"Blood and Thievery"

Log Date:
	11/9/00

Log Cast:
	Jihaad, Julian, Roki (NPC emitted by Julian), Celosia, Vasilius,
Kasia, Malcolm (NPC emitted by Julian), Fahred, Theodoros, Yvo, spectators
(NPCs emitted by Julian, Vasilius)

Log Intro:
	Julian Nemeides is very often a busy man, occupied as he is with
the dual demands of running a House by day and a Thieves' Guild by night...
and if that weren't enough, he has the added burden of being the father,
uncle, and guardian of a motley array of young people. It is difficult to
juggle the conflicting pressures all of these portions of his life assert
upon him, but sometimes Julian does in fact manage to spend some time with
his family. And with Roki in particular, about whom he is quite concerned,
ever since he's had to admit to the boy that he is really an Empyrean and 
not a Mongrel.
	Still, though, even when taking his ward out for a taste of the
gladiatorial games being held in the Arena, even when said games are about
to unexpectedly underscore the gulf between Empyrean and Mongrel peoples --
a gulf which Julian bridges by his very existence -- one portion of his 
ever-active mind remains the Rook, and notes another young person out and
about on activities rather more illicit than those of a simple spectator....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Noon 
          Date on Aether:  Wednesday, May 15, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Waxing Crescent 
                  Season:  Spring 
                 Weather:  Rain 
             Temperature:  Cool 
*==========================================================================*

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:
Belona 
Obvious Exits:
Podium <P>   Out <O> 

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

It cannot really be said that the attendance of gladiator events is a 
  traditional pastime of House Nemea -- but then again, its Deus is a man with 
  a Mongrel boy as his ward, and if there's anything young Roki enjoys as much 
  as trying to emulate his Uncle Ri--er, uh, Julian's less public professional 
  activities, it's watching gladiators beat one another senseless. After a 
  week of ceaseless begging from the boy, Julian Nemeides, his young ward, and 
  one of Julian's Mongrel servants have settled themselves in among the 
  spectators gathering to watch the fights. Oblivious to the good clothes in 
  which his guardian has managed to garb him for once, the boy's wriggling 
  with excitement, trying to get a decent look at the arena below.

Celosia soars into the bowl from the skies above.
Celosia has arrived.
Celosia drifts down from above, quietly taking the nearest available seat.

It's noon, and while everybody has hoped that it'd be sunny for the opening of 
  the Gladiator championship, the lares of wind and weather have not been 
  impressed. So they let it rain -- not dramatically, but enough of a 
  sprinkling rain to annoy the audience and scare away part of the masses. And 
  while Vasilius is sitting dryly below a piece of dried cloth, held up on 
  poles by two skimpily dressed, freezing mongrel women, he is still not look 
  happy. He knows much of his profit has gone down the drain with the weather. 
  Still, once a decent number of spectators have arrived, he raises himself 
  off the luxurious armchair, spreading his wings to make a more impressive 
  pose.

Ascending the stone steps of this vast ampitheater comes a massive Varati clad 
  in the unmistable black livery of the infamous, feared and often hated 
  Agni-Haidar. This Lion of Fire towers over most of his own race, giving him 
  an air of tangible intimidation. Finding a spot to sit away from the candala 
  that have assembled, Jihaad moves to and lowers his great bulk and proceeds 
  to watch.

"Domini and dominae, imphadi and imphada, ladies and gentlemen..." he calls 
  out in a well-carrying, impressive voice. "Today, we celebrate the opening 
  match of the gladiator championship games. The winner will carry forth the 
  silver laurels, earned through hard won matches with his own blood. And you, 
  dear spectators, will be there to see it all -- the glory, the amazing 
  skill, the faces of the victors, but also the terrible wounds and splashing 
  blood by those who are just not good enough. And it will be up to you to 
  encourage your hero and give him or her the strength they need to win. And 
  perhaps, with that, decide over life and death."

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

Celosia sits very quietly near the front, swathed in a himation of the same 
  deep blue as her eyes to help keep out the rain and chill. This delicate 
  creature looks rather out of place here among the crowd who eagerly await 
  the beginning of the bloody combat.

Roki, definitely liking the sound of blood and fighting, leaps up for a moment 
  to wave a small clenched fist in the air, bellowing out his approval as well 
  as a lad not yet ten can do.

His guardian, not quite able to suppress a grin, nevertheless deftly plucks 
  the boy up by the back of his tunic and sets him back down onto the bench 
  between him and their Mongrel companion, Malcolm. "Roki, lad, sit still, eh? 
  You wouldn't want to be tossed into the arena, would you?"

"I could take 'em on!" proclaims the boy, chin thrust out boldly.

"Be after takin' this on, Master Roki," gruffly advises the aforementioned 
  Malcolm, thrusting a sweet sugared bun at the youngster. Fortunately for 
  Julian and Malcolm, if there's anything that can partially distract Roki 
  from impending violence, it's sweets.

Kasia climbs the stairs until she reaches an archway, then ducks through it 
  into the cool dark depths beyond.
Kasia has left.
Kasia enters the stands, blinking in the bright light.
Kasia has arrived.

With flapping wings and struck out arms, the small, bald man, dressed today in 
  his best toga, points down at the arena, "And there, you will soon see it. 
  The first round will be a match of life and death. This is real, this is not 
  faked, and the emotions you see here are as dramatic as you can find 
  anywhere upon this world." A pause, with a grand, sweeping look over the 
  spectators. "Now, let us introduce those men who will face death so bravely 
  accordingly. An aupplause for Fahred, the Stinger. A combination of the 
  strongest races there are, and with tricks and skill to behold. Originally 
  from this city, he has once killed a real life bear, and then decided to 
  test his fate here upon the sands of the Coliseum."

Inside the arena, Fahred appears in the arena as the gate slides open, then 
  clangs shut behind him.
Inside the arena, Fahred has arrived.
Inside the arena, Fahred comes striding manfully out of the gate, all strut 
  and swagger. He draws his sword in the rain and makes a few slashes in the 
  air, then raises it high in salute to the crowd.

A great number of the Mongrels in the audience burst into cheers, showing 
  their approval of one of their own upon the sands of the arena.

A tiny little child in the back of the seating makes her way through the 
  crowds, shoving through those who aren't fortunate enough to actually get a 
  seat. The tattered little street-rat finally comes to a seat, shoved in 
  between two rather burly guys -- she didn't /plan/ it that way, it just sort 
  of happened -- movement with the crowd and all of that. Well, at least 
  they're fairly rich burly gusy. Although Kasia's sex isn't easily 
  identifyable, she /does/ only look to be a child and so insigificant next to 
  her seat-partners that why would the consider her the person behind the 
  theft of a couplea coins? Plus, they provide nice shelter.

In the middle of the show of enthusiam for Fahred, Roki cheers again, for the 
  arrival of a Mongrel. Malcolm, for that matter, booms out a basso roar of 
  approval for that particular fighter -- and Julian, for all that he doesn't 
  happen to actually share the blood of his two companions, might easily be 
  mistaken for a well-dressed example of the Mongrel breed anyway. He does 
  grin easily at the cheers, and he throws in his applause to go with it.

Vasilius lowers his voice to a dramatic rumbling, "...and now, let us greet 
  the champion of the Empyrean provinces, master of thousand battles, idol to 
  many. It is said that his sword can be as deadly as his smile can be sweet. 
  And if you look at him, you will see why. Everybody, behold the Lord of the 
  Skies, Theodoros."

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

With an introduction like that, how can the women -- well, at least the 
  _winged_ women, and a not inconsiderable amount of the non-winged ones as 
  well -- in the crowd not burst out in high-pitched adulation for Theodoros? 
  A swell of soprano and alto voices rolls down into the arena, greeting the 
  Empyrean as he emerges into view.

Jihaad gazes into the arena belowunimpressed by the candala who have made 
  their entrance thus far. He knows full well that the Amir-al's Black Guard 
  could best any opponent the coliseum could every offer. His spits in 
  distaste as he continues to observe.

Inside the arena, A golden form glides out elegantly into the arena, lithe 
  muscles flowing under his gleaming white and gold armor. Theodoros's sky 
  blue eyes scan the crowds before with a SNAP his wings unfold to their full 
  width, gold glinting in the dim light. The same muscle bunch as he takes to 
  the air, twin swords being slid from the sheaths and raised in a gracefull 
  salute to the crowds

Celosia doesn't bother to join in the cheering, though the faintest of smiles 
  appears as she watches Theodoros. She appears rather--amused.

Inside the arena, Fahred eyes his opponent warily, a slight scowl on his face 
  at the wings. Dusky brown eyes narrow at Theodoris as Fahred curls his lip 
  up in a sneer. "Pretty swan," he says in a soft growl. "Let's see if you 
  fight as well as you strut." The Mongrel hefts his sword lightly, and 
  crouches into a combat stance.

"He looks like a SISSY," proclaims Roki contemptuously, rather more vocal in 
  his disdain than the glowering Agni-Haidar holding himself apart from the 
  infidel crowds around him. Then he shoots a sheepish glance sideways at his 
  guardian Julian, adding, "No offense!"

Julian masterfully suppresses a chuckle, and replies straightfacedly to the 
  boy, well aware that the child's still not gotten entirely accustomed to 
  certain details of his guardian's history, "None taken."

Vasilius smiles proudly at Theodoros' entrance, as if it was /his/ doing the 
  blond Empyrean came out the way he did. Then, with another sweeping glance 
  through the cheering audience, he raises his voice once more. "Now, we have 
  seen both gladiators introduce themselves. Now, raw strength will meet 
  subtle style. The underdog of Haven meets the champion of the Empyrean 
  provinces. And only one will leave the arena alive." He claps loudly, the 
  two female mongrel slave women at his side wiggling suggestively with their 
  hips to accentuate the high-point. "Let the fight begin!" he finally calls 
  out, his well-trained voice echoing through the entire colisseum.

Inside the arena, Theodoros's crystaline laughter rings out through the arena 
  'I do hope you fight better than you look dominus or it will be brief' his 
  laughter fades as he levels both blades towards Fhared, despite his style 
  they look entirely menacing. Moving garcefully in the air he swoops down 
  towards Fahred with blinding speed, one blade slashes high towards the 
  mongrels throat, the other seems to follow in it's path then at the last 
  moment dips low down towards his guts.

"Sting-ER! Sting-ER! Sting-ER!" The chant rises up from half the crowd as the 
  battle commences, while the cheering in support of Theodoros rises up to 
  fever pitch to try to down it out.

"Kick 'is arse!" shrieks Roki enthusiastically, before he receives a dual 
  stern glower, in twilight from his guardian and in earth-brown from the big 
  Mongrel on his other side. The boy shrinks down a bit, mostly unrepentantly, 
  and appends much more softly, "Er, I mean, Sting-er!" He didn't say any 
  naughty words, honest! Look, he's just sitting here eating his sweetbun, 
  see, Uncle Julian?

Inside the arena, Fahred bites off a curse as Theodoros leaps at him - damn, 
  but that swan moves fast! The Mongrel rolls to one side, half-ducking and 
  bringing up his shield to ward off the twin blades. Fahred's motion takes 
  him out of the first gladius' path, saving his throat, and the second blade 
  skitters off his shield - almost. Either the shield, or it's weilder is not 
  quite sufficient to block the blow entirely, and Theodoros scores a hit on 
  Fahred's shoulder, biting deep.

Blood begins to flow from Fahred's wound, but battle has been joined, and the 
  Mongrel is no stranger to pain, as his numerous scars suggest. He sheathes 
  his sword, and pulls a long spear off his back to meet the Empyrean's next 
  pass.

Inside the arena, Theodoros a blur of white and gold as Theo spins his blades 
  and himself away after the hit, coruching slightly to take to the air again. 
  Wings flapping as his holds the redened steel up to the crowds, crimson 
  dripping dowm the gleaming surface of the blade as he turns slowly to them 
  all.

The sight of the bloodied blades whips up Theodoros' supporters into a 
  cheering frenzy, and his name rises up in chanted rhythm, four syllables 
  against the Stinger's two. As if perturbed that they might be out-shouted, 
  the Mongrels bellowing their favor for Fahred redouble their efforts, trying 
  to will the Stinger into renewed vigor and strength.

Among the supporters of the winged gladiator, there are many -- mostly females 
  ogling over Theodoros' motions who have been long, hard fans of him and have 
  followed him to Haven -- who start to count off his hits. So a very clearly 
  called out 'One!' echoes through the spectator seatings, down to the arena.

The "ONE!" bellowed out in female voices all over the coliseum makes Roki's 
  features crinkle up in annoyance. Girls, so far as Roki can tell, don't know 
  ANYTHING! Just because that winger man happens to LOOK good... hrmph! 
  Unthinkingly dropping the remnants of his sticky bun, the lad leaps up on 
  the bench between Julian and Malcolm, doing his best to call out "STINGER!" 
  in his boyish treble.

Inside the arena, Fahred's lips twitch up, revealing his teeth. "Bloody, 
  arrogent," he mutters, breaking into a trot towards the Empyrean. His spear 
  is flipped easily around from an underhanded to over handed grip as he 
  continues "posturing, preening," more loudly. Finally, the Stinger's jog 
  increases to a short run, gathering momentum, and with a final, "egotistical 
  SWAN!" Fahred launches his spear in a deadly arc towards the Empyrean and 
  charges towards his position, drawing his sword on the run.

Celosia still remains silent--fascinated or repulsed? Her expression provides 
  very little clue to what she's thinking. At least, until the spear goes 
  flying. The young woman catches her lower lip between her teeth as she 
  watches.

Inside the arena, Theodoros moves fast in the air, almost too fast for many to 
  follow, white and gold a blur as he ducks under the spear. But not quite 
  fast enough the tip glances off the armor on his shoulder, the mometum of 
  both his flight and the spear forcing him the last few feet to the ground, 
  both swords held ready as Fahred charges in. On steel blade high one low as 
  he spins foward to meet the mongrels charge.

As the Empyrean is struck, dozens of his younger maidenly fans shriek their 
  dismay -- but a heartbeat later, they squeal their delight as he keeps 
  moving. His name keeps rising up from female throats: "THE-O-DOR-OS!"

Inside the arena, The savagery of Fahred's charge belies the fact that the 
  Mongrel gladiator is no simple brute when it comes to melee combat. Instead 
  of rushing headlong into his opponent's blades, the Stinger slows his pace 
  at the last moment, pivoting around with his shield leading in front of him 
  in a powerful bash that, if it manages to connect, will surely knock his 
  lighter foe to the ground. Fahred keeps his other blade up and ready to 
  parry any incoming strikes, wary of Theodoros' speed.

Voices raise to already shout a 'Two!', but the yell subsides as Fahred 
  manages to twist to the side. While the mongrels cheer in support for the 
  surprising speed of their hero, the Empyrean girls' eyes hinge in quiet 
  concern upon the quick motions of their golden boy, now too worried to 
  continue on their encouraging "Theo-do-ros"-calls.

Inside the arena, Theodoros simply isn't there when the shield slams towards 
  him. Moving effortlessly he pivots away the shield passing by him as both 
  swords lash out. Half ducked to avoid the shield they cut low, gleaming 
  steel slashing down behind Fhareds kneecap while the other high one tears 
  towards his stomach, white and gold blurring as Theo spins gracefully 
  through the attack.

"Sting-ER" The shout continues through the crowd and Kas' 'companions' are no 
  strangers to a shout or two. As Fahred's strategy becomes clear to the 
  thick-skulled men, they even leap up, cheering widly. Of course, this was 
  exactly what Kas was waiting for. The two are relieved of their purses and 
  the young child has slipped off the bench before the two sit down again, a 
  bit dejected after Theodoros' avoidance tactics. Kasia allows a smirk on her 
  features for a moment before contriving to look like a wide-eyed waif, her 
  huge eyes of sapphire going large and her lip all but quivering as the 
  purses disappear down into her boot. That done, she starts back up toward 
  the back of the stadium so that she can nonchalantly make her way out of the 
  area.

Oh, now, come _on_, Stinger! Roki is practically jumping up and down in his 
  barely repressed agitation, his piping young voice drowned out by the roar 
  of the crowd around him. A great many of the surrounding spectators are on 
  their feet, but at least to Roki's fortune, there's no one with wings 
  immediately before him. They are, after all, sitting in the section of the 
  audience intended for non-Empyreans. Rather more reserved in his 
  appreciation of the bout than either his ward or his servant, Julian might 
  be one of the few in the crowd not yelling at the top of his lungs, though 
  he's standing along with many of the rest of the spectators around him.

Inside the arena, Fahred continues his forward motion as Theodoros sidesteps, 
  and spins. He brings his longsword up and just barely parries the blade 
  headed for his gut, while his forward motion carries him out of the second 
  strike's range. Almost. Again, there's the Empyrean's blades bite into his 
  flesh, and Fahred hits the ground, rolling and twisting. In a flash, he's up 
  again though, pressing his attack before the Empyrean can take to the air.

Finally, it's there. The second hit, the second fall of that uppity mongrel. 
  This time, even Vasilius joins the agitated yelling as the spectators roar a 
  loud 'Two!'. And while the Stinger supporters have died down for a moment, 
  their noise is heard almost immediatly as Fahred gets up to his feet again. 
  "Gut him, Stinger! Gut his wings!" Never mind the physical impossibility of 
  that. Some people just get carried away.

Inside the arena, Both blades stained red now Theodoros does not try to match 
  the greater strength of Fahred. One blade flashes up gracefully to deflect 
  the mongrels attack, not meet it head on while he pivots elegantly his 
  second blade sweeping in an elegant cut seeking to slide across Fahreds 
  chest. Showy but skillfull moves to please the crowd, although there is none 
  of his usual langour in his intent blue eyes.

Julian's twilight gaze slides this way and that across the crowd -- and 
  although the vast majority of people in the crowd are riveted upon the 
  action below, the wingless one's attention flickers momentarily across that 
  blithely nonchalant youngster some distance away. Quite the attitude of 
  'don't mind me, nothing to see here'. It's enough to keep the Deus' gaze in 
  that direction for two heartbeats rather than one, though an instant later, 
  he's evidently attending to the combat along with everyone else.

By now, Roki _is_ jumping up and down, but happily on the bench rather than 
  upon Malcolm's booted feet. The thuds of the boy's smaller feet against the 
  wood make barely a dent in the thunder of sound around him, though.

Inside the arena, There's nothing showy about Fahred's fighting style: the 
  Stinger is all grit, and business. He meets Theodoros' parrying sword head 
  on, locking blades for a second as he uses his shield to block the 
  Empyrean's strike. The two gladiators stay locked for a brief moment, then 
  the Stinger moves. Changing the direction of his pressure on Theodoros' 
  swords, Fahred slips inside the other man's defenses and sends his elbow 
  flying towards the Empyrean's jaw.

Inside the arena, Theodoros 's head flies back at the blow golden crusl 
  tumbling about, but he reacts quickly reflexes trained from being raised in 
  the ring. A booted foot lashes out at Fahreds kneecap before his vast wings 
  flap carrying him back away from the mongrel and giving him the room he 
  needs.

Kasia
Pure ebony locks, cropped short so as to curl under her chin, frames the 
  girl's slender, almost gaunt face, all sign of baby-fat long since vanished. 
  Crystal, almost sapphire eyes accent the tanned face, breaking up the smooth 
  cleanliness that is now a part of the girl, something that, before recently, 
  was never an option. Despite her still obviously emaciated body, full lips 
  part to rows of beautiful white teeth that have miraculously stayed clean 
  and now reflect a uniform cleanliness about the girl, sitting just above a 
  lovely, rounded chin. 
The body of the girl is just the opposite, the body more of a working boy than 
  a girl. A flat chest is a telltale sign of the girl's less-than obvious 
  youth for despite her height, she's extremely wiry, her face giving way to 
  horrors many have never been witness to. This gives way to an 
  almost-too-slender waist, the whole of her torso looking far too like a 
  boy's of an age at least 2 years older than she of 9 years. Still 
  developing, slender hips sit atop long legs, though long at her age is 
  relative for they're a good proportion to her stretched out body but seem to 
  do nothing to assuage the short height she holds as her own. Long, lanky 
  arms to match the legs below them are adorned with dexterous looking fingers 
  at the end one of the few signs that this girl is a girl, all of which one 
  would have to look closely to see. Clothes that now show signs of femininity 
  still hang in sheets off her too-slender body.
The tunic that she sports that obviously used to be white for the patches of 
  near cleanliness on them has now been died by the dust of the streets a 
  dirty brown. As well, it's obvious it's been disguised with soot for black 
  streaks are at home on it. The uppermost strings aren't tied, adding once 
  again to the male illusion for never would a girl leave them as such. The 
  tunic, far too big, hangs off the ends of her hands and there is untied as 
  well, the ends frayed and much dirtier than the rest. Not only that, but it 
  seems that the little thief has run into some trouble recently, for there is 
  a tear diagonally across her midsection, below her chest and above her 
  waist, exposing a little slit of mocha skin. Breeches also hang off her 
  waist and are obviously held up only by the meager piece of string that 
  Kasia was able to filch from someone. The fact that they are adapted 
  versions of adult ones is told by the premature fraying at the bottom and 
  the baggy nature of them despite her all-together too slender body. They too 
  are streaked with black and their brown color is only deepened by the layers 
  of dust that inhabit them. Boots that blend with the dust and grime as well 
  as the chocolate color of Kas' breeches droop at the tops and are frayed as 
  well at the toes despite their well-made look.

Doo bee doo bee doo. She's not doing anything...naaaaaah...And, instead of 
  calling further attention to herself, the little girl turns around, actually 
  watching the action as she backs up, nearing the top of the steps. A faint 
  cry erupts from Kasia as the Stinger scores a hit and she plasters a foolish 
  grin to her features even as she continues to back up, appearing to hold her 
  breath as the attack is met and parried. After all, mongrel is far less 
  conspicuous than a full blooded Varati.

Inside the arena, Fahred yells a vicious, wordless cry as he connects with his 
  foe's jaw, changing into a snarl of pain from Theodoros' counterstrike. 
  Luckily, the Mongrel was able to twist his leg slightly, taking the force of 
  the hit on the side of his leg rather than the kneecap, which would've ended 
  the fight. Adreneline is all his leg is running on right now as he rushes 
  Theodoros again, eager to follow up his advantage.

Yvo soars into the bowl from the skies above.
Yvo has arrived.
Yvo flutters into the bowl wearing her dainty white silks.

Inside the arena, Theodoros is cool and calm, a lazy smile on his lips as 
  Fahred approaches, ignoring the bruising in his jaw and shoulder 'Best you 
  have?' he taunts lifting his voice to carry to the crowds. he moves foward 
  to meet the charge then at the last moment spins aside, bright blades 
  stained with red flashing as they cut high and low, wings spinning around to 
  buffet Fahred on the back of his head.

Yvo giggles happily and calls "Go Theodorus! Yayayayayayay! Knock his block 
  off!"

With each crashing blow the gladiators deal one another, half the crowd 
  screams -- and the other half tries to scream louder, hell-bent on drowning 
  them out. In the midst of the mighty wave of cheers and the press of people 
  in the stands, it's very easy to lose track of one small figure. Julian, not 
  entirely certain he'd seen what he thought he had, shows no sign of 
  _obviously_ looking for confirmation -- but still, the Deus of Nemea is less 
  vocal than everyone around him, including the boy and the servant at his 
  side. Though he claps his lean and agile hands in rhythm with the ongoing 
  chant of the Stinger's moniker, he's not wasting his breath cheering so 
  loudly; only a periodic clarion "Well done, mate!" rises up from him in his 
  velvet tenor, enough to let Roki know he is indeed paying attention every so 
  often.
But the fight's not all Julian's attending. Every so often, his dark azure 
  gaze takes another surreptitious swing around the audience. Just in case 
  that little mouse he thought he glimpsed decides to do something else.

By now, the mongrel supporters have resumed to a low grumble or some insults 
  about the 'pee-haired wussy swan' down there in the arena. Meanwhile, 
  Theodoros' fans only grow in expectation and glory as their golden boy not 
  only manages to hold off his foe easily, but can also challenge him with 
  cool, casual words and gestures.

Inside the arena, Fahred is ready for Theodoros' fighting style now, and his 
  shield is already in place to counter the Empyrean's first strike, and his 
  sword shoots out to block the second one as well, in an attempt to set up 
  for a final strike. Unfortunately, Fahred's bloody leg buckles as the 
  Stinger puts a little too much stress on it. He stumbles to one side, 
  allowing one of Theodoros' gladii to gash deeply into his sword arm. A 
  stream of blood spurts out as Fahred bites off a cry of anguish and staggers 
  back, limping. His sword drops from now numb fingers as the Mongrel raises 
  his shield.

Yvo winces. "Ow." she comments, her hand going to her mouth. I don't care what 
  species you're from, that had to hurt.

"NooooOoOOo!" howls Roki in childish frustration and alarm as Fahred goes 
  down. "GET UP GET UP GET UP!"

Next to the boy, Malcolm screws up his homely face in consternation, adding 
  his own shouts of encouragement to the mass of anxious Mongrel voices 
  sweeping down from the stands to try to encourage the Stinger back onto his 
  feet. "C'mon, man, up on yer feet then! 'Ave at 'im! Get up! Get up!"

Kasia manages to simulate a wince at the gruelling attacks the Empy is sending 
  at 'her' hero. Finally, she reaches the top of the steps and she is able to 
  move quite a bit more freely. the people there are packed tighter, there 
  aren't any isles -- just about anything goes among the 'commonfolk.' Kas 
  weaves through the crowds with effortless ease, as if she were a fish 
  wending her way through the sea. It's second nature to someone like her. 
  Tunic is torn just a little more as she has to squeeze past someone with a 
  sword on -- and it catches. The tattered piece of dirty garment is left 
  where it hangs -- it's not worth the risk to retrieve it.

At this latest development Celosia's faint smile returns, the young woman 
  sitting up a bit straighter. She may not be cheering out loud, but it's 
  fairly clear which fighter she supports. Gold-laced white wings twitch 
  faintly as she watches the combat, which appears to be nearing it's end.

All right, granted, Julian Nemeides is not a particular fan of violence, 
  though he's seen a fair share of it over the years. Enough to have a glimmer 
  of first-hand sympathy for the wound the Mongrel warrior down there has 
  sustained. _His_ wince is unfeigned, though it's fleeting, vanishing quickly 
  behind the cool reserve that seems to be his habitual demeanor. Here's 
  hoping they have decent healers waiting down there, eh?

Vasilius, now leaning over the ledge, with raindrops dripping down on his bald 
  head, has finally giving up the stance of neutrality. "Now now, after 
  testing and teasing the skill of his enemy, the Lord of the Sky will soon 
  finish his opponent. Watch everybody as he makes his final moves upon the 
  bleeding, staggering Stinger, still using his remaining lifeforce to counter 
  Theodoros' moves!"

Inside the arena, Theodoros glides in elegantly blades held ready. Unseen to 
  the crowds their is a hint of sympathy in his blue eyes, but none in his 
  motions as he seems to stalk towards the injured mongrel. His freshly 
  stained blade is held high to the crowds the other low before what could be 
  the final advance.

Yvo frowns, big blue eyes watching the action below intently, not breathing.

Inside the arena, This, this is what Fahred has been hoping, and waiting for. 
  With heavy, ragged breaths the Stinger gathers his remaining strength and 
  draws a sharp, balanced dagger from his belt - his sword hand clearly not 
  /quite/ as injured as he had made it seem after the sword was dropped. 
  Fahred lunges desperately, sending the blade spinning towards his foe. One 
  last trick. One last chance to survive the battle.

Yvo screams "Nooo!" What a dirty trick!

The newly rising voices in the arena catch the motion only in the last 
  fraction of a second, and a mixed hiss of late triumph goes through the 
  spectator seats, various monngrels flashing suddenly sly grins at the 
  Empyreans on the other side.

Vasilius just stands there, paralyzed in the rain, his silver-lined toga all 
  wet by now. He even ceases breathing for a moment, his gaze transfixed upon 
  the final charge of Stinger.

Gasps burst out from countless breathless spectators all over the arena at the 
  Stinger's last desperate ploy. Roki appears to be about to explode, jumping 
  up and down so quickly that you'd think the lad had wings himself and was 
  about to launch himself into the air. On his right side, Malcolm watches 
  with anxious dark eyes, unthinkingly punching at the air with his balled 
  fist, yelling out his encouragement to his chosen fighter. On the boy's left 
  side, even Julian can't help but suck in a bit of a breath, dark brows 
  lifted up over his eyes, a gleam of admiration within his gaze for the 
  Mongrel fighter's tenaciousness. But he is not surprised. If there's 
  anything he's learned after fifteen years in Haven, it's never to 
  underestimate the Mongrels.

Inside the arena, Theodoros catches the movement, a brief instant as he 
  realises what it is. Almost too long of a hesitation as the dagger streaks 
  towards him. Throwing his torso back he almost manages to avoid it. Almost 
  the edge catches just above his curiass, leaving a trail of crimson along 
  his skin to drip down the white and gold of his armor. The trace of sympathy 
  fades from his eyes as his wings extend fully again, flapping with 
  deliberate slowness to set himself aloft, poised like an avenging angel 
  above Stinger. Twin swords flash up, then level down towards the mongrel as 
  his body shifts, swooping down as they cut towards him.

As cries of triumph and of agony rise up among her, the girl is forced to stop 
  her movement /out/ of the arena in order to peer through a grap in the large 
  crowd and down at the floor below. With a forced grin, she jumps up and 
  down, waving her arms and attempting to look happy at this turn of events. 
  Unfortunately, such movement -- both by herself and all around her -- causes 
  her to be shoved forward and her foot catches on a huge bag that was left 
  laying in her path and she is hurtled forward, rolling down a couplea steps 
  to finally come to a crumpled rest on a landing. That's cute...

Yvo's eyes widen as the white and gold figure plunges downwards. "Oh.."

Inside the arena, Fahred stumbles backwards as Theodoros swoops down: he knows 
  it's over now. From the beginning, he had been outmatched, and his foe's 
  arrogance was not as great as he had hoped, to let his guard down 
  completely. Blow after blow sings out against his faltering shield, and more 
  and more of them slip through his defense to cut him apart. "Come on!" he 
  cries out with his dying breath. "Kill me, you bastard! Death before 
  slavery!" Finally, it's over, and Fahred, the Stinger throws his head back 
  as the final blade slices towards his throat, unblocked. "AVALON!"
This one word rings out across the stadium as Theodoros' blade slashes home in 
  a spray of blood. Fahred crumples, his fighting days ended.

Yvo blinks. "Oh."

The final cry of the Mongrel gladiator stirs up a powerful reaction amongst a 
  good number of the Mongrels in the crowd. Half a lament, half a cry of 
  defiance, the name of "AVALON!" roars up from hundreds of Mongrel throats.

Yvo sits back in her seat, frowning and looking puzzled, the roars around her 
  ignored, blue eyes blinking.

Inside the arena, Theodoros raises an eyebrow as he turns to the Empyreans 
  wings flared wide dramaticaly. Raising both swords, stained with the 
  lifeblood of his oponent to them in salute he then spins towards the body of 
  Stinger and raises one sword to his forehead, saluting him as well.

Apparently this is too much for Celosia. She turns her face away from the 
  arena as the cry goes up, eyes shut tight.

Yvo sighs and gives a half hearted cheer. "Well fought! OUR THEODOROS!"

And among the spectators, a young Mongrel boy jerks visibly, as if it'd been 
  he who took the blow instead of Fahred. Roki sags, stopping his jumping, and 
  his swarthy face turns positively heartbroken. To either side of him, Julian 
  and Malcolm both react as well to the falling of the Mongrel warrior, 
  Malcolm closing his eyes in final respect for the Stinger, and Julian going 
  still and silent, twilight gaze absolutely grave now. The Deus does not 
  shout, but he does reach to put a black-clad arm about his young ward in 
  unvoiced comfort. Roki stares up for a moment at his guardian -- his 
  wingless but still _Empyrean_ guardian -- and seems torn... then scoots a 
  bit closer to Julian, taking the comfort for what it is.

Vasilius lets out finally a sigh of relief, then cocks one eyebrow up. "It 
  seems that even the plea to the lost province of Arelate did not help 
  Stinger. And once again, Theodoros, the lord of the skies, remains 
  victorious and has proven his skill for the first time upon these sands. We 
  shall see if he is worthy enough to win the laurels of this year."

Inside the arena, Theodoros looking away from the fallen body he raises his 
  swords up high again, above the flared white and gold of his wings, wounds 
  ignored as he turns around slowly, to face all of the crowd once more before 
  gliding gracefully from the arena.

Yvo smiles, blinking away the tears stinging her eyes. "Noble Theodoros! Hail 
  Theodoros! THEODOROS!!"

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

Half the Empyrean quotient of the crowd jerks in surprise at the Mongrels who 
  take it upon themselves to scream out the name of Avalon -- and then, 
  undeterred, they shriek back the name of the winged warrior. Up in the 
  stands, a fight breaks out when one arrogant young dandy tries to correct 
  the Mongrels nearest him by drawling, "Arelate!", only to find himself 
  promptly leapt up by three young Mongrel men. They're quickly hauled apart 
  by the armed guards maintaining order in the arena... but still, it's a show 
  of how powerfully Fahred's death has affected the Mongrels in the crowd.

Vasilius slumps back into his comfortable seat again, letting his shoulders 
  and wings be massaged by the two cute slaves. "And with this match, and with 
  the death of Stinger, the first round of the gladiator championship is 
  opened. We have seen tricks, we have seen surprises, and we have seen 
  strength, glory and skill. And more of this will follow. So come again, when 
  the blood will once again flow upon the sand!"

[End log.]