Open Surcease Of Sorrow (Kaie and Buras)

[Razkar]

25th Day of Spring, 514AV
The Blood Pits
16th Bell

He woke to the dull roar that trembled through the ageless stone and rattled into a mind that both awaited and feared them. Only in his sleeping moments did he find refuge from his waking grief... and yet, sometimes he was not so lucky as to see her again.

Or perhaps he was. Perhaps he would see her, exactly as she had been... right after the Dead Isle claimed her in fire and anguish.

He hated the uncertainty, but what was he hating but his own mind? Drink would not soothe it: only made the shapes and figures and sounds all the more garish and visceral. All he knew was locked away in his mind, away from the world, he was at peace. There he might steal a glimpse, outstretch his hand towards her smile-

-until the cold, grasping grip of reality stole her again, and he awoke-

"Shyke!"

-to steel in his hand, unsheathed and outstretched before the cobwebs had truly vanished from his sight. As they cleared he saw the stiffened form of some lackey or another, his gladius caressing his unshaven neck, fearing to even breath lest the movement of his throat slice it open.

Sputtering candles tossed light, rather than cast it. Uneven and ragged... it matched the underworld he found himself in. Along the tunnel a dozen other fighters prepared themselves in various ways. Some prayed. Some drank. Some stared into a vast nothing only their eyes could see. One was practicing, weapon whistling through the air over and over, kata after kata.

None of them slept. None but him, and now, no longer.

"C... Could you...?"

Grudgingly the blade was withdrawn and the dirty barbarian rubbed his neck, just to make sure he wasn't bleeding to death. Black eyes colder than the stone surrounding them stared at him, silently questioning.

The roar. It trembled. It beat through the rocks. Like a drum of a thousand players, beating and howling for their latest fix.

"Your turn."

The savage rose without a word, metal clanking in the shadows as he did. He stepped forward and the slave could see the blades fixed to him, hanging from a fine harness lashed to his torso. A kukri was across his chest and a pair of gladii were at his hips, sheaths angled just so that he could draw them swiftly. The slave could not see the ax at his back, nor the dagger under it... nor the final, smaller dagger tucked into the back of his breeches.

Which, along with his cloak and sandals, were all he wore. The cloak he shrugged off, leaving it in his alcove as he strode out, nodded slightly for the slave to lead the way.

Flavius did. Anything to get him out of his eyes...

They walked for only a chime, but with every tick the roar grew louder. The rocks seemed to sing with their borrowed voice, a multitude of voices all bellowing until neither man could tell if they were beasts or true, thinking beings as they were.

As I am, anyway, Flavius thought (somewhat pompously for a slave).

They walked to the light at the tunnel's end, where the entrance to the arena lay. Torches and a vast, cobbled together chandelier lit the huge room as if they were under Syna hersef. An even larger collection of spectators were crowded around it, on their level and in the levels above it, rising up and along until both men could peer out from the rude, rusted portcullis and make them out.

Humans. Kelvics. Akalaks. Benshira. Inarta. Isurian. Eypharians. Sunberth drew and assembled all nations under its fetid banner, weeded out the best and praised the worst... and that day, it seemed, that congealed cream of rotters seemed intent on the matinee show at the Blood Pits.

The savage swept his eyes around and thought of them no more. He looked only at the hulking human in the arena, bulky arms clad in metal gauntlets to his shoulder, bare chest riddled with scars and shoddy tattoos from gangs and prisons... ax in one hand, shield in another.

Drinking in the noise, the adulation. The savage stared at that proud, scarred face. Saw the need in it. The fierce pride that strangers loved what he did to amuse them.

Because what else does he have in his life?

"His name's Kazim. Won the last five days." Flavius said, seeking to fill the brief, awkward before the iron lattice went up and, well... wanting to feel useful. "I hope you-"

The savage cut him off. He asked a... no, not asking. He demanded something. Somethings. Flavius' head nearly snapped as he turned sharply to him. The savage did not look back. His eyes were fixed on the arena. The red and stinking sands. His enemy.

"Are... Are you mad?!"

The savage looked at him. Just a simple turn of his head and a stare so long and black Flavius felt his blood cool just maintaining it.

"I... I shall ask..."

He scurried off and returned a chime later, but not alone. A colossus marched with him, looming over slave and savage both. Flavius had never seen a human bigger; the savage had (talk about a rough night). Pit Bull looked down at him and spoke in a voice like a thunder god.

"You are sure of what you ask?"

A nod. Nothing more. Pit Bull studied that face. He'd seen countless gladiators in his time; he'd been one for years, after all. He knew the kind that reveled and lived for the bloody whirl of battle. The ones that saw it as a business, a profession, even a calling, to be endured and carried out with efficency. He'd seen men like him, forced into it, who fell to their first enemy or rose above only to fall again, either to their awakened bloodlust or some other calamity.

Pit Bull had seen many eyes... but few so empty. But that alone would not have convinced him; the stories about exactly who this savage was, however...

He walked into the Pits and asked not for gold nor favor. He simply wished to fight. He slept all morning and now he wakes to kill. Like some... golem. That certainly matches what the tales from the Gated Community speak of. The butcher of their Dragoons.

The Scalper.

"... as you wish."

The vast master of the Blood Pits strode away and barked at the slave to follow him. Flavius trotted off with a yelp and the savage was left there, lips moving softly, silently, speaking in a prayer to She Who Thirsted. As he spoke, he watched, and hardly reacted at all.

"Blessed Myri... watch this day as your son reaps in thy name..."

The portcullis groaned and screamed as chains pulled it up... as did the one on the other side of the arena. The savage stepped forward onto the bleeding sand.

"Know I shall send souls to thee, of warriors and reavers. Know I shall gain sacred Victory in thy name."

The crowd hummed in surprise as a trio of other gladiators swarmed from the far tunnel, bearing ax and pike and shield and longsword, weird and esoteric armor more akin to daemons than soldiers.

The savage kept up his litany... wrapping a charred and bleached length of yellow cloth around his right hand... tying it tight.

"Blessed Goddess-Queen, Mother of the Myrians, rejoice this day... for your son will slay for thee, fight for thee... and if I end this day in Dira's embrace..."

He tightened his grip around it for a moment. Bought it to his face and still, like a ghost of a dream, potent enough to twist his heart and then ferment to a stinking, bitter rage, he smelled her on it. Even after the flames and the days since... she was still there.

"Know I go to it as a warrior-"

The crowd and the quartet of surprised gladiators watched as his hands moved like tanned blurs, gripping the gladii at his hips and swiftly drawing them, flourishing them quickly to get their balance.

The one in his left was older, the hilt made of an Akalak's thigh, worked with runes and the Power of Bones.

The other was... more complex. A gladius, true, but one with a vicious little "skull-crusher" spike under the hilt, and a hand guard around his knuckles lined with a handful of short spikes.

The yellow bandana fluttered briefly. Then she was forgotten.

"-and Razkar of the Shorn Skulls awaits his rebirth in your service."

The crowd roared and it dwarfed his own primal scream as he hurtled towards his enemies, eyes wild and manic as the explosion of noise from his fanged mouth, blades swinging.

What else does he have in his life?

What do you?

[Kaie]

It wasn't fate that had brought her here. It was instinct. In the way the birds from the north migrated annually to seek refuge from the cold in Falyndar's jungles, the young Myrian woman always found her way into some sort of theater for bloodshed. Whether it was a field or a cage didn't matter. Sure enough she'd find it and it was only natural a place like Sunberth would have a venue of this nature. In fact she was surprised it had taken her this long to discover its existence. Tall Johnny's Casino and Cage Fighting was child's play compared to the place she had wandered into, though perhaps stumbled into was a better description.

Once her water skin had been relieved of its last drop, Kaie had taken the liberty to fill it with something much stronger, and she didn't even care to ask what exactly that something was. All she knew was she couldn't quite feel her own body, and Goddess was that the most mercy she'd been granted for some time. It was liquid salvation, and quite frankly by her terms, it wouldn't have been such a bad way to go. Yet she'd been down that road before, and though someone had unknowingly shown her a light in the tunnel, it wasn't enough to break her from that spiral into despair and self-loathing guilt then. Her nightmares had returned and this time with quite an impressive vengeance. How was it that she could be that drunk and still feel no break from her own conjured torments?

"Petchin' move," She mumbled as she shoved her way through the ground level audience until she reached the edge of the arena. With a cloak hung loosely around her shoulders and a hood over her head to hide her features, Kaie was just about as invisible as one could be within the crowd of sadistic gamblers. She took another generous swig of the water skin's contents before she finally settled in her spot, swaying a bit when the gladiators entered the stadium. Her knuckles knocked on the shoulder of the blood sport gambler beside her gently. "Hey. Ya know who's fightin'?"

"Aye. Name's Kazim. Damn good fighter I petchin' tell ya. You wanna bet, you bet on him," He replied without missing a beat, extending a finger outward toward the big guy at center stage. Kaie narrowed her eyes in his direction and studied him, scoffing quietly at the shield as if that detail alone overshadowed the incredible superiority of the combatant.

"Aw, petch him. Who else?" She made a brushing away motion with her hand in Kazim's direction, tipping back the water skin once more to let the burn of the alcohol race down her throat. The man chuckled and shrugged his shoulders, then he pointed yet again but this time it was to the opposite end.

"Eh. Don't know 'em, but I've heard some guys by the docks tell some bloody tales of 'em. They say he killed in the Gated Community, scalped some son of a bitch apparently. Guess that's why they nicknamed him The Scalper or something... Say, what's your accent?" The man's brow knit curiously as he seemed to study her more closely, perhaps realizing there was more than a slur to her butchered Common, but Kaie's mind was too preoccupied to care. The water skin lowered as she watched The Scalper enter the area. Even her drunken eyes could recognize the tone of his skin, the weapons she swore she'd seen whirling in battle, and the way the particular gladiator walked. Yet she remained skeptical all the way until she spied the unmistakable tattoo like a middle eye upon his forehead.

Razkar...

Now Kaie was holding back a short burst of laughter, shaking her head at the poetic turn of events. Back in Syliras she had met her fellow brother in blood in an arena, and here they were once more finding each other again at another. It seemed her theory on the nature and inclinations of their race were indeed true. This part of life was like gravity, always pulling them back full circle wherever there was blood to be shed. Without a second thought she whirled around to spy a shouting men calling for bets.

"Hey! One hundred Gold on the Myrian!" And as the man turned she carefully procured the necessary coin and safely stowed her purse away once more. Her bet was taken and once more she was staring hypnotically into the pit with a sadistic smirk of her own. The man beside her began to curse at her, something about "filthy savages" and "bloody petching cannibals." Yet none of that mattered. Not then.

"Your son comes bearing more gifts, Mother. Let them not be his last."


Bets:100 Gold Mizas

[Razkar]

It wasn't enough.

The quartet ahead of him clearly thought the savage was out of his mind and his screaming charge didn't exactly take them by surprise. Give the crowd a good show, after all. Well, fair enough, if he wanted to kill himself. The pikeman stepped forward and reared back with his halberd, stabbing it at the charging Myrian's chest-

-saw him twist past it, left gladius knocking it up and away, closing fast with his right hand cocked back-

-right fist lashing out, wrapped tight around the hilt of his love's older gladius-

And the crowd gave a sort of audible wince as those evil spikes smashed into the side of Pikeman's neck, piercing and pulping flesh and skin, severing veins, nicking an artery, the impact nearly crushing his artery-

-right before his left-hand gladius thrust into his chest, under his ribs, angled upward expertly to avoid the bones but impale as many organs as it could-

To your right, male. They're waking up.

-then ripping the blade free and jerking up his right at the same time, blocking the shattering blow from the man with the longsword on his right, clad in tatters of leather save for his head, encased in a brass helmet shaped like a snorting bull-

Don't overstretch yourself.

Razkar reined himself in just enough, jumping back lightly to avoid the swinging shield that followed the blow. His right arm jolted and spasmed like an electric eel, impact from the sword sending trembles up it, but The Bull wanted a second chance, charged in closer-

-as the Myrian's steel clanged against his own, sparks flaring for a moment, grinning behind his mask as he saw his opening-

-not to mention his friend the Ax-Man circling round to the savage's left, great ax swinging wide, ready to finish him with a single swing-

-and he held up his shield to protect himself, pushing the savage back-

Razkar saw a flash in that carved helmet. Something dark reflected in it, behind him. Dark but glinting, almost like-

A weapon.

Down!

Form and fancy wasn't an issue when survival was; the Myrian threw himself hard to his left, legs exploding under him with the exertion, removing himself from the solid shield and the swinging ax behind him in a tick-

Ah, fuck-

And the Bull had just enough time to have that thought scream through his mind before Ax-Man's weapon finished its swing and smashed into his shield like the wrath of god.

The crowd loved it. The drama, the comedy, the... bloody misunderstanding. What once was a guaranteed two-against-one now became-

-The Bull cursing and spitting behind his unmoving mask as his shield became as mass of splinters, his partner's ax ripping through it and pulping or amputating half his hand-

-Ax-Man himself trying to pull his weapon free-

-but he would not have the chance.

The Myrian snarled and rolled to his feet, taking in the scene and almost decrying the lack of honor in ending two such enemies. But they had not thought of such chivalry... and, really, since when did he?

Kill or be killed. That's the rules. Nothing about how.

Ax Man ripped his weapon clear and lashed out, a low horizontal swipe, keeping the Myrian back-

-or not, for the savage leaped over the low arc of wood and metal, weapons raised-

-flying past the human's right side, his right arm swinging down hard as he went-

And Ax Man's arm fell to the ground from the elbow down to the jubilant cheers of the sickening crowd. Beery drunks and blood-maddened sadists howled and pulled their hair and beat their chairs or their chests or the dividers between them all, shaking the whole subterranean grotto in their sin.

Razkar turned to Bull, now staggering back, shield hanging useless from an even more nonviable hand, longsword shaking-

-and he slid towards him, swinging high-

-a feint, stopping halfway down, ah, no a thrust-

-from his left, no-

Confusion, desperation, fear, fear, fear, finally swinging down with his long-sword as the Myrian trust at his crotch, blade nearly touching the ground-

-and Razkar exploded upward, foot jerking up, knee nearly to his chest-

-stomping down on Bull's blade, pinning it to the ground-

-as his left gladius swiped down like an executioner's ax-

-and took it's second arm of the day. Another scream, and again it was muted, dulled then dwarfed by the evil ecstasy of the crowd. A moment later as Bull reared back in horror, anguish ripping his face apart all hidden by his helmet, the Myrian cocked back his right hand-

-and his gladius was a blur, a half-circle of flashing silver-

-that sliced through Bull's arteries and windpipe and voice box in one short, vicious, clinical blow-

"F-Fuck me...!"

Karim watched Ax Man try to stagger away, but he didn't get far. The Myrian disdained to chase him. He simply sheathed his simpler gladius, favoring the one with the built-in brass knuckles/spikes, hand reaching around to his back-

-and taking his ax from its place on the harness.

A hand ax, but... not, at the same time. The blade was taller and broader... heavier, too. The hilt, though... that was the real prize. Made from yellowed and oak-strong Akalak bone, it was covered in runes that gave it power beyond even a Myrian's muscles-

-as he drew it back and hurled it, spinning and chopping through the air with a curious whomp-whomp-whomp-

-knocking Ax Man clear off his feet as it smashed into his back, burying in hit spine, blood exploding from his mouth as he crashed onto the sand.

Karim watched, and did nothing as the Myrian walked swiftly over to the dying, twitching man-

-impaled him through the back of the neck without word or pause or showmanship, caring nothing for the crowd's amusement-

-caring only to end one more life and pull his ax from Ax Man's back-

"Oh, gods..."

-and then, it was just Karim and The Scalper, who snarled at his final, largest and best-armored adversary. The gladiator seemed to rally fast, though. He seized his fear and forced it down, settling into a defensive crouch with ax and shied that almost reminded him of Markus, the Knight he'd dueled in Syliras.

He would be the finest challenge... and still-

It's not enough.

[Razkar]

Karim didn't rush in to meet his enemy like his predecessors did; look where it had got them, after all. The chime f furious bloodshed the Scalper had orchestrated told him that such an enemy couldn't be battered down quickly. He was the batterer, most times, and coming in fast and close would play to his strengths.

Wear him down, he told himself as he approached cautiously, shield up, ax ready, let him break on your shield, and when the opening shows itself, put him down.

He wasn't armored, after all. Breeches, sandals, that harness... nothing else. But his ax and gladius were already weaving in ever-changing synchronizations before him, never the same as before, catching his eyes-

-which was the point.

With a grunt Razkar lashed out with his ax, a short sideways chop into Karim's shield. The gladiator grunted and spared a tick's shock to notice how unnaturally strong it was. The weapon must have some magecraft behind it to stagger him so but there was his opening-

-and he chopped down with his own ax, aiming dead center-

-forcing the Myrian to jerk his gladius up and inward, catching the ax under the curve of it's head, parrying it away from him-

-lashing out with his leg at Karim's crotch-

-only for the human to twist to his side, yelping as the fierce kick impacted on his right thigh instead, cocking his elbow out and swinging it-

-sending Razkar reeling back as the armored-joint smashed into his face like a blow from a mace. Blood filled his mouth and he felt a tooth loosen. His balance went to the hells and black lines morphed int his eyes-

Back up! Get some distance between you until-

But Karim was having none of it. No way would he let this man that has so easily demolished three other brawlers with such ease regain himself. Fuck the crowd today; Karim knew this savage bastard could and would kill him, and he stalked after him, ax flying again-

-Razkar sliding to his side to avoid it, ax chopping out again, steel edge biting and clamoring into the wood-ringed-with-metal, making Karim miss a step-

-until the ax swung out at him, and he swayed away from it, gladius slashing lower that time-

-slicing a glistening crimson mark across Karim's bare and muscled chest, scarlet spraying for an instant before the blood saw fit too ooze wetly from the cut instead-

The crowd might as well have been sharks or starving jackals from their reaction. At the sight of the bloody arc they howled and cheers, grins splitting their faces, whores clutched tighter to their marks of the day, street trash delighting in someone else's suffering for a change. Karim felt a stab of wild jealousy at the crowd's capriciousness. Their abandonment of him.

Razkar ignored them as if the stands were utterly empty. The did not matter; the arena did.

He slid away before Karim's wild backhand could connect, circling the gladiator as he righted himself. It took only ticks, and then the sweating, grimacing man was facing him again.

He looks solid. He masters well his pain. Good.

He lunged forward, swinging a third time-

-but it stopped halfway to the shield, just at Karim lifted it to block, ax jutting out, sharpened tip aimed at the Myrian's chest-

-only for the ax to swing down instead, knocking it away as he twisted inward-

-gladius cocked back and thrusting out over the top of his falling ax-

-stabbing into Karim's shoulder, biting deep, grinding against bone-

"BASTARD!"

Karim's body exploded with his voice, entire upper body lurching up in base defiance of his pain and injury, arms throw upward-

-tip of his ax raking up Razkar's chest as it slammed into his firearm, knocking the gladius from his grip-

-and the crowd roared its approval as the situation was reversed yet again. Now the Myrian was down a weapon, and Karim's rage powered him passed his injury, the spasms of pain flickering up his arm from his shoulder, the aching in his chest-

-but he came on swinging at the Myrian, forcing him back, closer to the far wall-

Don't let him dictate the fight!

-until Razkar spun away from his latest blow, hacking wide to buy himself some room, ax clanging off his shield as it jerked into his path-

-seeing Karim's ax hurtle towards him-

His gnosis purred. Power coursed through him, straight from Myri's Will to his own veins, his left hand-

-shooting up and grasping around Karim's wrist, palm stinging as the gauntlet covering it slapped into his bare skin-

-head bursting forward, chin tucked, crown of his head-

-smashing into Karim's nose, shattering his vision into shards of glass-

-knee jerking up to finish the job, hard patella crashing into three things far softer and vulnerable-

-and every man in the crowd felt a twinge of sympathy as Karim staggered forward, doubled over in pain, Myrian sliding to his side as he released his grip.

Pausing to regard his opponent. His breathing was heavier; the gash on his chest trickled warmth down his torso, little rivers of blood adding to the artwork until they soaked his breeches. He hawked a thick gob of spittle and blood to one side, hefted his ax and waited for the bleary, bloody, weakening human to turn-

-sliding forward with his ax raised, left hand shooting up to the kukri as his chest-

-as Karim readied himself shield up, ax raised-

-and Razkar spun to his left, Karim's right, ax whirling in a backhand-

-smashing into the middle of the gladiator's ax arm, impact and agony only adding to the one in his shoulder, finally ruining his grip on the weapon, sending it tumbling down-

-ripping his kukri free from its sheath, held low and close until-

-he slashed at the back of Karim's leg, curved blade biting deep, slashing into muscle, severing tendons-

Karim knew he was beaten, but he was alive. From the Slums to the gangs to the Pits, he ahd fought his whole life. He hadn't lived that long by submitting. Even as he crashed down to the red sand, pierced, bloody, trembling with exertion, he swung his shield around in one last attempt to batter the enemy behind him away-

-and Razkar swung his ax underarm to meet it, stopping its momentum, then bringing the ax up, high enough that the crowd brayed and screamed like some ungodly mass, sensing what would happen next-

-as the ax smashed down into Karim's shoulder, ripping through bone and muscle and nearly cleaving it off.

There was a stillness, in those last ticks. For all the storm and fury, Razkar could only hear the breathing. His own: heavy from exertion, but steady, lessening now his enemy was beaten. Karim himself: panting, irregular... slowing... blood loss and injury catching up with him.

The gladiator felt the kukri snake around from the back, sharp edge biting gently into his throat, forcing his gaze up-

-seeing the jubilant, treasonous crowd cheering again, but against him.

They were never for you, Razkar thought, they care only that blood is spilled.

The crowd roared as the kukri flashed one last time, opening up arteries that burst forth impossible distances, Karim's eyes popping open in one final moment of shock. He chocked, or tried to... then he fell forwards.

Razkar heard them applaud and cheer and gods, how he hated them. Gash on his chest now demoted from searing to merely aching, he walked slowly over to his fallen gladius and reclaimed it. He wiped the blades clean and then returned them to rest.

For now, he thought as he turned his back on his fans and let the darkness of the tunnel swallow him, focusing on the healing kit waiting for him in his alcove, there are many more nights to be had.

OOCSo, Kaie, how about you come visit your brother while he's patching himself up?

[Kaie]

"Look at the size of the guy! Kazim's got this in the bag."

"Aye! Seen 'em fight the last couple o' rounds. What a real bastard 'e is with his shield. Saw 'em cleave righ' into a man's skull earlier."

"Well yeah. Look at the other guy. Everyone's been calling The Scalper this mean son of a bitch, but he's still a gods damn savage. Our Sunberth boy's gonna run him through if the others don't. I'll drop five Gold on it."

The crowd murmured their predictions to their neighbors exuberantly, the voices rising from the mild tones of calculated observations and rumors to intense shouting as final bets were taken. Kaie neglected to partake in any of the discussions around her. Instead she stood there grinning in a moment of drunken stupor in Razkar's direction, murmuring in her native tongue. She had her hood down now, letting her curls fall down her back and her skin shine its bronze glow in Syna's light. The man beside her looked down at her with disdain, his face twisting into a malicious sneer.

"Stupid bet you just made. Damn stupid. You better just pray Kazim's sword is still sharp to give him a merciful end, but I doubt he will," He snickered beside her, folding his arms across his thick chest.

"That man has seen much blood. Very little of it is ever his own," She growled in return, baring her teeth in her defense of her "brother." At least even in her current state of mind she had the sense to keep her hand away from her sword. No doubt her hand certainly made a twitch in its direction. "He will cut through the others like butter. Then Kazim too will bleed." Her voice was dark, almost threatening but the man merely laughed at the gravity of her words.

"That's it! No more bets!"

"Ay! Over here, just one more! Give me..." The man looked at Kaie who quirked a brow curiously at him, her stupid grin widening. He narrowed his eyes and hesitated before turning back to the caller. "Just, ah." Another conflicted glance at the Myrian woman. He set him jaw and rose his voice to be heard over the storm of growing shouts. "50 Gold on Kazim!" With that he removed the coin purse from his coat and handed it to the caller, his fingers almost reluctant in finally letting it go. A worried look came to his eyes but it was gone by the time he had turned to her again. "You'll see, you petchin' foreigner." And with that both their attentions were swept away when the first clash of weapons rung around the arena.

It was quite a show, but definitely not the one that the spectators expected. They loved the blood, the gore, the death and the triumph of the gladiators in the ring. They lived through their victories and their conquests. The slain were quickly forgotten. Nothing more were they than a faceless foe their champion had defeated in a dominant show of prowess. This battle was different. The Scalper did not dwell on showy, impossibly heroic (or villainous) attacks upon his foe. He did not delay fate for the suspense of the audience, nor did he linger in their applause. It might've been a stage erected for their own sadistic idea of entertainment, but it was not for their amusement he fought. Every act of their blades had always been sacrifice of blood to the Queen, but even Kaie could see this fight in Razkar was something more.

True to her promise, the first few gladiators fell with little exertion on the Myrian male's behalf. The fray was a bloody, gruesome fest without showmanship. Their kind did not delve into the foolishness of honor and flashy valor in combat, but a cold, realistic, and calculating ferocity. In the end it did not matter how the battle was one, but who was left still standing. History went to the victory. Ask any Myrian, for Taloba itself was a testament to that cruel fact. And so flung the gore and the carnage about the dusty earth the warriors danced, the roar of a riled crowd like a symphony in every direction. The battle intensified with the body count until there were only two: Kazim and the Shorn Skull.

"May Myri guide your hand, Brother..."

"What was that, Savage?" He turned to her at the sound of the brutal jungle language, making a face at her once again. As if she needed another reminder after subtle thievery and hardship she'd already experienced throughout the city to make her understand she was not welcome.

"I said The Scalper's blade's about to send your pick to Dira." She answered levelly in a strangely confident tone considering she had no control over the fight whatsoever. Just biased and ethnocentric to the grave.

"We'll petching see."

The crowd began to shriek commands at their favorites, demanding they attack this way or defend themselves like so. The mass of voices was deafening, all their "wise" words drowned out by the others. Kaie joined into the roar shamelessly, her own more bestial than the others' cries. The man beside her shouted against her, brow furrowing at the scene before him. For a while it was almost stalemate, both exchanging blows and spilling blood. Yet in the end her kin prevailed.

With a devastating slit of an artery, whose blood sprayed far into the sand where it coagulated in thick sprays, Razkar had claimed his victory. With it came both the cheer of entertained onlookers as well as either curses or cries of praise depending on their bid. The Sunberth-born man certainly was yelling up a storm beside her with his head in his hands . His face had grown pale at the devastation. The drunken female laughed and leaned forward toward the arena with a triumphant whoop of her own. A pouch was thrown her way which she hardly managed to catch before shoving it in with cloak with her coin purse.

And then before she herself knew what she was doing, Kaie had already clumsily navigated the crowd into the mouth of the gladiators' tunnel. A few short her wild looks, others muttering their bewilderment in her sudden arrival. Within several chimes she finally found the sunkissed warrior in an alcove in the midst of self repair.

"Well isn't this familiar? You know, we really need to stop meeting like this," She laughed warmly, leaning to the side for the wall. She wasn't quite close though and a lazy readjustment of her feet kept her from dropping like another one of Razkar's kills. "You kicked ass out there, Brother. Our Mother would be proud." And with the end of her latest slurred praise, she took a dangerous step forward to offer the water skin. It proved quite the mistake as she narrowly stopped herself from falling onto her face. With a laugh she pressed her back to the wall beside his alcove and slid down into a sitting position. A tanned arm peeped out from behind the wall with the water skin once more, waggling in a silly fashion in a silent offering for him to share if he wished.

[Razkar]

It was hardly his best work, but it wasn't his best mood, and it was far from his worst injury. The little bottle of rubbing alcohol in his healing kit was enough to soak the gash and burn off all the corruption that may have tried to latch onto him. Then it was the simple business of wiping the blood from his chest and staunching the flow until he was ready for the last part. The simplest part.

And the most painful.

"Myri's... Blood...!"

Razkar ground out the curse for the fiftieth time under his breath as he worked the curved sewing needle under the edge of his gash, wheedling it through his skin until he could pull the thread all... the way... through-

-then grit his teeth again as the rest of the stitches closed together for a moment. He was halfway down the two-inch gash and gods it felt like it was a fucking yard-and-a-half.

No-one bothered the Myrian. Beforehand some had come to gawp and leer at him, strut or even show off their weapons in silent challenge, the ways of braggarts the world over. But when he returned and slumped into his alcove, he was left alone. Even Pit Bull let him be.

Don't want the new star upset while he's watching himself up, he thought morosely, anything to steer his mind from the pain from the petching needle in his chest, better to let him rest up, patch up and be ready for-

"Well isn't this familiar? You know, we really need to stop meeting like this."

His gaze jerked up in surprise, hearing his own tongue in fluent tones, but more than that, the voice, the familiarity.

"You kicked ass out there, Brother. Our Mother would be proud."

She was so very... alive. Vibrant and smiling down at him, like she couldn't see the sullen wreck he'd become since returning from the Isle of The Dead. Warm brown eyes like chocolate gazed down with all the vitality of the young, offering him a skin of... whatever, after finally writing herself.

"Kaie." He whispered, as if he couldn't believe it (which he was having trouble with, to be frank). "Of the... Cutthroat Shadows."

Out of instinct he hauled himself upright, ignoring the fresh stitches stretching desperately in his chest. He touched his hand to his forehead.

"Myri's Blessing be upon thee, sister. I... did not expect to see you again. And not here."

Gods, now he was talking small. This was not what he was expecting. Oblivion is so much more simple when you're alone. You can be the walking cliche you wish to be without someone from your past coming along and acting like the world hasn't turned to dog shit. I mean, really.

The gall.

"Whatever it is," he said in a low voice, taking the proffered skin and raising it in a brief salute, "I thank you, and so do my teeth."

Or his gums, at any rate. He took a hefty slug and winced with his cheeks puffed out as the cold water burned against his bloodied gums. He washed it around quickly, turned to a filthy corner that couldn't be any worse-

-and hawked it out, reminding himself to do the same with some booze later. The home-brewed stuff could kill Purple Fever, so a loose tooth wouldn't be a problem. He turned his gaze back to his chest and the bloody business of stitching, works ground out little by little as he worked.

"Sunberth, hmm? Well... I suppose our kind... always finds their way... here, after a while..."

He made no mention of his love, or her loss. Kaie did not know the Svefra: didn't know anything about Razkar outside of his role as her teacher and one-time commander, back when the two Children of Myri had led a band of sellswords against a slaver convoy in the Bronze Mountains.

Even now, the thought made him smile with nostalgia. Simpler times; better times. You had your enemy and you killed him. You directed the men and with luck, skill and courage, you won your victory.

Gods, you are becoming such an old man...

[Kaie]

Her grin widened from her place outside his vision, her tongue lashing out to lick her lips in a mirthful gesture. Still her eyes did not yet move to find her brother. Instead they were stuck staring upward at the dank, stone ceiling as if there were something utterly captivating about it. All it really served was a blank space in which she projected her thoughts. A place to stare and observe images from her own head, easy memories and nightmares alike, though thankfully it was mostly the former of the two.

"To be honest I didn't expect to find myself here either. Was supposed to. Was...I was supposed to be long gone out of Sylira by now. And here I am doing the exact opposite I intended, stuck in the asshole of the barbarian world, watching you butcher another stoked up, over glorified fighter," She answered him in an almost cynical fashion, her voice drawn out and lazy. It was almost as if she was feigning indifference to her situation. After all she did not wander after Razkar so she could bitch and moan about her misfortunes. "This new god they all speak of, Lhex, he's a real bastard isn't he?" Kaie laughed quietly to herself, basking in the irony of their meeting. The sound of their brutal tongue in her ears brought reminiscence she openly welcomed.

At the sound of his spitting she leaned out from behind the wall to eye him. He'd taken a few more scars since they had last met. There was something deeply cold in his eyes she dared not ask about. All were entitled to their own secrets. She had learned that much in Riverfall at the Night Tower, even as desperately curious as she was for answers that were not there. Slowly Kaie slid around the corner to instead seat herself along the inner wall of his space beside him.

"I suppose so. I'm sure whatever your business is here to serve the Goddess Queen, it's bloody enough. I can't remember a day here where I didn't see a carcass. It's all probably like a gods damn playground," Kaie laughed bitterly, gesturing to his bruised and gashed frame. Clearly he had a better head on his shoulders to know enough about stitching it take care of himself. Not even the Sunberth denizens probably trusted the medicinal knowledge around the city."Well...If you don't want to drink I will." The young woman quirked a playful brow at him, shrugging her shoulders. Her amber eyes flickered between him and the half empty water skin with a good-natured challenge in her stare.

[Razkar]

For all Kaie's gushing and her joy in being reunited, Razkar didn't seem to be paying attention. He still had an extra opening in him, after all, and it wasn't going to sew itself. The male kept his eyes don, squinting in the low light, teeth bared like a jaguar about to spring as he pierced himself, then threaded, then tightened, repeated-

"This new god they all speak of, Lhex, he's a real bastard isn't he?"

The pure, blasphemous Myrian honesty made his eyes flicker up to her and drew a smile from his lips despite his melancholy. The more she laughed, the more Razkar felt himself warming to the notion. Of all those he should meet in the Pits, it would be her.

"He can at that," he said with a smirk, "Then again, if not for his meddling, we wouldn't have run into each other here, of all bloody places..."

She settled net to him and Razkar noted the occurrence without really showing it. His wound was more pressing for one and for another... no female could enter his mind without bringing stinging memories of the one he'd lost. Better not to think of them at all - with both his heads - than invite that anguish.

"I suppose so. I'm sure whatever your business is here to serve the Goddess Queen, it's bloody enough. I can't remember a day here where I didn't see a carcass. It's all probably like a gods damn playground."

"So I've heard," he said simply, biting off the loose thread and binding the gash with gauze and bandages that looped around his chest, "Tonight is my first night, actually. All things considered... it didn't go too badly. It... fills a need, I suppose..."

He didn't say more and she didn't press further. Razkar had forgotten that she was still somewhat in awe of him, strange as that was in their culture: for a female to feel humbled before a male. She sat quietly for a few moments as he let his binding settle, then spoke again with new direction in her voice.

"Well... If you don't want to drink I will."

It would have been easier to just let her go. Say he was wearied from the fight or tired, or just not in the mood. But the same blood ran in their veins; when Razkar sneaked a glance at her, he saw the sharp, fierce features that he'd been missing since he'd left the jungle, two years and an age ago.

Scarce few Children of Myri in these lands as it is.

"I'll drink," he said with a grunt, chest aching as he pushed himself up to his feet, the weapons in his harness, clothes on his back and rucksack over his shoulder his whole world, and thus easily removed from the alcove, "But not in this hole. Fuck all left to do, anyway, and I don't have any winnings to collect."

He saw her cast a queer glance his way as they stalked up through the tunnel, leaving the dank dust and old stones behind, the crowd's roar losing it's luster and volume as they went. A procession of stretchers passed them, and as one stumbled, an arm was shaken free from under a sheet-

-encase in metal and smeared with blood.

Razkar blinked once as Karim passed, then forgot him.

"It wasn't about money."

[Buras]

Walking through the pits were the gladiators waited for their fight, Buras was looking for something. He wasn't there to fight, not exactly, but for favors, a gladiator getting cold feat can be very useful. Looking at all the fighters, Buras can't help but smile. They were all walking around with a swords, axes, and spears, while he just had a knife that, when it came down to it, he wouldn't use. What can a knife do that my own hands can't?" Turning a corner, Buras did a double take. There, with a woman, was the Scalper. He was talking in a different language, and Buras couldn't make head or tail of what they were taking about. Seeing an opportunity to improve himself, Buras thinks Maybe I have to owe a favor to get the best of this. Chasing after the Scalper and his apparent friend, Buras tries his best to look like he isn't about to shit bricks. "Excuse me, Scalper, is it? Can I ask a favor from you. If your not busy, that is." Trying to not wipe the sweat from his palms, Buras thinks that if he looks confident, maybe he will teach him something, preferably useful.

[Razkar]

OOCParty foul, dude. Next time if you want in on a thread, PM the writers beforehand. Still, yer new so I won't make a big deal.

Just as Razkar was starting to warm to the idea of being social and not just wallowing in his alcove like a misanthropic savage (accurate though the description was), something small, chubby and nervous barred their route.

Which by itself earned a sliver of respect. The human certainly wsn't a fighter, by the look of him.

"Excuse me, Scalper, is it? But I can I ask a favor?"

Razkar's eyebrow arched and he turned to the female at his side briefly, words in guttural Myrian ground between his teeth. "One of yours?"

No answer, but he wasn't expecting any. Instead he turned back to their newest... obstacle. Black eyes like obsidian orbs looked him up and down, nestled in a face scarred and inked since he'd first held a blade. The Myrian was not used to freely giving his affections, nor his patience; but he had sated himself enough for one night in the arena.

Besides, for one such as this human to be so bold as to stop them and ask a favor? That alone had earned him a few lines.

"You can ask, barbarian," Razkar grumbled in his accented Common, using his catch-all term for everything un-Myrian, "But there is no guarantee I will grant it. Now speak swift and tell me what you want."