Danairia Feyn's Story

The lids of a pair of eyes open in the dim cell which a lone soul occupies. A barely burning torch illuminates the room to reveal that it holds nothing but a bit of hay, and a chamber pot. Well...'chamber pot' would be the term she is instructed to call her bucket by her keeper. If she calls it 'the shit bucket', like she originally did, she gets...well, she suddenly does not feel like calling it how she naturally would anymore...

"...Whoa.." the voice echoed from her lips and around the vacant room. All except for the elf huddled on the floor with her back to the wall.
That could not have been a dream, could it? It certainly appeared to be a dream but it felt...different. It felt much more real than any other before and she could remember it too. All of it; every word, in fact, as if she just experienced it in the world of the conscious. How often does an event such as that happen in a lifetime? Certainly not often. Once? Maybe? What was different about this dream, though? It certainly took place in a bar so that is fairly normal for the imprisoned elf.

Was that Hans I saw there?

Hans Holst was a friend of her's. He helped out at a local tavern in a nearby major city and was one of the few people she had felt she could truly speak with. At least, before she got into the mess she obviously so is in right now...

She never dreamed of him, so that was a little unusual but nothing really strange. But, then it hit her what was completely unlike her in that dream!
She ordered a drink and FORGOT about it.

That settled it. It had to be, indeed, a dream like every other dream before it. It was way too inaccurate to be anything special.
The girl on the stone floor could not help, however, but feel bugged by it all the same...

The elf sits up. Her skin a delicate tan; her hair and eyes matching as brown and dark brown-respectively. Her tattered rags (or 'garb', as she is to call them) passing off for clothes fall uncomfortably on her shoulders as she sits up and forces her to adjust them to a somewhat less uncomfortable position. This is Danaria Feyn. A somewhat small package but do not let it fool you, she was once the infamous sell-sword, known on the outside as 'The Drunkard of Kes' for her heritage as a native to the Principality of Kes and a Tlamani elf-usually a very reserved and sober people. Now, she is simply known as:

"Thing! Chow!"

"Aye," she replied to her master behind the door as the food hit the deck. The dark-skinned Sivyne on the other side was Zilindar Kail, Danaria's master. A sadist by narrative of his subjects and one that lacked any house slaves for help with caring for his handful of fighters. All because he enjoys being the one to care for them. It allows him to micromanage...

"Master, do I have your permission to consume chow?" The food suddenly slides forward and becomes accessible.

...and instill as much discipline as he can.

As he moves down the center, passing out food to the other fighters, Kail begins addressing them at once. Mean while, dropping the rations and pushing them forward once the voices in the cells request his permission to eat.

"Good morning, fighters!"..."Master, may I consume chow?"..."Hope you had a good rest because we've got fights and practices! Like a whole new day! Isn't that great?!"

"Great, sir," everyone seemed to mindlessly respond.

Nobody shows much enthusiasm behind their forced answers. It is a normal day like any other. Practice all day if you do not have a scheduled fight and, if you do, sit out until after your fight. If you survive, you train with the others upon return while trying your best to avoid being noticed by Kail and his whip. He seemed to have some kind of unhealthy obsession with finding a fighter that he considered unruly and then punishing them for it. It was his way to keep everyone in line,
and it worked...

"We already had an early fight today, if you hadn't noticed Tumhathil was missing for a short time this morning. He went to hunt his own breakfast. Because he is actually worth something to me...."Master, may I have your permission to consume chow?"...Our lucky winners today are-in order from first to last: Pup-Chow, Riler, Viktommer, Boy, and Butch brings up the end with our final fight and one of the last ones. Great, Butch, we get to see you doing nothing ALL DAY today! Don't worry, you'll probably be bored so I'll be sure that you are occupied!"

Most get nicknames in the colosseum, and Kail's fighters were no exception, but he does not often like the names given to his fighters; these names which instill a sense of pride in those who own it. So, Kail does it differently. While some of his fighters have nicknames for specific reasons, they only seem to be the result of negative events or aspects of their lives. Even if they have a gladiator name, they are not to be called by it in the presence of their master. For example: 'Pup-Chow' got his from taking a rather harsh series of bites while facing off against two hyenas in the arena. 'Boy', earned his by standing up to Kail after he referred to him as 'boy' and he took offense. 'Butch'...

Danairia sighs at the news, "Aye, master..."

Butch was Danairia's name to Kail, though he more pronounces is as 'Bûtch'. She had earned it when she was called a bitch in training by her sparring partner. Having only recently started being broken by Kail, she felt way too stressed to deal with the guy and was not yet deprived of the majority of her dignity. She ended up being noticed when she won and proceeded to beat the man well past submission and into the floor. From then on, she was Bûtch to him and, for her first fight, given a machete that somewhat resembled a cleaver which Kail had happened to stumble across the day before at the blacksmith.

"The fun begins shortly, things!"

The crowd seemed to roar in delight to the man's comments, even if it was a fight going on before them. Thoom, the air roars as a flail of iconic proportions slams into the earth.

At least Black Hammer's having fun...

Vadania scowled at the sound of the Sivyne's rough voice. It reminded her of an alleyway mutt that thought too highly of himself because he had acquired an abundance of mangy bitches. A minuscule smirk spread across the dark-skinned elf's face.

That mutt didn't taste half bad.

She instinctively crept back into the shadows of her cell. Her dark complexion allowed her to easily blend into the natural color of the grimy bricks. Vadania stowed away her lockpick and swiveled her pointed ears towards the man's grating voice. The dull throbbing in her head slowly faded as she focused.

Vadania's scowl returned as she listened. Fighters? Practices? She fidgeted with the thin sackcloth that had replaced her formidable leather cuirass. The slaver's babbling proved to be foreboding to the thief. While Vadania had expected to one day wake up in a prison cell after one of her nightly escapades, this took her completely by surprise. She ran her fingers through the knots in her hair, shaking both real and imaginary dirt loose. Vadania remembered that there was a colosseum in this city. It was a prime hunting ground for deep pockets and heavy purses that she had visited a few times.

Something had apparently gone wrong with her booking, and some dirty guard had dropped her in this cesspit rather than a cozy city jail with a bed and guaranteed three meals a day...

Who exactly did she piss off this time?

None of that mattered, however. Vadania took a calming breath. The plan was still the same. She would break out of the cell, strangle the location of her gear from one of the guards, find said gear, and high-tail it out of the city. Maybe she could stow away on a ship?

"Thing! Chow!" the man's slurring scream shattered her train of thought.

"Excuse me?" she lanced the slaver with an icy glare as her lips parted in a snarl. "What did you just call me?!"

He did not just say what she thought he said...

The man ever so slightly leans forward, staring at the elf in a playful wickedness with a wide-eyed, yet expressionless, look before not-so-quietly whispering through the bars, "Thing...Chow..."
There was no discussion about it. Kail simply did not care what Vadania thought of him. His and his words suggested he saw little more than a worthless animal but his eyes told of neither; that there simply was nothing before him. Everything in his stance suggested a lion's tamer in a traveling circus though he was speaking to a woman in a cell...a lion's cage...

The other fighters were quiet. Not just because they were allowed to chat among themselves, but they wanted to hear what was happening.

Here we go again...

Danairia knew what was going to happen next. It often takes time to break down potential fighters because their ever-so-pleasant owner only picks who he hears of or sees potential in for fighting. That usually results in what he describes as a 'belligerent little thing' and a lot of resistance but they always eventually break.
They always...eventually break...

The only one who never seemed to actively pay attention to the first chow was Tumhathil, a hulking fighter of the race known as the 'Felindin', a people who hold an appearance of a man with a head like a lion.
Everyone else paid attention, one way or another, but the Felidin's cell never seemed to emit any noise to hint of him getting a better position to hear. The barred square opening in his own door never graced anyone with a look upon his stone face, curiously gazing out toward the door to the chamber in which the couple solitary cells were located.

Danairia can still remember when she first heard about Tumhathil...

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He just sits there...Everyone at least does something in their cells but him...He seems to not even care until he is told to prepare for a fight.

Danairia silently ponders to herself from the floor of her cell while looking underneath the opening in her door and at the cell of that Felidin.

And such a monster in the ring too. So commanding...so decisive...

Her hands clench to fist. How could someone seem to care so little about the situation he's in?

Do something-dammit.

The elf could no longer suppress her curiosity. She calls out in a rather weighted whisper, "Aye!...Psst!...Aye, Felidin!..."

One of the other fighters seems to not have been able to get to sleep because a noise, not from the lion's den but from another across from Danairia's. The man turns over on his 'linens'-Kail's word for the pile of hay making up the fighters' designated sleeping area-and quite obnoxiously vocalizes his complaint. "I swear to all made by The Creator, will you SHUT UP?!"

Danairia's expression changes to one of frustration. "-Hey!" she demands, "Cross y'legs and bite a cock like the whiny little bitch y'are-yeah??"

"Aye!...House cat!" she tries again but only finds herself interrupted by a closer voice. This one just beyond the wall next to her. "Leave the man be. If he doesn't wanna talk, he doesn't wanna talk." The statement only pushes Danairia further though. However, before she can call out again, the voice grabs her attention with something else.

"Look, it isn't because you're new that he doesn't talk to you. He does that for everyone so don't take it badly...here, I'll tell you what you probably want to know...
The one you know as 'house cat' is Tumhathil. He grew up a slave and has never been anything but passive since he got here...which has been a long time..."

Danairia's mind clears, choosing to focus most on listening to the story as she adjusts to rest her chin atop her hands.

"According to someone I knew that was here before him, Kail couldn't even break him. I mean...he didn't have to..he seemed to have already given up but not out of fear or anxiety or anything. He just...worked. He quickly became a valuable fighter and remained completely obedient. The only thing is he doesn't talk much and never has. He'll talk to you sometime, one way or another, you just gotta let 'im comerround. You'll see..."

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Eventually, long after he was killed in the ring, her neighbor was right. Tumhathil spoke to her-if only a little...but she finally did meet the man who seemed to be hiding a bit of kindness to him, even if it seemed only slight by simply sticking his arm out to prevent Danairia from running into Kail-a grave sin for one to commit.
"You'll get yourself killed like that," he had warned in a soft voice, yet it felt as if it had a kind of strength sleeping within...

But that did not matter now...now the group had a new addition...and she was about to get a brand new flavor of chow that she has probably not yet ever tasted.

Vadania snarled as she rose to her feet. How dare this human - no, this child - speak to her in such a way. She glared at him with as much venom as she could muster and hissed through gritted teeth.

"You should be more respectful of your elders, human dog." she sneered. "You might wake up with your family jewels stolen - along with your gold."

She proceeded to spit in the human's face and retreat to the back of her cell to sulk. Vadania had seen those eyes before. They were the eyes of the highborn and middle-class that always looked down upon her. Though the matron tried to shield Vadania and her orphan-siblings, Vadania could catch glimpses of the rich's scorn against her and her kind. They were without lineage - casteless - and barely worth their space in the world. Vadania saw those eyes more and more after she left the home.

She hated them.

To them - she was the filth of the streets. After all, what good were you without families, titles, and lands? She had none of those things, and so she was less than nothing. When she resorted to theft and murder to survive, she graduated from revulsion to outright hate in their feeble minds, but what did they know?

They didn't know the gnawing pain of a week without food.

They didn't know the shivering cold of winter without a bed.

They didn't know the nausea or fever of plague.

They didn't know the numbness of thinking every sunrise might be your last.

They didn't know the horror of waking up to find your lover's neck sliced open beside you.

They didn't know... nor did they care. Why should they? She was trash.

A thing.

But this thing was not fragile. It was a poisoned blade forged in fires of suffering and tempered through hardship. It - she would not be broken.

Not before I can slit his throat in his sleep...

Vadania was far too distracted by her dark thoughts to notice the sound of a stone being tossed - or to sense the shadowed figure down the hall.

Raikyyn's insertion into the room goes unnoticed by everyone with all of the attention being on the interaction going on and Kail seems a bit preoccupied to investigate any random sound. Peripheral vision suggests nothing worth looking at either as the rock clacks down the hall.

*Plew!*

That was a new sound. Was that...spitting? That's...actually a new one. Normally anger blinds the more aggressive new prospects into lunging at their new master through the bars of their door, considering the fact that he oh-so-cleverly makes himself just within reach before slipping that opportunity away right out from underneath them by ever-so-slightly leaning back. Then, using his off hand, he grabs their wrist, uses their natural reaction of pulling back to let there be a bit of room for momentum to work before violently expressing his over-powering strength to pull them back and...
Squish
They get fed their chow directly by the hand holding it, whether they like it or not. It's the flavor mixed into the chow Danairia tasted on her first day. Blood. Memories of how long it took for her to stop finding bits of dry food in her hair would express doubt that it was not a pain in the hind. Her forehead and cheek had a rather painful looking-and feeling, of course-stain of black and blue from where her face had hit the bars...

Well, it may not be blood the new fighter has in her mouth but she certainly does still get an interesting brand of chow...
As it happens just a short distance away from her cell, Danairia quietly wonders what would be the term used for naming the flavor of when a bowl of slop gets whipped by a surprisingly accurate arm through a gap just large enough to fit the wooden object when sideways and impacts the poor girl's head and sends the food everywhere.

She thinks a moment while the sound of the bowl spinning around on the floor of the new fighter's temporary cell echos through the hold.
'Fast food?'..Nah-something like that would never catch on...

Kail's vocal reaction to the contact of the attack on him seems lighter than expected, compared to his usual reactions. His physical one was to be expected but his verbal one...it seems much more foreshadowing than directly threatening.
"It's okay if you bite my hand while it feeds you, because I know you want your chow. Don't worry, as long as you accept it, I will feed you because I just care about you so much!"
The slave master, ever enthusiastically leaves the solitary cells and enters the main space of his cell hall, as if pissed off beyond belief but is so excited to tell that person something that he just cannot wait. The usual funny way he moves about when not walking. While the act leaves the way out open, it does not yet leave it safe to move, not to a slaver as sharp as the one before everyone.

"D'yeh hear that?! I just LOVE you guys!!!", he exclaims, "Don't I feed you?"

"Yes, master", the fighters all mindlessly reply.

"Every day?"
"Yes, master."
"Three times a day?!"
"Yes, master."
"For the love of our creator," Kail begins to rapidly point his finger at the ground as his head bobs in emphasis on his words. "...S~cream.."
"Yes, master!"

It was true. He did feed his fighters a reasonable amount. In fact, he rarely prohibited a meal for punishment and, whenever he did, he always provided an excuse not to-sadistic or otherwise. Even when someone refused to eat or did not properly ask for it, he would give it to them. There was one point when he caught somebody eating a while after chow time was considered over and actually punished him by making him eat a full meal every hour. "SO NOW WE HUNGRY, RIGHT?! HELL~ YEAH~!!!", he had yelled in the middle of the night, waking everyone up to see that somebody had saved their chow for later. He was forever since known as 'Hog-Man' or 'Pig' for short.
Maybe it was through a means that could be classified as 'harsh'...but it still was technically giving them food to eat. This at least proved to the fighters that he was a businessman who knew the importance of food to someone who wants to win their fights and that he wasn't only someone who caused pain.
Who knows, maybe somewhere deep down, Kail was a normal person...

"FOR FUCK SAKE, PIG, YOU GLUTINOUS SIMPLETON-DID I SAY YOU COULD KEEP EATING WHILE I TALK?!!! ARE WE HUNGRY AGAIN??"

...Okay, maybe not a normal person...

Kail once more picks up his excited trot and heads away from the passage out, down through the line of cells for his collection of fighters. Continuing on, "As I was SAYING! Some of us don't want chow! That's okay-I'll make sure you get the nutrition you need, as it is my responsibility as your master, your personal trainer, and your very best friend-I'll make sure you are fed enough to ensure that whatever cumberworld you face out there is six feet under or nothing more presentable than the meat they serve at the stands outside, because trust me-you're not missing out! Is THAT understood?!"

"Yes, master!"-is the reply from his fighters. Somewhat louder than normal, in obvious approval of what Kail had said.

"IN FACT!" Kail excitedly anger-gallops over to his prized fighter's cell before revealing his skeleton key and unlocking the wooden door. "TUMHATHIL!! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF YOUR QUARTERS FOR EVERYONE TO SEE!!"
A much louder command than necessary for someone laying just a few feet away but he obeys regardless. The Felidin stands-towering over his master-and quietly shuffles out of his 'quarters'.
"FOR HOW BIG this thing is, how much do you think he should eat? A person, right?-Lions eat people, they don't give a fuck because they're hungry!-You eat people, right?" The master barely leaves any room between his sentences before looking up at the large man with a strange question of if he eats other sentient species or not.

Tumhathil responds with his most favorite phrase to say, it seems: "...."
"-Are you hungry??", Kail interrupts. To which the lion man replies with a beautiful song he wrote to describe exactly how much he cares about the taste of the food he is given: "....."
"-Of course he's hungry", Kail once again rudely interrupts. "Just look at 'im, he's literally the size of a lion!"
"Hillitim," Kail begins by using the moniker he called the Felidin before he could remember his actual name, "I don't normally do this, obviously but I won't let you embarrass me in the arena. Let me have a break from your ugly-fuckin'-face and go to the chow hall to eat again because you obviously need it, and if I found out from one of the guards that you went up for thirds or didn't go up at all, I'll slay you in front of everybody-NOW GO!!"
Tumhathil makes a second glance down at his master before heeding the oddly negative sounding command-as if it was a punishment. Apparently he is not quick enough because Kail follows after him with his sporadic fast-walk, screaming 'GOOOO~!!!' before halting and calmly walking back. "Disgusting thing..."

Finally, the slave master begins unlocking the cells of his fighters. "GET OFF OF YOUR QUISBY ASSES!! TIME FOR TRAINING!!"

Later on, well within training, Danairia remains in her cell, resting for the coming match and thinking in order to occupy her time.
Admittedly, she was extremely jealous. It is well-known that the food they receive is simply mess hall food put in bowls and carted over to them but seconds...seconds is rare, let alone a trip to actually go to the hall itself for it. It is one of those simple things which, after being denied it for so long, become something one literally dreams about...

"BUTCH!"
Kail interrupts Danairia's daydream from the door of her cell.
"You're not sitting around and doing nothing! Go help that thing over there clean up her chow!"

'You've got to be kidding me', she thought. She had to go accompany the new fighter and probably almost get her eyes clawed out or something, by some bratty girl who probably thinks people still think she matters. That is how it usually is with new arrivals, anyway. Another fighter gets sent as cannon fodder to help them and end up being physically assaulted.
Not that it matters anyway. Danairia has been here a few months and, like most of the other fighters sent to do this job, will probably end up choking the slave out to silence their annoying babble and pathetic attempts at using violence to take advantage of her-despite not knowing exactly how many fights to the death they have already been in with people like that slave-before she can get the job done and be out before the new arrival regains her consciousness.

"Yes, master!"

Danairia enters the corridor with the two cells of solitude and knocks on the door of the new arrival. "'Ay, I'm coming in..."

Vadania was knocked from her musings by the light knocking on her door. She looked up and locked her eyes with the brunette elf standing outside. Her brow furrowed in confusion, and her lips drooped into an irritated scowl.

"I ain't gonna stop ya." she replied.

The Duuthesh took a moment to inspect her visitor when she opened the door. Vadania sat leaning against the wall of the cell with her legs stretched out and folded at the ankles. Even from her disadvantaged position, Vadania estimated that Danairia would stand about a head taller than her at their full heights. They were dressed in similar fashion, which was to say - barely anything at all. Her eyes assessed Danairia's lean form - lithe and athletic, built for speed and precision... just like her. Vadania's gaze lingered over some of her more aesthetic assets before meeting Danairia's brown eyes.

Vadania's scowl morphed into a satisfied smirk.

"So..." the Duuthesh woman broke the silence. "What brings a lovely lady like you to my lavish chambers? I assume you're not room service? The last one was hardly exemplary... I doubt he gets very many tips with that attitude."

Vadania glanced between Danairia and the open door. She could probably jump her and knock her down long enough to get out of the cell - maybe even the block, but then what? She had no idea where her gear was, or had any clue about the building's layout. Her thieving intuition could only get her so far. No, Vadania needed an informant... Someone who could be her eyes and ears - a fellow inmate trusted by the warden.

She would do...

Step one... Gain her trust. Moderately friendly demeanor with a hint of predatory spirit? Check. Not-so-subtle compliment and disarming snark? Check. Next, learn her name... People seem to like it when you call them by their name.

Step two... Recon. Learn the layout of the prison. How many inmates? How many guards? Where was the warden's office? Where was her gear?

Step three... Escape. Vadania needed to set up a distraction, get her gear, arm her accomplice, and hopefully slit that pig's throat open while he slept. After they escaped the colosseum, they would head to the harbor and stow away on a ship.

Finally, step four... Make steamy love to her accomplice while they were trapped in a shipping crate for two weeks.

One step at a time, though... Vadania cursed herself for thinking too far ahead. Besides, she might not even swing on that side of the fence. That would be such a waste, though...

Well, Raikyyn, 'twould seem you've gotten yourself into quite a predicament here, the assassin cursed himself. I have to gauge my situation, and get a grip on it. The arena guards know that I'm here, but they don't know that I'm here. All they have is that I'm Duuthesh, and wear dark robes. I've still got those odds in my favor. That said, I haven't found either of my targets, one of which is not here in the Colosseum.

Raikyyn fumed to himself after the guards had left, and one of the prisoners, another elf, entered the Duuthesh prisoner's cell. Wait, is that her? No, it can't be. It shouldn't be. Ack, I can't worry about that now, I've got to move, too much activity here.

The shadowed assassin waited for a prime opportunity as both prisoners in the cell were distracted with one another before passing. At least something had gone right today. This mage had better be easy to fool.

Raikyyn continued down the corridors as instructed by the smith until he reached the room he was looking for. He peeked inside, to see an empty room. "You've got to be..." Raikyyn began irritably, until he heard the echo of a voice somewhere down the corridor.

"I would have you escape with me. Powerful forces have chosen the both of us...if you'll excuse me."

That voice was educated, planned, calm, powerful. This was the man Raikyyn was after. But how to get him to...escape? I could use that.

A plan quickly formed itself within Raikyyn's mind. It would work, it had to work. Magically disguise as a guard, separate him from whomever he was speaking with, get out of the Colosseum. Once this mage believed Raikyyn to be his ally, he would help them both get out. Hopefully.

Raikyyn began weaving spells, softly murmuring incantations to himself, ensuring he cast these correctly. The story, the disguise, the coincidences he would have to pull on had to be perfect. As he finished, Raikyyn cast the spell. First an illusion of sound, guards advancing down the hall. Second, an illusory group of three guards appeared alongside Raikyyn. Lastly, an illusion on Raikyyn himself, to appear as another guard.

Phew, let's hope this works.

Raikyyn and his group of guards walked down the corridor, matching the sound of footsteps. Raikyyn appeared outside the doorway that he heard the voice from. Inside sat two men, one robed, the other dressed like a warrior. This one in the robes must be him, he matches all of the descriptions and sketches.

"Magus of the Gemini," Raikyyn said, speaking with a different tone than his usual, "Come with us. Your presence has been requested by the trainer. There's been an incident."

"I ain't gonna stop ya." The caged creature answered.
Well, at least she doesn't mistrust you before you earn it...

Leery, Danairia slowly opened the door and inspected the inside for the slave and exactly how much needed cleaning, to find herself surprised. While the bowl was thrown at the girl, there seemed to be a minimal amount of the mess located on her, as if the bowl impacted and neatly bounced out and downward, leaving only a little bit on her cheek and the rest on the floor with a small portion splattering on the side of her rags. It was only right that she would make such a light-hearted comment about her being the 'lovely lady' assigned as help to the rather harshly behaved employee at the local inn.

The Tlamani could not help but lazily blink at the joke as if she wanted to roll her eyes but simply lacked the care to do so. "...Hah.." she dully reacted to the joke. "He's never in a good mood. Don't ever expect him to be." Danairia began before pausing. "I'll be right back."

She stands and is gone, shutting the door behind her for a minute before returning and coming back in with a few separate rags for cleaning. As if perfectly rehearsed to not have a single care expressed through any of the spoken words, the Tlamani begins to give some kind of introduction.

"His name is Zilindar Kail but he wills that we refer to him as 'master' or the occasional 'sir'. You'll learn to somewhat read into how he feels about things or his current mood and how to adapt to it but don't expect too much of a difference in how he acts toward you. Just try to do as he says and try to avoid him noticing you and you'll be fine."

"Here," Danairia offers as she raises one of the rags to the slave's cheek and quickly presses it to her face, without bothering to ask, cleaning the bit of slop in a slight haste to get the job over with before going back to the messy stone floor.

"He'll train you hard as a fighter and expects to make money off of you. The best way of keeping yourself from letting him shit on ya is to do well in the pits, which shouldn't be an issue, considering it's that or dying anyway, but remain obedient and out of his sight and he'll generally leave you alone." She stops a moment to readjust the loose, poor excuse for clothing around her again.

"If you need anything, I don't plan on dying anytime soon. My name is Danairia."

In truth, it was not in Danairia's hands whether she would live or die through tonight's fight and she knew it. The same thing happened to the one assigned to help her clean up the mess in her cell and Danairia herself has been in a few close calls, despite her pre-colosseum training and experience fighting.
But the story of that is for another time...

Vadania grimaced at the mildly-juvenile treatment the redhead was giving her, but it was over before she could voice a complaint.

"Don't worry about me..." she said as she pulled a loose lock of hair out of her face. "If you've lived on the streets for as long as I have you either learn how to fight or bleed out in some rat-infested alley... You're either in front of the knife or behind it."

"I don't plan on staying long, though." Vadania continued as she jumped to her feet and began pacing across the small cell. "First, there's no way I'm letting that prick treat me like some sort of prized bulldog to show off to all of his rich friends because he can't get a bitch of his own... Second, there's a lot of gold on my head, and I'm sure word of my little predicament has reached less-than-friendly ears."

"So..." she turned to face Danairia, who stood a good head taller than her. "You wanna do something for me? I need to know the layout of this place, and where my gear might be. Think you can do that, Dana'?"

"Maybe..." Vadania gave her a mischievous smile and a wink. "Just maybe, when I bust out of this joint... I'll let you tag along for the ride."

Danairia does not slow from cleaning as the dark-skin in front of her babbles about how staying in the street taught her how to survive. It was ridiculous to her. A lack of place to stay at night did not provide prosperity and she knew it well...for a few days after what little currency she brought with her from home ran out. But she stopped looking for jobs in what she was not trained to do and resorted to scouting for business in what never ran empty on demand: blood, and any kind of skill could grant one a job in it.
Low and behold, Danaria had a belly of bread, hard drink to wash it down, and a bed to pass out in when Hell's dew had done its purpose, all courtesy of the local inn at wherever her work brought her to.

But then something was said that did intrigue her. The information that her Duuthesh friend had plans to be out of her cell before long. Now, THAT was always interesting to hear. They always said nonsense like that. Well...not always. Not the smart ones at least. But, when it was said, it was always funny and Danairia could not pass that up.
...So maybe she would stop a moment to take a listen.

One sentence in and it is already promising. She speaks of 'not letting' Kail do something as if a slave has any choice in the matter. But, then, something more unusual befalls Danairia's ears...apparently there is a bounty on her head.
How could one have a bounty on their head if they are one of Kail's? He may be The Dark One himself but he is an honest man at least. There have been a couple illegally obtained slaves in the past but Danairia could not see her master partaking in it himself. Especially since theft and deeds of the like are punished so harshly by him. Either something is wrong or he is the worst kind of hypocrite.

But she continued talking. What came next was a request for the layout of the place and the location of the lock-up where the slaves' gear are all located. "Maybe," she added. "Just maybe, when I bust out of this joint... I'll let you tag along for the ride."

"Look-Blacky," Danairia told the slave after she had finished. "There isn't any way out of this house o' Hell. I hate to break it to ya, but you need a way to get out while Kail isn't watching, you need to somehow get the cells unlocked, you need to do it quiet enough for him to not hear, and you need a way to navigate around without being spotted if it is after dark-which is when it'll have to be, if you want to go out while Kail sleeps. But don't expect that to stop him from hearing you if you could unlock it in the first place."
Danairia crosses her arms. "And, if Kail caught somebody sneaking out, bets would be placed not on who would win, but on how quickly he could put his foot to your neck. Then he would kick you in the throat and a huge argument would erupt about if that counted or if it only ended when it was between his foot and the ground and it would be a much more difficult time for you here then on out."

...It sounds ridiculous but she only says this because something like that already happened once before. A fighter's cell was accidentally skipped when Kail was locking them. He tried to get out but was caught when his cell's door squeaked upon opening it.
Bets of future chow were placed on how quickly Kail would knock the man out but he ended up tripping and knocking himself out on one of the wooden cell doors. A rather harsh verbal exchange about whether it counted or not ensued...one which may or may not have involved Danairia angrily kicking her door over her own bet and falling over in pain...
That probably did not happen...just throwing that out there...

Dhaxi put down his piece of bread first and wiped his mouth of crumbs with the napkin. Beyond the chirping birds, he could hear the subdued voices of the city beyond the walls of his home.

Phrina noticed her companion had paused, her expression softened, "Something troubles you."

She waited for a response, but knowing Dhaxi, he would not reply with frankness about such feelings. He had always been contained when it came to his emotions and anxieties.

"It is about the boy, is it not?"

Dhaxi inhaled deep and exhaled, "Yes, he is a great fighter. One of the best I have had in years."

"And what of Gythos, Balphon?"

"The boy is as skilled as they are, but he lacks what they have. Submission. Every now and then he defies me, never in the open, but I sense the discontentment boiling beneath."

"Ah, his independent streak..." Phrina scooped some of the onions and yogurt into her mouth.

"The boy's stubbornness confounds me, Mazha. At every moment that I try to instill into him the notion that he will NEVER leave the arenas, he..." Dhaxi paused.

Phrina chuckled before she took a bite of the tomatoes that had soaked in olive oil.

"I don't understand. He has been a slave longer than he has been a freeman. And yet..."

Phrina swallowed her last bite, "Perhaps it is the will of Oelne."

Dhaxi dismissed the notion with a wave, "Mazha you can't possibly expect me to buy that."

"No, you never buy anything I sell, I've come to expect that."

"Mazha..."

"I don't own gladiators, so I know not of your struggles."

"You jest, Mazha. Owning gladiators is like owning any other servant, except their duty is to fight," as Dhaxi said this another servant took the emptied basket of bread and replaced it with one full of piping hot buns of rich brown that were soft to the touch.

Phrina took a bun as soon as the servant left, "What do you want me to do?"

Dhaxi leaned in, "I want you to set him up for a fight with one of Kail's fighters."

Phrina stopped, her eyes beamed quizzical in his direction.

The slavemaster whispered, "The lion perhaps. They've grown too fond for my comfort."

Then she cleared her throat and said, "The boy is not ready for him, but mayhaps the Tlamani girl would suffice? She shouldn't be too much trouble for him?"

"Very well, can you draw it up for tomorrow?"

Phrina wiped her mouth and stood up, "I can make arrangements. Lunch was pleasant, a bit too mild for my tastes."

"A better one can still be found Dhaxi," she smiled, gave a polite curtsy that signaled her departure and she left through the hanging beads.

People hailed the "Luckless Maiden" as one of the best taverns in all of Opynonias, which did not say much to its quality. If it was considered one of the best taverns in Opynonias, then it was judged based on the amicable dispositions of its tavern keepers, in particular a certain Hans Holst.

He conversed with a woman shrouded in a cloak to remain hidden, for fear that her quest might be sidetracked by those of more ill intent.

"I think I might know a gal. She's a formidable fighter, decent at least. She's a Tlamani from Kes, one of your people?"

"Not quite," the woman exhaled, "Might I know of her?"

"Well I..." Hans paused as his mind traced back to the night he met the drunkard of Kes, "You know, I'm not sure. She might have some notoriety, but..." he chuckled as he trailed off.

"Well I want to thank you for your services."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," Hans said as he wiped an empty mug and placed it on the rack behind him.

The stranger smiled and issued forth a couple of silvers and departed.

Huo and Tum came in after she had left. The Osu swung around, he could have sworn she looked familiar. He struggled to remember their face, but he shrugged, maybe he was seeing things.

"Two mugs of your finest mead!" two fingers hoisted up in the air in front of the sociable tavern keeper.

Hans Holst smiled because he had never seen those fingers before. Though, he could guess whom they belonged to. Not many Felidin saw the streets of Opynonias except for one in particular.

"Coming right up sir!"

Huo and Tum seated themselves at a table in the middle of the dimly lit tavern, where a few peep holes permitted some sunlight in. They sat in the middle of all the goings on in the tavern. If any fights started, they had front row seats.

Moments later Hans stepped by with his tray of mugs and slid them over to the two fighters who sat with patience.

Huo nodded, "Thanks."

"So what brings both you good sirs to our lovely establishment this fine day?"

Huo propped up his pair of feet on the table and took his mug, "We heard this place had some fine drinks."

Tum tossed Huo a lemon, gestured to him to squeeze it into his mug, then he turned to the tavern keeper.

The lion leaned forward, smiling with his teeth and fangs proud and obvious, "And some luckless maidens..."

Vadania raised her eyebrow quizzically at Dani's response before rolling her eyes in annoyance. She thought about decking her just to prove her point, but that likely would have been counter-productive.

"First of all," Vadania put a hand on her hip, "That was racist. Second, you just listed the top three skills on my resume. Have you seen that lock? A drunk orc with a rusty nail could pick it with his bloody eyes closed."

Vadania circled around her to peak out into the hallway before turning back to her elven companion. "Tell ya what... How 'bout a deal. Tonight, after everyone goes to sleep, I'll give you a demonstration of my skills. When I amaze you with my talent, will you at least consider my proposal?"

The gears were already turning in Vadania's head. After everyone drifted off, she would break out of her cell and sneak down to the larder. Vadania figured they kept some of the good stuff - not this hog paste - locked away for officers and VIPs. Once she acquired her loot, Vadania would return to the cell block, open Dani's cell, and share in the spoils.

A mischievous smile spread across her dark features. It was going to be a cinch.

"Careful with them ears, miss, y'shake your head and you might poke somebody in the eye," the elf teases in response to being called a racist. "Myself, I let my hair down when I'm with friends. Don't want any unnecessary injuries."
Danairia takes a look at the lock as if she might see what the slave was talking about, but only sees a lock as she always has. Never has she ever saw a great need in going through the trouble of learning how to pick locks when she always found it easier to bust them open instead.
Danairia chuckles at the imagery. "A drunken orc with a rusty nail. I don't see a rusty nail on you and I don't think masons use nails when building stone walls. If you could get yourself out without getting caught..." Danaria smirks as she eyes the imprisoned dark elf up and down. "...as you certainly have had trouble with before, then you'll have a bit more credibility to me."
But, her smirk somewhat fades as she finishes wiping up the last bit of mess from the spilt chow. Perhaps one could see a little bit of seriousness in Danairia's expression? But, then again, lets not get too carried away. This is Danairia being spoken of after all.

"Tell you what," she says, her voice somewhat softer than before. "If you can sneak out and take me with ya, I'll personally show you the way to the lock-up, alright?"

The fighter stands, taking the rags and making her way toward the door. Just before crossing through though, she looks back.

"Y'know, I never did get your name."

Vadania rolled her eyes again at Danairia's comment about her ears, but her cheek tightened into a twitch when she pointed out her predicament. She subtly ground her molars together, but retained her outward composure.

"If you weren't so cute," she thought to herself, "I would be throttling you right now for that remark. Who does she think she is? The only reason I'm in here right now is because some old snoz got lucky with a shovel..."

"Alright." Vadania snorted as she sat down and folded her arms behind her head. "You're on. Just make sure to stay quiet... Can't have you stumbling around making a racket. They might think a storm giant is attacking the city."

She gave Danairia a wink before continuing. "Name's Vadania. Try not to die between now and tonight, 'kay?"

Once Danairia left her cell, Vadania ran a hand through her hair and fished out the lockpick she stashed earlier. She hummed to herself before placing it in a small crack in the mortar. It wouldn't do to have it fall out somewhere before her escape - that would have been embarrassing. Vadania shifted herself to a more comfortable position and closed her eyes. Hopefully she could get a bit of real sleep in before the next interruption.

"It's almost like a vacation..." she smirked. "Except the tavern wench is an angry man with a whip and the room service sucks... Still, better than an alleyway."

High above in the second level of the stands, Lir sat watching a bout commence. Her eyes at present were engaged with a so-called lion tamer, there was much he needed to learn about taming beasts. He should try taming elemental beasts. Her thoughts took her back to those early days when they were tossed into a training hall with nothing more than their wands and their bodies. Then those creatures came rushing forth out of a dark tunnel before them. It took everything she had, every ounce of mana she possessed along with that of her fellow students to restrain the beasts and force them back.

She looked at the lion tamer as he grappled with the beast, that was child's play. Her patience, she was aware, was waning. She shifted glances to her fellow patrons who cheered with vigor. She knew gladiators and fighters were not allowed in the stands.

Then the lion tamer had managed to tame his quarry. A gong sounded and the arena fell silent, conversation and chatter resumed among the patrons instead of screaming and hollering.

She had no possible clue as to the whereabouts of Antius. She knew not where to begin, her trek through the dark dungeons seemed a waste of time, and time was not something she could waste like a frivoulous child. She turned to a man sitting beside her.

"Excuse me sir? Have you seen the 'Magus of the Gemini' today?"

The townsperson turned to greet her face, and upon laying eyes on her countenance, he fell silent for a bit. Then he spoke.

"Nay miss, I haven't. He's not due to fight today, you can check the boards."

"Boards?"

"Aye, ye din't see 'em? Large wooden boards outside before ye came in, lists all the fighters to show face today."

"Ah," Lir had entered the stands, not from the audiences' entrance, but from the fighters' entrance, "Thank you sir."

She hurried out to the open hall where she could see stands were selling food. People chocked the domed roof hall in full, it seemed a big night. The thoroughfares between the columns had a menagerie of people conversing. It seemed more orderly outside the arena. When she smelled the roasted chicken, her stomach began to grumble. She sighed and felt resigned at her hunger, but she kept walking until she approached the board that the common man mentioned.

Her eyes scrolled down the list as did everyone else's who had a stake among the fighters.

The next fight coming up involved a fellow named The Savage and another named Cairth. The fight after that listed two sobriquets more sobriquets instead of real names. Headsplitter versus The Champion.

"Oy, I've got big coin on that Cairth fellow!" yelled one.

"Put me down for Savage!" said another.

"'At Headspi'uh fellow, me hears he be another diffn't level from the Champ. Dis might be the end of 'is reign as we knows it."

"'Eadspli'uh 'ill git 'is 'ead spli," another laughed.

Racketeeing in fights was not much of a crime in the southern cities. It was a crime in north, and Lir was taken aback at how flagrant they were in their dealings. It was none of her business. In a colosseum so full of people, how could she expect to find him. She had no choice but to reenter the bowels of the colosseum again like a lost lamb, if nothing more than to avoid the smell of food.

-

A young mage stumbling along a dark passageway, Lir thought that would make a fine memoir title. She would begin writing the manuscript for such a tale if she had the gall and wits to see the tale through to its rightful conclusion. Until then, she would have to settle for the dark and damp corridors of a colosseum that stood on the west end of a city in the southern reaches of the Empire.

Still no Magus, she could feel her anxiety rise, but she kept reminding herself that Antius was real and present, somewhere within the winding bowels of the structure. She reminded herself she survived this far, no sense in carrying dread.

Sins were being committed by the Academy, and she had to bring to justice the people who murdered her friends.

Then she felt it. Magic. It was here and familiar. She took a breath, there were few magic users in Opynonias. This could be the friend she spent a day looking for, or a foe she had spent weeks running from, or neither, which was good enough too.

As the spectators slowly made their way back to their seats, it was nearing the end of the intermission. The rows were decorated with all sorts of different walks of life, from aristocrats to paupers, men and women alike and even children here-and-there as their parents taught them through example the enjoyment of the violent sport which they spectated. Two men sat together close to the center of the stands and, despite being complete strangers to each other before the day had started, seem to have struck up a continual conversation of commentary through each fight.

"Man, that lion was cool..." said one of the men to the other, of a somewhat larger belt size than the average gentleman, as he had return from below for some concessions. The larger man looked at the fellow as if he had just developed a funny way of speaking and stated that he enjoyed turtles.

"It was a lion. Wha'sso great abou' that lion in pa'ticular?" he questioned.

The man looked as if the large one had just insulted his mother and retorted as his arms shot up into the sky, "Hey, what do you mean? You talk as though lions in general aren't awesome!"

The large man could not help but laugh. "It's a stupid lion," he said as though it were a matter of fact.

"But they're so big and ferocious and awesome AND FUZZY!", the smaller man exclaims, causing an elderly gentleman sitting next to him to flinch. "Remember that one guy this morning that was part lion?"

"Aye, 'e made bru'ally shor' work o' tha' poor sod in fron' o' him an' lef' like 'e had jus' emptie' the chamber pot, bu' Tumhathil is a regular figh'er 'ere an' HE is special. Tha' stupid lion from a few minu'es ago was no differen' from e'ery other stupid lion ou' there," explained the larger man.

The skinny man sighed. "Whatever you say, you poor lifeless man. So, who's up next in a moment here? Did ya get a look at the boards?"

"Aye," the man replied. "Twin an' some guy called 'Savage'."

"Savage?" The apparant lion-enthusiast questioned. "Wait, you've never seen The Savage before?" The large man looked surprised, as though he believed this to be the fighter's first go.

"No?" He questioned. "Bu' I've seen Twin in 'is las' figh' an' there i'n' no way he' checkin' ou' any time soon."

"Y'willing to put money on it?" The skinny man challenged.

Not to be tricked, the big man is hesitant but his smaller counter part adds the detail, "Savage is female" and he relents, putting down enough to satisfy three grown men at the local tavern of hunger, thirst, thirst, and love.

Down at her gate, Kail stands silent, giving Danairia his usual death stare while she and a worker slave strapped on her gear but there was a difference, as always when he sends her out to a fight. There was a pinch of pride, brought about by his competitive nature. Swallowing deeply, the elf swings around her belt and feeds the excess through her buckle before tying the strap to keep it aimed straight down and out of the way. With the small amount of armor she has strapped tight to her limbs and her machete secured to her lower back, Danairia turns to face her owner before continuing on the tradition shared by all of Kail's fighters before they went out.

"Master, request the opportunity to kick some ass?"

The hulking man simply looks at the smaller elf before him, as if there was any other option.

"Go away, Butch."

Order acknowledged, Danairia says, "Yes, master!" and carries on out to face the obstacle before her.

As she exits the tunnel, a gust of wind from the open sky blows her hair about, a rare and great feeling to her, and cools her head beneath. The large man among the other-now cheering-spectators begins to smile.

"Yyyep, get 'er ready, boy, your purse i' gonna be a pretty copper ligh'er! If yeh wan', I can jus' call off the be'n'take half fro' ya now!" The man offers but his companion only seems to smirk.

"Hhhhalright! Who am I facing now?" Danairia wonders, just as a shade begins to appear in the opposite tunnel. Before her emerges a Sivyne with just as light of an amount of armor as Danairia, wearing only a leather chest piece to cover his moderately toned torso and two shin guards over a pair of trousers while a white, featureless mask covers his face. 'Twin' is a fighter known for his style based around reach and flexibility, accented by-

"...You son of a whore..."

-twin longswords...

Danairia instantly becomes jealous.

What are you doing with those? THAT is MY style you're wielding and I DO NOT appreciate it!

Danairia is not like the stereotype of her people; magical expert marksmen with the longbow who can pin a fly to a tree but refrain from such practice as it would harm the world of nature they so-love.

"Ah!" Danairia swats a mosquito attempting to feed from her arm. "Fucking asshole..."

No, Danairia is something else entirely. She cannot stand the culture of her people and finds most of them to be far too "prissy" for her liking, she hates every animal that is not delicious to eat, and she can barely shoot a longbow anywhere close to straight-let alone aim it well enough to pin anything to an incredibly large...anything else. But there is, however, one thing she shares with her kind: flexibility, and she has always taken advantage of her natural ability by wielding a pair of longswords. Such has been the case from when she began training in her youth, all the way to just before she was captured and made a gladiator. Her swords were taken from her to be replaced by a short sword and now her machete.

All the while:

THIS asshole just struts in, like he owns the damn place, fuckin'-with MY STYLE and people are all like 'oooh~ he's so awesome using two swords like that'-FUCK you! I did what you're doing before it was cool! They all probably gave him some cool name based off of the fact that he uses them too! Bitch-ass posing mother fucker!

While Danairia has her internal temper tantrum, Twin makes his way into the open and the two meet up in the middle with a fair gap between them. Danairia puts on her helmet and tightens the strap on the side but refrains from gripping her weapon's hilt. Not before knowing one thing.

"Okay, before we start...what is your name?" She asks the man.

"Cairth Kingsman?" Her opponent curiously answers.

"-No, I don't care about that. What is YOUR STAGE name?" The elf clarifies.

"...Twin?-"

"-I FUCKING KNEW IT!" Danairia exclaims as she violently draws her cleaver.

"You're ridiculous!" Twin yells at her as he unsheathes his swords in a tall, vertical draw, crossing them against each other and creating sparks to accompany the vibrant sing of steel in the air. The crowd roars at the excellent display of showmanship.

Poser-ass BITCH!

Danairia charges forth, diagonally sweeping her machete up but Twin effortlessly parries by inverting his left blade and immediately counterattacks with his right in a quick lunge to regain some distance. She ducks back and awkwardly swings at the empty air left behind by Twin's blade. The crowd cheers for first contact.

Twin circles around his obviously disadvantaged prey but she gives him no slack, staying with her front to him every step of the way. A quick strike by Twin, lunging for her legs with left to distract and then sweeping with his right-the real attack intended-but Danairia is just as quick, blocking the first tease and flicking her blade back to her left to parry the sweep. Steel clanks against steel. *Cling~click!*

Seeing an opening, though small, Danairia makes the attempt, reaching forward with her machete only to find herself not even coming close to catching Twin unaware. He makes a hard swing with his left, forcing Danairia to abandon her commitment and swipe right to block but it is not the only retaliation. Twin, foreseeing her movement, swings with his right. The skinny man who bet against Twin flinches in horror.

Letting out a sharp yelp, Danairia ducks down and rolls back before stumbling to her feet and raising her blade to her opponent again, breathing heavily. Taking the initiative, Twin does not offer a breather. He springs forward, bringing both swords in and crossing them out in a single attack but his opponent bends back in another dodge. Seeing an opening again, Danairia commits once more but with a more conservative thrust of her foot into his shin, causing him to stumble, unhurt but off balance. From there, the elf takes advantage of the extra reach offered by her legs by quickly recovering from her last kick and sending another into Twin's exposed stomach, putting him to the dirt. A direct hit. However, he quickly recovers and kicks himself back to his feet.

That was a whole lot of fucking useless!

Danairia kicks off forward, attempting to salvage what she can of the situation, but is met only with steel as Twin inverts and crosses his swords right where The Savage was making her attack. With push forward and a flick of his wrists, Danairia is shoved back to where she was. Both breathing heavily, Twin's blades lower to Skaerra and he once again begins to circle around the elf, glaring at her through the rectangular openings in his mask. Danairia glares back, also out of breath. Quickly, she attempts to devise a strategy to counter Twin's reach and level of attack flexibility.

There's got to be SOMETHING I can do...

Time is up. Twin leaps forward, bringing both swords up to his right and diagonally swinging them back down one after the other. Danairia does her best to parry each strike, much more forceful than any previous, and finds success but it is not yet over. Instead of halting, Twin carries on in his swing, spinning back around with both swords again and nearly knocking the machete from Danairia's hands. Slowing his blades to a stop at his lower left Twin swings both back up at the same time, finally sending the cleaver into the air and back off behind and to Danairia's left.

Twin brings down his left blade upon The Savage but she bends away to dodge and jumps back, landing on her bottom before scurrying to her feet and sprinting off away from Twin to get her weapon. But then, it comes to her...

THAT'S NOT A BAD IDEA!

Danairia reaches down, grabs her weapon and instinctively swipes back behind her. A good practice of chance which saves her from both blades being brought down. Her weapon redirects Twin's swords off to his right but it does not stop his momentum from carrying from his chest and into the elf's face, sending her right back to the dirt and causing her to fall face down.

Having seemingly had enough, the girl pushes up from the Earth but her legs don't move beyond propping her up on her side. Lowering his swords, Twin slowly approaches, preparing to make the final, ending strike...

"THINKFASTBITCH!"

Danairia twists around and whips her machete as hard as accuracy allows her. The crowd watches in pure excitement as the blade of the weapon impacts directly with Twin's chest...

"YES!!-FUCK!!!!"

...piece...

Taken aback by the sneak attack, Twin stumbles to his hind, falling, and letting go of his swords in an attempt to catch himself but accidentally pushes forward on their hilts in his reaction. The action sends his weapons up and causes them to land almost perfectly between both fighters...

...

MINE!

Danairia pushes off of the ground as Twin has trouble simply getting back on his feet. Quickly, the longswords are recovered by the elf and a rush of pure joy and nostalgia courses through her body.

Oh-by the creator did I miss a wonderful set of weapons like you...BEAUTIFUL siblings!

The elf looks over at Twin, her machete still sticking out of his chest piece.

"And now you're in trouble..." she warns him.

"Funny. I don't see anything blocking you from sudden death," Twin bites back as he dislodges the blade from his armor.

Cheeky bastard.

Danairia takes the initiative, twirling both weapons backward as if she has not once let go since picking up her first pair of swords, slinging the blades forward and crossing them at the tips, where she aimed her strike. The move is parried but the failed attack is quickly replaced with an upper left diagonal swing and another mirrored by her other arm. Both are also parried but, with each strike, Twin becomes more flustered...and Danairia only increases in speed...

Swing after swing of light attacks increase in frequency. *Click click click-click-clickclickcliclickclclick!*

*CLING!~*

A powerful upward vertical slash with Danairia's right blade. Her machete flies from the hands of Twin. It soars through the air, still singing from the strike all the way until it is suppressed by the ground as the blade penetrates the dirt.

Twin's mask comes apart down the middle. A single vertical slit of red forms on the tip of his nose as the two pieces fall away to reveal the surprised expression on his face.

The elf quietly lowers her weapon back down to meet its twin and Danairia tilts the blades up, pointing forward as she forces both through her opponent's exposed stomach.

Danairia pauses...
...and then pulls them back, allowing Twin to drop to his knees and then face down. It is but a moment after blood begins to pool around him that The Savage raises her right sword to the sky as the crowd cheers and a few poor souls sit, quietly morning their monetary loss.

The skinny man nudges his bigger friend as he scoops up his winnings. "The first thing I'm gonna buy..."

He smirks.

"...is a baby lion."

Vadania waited until Danairia returned from her match before making so much as a peep from her cell. She stubbornly declined the evening meal if it could have been called such. The dark elf counted down the hours until the moon was likely overhead before rising from her cot. Vadania quickly retrieved the lockpick she had hidden earlier that day and carefully examined the cell door.

It was only a few brief seconds later that Vadania was carefully opening the door. It swung only far enough for her slender form to squeeze through, so rebellious hinges would not wake any of her neighbors. Vadania slinked through the shadows of the corridor until she found Danairia's cell. She crossed her arms and quietly hummed in thought.

On one hand, Vadania could wake Danairia up and take her with in tonight's excursion. However, this particular mission required stealth, and Vadania could not discern the other elf's aptitude in the area. She could not afford to be caught in such a trivial task.

The second option was to continue with this step alone. Vadania could locate the larder without too much difficulty. It would likely be in a central location or near the barracks. However, Vadania would just be aimlessly wandering the halls until she encountered a sign or staff she could follow. After she returned, though, she and Dani could escape to find their gear. Vadania figured the chances of encountering trouble would be higher in that part of the plan.

So Vadania continued down the hallway towards the entrance of the prison - or maybe slave quarters? - and checked for any guards. When Vadania was satisfied that she was alone, she crept down the hall with her knees bent and her ears on a swivel.

Huo careened against one of the walls in a dark passageway of the colosseum. He held part of Tumhathil's weight as the ale finally made the fool of a lion.

The lion may have said something, but Huo rolled his eyes as though the words meant nothing other than gibberish. In fact, the lion spout nothing but gibberish the entire walk back, first when he started to stumble and then when he collasped just as a wagon rumbled by. They passed by several insulas before they reached the braziers of the Colosseum. When they arrived, Huo noticed Imperial soldiers cordoning off an entrance.

They slipped through another smaller entry, less crowded and not quite known to many.

"Alright old man, easy there," Huo tried to control their pace.

Carrying the lion seemed like a two person job. Kail's ward seemed so far away, or maybe Huo finally felt the effects of the ale himself.

When they reached the cells, Huo could smell a musk odor from within. Darkness shrouded the ward, dankness filled it. It needed more torches, as did any of the other gladiator cells. A single brazier lit the empty and quiet cell block. Most of the fighters slept, preparing for tomorrow. The flames glinted off the rusted metalwork bars.

He heard the dulled echoes of the colosseum crowd. The sound of a leak dripping without cessation pervaded moreso in this corner of the gargantuan labyrinth, though. He watched as it formed a small gloomy puddle in a pointless corner of the ward. The water came from the floor above perhaps from one of the baths. The ceiling tiles needed some repairs, otherwise this floor might end up flooded eventually.

Huo set the lion down against a wall outside of a cell, he peered in to see an elf woman sleeping inside through the commotion. She seemed to be dreaming. Even slaves dreamt. Huo sat himself down on the opposite wall and heaved several quiet sighs until his heart settled. He kept his voice low as he spoke to the lion, unsure if Tum still resided in a state of drunkeness.

"I need to go. I...I just..," he never had eloquence, "I can't get those visions out of my head. That woman, I saw her nearly everywhere today, I might have seen her when we came to that tavern."

The lion murmured, half snored, and then spoke, "Who? Go? Where you going? Bring back some jerky for me."

"I don't think where I'm going will have jerky."

"I remember a place full of sand as far as the eye could see..." the lion cleared his throat, Huo considered whether or not he was drunk.

The Osu looked at his hand and he could feel it burning. He drew some of the flame from the nearby brazier until the ember danced in his hand on its own, fueled by the flow or else it would die. His face glowed bronze as it flickered.

"Where do you think you're going? This is the life for people like us boy. The only way out is to fight your way out," the lion chuckled.

Huo dispersed of the flame and looked at the lion who sat there with eyes shut.

"I don't even remember what my mother's face looks like," Tum said.

Huo considered the lion's words for a moment. He watched the lion exhale. An echo of voices came along the corridor. Was that Zilindar Kail? Sounded like him. Shit.

I need to get out of here, Huo thought. He got up, but stumbled. Damn that ale. He shook his head to clear the drowsiness. Time to leave, he looked back at the lion. It might not be the last time he would ever see the lion. Or it was. Ale was not a bad way to say goodbye to a friend.

-

"Where is the boy?" Dhaxi asked one of his servants.

He sat in his personal balcony overlooking the stands below. Normally, all fights happened early in the day, but this was a special occasion.

"We followed them as far as we could into the city. They arrived at the tavern and apparently, one of them got into a fist fight with some Imperial soldiers."

"Is that why they are outside? Because the boy committed a crime?"

"He didn't commit any crime, milord."

"Assault on an imperial soldier, may as well be one."

The servant remained silent, waiting for an approaching order.

Dhaxi spoke in uncharacteristic fashion, "Let him go, he won't get far, he just needs to stay away long enough for the heat to die down. I want someone on him, preferably someone skilled who can bring him back when the time comes. Can you find one?"

"I think I can."

-

Moments later, Huo stood in the near empty armory. Almost all of the staff went off to enjoy the final fight. It had not even started, and the crowd seemed in a frenzy. Just the appearance of the so-called Dragoneater could make a man piss his pants silly. The name came from a one sided bout. An old bushy browed weaponsmaster, the same one he had delivered his equipment to in the morning, appeared from the interior.

"You have it?"

"Yeh lad, what d'ye need it fer this hour o' the night?" the weaponsmaster handed him his gauntlets, iron cuirass, and boots, "I can't give ye yer weapons, madame's policy."

Huo began strapping on his equipment and nodded to the old man, "I understand."

"Yer nut set to fight tonight. Th' last one's 'bout teh start. Ye gwan..."

Huo had already disappeared down the corridor.

-

"We are in the middle of a fight. Can this not wait until all have left?" Phrina pleaded with the Lieutenant Farnham.

"Sire," one of Farnham's corporals spoke, "This colosseum is too large for all of us to search before night's end."

"We only need to find dark elves," Farnham turned to Phrina,"On the contrary, madame, when this place becomes choked with the crowds, we may have an even harder time identifying this thief."

Phrina folded her arms, unsure of what to do next. She felt grateful that they had not asked her about her taxes, they were not tax collectors. Thank goodness. Yet, having all of this steel clanging in the halls outside made her uneasy.

"Wait, there was incident earlier today of a Duuthesh having beaten down a number of gladiators," she tried to connect the dots to make it somewhat believable to herself, "It's possible that he came to break the girl out."

"This happened earlier today? And then what? Where is he?"

Phrina paused before she propped up an excuse, "Well, at first we thought he was merely an independent, upstart challenger seeking to prove himself, so we let him be."

The lieutenant crossed his arms, "So you let him go."

The colosseum owner breathed a sigh through her nostrils that spoke it all.

Lieutenant Gabeil and his men arrived.

"Gabeil. I need you to round up any Duuthesh present in the Colosseum. And where the hell is Miss Capet?"

As if a shadow herself, Vadania seemingly skipped through the darkness; a quick stone, gliding across the surface of the pond, leaving only ripples in the surroundings of where she had previously been, only to already be gone by the time anyone would have noticed any kind of movement. It was far too quiet to be normal. She has yet to see even one presence of a guard detail or any other opposition and she was already seeing indications that the 'chow hall' was nearby. How peculiar it was.
As if to prove her wrong, fate would have it that two guards could be heard rounding the nearby corner. Perking up at the jingle of chains, Vadania dives behind a crate, hiding in it's shadow, despite the fact that it holds nearly the same level of illumination as her surroundings with the twilight-nearing sky providing much less light than but an hour prior. Cursing the effect dark vision has on her abilities to sneak around people at night, the thief quietly thought jealously about those fortunate enough to have the ability to manipulate shadow through magic to suit their needs, for it would certainly be a useful trick to conceal herself further. Instead, she prepared herself. If she were to be discovered, there was no way she was going to go back to that cell. Not a chance in Hell.

"Hurry up, y'snail. 'e figh's a'ready sta'ted! Can't y' hear tha'?" One of the guards badgered the other as they passed by. The two men rounded another corner before hurrying their way up a flight of stairs. They seemed far too interested to have come even close to glancing down to their left and seeing Vadania prepared to fight for her freedom.
Vadania sighs.

That's right...some of the meat in the rest of that asshole's cell block were talking about some big fight going on. That must be where everyone is.

The Duuthesh peaks from around the crate and begins to move once more.
That should make this much easier. Cannot be too careful but at least I can expect the welcome fact that there is less chance of being spotted.
It only had been but a short moment before Vadania reached the hall. Not more than a few mess slave workers were left there and they stood around chatting anyway, for it appears even their handler had left to watch the fight, despite the likelihood that such an act would be unauthorized. What people did not know would not hurt them, sure, but Vadania could not help but victoriously chuckle. Someone did know and they would live out the remainder of their days without as much as a hint that they had failed in their little attempt to be slick!

Apparently feeling especially childish this evening, the thief carefully sneaks through the side of the room and into the kitchen, looking around for her target.
That store room has to be around here somewhere...
Vadania moves through the serving area, scanning through to the back walls, in search of some kind of door or opening...but finds something else. A set of rather...useful cooking utensils for her current needs. Looking around her to assess her surroundings for any threats, she moves down the length of the counter and acquires a kitchen knife from the surface, inspecting its edge to find it nice and sharp.

Perfect...

Still crouched, Vadania glides down to the end of the counter space before peaking around and finding an opening, lightly covered by a curtain. 'Bingo,' thought the elf as she slipped in.
It certainly was the storeroom for the food, that much was obvious. Various unprepared ingredients lay unprotected upon shelves. Slop may be a rather...popular delicacy around here but there is more than just that. Likely for the patrons not subjected to any kind of ownership, the likes of meat and actual bread lay upon some of the shelves.
Vadania's stomach growls at the presence of actual food. There is no greater desire than to indulge in the taste of meat but there was no way to cook it. The situation cannot be helped. She will just have to stick with a bit of bread and cheese and be happy that there is anything worth grabbing at all.
Quickly, the Duuthesh girl skims across the shelves, grabbing a half-full sack of potatoes, dumping them out, and using the empty bag to hold each loaf of bread; each wedge of cheese. Only a few of each go in but it is enough to not restrict movement too much while providing an appropriate amount for the two.
Danairia seemed to be quite the thin one. She should be okay with this much.
With that thought confirming there was enough, Vadania closes the bag and makes her way back.
-
The room seemed to hold a comfortable noisiness to it. The familiar sounds of drunken patrons lent their presence to the atmosphere as a group celebrated the day while another seemed to be helping a rather elderly gentleman stand up. "Alright, old man," the younger one encouraged, "easy there..."
There she was, sitting in the other corner of the tavern, a plate of jerky oddly enough sitting in front of her. The sensation of déjà vu already tugged at Danairia to move toward the woman before she could even think about doing so and a seemingly familiar cloaked woman greeted her. The soft voice of an elvish kind graced her ears, beginning to ask for Danairia's name, only to be interrupted within the very second she began. "Oh great...you people," the drunkard started sarcastically before giving the woman a chance to finish, an unspoken invitation only heeded after staring at the sell-sword.
"My name?" Danairia wondered aloud. "Danairia. But you can call me the Drunkard of-"
The elf's words are cut off by a rather impressive, explosive burp.
"-...Kes." The cloaked woman shoulders seem to drop in an inaudible sigh as her new acquaintance continues to speak. "But I'm not important. Now, tell me YOUR name."
Just as she did previously, the elvish maiden lifts her head, ready to speak...
..."Danairia...get up..."
Confused, Danairia tilts her head and stairs at the cloaked figure, an eyebrow cocked higher than its twin.
"'Ay...you stupid bitch, we gotta go."
The eyebrow falls back down to meet the other in a furrowed expression before Danairia brings up her hand and slugs the stuck up Sindrelei right in her tramp-face.

Danairia's eyes shoot open, her lips curled into a satisfied grin.
...That was a dream? FUCK!
The disappointment of not actually punching one of her own stuck-up kind sets in, bringing the Tlamani back to harsh reality.
"Psst!...Danairia...We gotta go!"
Danairia rolls back over to face her door and sees a familiar set of ears. Giving a quick thumbs up to signify she's awake, the sell-sword sits up and then twists herself to a crouch before standing to meet Vadania through the bars. The thief pulls from a sack, hands Danairia her share of the take, and pulls the familiar lockpick from seemingly out of nowhere to the girl in the cell. Danairia is baffled.
"Now, this will take-"
"-Shhhh!"
Vadania looks up at the window in the cell with a confused expression 'What's wrong with you?' Danairia glares back down, actually appearing quite flustered.
If Kail catches us, we're DEAD. Shut the fuck up.
It was a wordless exchange but it was not hard for Vadania to understand the message. She continued to work while Danairia began eating.

...

*Click*...
Only about 30 seconds have passed before the door was unlocked. She was afraid she would have a little trouble from obvious lack of practice but Vadania was not much slower than she used to be. 30 seconds was still impressive but it is not even close to how fast she can be with regular...practice.
Slowly, Vadania cracks open the door, making a space just wide enough for her new companion to fit through while being careful not to let the hinges creak. With Danairia free, Vadania quietly closes the door and turns to meet the sell-sword...only to find any trace of food to be gone. Confused, Vadania peaks up on her toes through the window of the cell to find nothing and then looks back at the other elf who simply rubs her stomach and shrugs.

That fast?...

Vadania, despite being quite baffled, recovers, motioning for the two to leave. Just as they exit though, another pair enter...

-

Alner tracks the end of the cell block, having noticed something.

What was that?

...

Must've been my imagination...

Kail rushes over to the empty cell which previously held Vadania and inspects the inside.

"...No."

He fumbles for his keys, picking out the key for the cells and jamming it in the lock. He opens the door and checks the rest of the room.

"She's gone!"

Alner, keeping the movement in the dark in mind, orders Kail, "stay here," before rushing out of the door, picking a hallway, and runs forth, hoping he picked the correct passage.

Left alone, Zilindar begins to pace. Thoughts of punishment once more creep into his mind but, this time, nothing stops them from flowing. The situation looks increasingly bleak with each turn and there seems to be no way out of this grave dug for him by someone he only accidentally crossed paths with.

Dammit...what do I do?! By the creator-what do I do?!

A loud 'thump!' resounds from a nearby cell door, the result of the slumping over creature within.

...

He could not accept defeat. Not yet. He still had a means of clearing his name...