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[4e] Fallen - Chapter I: Blood and Sand (Full)
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<blockquote data-quote="Sparky" data-source="post: 4973464" data-attributes="member: 13681"><p>The guard keeps half an eye on Rodeh after the outburst. The attendant dressing the dwarf suffers the indignity of being spat at miserably. There was one punishment worse than the punishment for trying to escape the Arena... failing to prepare gladiators for their matches. The punishment was intended to dissuade attendants from sabotaging a gladiator's gear and in so doing, rig a fight. But it also served to keep the attendants on their toes. The attendant's jaw muscles bunch and he wipes his face on his shoulder, barely dropping a beat as his hands continue their methodical work. The guard snorts and shakes his head, muttering something under his breath.</p><p> </p><p>The attendants make a final check of the three gladiators and then withdraw. The guard follows them. </p><p> </p><p>Muffled, outside you can hear a voiced raised, muffled, you can tell by the rise and fall, the pacing, the cadence that the speaker is an orator of some kind. The muffled voice rises and punctuates the end of the speech with a rousing cry. The tunnel trembles. Dust filters down from the raftered ceiling, shaken free by the thundrous response from the crowd.</p><p> </p><p>The gates swing open and the crowds roar drowns the metallic shriek of the portcullis rising. This is your cue. You have no idea what today's battle will bring, only that you're to walk to the middle of the arena and stand back to back.</p><p> </p><p>The sand of the Arena is black. Looking more closely, it's not sand at all, but fine gravel. It crunches under your feet. As soon as the tabards and dragon helms are sighted the crowd's enthusiastic roar grows louder. </p><p> </p><p>The arena floor rises slowly toward the center, rising more steeply towards the middle making a small hill. Three standards are thrust into the ground. White, bearing the ram's head of the 7th Legion; Red, bearing the crossed swords and halved paya fruit of Andrius; Purple, bearing the laurel and hand - the Emperor's seal.</p><p> </p><p>There are flashes in the shaded seats as raucous fans of the bloodsport spit their breath in gouts of flame and lightning.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Sparky, post: 4973464, member: 13681"] The guard keeps half an eye on Rodeh after the outburst. The attendant dressing the dwarf suffers the indignity of being spat at miserably. There was one punishment worse than the punishment for trying to escape the Arena... failing to prepare gladiators for their matches. The punishment was intended to dissuade attendants from sabotaging a gladiator's gear and in so doing, rig a fight. But it also served to keep the attendants on their toes. The attendant's jaw muscles bunch and he wipes his face on his shoulder, barely dropping a beat as his hands continue their methodical work. The guard snorts and shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. The attendants make a final check of the three gladiators and then withdraw. The guard follows them. Muffled, outside you can hear a voiced raised, muffled, you can tell by the rise and fall, the pacing, the cadence that the speaker is an orator of some kind. The muffled voice rises and punctuates the end of the speech with a rousing cry. The tunnel trembles. Dust filters down from the raftered ceiling, shaken free by the thundrous response from the crowd. The gates swing open and the crowds roar drowns the metallic shriek of the portcullis rising. This is your cue. You have no idea what today's battle will bring, only that you're to walk to the middle of the arena and stand back to back. The sand of the Arena is black. Looking more closely, it's not sand at all, but fine gravel. It crunches under your feet. As soon as the tabards and dragon helms are sighted the crowd's enthusiastic roar grows louder. The arena floor rises slowly toward the center, rising more steeply towards the middle making a small hill. Three standards are thrust into the ground. White, bearing the ram's head of the 7th Legion; Red, bearing the crossed swords and halved paya fruit of Andrius; Purple, bearing the laurel and hand - the Emperor's seal. There are flashes in the shaded seats as raucous fans of the bloodsport spit their breath in gouts of flame and lightning. [/QUOTE]
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[4e] Fallen - Chapter I: Blood and Sand (Full)
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