Alea Iacta Est

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Two days. Two days since coming to Necia with the Phressian Satrap, Csephion Draxus. Two days since being a part of the proceedings that doomed four of her crewmates. Two days since agreeing to leave with Captain Mako on a journey southward.

And in those two days, Ariadne Fyrian had come to seriously reconsider all that she had once followed. She questioned all that her father had done, all that she had grown up believing of those that held civilization as a precious thing. There still lingered a kernal of resentment at knowing the truth behind Draxus' motivations behind his actions, but in two days time she found herself as enthralled with him as he was with her.

Such a cruel thing, fate. To bring her to this place, and in the arms of a man that for all outward appearances was nothing more than an emotionless soldier and statesman. In her short time with the Satrap, Fyrian had found herself growing fond of the man, and she had come to eagerly anticipate hearing his voice every time he opened his mouth.



Stretching languidly, the Glaucan woman nestled her naked body in the coverings thrown over the Satrap's bed. It was the morning of the third day now, and she breathed in deeply of the air around her, her eyes still closed. She could smell Draxus, his scent an unmistakeable one.

Rolling to her side, Fyrian reached for the half full glass of wine that had been left on an ornate bedstand, and taking it up, she hungrily finished its' contents.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus was already awake, and discussing the finer details of his daily wardrobe with two slaves who were arranging several items for him to choose from.

"I want something austere but yet able to catch the eye. No purple though. Wait, perhaps, no. No purple. Do you have anything slightly purple? Maybe on the hem? I don't want it to be the first thing somebody sees."

The Satrap padded over to an ornately-carved chest of drawers, and retrieved correspondance that he had been reading the evening before. He unfurled the scroll, standing bare-cheeked naked as his slaves awaited instructions. He read a few lines of the document, momentarily forgetting the issue of the day's clothing. He peered over his readings at Ariadne, and smiled.

"Bring the lady some breakfast. Figs, cheese, mushrooms, and honeycomb."

He glanced at the slave as he rushed off.

"Figs for myself also."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Emptying the contents of the glass, Fyrian finally sat up in the bed. She gave to the Satrap a decidedly sultry look while gather the covering around her, and very briefly she wished that he'd not asked her to travel with Mako. Never before had she felt cushions so soft and inviting; they were addicting.

That he was so concerned with what to wear for the coming day was no surprise; she'd easily become used to his morning ritual in the very short time in his presence.

Fyrian returned his smile, not bothering to pay attention to the slaves that he'd just ordered out to fetch them food.

She blinked slowly and tilted her head as she regarded him before her.

With a barely audible laugh, the Glaucan leaned back against the wall. Again she breathed in a long breath.

"You are up far too early for my liking."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus eased back onto the bed, still browsing the scroll he had plucked and still without the burden of clothing.

"A soldier's habit that is hard to lay down as a civilian."

He glanced out of the window, and squinted.

"It's light out. This is a decidedly late rising for me."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian reached over and pulled the scroll from his hands, a conspiratorial smirk on her features.

"Be that as it may," she set the scroll on the nightstand beside her now empty glass without taking her eyes from him, "I still think that it is too early to be going about fussing over your daily wardrobe."

[Csephion Draxus]

He smiled at her stubborn determination to dedicate the day to laconic interests.

"We have a busy day ahead of us. The Satrapy has given you a mandate, and of course there is that issue with the pirates that has to be settled."

He thought about it, and shook his head.

"If you don't want to attend, I understand completely. It is a vulgar spectacle, and I am compelled to be conspicuous during it. I leave that to you."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

His words brought her reality crashing back down, and Fyrian sat up a little straighter. She had hoped that he would offer her the chance to stay, as the Glaucan wanted no part in the execution of her comrades. But, at the same time... to see their faces at least one more time...

She looked into the distance for a moment before casting green eyes to him.

"The girl; you were able to have her spared?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"I was."

The slave returned with breakfast, and Draxus partook of a fig as he continued to browse his documents.

"There's no stomach for doing mortality work on a child, thankfully. I didn't even have to resort to subversion to broker her freedom. That much was guaranteed. I'll have her delivered to your ship when you depart."

He treaded lightly on account of her noticeable unease with the notion of death sentences.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Pleasing news in an ocean of overall misfortune, and Fyrian allowed herself some sort of thankful prayers to Denetion for that much.

She leaned over and gave a light kiss to the Satrap's cheek.

"Thank you."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus allowed a smile, and wondered at Ariadne's peculiar steak of compassion. She was a strange creature.

"She'll officially be transferred from the state to you as slave and property, though from that point, it is up to you what will be done."

He didn't mention that he had bankrolled the sale, as it wasn't worthy of mention.

"You are sure this child will have sway over the sea?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I am sure."

There was a conviction in the tone of her voice that held little room for doubt. From her own personal experience, Erifa-Nimshi was undoubtedly gifted in magic. Whether she was truly a daughter of Denetion was questionable, but the Glaucan was content to let that matter be.

But, he had been true to his word, and Fyrian was not about to pry into the details. She kept her eyes on Draxus for a moment longer before pulling her body from beneath the bedsheets.

"I will come with you today."

A dreadful thought to be sure,the happenings of the coming day, but it was necessary in her mind to at least be present in some form.

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap moved to speak in rebuttal, and then paused.

"Very well then."

It was her decision, and he respected it even if he thought that perhaps it might be something too crass for her to experience. Not that the spectacle didn't have its uses. For all of his disdain for it, the practice of public and memorable executions was a way to keep Necian citizens in constant reminder of the supremacy of the State, and the consequences for insurrection against the law.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Sliding her legs over the edge of the bed, Fyrian stretched once more. Her muscles felt refreshed, and her body on the whole felt rejuvenated despite the knowledge of the day's events.

With her back to the Satrap, she stood, making her way to the chest of drawers that he had been at earlier. Taking an ivory comb from the polished wood surface, she pulled her fiery red hair over a shoulder so that she could begin the morning chore of straightening it out. The entirety of the raven upon her back exposed, it was now easier to discern the myriad of patterns and markings contained within the body of the tattoo itself, and the time that it must have taken to make it.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus paused from his reading as he watched her, and found his eyes drawn to the intricate pattern tattooed into her flesh that ran the length and breadth of her back. It was a barbarian custom, but one that was admittedly interesting. In particular, Draxus found one symbol in the tattoo to be intriguing, but thought nothing of it and continued to read.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian kept up her morning ritual until she was able to easily pass her fingers through her fiery mane. She replaced the comb in favor of a linen wraparound, and tying it off around her waist, the Glaucan turned to once more face Draxus.

"The Satrap is quiet this morning."

[Csephion Draxus]

At that, Draxus gleefully discarded the document in favor for Ariadne's attentions. He plucked another fig and bit half of it.

"Yes I am poor company this morning. I should make amends to my wretched behavior."

The garment slaves returned with some other fashion and Draxus waved them off.

"Have Pascias choose something. He understands better than I can explain."

They hustled off, leaving the Satrap and his guest with brief peace.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She gave a wide smile at that, and stepped forward to take the uneaten half of the fig from his fingers.

"Knowing what horrid deeds will be done today, it would be good to offset them with something far more pleasurable."

Delicately chewing, Fyrian swallowed while lowering herself to sit beside Draxus.

"Don't you think?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"Absolutely."

The Satrap poured from a small amphora of wine that was arranged at the nearest table, and half filled a bowl, which he broke fresh bread and dipped into. The wine was sweet with honey and a good way to greet the day.

"At least the event will be somewhat more cosmopolitan than simple executions. Games, athletic events, fights with beasts, erotic pantomime. It's all a great festival that just so happens to contain executions on the bill as well. We believe in a very comprehensive form of entertainment I suppose."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I fail to see how watching a man die can be seen as entertaining."

She sat back a small bit, angling her head at the Satrap.

"It seems something like that would be considered below the lofty civilized standards that you've been praising Necia for having."

[Csephion Draxus]

"People know to appreciate a good death."

Draxus sipped at his wine and continued.

"Displays of lethal conflict are the ultimate in competitions after all."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"For someone who has admitted to having smaller tolerances for social activities than when he was younger, you seem rather excited to attend."

Fyrian took his wine from his hands and drank as well. She emptied the glass' contents easily, and set it back down before pressing against his body, her teeth nipping softly at the underside of his jaw.

"But before all of that, let us start this day in the best way possible."

[Csephion Draxus]

Ariadne's intentions of properly greeting the morning were welcome, and Draxus found himself indisposed for another hour. The entourage left the villa with the sun only a few hours from zenith, a scandalously decadent allowance of time. In the end, Draxus had chosen a garment of green, with the faintest notion of purple stitching at the hemlines. The litter began the procession toward the arena. Pascias and Mako alike tagged alongside Draxus and Ariadne, but on foot. A group of a dozen people varying between guards and slaves made up the rest of the group as they headed toward the venue.

"Pascias, tell me of the political investment."

The scholar slave smiled self-assuredly

"Already purchased, Domus. The common people will be very thankful, I think."

"Good, good."

The Satrap fanned himself idly as he looked sidelong at his lover.

"Full bellies speak convincingly to empty minds."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Unlike the Satrap, who'd dressed himself in color, Fyrian opted for a much more simple gown of white. It was laced with the faintest threads of silver, and held a dull shimmer in the sunlight. It hugged her form in just the right places while draping in others. Her hair she had partially put up, and she had chosen silver jewelry to match. Greenstone earbobs accented her eyes while thin silver cords encircled her neck and wrists.

It had not taken long for her to become as accustomed to wearing such fineries, and she found them as easy to put on as her normal shark leathers.

She caught the look that Draxus gave her, and smirked in return.

"I would not expect anything less than such scheming and plotting from you."

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap gave a coy smile.

"Simple people have simple needs. Where as someone such as myself or yourself demands higher pursuits, sanguine existence between the Gods and the nations around us, or other such notion, there are those who live and die by the grain dole. To us it is just bread, but who is to say that I am not giving them more by proportion?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"And your motivations for doing so? Are they for a personal fulfillment of the soul, or something that would help to feed your own political ambitions?"

Fyrian was no fool, and knew that the Satrap had his eyes set on lofty conquests.

"Knowing what I do of you, I'm inclined to suspect that what you did, you did to further yourself toward your own goals; whatever those may be."

[Csephion Draxus]

He smiled at her barb knowingly, as the litter and procession began their way along the direct thoroughfare to the arena. Already the streets were thick with bustle and noise.

"But then you must also know that my avaricious ambition is also to reciprocate myself upon the state and her citizens alike. Why can't both pursuits be one in the same?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She stared at him for a time, studying his features and the lines on the outer edges of his eyes. Finally she broke the silence.

"A noble endeavor, I will grant you that. But if you do eventually get what you so desire, will you remember that?

"Does the whole of Necia wish to be far-reaching conquerers who rule all of Asga, or is that the want of one man?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"I think that at some level, all citizens long to be a part of greatness. By extension, they too become great."

The circular superstructure of the arena could now be seen, the focal point at which seven roads intersected through the hills. The buildings receeded back to reveal a wide open plaza, adorned with beautiful statues and lavish obelisks. Giant columns with ornately-carved Aquilae stood as austere perches to watch over the beating heart of the city.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

The time was fast approaching when she would have to watch her comrades meet their fates at the hands of Necian politics, but Fyrian was bent on pushing it from her thoughts for as long as possible; even as the arena came into view. It was a grand structure, and the architecture around it was equally as beautiful and awe-inspiring.

She turned from the view to look at Draxus.

There was gentleness in her eyes as she reached a hand up to give his cheek a soft touch.

"For your sake, I hope that they do."

[Csephion Draxus]

The litter was lowered at the front of an arch leading into the Arena. They were here. Draxus rose, extending a hand to Ariadne.

"Indeed. My very life depends upon it."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian left that matter alone as she accepted the Satrap's hand. He was steadfast in what he wanted, and she would not try to dissuade him in any way. It seemed as though he was willing to risk his life for what he felt Necia should become, and in many ways the Glaucan respected that. Who was she to say otherwise? She'd spent her life trying to pick away at the very thing he was set on building.

Standing at Draxus' side, she gave a brief look upwards to the archway that led into the Arena, suddenly feeling rather small. The grandeur of Necian workmanship was impressive, and in its' own way captivated her.

To be in the heart of the enemy.

Enemy... was Necia really that? To her father yes, but she was not her father, and as each hour went by that she spent in Draxus' company, Fyrian was quickly realizing that she and Kariun held dissenting views. Before his death and as she grew up, she was more than happy to follow him out on whatever whim he took; and raiding coastal Necian towns had never been an issue as she was often times hilt-deep in the pillaging alongside the crew.

She was learning on her own however, that there was a soft heart beneath the stone facade that men such as Csephion Draxus had given Necia.

Fyrian shook herself from her reverie, and cast her eyes about at the crowds around them.

"People are staring again," she grumbled despondently.

[Csephion Draxus]

"That is what the vulgar populous will do. We are the ones to be seen."

Draxus was already standing and raising a hand in a casual greeting to those whose attention was directed towards them.

"Enjoy it, and make them in turn enjoy the spectacle."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Not one to be completely adverse to another's enjoyment, Fyrian held her personal complaints in. But, what he said gave her pause nevertheless, and she spoke out the side of her mouth.

"And is that what I am? Nothing but a spectacle?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"Nothing but?"

Draxus shook his head.

"Hardly. But it is a role we both play in the here and now. To be seen in this heady atmosphere by people great and small."

Assembling in adjacent private elevated seating to either side were other Satraps, nobility, and men of quality, and those who were seen with them. They were all dressed gaily, and looked like a gaggle of demigods beneath the rabble below and all of their shabby discord.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

For as out of place as she felt, Fyrian was doing a superb job in hiding her unease, and as Draxus pulled her along, she afforded a few nods here and there to those that waved. It was such a foreign feeling, and she suddenly wished to be on the deck of the Chiron, plying the waters around Asga.

But no. Her ship was no doubt in ruins; ransacked by Necian soldiers.

And here she was, hand in hand with a Necian Satrap.

Fyrian steeled herself for what she would have to endure, and gave to Draxus a nod of her head and a forced smile.

"If that is the will of the Satrap."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Far beyond my will."

A blast of trumpets crescendoed through the arena and the crowd let loose a deafening roar at the anticipation of events to come. Wreath-crowned workers rolled oxcarts in and began feverishly tossing prizes into the crowd. There were loaves of bread, bags of fruit and spices, silver rings, bunches of olives still clinging to branches, and even small denominations of aquilae. The crowd flocked to the edge, eagerly grabbing what was tossed their way.

Draxus smiled, and managed to glance to the side to catch the venemous glare of Varo from several boxes away.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Following Draxus' sideways look, Fyrian too laid eyes on Varo. The look he sent their way was one that surprisingly did not catch her off guard, and she smiled sweetly in return, sending him a small, almost mocking wave.

"Your friend looks positively ecstatic."

It was a decidedly sarcastic tone that she took with her newfound lover, and one that he would no doubt understand.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Ever the naysayer, he."

Draxus nodded, pleased with the notion.

"Let him fret. We will see where the die falls when the game is ended."

Dancers began to prance from each of the four gates, wearing ribbons in their hair and bangles from their wrists and ankes, each wearing Fiannic silks so fine that they were practically transluscent. It was a mesmorizing sight that left little to the imagination, and young boys played wooden pipes as the tempo increased.

To one side, a pantomime had begun between two male actors, one dressed as a woman with comically enlarged prosthetic breasts, and the other wearing a soldier's helmet with a wooden sword and a prosthetic phallus strapped around his waist. He fought other similarly-dressed actors with his sword, and with the help of some off-stage fire affinity magic for special effects, a fiery flatulence. It was a great success and resorted in bawdy cheers and jeers from the viewers closest to it.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

To her, the whole show put forth was rather boring, but for the sake of her host, Fyrian showed as much interest as she could possibly allow herself. It was not much, admittedly. The Glaucan found far more interest in the simple joys of life; watching waves crash upon a sandy beach, enjoying a quiet sunset, and other such tranquil activities. That was not to say that she didn't fancy a rowdy tavern or a fist-fight with whomever she wished, but watching men and women put on some sort of dance was never high on her list of things to do before she died.

She watched idly at those down below, spectators and performers alike. Many who'd come to watch the festivities were still grasping at the gifts that Draxus' money had purchased, and were now being so happily distributed. It was far more entertaining that the show being put on.

After a short amount of silence, she spoke once more, her gaze still upon those scrambling for handouts.

"When the die is cast, where do you think it will fall."

[Csephion Draxus]

"On Necia's side."

Draxus leaned against the railing and offered little lucidity at his vague response. Obviously it was his notion that he acted on good faith of the State.

Wild animals were now being paraded into the arena as the dancers and pantomimes broke ranks. A Tigraphant was prodded into the center of the arena, obviously meant to do battle with a trio of quill cats which were cut loose from a cage that was hauled forward. The barb-skinned felines snarled as they scrambled out, circling the enraged Tigraphant in what looked to be a delightful battle of flesh, utterly contrary to natural order.

"An interesting match, here."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Indeed."

For the first time since they'd entered the arena, Fyrian showed interest in the goings on below.

"And which one of those creatures down there would you say represents Necia?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"I would consider that a false dichotomy, but to be sporting, the quill cats would certainly best suit the barest notion of the League."

The cats began to carefully work at the periphery as the Tigraphant tried to isolate them and charge. A swing of a trunk succeeded in sending one of the cats airborne, but another cat nipped at the Tigraphant's flank, distracting it and keeping it from exploiting its success.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She thought of that, and supposed that it made the some amount of sense. She watched the gory spectacle with a growing detachment.

"Then would it be correct of me to think that you enjoy pulling your prey in all different directions to keep it from achieving what it wishes?"

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap sipped his wine, looking back at her with a slightly chiding expresison.

"I think you are having too much liberty with this hypothetical. The notion is merely of the many becoming one, and more than the simple sum. Necia has faced many Tigraphants, tyrants of audacity and genius whose deeds intimidated many."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian made a face then, and before she could think to correct herself, spoke once more.

"And yet the tigraphant that is Fyrian still eludes the many who have become one."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus's face was impassive save for a slight tightening of skin at the eyes. He said nothing for a moment and continued to watch the animals fight. As a pass from one of the cats gored the Tigraphant with its sharp quills, Draxus almost smiled.

"That Tigraphant will at least be bloodied today."

He continued to look ahead.

"In the end, they all fall."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Prophetic words."

Noting his expression, she kept her tongue in check. It would not do to simply snap at the man, and she gave a light pat to his hand.

"But as much as the sword or spear can gut a pirate, pride can impale a nation just as terribly."

[Csephion Draxus]

"It is only hubris if we fail."

Draxus answered her glibly as he sat back down and reclined. As a slave refilled his glass, the Tigraphant began to tire and to falter. The inevitable was approaching. One cat lay half crushed and dying, but the other two were able to move around the animal without reprisal.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian watched the battle only half-heartedly; watched the cats as they closed in for the kill. That he likened Necia to those beasts made her wonder just how much he was willing to risk so that he'd be able to claim whatever grand victory that he wanted. Turning her eyes from the animals to him, Fyrian folded her hands in her lap. The look that she gave him was level and true without being submissive in any way.

"Forgive my wandering thoughts; I did not mean to sour your excitement of the day."

[Csephion Draxus]

He waved his hand at the scene casually.

"As it were, we are merely watching beasts."

The Tigraphant, wounded and exhausted, fell to the ground. While the quill cats woud be perfectly capable of gnawing the exhausted animal to death over a few hours, there would be no coup de grace delivered by the animals. With the fight already won, beast handlers came in, putting the Tigraphant out of its misery with a heavy spear thrust at the base of the massive skull. The huge beast twitched, and lay still.

"The executions should be beginning now."

And sure enough, a procession of condemned people began to file out of one gate as the cats were herded out of the other. There was a group of fifteen, among them the four Fyrian pirates marked for death.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

At that, Fyrian fixed her eyes to the men below. The four of them that belonged to her held their heads high and stared back at the crowds with no remorse. They were hard men, three Glaucans and one Freeman. Each one seemed to scan the people gathered in the arena as if challenging each and every one. They were not afraid of their deaths it seemed, and bristled at their handlers.

One in particular caught Fyrian's eye, and she felt as though the breath had been knocked from her. Blackpool. She opened her mouth, but quickly closed it once more lest a slight whimper of sorrow escape her lips.

Suddenly sullen, she continued to look on with a glossy-eyed stare as the muscles in her jaw clenched.

[Csephion Draxus]

The first four of the men, petty murderers, were stripped of their clothing, and given shields made of thatch and swords made of wood. These men were led to a partition that was quickly set up, and thrown inside. Another gate opened up, and a massive wolfbear was carefully prodded toward the entrance by men on swift horses, with long staffs. The wolfbear, angry and disoriented, soon found the path of least resistance, and thundered into the partition.

Draxus busied himself with some minutiae that Pascias brought to his attention. There was no sport to be seen here, only creative death.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Her men no doubt were being saved for the last of the day's executions, and so Fyrian too turned her gaze from the arena floor, wondering what it was that Pascias had brought to the Satrap's attention.

She could hear the sounds of men yelling and the wolfbear thundering its' roar at them, but shut the noise out for now as she leaned forward ever so slightly to afford Draxus and his slave her curiosity.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus sorted out some routine affair with Pascias and dismissed him casually. Returning his attention ahead, he watched the wolfbear dispatch the third victim as the fourth screamed, hurled his sword at the beast, and urinated on himself. The wolfbear lunged forward and tore the man's entrails from his belly, bringing the foregone conclusion to its inevitable end.

The Satrap shrugged, and extended an amphora to Ariadne.

"More wine?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

A nod, and she extended her empty glass for him to refill.

"I'm afraid that I cannot look at death as the game and spectacle that your fellow countrymen and yourself seem to enjoy. It's always been a simple part of business for one like myself. It is unfortunate."

She frowned.

"Nothing to cheer at no matter who it is that dies."

[Csephion Draxus]

"They're criminals who forfeit their lives at the defiance of state and the laws of all people."

Draxus reclined and nibbled a fig.

"I don't grieve them. They made this choice. Their death serves as a warning for others to make different choices."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I never said that I grieved them."

She declined any sort of food, favoring instead the wine she held. Her appetite was gone, but her thirst strong. It was the best way to stomach the coming events.

If there was any comfort to be found anywhere, she could not find it. Not even in the Satrap's presence. Perhaps later, once this sham was completed, but now it was not so.

[Csephion Draxus]

Another batch of the condemned were paired against seasoned arena fighters. This lot were given actual weapons, but their talents could be seen evidently in areas other than combat. They resisted desperately, but were cut down in effective brutality. Every sword strike that hit home caused a raucous shudder of approval from the audience. This gave the Satrap a bit more attention, as he at least could appreciate a desperate effort toward a lost cause. He leaned forward somewhat, watching each individual combat reach its foregone conclusion. After some amount of fighting, one of the prisoners managed to skewer the seasoned fighter he faced in the arm with a lance.

Smiling, Draxus clapped his hands in approval.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

It was easy to feel the excitement around her at the executions, and Fyrian cast disinterested eyes to either side of her. This show was nothing but, yet it seemed that everyone in the arena was enjoying it thoroughly. If she were in any other situation, the Glaucan supposed that she too would be more apt to engage herself, but not this day. Not with the men slated to die.

Staring back down to the dusty arena floor, Fyrian watched as the last criminal scored a minor victory with his spear, but like the others, he too was soon enough cut down. It was a gory end to have, and she briefly wondered if her fate was destined to be as such in some form or another.

But the Satrap's clapping was enough to pull her from her thoughts, and she turned to look at him with an odd, unreadable expression.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Whatever wrong that man has done, his death was a respectable one."

Draxus seemed obliged to explain his sudden approval for the bloodsport.

"I can find an appreciation for this that transcends the usual notions of punishment."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Another sip from her wine. Already she'd managed to finish most of her second helping.

"Far be it from me to question what you find to your liking and what you would rather distance yourself from."

Fyrian ran her tongue over her teeth.

"I am only glad that I have managed to fall in with the former of those two."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus was already motioning to speak with somebody near to him. It was the event organizer, who Draxus was funding somewhat handsomely for the day's spectacle. They shared a whispered moment, and the man hurried off.

Draxus, looking refreshed, poured Ariadne and himself another glass.

"I think that respectable deaths should be the order of the day. Trial by combat is so stoic in its nobility."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Now what in Asga was this about? Fyrian was unable to catch the hushed tones traded between Draxus and the other, but she was not blind to the look he now held about him as the man left. A nod of thanks for her replenished glass, and she held it in her lap for a few moments.

"I'll defer to you in that regard," she forcibly grinned.

"You're the one who is the conquerer of nations, after all. What a man like you wants, he gets."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus's magnanimous expression dissolved in her sarcasm. He leaned back in his chair and looked at her with critical interest.

"This is the most freedom I can afford these condemned souls. If that displeases you, it is what it is."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian kept her eyes forward, unwilling to meet the Satrap's gaze.

"And you have been most generous in what you have given them in their coming deaths. You have been as kind as the law can allow."

And then she did look at him, a minute smile sent his way as her voice softened.

"Forgive me. As I said, I see no satisfaction in turning execution into game."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus said nothing, and gave only a nod. He respected her opinion, and left her alone in her unease. They were here, and here they had to remain.

A gaudily-dressed man in a bright gold wig rose onto a podium, and the crowd died down somewhat. With a great voice, he filled the arena with his oration.

"Welcome citizens of Necia to the Arena! Slaves, Citizens, Nobles, and even the Gods convene here to enjoy the bountiful games that are brought before you. The great and small, the wretched and wonderful, and all between come to bring you a spectacle that will not soon be forgotten. Today, on the fifth day of Ipretia, the good and noble Satrap Csephion Draxus affords you fortuitious festivities. May fortune smile on this day!"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Her attention taken from Draxus, Fyrian listened as the speaker finished his speach, and she briefly looked away as countless eyes turned to look at the Satrap. There was no mistaking her presence with him, and while a part of her enjoyed the attention, most of her sensibilities screamed at her.

Even those down in the arena looked their way.

From over the tops of her eyes, Fyrian could see well enough the look in her men's eyes and the shock on their faces.

[Csephion Draxus]

The orator continued.

"As a feature event on this day, we bring the hated enemies of Necia to account for their crimes of piracy!"

The four pirates were escorted to the forefront under armed guard. They each wore various amounts of armor, but were as of yet unarmed. At the sight of the pirates, the arena thundered with curses and boos.

The orator continued, gesticulating dramatically.

"Scourges of the seas, fiends of the waves, they defied the will of the State and caused many blasphemies to Denetion with their vulgarity! For this, they are willed by lot to meet death in the arena!"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Blackpool

She mouthed his name as she looked down at them fully. She felt every bit a traitor, but knew that worse would have happened had she not ridden back from Tirgatia. Speaking for them - however vaguely - in the Oratorium, she was at least thankful that not every one of them had been doomed. Erifa-Nimshi was another comfort, her life having been spared so graciously by Draxus' desire to please his new mistress.

Fyrian stared down openly then, her head tilting upward just a little as one of the her Glaucan crewmates nudged another, gesturing up in the stands at the Satrap and herself.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus's brow knit as he watched the men gesturing up at his box. He stood at the balcony's edge to watch the proceedings, eschewing his chair for the moment. He wanted to see this with all the clarity he could afford.

The orator continued.

"The means of the execution of these dogs has been decided. They will meet their end in battle, and their toils shall be your entertainment!"

The applause crescendoed, and the speaker waited for it to recede slightly.

"The stage is set, but only half of the actors have parts. Shall Critos, Bakatar, Dagae, and Thraxos be fitting enough adversaries for these villains?"

The Arena shook palpably with excitement. The Orator knew that naming some of the most lauded arena fighters in active profession would achieve the effect desired. The mob would scarcely roar so fiercely if Igneon Kravo rode his fiery metor down from heaven to sear the pirates to death with his fiery spear.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Rising to her feet as well, Fyrian stood to the side and a little behind the Satrap, looking down at her crewmen. Even from the distance between them, she could see confusion mixed with the beginning stages of anger playing across their faces. She steeled herself, drawing herself up to stand just a little straighter.

Amidst the din of the crowd's roar, the Glaucan gave a single nod to Blackpool as he stood below. At least he would understand. He and Glasswater had been her closest comrades within the Fold, as well as Erifa-Nimshi.

And understand he did.

The harsh lines of his face broke then into a wide smile, and a deep laugh rumbled from his chest to spill out and mingle with the shouts of the spectators until even they quieted down to listen to him.

The hard-edged pirate stood tall, and thrust an arm out, pointing a finger in Draxus' direction.

"Enjoy your spectacle, Csephion Draxus! Enjoy it well! And when it is over and you've seen the blood you so desire, bed your woman... if you are still able!"

And from behind the Satrap, unseen, Fyrian could not help the thin smile at Blackpool's crass remark.

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap looked down at this small man who invested his few remaining moments of life to fire a vulgar epitaph in is direction. He smiled at his defiant vigor, raising his hand to gesture to the condemned as a small salutation.

"I wish you an honorable death, pirate."

Retiring back to his seat, he spoke to another event organizer that hovered at the edge of his private box.

"If possible, make sure he is killed last. I want it to be a memorable end."

The attendant nodded and spirited away. The Satrap continued to look at Blackpool with a small, intrigued smile on his face.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She still stood, staring at Blackpool, and after a moment turned to rejoin Draxus at his side. Taking from her wine, Fyrian gave him a sidelong look.

"You surprise me," she spoke through a cryptic grin, "... the man insults you and you give him the dignity of dying last."

She angled her head at him then, further bemused.

"And you smile at him."

[Csephion Draxus]

"I find myself enamored with people possessing strong character."

The Satrap gestured to Blackpool, as the crowd shuddered in anticipation upon seeing the four fighters who would face the pirates begin to enter the arena from each gate.

"I've seen many men beg for their lives that were never for sale back to them. They lose the one thing they cannot sell in that final moment; they lose respect.

Who knew of this meddling criminal before I cast him into the heart of the civilized world to account for his misdeeds? Few, apart from his conspirators and victims. Now, many eyes are on him, and he is deciding to make all of the multitude remember him, his life be damned."

Draxus filled his wine again.

"This city has many things, but men of that quality are few. Today there will be even fewer."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

At that, Fyrian gave him a smile.

"It is a shame then, that he is to die. You could have no doubt placed him into the ranks of your armies and given him a legitimate command; wine, women, and riches. I doubt that it would take much to sway one like him."

Was that some last effort to save Blackpool? She wasn't sure herself, and mentally shrugged. She took a moment to look down at the Glaucan. He still stared up defiantly toward them, a maliciously cheerful grin spreading his lips wide. He knew that Fyrian was no traitor, and that his death would not be for nothing.

But of course, that was if the Necian gladiators could best him.

Fyrian still smiled back, knowing the look that she was seeing.

"You should not give him some common blade; let him use his own weapon. A man with familiar steel in his hands is far more challenging to defeat and enjoyable to watch."

[Csephion Draxus]

"He must die. That much is certain. You cannot buy a principle of this sort. The moment it is bought it ceases to exist."

The four Necian fighters began to pace around the arena, letting the fans get whipped into a frenzy with their presence: Critos, the fair-haired pikeman from Phractogrypsus who was rumored to be the lover of fifty Demosian women of quality, Dagae, the massive armored hammer-slinger from the peninsula tate of Sarentum, Thraxos, the agile and brightly-painted Glaucan hook-swordsman from Phressia, and Bakatar, a gloomy-faced barbarian man from the Jarnvid who wore only a wolfbear skin around his waist and carried a large two-handed sword.

The Satrap considered her words, and looked to another attendant.

"Can it be done?"

The man stammered for a moment, and Draxus impatiently shooed him away. It would be done.

[Blackpool]

He stood in the middle of this Necian arena, knowing that his end was near. It was inevitable. It was Denetion's will. But for all that he was about to lose, Blackpool only wished that he could see the look on the Phressian Satrap's face when he realized that he'd been taken for a fool. Even if four of them were to meet their ends during these 'games', that small victory for Necia would pale in comparison to the victory Fyrian would have over the very Necian government itself.

He laughed again, turning to regard his shipmates with a devil-may-care grin.

"Do not think ill thoughts; your captain merely lies in wait."

He clapped another fellow Glaucan on the shoulder as armed gaurds began to dole out the weapons they'd be allowed. There was a small amount of surprise as his two twin curved cutlasses were extended toward him, but suspected that it was at least a parting gift from Fyrian - to allow him to die with his own weapons in hand.

"Let us show these Necian folk how real men fight, shall we?"

[Csephion Draxus]

The fighters began in earnest. Critos, wearing an eagle-crested brass helmet and muscled cuirass, hoisted his pike in the air and leveraged it in the crook of his other arm. A small round shield was attached by a leather thong to cover his shoulder. He singled out one of the pirates.

"I choose you! Stand and fight!"

Blue eyes glanced upward at a tier of ornately-dressed women, who seemed to be goaded to scandalous behavior in his midst. He smiled, and returned his eyes to his chosen enemy.

[Blackpool]

Kray, the man that Critos had pointed out grinned wickedly, and with a final pat, Blackpool stood back to allow the two fighters their room.

Kray was a seasoned veteran of the Fold, and had always managed to survive each skirmish that had been had. Much like Blackpool, he somewhat welcomed this end.

Hefting the sword he'd been given and getting as good a feel for the round shield on his other arm, the Freeman backed off a few paces to study his opponent.

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap leaned forward to watch the first of the fights.

Critos had an obvious advantage of reach on the pirate, but the pirate was more maneuverable. Each were about matched for speed, and the fighters began to circle each other. Critos advanced two steps, drew back one, and thrusted on the rebound, hoping to catch his opponent closing ranks with a spear thrust in his midsection.

[Blackpool]

Kray was nimble, and parried the spear-thrust to the side with the edge of his shield before sweeping across with his blade in a quick chop. He was only a fraction too slow, as the Necian drew the pike back away from any chance of being cut in two.

The pirate rushed inward then, his shield at the ready as he hoped to take the advantage of Critos' reach from him and bring the fight into closer quarters where his sword would be able to do more damage.

[Csephion Draxus]

Critos dashed to the side in the face of the pirate's advance, drawing his spear across his body to strike a glancing thrust at the side of Kray's thigh. The blow wasn't fully met, and the spade-shaped blade gave a deep laceration instead. Critos withdrew, letting the backward momentum of the retreating spear carry his loose handgrip further down the shaft, so that he could effectively thrust at a tighter radius, which he did with an underhanded thrust that reached high.

[Blackpool]

A pained sneer, and Kray stumbled to the side. He gave no mind to this wound, and could feel his blood already seeping from the cut. No, his thoughts were simply on seeing how long he could stall the final outcome.

Another quick hop back brought him just out of the spear's range, and in the next moment he was running again for Critos. His blade came up in a crosscut.

[Csephion Draxus]

Critos leveraged his spear under his arm to deflect the incoming sword strike, and collided with the pirate, pressing his small shoulder shield against him as he spun away from the strike. The pirate's blade fell across his shoulderblade in a glancing blow, eliciting a grimace on his face as he continued to turn, bringing the counter-weight of his spear around with the intention of hitting his enemy across the back of the head with the small metal sphere.

In the private box, Draxus continued to keenly observe the combat, and eschewed his wine completely until an opening presented itself. What an inspired match this was.

[Blackpool]

The back end of the spear landed jarringly between Kray's shoulders, and he staggered forward from the blow, turning about on his heel in the same motion and bringing his shield up. Expecting a swift counterstrike, he dove inward yet again, barreling his way into Critos. His sword flipped expertly in his hand, and he jabbed forward with the pommel in the hopes of catching the Necian on the jaw.

[Csephion Draxus]

Critos staggered backwards, stunned by the pommel's strike which sent his helmet off his head, revealing his sun-drenched tresses and a now-bloodied mouth. Falling back, he instantly brought his sprear up as a palisade as he collected his feet, sending a fusilade of jabs at the pirate to preserve some distance. The crowd was obviously enjoying the high drama, and the enthusiastic din became a living thing entirely, threatening to drown out the sound of throbbing blood in both fighters' ears.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

For as interested and taken with this fight as Draxus was, Fyrian found herself eagerly watching as well. Though, she suspected that the reasons behind each of their intent observations were far different.

She sipped her wine as a slight lull in the action prevailed, Kray now backing off a little to regain his resolve. During the short pause, the Glaucan woman favored the Satrap with a faint grin.

"Is this what you were hoping for then?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"Very much so. The pirate is a gifted fighter, and this makes for a wonderful match of arms."

Critos rose to his feet, spitting a ribbon of blood from his mouth as he again switched his hold on his spear to an underhanded grip. He gave a pronounced thrust, then advanced, letting his grip choke up further towards the head again. He switched again to overhand, bringing the spear high for what seemed to be a thrust intended for the man's eyes, but pivoted his wrist and let his grip slacken in the midst of the thrust, so that the spear hurtled towards the pirate's feet. Critos tightened his grip again just inches from the counterweight.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian nodded, her eyes once more going down to the action below.

Kray had brought his shield up to block the thrust, but the spearhead punched a hole through the thin metal plating and splintered through the wood base to skewer Kray's forearm. He gave a pained yell, dropping to his knees.

The sword in his hands flipped again, and with action born of instinct, flung the weapon at Critos as if it'd been a dagger.

[Csephion Draxus]

The desperation attack was unexpected, and Critos could barely bring his shoulder up in time to deflect a strike that would surely have found his neck otherwise. The sword blade deflected, but cut a brutal gash from the man's jaw to his ear before tumbling off. With a raw scream, the pikeman brought a hand up to the profusely-bleeding wound, and leaned into the spear he still held as retribution.

Draxus rose to his feet at this dramatic escalation.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian followed the Satrap, standing now flush at his side. She knew that Kray's end was near.

Below, Kray himself ground his teeth together at the pressure being placed on the spear, and he cried out as the Necian's weight drove it further inwards. Mustering his strength, the Freeman pivoted on his knees so that his body was no longer in the path of the spearhead, and bunching the muscles of his shoulder and back, he wrenched forward in a movement that pulled both arm and shield free.

Nearly overcome with pain, Kray knelt on the dusty arena floor, panting heavily and cradling his arm.

[Csephion Draxus]

Critos nearly faltered, his feet staggering as he propped himself with the counterweight on his spear. His free hand rose to his face, wiping at the blood that liberally dripped from his chin. He looked at Kray, and decided that his opponent was in decidedly worse state. With the crowd sensing the nearing end, a tense silence fell upon the arena, as everyone waited for the finale.

The pikeman slowly paced around Kray, pressing a studded sandal into the small of the pirate's back, to push him flush with the ground. His foot still on the pirate's back, he looked up at Draxus's box.

The Satrap met Critos's eyes, and nodded once.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian watched the nod from her peripheral vision. Of course the outcome was known, but at least Kray had bloodied up the Necian's features and given him second thought of an easy victory.

That much satisfaction she could at least take from this bout.

Below, Kray let his body lay still, his muscles relaxed despite the pain. He was soon to be sailing Dention's crystal blue oceans.

[Csephion Draxus]

Wearily, Critos hoisted his pike up for the crowd to see, then eased it down to the base of Kray's skull. Pausing a moment, he grasped the spear with both hands and gave a quick downward push. Kray's body twitched as the mortal blow was inflicted, his death coming quickly and cleanly.

The crowd erupted into thunderous approval, as everyone rose to their feet in appreciation for an entertaining fight.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

In the uproar, Fyrian deftly placed a hand against Draxus' side in the sort of comfort that companionship offered. It was no such action of consolation, but simply one that meant she was in some form glad to see him satisfied at this first battle. And in many ways it was the only way she could stomach seeing Kray's lifeless form.

"There is one of your sacrificial lambs."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Perhaps the others will meet similar ends."

Draxus at last drank of his wine.

"He fought well. That is admirable, even in those who we oppose."

The body was carried away by slaves, and Critos wearily hobbled out of the arena to thunderous applause. Next, Dagae and Thraxos each selected opponents, and these two pairs of fighters began to fight simultaneously, to fanatical approval from the fans who got double the combat.

Again, Draxus returned his attentions to the bloodsport.

[Blackpool]

Held back, Blackpool had a healthy enough notion that his earlier outburst had given him the honor of the last duel, and so he waited patiently. Kray had fought well, and in the end died quickly. It was as proud a death as he could hope for away from the water, and the Glaucan said a silent prayer to Denetion to keep his wave-born brother well until the rest were able to join him.

The other Glaucans, Suvan and Jamiss, held their own against those who'd chosen them. Both, like Kray, possessed only a shield and short sword, but such weapons were more often than not used by them as it was, so Blackpool did not worry that their battles would be too entirely shortlived.

In the meantime, he gripped each handle in his hands, feeling the weight of the gracefully curved blades.

[Csephion Draxus]

Thraxos faced off against Suvan, twirling hook swords about in an energetic and constant assault that seemed to never relent. The cutting edge of his weapons swept back, tapering off on the back end as a sharp hook, which could be used to skewer an enemy on a backslash, holding him fast for a more sure attack. The Glaucan nimbly worked with his implements, hoping to overwhelm the pirate.

Meanwhile, Dagae hoisted a hefty war hammer and a massive scutum shield as he fought Jamiss. Dagae was a beast of a man, clad in nearly a hundred pounds of armor, and with arms seemingly as thick as trees. He attacked with occasional, massively-powerful swipes from his hammer. He only needed one of them to connect.

[Blackpool]

Suvan allowed the Glaucan fighter to show off his prowess, choosing to back away rather than engage. Hook swords were a tricky weapon to navigate, and he would need to watch this one's movements carefully, with a keen eye to each muscle tick and motion. The Glaucan pirate danced around Thraxos, black eyes trying to pick apart his technique.

A few inward feints to try and draw those hook swords out, but for the moment it seemed that Thraxos was not going to be goaded.


Facing an enemy far larger and better armored than he, Jamiss crouched low. He sidestepped each massive swing of the hammer that came his way; it would be folly to step into such a strike, and would end his life in a mere moment. Jamiss waited until the giant Necian swung, and while the hammer missed, the Glaucan lunged inward with his swordpoint to hopefully score a line along Dagae's arm.

[Csephion Draxus]

Dagae was stung with a sword swipe on his arm, creating a long red line down his thick forearm. Regrouping for another hammer swipe, he swatted at Jamiss with his large shield as he swung the large instrument about.

Thraxos accelerated forward and decided to bring the matter to hand. His quick barrage would be difficult for his enemy to handle in close quarters, and he expected that the pirate would make a critical mistake if he closed the distance.

[Blackpool]

His body tensed, and Suvan ducked low while bringing his shield up to deflect a strike from one of Thraxos' hook swords. His own short blade came around in a tight arc to clash against steel. It was a jarring blow that sent the other hook sword to the side, and he pressed inwards to deliver a vicious headbutt to his opponent.


Jamiss however was not so lucky, and was caught by the edge of Dagae's shield only to be thrown a short distance away. He skidded on his side along the arena floor, but was quick to scramble to his feet, sword at the ready. He was ever-cautious of that lethal swinging hammer, and ducked his way closer once more. The sight of the Necian's blood boosted his confidence, and he gave a smirk as he dodged yet another swing, once more reaching up with his blade and aiming again at the same spot he'd cut along before.

[Csephion Draxus]

Thraxos reeled back from the headbutt, spitting blood as he staggered. As he fell backwards, however, he flipped one of his blades around; the hooked barb catching Suvan in the flesh of the shoulder. He gave a tug, sending the pirate reeling to the side as he brought his opposite sword around with the intention of decapitating his enemy.

Dagae couldn't recover for another swing, but he did bring his hammer back to center, as his shield diverted the pirate's slash. He had a brief window, and pushed his hammer forward, with a blow insufficient to crush his enemy, but enough to knock the air from him and send him reeling.

[Blackpool]

With a gutted cry, Suvan felt himself pulled to the side by one of Thraxos' hook swords. He faltered only a moment, but caught sight of the swipe that would take his head from his shoulders. He ducked low, and the blade sang over his head. His own sword came up in an attempt to swat the hook sword away, and at the same time he shucked the shield he'd been given. The injury to his shoulder made hefting the thing far too painful, and it would only hinder him now.

Jamiss was knocked clear off his feet from the blow, sprawling on the arena floor and gasping for air. He rolled to his side, crawling away from Dagae as quickly as possible. Every breath he tried to take seemed just beyond his grasp, and he drew his knees up beneath him to try and regainhis footing.

[Csephion Draxus]

Thraxos quickly lost the hold he had on Suvan, but he pressed on with his two swords tirelessly. The pirate lost his shield, and it was now up to his single sword to both attack and block. A feint in, and Thraxos pivoted his blade, the hook catching his blade slightly, giving him enough torque to pull it out of the way.

Dagae slowly pursued Jamiss, and with a light tap, sent the recovering man's sword skittering from his grasp and into the sand. He looked up to the crowd, who began to cheer loudly at what could be the end of another pirate.

[Blackpool]

Suvan was determined to not back down, and even as his blade was pulled out of the way by the other Glaucan's hook sword, he twisted it in a tight loop that freed it up once more. He brought it up in the nic of time to block a swing that would've no doubt ended his life, and with a push against Thraxos, he barreled into his combatant, throwing his arms around the other in an attempt to send the both of them to the ground.

A gasp, and Jamiss went after the sword that Dagae had kicked away. Slipping his shield from his arm, he threw it at the Necian in an attempt to by himself some time.

[Csephion Draxus]

Thraxos tumbled back, unexpecting the forward assault. He fell back into the sand, unable to break from the pirate's desperate hold on him. His legs scrambled in the sand, and he tried a headbutt, then snapped at his assailant's nose. Whatever would allow him to break free, he'd do it.

The shield that Jamiss hurled struck Dagae square on his cage-visored helmet, and the heavy jarring it caused dazed the large fighter momentarily. However, he was slowed only a moment, and continued on his way to put an end to the pirate once and for all.

Preparing to deal the final blow, Dagae swung his hammer in a wide loop again.

[Blackpool]

Struggling valiantly, Suvan kept his grip like steel, refusing to release Thraxos even though the other Glaucan bit at his nose. His fingers drove themselves into the skin of Thraxos' back, attempting to break skin, and he angled his head lower so that his forehead rested at the base of the Glaucan gladiator's neck. Driving downward, he attempted to cut off Thraxos' air supply.


Jamiss, in much worse condition than his shipmate, once more tried for his sword, fingers grazing the hilt. Desperate now, he turned back to look at Dagae, and his eyes went wide.

The hammer filled his vision as it swept in towards his face.

[Csephion Draxus]

Thraxos flicked his wrists, getting enough leverage to drive the barbs of his hook swords into the fleshy backs of the pirate's thighs. He pulled towards him slightly, piercing flesh and driving the barbs deeper to break the hold before he blacked out.

Dagae's hammer fell with the force of an avalanche, and the Arena audibly responded when the strike hit home. Jamiss's feet twitched in the throes of the lethal impact.

Draxus took again of his wine, leaning forward once more to view the intense struggle still ongoing.

[Blackpool]

A feral cry, and Suvan pulled his arms from around Thraxos to wrap rough and calloused hands around his throat. He could feel his flesh tearing and ripping as the hook swords drove deeper. Clamping his jaw closed then, Suvan lifted one arm up and sent his elbow into Thraxos' sternum.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian rose to her feet at the sound of Suvan's enraged yell, and she watched intently as the two fighters grappled. Her fingers curled around the rail, nails digging into the surface. Seeing Kray and Jamiss meet their ends was nothing pleasant, and there were still two more of her crewmates slated to die; one of which was not far from the end.

A quick look back to Draxus, and her eyes once more went dow to the arena below.

[Csephion Draxus]

The Glaucan fighter gagged and wheezed, losing his grip on one of his swords. However, the grip was loose of his arms now, and he promptly withdrew the other blade. As he curled into gasping agony, he raked the upswept sword along the back of the pirate.

Dagae, in the meantime, had gathered himself from his victory, and stood ready. If it was the Satrap's whim to have him intervene, he would make it known.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

As Fyrian watched, she squared her shoulders back. Suvan was showing the steel that her men were made of, but she knew that it was not to last. The hammer-wielding Dagae stood like some grim sentinal over the two grappling men, waiting for a word that would allow him to step in for a no doubt killing blow.

Suvan was relentless, yet as the blade sliced open his back, Fyrian knew that his end was fast approaching. He arched upward, taking his hand from Thraxos' neck and rolling off and away. He tried to stand, but the puncture wounds in both of his legs proved too painful, and he floundered in the dirt.

She could hear his coughing and wheezing over the sudden hush of the crowd, and leaned against the rail, willing him as swift an end as possible; an escape from this bloody Necian entertainment.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus shook his head. He would have no part in an overmatch.

Thraxos gasped for air, writhing on the ground near his enemy, who did likewise. The entire arena was on edge for how this combat would conclude itself.

"Look how they grasp for victory."

The Satrap was enamored with this particular combat.

"Each so bloodied and wronged, yet fiercely determined to conclude the violence in their favor."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian ignored Draxus momentarily, suddenly wondering if Suvan would indeed best the Glaucan fighter. Through his injuries, she knew that he was still determined; no matter that he faced certain death.

Suvan's hand closed around the handle of one of Thraxos' fallen hook swords, and he pulled his arm back, holding the blade ready in an upward position. He scrambled for a better angle for only a moment before bringing it down, the hooked end aimed for Thraxos' throat.

[Csephion Draxus]

Thraxos slung his own blade upwards, and the hooked ends became inextricably intertwined. For moments that seemed endless, the two fighters grappled against each other, pulling blade against blade to somehow loosen the other's grasp of their weapon. The arena seemed to sense that whoever won this exchange of strength would find themselves the victor.

Suvan grappled with higher leverage. Thraxos started low, then gradually found his feet, and the two fighters now stood opposed directly.

[Blackpool]

Blackpool gave a grim smirk as he watched Suvan fight. The wiry Glaucan was proving to be hard to beat.

Suvan ground his teeth, his eyes bloodshot as he abandoned skill and opted for sheer brute strength. His lean frame belied the strength he held, and even though his wounds screamed through his nerves, he drew back the hook sword and relentlessly pounded it against Thraxos' blocking swings.

Once.

Twice.

Over and over.

[Csephion Draxus]

Thraxos blocked blow after blow, but was slowly becoming exhausted under the strain of such defensive measures. He again caught the prong of Suvan's blade, and used the catching force to propel him forward, delivering a heavy knee into his opponent's gut, which would hopefully take the air out of his sails.

[Blackpool]

With a grunt, Suvan felt his body go limp. The blow to his stomach made him drop to his knees, and he tore his blade free. Still he fought though, taking a weak strike low, aimed at Thraxos' ankles.

[Csephion Draxus]

The cut hit home, and felled Thraxos with a painful cry. Brought to his knees, he dropped the edge of his sword into the crook between Suvan's neck and shoulder, raking the blade across as he fell forward.

[Blackpool]

His eyes widened, and Suvan reeled back while bringing a hand up to his throat. Blood seeped out through his fingers, and he stumbled up to his feet in a shocked daze. Stumbling backwards, the Glaucan dropped the hook sword he held before his legs failed him for the last time, and he fell to his knees.

Still clutching his neck, Suvan managed a gurgled laugh at his opponent before sinking the rest of the way to the ground.

[Csephion Draxus]

Thraxos couldn't stand to revel in his victory, and attendants came to not only collect Suvan's body, but also to carry the crippled victor. Dagae walked wearily alongside, staying with his comrade in arms. The crowd, thrilled with such a contested event, was wildly appreciative. Draxus nodded in approval.

"These Pirates fight like men who love the flavor of life. A fitting end to such passions."

The last fight was soon to begin. The barbarian slave Bakatar rested on his haunches with his sword slung over his back, glumly staring ahead at Blackpool.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She took joy in seeing not only Suvan carried off, but Thraxos as well. And even though her shipmate was dead, he'd done a tremendous job of making sure that the victor paid a steep price for his triumph.

Fyrian turned then, leaning her back to the railing as she stared at the Satrap.

"They have lived a life of total freedom. It lends a certain spice to the air around them and makes all they do so much more different than what you or I are used to from living in a society governed by laws."

There was no derision in her tone, just a simple observation. Her green eyes looked preoccupied though, and it seemed that - while her gaze was locked with Draxus' own - she was staring through him.

[Csephion Draxus]

"I am curious to see this match. That men, these pirates seem to regard as a leader."

Draxus smiled.

"The man he faces was once a general, did you know this?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I did not."

She turned to look down at Bakatar. The sword slung across his back looked to have the wear of blood and battle to its' blade. Blackpool it seemed, held his confidence high. Fyrian knew that the Glaucan was lethal with his swords, and that she'd been at least able to have them placed in his hands for this final fight was reassuring.

"Where did he come from?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"From the Jarnvid. One of the woods tribes that I defeated in those campaigns. Normally, a man like that would be brought back in an Ovation and summarily executed, but I was enamored with his skill with a sword. A man that skilled and charismatic with men in arms is a great threat, so he shall never be free, but my consolation to him is immortality."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

The Jarnvid.

She had passed through that stretch of land once, long ago with Glasswater. The people there she remembered as proud and fierce. Looking down at Bakatar, Fyrian could still see the pride , though now subdued, still in the way he held himself. It was slight, but it was still there.

Yet, mingled in with those slow-burning feelings she could also see the look of a wild animan that had been caged; had its' life chained down. It might have been a consolation, but it from what she could see it was a crippling one.

"I do not think he shares your views. He looks like a wolf, too long chained to a stake."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Perhaps he is. But he's a wolf with a name that is known by all."

Bakatar rose from his feet, and if on cue, looked up at Draxus with an impassive expression.

"The terror that haunts the dreams of men at night is to die and have their name erased by the histories."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"A man projects on others what is secretly in his own heart."

She sipped her wine.

"For most, I think that what haunts men the most is to die without their freedom in hand. I know that I would not like to pass on to the other worlds as a slave to someone else."

Watching Bakatar for a moment, Fyrian took her eyes to Blackpool. The powerfully built Glaucan kept his body loose, and his curved blades in an easy grip, their tips kissing the dirt.

[Csephion Draxus]

"He'll find his freedom eventually. Perhaps even today, if this Pirate is the man to give it to him."

Bakatar turned away from the Satrap, as the Arena's roar intensified, signalling the start of the final major confrontation. He unshouldered the massive sword, untwining the leather thong that bound it from the handle.

"And who are you?"

The Jarnvidian barbarian spoke with a thick accent at his appointed opponent.

[Blackpool]

In the face of his last fight on this earth, Blackpool spread his arms wide, the two curved swords extending to either side of him.

"A man unfettered by Necian chains," he answered jovially.

Like Fyrian, he'd seen the look in Bakatar's eyes. This was a man weighed down by oppression, taken from a previous life that had ben far more appealing than this circus of blood. Jarnvidian, if the accent was anything to go by. Yes. This would be a challenge, but with his own steel in hand, Blackpool welcomed it with a near sense of glee.

[Csephion Draxus]

Bakatar nodded once, understanding what the man meant.

"May you live forever, then."

The barbarian raised his blade, and charged, swinging the terrible edge in an arc that would sever clean anything in its way.

[Blackpool]

Blackpool readied himself, but at the last moment stepped deftly to the side. One arm came up, and his sword clanged against the massive blade of the Jarnvidian's. It was not a blow meant to block, as if he'd tried the sheer force would've no doubt broken his arm, but instead he deflected Bakatar's strike to the side.

Dancing away, the Glaucan made no move to return the swipe, instead he twirled his twin swords in a flourish of showmanship and invited the Jarnvid barbarian to once more come at him.

[Csephion Draxus]

Bakatar regrouped, dragging the tip of his sword along the ground as he charged, sweeping the blade upwards, then abruptly hacking downwards to keep his opponent on the defensive.

Draxus had set his wine aside as he watched what would surely be an impressive display of combat. He'd often come to the arena to watch Bakatar, as a sort of nostalgic reconnection with an old enemy.

[Blackpool]

Both curved blades came up in a crossing block, and Blackpool held his own against the Jarnvidian. Muscles straining, he let out a deep laugh as he pushed against Bakatar.

One sword pulled away as the other angled itself downwards toward Bakatar's hand on the hilt.

But still, he refrained from making any moves that might give him the first blood, and swinging up, slapped the flat of his sword-blade against his opponenet's knuckles.

"It is a shame they have tied you down, great wolf."

[Csephion Draxus]

The Jarnvidian warrior withdrew a half step, and thrust in with a stab before swinging his sword about again in a cross-body arc.

"It is a shame that you will soon be dead."

He said this without malice. It was his expectation to destroy the pirate, as he'd destroyed everyone pitted against him. For whatever reason, the gods had cast him into this fate, and he practiced his trade with every bit of expert skill as he did when he led armies.

For five years, he'd taken everything Necia could put before him with the aim of breaking him. That he still lived was his own victory.

[Blackpool]

Deflecting the swing, Blackpool was cautious to not allow his attentions to be pried away from that huge sword. He watched the muscles of Bakatar's hands and arms, as it would help him react to whatever would be thrown his way.

He gave a smile to the Jarnvidian's words, and bringing his blades around in a graceful arc, delivered a series of rapid strikes that were not necessarily powerful, but quick and light.

[Csephion Draxus]

Deftly, the Jarnvidian brought his greatsword close, gripping the nearest quarter of the blade's length nearest the hilt, which had no edge on it. It enabled for a quicker use of the weapon, almost as a short pike. He matched the pirate's assaults, keeping that massive steel bar of a weapon between himself and the smaller blades, and was partially successful in doing so. The pirate did manage to sneak a slice across the flesh of his shoulder, scoring a laceration.

Bakatar, keeping his enemy honest with a quick reprisal, brought his guide hand back and pivoted his upper body into a wider two-handed swipe, punctuated by a leaping cleave.

[Blackpool]

The massive sword clanged against another crossing block, but the force behind the swing was enough to rattle Blackpool's arms and he let slip one of his blades. The edge of the greatwsord came in to open a gash on his chest, and with a grunt the Glaucan darted back, out of the Jarnvidian's range.

His stance lowered, the previous smile turning grim. There was no more playing now, and even if he was to die, he would not allow it to happen without some price to pay.

The curved swords came up, gripped loosely in his hands, and he angled himself so that his left shoulder faced Bakatar.

[Csephion Draxus]

The Jarnvidian didn't wait to calculate or look for an opening. He aimed to create one, chopping toward Blackpool's center of gravity, and forcing him to have to come to terms with the strikes by either a direct block, or a full evade. A slight parry or diversion alone wouldn't buy him time.

Draxus watched the fighters, and their different styles, interact into a deadly muse.

[Blackpool]

Knowing that Bakatar would not relent, Blackpool likewise drove in hard, meeting the Jarnvid barbarian blow for blow. He surged forward into his opponent's space, bringing one blade around followed by the other. His feet moved as if in a dance, and he struck out at Bakatar with a ferocity matched only by the Jarnvidian.

One curved sword came up from below then, and the other he brought around in a tight, vicious slashing crosscut aimed for Bakatar's gut.

[Csephion Draxus]

Bakatar barely brought his sword up vertically, gripping the lower portion of the blade again to bat away the strikes. One of the slashes, diverted, cut deep into his forearm, and the warrior gritted his teeth, and shoved the hilt, handle, and pommel of his weapon forward, intending to smash the pirate's face upon the heavy metal.

[Blackpool]

Reflexively, Blackpool angled his head back and to the side, but the blow still connected. His vision exploded, and he staggered back, shaking his head and flinging blood from a gash across his lower jawline. Already he could tell that his jaw was cracked, if not broken, but despite the pain he managed a grin.

In the next instant he ran at Bakatar, flipping one of his swords around so that he held it inverted. It afforded him a different set of strikes to unleash upon the barbarian, and had used the awkward technique many times over with success.

The curved blades worked in a stuttered sort of tandem, and he met Bakatar full on, almost barreling into him.

[Csephion Draxus]

Bakatar tightened up and gave a mighty swat, knocking one of the pirate's swords away as he came in close. The second inverse blade raked across his chest savagely as the Glaucan collided with him, and both men tumbled to the ground in a small cloud of dust. Bakatar hit the ground hard, spitting a bit of blood into his beard, which mixed with the yellow dust to stain a bit.

[Blackpool]

As he crashed into the dirt, Blackpool let out a pained hurff. With one of his weapons knocked away, he immediately balled up his free hand into a fist and delivered a quick jab to the Jarnvidian's temple.

[Csephion Draxus]

Propping himself up halfway with his sword, the Jarnvidian wrapped a big hand around Blackpool's neck as he blinked away the head trauma. With a growl, he slowly extended his arm, inclining his enemy above him, before lurching ahead to deliver a headbutt across the bridge of his nose. The deep and bleeding cut across his chest stopped his progress beyond that, and he again fell back to the ground.

[Blackpool]

A wild growl escaped his lips, and the Glaucan arched his back, the muscles of his neck straining in Bakatar's hold even as he threw his head back as far as the massive hand at his throat would allow. Blood flowed freely from both nostrils as Blackpool dug his fingers savagely into the wound across the Jarnvidian's chest, and he tugged at one of the edges of the gash, trying to peel back skin.

[Csephion Draxus]

The barbarian's grip on the pirate's throat instinctively tightened at the excrutiating pain from his wound. He again tried the sword, this time able to purchase enough leverage to slowly work himself back to his feet, whereupon he threw Blackpool free from his grasp in a gargantuan exertion.
No sooner had the pirate come under his own momentum again, Bakatar lunged with a forward stab, not having the stamina at present for an overhanded cleave.

[Blackpool]

Blackpool gasped for air even as he did his best to dodge the stab. But the Jarnividian's aim was mostly true, and the massive greatsword buried itself in his side. The shock of it made him jerk forward, and he smiled, bloody teeth showing.

He lunged forward then, sliding Bakatar's sword deeper into his body while bringing his own up, the tip heading for the barbarian's own gut.

[Csephion Draxus]

Bakatar drew a hand off his own blade to deflect the incoming strike, but it was too slow. Blackpool's weapon cut into his hand deeply, passing by largely unmolested to pierce his belly.

Both men, mortally stricken, began a slow descent to their knees, straining against the inevitability that was flowing out of both. The unlikely conclusion managed to bring the Arena to a disturbing quiet. Draxus looked on, a somber expression touching his face.

[Blackpool]

It was then that he began to laugh. A sound that began low in his chest and soon enough filled the arena for a few moments before descending into a labored cough. Blackpool spit blood onto the dusty ground. Perhaps it was fate that he was to take with him this Jarnvid barbarian.

He kept a hold of his sword.

"Your chains are cut, great wolf," he rasped quietly.

And then, with a great shove, he pushed away from Bakatar, feeling as the greatsword slid out of his stomach even as he wrenched from the barbarian his own weapon. Stumbling to his feet, one hand gripping the curved sword and the other pressed tightly against the freely gushing wound in his stomach, Blackpool stood for a moment.

He stared up at Draxus and Fyrian.

And with the last bit of his quickly failing strength, the Glaucan flung the blade up towards the Satrap's private box.

[Csephion Draxus]

The audacious move surprised the Satrap, who drew back from the balcony's edge a step. In a moment, it was clear that there wasn't going to be enough velocity for the weapon to make it. It hit the lower portion of the stone balcony with a shallow claang before tumbling back down below.

Again returning to his original place, Draxus remained silent while he watched these two excellent fighters die brave and famous deaths. He reached for his wine, drank of it once, and tilted the cup to let the last few swallows spill onto the floor.

"Enough of this revelry. I've seen everything I wanted to see."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Blackpool's last action surprised Fyrian as well, though she did not take a step back as Draxus had. Instead, her eyes remained fixed upon the Glaucan as he died.

But it was the Satrap's reaction that surprised her the most, and it was easily evident upon her features as she finally took her eyes from the two bodies in the arena to him.

She blinked slowly. In the face of the bloodshed she'd seen, the Glaucan woman was surprisingly calm, and strangely serene. Even her voice held no edge.

"You are not satisfied... ?"

[Csephion Draxus]

Slaves already began the work of putting the slain in order to be carried away. Draxus, watching the spectacle below, finally turned to Ariadne.

"Complacency is one luxury the heights of my office cannot afford. I've watched two men of strong purpose destroy each other. I laud their struggle, but it is ended.

You and I both know that real strife hasn't yet begun."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"If I am to make a guess about you, it would be that this sort of life was not one that you have always lived in. You led armies. You trampled whole peoples beneath your heel."

She took his now empty glass from his hand and set it down beside her own.

"If this is a way of existance that you wish to now pursue, who am I to question your choices; I've not known you for near long enough to do such a thing."

Casting a wistful glance to the dead who were now being taken from the arena, Fyrian closed her eyes for a moment before returning them to Draxus.

"But that being said," she took his hand in hers and moving past him, brushed her lips against his ear.

"... let me make you feel young again, before your struggles truly begin."

[Csephion Draxus]

"Your pleasant company is fleeting, I fear. I think you are right."

He gestured for her hand.

"Let us spend the remains of the day pretending to be people of large mirth and small concern. I should enjoy that greatly."