Old July 8, 2018, 09:40 PM   #1 (permalink)
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[ZA] Give the People a Show (Moss, Indefinite)

When: Era XXV Spring
Where: The Colosseum, Ziel Aerca

The crowd gathered into the Coliseum was clearly getting their money's worth judging from the sheer volume. Each devastating blow landed on either one of the fighters was accompanied by a wave of cheering, seemingly with no favorite among them. Any bloodshed was good bloodshed. Bloodthirsty psychopaths. All of them. Of course, Seph would have been up there among those psychos if he wasn't otherwise preoccupied.

Beneath the cheering crowd, Seph sat on a stone bench. Shirtless as to allow for more mobility, only a pair of trousers that went to his knees. Very authentic garb to the origin of this particular sport. Well, except for the grin. He was excitingly waiting for his own turn to beat a stranger into a bloody pulp. Or be beaten into a bloody pulp. The former would be ideal.

The shackles around Seph's wrists were strong. The quel strained to pull his wrists apart as far as the chain would allow, the standard two fists wide. Just enough to pull back against your opponent's windpipe. He had heard the stories and hoped he would have the opportunity to emulate that move at least once. Seph found it highly amusing that he and his opponents would put themselves into the same situation that slaves were forced into. At least he was getting paid. Potentially. He still had to win to get any money that was worth the injuries.

Finally, it was his turn. He was led down a hall towards the gate that would lead out to the arena. "Anyone die yet, mate?" He asked with excitement to the man who was leading him. "What's the worst thing you've seen so far tonight? Broken arm? Legs? Neck?" His questions were answered with disinterested grunts.

The gate lifted, and Seph entered into the arena raising both his shackled hands towards the crowd. He reveled in the cheering, the cries for him to spill some blood. Whether his own or someone else's he wasn't quite sure. He let his hands down and faced his opponent.
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Last edited by Sepharvaim; July 8, 2018 at 10:43 PM.
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Old July 15, 2018, 02:23 AM   #2 (permalink)
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If Moss Oktra'rek had one flaw - and the gods knew he had many - it was that he was occasionally susceptible to acts of impulse. He had been known to rush into situations without properly thinking them through, and as he heard the roar of the crowd at the Ziel Aerca Grand Coliseum, he couldn't help but wonder if this was one such occasion.

The human had not come to the capital of the Principality of Moonstone to fight strangers. Having journeyed from Northumbria and headed towards Port Alyxandrya, he had taken a diversion after hearing that there might be work available in Ziel Aerca, but the amphitheatre had caught his attention, and with it, his curiosity.

One darkening later, having spent it in a local inn to rest after the long journey, Moss had made his way to the arena and after one thing led to another, he found himself readying to fight someone with whom he had no quarrel. But prepare he did, taking the time to stretch his muscles: legs to ensure he had movement and power; arms and shoulders in case he had to punch or wrestle his opponent; his abdominals to assist with his breathing and taking blows; hips to maintain his balance and provide added power.

Deciding that his body was suitably warmed up, the former militiaman removed his tunic and placed it with his other items that weren't needed in the arena - but not before taking one last swig from his waterskin, letting stray droplets work their way through his facial follicles before stepping out into the spring sunslight.

Dark grey eyes strained as they adjusted, and the human took a moment to drop to one knee and let his fingers caress the fighting surface. It was something he'd done in war; an act that simultaneously calmed him and connected him to this new field of battle.

That done, he stood, feeling the warmth of Telath's triple suns on his shoulders as he stared across to the opposite side, waiting for his eyes to adjust so he could salute his fellow combatant.
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Old July 15, 2018, 04:39 PM   #3 (permalink)
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Nothing like watching people beat each other senseless, you know? It was prime entertainment. Who were stranger, the people who volunteered to be down there fighting, or the people who spectated the sport?

Right then. Moss was already out there, and Sepharvaim was on his way. "Nah, we don't really get much deaths these days," he was told after asking his question. "Excellent medical care and all that. 'Sides, dead people don't turn profits." Not much fun watching a dead corpse being beaten, you know? Fighting definitely needed people to be alive to be much fun.

"Someone had his hand chopped off, and then got slapped with it. That count?" Speaking of which, into the stadium he'd go!

Right then. Sepharvaim vs. Moss. And, well, the shackles and all would be taken off. Something something... only rule was to be entertaining? Whatever. Fight!
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Old Yesterday, 05:07 PM   #4 (permalink)
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"It does," Seph answered. "Maybe I'll try that one." He looked at his hands and wondered how hard it would really be to dismember someone with your bare hands. "Next time."

Seph watched his opponent kneel down to the ground. He raised an eyebrow with curiosity. Some kind of religious thing, maybe? Looking around, the Quel'anthasan didn't think this was a great place for religion. Perhaps he was praying to some kind of war god. In which case, Seph hoped that particular prayer would be going unanswered.

Another perplexing action from the man across the arena. A salute? So...honorable. Honor wasn’t something he was particularly familiar with. Maybe the nebulous “honor” among the dregs of society. If anything this behavior tempered his excitement a bit. This man meant business, and that usually meant he was dangerous.

Seph returned the salute, a bit half-hearted and raised his fists, slowly making his way to the middle of the arena to meet his opponent.
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Old Yesterday, 10:14 PM   #5 (permalink)
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As his eyes adjusted to the sunslight and Sepharvaim stepped into the arena, Moss readied himself, calming his breathing and keeping his muscles relaxed for as long as possible. The man's half-hearted return salute was greeted with a brief nod, the lightest of chuckles escaping his lips as he found a skerrick of humour in a place where it didn't belong.

The human studied his opponent as the man approached, fists raised. As far as he could tell, his rival was of a similar height to him, with a smaller build, but lean, strong features. With a final roll of his shoulders, the bearded ex-soldier edged forward, one foot leading the other, arms bent at the elbows and hands loosely open.

He had no idea what skills Sepharvaim brought to the arena, and while he was no beginner, there were plenty of fighters who were better than he was. As such, his strategy early on was simple: keep his distance; shift sideways when the man got close; and let his opponent make the first move.

And so the dance had begun.
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