"The Death of Night"

Log Date:
	3/22/01

Log Cast:
	Jessop, Faanshi, Optimus, Livia, Empyrean Announcer, Kasia, Istas,
Zaccheus, Vepresio, Emrys, Rashaka, Fenimos, Zahrah, Amarista

Log Intro:
	The season of Dipavali has come to the Varati people in Haven -- and
it has proven a time of wonderment for the gentle shudra healer Faanshi.
She has never before conceived the possibility of such wondrous occurrences
as the Maharani bidding her craft with her own hands a lantern for Clan
Khalida to display in the great Festival of Lights... or that she would be
able to sing a paean of praise to Khalid Atar and His Holy Mother while
carrying that very same lantern before the eyes of all.
	But there is another possibility of which she had not dreamed: that
her power, once known to Clan Behzad, would be remembered by the sister of
its Warlord... and that Behzad would ask of her to come to the gladiator
fights during the Festival, to keep watch and be ready should the fighter
owned by the Warlord Numair need her aid. Only because Behzad has asked it
of her has Faanshi reluctantly permitted herself to come to the arena...
	Because otherwise, she would not have borne the notion that here, men
and women kill one another for the sport of others. But as it happens her
presence is a fortunate boon indeed, for although the fight she witnesses
is meant to symbolize the triumph of Day over Night -- the entire spirit of
Dipavali -- Night is vanquished in a far bloodier fashion than anyone could
have expected....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Afternoon 
          Date on Aether:  Thursday, January 14, 3908. 
           Year on Earth:  1508 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waning Gibbous 
                  Season:  Winter 
                 Weather:  Clouds 
             Temperature:  Cold 
*==========================================================================*

Spectator Seating - Coliseum - Haven(#293RDMV$)
     A huge amount of space. Hundreds upon hundreds of people could fit within 
  this stone bowl quite comfortably and with ease of movement. The rows of 
  plain stone benches circle the oval that is the interior of the coliseum 
  like rings around a bull's eye, all attention drawn towards the sandy arena 
  where the entertainment awaits. At regular intervals archways open between 
  the seats, like spokes in a wheel, people coming and going constantly. When 
  events are in session, a definite trend can be noticed among the attendants; 
  those dressed poorly and smelling rather strongly crowd towards the top, 
  while the more genteel and wealthy folk can be found closer to the action.
     You may 'look at the podium' to see what genteel folk are in attendance 
  or 'look down' into the arena to view its occupants--some of whom may not 
  walk out alive. Also see 'places.'
     (OOC: You can use '+cemit <pose>' to pose to the entire Coliseum.')
Contents:
Jessop 
Optimus, sitting in the third row.  
Livia, sitting in the third row.  
Spectator 
Obvious Exits:
Podium <P>   Out <O> 

With a light and casual stroll, flanked by a couple of similarly-robed youths, 
  Jessop makes his way through the crowds. Whilst his buddies are eagerly 
  chatting about the current champion or how great it was that they could get 
  away from Delphi for awhile, the Atlantean is too busy gnawing on a hunk of 
  bread to join them. Aqua blue eyes alight upon a space of bench that doesn't 
  seem to be taken, and with his mouth still full, he yells, "C'mon! I found a 
  spot!"

As the crowds begin to gather for the gladitorial bout announced as part of 
  the Varati Dipavali Festival, a great number of those that swarm into the 
  Coliseum are of the Children of Fire, or at least of their servants; the 
  differences are distinguishable in the degree of brightness and quality of 
  silks worn, and at least in the cases of the men, which ones are the large 
  ones with the dusky faces typical of the Varati people. Quite unobtrusive in 
  the throng at least in terms of her walk and her demeanor is a slender 
  figure primarily in black. Faanshi looks _quite_ lost, and quite out of 
  place, nervous as she is about being in a locale that serves no purpose but 
  violence. For lack of any directions otherwise, the shudra girl follows 
  those Mongrels and others who serve the Varati, looking for a place to wait 
  amongst those of the lowest ranks and castes, until such time as her 
  services are required by the Clan that has called upon her today.

Optimus makes his way through the crowd, wearing a roughspun cloak, 
  sand-coloured, with the hood down around his shoulders. Trying his best to 
  avoid bumping into other spectators, his weaves through the seats until 
  coming across the end of the third row, spotting someone he recognizes: 
  Livia. Smiling at her, he offers a brief wave of his hand, then, seeing a 
  few empty seats, he occupies the middle one and makes himself comfortable - 
  at least, as comfortable as these seats will allow.

This afternoon Livia's companions seem to be all Empyrean. By attire alone, 
  one might suspect they were noble women by birth. Those who have met them 
  personally, would perhaps know otherwise. The three ladies are dressed in 
  varying colors and fabrics better fitting the Spring, then the chilly winter 
  months. Though over their laps they've draped a heavy fur-trimmed blanket. 
  It seems even the winter will not keep them from this day's entertainment. 
Spying Optimus, Livia raises a ringed hand. "Ave, dominus." She offers with a 
  soft smile.

"It's about freaking time!" "Yeah, it feels like we've walked all over this 
  damned Coliseum!" yell the boys who follow Jessop, to which the youth simply 
  shrugs and says, "Not my fault we're late. You shouldn't have been such a 
  pig at lunch and barfed on the way here. Or if you were gonna barf, at least 
  you could've had better aim." He tears off a hunk of bread and chews as he 
  plops down in a seat, and as he scratches his head, he wonders aloud, "Who 
  was gonna be fighting today?" One his friends mutters, "Uhh.. I forget."

Kasia enters the stands, blinking in the bright light.
Kasia has arrived.

Istas enters the stands, blinking in the bright light.
Istas has arrived.

Zaccheus soars into the bowl from the skies above.
Zaccheus has arrived.

Istas sits down in the fifth row.

The announcer steps up to the podium, a rather scraggly looking little 
  Empyrean...his gaze looks about at the masses as if trying to help build up 
  the excitment and electricity that flows through the spectators. When he 
  speaks his voice carries through the whole colliseum, "Imphadi, 
  Imphada....Dominus, Domina...ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Arena." 
  Another pause is given again to build tension like a true performer should, 
  "The time of year has come again, a time of change and a time of 
  celebration.....the time of Dipavali. The dark and the light battle for 
  control just as the sun battles the clouds this day, just as the battle 
  occurs in us all." The little Empyrean starts to glance around to see if his 
  words are having the desired effect....also to make sure that he gets it 
  right so no Varati will become upset with him.

The quiet flutter of wings brushing thorugh the brisk winter air sounds just 
  prior to Zaccheus' landing in the Coliseum seats, breath escaping his lips 
  in a quickly-exhaled cloud as his heels thud stiffly against the unforgiving 
  stone of the Bowl. A moments pause allows the young Empyrean to run an 
  unsure eye across the available seats before he makes his silent selection, 
  taking a few quick steps and settling himself into an open space with a 
  faintly hesitant hitch.

Another bite from his loaf of bread is taken, and Jessop's attention wanders 
  over to the Empyrean speaker. "Shut up, man!" he mutters at one of his 
  buddies, giving the guy a nudge to help stifle the chatter and snickering. 
  "Huh? What? Oh." All three kaftan-clad youths pause to listen, and all three 
  laugh at the last comment the Empyrean speaker makes. "Damn, he sure does 
  try to lay on the drama. What're they paying him?" "Not enough, I'd say. You 
  know he's just sucking the arses of all them Varati." "That makes a change."

The announcer smiles slightly as he looks around, "And it is in honor of this 
  celebration and this time that we have come here, to witness the battle 
  between the night and day, the dark and the light. This battle will be to 
  the surrender, and either the night or the day will prevail." His arm sweeps 
  round towards the Gladiators entrance and his voice rises, "I give you the 
  night...."

Inside the arena, Vepresio appears in the arena as the gate slides open, then 
  clangs shut behind it.
Inside the arena, Vepresio has arrived.

Inside the arena, Emrys appears in the arena as the gate slides open, then 
  clangs shut behind him.
Inside the arena, Emrys has arrived.

Zaccheus's head turns from one side to the other, eyes searching out the 
  reaction of those seated nearby to the announcers pronouncement, clearly 
  uncertain himself on how one behaves at these events. His observations are 
  abruptly cut short by the firm jostling he receives at the hands (or the 
  shoulders, more exactly) of a passing Sylvan youth whose challenging stare 
  is more than enough to quench whatever confrontational urge the smallish 
  Empyrean may have nurtured. Choosing ignorance over the chance of a 
  thrashing, Zaccheus returns his attention once more to the floor, just as 
  the combatants make their way into view.

Inside the arena, It might be considered odd to see an Empyrean representing 
  Night, but one emerges, his white wings contrasting with his dark armor. In 
  the chill winds, the horsehair tail on his helm blows back like a streamer, 
  his green eyes peering through the helm at the audience. No roar is given, 
  no battle cry is shouted. Instead, those eyes scan the crowds before 
  offering a simple and elegant bow. Perhaps those who have been to past 
  Gladiator battles recognize the movements, or if not that than the silent 
  bow of Emrys Dardanian. One must wonder, with his history, how he came to 
  fight in this stylized battle.

Istas sits quietly in her seat, not really paying attention to the other 
  spectators. Or at least she doesn't seem to be. She keeps to herself without 
  saying anything, and she doesn't seem sure how she's supposed to act here, 
  either. She tries to be casual, anyway.

Inside the arena, Vepresio is a giant of a man, his origins as much of a 
  mystery as his face - he is masked in an enclosed Samnite helm, dark iron 
  that seems to devour any light that comes across its dented surface. On this 
  day, he is clad all in black except for where his arms and legs are exposed, 
  revealing sinewy muscles and olive-coloured skin. His breastplate is 
  scratched in several places, though a design of seven bronze stars can still 
  be visible, circling his chest. A manicae - a segmented leather guard - 
  covers most of his right arm. An axe, big enough to cleave a full-grown man 
  right in half, is held in his right hand while a shield, small and round 
  with an owl painted on the front, is held in the other. He also carries a 
  gladius, but thats kept in a leather sheath by his side. Metal greaves, the 
  front engraved in a complex design, protect his legs and tall caligae, worn 
  and battered by the sands of the Coliseum, cover his feet. He jogs towards 
  the center of the arena, stops there and then faces the crowd, raising up 
  his axe in a salute. Then, he throws the weapon to the ground, apparently 
  leaving it there for later. He then draws out his gladius, twirls it around 
  in his hand, then slams it against his shield, causing a metallic clang that 
  echoes in the arena. He looks towards his fellow gladiator, his expression 
  unknown, before turning to await his opponents.

"Only to the surrender? That's one helluva way to celebrate a Varati 
  festival!" yells one of Jessop's buddies. "Aw, shut up man." Jessop is again 
  too busily eating his bread, but when he swallows, he breaks out into an 
  offkey love ballad, "I give you the niiiiiight! I give you the mooooon! 
  Banish the light, before I make you swooooon!" The youths then have a good 
  chuckle at their own (half)wittiness, before Jessop breaks off a chunk of 
  bread and sends it soaring into the stands. A yell of approval tears from 
  the throats of the three boys as the gladiator representing Day arrives. 
  "Break his wings!" "We can have pigeon on a stick!"

The smile on the announcers face widens as he watches the men enter the arena, 
  "There they stand, unopposed. The rulers of the night...and yet even the 
  darkness and night have it's enemies." Once more the announcers arm sweeps 
  to the Gladiators entrance, "I give to you the light..."

Although Zaccheus stiffenss somewhat at the loudly-expressed notions of 
  'broken wings' and 'pidgeon's on sticks', the spectacle of looming combat is 
  more than enough to push whatever faint affront he might feel well into the 
  depths of his awareness, so much so that the lad finds himself yelling a 
  wordless shout of encouragement to the pair making ready before him.

Inside the arena, Rashaka appears in the arena as the gate slides open, then 
  clangs shut behind him.
Inside the arena, Rashaka has arrived.

Inside the arena, Fenimos appears in the arena as the gate slides open, then 
  clangs shut behind him.
Inside the arena, Fenimos has arrived.
Inside the arena, Striding onto the arena, with head bowed and visage grim is 
  that of the Gladiator Fenimos. He wears the white armor, a leather chest 
  piece and skirt...a spiked leather shoulder pad, even on this cloudy day he 
  seems to shine in that whiteness. He holds a gladius in his left hand, his 
  right arm covered by a round shield eblazoned with the crest of Clan Behzad. 
  The only color he really wears is a sash about his waist, it holds the 
  colors of Clan Behzad and stands out against that white armor. He offers no 
  glance towards the crowd, indeed it's almost as if he doesn't realize or 
  care they are there. He focuses on his opponents and offers them a bow of 
  respect....he then drops to one knee and bows his head as if in prayer to 
  whatever Gods he believes in. Standing he seems to become very calm and 
  centered, his gaze focused on his opponents....ready for yet another battle.

Istas seems a bit unnerved by all this shouting, but she tries not to let it 
  show. She takes this opportunity to lean sideways ever so slightly, and 
  snatch a bag off of the belt of another Sylvan sitting next to her, who is 
  currently caught in the moment and too busy cheering to notice her.

Enter lil' thief. You can't have a large gathering without having a thief. 
  Tonight? That's Kasia's role. Eyes roam the crowd for a likely target -- and 
  they fall upon the somewhat newly-arrived Zaccheus. Not only is he 
  relatively small (ha! No one's small compared to Kas...), but he doesn't 
  really appear to be all that comfortable. Although her clothing is somewhat 
  grungy, she slides into a seat next to the Empyrean, elbowing him lightly in 
  the ribs, and even winking with those blue eyes of hers. Makes her look 
  right halfbred, actually. "Looks like 't be 'eatin' up t' be a right good 
  fight, y'see?"

Inside the arena, Perhaps as shiney as his counterpart, Fenimos, Rashaka 
  strides in with a hint of confidence. His silver armor sparkles with any 
  light that catches it. Unlike his opponents, his weapons aren't in hand, 
  yet. They are strapped to his back. He moves, calmly and slowly, to stand a 
  few feet away from Fenimos. He takes a quick glance at the crowd- 
  interesting folk, than enjoy seeing him kill and or maim. Then, he focuses 
  on his opponents, offering a slight bow. Planting his feet firmly in the 
  sand, his hands reach to slowly extract his blades, cross them, and raise 
  them in the air as an awknowledgement to the crowd. He holds the pose for a 
  moment, before dropping them down to his sides, seeming to naturally extend 
  from his arms.

Three pairs of fists pump at the air, punctuating every round of yelling from 
  three throats. Wordless, pointless screaming joins with the multitude of 
  mongrels and mingled pure races around them. Jessop and his buddies receive 
  disapproving glances from more than Zaccheus alone - several other Empyreans 
  don't seem to have appreciated those sentiments. But it's a common thing. 
  And what can be done in return? Slur the other races in revenge. It's all 
  harmless fun. Only it's not really so harmless. Jessop yells at the top of 
  his lungs, "Git off yer knees and go kick their arses!"

Inside the arena, Vepresio confidently walks closer to his opponents, standing 
  between them, giving them a chance to come at him at the same time if they 
  so desired. He taps his gladius against his breastplate a few times, 
  tauntingly, a clear invite to attack him. He doesn't even seem prepared, 
  adopting a casual stance, his blade loose in his large, calloused hand - or 
  so it might seem.

The announcer stands and opens his arms wide towards the four Gladiators, he 
  waits to allow the audience to view the Gladiators.....to size them up and 
  to hopefully place bets on which side they think will win. When enough time 
  has passed and the anticipation for blood builds he brings his hands 
  together in a loud clap, "Let the games begin." With that the announcer 
  moves away and the focus of the entire Arena becomes fixed on the Warriors.

Inside the arena, Emrys turns to face his opponents as well, his wings giving 
  a single flare, stirring up dust of the arena before settling. His eyes are 
  a little distant, as if he is watching something beyond the battle. His grip 
  tightens on his spear and he shifts his weight a bit, preparing for a 
  ground-battle rather than one in the air.

"Hey Jessop," says one of the Delphic students, "two soldi says that Empyrean 
  guy gets it first." To which the Atlantean snorts and says, "Are you 
  serious? I wouldn't take a bet on a sure loss. Look at him! He's so little 
  and scrawny! Those guys'll pound the crap out of him!" "How long? Five soldi 
  says he doesn't last ten minutes!" "Ok, you're on. I give him fifteen. 
  Tops." Money is exchanged, and the three boys resume sitting down.

The preperations of the combatants, while a mystery to Zaccheus' untrained 
  eye, are more than entertaining to the lad, his gaze taking on a somewhat 
  fevered pitch as the impending conflict stirs even his timid blood. A subtle 
  tremor of anticipation runs along his wings, the rustle of his feathers lost 
  beneath the bawl of the crowds desire.

Zahrah has been given the honor of a seat in the first row... since one of 
  Clan Bezhad's gladiators fights beside that of Clan Khalida, on behalf of 
  the Day. Indeed, the silk sash worn by Fenimos echoes the colors of her 
  black and crimson sari. Hopefully, said garment won't be ruined by spattered 
  blood, presumably a down-side of first row seating which no doubt occurs 
  sometimes, when the wind is right and the battle both fierce and close by. 
  Flanked by a muscular pair of black-garbed Bezhadi slaves, she speaks less 
  to those beside her than some of the others in the podium. Her gaze lingers 
  on the men in the arena, a bit more than is fashionable. Perhaps she's very 
  bloodthirsty.

Inside the arena, Vepresio lets a moment of silent tension pass before he 
  suddenly springs forth like a tiger, sword raised, moving at Fenimos with 
  the kind of speed that you wouldn't expect from somebody his size. Raising 
  his shield to keep himself protected, he takes a swing right at his 
  opponent's head, mostly just trying to rattle up his helm and get him 
  disoriented.

At the first real rush, now that the four in the arena have finally started 
  the fight, the Delphic trio lets loose with another enthusiastic yell. What 
  half-chewed bite of bread had been in Jessop's mouth goes spraying, leaving 
  bits of gooey dough in the hair of some unfortunate Sylvan woman.

Inside the arena, The well built Mongrel Fenimos turns his attention to Emrys 
  and tries to pierce him with his gaze, the fire that burns in his eyes seems 
  to brighten as he watches him. He is well trained though and knows better 
  then to just rush in, so he approaches Emrys slowly...his shield held before 
  him and ready to block any attacks. His stance is one of a seasoned warrior, 
  his Gladius ready to counter-attack at any moment....his face seems to 
  remain emotionless and calm as he moves forward, only his eyes showing the 
  anger that is inside him. His attention is so focused on Emrys that it takes 
  him a split second to register Vepresio closing in on him, as soon as he 
  does his stance changes to face this opponent. As the sword swings through 
  the air for his head he drops his stance and ducks under the blade, his own 
  Gladius is thrust forward quickly at Vepresio' abdomen....it may not be an 
  elegant move but it is certainly intended to slow the big man down.

Inside the arena, The man of Silver sidesteps a bit, Scimitars coming up into 
  a ready position. He moves to stay at a safe distance from his companion and 
  Vepresio, but close enough to remain between them and Emrys. No dual 
  attacking for them, today. He moves slowly, fluidly, his eyes watching the 
  Empyrean, his body barely moving, safe for a few steps to the left or right, 
  every once and again. He too seems more seasoned of a warrior than the 
  average Gladiator, and that is seen clearly in that he does not charge 
  ahead. Emyrs can do what he wishes, for the time being.

The whistling of steel parting the air sounds clearly even over the excited 
  murmurrings of the crowd as the fighters engage with each other, the combat 
  drawing Zaccheus forward expectantly in his seat as his eyes fairly bore 
  down towards the valiant gladiators. A soft gust of wind stills his 
  excitement somehwat, the chill of the air dulling his attention as a shiver 
  courses along his frame. Lips downturned in a silent curse at the stupidity 
  of not dressing mroe warmly for an extended foray into the winter's air, the 
  lad brushes his hands wquickly against his arms in a vain effort to wage his 
  own battle against the season's implacable strength.

Inside the arena, So this is how it is going to be then. With a sigh, Emrys 
  raises his spear and readies it. It isn't that he is unprofessional, but if 
  this battle is to happen at all, they can't stand around there waiting for 
  each other to make the first attack. Whipping around the others already 
  fighting, he attempts to disarm the man. The move is odd to do with the 
  spear, but it will get them fighting.

Inside the arena, Vepresio throws his shield downward, using the bottom to 
  deflect Fenimos's stabbing blow. He side-steps, adjusts his weight, and 
  tries again, bringing his gladius around, except this time its a diagonal 
  slash - the muscles in his arm bulge, showing there's a good deal more 
  strength behind this strike. If the blade comes in contact with armour or 
  shield, it would be enough to send a gladiator of lesser capability onto the 
  ground, but, due to the force involved, he also leaves himself open for a 
  counter-attack.

Throughout most of this bout so far, Faanshi has not been able to look -- and 
  it's not particularly difficult at all for her to have kept her eyes hidden, 
  in the press of Mongrel and halfbreed shudra and naraki all around her, many 
  of whom are on their feet and bellowing their support for whichever fighters 
  they favor. Ushas be praised, she is fairly sure she's too far away from the 
  combatants to feel the pain of the blows they deal one another -- but that 
  doesn't mean she can't hear the strike of weapon upon shield, or blade 
  against blade. Uncomfortably reminded of the first -- and thankfully, only 
  thus far -- battle she's ever witnessed, she wraps her arms about herself 
  and murmurs prayers that no one will be badly hurt when it is all over and 
  done.

Amarista enters the stands, blinking in the bright light.
Amarista has arrived.
Amarista sits down in the first row.
Amarista leaves the first row.
Amarista sits down in the second row.

Each clang of metal against metal brings another hearty cheer from the trio of 
  boys. Even more of Jessop's half-chewed bread goes spraying into the crowds. 
  Seems every time he gets to take a bite, something exciting happens to make 
  him yell at the top of his lungs. But he turns to his buddy, and he shouts, 
  "They're playing with that Empyrean! I tell ya, he's gonna get smacked 
  around good 'n proper!"

Inside the arena, Fenimos still looks calm and reserved as he fights his large 
  opponent, it's like he is calculating his movements out....sizing his 
  opponent and trying to discover some secret that will give him the upper 
  hand. With his shield still in front of him protectivly he easily manages to 
  get it in the way of the attack....the force of the blow is great though and 
  when it hits the shield the clash that is heard echoes through the arena. 
  Unable to bring his Gladius around for a proper counter attack he decides to 
  move forward, he pushes on Vepresio's sword with his shield to get him off 
  balance and at the same time drives forward with a punch from his other hand 
  towards his opponents throat.

Inside the arena, Rashaka watches Emrys's attack- to disarm. Not afraid of 
  possibly loosing a Scimitar, since he has two, he waits for the spear to 
  come in and make its move on his weapon. When it does, he snaps the blade in 
  his right hand across to roll with its curved edge, bringing all three 
  weapons up high. He lets the original weapon that Emrys had attempted to 
  remove from his grip up, while bringing his right handed scimitar down to 
  slice at his opponents midsection.

Inside the arena, Vepresio isn't able to regain his balance. He stumbles 
  briefly, but thats enough time for Fenimos to get in that punch. The guard 
  of his helm was able to stop the blow from injuring his throat too much, 
  but, choking, he backs away a step. It only takes him a moment to get 
  himself prepared to another attack, first swinging his shield around like a 
  weapon, once again aiming for his opponent's helm, then suddenly lunges 
  forward again, gladius stabbing at his opponent's midsection.

As the young girl, Amarista, makes her way through the crowd she struggles to 
  make out the figures struggling in the Arena. She /has/ to be here, for the 
  place called her name as she passed by it on her way to the Rialto. The 
  games only mean one thing for Rista and as she clutches to her red Sari she 
  manages to make out the figure of the Gladiators. She swallows hard as she 
  drops on a sit, and stares at Fenimos. Eyes closed she can't help but ask 
  herself why she decided to enter this place.

Inside the arena, This is where wings are wonderfully handy. Twisting to try 
  and avoid the blade, Emrys, in the guise of Night, gives Rashaka a good 
  whack with the feathered wing. The scimitar blade skims across his armor, 
  cutting a rent in it but not slicing skin...yet. Any closer and he would 
  have had to hold in his insides. As it is, he works on changing 
  tactics...instead of to disarm, he moves to stab.

Inside the arena, Fenimos ducks quickly, the shield blow aimed for his head 
  the obvious attack. Moving quickly he gets under it and only then does he 
  see the sword aimed for his stomach, all he can do is shift to the side and 
  hope to avoid it....which he does for the most part. The attack is fast 
  though and Vepresio manages to cut into the Mongrel Fenimos, the cut is too 
  his side and goes through the leather armor deep enough to cut skin as 
  well.....the first blood is spilt and it starts to coat the side of the 
  white armor that Fenimos wears. Though cut it doesn't seem to register to 
  Fenimos, his Mongrel blood is thick and strong and he manages to brush off 
  the pain. He tries to use the advantage of his opponent having his arm 
  stretched out like that to cut down on his forearm and perhaps disarm him. 
  Fenimos starts to move back, towards his partner Rashaka as he does 
  this....getting some room from his tough opponent, he calls out loudly, 
  "Together."

Amarista is not the only young woman in the crowd wondering exactly why she's 
  here -- though Faanshi has the force of a strong request from no less than a 
  Warlord's sister responsible for her presence, rather than any personal tie 
  to the men that battle upon the sands. The shudra halfbreed is, 
  nevertheless, ill at ease -- especially as she peeks up unhappily just in 
  time to see the Mongrel fighter take the first true wound of the bout. 
  Summer-green eyes slam shut in sympathy above the healer's dark veil. 
  That'll be at least one reason she'll be needed by Clan Behzad, then.

Inside the arena, Rashaka gets knocked back by a brutal wing attack, dazing 
  him just a bit. The result is that the spear comes in sharply, and he has 
  little to no time to react. Thats all he needs to avoid a fatal wound, and 
  he shifts his entire body to the side. The spear comes in, slicing through 
  tough bound leather cuirass and skin alike, and second blood is drawn. 
  Silver is soon trickled over with blood, and no response is made from this 
  one. He's made of something tough. Varati pureblood is nice, for a 
  Gladiator. He too, takes a few steps back as blood thickens on his armor, 
  and he readies. He knows well what to do, and his knees seem to weaken just 
  a bit...

Zahrah's eyes narrow, her brow furrowing... though no one would be aware of 
  those things, as she regards the arena and its occupants solely now. She 
  leans forward a bit in her seat, watching the flow of blood coating that 
  white armor.

A wave of emotions turns Rista's tanned features into a shade of white. Her 
  hands move instinctively to her chest and she presses her hand against 
  herself as if trying to keep herself from running down to the arena. Whether 
  the performance enchants her or pains her is hard to tell. As she watches 
  Fenimos take his blow she lets out a gasp and bites her lower lip which 
  trembles slightly.

"Oooooh, that had ta hurt!" Jessop exclaims as the battle rages on and blood 
  begins to flow. Then he tears off one last hunk of bread and chews it while 
  he watches, wide-eyed. The rest is thrown into the crowd, with careful aim 
  towards one prissy-looking Empyrean girl with her nose in the air. Contact! 
  The Atlantean chortles beneath his breath as she casts a sharp glare into 
  the crowd behind her. Then he's on his feet again, swallowing his food 
  before he yells. He and his buddies, at least, seem to be enjoying 
  themselves immensely.

Inside the arena, Vepresio tries to pull his arm away before his opponent's 
  sword can come in contact with it, but he feels the sting of the blade even 
  through his leather armour, blood seeping through the layers. He also moves 
  away, giving his wound a considering look before inclining his head, as if 
  to congratulate Fenimos for scoring that blow. Then, without any warning, he 
  throws his gladius right at him, only half-serious about trying to impale 
  him. Turning, he hurries to retrieve his axe from the ground, twirling it 
  around before assuming a readying stance, ready to face both Fenimos and 
  Rashaka now, should it come to that.

Inside the arena, Not expecting to score a mark, Emrys staggers back a bit, 
  nearly into Vepresio, green eyes wide at the sight of blood. Not his blood 
  yet, thankfully, but that one rake across the middle was awfully close. 
  Swinging the blood-tipped spear around, he readies for another attack, 
  looking first from Rashaka to Fenimos, wondering which one he should take.

Inside the arena, Fenimos brings his shield up to deflect the thrown Gladius, 
  it bounces off and lands on the ground at his feet. As his opponent backs 
  away to get his other weapon a faint grin crosses the Mongrels face, he 
  stands nearly back to back with his partner now. With speed the seems nearly 
  impossible for such a large man he spins, his Gladius begins to come around 
  and gather speed in a thrusting motion. His eyes burn with a fire and it 
  seems that he intends to stab his partner Rashaka in the head, so much force 
  is behind it that it seems he would continue on through to impale Emrys as 
  well. It is as the blade seems just about to impale Rashaka's head that 
  Fenimos calls out, "DOWN."

Inside the arena, Weakened knees drop out from underneath Rashaka, and he 
  rolls fluidly throughout the movement. As he comes up, underneath Fenimos's 
  weapon, his twin Scimitars cross and raise, his momentum carrying him to his 
  knees. The blades arch up, right around the lower gut section of Vepresio, 
  coming together in double attack low- a difficult and lethal manuever. Pure 
  rage burns deep within' the eyes of the gladiator, and as his weapons near 
  the enemy, a feral battlecry escapes his lips. Sound can be made to be pure 
  rage.

The fight is growing fiercer -- and despite herself, despite the chill of 
  uneasiness settled into her breast at the sight of the violence in progress, 
  Faanshi looks up and keeps her gaze up. She tells herself that she'll need 
  to know exactly who is wounded, and how badly, and she must know when the 
  fight is over... though it gives her no pleasure to have to watch it. This 
  halfbreed maiden has been thought of as weak by some of the Children of 
  Fire, for she must often struggle to match the pureblooded Varati in their 
  traditional stoicism and pride, but perhaps a glimmer of that strength lets 
  her pay attention without flinching to the ongoing melee below.

Inside the arena, In his preparation for his next attack, Emrys didn't expect 
  Fenimos to feint like that. The blade is upon him before he can react, going 
  through hardened leather, skin, muscle and then bone to bury itself in his 
  chest. Staggering back as well, he drops to one knee and then the other, 
  wings spread to try and keep his balance...but suddenly he is cold. A hand 
  lifts to his chest and comes away soaked in blood. His own blood this time. 
  As he sinks further to the floor of the arena, green eyes look at Fenimos 
  with confusion...this was not a battle to the death. But the coldness soon 
  envelopes him and he collapses, half covered by one of his own bright wings. 
  Night is dead.

As if waking from a trance, the young Mongrel rises to her feet. Rista almost 
  throws herself into the arena as she struggles to see who has fallen. The 
  Empyrean...Deep blues eyes are wide open as her gaze scrutinizes the body of 
  the man lying on the floor. "Oh gods" she mumbles to herself as she pierces 
  Fenimos with her gaze. Long dark locks fly in all directions as she shakes 
  her head trying to shake the image of her Gladiator murdering this being out 
  of her head.

"Yeaahhhhhh....... oh...damn..." Jessop's yelling suddenly cuts off as the 
  blade goes into Emrys' chest, and he stares down with the look of a fish 
  that has just been plucked out of its little bowl of water. Beside him, his 
  friends are screaming and yelling about pigeons on a stick. Until they too 
  realise what has just happened. Both go eerily quiet, and while they don't 
  seem overly disturbed about the death of a stranger, they ask, "You ok, 
  Jessop?" "You couldn't feel that, could you?" The youth shakes his head, and 
  he replies, "No... I can't feel a thing. But this... was supposed to be just 
  to surrender."

Inside the arena, Vepresio hadn't been expecting that. He only realizes his 
  mistake when cold metal slices through exposed flesh beneath his chestplate, 
  blood spilling out from him. Not making a sound, he pulls away, swinging the 
  axe around in a clumsy attempt to take off Rashaka's head. He drops his 
  shield and attempts to stop the bleeding with his hand, even though its a 
  futile effort - if he hadn't moved back, he could've been cut right in half. 
  Even though he looks gravely wounded, he seems willing to continue fighting, 
  slowly backing away, evaluating his two worthy opponents. However, in the 
  end, he lets his axe fall to the ground as well, dropping to his knees in 
  defeat, the ground of the Coliseum becoming stained with his blood.

Nor can Faanshi feel the passing of the Empyrean on the sands -- but like 
  Jessop, she knows that the fight was supposed to have been to surrender and 
  not to death. And it is impossible to mistake the way that the Son of Air 
  collapses as anything but the cessation of life. Around the shudra girl, 
  dozens of Mongrels roar forth sudden support of the death-blow that Fenimos 
  has struck -- while others, more leery of their Varati masters, look 
  decidedly uneasily at one another for confirmation of what they've just 
  seen. Is he dead? He's dead, isn't he?
Indeed, he is dead. Cognizant of this despite the distance between her and the 
  doomed warrior, Faanshi stands in the middle of the shudra and naraki 
  throng, noticeably silent in the midst of an otherwise noisy crowd. One 
  sungolden hand comes up and involuntarily sketches a sigil in the air just 
  before her breast, and behind her veil she breathes a prayer to Ushas -- not 
  only for the man who has been slain, but also for the hope that this will 
  not mean death for the Mongrel fighter.

Inside the arena, For a moment it looks like Fenimos might try to hold Emrys 
  up, as if in doing so he could keep him alive. His face softens as his 
  opponent drops to the ground, the sword is pulled from Emrys chest...covered 
  in blood. A sigh escapes his lips as he looks at his fallen opponent, then 
  he turns....he is slower now as the blood continues to flow from his side, 
  and even this burly Mongrel seems nearly ready to collapse. When he see's 
  Vepresio on his knees, Fenimos drops both his sword and shield.....the 
  battle is over and once more he has survived.

Amarista leaves the second row.

Inside the arena, Rashaka gasps as his blades pierce flesh- he hadn't wanted 
  it to come to this. His blades are drenched as well, and he just sits, on 
  his knees, with the weapons in his hands. He drops the twin weapons onto the 
  ground at his sides, just sitting there, watching Vepresio. He just blinks a 
  few times.. this is a surprise, in the greatest form. He forces his body to 
  stand, blood flowing from his side as well. He walks, unsteadily, towards 
  Fenimos, saying something softly to him.

The Atlantean youth sits back down hard on his rump, and he stares gormlessly 
  down at the bloodied arena. His friends shuffle about uncertainly, and over 
  the roaring of the crowd they try to get his attention. Finally, the larger 
  of the pair nudges him and says, "You alright, man? It's over. C'mon. Hey, 
  are you listening?" Jessop shrugs off the hand of his friend, and he snaps, 
  "Yeah, dammit, I'm fine. But I think I'm going back to Delphi now. I don't 
  wanna see anymore of this." "Well, like I said, it's over. No more to see." 
  Openly frowning, Jessop rises back up to his feet and starts to shuffle 
  away. His friends just shrug to themselves and follow after - heck, might as 
  well leave now and beat the crowds.

"I beg of you, please, Imphadi, permit me to see--" Faanshi has to raise her 
  voice for once to make herself heard in the din, as she strives to see 
  around the big naraki beside her. And once she catches a glimpse of the 
  weapons that the fighters have dropped, once it becomes obvious that the 
  combat is done, it seems to her that it is time for her to move. The only 
  problem now is -- can she get down to the sands, and once there, will they 
  permit such as she into the proximity of the wounded men? She begins to make 
  her way towards the nearest stairs, glancing this way and that in hope of 
  some sign of a party from Clan Behzad. If the Warlord and his sister are 
  present, perhaps that'll guarantee her access to do what she has been 
  requested to do.

Now that Fenimos is on the floor also, Rista has a hard time running away from 
  the Coliseum as she was ready to. Seeing him down, burns deep wounds inside 
  her. Cobalt eyes fill with water and a tiny pout hints to the fact that the 
  young girl's helplessness at the moment enrages her greatly. There is no way 
  she will ever be let into the arena.

Inside the arena, Vepresio is greviously wounded but at least he will most 
  likely survive this day. His head lowered and his arm folded across his 
  midsection, the dark armour now laced in crimson blood, he silently waits to 
  be taken away and mended by the surgeons.

Zahrah rises and turns, speaking briefly to one of her guards before moving to 
  stand near the exit. The man leaves her side then, headed up into the 
  spectator seating with a message for a certain healer, once she can be 
  located amongst the cheering or booing crowd.

Inside the arena, Vepresio has left.

Inside the arena, Only a slight nod is given to Rashaka by Fenimos, he is 
  starting to pale and his steps drag. Day may have been the victor over 
  Night....but the victory was bloody and painful. He comes to stand beside 
  his partner, his gaze moving up to the podium and the Nobles that sit 
  there....his gaze turns into a sneer for those purebloods who make a sport 
  out of this sort of thing, to them no respect is given....to them he turns 
  his back. His eyes scan the crowd and fall upon the seating that holds the 
  majority of the Mongrel and Half-Breeds. It is to them that he holds up his 
  arm in victory....it is to them that he bows....it is to them that he gives 
  the respect.

Now that the entertainment of the hour appears to be finished, the crowd 
  begins to break up into eddies that begin to trickle towards the exits -- 
  but more than a few of the Mongrels in the crowd catch sight of Fenimos' 
  gesture to them, and more than a few thunder forth cheers for him.

The Caducean from Delphi has turned his back on the arena, thus missing the 
  gesture from Fenimos. Not that Jessop would have cared too greatly. His 
  expression remains troubled as he departs, as well as somewhat confused. His 
  buddies, however, have no difficulty rediscovering their earlier enthusiasm. 
  Both make sporting feints at each other and scuffle about as they depart, 
  and soon the trio disappears around a corner.
Jessop has left.

And even as a majority of the spectators begin to depart, one slender figure 
  can be spotted anxiously making her way down a stairway towards the sands. 
  Halfway down, Faanshi is spotted by the messenger from Behzad -- and 
  although she does make the appropriate respectful bow, even though her 
  gentle voice remains deferential of tone, there is an uncharacteristic 
  urgency and firmness about her as she entreats, "If you please, Imphadi, if 
  you are from Clan Behzad, I am here to serve as the sister of the Warlord 
  has requested -- please, take me to the warriors...?"

"AGh!" comes the scream from Amarista, as a slightly overweight boy places all 
  his weight on the Mongrel's foot. She looks at him ready to snarl. The girl 
  seems to be possessed by far too many overwhelming emotions. She can't help 
  but grin and beam as she catches sight of Fenimos. The gesture gives her 
  some peace, "He's alright" is the only thing she can whisper before the kid 
  puts his other foot on the girls small foot. This time she groans at the boy 
  before scanning the arena for the Gladiator once more.

Inside the arena, Rashaka nods to Fenimos, too. There is obvious respect for 
  the man, there. He, too, looks over at every pureblood, and he offers no 
  recognition there way. He turns to Fenimos and bows. He has no one to share 
  the victory with except them. He looks weak, though, and he falls to his 
  knees. Blood is found in force at his side. Then, he falls onto his hands. 
  Bloody, indeed.

Inside the arena, Emrys_DEAD passes into the chambers below as the gate opens 
  to allow him to pass.
Inside the arena, Emrys_DEAD has left.

Zahrah pages: Feel free to pose whatever you like, as the servant comes to 
  take you below. But... the word from Zahrah is that she is displeased. It 
  comes to you as, 'And please pass along that the Imphada hopes the 
  Queen-Maharani is not offended by Fenimos' actions in killing the Empyrean. 
  That would obviously be a bad thing.'

The Behzad messenger and the shudra in black confer but for a moment, 
  something uttered from the man to the maiden, but most of Faanshi's 
  attention is on the sands. Murmuring a reply that seems to satisfy the 
  messenger, she then quickly follows him on down the rest of the stairs, 
  steeling herself for what she must now do.

Inside the arena, Fenimos stands and raises his hand once more to the Mongrel 
  people, this battle seems to be more then just another fight for him....to 
  him it is a statement, that Mongrels are the equal to any pureblood. He 
  turns to Rashaka and returns the bow, as his partner and friend falls to the 
  ground he tries to bend down to help him....but the strain is too much and 
  just ends up stumbling, and so he sits there in the sand and blood beside 
  his friend. The white of thier armor forever stained a crimson red, and then 
  the darkness which he just finished fighting takes hold of him as well and 
  he collapses....perhaps in the end the darkness was the true victor in this 
  battle.

[Faanshi is escorted down to the sands... and in a few minutes...]

You ascend the sloping ramp leading to the gate of the arena, which opens as 
  you pass and clangs shut behind you.
Arena - Coliseum - Haven
     Sand hides the stains of blood and sweat from countless gladiators who've 
  fought and fallen here. Though battles to the death are rare these days, 
  rare too is the gladiator who walks out of this arena unscathed. The floor 
  and walls of this combat ring are pockmarked with the strokes of blades and 
  maces, spears and clubs, for any and all weapons are allowed within--the 
  deadlier the better. But a weapon is only as good as its wielder, and only 
  the finest fight here to provide entertainment for the thousands of 
  spectators that gather each event. Whether slave or freeborn mercenary, the 
  gladiators are recognized the land over, and many might think the price of 
  fame was worth its transience.
Contents:
Fenimos
Rashaka
Obvious exits:
Gate <O>

As the crowd tramples over each other to leave the arena, Rista makes her way 
  downstairs. She is getting there, somehow, dead or alive, she has to see for 
  herself that the man is safe. If only Numair was around, she would be fine, 
  yet it has been long since she has seen him. There is no telling if he will 
  be able to give her access to Fenimos.

Even as the two remaining fighters on the sands try to rally the strength to 
  move, there is a small commotion at the edge of the arena as a pair of 
  guards comes over to investigate exactly why a young woman in black is 
  calling out anxiously, "Please, permit me down -- Clan Behzad bids me heal 
  their fighter, Imphadis -- may I enter?"
"The Warlord's sister has commanded it," comes the gruff confirmation of the 
  messenger in crimson and black and only at this do the pair of guards permit 
  the shudra out onto the fighting field.
Permission secured, Faanshi picks up her pace until she is more trotting than 
  walking, approaching the wounded men with anxiety in her summer-colored eyes 
  and a hand lifted as if in supplication, or as if to feel the warmth of a 
  hearth-fire.

Fenimos
        Before you stands a proud looking Mongrel man in his early thirties, 
  his features are strong and could he considered fairly handsome by some. 6' 
  tall with a strong build he looks to have seen some battle in his time, his 
  dark hair is cut short and his green eyes seem somewhat cold..but alert, his 
  whole face seems to be like a stone mask and shows very little emotion. His 
  skin is well tanned from long exposure to the sun, a small goatee covers his 
  chin.
        His body is His feet are covered by a heavy pair of leather buskins 
  laced up to mid-shin that are worn and dirty, strapped to both forearms are 
  heavy black leather bracers. He wears a white leather chest piece and his 
  left shoulder is covered by a spiked shoulder pad. His legs are covered by a 
  white leather skirt which has silver metal strips attached to it. About his 
  waist is scarf that is the color of the Clan Behzad, the only thing of color 
  that he wear. His muscles are taut and well defined giving him a burly build 
  and yet he seems lithe at the same time, his skin has several scars from 
  battle wounds. Noticable on his right shoulder is some branded markings...to 
  the trained eye these are unofficial marks indicating that he was once a 
  member of the Velites. Overall he looks like a man used to being told what 
  to do but his eyes shine with a defiance and pride as well as the thoughts 
  of freedom. His stance and mannerisms show that he is a trained fighter and 
  is almost subconsciously sizing things up.
        In his left hand he holds a fine Gladius and indeed it seems like just 
  an extension of his arm. His right arm is covered by a medium sized round 
  white shield....emblazoned on it is the crest of Clan Behzad.

Rashaka
Here stands a Varati male. He is far shorter than the average Varati male, at 
  only five foot eleven or six feet tall. It is hard to tell. His skin is 
  unusually light for a Varati, although it is still somewhat darker than the 
  average Mongrel or Empyrean, and his hair is a light black color as well. It 
  almost looks dark blue or brown, but it is indeed black. His frame is rock 
  hard, like the usual Varati, and his movements are even more graceful than 
  that of the normal warrior of his race. Dark eyes peek out from his face, 
  and his face generally has a bit of stubble on it, not being able to shave 
  often. His powerful torso is covered up with a thin black vest that hangs 
  largely off his body, but serves its purpose well enough. Comfortably 
  fitting black pants cover his legs, with a large cut on the left knee. 
  Truly, it is amazing how the clothes are kept in as good as condition as 
  they are. Truly, it seems out of place when this man doesn't carry a weapon. 
  His black pants end as they are stuffed into a pair of polished black boots. 
  Also, very out of place for what is obviously a slave, is a dark ruby 
  resting in the middle of a dark gold hoop. It does appear to be made for 
  men. However, today, he wears armor that completely cover his dark clothes 
  completely. A pair of thick leather leggings cover his legs, dyed silver in 
  color. Around his waist is the common armor skirt, silver with metal laces 
  falling down about his knees. Over his chest is a similarly colored cuirass, 
  with the Clan Khalida symbol resting on his chest. Even being a Gladiator, 
  he wears the sign with pride. His arms have small leather plates, as well, 
  silver, to cover parts of his toned arms. Strapped on his back are twin 
  scabbars, containing Scimitars.

The blood continues to flow from the wound at Fenimos' side to pool on the 
  sand where he lays. How he has managed to stay alive this long is a mystery, 
  but it will be short order before the last of his life slips away and is 
  absorbed by the Arena sands.

Though most of the crowd has thinned and left the Colliseum, there is a group 
  of Mongrels that has stayed behind. Thier attention fixed on Fenimos, trying 
  to see if he will live or die and wondering, if he does live will only be so 
  that he may be executed for showing more respect to them then the nobles.

The moment she is in range -- twenty feet from Fenimos and Rashaka -- 
  Faanshi's magic roars to life within her in reaction to the hurts the men 
  have taken. Bad enough that she can see them bleeding with her eyes; now, 
  too, she can sense the shape they're in, and that only adds to the urgency 
  in what little is visible of her expression. She does not let it make her 
  falter, however, not in this large and still unnervingly populated place -- 
  and not when she is aware that Clan Behzad's eyes are doubtless upon her. 
  Swiftly she draws near and swiftly she kneels, casting a glance from one man 
  to the other as she permits just a fraction of an instant in which she 
  determines which of them is more critically wounded...
And then the shudra's by the Mongrel man, sungolden hands seeking his side and 
  a clear path to the rent in his flesh. And she's murmuring urgently, 
  "Imphadi, hear me! I am here to heal you -- can you hear me, Imphadi?"

Amarista appears in the arena as the gate slides open, then clangs shut behind 
  her.
Amarista has arrived.
"Have Mercy!!" begs the small voice of Amarista as she tugs at the uniform of 
  one of the guards guarding the entrance to the arena. 
  "Thats..that's...That's my brother dying there." she begs to the guard who 
  chuckles as he pulls out a sword at the worthless Mongrel and places the tip 
  lightly under her chin. Amarista swallows hard but the words of the 
  beautiful Halfbreed catch both the guard and the girl offguard. Thus they 
  stand, the guards in front of Amarista, watching the final putcome of the 
  match. The young girl prays to all the gods for the health of both 
  gladiators.

A slight twitch is all that comes from Fenimos to indicate in any way that he 
  is still alive and can hear....but he does still hold onto life. It is the 
  only thing which he can call his own and it is the one thing he will fight 
  for with all of his being. The wound on his side cut deep, deeper then was 
  first noticable...either the armor held it closed or he was just able to 
  ignore it while the battle still raged.

The group of Mongrels that has stayed behind hear Amarista and look over at 
  her. Something must have lit a fire under them because one of them actually 
  raises a voice at the guards, "Hey...let her through if she's Fenimos' 
  sister...she has a right." The others in the group nod in agreement, their 
  faces showing anger that the guards would deny a sister the right to be at 
  the side of her dying brother.

Bezhad's only present representative is most certainly watching the shudra 
  healer and her weakening patient. Zahrah stands by rigidly, not having moved 
  from near the exit. Her brow is furrowed, and her dark eyes are narrowed as 
  well. She doesn't turn her attention away from the pair, not even for a 
  moment. Not even when the mongrel girl claiming to be Fenimos' sister 
  appears on the sands.

And it is enough for Faanshi. The Mongrel is clearly too far gone to 
  acknowledge her for the time being -- and so as best she can she swiftly 
  wrestles with his armor and his garb, clearing them away from his skin. Not 
  because she really needs to see it, but her magic works best skin to skin. 
  In moments she's figured out just enough to get a hand to the wound--
Contact. And aether begins to flow.
The magic is imperceptible to those of Mongrel blood, but for the critically 
  injured fighter, it can be sensed as a sunburst of sensation, an infusion of 
  strength that kindles in his side and crackles out through the rest of him 
  as well. It runs deep, seeking out the length and breadth and depth of the 
  damage he's sustained, and begins to mend it from the bottom up.
All there is to see to the untrained or un-magical eye, however, is the girl 
  in black now leaning slightly forward over Fenimos, one hand at his side, 
  the other coming in to rest against his shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut 
  with effort.

"Let her go, he is dead already" one of the guards chuckles as if the thought 
  of watching the dead gladiator and the suffering of the young girl was an 
  amusing thought. Amarista thanks Tyche as she hurries past the guards and 
  walks close to Faanshi. She doesn't dare come any closer for fear of 
  breaking any connction between that this woman and Fenimos.

The strength that flows into him seems to have immediate effects, his skin 
  becomes less pale and he even starts to shift slightly as the magic courses 
  into him. His hand suddenly moves quickly, it grasps Faanshi by the wrist 
  and holds her....it's not a strong hold however, it is gentle...the way a 
  child would hold onto it's mother when injured. His eyes flutter open for a 
  moment and he looks at Faanshi, words are spoken softly by Fenimos but it is 
  easy to see what he says even if it can't be heard, "Thank you." His head 
  slowly turns to look at Rashaka and his other hand seems to reach out slowly 
  as if to take hold of his friend, "Don't die, Imakhu. We have many 
  adventures before us." His eyes shut once more and he just lays there, 
  letting Faanshi do her magic on him.

Not dying, as he is told to do, may be harder than one would think. His silver 
  armor is crimson now, his entire left side numb, were he awake to feel, and 
  a literal pool of blood is gathered about him. He doesn't look too healthy 
  at all. His eyes stare upwards- but they're closed, thin eyelids fluttered 
  over his raging eyes. His long hair is flung wildly about his shoulders, 
  having come free of its binding. Not healthy in the least.
Not healthy, of course, being Rashaka.

Fenimos might be a man and a gladiator, and she a maiden and a healer and 
  arguably as different as it is possible to get -- but with Faanshi, he has 
  three things in common. Service to the Varati. 'Impure' blood. And command 
  over a single thing: life. For the fighter, the life is specific -- his own. 
  But for the maiden, it is simultaneously a far more general and far more 
  intimate command over that which guarantees life's continuance. She cannot 
  replace the blood the man has lost -- he will have to do that himself, 
  regaining his strength with rest and food -- but she can keep him from 
  losing any more of it. And when the lightning bolt of her power finishes 
  shooting through him, it ebbs down into a far gentler current that eases 
  away pain as well. Her eyes come open at the fighter's words, giving him an 
  excellent view of the Sylvan-green hue of them, and there is infinitely 
  gentle acknowledgement within them. "You are welcome, Imphadi," she replies 
  -- but she isn't done yet. "Lie still, I beg of you; regain your breath. 
  Your comrade will not die if I can help it..!"
And so, without standing up, Faanshi abruptly pivots towards the other 
  fighter, magic still alive in her hands and demanding completion of the 
  second half of the task at hand.

Not knowing what to do standing there, she looks at the other woman as if her 
  back held all the answer to her question. As Fenimos gains consciousness joy 
  takes over the young woman's sharp features. "Thank you" she repeats to 
  Faanshi, echoing the gladiator's words at the same time that she makes them 
  her own. She looks at Fenimos, with his eyes closed and smiles warmly. A 
  quick glance is granted to the other gladiator, when she turns to look at 
  the healer, Rista's eyes are full of concern.

Assessing dark eyes scan Fenimos again, as Faanshi moves away to tend the Clan 
  Khalida gladiator. Zahrah continues to watch and to stand by, though she's 
  now had to move away from the exit door. Her fellow kshatri and other nobles 
  are not that interested in watching the aftermath, especially since it's 
  more and more unlikely that anyone else will die... so they all want to 
  leave.

Contact, once again, and this time swifter. Faanshi cannot spare the attention 
  to acknowledge Amarista, for even as she'd healed Fenimos, she can tell that 
  she's lost vital moments of distance between life and death for the Son of 
  Fire who fought with him. This time she does not bother to wrestle with the 
  man's armor and the garments beneath; instead, her dainty palms come down 
  firmly upon his prone frame, and with eyes once again squeezing shut, she 
  thrusts her concentration deeply into Rashaka. The goal now is to keep him 
  alive; afterward she'll worry about such niceties as whether his own blood 
  causes his skin to adhere to his clothing.

Amarista hurries to Fenimos and kneels down besides him. Her brows almost meet 
  as she looks down him with pure tenderness. "Feni" she calls to him in a 
  melodic voice. "Tell me you are ok" she whispers to him not daring to touch 
  anywhere for fear that she might break him. Funny how she usually fears the 
  opposite. A quick glance is given once more to the other gladiator. Rista 
  swallows hard and trembles slightly. Is it too late? She can't even whisper 
  the words for fear that they will come true.

Once more the eyes of the Mongrel Fenimos flutter open as he hears the sweet 
  voice of Rista. he looks over towards her while her gaze is on 
  Rashaka....his hand slowly comes up to touch Rista's face gently, his hand 
  cupping her cheek, "I will be fine. How are you?" He is still weak and it's 
  obvious that even this little effort is a drain to him, but at least he will 
  live and the pain is now gone.

Healing magic is definately a good thing, especially for a Gladiator that has 
  suffered an almost fatal wound, and has hung around a while, during which 
  time his buddy- arguablly more hurt than he himself -got healed. Blood stops 
  flowing out his wound- which is good, since he's about out as it is. Faanshi 
  /might/ just be strong enough to keep him from death.
Once again, Rashaka, is the one who might be kept from death.

_Might_. That's an awfully disturbing concept -- but it is one that occurs to 
  Faanshi even as she senses how little of this Varati man's life is left. 
  This is not the first time she's felt a life threatening to escape her, and 
  the last time it happened, the escape was successful. Fear that such might 
  happen again blossoms somewhere in the back of her mind, but somehow, the 
  shudra manages to ignore it. Manages to form a prayer in her thoughts: 
  _Ushas, help me--!_ And manages to tap deeper into the wellspring of her 
  power, calling up more of the unseen golden fire that is the one thing she 
  can command.
Lightning, at least when wielded by this girl's dainty hands, can strike twice.

"See to it that he is brought back to Atesh-Gah," Zahrah orders her remaining 
  guard, who nods and goes to make the arrangements as she turns toward the 
  Empyrean announcer. "He is not /my/ property," she informs the officious man 
  clearly, her pure alto voice easily heard on the sands. She speaks rather 
  distantly and quite haughtily as well, apparently in response to something 
  the man said. "He belongs to my brother." As if she would keep gladiators. 
  No, it only falls to her to see that her brother's investments are kept ... 
  safe. "It is of no concern to me." She hopes.

As she is about to snap back to the world both from Fenimos' touch and from 
  his words, Rista notices the blood flow on Rashaka's wound stop. She now 
  grins at Fenimos calmly, her heart skips a bit pure fear for the other 
  fighter,but no use letting Fenimos know. She gently takes his hand and 
  places hers in his to keep him from further strains, "You need to rest 
  Fenimos..." she whispers to him, "And that's good because I don't get to 
  hear your awful voice for a while" she tells him as a few tears run down her 
  cheek.

Lightning striking twice is most definately unusual. But Rashaka HAS always 
  had a way with luck. Thats why he's landed such a cooshy job. His body 
  reverts back from dying, seeming to get put back on the path of healing. but 
  healing, as all know, does not help the dead. And it would seem this one 
  could still die- although the changes seem to steadily decrease, as an 
  awesome weilder of Aether twists and weaves its power to heal his shattered 
  body. Too bad it won't heal his soul.

Fenimos smiles to Rista as Varati guards come out onto the Arena floor to 
  carry Fenimos away. He just continues to look at her, "I will be fine." It's 
  all he says for a second time, his gaze then turns to look at Rashaka and 
  Faanshi in hopes of seeing that he will be alright. The Varati guards push 
  past Rista to take hold of Fenimos, easily lifting him they start to quickly 
  make off with him as they were ordered.

The shudra maiden does not move; indeed, like Rashaka, she barely seems to 
  breathe as she keeps pouring her power into him. A sheen of sweat begins to 
  creep over her sungolden brow, and strain begins to etch itself into the 
  eyes squeezed shut above her veil. Faanshi's soul is a gentle one, but her 
  magic is often fierce, and it has to be fierce now to haul the Varati back 
  from the brink. But because she _is_ a gentle soul, once she has done so, 
  the healer hauls in her own power and begins to make it soothe pain as well 
  as mend dire hurt -- to convince Rashaka that returning to life will not be 
  a _bad_ thing. Come back, Son of Fire. Come back, see, your body will hold 
  you, you will heal, come back--
And at last, when her arms begin to shake but when she can feel the man's 
  heart resuming a steady beat within his chest, Faanshi jerks her palms up 
  from Rashaka. Her eyes jerk open as well, unseeing, gone a darker green as 
  she strives now to clear her consciousness of the echoes of injuries and 
  all-too-close brushes with death.

The sharp intake of breath, the fluttering eyelids, a slight cough from shock- 
  all the things normal to those waking up from what should have been death. 
  These are all symptoms of Rashaka, and his chest rises with the gentleness 
  of near sleep. Exhaustion, from the fight, from his fight against death- 
  helped along by Faanshi, in an incredible way. He just lies there, his eyes 
  staring at the roof. Indeed. And he had wanted to say something, just before 
  he fell. Too late now, one would suppose. He's not really too worried- he's 
  more worried about the fact that almost just died. And, unfortunately, he's 
  not lucky enough to have a Rista hanging around.

Amarista frowns at the guards as she lies on the floor. She stands up and runs 
  behind the guards, terrified of what they might do to Fenimos or for all 
  that matters to her for running after them, "Can't you see he needs to be 
  taken care of?! Be gentle" her voice is commanding and strong. Yet when she 
  sees one of the guards turning his face to glance at her she swallows hard 
  and stands in front of him. Yes she keeps quiet, but doesn't take a single 
  step back.

Fenimos doesn't even try to struggle....it would just be a waste of his 
  limited strength. So he just lets himself be hauled off by the guards, his 
  eyes trying to see where he is being taken.
Fenimos passes into the chambers below as the gate opens to allow him to pass.
Fenimos has left.

Amarista passes into the chambers below as the gate opens to allow her to pass.
Amarista has left.

Two lives saved -- and Faanshi is left certain of her own, thoug not quite so 
  certain of her ability to stand up. Her own voice sounds a trifle distant in 
  her own ears even as she murmurs to Rashaka, "Be at peace, Imphadi... you 
  are mended..." So too do her words sound a trifle remote to her own ears as 
  she blurts out to no one in particular, "Please... aid for this man, I 
  beg... I do not think I can lift him..." The halfbreed's gaze remains just a 
  little unfocused, but she cannot let go, not yet. This other man must be 
  helped to safety, before she can permit herself to go somewhere quiet and 
  collapse.

Heeding the call of Faanshi- probably not heeding, just convienently happening 
  to do so as she speaks, -are two burly Khalida clad Varati men. They pick up 
  Rashaka none-too-gently, preparing to haul him back to the Atesh-Gah, where 
  he'll be healed, then most likely beaten. A light grunt is heard as they 
  man-handle him, then head on their way, walking at a fairly fast clip.

And that, it seems, would be that. Alone, unsurprised that the Khalida guards 
  who have arrived on the scene have not acknowledged her -- and really, truth 
  be told, _relieved_ that they have left her alone -- Faanshi rises slowly 
  and gingerly to her feet. For a few minutes she simply stands there as the 
  guardsmen carry the gladiator away, drawing sorely needed breath into her 
  lungs... and then she turns to take her own leave, without fanfare, to take 
  on her final trial: making it back to Atesh-Gah without keeling over. Soon 
  enough, she too is gone.

[End log.]