanted to see most. She would not call her name for it may danger her, but she knew that Cassiphaea would probably find her first.
    • Love Love x 1
  4. Illias watched warily as the forge fires began to sputter and die, pitiful wisps of smoke pluming up into the night sky to mix with those of distant torches. The regular smells of molten metal and burning wood were overpowered by the perfume oil wafting through the air. He hated the perfume oils, the burning and stinging they left in his nose. If they lingered for a single night, they would be bearable, but the oils in the air would permeate into the woods and fabrics of the temple, leaving it smelling of flowers for the next week. A week of runny noses and burning sinuses. Joy. With a huff, the man threw the water on the forge fire, turning away from his work for the night. There were a few slaves still mulling around the temple, but many had already turned in for the night, or gone to ask the priests for leave to enjoy the festival. Only the newest slaves asked for such a thing, thinking that the relative kindness of the priests extended to some lenience concerning free folk privileges. They would find themselves punished for presuming such things. Every slave went through it at some point. Even him, long ago.

    Soft, confident footsteps echoed off the walls as he headed through the halls, giving the briefest of nods to those he passed, as though he was busy with purpose. The easiest way to avoid midnight chores was to act as if you'd already been selected for them, he'd found, and the last thing he wanted was to be asked to stay up even later. It didn't matter that he needed to head out early tomorrow for a ring fitting, the priests wouldn't care. His step faltered as he thought about leaving the temple. Even for something as quick as a fitting, he hated being out of the protective walls, among all those people. It'd be much more preferable to have clients come to him. But how dare he, a lowly slave, presume to ask free folk to come to him? Oh no, he was the one running through the streets, staring at his feet and hoping to all the gods he didn't break down.

    Giving a quick glance down the halls, he darted into the stairwell heading up to the top tier balcony, where Odeoss' statue stood proud. Only priests were meant to be up here, and only for certain rituals. If anyone found him up here, it would be lashings and beatings for the next month. If they saw what he did while up on the balcony, it would be execution for heresy. Or something worse, if it existed. Peeking through the archway, making sure there was no one else with his same disdain for the rules out and about, he came out into the balcony. The night was warm and clear, a perfect night for festivities. Taking hold of the carved creases in Odeoss' smith apron, Illias began to climb. He could just imagine the head priest having an aneurysm if he ever found out a slave had dared touch the grand statue of their god. It brought a smirk across his lips, a brief amusement.

    He ceased his climb just before the head, taking a seat on the statue's broad shoulder. From his vantage point, he could see some of the closer crowds of people beginning their festivities. He couldn't see much, but even just this little bit made him feel more a part of everything. More like he was free. Free. He'd never really cared about his freedom before. He had a purpose, and was taken care of within the temple. What more could he ask for? And yet, there it was, the beginnings of longing pricking deep within his soul. How silly, to have been a slave through his whole life, and only now be pining for something more.
    #4 Kylulu, Jun 19, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Jun 20, 2014
    • Like Like x 1
    • Love Love x 1
  5. Visuo had been waiting for minutes, or was it hours by now? He didn't know, didn't care; the plan would work. Still, if he had to be completely honest with himself, he would rather it be sooner than later as his thick cloak did not help stave off the dry, warm evening. Sweat beaded down his forehead and back and his hand itched to tear the ornate clasp at the neck of the cloak that marked him as a priest of the Sixth. It was all for show - faith was a load of horse shit to him and at best was a way to get what he wanted. Like now.

    Then he glanced it, the Praetorian that carried the scroll with the markings of the slaves. That scroll had what he wanted - Spartica's sale to another noble. By technicality he had been paid to retrieve it for quite a weighty sum, yet that would be another bridge to burn when he got there. Once he had the scroll, it would be a matter of changing out the written name to his patron's. Of course there was assuming another false identity and purchasing her with help of the sum received, leaving the profits for later.

    Visuo strode forward, placing a hand upon the Praetorian's shoulder. He had made sure to mark his robes with a rank suitable enough to speak with the superior without seeming to be out of place. A Signifer seemed the best fit, naturally after the previous temple's Signifer had been disposed of, the live one was a liability. He cleared his throat and spoke, subduing his 'nobleman' voice to little more than a hushed whisper with a heavy inflection that marked a southern man.

    "Vīgintī novem." He began, naming the number twenty-nine. The man turned and rose an eyebrow beneath the pale grey hood.

    Visuo paused for a moment, waiting for the Praetorian to respond. When none was forthcoming, he continued after clearing his throat and continuing. "I've heard there was a woman outside wishing to, ahm, declare the death of a slave. Poor thing, told her I was no one to mark such a, ahm, transaction, so to speak."

    When the man did not further inquire about the woman, Visuo curved his arm and waved to the door while the hand previously on his shoulder slid into the folds of the robes and pulled out the scroll. Unless the man was baiting him, the classic draw-the-eye trick had worked for the time being. With a slow nod of the head, the man continued towards the doorway as Visuo slipped the scroll into his own robes. The second the Praetorian had left line of sight, Visuo hunched down and began to frantically glance over the scroll for the name. His eyes dashed left to right. Sweat beaded down his forehead. The footsteps of the Praetorian returning could be heard. There. Below the sixty second name. His pen scribbled, the name was drawn down to the bottom of the list.

    Had Visuo been a fool, he would have left no one at the door. As it was, he had taken a lone peasant girl to stride up and say a prewritten response to whoever came to the door. It had cost six silvers, but a job done well was done without liabilities. The Signifer came to mind. The Praetorian strode back into the main hall to see Visuo knelt before one of the alters of the Sixth. He stooped to pick up the apparently fallen scroll and strode away. Once he could no longer hear the soft scuff of leather on stone, Visuo stood and sighed with relief. It was lucky to him that this particular Signifer did not trust the documentation to the scribes and preferred to run the temple on his own; such arrogance was his to toy with.

    He strode out the door, folding his cloak and tossing it to the girl with a nonchalant shrug. Better she found with it than him. Of course there was the Signifer to hide or create some fake death for, but that was, as always, another bridge to burn when he got there...
    #5 ze_kraken, Jun 21, 2014
    Last edited: Jun 21, 2014
    • Love Love x 1
  6. Silas wandered aimlessly among the partying crowd. The number of guards on duty was cut due the festival, but it didn't mean everyone got a day of. The night was divided into two shifts, this way no-one would have to miss the all of the festivities. Silas was assigned to be on the second watch, he would be expected to show up after the fourth bell rang.

    Silas sighed deeply as he weaved through the few early people. Being on the second shift meant he would see all the formal ceremonies, the bonfires that would be burned ashes by the time the first shift would be released. But it also meant he couldn't really celebrate. Being drunk while working was strictly prohibited, and so was drinking while on duty. Having a reputation of a reliable man was a nuisance during times like these. He knew he wouldn't be drinking, and unfortunately so did his superiors. Silas knew the others would be drunk, and that they would most likely continue drinking in some quiet corner of the temple they were assigned to. He knew he should be joining them, just once, and maybe he wouldn't be assigned to these shifts that no-one else was willing to take. But he also knew that he wouldn't be able to do it, his sense of duty would never allow it.

    Continuing his silents musing Silas started making his way towards the city center. He had avoided the places all his coworkers would be going to enjoy the night, but since sleeping was not an option on a night like this, he figured he might as well go and see the ceremonies. He was still early, but couldn't avoid seeing one of the guards he was supposed to be working with in few hours stagger around the street with a woman, both obviously drunk. This was going to be long night.
    • Love Love x 1
  7. Sometimes others, doubting her blindness, would wave their hands in front of her face as if to try and make her flinch or somehow admit that she could see them, as though it were all an act she put on. The actual image of their flailing extremities were lost on her, but not the way they disturbed the air in front of her, the sounds they made roughly shoveling the air aside. Without her eyes, her ears and skin became finely attuned. She could guess, in a way, at what was lost to what might be considered the most important sense.

    Tonight she had that same sensation, albeit in a more spiritual way. There were forces in motion all around her, great happenings that rippled the very fabric of time around her... she could feel a vision at every corner, every person's past and future tugging at her. It was childishly simple, that she felt utterly, but she was as blind in her spiritual eye as in her physical one wherever these strange kismetic movements were concerned. For all she felt, she could only guess at what was happening. It was tantalizingly close and yet completely out of reach.

    Shaking her head, she wondered if perhaps she wasn't going mad. Seeing images of the future was mad enough already, how much would it really take to push her over the edge? There were bright spots dancing in the corners of her inner eye. They were all looking for something, like her... could they sense her as she sensed them? Could they feel the threads of fate draw into a tighter weave?

    As one of them drew closer, Cassiphaea assumed that it was Alexandria. Daring to pull her hood down for only a moment the oracle stepped further into the open, hoping that her friend would see her soon. Most of the time she did not mind her lack of eyes, but now it seemed distinctly disadvantageous. Why did Alex not call out to her? The term "blind" must truly mean nothing to her...
    • Love Love x 1
  8. Alexandra sighed in relief when she did see Cassiphaea. Her friend always seemed to have a sense when she was nearby. Alexandra finally slowed down and quickly grabbed the hands of her friend. "I am very glad to finally see you. I worried you would be discovered," she whispered. "I did not want to draw attention to you." She then got very excited and couldn't help but hug her. "I am sorry, I couldn't help it. Let's just say I worry, but now, we have to figure out what we want to do."

    She didn't care if anyone paid attention to her. She didn't care about the latest social whisperings, but she looked to make sure no one recognized her friend. If Cassiphaea was recognized, it would lead to a huge disaster. She quickly looked around to make sure they were okay, and she didn't see anyone truly paying attention to her; they were all absorbed in their own self pleasure, the pigs.
  9. The fires hissed and crackled in the night, their light and warmth reaching far into the sky to encase the whole of the city, the whole Island in fact. So as to be seen by all. Whether they be the mortals who resided on the mainland, fisherman and traders far out to see, or the very gods themselves, luxuriating in their heavenly abodes and staring down at the puny humans below. Judging whether they were worthy of the new year, whether the cold of winter should be dispelled for the warm comforts of spring and summer. Tirig leaned her head back, her face tipped back so that the light of the stars, barely visible through the smoke of the Festival fires, could bathe her face. not that it could reach her through the mask tied securely to her face. The festival of fire, where the demons of cold and ice were vanquished by the holy flames. She chuckled at the irony that they would use her, a daughter of the frigid northlands, to represent their sacred fire in the bastardized ritual that had grown popular alongside the rise of the gladiatorial games.

    She stood in the center of an arena of people, a bonfire before her. Its flame licked at her painted skin, the red and gold of her own costume seeming to come alive with its warm embrace. All around her the cheered for her, chanting her name," SPARTICA! SPARTICA! SPARTICA!" But it was not her name they chanted. It was the lie that her owner had sold the crowds, a name that they could cheer proudly from the stands as she killed for their pleasure. It was all she could do to not spit in those sacred flames and curse them all for the ice blooded demons they themselves, were. Sadly though, it was not them that would be thrown to the flames this night, and across from her stood her foes for the night's... festivities. Half a dozen slaves, so much like herself, but painted with blue and white and bedecked in masks that resembled the faces of men who had died in the deepest cold of winter. Effigies of the demons of ice and cold that roamed the world and brought death and desolation in their wake. She shook her head sadly at the extreme price these aristocratic slobs would go to for entertainment. For a little excitement in their dull lives.

    It was all just a ploy, a show to prove that she was the best gladiator to be trained in the Phaerexian empire. They pinned her up against odds that no woman could possibly survive and then bet on the outcome as though it were not an already forgone conclusion. As much as the knowledge sickened her, she knew the slaves before her were to die this night, whether by her hands or another's. At least she would finish the deed quickly. Her heart, flickering between a cold fury at those who presumed to rule her and a bone deep weariness at the knowledge that she could not yet stand up to them, began to pump faster as she looked over her opponents.

    "Wait for me across the river my friends. I shant be far behind I think."

    The largest and bravest, or maybe just the most foolish of them, snarled at her in the language of the western Isles, a language that she could not understand. But by the underlying tone she could get the general meaning. Tiri sighed sadly as he charged her, leaping over the fire and heading straight for her. His sword swung down at her body, naked of any armor but the patterns of flame on her skin... and hit nothing. Where one moment she had been standing stoically before the fire, now the man saw nothing. Not her graceful dodge, nor the swift stroke of her sword-arm that severed his head from his shoulders. And then the poor man saw nothing at all. Slowly she lifted her blade, watching as the red blood slowly ran down its surface before flicking it contemptuously to get the worst of the gore off. Her eyes were colder than the Wintry north as she looked across the fire and waited for the next man to gather his courage and face her.

    Tonight she would fight and kill to survive... But something told her the time for action drew near. Something in the air was different, and while she had long since lost any hope or faith she once had, her gut had yet to fail her. Something big was coming, and when it did she would take her chance at freedom.
    • Love Love x 1
  10. A clamour of noise rose into the air, Illias leaning forward in an attempt to see had caused the crowd to react. It was difficult, but he could make out the moving figures of blues and red of costumes flickering in bonfire light. The bloody demonstration of the power of the nobles, surely. Thats all any of this was. Nobles throwing a lavish party that the free folk just happened to be invited to. Invited to see just how out of reach the top class was, a day to see what they could truly never have. Yes, they could enjoy themselves, but the best seats to the ceremonies, the most succulent of food, the blessings of all the gods, were saved for those with the titles and money to buy it. The bitterness of that thought surprised him, pushing it down to sort out later. Tonight was not the night for such thoughts. A chorus of cheers and shouts rose up from the crowds, chanting the most popular name in the Phaerexian empire.


    Illias strained his eyes to see the movements of the figures inside the arena. He'd met Spartica on a few occasions. Gladiators needed regular fixes to their armour and weapons, after all. But he'd never seen her in battle, only heard second hand that she was the best the empire had ever procured. He was curious to know wether or not the stories held any truth. One of the blue "demons" charged forward, swinging down hard. Easily dodged, Spartica moved swift and precise, the blue demon falling soon after, head rolling away. The crowds cheered. Illias felt sick. Yes, her skills were impressive, but just the nonchalance of her demeanour was unsettling. A woman- no, a person so accustomed to killing that it had become almost nothing. And yet the crowd continued to cheer and chant for the woman, not a thought spared for the slave, for surely free-folk would be spared being slaughtered. And there were still other slaves in line to receive the same.
    • Like Like x 1
  11. Silas stopped for a moment at an edge of a crowd that was chanting Spartica's name. He would had gladly watched her fighting, but the crowd was too thick for him to even get a glimpse of the fighters. An increase in volume told him that the first opponent was killed. The ritual wasn't his favorite among the ceremonies of the night, but it was a way to pass time. The crowd kept pushing him back no matter how much he tried to push forward. Silas received a someones fist in his nose, the offender didn't even notice and kept on cheering for Spartica. After an elbow at his ribs and another smash, to the shoulder this time, he gave up the idea of trying to see the fight. Being a guard had given him the opportunity to watch her fight a countless of times, he would see another fight soon. He still sort of envied the guards in charge of making sure the people would stay far enough and making sure the slaves were kept in place. After seeing the show from the front row without gaining punches from over exited people they would be dispatched to celebrate in any way they wanted to.

    Leaving the flock of people Silas stayed close by, far enough to avoid further injury, but close enough to charge for opening and a possible glance of the participants. Waiting for something so impossible seemed like a more fascinating choice than going to listen the preacher all over the town. And it would be good way to avoid people he knew, most of them were guards like him, and would avert being seen drunk by the others. During one of the celebrations, some guards off duty had came to one of the temples dunk and made clowns of themselves, and had received a severe scolding from the commander in chief himself. They had been the laughingstock of the rest of them for a long while, and still heard comments of the accident sometimes. In order to prevent something alike from happening again, they usually avoided others when they were drunk. Unless they were drunk enough, Silas noted to himself as he spotted a familiar face shouting slurred insults at the demons. Luckily the people besides him were all too exited to take notice. Realizing his quest of eluding acquaintances was a failure he shook his head and moved on.
    • Like Like x 1
  12. Arcus III of the Behrtio, a rather humble estate located just off the southern coast of the island, naturally would have attended the games this night had things gone according to plan. As he intended to be the one to purchase Spartica this very evening, it appeared that both Visuo and Arcus III might require an appearance as well. As Mactaro strode towards his previous contractor, he did admit that perhaps this was not the best of plans he had conjured before. Taking the papers as an unnamed priest had been easy, covering the tracks of a dead one had been an interesting challenge, but switching faces within ten minutes of first touch would be near impossible.

    Visuo had been the one to deliver the proclomation stating the documents were forged and that Marcius Lusidia Pimarto was now the owner of the slave self-titled 'Spartica' and were now entitled to the winning, earnings, and ownership thereof. That had been nearly an hour ago. Now, completely unrecognizable at the city worker named Visuo he had hidden under the guise of, Mactaro finally approached Pimarto and began to exchange pleasantries. Three weeks before taking the job, he had made it paramount that his nobleman's persona at least come to speaking terms with Pimarto should the need to rob him arise. As usual, the need had arisen, though for himself rather than others.

    "Quite the spectacle, no?" Mactaro spoke, applying the heavy dialect of the north that Arcus spoke with. From Pimarto's elevated palanquin, the two could quite easily see past the gathering crowd and directly into the fight.

    Pimarto nodded slowly, replying. "She will make me a rich man."

    "Who? Her opponent?" Mactaro laughed sharply, pretending ignorance. "I believe this was an ill match to place her in. I wager another ten minutes before Spartcia makes her head food for the crows." A pause. "No, no. Carrion is a better word, and shall I say her carcass?"

    "No, no. Spartcia will make me rich!" The other bellowed to a cheer of the crowd at her name, causing the chant once again.

    "You were able to afford Spartica?" Mactaro gave a gasp, holding a hand with red-painted nails to his mouth in surprise. "Last I heard the offers ran at three times the average income of the entire mercantile establishment."

    "A man has his ways, as I'm sure you understand." Pimarto grinned widely and ran a hand towards the pit. "As I see it, I have no reason to surrender such a mass of income to any man."

    Sixth be damned, already feeling the rush of wealth. Mactaro offered a weary smile and bowed forward. "Best of fortune to you, then. I'm afraid I must take my leave for the evening. I have urgent affairs to tend to..." He offered a grimace of apology before turning and leaving the palanquin with a swirl of purple and gold cloaks.

    Once he had cleared the palanquin, Mactaro began to shove his way through the swelling crowd, their defeaning roars and shouts hammering against his ears. It was a tasteless activity, he had always viewed it as such. The noise, the blood, the lower class. The only benefit that arose for Mactaro over this was the incomes and the public recognition as the owner of the top fighters.

    As he continued to shove and work his way through the fringes of the crowd, the plan began to click into place: Mactaro would assume the identity of the thief, called the Rake by the common folk and threaten Pimarto himself and damn the consequences. It was unorthodox, for he would have usually assumed three or four names to succeed in such an endeavor. As Arcus, he had discovered a great many things about Pimarto. Things that could be used as leverage. But first, he'd need the greatest leverage of all: Spartica.
    #12 ze_kraken, Jun 29, 2014
    Last edited: Jun 29, 2014
    • Like Like x 1
  13. Silas was loitering around the cheering crowd, as he noticed someone forcing their way towards the arena. Curses followed his trail. Assuming him to be another enthusiastic spectator he paid no attention to him. A tug on his sleeve awoke him of his thoughts. A questioning look revealed a twelve-year-old kid looking up at him. He had probably sneaked out on his own, not many children were allowed out at this hour.

    "What's the matter?" he asked lowering himself to the kids eye level.

    "Is something like that allowed? When I visited the temple, I was told not to touch it." the kid said with a slight pout and burrowed eyebrows.

    Silas`gaze followed his finger, towards the statue of Odeoss. His incredulous eyes spotted a figure on his shoulder. Someone had dared to touch to Odeoss`statue, even to climb it. He couldn't believe his eyes, and kept staring, half hoping for the figure to disappear, until another tug at his sleeve startled him.

    "Well? Could I do it? You are a guard right? It looks quite fun." the kid raised a questioning eyebrow.

    "No, you aren't allowed do that. And you should be a good boy and get back home." Silas answered with his best stern guards voice. The kid nodded sourly and stomped of without further complaints.

    Silas made sure he was out of sight before rushing to the crowd. His physique of a guard was extremely helpful, but he still had to use his elbows quite a lot to get to the guards surrounding to arena. He spotted an old friend of his by the palanquins and made his way there. A few hushed words in his ears earned him a disbelieving glance, but they and two others were quickly making their way towards Odeoss`temple. Had the news been from someone else, it would had been cast of as a prank, but for once Silas`reputation came in handy. A few curious glances were cast at the guards rushing of, but since problems with drunkards weren't so uncommon, even though the night was still young, no-one spared them a second one.

    They quickly arrived at the temple, the others seeing the shape with their own eyes forced them to believe it wasn't just some hallucination from inhaling too much smoke. Some priest were startled awake at their no so quiet entrance, but seeing the guards uniform no-one tried to stop them. Racing at the balcony Silas stopped dead on his tracks. The figure barely visible from below was now clear enough to perceive features. The first thought in his head was denial, he had always thought of Illias as a reasonable man, doing something so plain stupid didn't sound like him at all. The second thought was to hurry and tell him get out, to tell everyone the figure had disappeared before they got there. But this line of thought was promptly discarded as his fellow guards shouted at him to get down there immediately, the most eager one bellowing for him to do it with out touching the statue again. Silas could only watch helplessly, he wasn't really on duty, he had no authority to stop them from arresting Illias and taking him to be punished.
  14. Jeers and cheers, these were the backdrop of Tiri's life now. The crowd cried out exultantly as she felled the first of her fellow slaves, their voices a bloodthirsty cacophony in the night air. It was a shame really, for such a beautiful night to be spoiled by the over zealous reveling of the empire's most well dressed beasts. All around her all she could see were rats, snakes, dogs, pigs, and crowing fowl, dressed up in their finest and drunk on power, wine, and blood. And there, just across the fire from her, stood a group of men and women who had had lives of their own at one point. Likely farmers or hunters from tribes much like her own that had been captured and sold for profit only to die here for the amusement of bloodthirsty beasts... And she was to be the instrument of their demise. A shame.

    She closed her eyes, shutting out the light of the sacred fires. She let the screams of the crowd devour itself and fade from her consciousness. Her weapons remained at her side, her stance relaxed and open. For a moment, she allowed herself to feel the night without all the obstructions around her, basked in the fires warmth at her front and the cool night air at her back. Just for a moment she allowed herself to feel as though she were somewhere else, free again and far from the corrupt empire... but the manacles around her wrists and ankles soon brought her back to her sad reality. A disturbance in the air was all the warning she had before an ax came spinning for her head, thrown by one of the so called "Ice Demons" in an attempt to catch her off guard. At the same time the whole group of slaves charged her. She waited until the last second, then dropped her weight entirely, her legs folding underneath her and her back falling until her head brushed the ground. From that seemingly vulnerable position her blades scissored, taking the slave who had tried to charge her in the abdomen and opening him from one side to the other.

    As the poor man fell away, his guts spilling upon the ground in a steaming pile, Tiri sprung back to her feet and her eyes finally opened back up as she sprung into the attack. An enemy swung and Tiri's blade flashed out, severing the fingers from the hand holding their weapon. As the foe fell to her knees screaming Tiri slit her throat, ending the screams in a gurgling bloody mess. another came at her with a trident, jabbing at her to keep her at a distance. She dodged and ducked, swatting the pronged weapon away any time it came too close to its mark. Her relentless onslaught forced the wielder back, and with a dark smile she lunged, sliding past the head of the trident and landing a solid kick to the mans middle. He flew back, landing in the sacred fire and screaming out in anguish. The greatest gladiator in the empire, no one would contest her skill and ferocity. She smiled sadly at the knowledge and picked up the burning mans forgotten weapon, stabbing it through his throat as he tried to climb from the fire. She let the weapon go and he fell back into the flames, and was consumed by them in short order.

    With four dead she had only two left to face, but she could clearly tell that neither had the heart to fight her. She looked them over with a cold emotionless stare, memorizing what she could of them. A malnourished pair, a man and a woman. They held on to each other like lovers, and most probably were such... But as slaves their fate was to die by her hand. At least they would do so together. With a flourish that was mostly unnecessary she slung the blood from her blades, splattering the crowd in all their finery. They cheered now, but it was her most sincere hope that they would curse her for the stains later, as she cursed them for the blood that stained her hands in layers from her long slavery. As she approached the pair however, the man fled. He released the hand that had so firly held his and fled, charging for the crowd as though he meant to break through... He never saw her blade as it flew through the air to thunk solidly into the back of his neck, lodging there in his bone. As Tiri... No, Spartica, turned to the young woman she fell to her knees. There was no crying out, and the tears that filled her eyes were not allowed to fall. The slave stared up at her death with brave unflinching eyes, and as Spartica's blade rested its tip upon her chin she looked up to watch the stars.

    "Fen hasath... May you find peace in the beyond."
  15. The fighting likely would continue long into the night, until the first rays of light would reach up to touch the sky. So much violence and needless death to satisfy the bored masses. Illias felt his stomach turn sour at the thought, adverting his eyes away from the arena. This was what the free folk spent their time doing? Watching and jeering as men and women died? Maybe it was better he was a slave. At the very least, he still had his humanity.

    "You there!"

    The sudden shout startled him enough that he nearly slipped from the stature, looking down to see a cluster of guards glaring up at him. Not including Silas, who seemed just as startled as he was. The man who had first shouted at him demanded he climb down from the statue. A second chimed in to demand he do so without laying his hands on the statue again. How exactly he was meant to do that didn't seem to matter to the men. He doubted it would help if he pointed out that they, by being on the balcony, were committing a crime themselves. Like everything, it worked differently for those of some status. Steeling himself for the worst, Illias began the careful decent of the statue, glancing down at the angry men every so often, until his feet touched solid ground. In an instant, rough hands grabbed around his arms, forcefully pulling him away from the statue, causing him to give a sharp cry as fingers dug deeming into him. They'd be bruised for the next few days, at the very least. If he didn't end up executed, anyway. A pleading look was shot towards Silas, in the vain hope that maybe the man had enough pull within the guard to keep him alive.
Thread Status:
Not open for further replies.