The Fall of Zathas [IC]

[Creamsteak]

The barracks of the Eleventh Legion was one of the first buildings constructed upon landing in the isolated region now called the Militocracy of Zathas. From the shell of the great warship Aiengarde, a massive structure was made. The building was made almost as if the ship itself had been flipped upside down, it's mast removed and the hull now covered with windows and balconies. The Aiengarde now stands over one hundred feet high and wide and three hundred feet to its broad side. Five floors were created from the decks of the ships structure, and and another level was carved into the bedrock below. It is here that the members of the Eleventh Legion eat and sleep.

The Eleventh legion is commanded by the general Zeke Algus. Ezekiel Algus is an aged but strong man, decorated in a grey mustache but otherwise bald, standing over six feet high and muscled like a weight lifter, he would intimidate all but the biggest men. His uniform is perfectly maintained, and his only irregular marking is a heavy black eyepatch that covers his left socket.

Algus is a reputed hero decorated many times over, not the least of which is his mark as a veteran of the famed Battle of Havshur, 50 years ago. At Havshur, it is said that a beast as tall as the mighty Aiengarde awakened deep within the Wild Lands of Zathas and wrecked havok over the entire jungle. The giants of the far south, the kobolds of the east, the trogs of the west, the drow of the forests, and the kuo-toa and sahaguin of the waters came to beg peace with Zathas - a rest from our daily wars - and peace was had. The story goes that only our fine imperial steel could drive the beast away, and when our armies stood before the monster it fled in terror to save itself. It is also said that when the great beast turned, so too did our temporary allies. The feral monsters of these jungles turned on our armies, and so earned the eternal brand as traitors.

The old general stands now, on a raised platform above the mess hall looking down over his entire unit. Before him, a few hundred soldiers in various states of melancholy as they look towards the general and the large open sand pit that was hastily made in front of him. The circular pit, only twenty feet across, seems to have been retrofitted into the structure overnight while most of the legion rested. Many can feel the chilling fear and warm excitement taking over the crowd as they ready themselves in anticipation of what may come. The soldiers here today stand in their rags and street clothes, their uniforms and weapons left behind in their dress rooms. If one did not know better, they would look like a crowd of the worst sort - criminals, thugs, toughs, and hoods.

Today, in the mess hall on the ground-level deck of the Aiengarde, a special ceremony is taking place. Today, for the honor of all to see, a test of strength has been declared. Overseen by the General Algus, watched by the officers and knights of the highest caliber from the Eleventh Legion, a tournament is being held to annoint a new Sergeant. Someone to lead an expedition into the jungles. This honor and priviledge can only be awarded to someone who demonstrates the pride of his Legion, and in the Eleventh - this is most often shown in righteous combat.

"Today, my sons, we will find out who among you has the skills necessary to win your right of command!"

The crowd, suddenly silenced by the slow, gravely, powerful voice of the one-eyed silver-ogre*. The general continues...

"In the name of our king, today we look upon those willing to enter the ring as gladiators. When I call out to you to start, those of you brave enough to enter the ring - jump down into the pit. Should only one man jump, that man shall be called the victor. Should two or more men step into that pit, may the last man still in the pit and concious win the day and earn his right of command. These rules are simple. Whether you win by strength, guile, trickery, skill, speed, intellect, endurance, or crafty diplomacy - he who stands at the end shall be the winner. These rules are simple. Also know, that should you kill any of your brothers, I will step in and deal with you as the Eleventh deals with traitors - with death. So be careful in there..."

He pauses for half a breath, interrupting the thoughts of those planning...

"BEGIN!"

OOC:
[sblock]Trying to start us off with some action. This will be a mini-game of sorts. I'm giving everyone the opportunity to roleplay either from the inside of the ring or the outside. Depending on whether you step in or remain outside, I'll have a different set of events for you to deal with over a number of rounds. When things are all said and done... we'll see who the real winner is. Instead of relying heavily on the combat and grappling rules to resolve this, I'm actually depending on how the players choose to describe their actions from the get go. Feel free to be extra creative (invent characters, rivalries, techniques, situations, and play off each others descriptions if you can). I'll be playing along as well, as the rest of the people involved.

This is somewhat a free-for-all roleplaying thing here, to try and get people to loosen up a bit and give people the opportunities to quickly set the stage for their characters. No holds here, if you want the arena to be interrupted by a monster in the sand-pit, then introduce it. This will set the stage and let me see what I'm working with...[/sblock]

*A title, he's not an ogre.

 

[GlassEye]

The echo of the general’s command had only begun to fade when a brute of a man half slid half jumped down the steeply sloped and sandy side of the makeshift arena. One large hand grazed the sides of the pit maintaining the man’s balance. Nearing the bottom he clenched both hands into fists and stepped to the center. Muscles clenched as he roared his wordless defiance at those soldiers slower than him to take up the general’s challenge.

Atapesh stood somewhat stiffly in his uniform adorned with badges of the Eleventh Legion and stared into the pit. He detested Murkin, that brutish soldier unlovingly refered to as ‘the Beast’. He watched as the man threw sand into an advancing soldier’s eyes and pummeled a second who moved within reach of those apish arms. "It would be a pity," said Atapesh to a young lieutenant standing next to him, "if the Beast were to endure until the end of this contest."

"Indeed. Though a certain faction of officers may disagree with this sentiment."

Atapesh examined the men at the edges of the pit waiting to descend and fight. The pit was too small for all of the contenders and many stood on the verge. Atapesh picked out one in particular: another young soldier but one with equal measures of brain and brawn. Someone much more suited to a position of command than Murkin the Beast. As he stood contemplating a ruby-throated hummer flickered into existance over Atapesh’s right shoulder, advanced in a series of erratic starts and stops to his left shoulder where it hovered and appeared to humm into his ear, and then vanished.

 

[Theroc]

The young man Atapesh had examined was indeed more of a mix of brains and brawn than Murkin the beast, having recognized the use of a Wizard's magic. After observing the magics of the Militocracy's Wizards, he had developed some grasp of them himself. After hearing the Silver Ogre's speech, he decided to throw himself into the fray, using a simple mace and light shield, rather than his favored scimitar, to avoid more lethal injuries.

He leapt down, immediately swiping away a sword making it's way toward his skull, striking a knee to the man's groin, and letting his mace thud into his back, before stepping back and assessing his situation within the pit. It'd be challenging, but he had to save his magicks until he really needed them.

 

[hellrazor111]

It takes barely any time after the general finished talking, and many men were already in the pit brawling it out. Like usual, the ape of a man, Murkin was bashing people left and right many would end up with a concussion after this. Though not being strong or fast could be a big disadvantage for some. Seifer fell into that group of some, but he had other plans than using only strength.

He ripped off his shirt, making sure to carefully wrap it around his blade. To some puzzled looks he replied “No deaths yes?”

He then grabbed a flask of oil usually used for the lamps and poured it over his head, letting it cover the exposed parts of his body before slipping into the pit far from the beasts wild fists. His simple idea quickly useful as a fist glanced off his oiled chest, causing the soldier to lose his balance and fall to the ground. Seifer followed this with a hard slam from is great sword into the knee of the fallen warrior, the grimace of pain a sign he wasn’t getting up soon. Now he needed to find someone to team up with.

 

[GlassEye]

Atapesh stood in companionable silence next to the lieutenant. As companionable as it could get with a superior officer anyway, but the two had shared experience working under Mj. Orrien. At the lieutenant's comment concerning 'certain officers' Atapesh began scanning the crowd of watchers finally finding the major with a crowd of his peers. The major was speaking animatedly and his eyes gleamed, especially when he considered the exploits of Murrkin. A frown flicked across Atapesh's face but he quickly schooled his features to blankness and returned his gaze to the arena.

Letting his vision blur he watched the swirling mass of bodies until certain patterns began to emerge from the chaos of combat. He seemed to see three focal points: Murrkin in his mad frenzy, a young warrior lightly armed with mace and shield, and an oiled warrior bearing a great sword. Now if he could only bring two of those points against the third. He blinks and the patterns are lost.

With a slight bow Atapesh makes his farewell to the lieutenant and begins a slow circuit around the arena. Surely he can do something to bring the two together against Murrkin. His brow furrows and he steps around a small cluster of soldiers betting on the outcome of the battle.