Date: July 9, 2000
Place: Coliseum - Haven
Cast: Bravo, Gaius, Jana, Jay (The Claw), Kesava, Leonidas, Marius, Olivia, Pantoleon, Pylades, Selene, Thalia, Tris, Vasilius, Versus
Emits: Agni-Haidar (Thalia), Crowd (Vasilius), Spartacus (Emrys), Tiny (Bashirrah & Jessop)
Scene: The second battle of the games commences, pitching the fighters of House Acesius against those of House Jove.

The rolling voice of announcement rises up once again, "And now, we have another feature event. This time, it is two of the highest, most worthy Houses of the Empyre: The gladiators of House Jove will fight those of House Acesius."

The goblet Leonidas had, poured from Alcander's stock, is lifted again, and the Princeps drinks. And he watches as those from the last fight are carried off, and the game is reset, as it were.

Olivia murmurs to no one in particular, "I sho-should see how our fighters are faring," and finds her way to her feet. "Pray forgive me for the withdrawal."

Thalia moves away from the edge of the podium and returns to her seat as the next round is announced. She gives Olivia a smile as the woman prepares to depart. "Domina."

Pantoleon, too, raises a goblet, commenting aloud to Olivia, "May better fortune find them, Domina." Turning to Leonidas, he adds, "I confess, Princeps, I am curious to see the worth of these warriors my wife has gathered... I am quite confident that this showing should be far more favorable." A smile to win the best wishes of one's worst enemy is Pantoleon's. And he speaks to no enemies.

The Dea's goblet is lifted toward the field below as the gladiators who fight for her House are announced and enter the arena. She also delivers a good-hearted cheer that would be accompanied by clapping if one hand were not occupied at the moment. He whole demeanor seems to change. A relaxed carriage is straightened and Selene leans forward once more, anxious for the battle to begin.

More trumpet blasts accompany Vasilius' voice as he introduces the fighters, "Let those representing the Kronian's House step in: Pylades, a free citizen of the Empyre, who decided to win his glory. Bravo, one of the champions from the provinces, who has shown his deadly skill and his exquisite, flashy style before. And Tiny, the one who is not Tiny. Applause for them, ladies and gentlemen."

Olivia passes through the purple curtains, exiting the viewing area.

ARENA> Bravo emerges into the sands... a cocky smile on his unguarded face. Standing tall and proud, he advances before all the other competitors, and raises his left hand, cracking the impossibly long whip twice... the sound echoing throughout the arena.

ARENA> Pylades steps in as his name is called, and lifts his sword as he does so, a gladius that has been polished to catch the light, to stand out among blades, in salute, toward the podium, and those who watch. He turns to give that same salute to the common seating as well, then turns to walk backward, so that he can watch the tunnel out of the cells beneath the coliseum, in order to see the opposition come.

ARENA> Bravo notices the podium on in the stands, and yells after the whip stopped circling, "For the glory of House Jove!"

Leonidas allows, "I am certain that the fight will be more evenly balanced this round, Deus, yes, and I wish those who represent you all good fortune. Still, I hope they are challenged. Jove does not seem the sort to choose men who cannot fight well to represent them."

ARENA> Tiny... his name would never match the size of this man, although it might his brain. "Wooh-hooo-hooo," Tiny bellows as he waddles out into the arena. The man is huge, his armor fashioned from that of a war elephant. The man may appear fat, but in both hands he holds huge iron scimitars that each appear to be around fifty pounds. With all that fat under his thick chainmail, it would be near impossible to hit a critical spot. That's why Tiny has few losses.

Looking down upon the three new gladiators, Vasilius asks himself aloud, "Now, are these really the best gladiators the Empyre can offer? I am sure we will find out, as they fight against those representing the House of Acesius: Kesava, the panther, another champion from outside, who has come to test her claws in the arena of the best. The Claw, the man known for his taloned gauntlets, as impressive as he is dangerous. And finally Spartacus, the free Empyrean, trying to win his House's glory and the heart of the girls with his appearance today."

ARENA> Kesava stalks into the arena, tail waving behind her. She glares briefly up at the stands, but doesn't break stride to her position. Her right arm is sheathed from the shoulder down in overlapping bands of metal, her hand holding a double-edged short sword. Her left arm bears a round shield. Save for her minimal clothing and the collar around her throat, she is otherwise uncovered, her feet bare in the sand.

ARENA> Spartacus strides in, watching the audience before breaking out into a very wide, sparkling grin. For the girls indeed! His wings spread wide as he waves his morningstar about in an impressive display before bowing to the crowd. He does, however, blanche at seeing the large man called 'Tiny' moving out into the arena. Hopefully he won't be fighting that one.

Pantoleon nods at Leonidas' words, "I should hope not, Princeps. Rather, I trust that worthy foes shall be defeated in worthy combat." Pausing in his words, the Deus raises Selene's hand to his lips before complimenting "I must say, my dear, the appearance of your prizes seems quite impressive. I trust their skills shall match?" A broad smile indicates his confidence that they shall.

ARENA> The Claw follows a step behind and to the right of Kesava, decked out in plated leather armor, greaves, and helmet. A round shield is held in one hand, a trident in the other, one of the more exotic weapons around. Also at his side is a sheathed short sword and a weighted net. His slate-grey eyes survey the crowd as he thrusts the triton high, holding it in his free hand. Good at playing to the crowd when warranted, he's also a capable and intense fighter, this mongrel slave of Acesius.

Selene gently acknowledges the kiss with a squeeze of her hand in his. "I shall be quite disappointed if they do not give an honorable showing, my Deus. Though I cannot help but feel a bit at odds, since they are battling those of Jove." Twenty-eight years of loyalties to one's house cannot be wiped away so easily, not matter how hard one tries.

Thalia picks up the goblet that she set aside to throw coins at the last round's winners. The liquid still reaches close to the rim of the vessel, showing that the Queen-Maharani has not partaken of the beverage. She looks at the new combatants in silence, an aura of serene solitude filling the space about her, in spite of the hot-blooded action about to occur.

Versus shows little emotion at the performance of the Augustin gladiators this time... most likely to his duty at hand. Keeping his slight distance from the Princeps, to allow him for maximum privacy under such heavy guard, he has his men positioned strategically and his own place carefully chosen. They are a different breed, the Schola... lacking the military flair of Servitors in favor of an almost fanatical, cold efficiency and readiness for combat.

Pantoleon reaches below his chosen seat and draws out a small linen-wrapped bundle, unwinding it to reveal a rather well decorated goblet, engraved with images of Poseidon warring with a great fish. With a murmured word to Selene beside him, rises from his chair and raises the goblet in salute, first to the side representing his own August House, but with a sweep of his arm, includes the warriors of Jove. Setting the fine cup down on the very rail of the podium, the Deus retakes his seat. To Selene, he comments, "I daresay our fishing fighter below might stand most appreciative. I hope he is victorious."

The flutter of wings along the back rows goes unnoticed when all attention is focused on the anticipation of bloodshed down below. Jana's wings tightly snap in close to her body, and she picks her way carefully through the well-groomed crowd until an empty seat is found. She remains on the outskirts of the crowd, scrunching down in her seat and leaning forward in order to attain a better view. Unlike most around her, she remains rather quiet.

"As do I," Selene responds to Pantoleon with another smile. She admirers the object in his hands and even runs a finger over the images on the side of it. "Beautiful," she comments with a raised whisper. Further admiration must wait for another time, however, for the battle of her two houses is about to begin.

ARENA> Suddenly, as the first signal for fighting is given, the centrally-located Bravo turns around with a vicious cry and sweeps the long whip in the direction of the Acesian gladiators. It is a tactic most likely used to stun the opposition, and wide enough to cover all the enemy combatants. Yet, the swing is low enough to catch someone's feet and bring them down, no doubt for a quick death from the sword of the charging Bravo.

ARENA> Kesava sneers derisively, dropping low, her sword angled to "parry" the whip, its cutting edge allowing her opponent's weapon to bring about its own trimming. That accomplished, she springs forward, sprinting gracefully towards Bravo.

ARENA> A whip? One snapped at The Claw's feet? Bah. As if that's supposed to intimidate him. Grip tightening on the trident he starts out with in his right hand, he glances towards Kesava before following her towards Bravo. With the oddly-named Tiny apparently not yet in the thick of things, here's a chance for a little two-on-one. "One side, 'ey? I got th' other 'fore th' third gets here!" Shield is held at the ready in order to guard against any attacks.

ARENA> Pylades twirls the blade he holds. Rather, he lets the weight of the blade turns his hand, rotates it until it is held at the ready again, and then he chooses an opponent. It's almost gentlemanly, the bob of his head, the twitch of his wings, before he levels the blade at Spartacus. Like takes like, isn't that it? Wings to wings. But Pylades doesn't take to the sky. Rather, he backs away, and invites the other Empyrean to fight on his ground, beckoning him closer.

ARENA> Spartacus' eyes narrow as the other winged one doesn't take the battle into the air but he begins to circle his opponent, the head of the morningstar swinging slowly... working up the momentum before a strike.

ARENA> Tiny makes his way across the sand towards the center, ready to take on anyone who comes his way. It seems that the crowd likes Tiny. It cheers for him and some obese Empyrean women throw flowers. "Hiiii mom," he bellows, waving to a face the crowd, his voice more powerful than the announcer's. With a grunt, the tank in motion waddles closer to the center, looking for someone to cut into 'Tiny' bits.

Leonidas comments, "It seems this match will take a little longer to get started, does it not, Deus? At least they are not rushing to the fray like fools."

Selene keeps her eyes on the action below while a servant refills her goblet. "See that one," she says to Pantoleon, pointing to the woman known as the panther. "She's the one I was telling you about, the graisha." The Dea smile to herself as she watches Kesava dodge one of the Jovian fighters. From the graisha, her eyes roam to Spartacus and then to the one called the Claw. The excitement below has not yet reached the fevered pitch that was to be found in the last event, but it will come.

Pantoleon nods quite contentedly, "Aye, dominus, they are much better trained... and I daresay, more familiar with such conflicts. This should prove most amusing indeed." Turning to Selene, he repeats this nod, "Indeed... she seems as capable as I had imagined from your descriptions. Well done, my dear," he compliments, placing a second kiss upon her fingers.

ARENA> "Stay out..." mutters Bravo to himself, as he takes a few steps back and swishes his whip again at Kesava, this time at the head level to stun the female gladiator into submission. He notices the approach of The Claw a little too late, and unable to cover him in the sweep too, he simply moves even further back, to keep the distance between the opponents conducive to whipping. The swooshes of the whip are loud and crackling, making an entire spectacle of this visibly insane fighter's style. "C'mon, Acesian cowards!" he taunts, with a toothy smile toward his opponents.

ARENA> Kesava spins, mid-run, pivoting around her forward foot as she swings up her shield, taking the whip-lash across it, before completing her spin and continuing her sprint. Closing rapidly on her backing Bravo, she favors him with a broad, feral grain, her tail lashing the air behind her.

ARENA> A flail. That's unique. And appreciated, if the look in Pylades' eye means anything. Still, it hasn't lashed out yet, has it? So, Pylades stops, sizing up Spartacus, and he challenges, "You will have to come a little closer, my friend."

Gory violence. Men killing each other. Men killing animals. What better way to spend one's time than watching it all from a safe spot? The little Oracle leans forward a few more inches in her seat, her rump now upon the edge. Remaining silent, Jana's attention is diverted by a snippet of conversation a short distance away. Scanning over the other occupants of the podium, her expression never deviates from the blank stoicism to be found there.

Thalia watches the combatants quietly, with neither commentary nor encouragement. Indeed, it would be difficult for the woman to speak, given the large berth of emptiness which has been created about her by her Agni-Haidar. Instead, she continues to idly swirl the wine in her goblet.

The crowd, already all whipped up and in bloodlust, encourages the gladiators to fight harder. Some scream for Tiny, some women even throw their undertunics into the arena. The attention of the men seems more on Kesava, especially her tail -- or what it is attached to. The insult of Bravo is soon taken up as a chant of one half of the mob, sung by hundreds of voices, "Acesian cowards! C'mon, Acesian cowards!"

ARENA> Spartacus is silent a moment before answering Pylades' taunt with a lunge and a swing at the buckler... perhaps to smash it to uselessness. He then grins and offers a jovial, "As you wish, friend..."

ARENA> The Claw hops over the latest cracking of that long whip, weighed down a bit by his armor but not to the point so the strong mongrel can't function easily in it. "We'll just see who th' coward is once ye get close enough t'feel my claws, eh?" he barks out at the other mongrel. Race holds no meaning to him when it comes to the fights, of course. If he can tangle that whip in the end of that trident...

ARENA> Noticing the two combatants get too close to him, Bravo makes a sudden move towards The Claw, swinging his sword in the right hand at the man's abdomen, while making a last attempt at Kesava's feet with the whip that is now becoming useless with at this range. He shrieks violently as he attacks, and moves with a grace of a caged lynx, keeping low to the ground on bent knees.

ARENA> Tiny's eyes lock onto the bouncing mongrel gladiator that dodges the whip. "Eh-eh-eh," he bellows, the sand quaking under his feet as he pounds forward, whipping his heavy scimitars though the air with little effort. Tiny nearly bowls over Bravo as he heads towards the Claw, bent on taking him as a warm-up.

ARENA> Kesava vaults nimbly over that last sweep of the whip, hoping that her colleague can also manage to evade it. Upon landing, she turns her forward momentum into a lunge, offering Bravo the choice between continuing his own attack against The Claw (and relying on his whip for defense), or aborting his attack in favor of self-preservation.

Thalia glances over at Selene and Pantoleon as the crowd's insulting chant of Acesius grows louder and more throbbing.

ARENA> To uselessness? Perhaps not. Certainly, it makes a clatter, and it looks impressive. Will the crowd not roar loudly for that sort of noise, that sort of spectacle? "A good blow," Pylades allows, once he's lowered the buckler again. And then he takes a step closer. "Try again." The gladius drops and is rotated into place once more. Wings with seared feathers flex, then still.

Selene doesn't seem too insulted by the cries against her family name. They are only commoners after all, and the screams are directed to those fighting in the sands below. However, she might raise an objection; her fighters are not cowards. She doesn't speak up though. For one, her singular voice could not be heard over the rest of the crowd, secondly, it might light a fire in her fighters. Nothing strokes an ego better than to show the masses they are wrong.

ARENA> Spartacus will, thanks for the invitation. But this time he aims for the man's sword-arm. Maybe a quick change in tactics will help him land a blow. "You're so kind..." he offers with another lady-killing grin.

ARENA> The Claw can almost feel Tiny closing in, but first there's a little matter of dealing with Bravo to tend to. As the sword slashes for his belly, the shield in his left hand flashes up to deflect it, the sound of metal on metal heard as it strikes the image of the Acesian sun. "On yer knees is a good place t'take it from yer owner!" he taunts, jabbing at the sword-arm with his trident. Must be fast, then evade and ready himself for the third member of the opposing team.

Marius emerges between the curtains that block the exit.

Pantoleon, too, seems unperturbed by the chants. Everything is about appearances after all, and matters (to his logic) shall appear well and good once the 'cowards' become the victors, with what shall no doubt prove to be a glorious battle. Pantoleon allows himself a smile at the thought.

Versus sweeps the crowds once more with his icy glare, ending his search on the entourage of Thalia away from the Empyreans. His post remains undisturbed, but the man seems to be little impressed with the lack of hostilities around, as if expecting anything at any time. The Schola under his command show impossibly disciplined behavior, clutching their spears with a familiarity known only by that order. As the battle in the sands rages, the guards of the Aegis and the Emperor make an impressive sight, almost frightening with the potential and the end-justifies-all-means approach they are famous for.

Golden curls tumble over his left forehead as Gaius shifts uneasily in his seat. First, he leans forward, positioning himself on the edge of his chair. Then in the next blink of the eye, he is slumped back, seeking haven in the cushions once more. Sapphire eyes dart from here to there, never resting on any scene for too long as if doing so would be as poisonous as gazing into the sinister eyes of Medusa. Gaius starts, shoulders shaking spasmodically at the sharp hiss as the whip cuts through the air, already thick with tension. Wings extend, only to fold once more. The young Empyrean bites his lip, gnawing on it as his mind drifts back to his father's words, "This is the only way you'll ever be a true man!" Gaius winces as the booming power of his father's voice seems to be just as potent as it was this morning. Heaving a long, drawn-out sigh, Gaius looks back to the arena, trying his best to suppress his boredom and disgust.

That flashing smile of Spartacus must've worked. While the shouts of the Acesian cowards slowly ebb away, more and more ladies on the stone benches jump up and down on their seats, waving with their hands frantically in the air, screaming from the top of their lungs, "Spar-taaa-cuus! Spar-taaa-cuus!"

ARENA> Stunned by the sudden and unexpected run-in with Tiny, Bravo seems to suddenly lose all senses. Fear settles into his eyes, and the gladiator is -- for a moment -- unable to judge the situation at hand. The panic that overtakes him has death written all over his face, and the tall mongrel swings his whip blindly ahead of him, not sure where it is hitting. His footing is no longer sure, and the mongrel strives to regain balance of his situation... which given the timely arrival of help from his teammate, seems ironic in its timing.

ARENA> Kesava swings up her right arm and ducks her head, wrapping Bravo's whip around her armor. With a vicious grin, she swings her right shoulder back at the same time as she lunges forward with her shield, hammering its metal-rimmed edge towards Bravo's sternum.

ARENA> So the crowd shifts from condemning Acesius to cheering one of their fighters, eh? Fickle crowd. The flail strikes home, lengths of chain wrapping around the forearm of the arm that holds Pylades' sword. The Jovian fighter grimaces, then sits almost, lowering his center of balance, and hauls back with that same arm, pulling those chains abruptly tight. Counting on that move to unbalance his opponent, he shifts forward again, then, and swings the buckler arm upward, an attempt at a blow to the jaw.

Vasilius is leaning back in his comfortable, cushioned seat, letting himself be fanned by his cute mongrel slaves. He watches the fight with a big, satisfied smile. The crowd is cheering, the gladiators are giving their best and show a good fight. Those graisha have proven their worth, and as for the few fallen slaves... ah, they weren't that important anyway. The zechins should roll all season, with such new gladiators.

ARENA> Unaware of the chaos he left behind, Tiny thunders on closer and closer towards The Claw. Scimitar raised in his right hand, the left remains poised over his chest in a defensive posture. Bloodlust fogs his brain, leaving what little intelligence that was there far behind. Gaining speed and momentum, the elephant-sized man intends to put his weight into the swing of his sword. His arm raises and aim is taken. "Rrrrrrrawwwwwr!" he bellows in his best imitation of a big ugly beastie.

ARENA> The Claw spins away from Bravo (and partner Kesava) as the flash of metal heralds Tiny's lumbering approach. This... behemoth is supposed to be a challenge for him? Sure, he's armored up thicker than most things he's laid eyes on, but there's one old adage that springs to mind: the bigger they are, the harder they fall. As one of the scimitars comes down towards him, the Acesian fighter drops low, rolling closer a couple feet before thrusting his trident between Tiny's legs. Big man fall down go boom? Let's see, shall we?

Leonidas, who must speak for Jove if there are none of its representatives here on the podium, clears his throat, and sips ambrosia to hide a smile before saying, "Could it be, Deus, that Jove and Acesius share a trainer? Their fighters seem remarkably matched."

ARENA> Spartacus staggers forward as he refuses to let go of that flail! Out of the corner of his eye he sees the buckler coming and barely turning to avoid getting a buckler-imprint on his face. Instead, it gets his shoulder with a loud *smack*. That has got to hurt. In fact, his whole arm goes numb... even his wing droops into the sand. Sand... with his good wing he beats at the sand, trying to blow some into his opponent's eyes in retaliation.

Even as Versus keeps a sharp eye on the Agni-Haidar, they are equally aware of the Empyrean and the other guards about the Princeps. However, rather than scanning about, the Agni-Haidar keep their impassive faces forward, as if watching the bloody combat on the sands, an impression easily assumed by any not truly paying attention. Thalia's eyes, on the other hand, dart from fighter to fighter, as if she cannot decide which one to watch.

Pale lips purse into a smirk as Jana takes note of Gaius' discomfiture, though she does nothing more than turn her head to watch a few moments longer. Her fingers idly drum upon the arms of her chair, and a brief nod of her head is given to a man who sits not too far off to her side. Oh yes. What an interesting battle. Mmm hmm... Smile and nod. The smile does not linger long as she is left alone soon afterwards to continue watching.

ARENA> A backflip!? In the middle of the combat!? But Bravo not only pulls one off, but must have attempted it out of sheer panic. Using the acrobatic to fall back, he lands on his feet and quickly assesses the situation. Seeing The Claw leave him for Tiny, he momentarily appears to regain his composure in such an instant, that he is conscious enough to use a dirty trick to help his situation. With his right foot, he kicks up dirt into Claw's face, trying to get him before he turn, and evidently doing so to blind the other gladiator in an attempt of giving Tiny a quick kill. This stunt, however, costs him dearly, as the momentum of Kesava catches up with him despite his flip, and sends him flying onto the ground... whip and sword in hand.

Pantoleon chuckles at the query and raises his voice to intone, "Nay, good dominus... they simply share skill, and a flair for the dramatic. I am greatly impressed thus far. Oh my, but that was a dirty trick." He notes at the kicking of sand... perhaps he simply didn't see Spartacus make a similar move a bare moment before?

ARENA> Kesava yanks back with her right arm again, flashing her wrist down. Her blade shears through the thong of the whip, freeing her to lunge forward -- her sword point moving towards one of Bravo's knees, the rim of her shield towards his other.

ARENA> Where did he go? First he's there... then he's not. And this little fact confuses Tiny for a moment, puts him off of his homicidal urges. Those urges are put further off when that trident reappears between his legs, tripping up his none-too-careful footwork. All that heavy weight begins to teeter on his feet, and gravity gives him one good, hard yank down. Tiny begins to fall, his roar echoing above the crowds as he vents his frustration... Watch out, Claw. You wouldn't want to get squished now, would you? Not too many people would want to partake of Claw Pancakes.

ARENA> Sand in the face is unpleasant, and Pylades should have expected it. Should have, but didn't. He flinches backward, lifting the buckler hand to his face, to brush away sudden tears and blurry vision. To escape another such blast, his wings unfurl and beat once, then twice, taking him off the ground. Almost unencumbered, except for the fact that he and his opponent, Spartacus, are tethered together by the flail.

ARENA> Bravo rolls to the side, attempting to evade Kesava's devastating strikes to his lower limbs. The whip pays for this necessary dramatic, and falls to the ground, chopped in half. The shield of the Acesian's gladiator, however, connects with Bravo's knee, and rather painfully, judging by the cry of pain out of the mongrel. He stands... no, attempts to stand, but falls to the ground again, evidently having misjudged the damage to his joint. "May you suffocate in Varati mines, Acesian coward!" he screams at Kesava, crawling away towards the wall of the arena, right under the podium of the Empyrean nobility.

ARENA> Spartacus staggers once more as Pylades starts to rise, but with some rapid beats of his own wings, he manages to take flight as well. But this time he tugs as he does so, perhaps hoping to either release Pylades from his flail or upset him so that he falls.

ARENA> Kesava laughs, shakes her head, then springs into the air -- landing a full-strength (and full weight) kick onto the base of Bravo's spine -- or so she hopes, anyway.

ARENA> The Claw's had sand in his face a few times before in pits like this one. It's never fun, never pleasant, and never good for helping one's chances at victory. "Gyahh!" he bellows as it flies his way, able to at least turn his head in time to avoid the brunt of it. As it stands, a few bits do get in one eye, a quick shaking of the head as he attempts to dislodge it. Squinting for the moment, he keeps an eye (with the good one) on Tiny, squirming out of his way as the bulky man comes crashing down beside him. "Too close," he mutters as sweat soaks his body, clumps of sand sticking to bits of him that aren't covered in the armor. Thrusting his trident into the ground, he quickly spins towards Tiny again and unhooks the netting from his hip, attempting to bind it around Tiny's ankles. Man can't walk or stand, man can't fight.

Selene is hypnotized by the dance going on below her. Her sapphire gaze is fixated solely on the action in the sand and as one of the gladiators disappears beneath the view of the podium, she leans forward over the ledge to watch the fight continue. She smiles openly as her own fighter, Kesava, attacks the fallen mongrel and even raises her goblet to those below. Yelling, however, is nothing more than a cheer. Anything more isn't her style.

Pantoleon leans forward in unconscious mimicry of Selene to follow the plight of this fool who flees, while calling his pursuer coward... Ah! there is the pursuit now. "Marvelous dexterity!" He exclaims at the graisha's leap and kick.

ARENA> Have you ever seen the eyes of a man when he knows he is about to die? The pale orbs of Bravo bear utter desperation in them... an animal desperation, one of the prey being eaten by the lion. His head shakes uncontrollably as he somehow manages to avoid the crippling hit to the spine, but his other leg pays the price... damaged by Kesava's rather ingenious blow. He will die slowly -- he knows that -- a victim to the style of the arena that promotes flair over quick death. That knowledge takes his reason away, as the last vestiges of adrenaline take him onto the crippled legs, and allow him a few steps towards the podium. With a cry, "Take this, murderers!" he throws his sword in the general direction of the Acesian seats...

Well. Flying swords will cause no little commotion on the podium, won't it? Leonidas, one imagines, will not be the first to scramble to his feet, and make a retreat, however graceless, away from thrown weapons. Forgetting that he holds liquid, and caring little for the fact that he might spill it. Not being impaled is more important.

Versus moves quickly, perhaps quicker than anyone could have expected, and motions with his left hand to the Schola that is nearest the Acesian seats. The underling, jumping with a ferocity seen only in tigers, lunges towards the seats of Pantoleon and his wife, attempting to protect them with his shield from the flying sword of Bravo. That happening, Versus covers the Princeps himself with his shield and body, and raises his spear up, looking down at the near-killed gladiator, awaiting a word from the Leonidas to throw the deadly weapon, and end this danger to the podium...

ARENA> Kesava quite genuinely looks somewhat startled by Bravo's antics, before shaking her head. Sparing a swift glance for events behind her, she surveys The Claw's position with Tiny, and Spartacus's duel with Pylades.

Cheers of delight switch quickly to screams of shock as a glimmering weapon to thrown in her direction. Selene's goblet is dropped and tumbles to the ground below as she scrambles backward to get out of the way of the weapon.

ARENA> Pylades is yanked forward, oh certainly, and works to free his arm from the chains of the flail. That done, he beats his wings again, to gain an advantage of height, however small, then he rotates the gladius again, and strikes, winging down toward the Acesian fighter.

Thalia remains where she is seated, but her Agni-Haidar move so as to place their bodies between her and the side of the podium facing the arena. Thus, Thalia's view of the proceedings is completely blocked, but she can still hear the screams of the crowd.

From the very first edge of the podium, where Pantoleon and his wife had taken their seats, the Acesian Deus is afforded a fine view of the oncoming weapon... no thoughts of flight, but instead worry for his Dea rules his mind as Pantoleon drops his own goblet and rushes from his chair to pull Selene into a rough embrace... shielding her in the process, and left hoping that the sword simply misses...

String him to a pole, and burn him now. Gaius' creamy complexion takes on a sickly green tint as the fight continues. Groaning and holding his stomach, the young Empyrean jumps to his feet, moving towards the entrance as quickly as possible -- only to be caught by the sudden surge of movement as the sword is flung at the podium. At first, confusion holds him still as he wonders at the hysterical screams assailing his poor ears. Only a moment though. In the next few seconds, Gaius has bolted towards the door though his course is steered by those bigger and heavier than he is. The young Empyrean almost trips on his own feet numerous times, bumping into various ladies which causes his face to become a bright scarlet shade with a green undertone. Attractive, no?

As all of Acesius ducks the oncoming blade, it appears, as the weapon finally reaches the podium that a sword was not meant to be a thrown weapon. Slightly off course, it is batted aside with a sharp clang by the upraised falcare of one of the Queen-Maharani's Agni-Haidar. Spinning up over the crowd of nobles, it flips with additional force, shining and deadly toward the distracted Oracle.

Well and good that the most important of nobility is protected... No one thinks to look at the Oracle, and she too was distracted by an oddly-shaped cloud in the sky. Thus, imagine her shrill and piercing scream when that sword ends up just scant inches from her head. Embedded in the wood of her chair, it has nicely pinned her wing. And not only feathers, either. Some of the skin was caught as well, and a slow-spreading stain of crimson becomes quickly apparent against ivory.

ARENA> The flight seems to pain Spartacus as his wing his still tingling from the blow to his shoulder. But he attempts to remain aloft and swing the chain of his flail to entangle the sword this time... something he could possibly yank out of Pylades' hands. He tries to ignore the hubbub in the stands... knowing that if he loses his concentration, it's over.

Excitedly, the crowd watches the flight of the dying man's blade, all eyes shifting for a moment away from the sand of the arena to the Acesian seats. A general muttered 'Oooh' gets mixed with the mob echoing Bravo's lasts words, "Murderers! Acesian murderers! Bravooooooo!"

ARENA> Being down on the ground puts Tiny at a disadvantage. Even a child knows that. And yes, even Tiny knows that too. He begins to roll, hoping not to lose too much momentum in his effort to get back up to his feet. "Brrrawwwwr!" he yells, though most of his oxygen is busy with the task of keeping him from fainting, so the roar is not so effective. The netting is noticed only at the last second, and from his awkward position, he attempts to swing his scimitar at The Claw. Perhaps the presence of those sharp blades will dissuade the netting from being put to use.

ARENA> Kesava shakes her head again, then turns back to Bravo. "You could surrender, you fool."

ARENA> Bravo could surrender, of course, if he was in the right mindframe to do it. As it is, the desperate gladiator collapses to the ground, and only regains enough wits to turn around... his legs no longer able to support him. It is hard to judge whether he has heard Kesava's suggestion, but he is definitely aware of the fact that his chances of victory are nil. Lying like that, he seems to think of possible last-minute heroics, but the pain in his legs turns his face into a twisted grimace. He is now at the mercy of Kesava, the pantheress, and the thumbs' play from the arena crowd.

ARENA> Hearing the collective shift of the crowd noise, it's difficult for The Claw not to glance up in time to see some kind of reaction up at the podium. What the heck...? Never seen anything quite like that before. But it's a mistake to pay any attention to the sounds of the crowd, especially when there's a big dumb adversary with twin scimitars aiming to take a bite out of him. Bite one does, scoring a mark over his arm above his right elbow, resulting in a sudden hiss of breath as a fine red line begins to let blood ooze out. At the least, he got started on the ankles with that netting. Perhaps it will slow Tiny down further? "Let's go," he growls, right hand withdrawing his short sword to parry blows with Tiny, keeping his shield at the ready as well. His goal? To disarm the man and pick at his armor a bit.

The threat to life passed, Pantoleon murmurs a hasty word to Selene before rising again, his fair features darkened with anger. Calling to the panther graisha, the Deus intones in a voice suited more suited for the Aegis than the Coliseum, "Gladiator!" He shouts to gain Kesava's attention, his finger pointed to the fallen Bravo, "That murderous wretch is to receive no honorable death in this contest! I bid thee spare him until the last, and let fall in immortal shame!"

Vasilius pales as the blade is thrown upwards. For a moment, he tries to wrestle himself out of his seat, but then slumps down again in shock. How could Bravo have done something like that? How could he throw away all dignity and all belief in gladiator rules? Maybe that man deserves not to live. "Agreed. This man is no gladiator, and deserves no respect for his life." Seeing that he himself is not injured, he lifts a hand, holding Versus off. "No, let him be. He will be punished..."

ARENA> The flail again crashes against Pylades' buckler, and does not tangle. Pylades continues to try flying a circuit around his airborne opponent, a slow circle, so as to never be still, but not dizzy himself, either. He slashes at the man again.

Vasilius has the doubtful honor of telling somebody from Jove now that their gladiator has broken the most fundamental rule. Not a pleasant job. But, then again, the House is responsible for their gladiators, and it will have to pay any reparations that have been taken as a consequence of one of their gladiators' actions. Vasilius doesn't even know what has happened yet, but it will have consequences, in any case.

ARENA> Kesava inclines her head, then drops her sword into the sand, where it sticks, quivering. She tosses aside her shield, then shrugs out of the armor encasing her arm, a portion of Bravo's whip still coiled around it. With a feral grin, she murmurs to Bravo, "You can still surrender, you know." Then, her fingers tug at the fastenings on the clothing, dropping those, too. "But be quick." Her eyes close, her back arches, and she drops to the ground, hands and knees touching the sand. In a blur of cracking bones and shifting flesh, she changes. A moment or two later, a large, sleek black panther pants in her place, its red tongue lolling over its fangs. The bronze collar gleams tightly about its neck.

ARENA> Up in the podium, there is a rather shrill scream. Judging by the timbre, the one doing the screaming has to be female. Tiny takes no notice of it, however, as he is busy trying to rid himself of the clingy netting. This puts him at another disadvantage -- like he doesn't have enough already -- as he lumbers back up to his feet. Scimitars finally at the ready, he grins a lovely grin (minus a few teeth) at The Claw. "Tiny KILL!" he roars, the blood rushing back up to his brain.

The attention span of the crowd, however, is not long enough to watch the Agni-Haidar beating down the blade, let alone the continued flight towards the Oracle. Their attention flips back to the arena, and many join the monster in a loud encouragement, "TINY! KILL!"

Pantoleon looks furiously from the arena to the Agni-Haidar who have, in their efforts at halting the blade, drawn nearer to him and, more importantly, Selene. "Stand back, Varati," he orders, "Back to your mistress with you, and away." Ridiculously, the tall, thin Deus takes a step nearer the closest Lion of Fire, between it and Selene. is gaze full in the hulking solider's eyes, as the intensity of the Empyrean noble endures unfailing.

Now that her scream has finally died off, Jana sits quite rigidly, fingernails digging into the wood of her chair. She dares not look at the long, gleaming blade which impales her wing. She'd probably vomit everything she has eaten in the past few days. Rather, she slowly closes her eyes, grits her teeth, and waits for someone to yank it back out.

It takes the Dea a while to get back to her feet, though she is not what one could call steady. Her knees shake so much so that she has to climb back to her seat. She doesn't even dare look over the ledge of the podium to watch the end of the fight. Certainly, the man wouldn't be foolish enough to throw another weapon, but one can never be too sure. Jana's scream cuts through the cheering of the crowd and she spins around in her chair, mouth open in shock at Jana's predicament. "Dear gods, " she breathes to anyone who might hear.

ARENA> Blast it. If that netting could've only been wound a little tighter, perhaps he could've kept Tiny down. Now, he'll have to work just a bit harder. Knowing that it'd be a fine idea to avoid those sharp blades as well as the man's grip, the mongrel fighter dances back a couple paces, blocking an attack with his shield. In doing so, The Claw tries to slip under and bring the butt of his sword down on one of Tiny's hand, hoping it'll coax a scimitar free.

So the Varati have done their job. Protected their Queen. At what cost? The health of one of the Empyre's own. Leonidas' attention is again wrested away from combat by that scream, and he takes to his feet once more. "Dea," he says, meaning Thalia and not using the title she claims now. "Perhaps," he suggests, as calmly as he may, "it would be best if a few of your ... guard, stood a greater distance off."

ARENA> Already injured and unbalanced, Pylades' strike causes Spartacus to list more in the air... to the point where he loses the draft he was in. Unable to make his wings do his bidding, he quickly loses altitude. Very quickly. It could almost be called a controlled fall... if it weren't for the whole injury factor. He lands less than gracefully not too far from The Claw and Tiny, staggering to his feet... and falling again. The sword got him along the side... and mix that with his shoulder and wing, well... half of his body is pretty much out of commission.

This is one of those times that Gaius wishes he could just fade into the scenery -- this desire seems to have been quite frequent recently. A faint line appears on the Empyrean's skin seemingly to be molded from alabaster as he comes to that realization. However, the moment only allows a second devoted to thought before more and more high-pitched screams coming from not only the woman but the men hammer at his already poor, damaged ears. And to add to his own embarrassment, sickness, the cold claw of fear is now clutching poor Gaius mercilessly. Agni-Haidar! To hell with being the brave and noble beast, the Empyrean shrinks back, hiding behind one of the woman that other men are protecting. Better be safe than sorry, eh?

Nodding to the Princeps, Versus lowers his pilum and glances upon the arena one more time. Moving just slightly to the side, he now keeps his distance to Leonidas less comfortable for privacy, but his scutum shield will be a good defense, should anything like this happen again. The Schola protecting the Acesians also relax. The soldiers react without a word, like a unit that trained together from birth. As the blade sails towards the stands, the Praetorians seem visibly uninterested in any change of Varati status, other than to confirm that none of their ranks died, unfortunately.

But the shriek of Jana is another story, and Versus glances quickly towards the woman to ensure that proper attention is given to her. The words of Leonidas, however, turns his efficient military manners towards that conversation, to calmly judge any result of the impending exchange of words. Glancing at the Varati Queen, he studies her with dispassionate eyes... warning her against any move and the disastrous consequences.

Thalia appears quite distressed that in protecting her, the Agni-Haidar have injured Jana. She points toward one of her Atarvani as Leonidas' speaks. "I have a healer on hand. He can help the Oracle." Even as she says this, she rises from her seat and moves obligingly sideways, forcing the Agni-Haidar to move as well. Distance created, she reseats herself.

Maybe Vasilius isn't always the nicest, most polite man, but he does know when to act. Or to let act. Snapping with his fingers and pointing at Jana, he instructs one of the guards, "Take out the sword, and see to the domina. Take her to a healer and see that she is treated well." The guard reacts quite fast, doing what he was told. First, he draws out the blade, then extends one hand to her, "Please, stand up and come with me."

ARENA> Ow... that hurt. But how long does it take for the pain to register in Tiny's brain? Not as long as one might think, surprisingly. He doesn't drop the scimitar, but what does happen is that Tiny is distracted by the thudding body not too far off. Wasn't that Pylades? It was. Yep. But Tiny wants to kill someone, and that someone is the Claw. The free hand that wasn't smacked at is then swung viciously down at the man, and Tiny puts massive strength into that arm, fueled by adrenaline. "DIIIIE!"

ARENA> Bravo lays on the ground, definitely unable to move, and at the mercy of Kesava and a possible vote of the arena crowds where the thumbs up or down will decide his fate. The pain in his legs seems bearable now, and his eyes spell -- once again -- the resignation of defeat and inevitable death. He thinks... hard, as to whatever else he can come up with at such a short notice. The knife in his belt is drawn, but looking feeble against the might of the Acesian victor.

Though she had tried not to show her pain and scream again, Jana wasn't entirely successful. When the blade is finally ripped free -- after what seemed an eternity for her -- she gags and almost wretches. The uninjured side of her body slowly extends a hand, moving in a hazy fog of colors and sound. Her sudden burst of giggling is her only defense against tears, but it is short-lived as unconsciousness begins to set in. Her knees begin to buckle beneath her.

ARENA> Pylades lands beside Spartacus and folds his wings. "It was a good fight, my friend," he says, persisting in that title. And then his attention's on the stand, on the nobles, no matter how upset they may be, whom he salutes, and then on the rest of the fighters. His gaze does pick out, does linger on Bravo, briefly, then he starts toward that knot of fighters, the gladius making one more rotation.

ARENA> Kesava snorts, loudly, through her long nose, then turns, sprinting across the sands in accelerating bounds, before springing into the air, hurling herself claws-first at Tiny. When over a hundred pounds of panther hits him in the back, even he falls over. Snarling, the feline repeatedly rakes at him with her hind feet, claws ripping through even the chain mail, before she springs free, turning to face Pylades.

ARENA> Spartacus gives a nod and salutes Pylades briefly before being helped towards the safety of the barracks.

ARENA> Die? "Not today, brute.." The Claw snaps back as Tiny takes a lickin' and keeps on tickin', right his way. If only the blasted man wasn't so sealed up in armor, this would've probably been over already. Sensing an opening, he knows he'll have to take another hit, but if it means victory then so be it. A yelp as Tiny scores him just above the shield, a slightly deeper gash than the last. In doing so, however, Tiny leaves himself open to the knee that is suddenly thrust between his legs. Jay, The Claw, can fight dirty when his life's on the line. "Go down!"

ARENA> Perhaps Kesava's assist will help in matters.

ARENA> Bravo is left alone, for now... and rather unexpectedly so. He can see Kesava's equipment that the graisha shed while changing into her panther self. He can see it... but it is out of reach. Slowly, the fallen mongrel slithers on his back towards the weapons... inch by inch, foot by foot, closing the distance between the two points in a painfully long slow-motion.

ARENA> Between the sudden, explosive, unbearable, horrible, sickening agony in his groin and the PO'ed kitty on his back, Tiny is going down, indeed. The man roars... his voice goes octaves higher than any normal male should be able to. He's in that much pain. Scrunching in on himself, the tank curls onto the ground and relies upon the brute strength of his armor to see him through. Chainmail is ripped and warped from the force of the Panther, and blood begins to seep through the clothing. It's too bad that animal prints aren't exactly in fashion, else Tiny might be the talk of the town.

There being little choice, Leonidas glances first at Versus, then back at Thalia. "If you will instruct your healer to help the domina, we . . . the Empyre," he amends, and lifts his chin a little. "Will be grateful." Man, that must have hurt to say. Grateful to a Varati?

The immediate dangers taken care of, Versus now turns towards the injured Jana, motioning to one of the Schola with a few curt gestures that evidently stand for entire sentences. His Imperial cape catches the wind as the screams from the arena intensify below him. The other Praetor opens his wings in anticipation of flight, visibly ready to fly to the Eyrie to fetch a combat medic. Just about to take flight, a sharp order from Versus stops him in his tracks, telling him to stay down. Leonidas has spoken, and none of the Schola even flinch in protest. Instead, the lower-ranking Praetorian walks over to Jana, insistent on supervising the healing, as Versus resumes his duty.

ARENA> And Pylades is left to fight a cat, eh? He stops, stands his ground, then bows his head to her, as he did to Spartacus. Respect for a fellow warrior, no matter that he must fight against her. "When you're ready," he invites.

A second mongrel guard approaches Jana, both of them offering their support to the struggling woman. Vasilius watches the process, then offers in a respectful, almost subordinate voice to Thalia, "Dea, while your offer is greatly appreciated, you might understand..." He breaks off as Leonidas declares his decision. Okay, maybe the offer is really appreciated. Leonidas has spoken, and he messed enough with the nobles already today. If Jana wants to be healed by some Varati Khalid-priest, or Leonidas orders her to be, fine with the manager. "We thank you for the offer, Dea, in the name of the Coliseum," he gives in, as his guards work hand in hand with the Praetorians.

ARENA> The Claw almost doesn't even catch Kesava coming over to assist in taking down Tiny, so it's a surprised mongrel that has to jump to one side before he's crushed by the behemoth. Good thing the shifter's on his side here. Also good that she's started the ball rolling toward helping Tiny undress just a bit, but we'll spare showing the good crowd too much skin, won't we? Just enough to let The Claw live up to his namesake. Shield slipping up a bloody arm, he works at getting a bit more of that armor loose, his right hand balling up into a fist. As he swings it down at Tiny's back, the talons tipping the knuckles of his gauntlet flash, sharp tips eager to taste a bit of flesh.

ARENA> Slowly, ever so slowly, the fallen Bravo slithers to the weapons that Kesava left on the sand. What will he do with them? Throw them at the stands again? Only a few feet remain there, and the pain on the face of the gladiator speaks of unbearable torture. That is, however, his only chance, if Kesava survives. Surely, she will be back for him...

Oblivious to who's handling her, Jana has succumbed to a deep faint. She hangs as limp as a rag doll, while the wing continues to bleed and stain the surrounding feathers. The pace of it has picked up a bit, now that the pressure exerted by the sword is gone.

Selene watches the extraction of the blade and then the offer of assistance from one of the Varati healers with some distaste on her face. She can imagine how hard that was for the Princeps to say, expressing appreciation to a Varati. Such 'violence' this close has the Acesian Dea unsettled still, and to help her confidence she looks from the horde of Varati to her husband. "I cannot believe a man fighting for Jove could behave in such a matter," she says to Pantoleon.

ARENA> Kesava sits back on her haunches and yawns, widely, baring an impressive array of fangs. She seems unconcerned by Pylades, perhaps watching The Claw peel the Empyrean's comrade.

ARENA> Dirt in the wound stings, but that won't hurt as much as it would to lose a limb or two. This is a lesson that Tiny learned, and it lends him the resolve he needs to begin rolling over and resuming the process of getting back up to his feet. The scimitars in his hands slide along the ground, a soft hissing adding to the undercurrent of his growling. Some of the plates that contrive his armor over the chainmail are loosened, then dropped once the man actually begins to stand.

ARENA> There! Bravo finally reaches the shed weapons and armor of Kesava... only to be disappointed in finding that no throwing daggers are left among them. His left hand extends towards the pile of metal and wood, only to come up with... Kesava's loincloth! The laughter around the arena is instantaneous, as if the entire games and their gruesome power dissipated in this one single mistake. Bravo is too much in pain to hear it -- which makes the laughter even harder -- and throwing away the garment, he takes the sword. Scanning the battlefield, he notices the panther still in combat, and grabs his own knife by the blade. He will throw it -- now that he has another weapon -- as soon as he has a chance, taking down the Acesian victor.

Thalia gestures for the Atarvani in question to tend Jana. "Princeps, Dominus," she says to both Leonidas and Vasilius, "I am pleased to be of some aid." The Queen-Maharani does not move from her seat and neither do any of the rest of her guards. The lone Varati healer advances into the Empyrean crowd with an impassive face. Kneeling by Jana, he places one hand upon the spot of the wound, the other behind her to support her limp body and the impassive mien breaks as the healer begins to feel the pain of his patient. As combat continues and blood is spilled on the sands below, the seepage from Jana's wound slows and finally stops. Blood still stains the feathers, but when the Atarvani's hand is removed from Jana's wing, the wound is closed.

The healer says curtly to the Schola by Versus and the two guards assigned by Vasilius, "She can now be moved without danger. She should not use her wings for a week so that the injury may fully heal. Before she flies again, the wound site should be checked by a healer." With that, the Atarvani returns to the Varati enclave.

ARENA> The Claw directs a kick at Tiny's head, attempting to ring his bell a bit and hopefully encourage him to stay down. "Get up.." he warns, "An' I'll cut ye again." He'll kick again, too... or thrust another knee between the legs if Tiny continues to rise.

Pantoleon lets loose a long breath... seeking with only some success to expel his anger in the bargain. Turning to face Selene, he answers "Indeed, their judgment was indeed flawed to put such a madman in their employ. I daresay future contestants had best be more closely studied before they are so armed," he adds with an obvious barb towards the manager...

Surprisingly enough, the Schola just nods in response to the Atarvani healer, as if not seeing the difference in race between the two. Satisfied with seeing that the procedure included no poison or underhanded techniques, he waits by Jana as long as the Varati is still present, returning to his post around the Princeps and leaving the guards of the arena manager to deal with the Empyrean woman. She will be talked about for weeks to come, no doubt, and the entire incident may spur further unpleasantries between nobility or even houses, but that remains to be seen.

ARENA> Tiny doesn't know the meaning of defeat. Only victory or death. Despite the kick to his head, which slows him a bit, he continues his attempts to rise. Light of day floods his eyes, as something very dreadful happens... The kick dislodged his helmet. The man begins to roar in rage, summoning up his last reserves of strength to haul himself to his feet. The Claw will have to move fast in order to put in another strike.

Vasilius watches the whole process anxiously and nervously as the Varati's darkened hands go over the bloodied wing of the adolescent. Since he cannot know Jana's past and familiarity at the touch of an Atarvani, the whole scene seems very odd to him. Gesturing another acquaintance closer to him, he whispers silently, "Find out who that kid is. Which House and stuff." Putting on a solemn face -- it still looks horribly ugly and fat, no matter what emotion he tries to put in -- he faces Pantoleon, "I agree with you. That is inexcusable, and we will make sure that the gladiators will be more selectively chosen and tested for their honor. I will make a public apology and request to the House Jove to do the same, and together, we will do our best to never let such an incident happen again."

Pantoleon is given a nod in reply. "Indeed. I shall make it a point to speak with my cousins about then as soon as we get home. I can't imagine they will be happy to know one of their fighters made an attempt on our lives today." Slowly, she turns her attention back to the fight that still takes place on the sands below. "Oh dear gods!" Selene's gasp is caught in her throat as she points Pantoleon to the mongrel, Bravo, crawling across the ground with a sword in his hand.

Now that she has been healed, some might expect Jana to regain consciousness. Yet ... she doesn't. Her form remains limp, the occasional twitch of a hand, the movements of her chest as she breathes, and her fluttering eyelids reveal that she is still alive. And well now, thanks to the Varati Healer. The guards will have to carry her down the stairs, if they want her moved at all.

ARENA> Deciding that the time is evidently right, Bravo launches his knife at Kesava. The hand is not steady, but he had minutes to prepare, and has only one knife to do the job. As the short blade leaves his hands, so do the remaining vestiges of adrenaline, and the mongrel slave, that already managed to raise the entire arena in uproar and cries for and against fairness, collapses by the heap of armor and weapons of Kesava, with her own sword in his left hand... denying everyone the spectacle of a final strike on him. He is alive, but will be out for a day, if not killed first in his sleep.

ARENA> The Claw growls as Tiny's small brain just doesn't seem to be able to tell him when to quit. He was hoping he wouldn't get stuck with one of those "Win or die" types. He's not aiming to kill, but if it must be done... it will. As the helmet is knocked loose, he quickly rips it off the rest of the way and slams a fist into his face, possibly busting his jaw if it hits just right. As he reaches to grab the man's head from behind, he stands over Tiny and aims his right fist, talons at the ready, right at him. "Give! Give or I'll finish ye!" he warns.

Peeking at the scene from behind an Empyrean lady, Gaius realizes that some of the confusion as died down. However, as cerulean optics, as blue as if it was a misplaced piece of the summer sky, focus on Jana, his stomach gives a start. Watching the crimson swirls staining the pristine whiteness of the features, pouring out of Jana with amazing swiftness -- Gaius would have thought that such sinister movements would have been as slow as pouring molasses -- the green tint begins to color Gaius' features once more. The Empyrean's stomach gives a few turns, performing a number of what seems to be acrobatic tricks. A spark of curiosity ignites as the laughter reaches his ears, but as growls and shrieks follow, Gaius deliberately avoids gazing at the arena. Rushing out of the podium, he barely keeps from showing the ladies the remnants of his meal. Now that would have been a sure turn on, right?

Gaius passes through the purple curtains, exiting the viewing area.

ARENA> But Tiny really is one of those Win or Die types. That's why he was able to get so many women, even if they were ugly, obese, and reeked of garlic. No one can resist a guy willing to put his life on the line for pointless violence. The man roars one last time, scimitar-bequeathed hand snaking out to take a swipe at The Claw's ankles. He clearly refuses to give up.

ARENA> Kesava yowls, then HISSES in pain as the knife glances off her haunch. After a moment, red blood wells through the long gash, stark against her glossy fur. Springing to her feet, she darts sideways, then glares raw hostility at Pylades, almost seeming to blame him for her injury.

ARENA> The Claw feels merciful this day, unless the crowd decides they want another death on their hands. Granted, they may still be too occupied with the thrown sword at the podium, so who knows? "Wrong choice," he hisses again as he makes one more move before Tiny can take him down and carry this out further -- the hard shield slams down atop his head, hoping he'll just go to sleep... with a little help of course.

ARENA> Pylades shakes his head, then a slow grin spreads across his features. "Stings, does it? C'mon then ..."

ARENA> Kesava hisses again, shaking herself from nose to tail, scarlet droplets flying out from her shoulder to spatter across the sand. She snorts, then opens her muzzle a little, her purple tongue reappearing.

ARENA> Not all of the crowd is fixated on the stuffy nobles in their little hoity-toity podium. Most of the commoners are screaming bloody murder for Tiny's head to be served up on a dish. So when the mammoth of a mongrel finally goes down, knocked into unconsciousness courtesy of the Claw, the roar is deafening. They apparently believe him dead. The gladiator favored by many goes down by the Claw. Who'd have thunk it?

ARENA> The cry goes up again, from the crowd still watching, as the panther stands her ground, and doesn't attack. "Coward! Coward! Acesian coward!"

ARENA> Kesava's jaw drops further open, the panther seeming to grin as Pylades now finds himself faced with two opponents.

ARENA> The Claw steps back from Tiny as consciousness leaves him, the two marks on his own arms still red with blood that drips free, staining both him and the sand although clotting begins to slow it up. They're not serious but might leave two fresh scars as a sign of battle. A somewhat proud sign, at that. Briefly, he plays to the roaring crowd as he thrusts his right fist skyward, the talons shining with Tiny's blood. Then, catching sight of Kesava still going and Pylades the only opponent still in it, really, he retrieves his short sword and net. Time to go bird-hunting?

ARENA> Pylades considers both Kesava and Claw in turn, then turns away from them. Unconcerned with them, apparently, as he throws his gladius at the ground, letting it waver there as he draws a breath to speak. "Let Acesius have the victory. The terms were to surrender. I pray that Jove will forgive me mine."

ARENA> Kesava pauses to look at The Claw, then trots towards Pylades, slightly favoring her right foreleg.

Vasilius raises himself again, putting on a calm face, though the sweat on his forehead is showing. Apparently, not everything did go all right up at the podium, but that's not for the rest of the audience to know. "With that, let it be known that the gladiators of Acesius have won over those of Jove. In addition, one representative of Jove has shown the most vile and undignified behavior on the sands. This was the last time Bravo has seen the insides of the arena. However, Pylades' brave style as well as his dignified defeat is commended. Now, please give an applause for Kesava, the pantheress, and The Claw!"

ARENA> The Claw did not expect Pylades to surrender, but perhaps it is best this way. Truth be told, he's glad. He'll need those wounds checked on just to be certain there won't be any infections that stick around. With Pylades' words, he puts both fists up to whatever reaction the crowd may offer, the right one still holding the sword before he re-sheathes it. After Vasilius' announcement, he takes in the noise before following Kesava, intending to congratulate Pylades for his part.

ARENA> Kesava pauses to gaze up at Vasilius while he speaks, before wheeling to move back beside The Claw, waiting beside him while the audience applauds. When their acclaim dies down, she accompanies her comrade towards Pylades.

Selene rises, with some assistance from her husband and tosses a few coins toward her gladiators, though she's still a bit shaken to call out in a cheer to Kesava and the Claw. Congratulations will come at another time from the Dea of the House they fight for here in the arena.

Once again approaching the front of the Podium, Pantoleon, now possessing a forced calm, once again hefts the finely-wrought cup he had presented at the outset of this battle. Waiting until such a time as it shall not be missed, the Acesian Deus casts the first of what shall perhaps be many prizes down to the arena sand. The two survivors have earned it.

ARENA> Then they will have to follow him to Bravo, unconscious and disgraced though he may be, because it's to that man that Pylades goes, to stoop and make certain that he breathes, and then to make an attempt at putting on a shoulder, to carry him out.

Once again, mongrels enter quickly the arena, to take away the dead and the wounded, brushing over the reddened sand. Today, it will still look like a battlefield. Yet tomorrow, all the blood will be washed away again, and new sand will fill the arena, to soak up new blood, another time.

Thalia rises from her seat and moves to the edge of the podium. She stands some distance away from Pantoleon, giving him a comfortable berth even though her Agni-Haidar advance with her. As with the previous match, the Queen-Maharani tosses out gold coins to all the victors.

ARENA> The Claw will pull up a bit short as Pylades goes to Bravo, refusing to associate himself with the one who acted so shamefully today. Pylades can be spoken to another time. Instead, he goes to collect the winnings, calling to Kesava. "I'll bring yer share in for ye?"

ARENA> Kesava glances up at The Claw, then proceeds on her way, unable to communicate with any ease at all. After a moment, however, he might faintly hear a purr over the sound of the crowd.

Vasilius declares his final words, "And with this, the opening games are over. And we have seen two surprising winner teams, we have seen gladiator fighting at its best, we have seen new champions, new heroes and deaths. For today, the fights are over, but the games shall go on. The show must go on." After those last words, he withdraws himself on his stubbly feet, his female puppets following him more gracefully.

Versus glances upon the warriors in the arena through his cold and dispassionate gaze, the red Imperial chlamys waving behind him in the breeze. His stance is still rigid, and despite the time, his countenance is alert. The Schola under his command appear ready for another tour of duty... even if right away. Currently, however, they are still strategically positioned around the Princeps, although one of them stands closer to the Acesian headship.

Turning around, Versus snaps a quick command to his men, to prepare and secure the way out, allowing the Aegian walk out of the arena undisturbed. His manners are forlorn and the display of his power exemplary, as if to attest to anyone gathered that no one with the red or purple cape waving from his shoulders will ever falter in service to the Empyre.

ARENA> It takes four mongrel men to lift and carry away the limp body of Tiny. To the relief of some, it is noticed he does indeed still live. And he'll back... oh yes, he'll be back.

ARENA> The Claw gives the panther a nod and scoops up her own share of the prizes, holding it all in a hand before heading off, out of the arena. Of course, he'll need tending to before much else. At least the crowd will go away pleased.

Leonidas climbs to his feet yet another time. "Well, then, if you will all excuse me..."

The Acesian entourage will celebrate their victory at another time. For now, it has been a long day and words must be had with the Jovian household. Selene smiles weakly up at he husband and takes his arm so that they might leave the coliseum together, though without the fanfare that saw them in.

FIN  

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