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[Vortigern]

Naian Blackblades was in trouble. Her passage through Imbara had been largely unimpeded, but her trek across the mountains had been anything but. She had stayed one night in an admittedly seedy tavern in a mid-sized town called Vashta, high enough up that the winter snows had only just melted away, springtime though it now was. She had awoken in the middle of the night to find four hooded and masked men in her room, one holding her obsidian swords. Though she had landed a few good blows, they had subdued her, tied her up and dragged her to a stone cell. For three days she was left there until one evening when the door creaked open. A man entered and gave her some black bread and meaty stew. He waited for her to finish before he and another lead her, heavily shackled, to an arena wherein sat what must have been most of the population of the town. She had been pushed into the cage in the centre, twenty feet across in either direction and stretching up to the roof. A moment later one of the lizardmen, the reptilian slaves she had encountered so many of in Imbara, was dragged, baying and kicking, from the same door by which she had entered, and forced into the cage. One of the townsfolk had tossed a sword into the cage for her. The lizardman, already enraged and not caring to distinguish between humans, lunged for her immediately. She had fought, realising that her life was in the balance, and eventually succeeded in killing the beast.

Four times now she had been taken to the cage, to fight three lizardmen and another human, a man. She had dispatched him easily, confident and apparently skilful though he was. The townsfolk had been a little shocked at that; she assumed he was one of their own, and as such had been only too happy to carve him into bloody chunks before the others came in with their crossbows and pikes to disarm her.

Her torment seemed interminable, locked away until a foe was found for her to face in the ring. How she was to escape she had no idea, and as similarly in the dark as to where her swords now were, and the gods knew she would raze this town to the ground before abandoning those black blades.

[mike_]

Morionquetil Toruisao picked himself up from the ground, snarled a curse at the men who'd killed his horse and drew his sword in one smooth motion. It had been a long time since he'd been in such dire straits - the Siege of the Maughold came to mind - but here he was, fighting off some brigands in the wilderness.

The pale-faced man with a crude lochaber ax backpedaled in a hurry when he saw that Morion was armed, though his companions didn't hesitate to unload their crossbows at him. One missed altogether, the other tore a hole in Morion's expansive cloak.

He brandished his black-bladed longsword at the crossbowmen and spat to them in turn, "You're a bloody amateur, you're a gods-damned idiot, and you," he pointed his weapon at the ax-man, "are just useless, other than killing a poor animal that you may have been able to sell later in the week, had you been intelligent enough to just kill me in the first place rather than unhorse me.

"As for me - I'm just the lucky bastard who gets to remove you lads from the gene-pool."

There was a powerful blow on the back of his head, and Morion collapsed unconscious to the ground.

On a hillock not far away, though, an old man and his dog watched and waited.

---

Morion woke up in crowded arena with a half-crazed lizardman advancing on him. He leapt to his feet, and made to reach for his sword - it wasn't there. Neither were the fighting-knives in his in boots, and he hadn't seen his crossbow since whenever those fools ambushed him. Most of his fine traveling clothes and gear were gone, such as his cape, chain-maille, and he realized with a burning hatred, his hat. Morion also had a magnificent lump on his head, but dismissed it as well as he could - it was, after all, of minor concern when the lizardman was attempting to tear his head off with its bare hands.

It had been a while since he'd even been around one of these creatures, and Morion hadn't even picked up their language yet. A pity - it meant that he would have to kill it, rather than try to talk his way out of this one. He grappled with the lizardman, shifted his weight from one foot to the next - rolled his hips and shoulders - and threw it bodily away from him while spending as little effort as possible.

There was a harsh shout from above in a tongue he may have understood had someone not attempted to brain him, and two weapons were thrown down from either side of the fighting-ring. The lizardman returned with some kind of rude poleax, which it swung about experimentally. Morion in turn found himself granted a short, stabbing sword not unlike the katzbalger of Maximilian's mercenaries. Thinking of them now, he once again accepted the lizardman's charge - it used its powerful legs to leap gracefully up and off of the ground as it bounded towards him. Waiting for his chance, Morion leapt aside as the ax-head came down. He stabbed forward and withdrew, having made a small wound in the lizardman's side that puckered around the edges. It spun on him, crying out in what may have been pain or rage - or both. It failed to notice, somehow, that it had reserved its grip on the poleax and so only struck Morion with the blunted side rather than the sharpened ax. He fell away, not expending the energy to curse at it.

He had a better attempt to end things, now; the lizardman overextended itself, trying for an overhead blow with which to smite Morion into the earth - exposing its shrunken belly. Morion surged forward, and gutted it like a fish. The lizardman shrieked, this time obviously in pain. He watched it bleed out into the earthy loam of the arena for a moment, then finished it with a clean slash across the throat.

Morionquetil stood tall and grim, then, awaiting any further challengers. None presented themselves other than a dozen men split evenly between baring pikes and crossbows, who were shouting at him in a language he did in fact understand to return to his cell. Morion bowed down, retrieved the lizardman's poleax, then used it as walking-stick on the way to his cell. A large man with a butcher's cleaver disarmed him at the door, which he was only too happy to oblige to as the guards with their long spears were still at his back.

Before he stepped into his cell, though, he got a glimpse of the occupant opposite him - a young girl, human, about twenty years his junior. She had a hard look of determination in her eyes, which he returned. The guards retreated shortly thereafter, after granting Morion luscious provisions of melted snow-water and moldy bread.

Once they were alone in the makeshift prison, Morion waved from behind his bars in greeting. "Morionquetil Toruisao, at your service."

She smiled, which surprised him, and answered, "Naian Blackblades. I think that I may have heard of you."

[Vortigern]

"How long have you been here?" asked Morionquetil.

"I'm not exactly sure. Maybe two weeks?" Naian hazarded. It was true; she had lost all track of time in this place.

"I don't suppose you'd mind filling me in on how it is you've heard of me?"

"Oh." She paused, thinking for a moment. "Just around, you know."

"That seemed deliberately evasive." She offered him a wry smile.

"Help me get out of here and I might tell you."

[mike_]

Morion shrugged and replied, "Fair enough. I haven't really put a plan together yet, but then I generally don't if I can help it."

"And when you do?"

"Then I'll get some friends with more of a knack for that kind of thing." They both laughed grimly, then quickly sobered. Morion droned on thoughtfully. "From what I an see, they're pretty lax on security around here - I seriously doubt the demented people of this village have captured anyone as dangerous as myself, and presumably, you, in its history of gladiatorial combat," he paused to muse, "which is something I feel that we should take advantage of."

Naian nodded, "Sounds logical. But where are you going with this?"

"If I'm right," Morion said slowly, "then they'll probably want to pit the two of us together to see who is deadliest." His eyes hardened. "I may be able to talk to them. It may be possible for me to convince the jailer to restore us our gear, with the intentions of giving us as fair a fight as possible - and as entertaining. If I can do that, then I'm sure that we can overpower the guards and make good our escape.

"That said," his face drawn shrewdly, "why should I do my best not to kill you in the fight to come, then escape on my own? Or just leave you for the townsmen to do with what they will?"

[Vortigern]

"I can make it worth your while to help me," Naian began thoughtfully, fluttering her eyelashes suggestively. Morion simply laughed.

"Two weeks worth of grime sort of ruins the appeal of that particular thought," he replied.

"Then maybe you should help me because I'm a highly skilled swordswoman and somebody worth having to watch your back while you escape. And maybe because there's no guarantee you'd even be able to get close to me in that cage. Maybe because even if you do kill me, you'll still be stuck in this cell until somebody comes along and kills you." She turned away from him then, pacing what little space there was in her little cell. "Reason enough for you?"

[mike_]

"Sure, sure," Morion replied. "I haven't met anyone who strikes this hard of a bargain for about three years. Now that woman-," he was cut off by the return of their guards. There were three Men now, not one - two burly, hulking slabs of muscle and fat, and one in-between who had the airs of a Man of import. He had an altogether slimy disposition, with beaked nose, thin eyebrows over muddy eyes, and a prominent chin. He was dressed all in black.

"You both fight quite well," he began, speaking to both Naian and Morion, "quite well indeed. Between the two of you, you've provided my countrymen with more quality entertainment than they've had in years.

"To that end, I have chosen to pit the pair of you against one another to see just who is the craftiest fighter. For your own sakes, I suggest that you don't become too friendly with one another," Morion cringed at his blusterous use of the same phrase twice, "as I will ensure that no more than one combatant leaves the cage alive." For emphasis, he drew a dagger previously concealed in a sheath on his wrist, inside his sleeve.

Pointing the wicked-looking weapon at Naian, he said alarmingly affably, "You," with a flick of his wrist, it turned on Morion, "will," and then it pointed straight down at the ground, "die."

With that he replaced the knife and turned to leave. Morion called after him, "But what if I offered to give you a better show than you might otherwise have, first?"

"How do you mean?" the mayor replied, without turning to face them. His body-guards did that for him.

"By giving us some weapons that we know we're used to. That we're comfortable with - that you can be assured will perform more efficiently than whatever nekte you happen to toss into the arena." He kept his voice overloud and purposefully enticing, like an auctioneer's or a horse seller's.

Now the Man did turn. "I think," he said, slowly and ponderously to the point where Morion thought he had been seen through, "that I agree with your offer. Your clothes will be returned to you soon... Innlegg hastverk, you might say." He turned away again and left without another word.

"That's a dangerous Man," Morion said after he'd left, "a dim one, perhaps, but even a braggart can be a murderer."

"That would be true enough," Naian agreed, "but if your plan succeeds, it shouldn't be too difficult to get out of here. I feel comfortable that we can overpower the guards, and if most of the town turns out for our fight, which I'm sure they will, then there shouldn't be much in the way of resistance outside these walls." She lightly punched one of mortared stones contributing to said edifice.

"Regardless, we'll need our beauty sleep," Morion's eyes sparkled. "Some more than most."

---

The next day, or later that night, he couldn't tell, Morion was awoken by a pail of half-melted snow being tossed upon his head. To his satisfaction, he saw that his partner-in-plot was undergoing similar treatment.

Wiping his eyes of the dirty water, Morion saw that his long-coat, dark shirt and leggings, riding-boots, and most jubilant to him, his hat, were thrown before him on the floor. He reached carefully for them and quickly redressed, tearing out of the woolen, shapeless clothes he'd woken up in and practically leaping into his comfortable travel dress. He barely noticed that Naian was doing the same with her own clothes.

Now fully dressed, Morion stood up and gripped the bars of his cell-door. A single guard was outside of it, paying much more attention to Naian than to him. Morion interrupted him, questioning, "Where are our weapons?"

Grumbling, the hefty guard turned and answered, "You'll get 'em when you get into the arena. Can't have you tryin' to kill me or some other fat bastard, can we?"

Morion sighed. "Fair enough. When will we get into the arena in question, hm?"

At that moment the door at the far end of the hallway was kicked open, the guards with pikes and crossbows ran into the corridor.

Chuckling, the fat guard walked away with a parting shot of, "Right about now, if I don't miss my guess!"

Morion and Naian were let out of their cells and forced down the hallway, out the door and through a short series of steps to be herded into the floor of the arena. The cages that had previously occupied it were gone, apparently dismantled overnight. What was left was an open space about forty feet across, with a stone wall almost ten feet high keeping the spectators from their entertainment. And there were many spectators - it seemed as if the entire town had in fact turned out to see the two most skilled gladiators battle to the death.

The mayor gave some long speech on the importance of skill with arms, glory in battle, and the drama of bloodshed.

Then someone from up above threw two covered bundles into the middle of the pit.

Suddenly, several previously-unseen gates opened up around the arena, and a small horde of Lizardman, haggard-looking Men, and a Vyre or two flooded into the sandy pit. Morion swore explosively as the mayor shouted, "Just to make things interesting! Let the game begin!"

[some_weirdGuy]

Vam'brac shifted from foot to foot, twisting his grip on his weapon.
"You worry to much, just look at these odds, we're to be against only two," hissed the vyre next to him, a mangy axe wielding brute,
"Perhaps it is you that worries too little, not seeing the deeper meaning behind such odds. If these two were as the petty criminals or glory-seeking fools that temporarily grace this arena then do you really think they would go to the trouble of stacking the odds as such?" replied Brac. The other Vyre hissed thoughtfully, adjusting his grip on his own weapon
"...but that is not what's bothering me. As of late I've been feeling that we were lied to. Did you now the Arena here is now privately owned? I suspect that the 'criminals' sent to the arena may not actually be criminals after all."
Brac had taken the call and played part in a number of executions and a few duels. He had taken a break from the arena, and had only recently returned, starring in an execution bout. It was only after that that his suspicions were raised.

Previously the arena had been run by the mayor, where volunteer gladiators and criminals sentenced to death were executed before the crowd, and friendly exhibition matches took place, but not too long ago it was sold to a private owner. No longer were there bloodless bouts, and the 'criminals' or other participants aroused Vam'brac's suspicion. Though the call still went out for him to act as executioner or challenger after his return match he had taken to declining the offers.

However, he was soon reminded of the reason for his return as his dwindling funds edged on non-existent. So he had taken the latest call, but had resolved to get his hands on the criminals' judicial records. When he had asked for the records on those that had been put to the arena the volunteer records had mysteriously vanished and the criminal records were dodgy at best.

Now he stood behind the gates hearing the crowd baying for blood.
"Who cares if they're not criminals?" said the vyre next to him. Other grimy men took to their feet and the lizard men scrambled to the front. Vam'brac still didn't know how he felt about these reptilian creatures. It was hard to believe that no one in Arsencia had even heard of the Lizardmen three years ago. Then again, the melds had been around for a similarly short time, and Vyre had only really graduated on an intellectual level around the same time.

((dammit, gotta go. Well, this happened before the last bit of mikes post, so it fits together fine i suppose))

[Vortigern]

Naian counted quickly. Six lizardmen, five humans, two Vyre.

"Can I count on you to watch my back?" she murmured to Morion.

"Same question to you," he replied.

"Watch and learn, old man," she answered, lifting her brightly glinting obsidian blades from the loose covering on the ground and flinging the cloth aside. It would not do to have an unstable footing in a scenario like this. Morion eyed her blades appreciatively, picking up his bundle, which contained a regular steel sword, but blacked up. A thief's sword, she thought. Or an assassin's. Clearly there was a lot more to this man than met the eye.

They had been quickly encircled by their opponents, who had spread out around the little arena; none seemed willing to make the first move. Morion took up his position at Naian's back, and she raised her blades in the defensive style: horizontal, right blade at head height, left just above her waist, stance low and wide for balance and power. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed a lizardman edging closer, and tracked its movement in her peripheral vision, and so, she was ready for the moment when the reptilian man launched itself towards them, claws seeking to rake flesh and poison-tipped tail stabbing for her face. She stepped across to meet it, left blade smashing up into the beast's wrist, cutting deep into the flesh and bone and sending purple blood gushing from the wound, right blade blocking the stinger: she pushed it aside with the first motion and then, twisting her wrist and slicing down, severed the tip of the lizardman's tail entirely. The sharp point fell to the sand and the lizardman howled in pain, leaping back and clutching at its damaged wrist as blood carried on pouring from the opened veins.

"Nice stuff," offered Morion.

"I expect the same from you," was her response. The injured lizardman had retreated up against the wall and was sat looking dismally at its ruined hand as its life dripped away from wrist and tail. The others continued to circle, looking for an opening in either defendant's guard.

[mike_]

"No smoke," Morion breathed, "but alright."

He leapt forward as two Men and a Lizardman bunched up and attempted to mob them, weapons bristling. Morion swung his longsword laterally, destroying the Lizardman's throat in an explosion of violet, his dark coat trailing behind him. He fell to the ground deliberately as the first Man's war-hammer tried to brain him, but instead only parted air rather than Morion's hair. He kicked the Man's overextended knee from the side, hard, causing him to collapse into a swearing heap. Morion punched him in the throat on the way up, so that he lay there gurgling and thrashing as he jumped up to fight his friend.

The third Man was armed with what appeared to be the same poleax the first Lizardman Morion had fought had been using. The Man charged him as Morion backpedaled, stepping on the dying Lizardman and his fallen comrade with no care for their well-being. He blocked and parried and dodged, drawing the Man out - and there was his chance. Morion readjusted the grip on his sword at the last minute, holding it parallel to the ground, then stabbed forward decisively - to stab into the Man's gullet, once, twice, three times. He'd dropped his weapon the second time to clutch uselessly at the bloody hole in his stomach, then fell facefirst into the ground to twitch a little before he died.

Morion chanced a look to see how Naian was doing, to see that she had downed a Man with a dull-looking mace as he attempted to take her off-guard.

"You mean that you didn't see any of that?" he demanded, incredulously.

[Vortigern]

A human with a mace lunged forward as Naian lent an eye to Morion's situation, but her guard was never compromised. With her left she blocked the mace and with her right she cut deep into his torso, ripping the blade out again in a spray of viscera. She kicked him back, foot planted firmly in his bisected torso. She felt Morion resume his stance behind her as she returned to her defensive position.

"You mean you didn't see any of that?" he said.

"All I saw was a whole lot of bluster," she replied. "Man up already." One of the two Vyre finally decided to make its move, hurtling forward as a lizardman leapt towards her. Thinking quickly, Naian leapt up, kicking the lizardman in the chin and sending it stumbling back a pace, giving her just enough time to focus for a moment on the Vyre. With both swords she slashed down at its arm, severing the limb entirely. Ignoring the wound, the Vyre scrabbled at her face with its other arm, sharp talons tearing through her face and aiming for her eyes. She brought her swords round again, hacking through the Vyre's right leg. It fell to the ground, howling in fury more than pain. Before she could even move to despatch the struggling Vyre, the lizardman was on her again, landing a powerful blow to her chest. Her mailshirt absorbed most of the impact, but she felt certain there would be a cracked rib in there somewhere. The blow knocked her from her feet and the lizardman leapt towards where she fell, teeth out in the open and dripping with saliva. A second before its jaws would have crunched down on her neck, she thrust both her swords into the beast's torso, over and over again. The beast screamed and fell off her, to the side.

One of the humans thought he saw an opportunity to despatch one of his foes and darted in, short sword lowered and aiming for her head. Naian hurriedly tried to drag her blades from the lizardman's body, but it was Morion that came to her rescue, turning about and ripping the man's throat clean out of his neck with a single powerful blow. He reached down, helping Naian back to her feet.

"Man up already," he said, a grim smile on his face.

[some_weirdGuy]

Out of the action now the second Vyre realed in pain at his lost limbs
"How are the odds looking now?" Vam'brac said, standing over the fallen Vyre
"Don't just stand there you bastard! HELP ME!" Both vyre knew that if they acted quickly the limbs could be reattached. Unfortunately the twitching arm lay near the defenders feet, and Brac wasn't about to risk getting that close.

As the doors had been open Brac's suspicions seemed to have been confirmed. Before the arena had never condemned women to the ring, even those accused of witchcraft and infidelity. The women with death sentences were always spared the arena punishment, rightly so, it was unacceptable for women to be in such a place!

Vam'brac had stayed back. As each attack came on the female his heart had leapt, the sick thought of the womens death in such a way, no matter what she may have done, was abominable to Brac. He knew it was merely part of the instinctual reaction that is instilled in all vyre (part of their survival mechanism that made them fiercely protective of their queens and other females), but unlike some vyre who seemed to be able to shrug it off, or ignore it in the face of non-vyre females, Vam'brac was still driven by this base urge.

He had quickly brought his fellow Vyre the severed leg, and helped hold it in place, ripping his sleeve and using it to help tie the limb in place, but now came the challenge of making it through the defenders to retrieve his brother-vyres other arm, and time was of the essence.

The number of attacks was very much thinned out now, the injured who were capable having scrambled to the outside edge of the arena, the dead an incapable lying where they fell, and the armed and ready nervously circling the two defenders who now stood back to back. The arm sat on the inside of the circle. Perhaps if the fighting moved he would be able to retrieve the limb without even having to risk himself, or risk fighting with potential innocents.

He twisted the handle of his weapon, unlocking the middle bar so as to wield it two handed. Perhaps if he could dive in, blocking any blows, he could retrieve the arm and escape back out to his fellow vyre. Worse comes to worse he would have to engade them, pushing them far enough away as to make the limb accessible.

"Well, here goes"
He ran forward, leaping past the circling attackers. The man made to intercept. He was deadly and fast, Vam'brac managed to twist, semi-deflecting the black blade and sliding through. The sword slacked across his chest, painfully opening him from diagonally down and across the ribs. He fell downwards, grabbing the limp arm and narrowly dodging a second thrust, meant as a decapitating blow.

With the limb secured he scrambled back. His 'attack' had unfortunately acted as a catalyst for the others, who had all come in at once. The fighting was furious but Vam'brac tried to ignore it. He did not know which side he wanted to win. He dumped the arm into the fallen Vyre, who now sat one armed and angry eyed. As he turned back he saw that the fight was over. The two defenders turned to him, the only other fighter left standing. (not counting the people cowering at the sides of the ring, both injured and uninjured alike. Funnily enough Vam'brac noticed the uninjured ones who hiding around the ring were exclusively human)

He looked at the two, dreading his options.
"so tell me..." he began, intending to ask them of their charges, and find out once and for all if his suspicions were correct. But before the words could leave his mouth some of the 'wounded' fighters were back up. A man who'd apparently been playing possum, two injured and infuriated lizardmen, and the other vyre whom he had just helped. The vyre charged the two defenders, and the others pressed in behind him.

Edited by some_weirdGuy, 10 June 2010 - 04:59 AM.

[Vortigern]

The Vyre that Naian had already once dismembered came hurtling towards her, limbs reattached by whatever devilish magic it was that gave the Vyre their exceptional regenerative capabilities. This time, though, there was no lizardman at his side to put her off. Swords raised and ready, she rushed out to meet him, swiping at his legs with one blade while the other went for his neck. The Vyre ducked under the higher blade but could not avoid the lower, tumbling to the floor as a spurt of black blood escaped his re-wounded leg. He rolled over to his back, just in time to see Naian's swords both come down onto his neck, severing his head completely. She kicked the decapitated body aside and returned to her position at Morion's back.

[some_weirdGuy]

Vam'brac saw the Vyre go down again, this time with no chance of return. He shook his head, and a slap sounded as his palm collided with his forehead. It seemed some Vyre hadn't been gifted on the day of awakening as much as others. At least some of the other warriors here were smart enough to be cowards, but these guys were just begging for death.

Vam'brac himself wasn't really sure how clever it was to not be joining the 'cowards' . Although, was it really cowardice to try and avoid a fruitless death? What good was the arena payout if you didn't live to spend it? Certainly, many of these people were cruel brutes, but some were merely half-starved street-men lured by the promise and high payouts of the arena, and the poor Ssadjin, or Lizardmen, were merely captives, their minds enslaved by vile practices.

Vam'brac knew it was years of slavery and toil and being ground down under the boots of the Embaru that made these Ssadjin what they were, mindless and violent. Once he had encountered a young one who had escaped after only a few months in captivity; they had shared a camp fire and the reptilian creature had acted shockingly civilised, their grasp of each other language had been severely lacking, but they had a companionable bond that night, talking on to one another despite having no idea what the other was saying. Despite the lingual barrier Vam'brac could see that the Ssadjin was quite a bit more intelligent than the others he had encountered.

The Lizardmen were another new addition to this arena that Vam'brac took exception to. Regardless of weather these people turned out to be innocent or not, one group he would be helping was the Ssadjin. He would go down and break them out of their pens below the arena...

[Vortigern]

((Mike, you seem to have forgotten this thread, so I'll cover Morion for this part.))

Morion dragged his sword out of the last lizardman's throat, and turned around to stand by Naian's side.

"Just you left, Vyre," he said. "Would you like this be quick or painful?"

"I'd like neither," replied the Vyre. He lowered his voice, still loud enough that they could hear him over the sound of the baying crowd, but low enough not to carry. "We can help each other get out of here."

"Alright," said Naian. "You go first." The Vyre nodded.

"Follow me." He lunged forward, bounding straight past the two humans and crashing full-bodied into the heavy oak-and-iron door by which he and his fellow gladiators had entered. Naian heard the Vyre's bones crack as he made impact, pushing the door open just a fraction, but he was up and running again a moment later, sticking his leg through the gap and wedging it open. Morion strode over and pushed his sword through the gap, lending his strength to levering the door ajar. Naian stood behind them, facing the crowd, who had now realised the escape plan and were howling with fury. Some brave or foolhardy characters leapt down from the tiers into the arena, apparently aiming to stop them, but Naian made short work of them all. Two swords in the hands of a professional will always beat no swords in the hands of a rabble.

Morion suddenly jerked his sword in and up, and they heard a cry of pain and surprise before the door gave way. Morion raised his boot and forced the door wide open and ran through, hot on the heels of the Vyre. Naian followed a moment behind.

"Where now, Vyre?" she demanded.

[some_weirdGuy]

"Well, if i remember right its... this way!" Brac disappeared through the doorway on the left. The other two went to follow, but found the Vyre running back the way he'd just come
"no, this way" came his voice as he dashed past, this time through a different doorway. Again they started towards his direction only to find him backing back out again
"Oh come on now Vyre, this is getting ridiculous..." Began Morion, but then he saw why the Vyre was backing up this time. Two burly men stepped forward from the doorway,
"Yep, definitely that way" affirmed Vam'brac, eying the two men. These men had acted as prisoner guards, hulking brutes, Naian recognised them. Vam'brac looked from one to the other, and back again. Despite the obvious defiance of logic in such a case, both guards appeared bigger than each other.

Before the others could react Vam'brac threw the mace in his left hand, smashing one of the men in the face. The chain coming from the end of the mace's handle pulled tight, and with a tug Brac yanked it back into his grasp. The man's startled companion only had time to splutter momentarily before Vam'brac's pick pierced his skull.

He leapt at the keys in the guards pocket, and run down a stairwell, the two defenders hot on his heel. Cells lined the walls, and one by one Vam'brac unlocked them, surprised prisoners came to the now open doors
"up the stairs, to your left and then follow the corridor out to the open" said Vam'brac curtly
"but where are you going? and what the hell are we suppose to do with these people!?" replied Morion
"to answer question number one, i have a date with some reptilians, and to answer question number 2, whatever you want. Save them, use them as a distraction, whatever. My conscience is cleared as soon as the lock is opened, whats happens afterwards is inconsequential to me."

And with that Vam'brac set of to the deep cells, where the Lizardmen were kept.
"Don't worry you wretched reptiles, i'll not stand by and watch your mistreatment" said Vam'brac to himself, the strangled feeling his his stomach easing. Stupid conscience making my life harder than it need be...

[Vortigern]

"What say we just make a run for it?" Naian asked Morion. "That Vyre's helped us, but this is neither the time nor place for paying debts." Morion shrugged his assent.

"Pick a direction," he said.

"I'm going to stick with this way, on grounds that it's away from the arena. I'd rather avoid heading back that way, if it's all the same to you."

[some_weirdGuy]

Down Vambrac headed, apologetically dispatching two armed guards as he went (he didn't like senseless killing, but he was in too much of a hurry to be careful).

He came atlast to the cells. The conditions for the lizardmen were even worse than the normal prisoner's cells. Some of the lizard men came to the bars, and though he knew they didn't understand him, he talked anyway.
"i'm here to help you, soon you will be Vam'Ssadjin... free lizardmen"
He put the key into the first lock, and the door opening. He scrambled from cell to cell, and slowly the lizardmen, on all fours, crawled from their cells. One of them stood to its full height, looking into Vambracs eyes.

They held that gaze, no need to say thanks (not that Vam'brac would have understood the word), the mutual respect was there.

The lizardmen burst up and out, scrambling for the weapons that were usually granted to them upon entrance to the arena. Men fell as the Ssadjin swarmed up from the depths. Finally they reached open air
"well, my friends, i would love to stay, but there are some other prisoners i must see to freedom... i accidentally sent them off the wrong way. Toodles"
and with that he was off again.

The lizardman cocked his head, watching the vyre go, then turned to leave the town with the rest of the lizardmen in its company.

Edited by some_weirdGuy, 07 July 2010 - 10:36 AM.

[some_weirdGuy]

Back Vam'brac went, into the arena prison. The guards were no longer causing trouble, having nearly all been dispatched (they weren't an army after all, they were just a dozen warriors enlisted to act as watchmen over the prisoners). He heard the last syphony of steel on steel to his left, and he ran to it. The last of the security guards for the prisoners had summoned help, and the prisoners were making their stand. Among the two fighters from the arena Vam'brac also saw that others had taken up arms, looting the fallen guards of their weapons.

A hulking man with a scar running down his face swung a large club at one of the guards, while the woman from before effortlessly dispatched another. The group of prisoners then reared up for one final charge, and the guards line faltered than broke. The prison guards all fled.

"Good to see you all survived," said Vam'brac, stepping forward "You are all alright?"
"We'll be better once we all get out of here" piped up one of the prisoners from the back
"yeah, this place is a labyrinth down here. I don't suppose you came back to show us the way out? the real way out this time" said Morion, an slightly bitter edge to his voice
"yeah, sorry about that. Its been a while, they did some remodeling. But i have been out so i know the way now." And with that they made their escape. As they left the stadium Morion turned, grabbing a torch, lighting it and then throwing it into the wooden stands. Almost as an afterthought he grabbed a nearby lantern, being day time it was unlit, but he broke it open so the lighter oil began to drip, then tossed it over to join the flames
"just to make sure the thing takes hold" he said with a sly wink. In no time the blaze would have the place completely gutted.

[Vortigern]

Naian and Morion followed the Vyre, heads low, darting from shadow to shadow to avoid the notice of any who might be following them in the hope of reclaiming some prize. There did not seem to be anyone after them, presumably because they were too busy running about in a panic in their town, trying to prevent the spread of the conflagration.

"Where do we go now?" Naian murmured to Morion, the only one she felt she could trust out of this motley, malnourished band.

"Down off this bloody mountain," he replied, with certainty.

"That'll take us straight into Imbara," she objected.

"Not if we take a detour and go visit an old friend of mine," Morion said with a little smile. "I wonder if he'll be happy to see me." He said no more as they headed down the winding dirt road that led away from the town. One by one the lizardmen dropped away into the woods, until all those that remained were Morion, Naian, the Vyre that had helped them escape and two other human prisoners. They carried on into the night, Morion leading the way in silence, until they came to a fork in the road. He paused.

"What's the matter?" Naian asked quietly, coming up to stand beside him.

"I've somewhat lost my bearings," he muttered back. She smiled, and he looked curiously at her. "That's not a good thing, you know." She chuckled, and took his hand in hers, lifting it to point at the sky.

"You see up there, Morion?" she said. "That's the North Star. And over there," she moved his hand accordingly, "that's the Sailfish, which is moving into the arc of family, which tells me that our current direction is roughly east by north east. And there," she stopped, staring excitedly at the sky. "That's the Red Star."

"Now that one I know," Morion objected. "Doesn't that just mean blood has been shed?" Naian laughed again.

"Sometimes, you ignorant barbarian. But when the Amethyst, for loyalty, is in the arc of friendship, that means a new beginning with new friends. I think it's safe to say I've already found that part, at least," she said, indicating their new little band, who were all watching with interest, even the Vyre. "But when the Emerald, for truth, is in the arc of foes," she said, returning her gaze to the heavens, "it seems that we may soon encounter a genuine evil, the sort of person whose malice will mark this chapter of our lives."

"How can you tell all that just from looking at the stars?" asked one of the men.

"The earthly and heavenly compasses allow us to foresee all things. I was taught by my father that is Warlord of Fenrig, to read the skies for the future and the earth for advice." She looked up again, scanning the stars for some other sign. "The Dragon's Tail is coming into conjunction with the Hunter, and the Sword points to the Ruby for royalty. Just who is your friend to give me a reading like this?" she asked Morion. He grinned, happy to be able to impress them with the knowledge he was about to impart.

"King Rethalar Daggerweave of the Deathknelve. We're heading to Shadowfang Keep."

[some_weirdGuy]

Vam'brac was always fascinated by prophecy, looking up at the stars he idly wondered what they told others about him, and yet again he saw them merely as dots, pretty enough dots, but mere dots all the same. There were no dragon tails, sailfish, hunters or swords, even when someone pointed out how they joined to make such pictures Vam'brac couldn't see them. Not to say that he hadn't found his own star picture which to him were much more fitting. For example there was the wonky triangle, the bent square, and the upside down wonky triangle.

Despite how much easier his star pictures were to see they never seemed to take off, people still insisted on using these non-existent swords and sailfish instead, and looked at him funny when he tried to correct them by naming their 'hunter' "the tall bent square".

"So, your friend is a king?" inquired Vam'brac, stepping forward
"yup" replied Morion curtly, still sounding rather proud of himself
"and he is quite wealthy?" asked Vam'brac
"uh...yes, he is" replied Morion, wondering where the Vyre was going with this
"Than he can gift upon us riches? Not to sound rude or anything but i did ruin any chance of getting paid when i helped you, and i joined up at the arena again specifically because i am out of money..." They all chuckled. Vam'brac didn't know what was so funny but he laughed politely anyway.