"Until Bob Gets Back" Gaming

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"We are the unlucky schmucks. We would just as likely be sent up against each other next combat." Bharnag shrugs. "I'm here until I'm not. Whichever way that goes."

[Deleted]

Kharam chuckles quietly. "True. Just be glad they think we're rubbish--we only get the opening fight, and we don't have to deal with big-shots like the Champion. With the spear and the net there's none better. He would have made mincemeat out of every last one of us."

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"Small blessings. There are a million ways to die in the arena and the champion is but one of them." Bharnag crosses his arms. "My best shot is for a templar to sell me off to work as a mason in another city state. At least in my labors, there would be a chance for eventual freedom." He motions around the room, "This place is just death's foyer."

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Kharam sniffs. "Lucky you. I grew up in a Psionics school here in Nibenay--I've no marketable skills like those. Why not put them to use? See if you can find any usable stone around here and work something out of them, so the Templars know you're worth more than the rest of us. Might be your ticket out of here--especially if you can carve weapons."

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Bharnag laughs heartily, yet there is a pained wicked slant to his laughter. "No. The templars in Nibenay are well aware of my... skills. They need no further demonstrations." With that he turns his back away from Kharam and contemplates the stone of the walls that make up the corner of their quarters.

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Despite the seeming end of the conversation, Kharam persists in spite of his misstep. "Don't you think it is strange that the Templars allowed us to keep our weapons and armor? Stranger still, all these weapons are of bone. I did not expect Nibenay's slaves and forced fighters to be allowed to use weapons carved of the expensive wood that the loggers fell, but...where did they get enough bone for racks of hundreds of weapons wrought of it from, I wonder?" The crowd's cheering is still audible. Their shouting removes the possibility of sleep for all but the most exhausted.

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Bharnag hefts his impaler over his shoulder for Kharam to see the bone pointed top. "Meet Zefundel and Avrem. They did not survive one of our Arena matches a couple months back. Despite my failing them, they still loyally fight by my side." He lowers the bone impaler slowly from view.

Quietly he comments, "This is the first time I've been left with my weapons after a match though..."

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"Someone will be along shortly for them, I am sure...perhaps the Templars are having a bit of trouble keeping all the routines and precautions straight. Something must be going on." The thunder of the crowd's feet almost completely drown out the clashing of bone against bone emanating from the arena floor.

[Quila Oris (John M.)]

Ylonis stands in the barracks a bit bedazzled after the templars had healer her and others. She shakes her head and moves up to Kharam and Bharnag and listens in on their talk.
"I agree with Kharam it is strange they would allow us to keep the weapons and armor. Do any of you know any gladiators or handlers in the Nibenay arena itself?" Tapping her foot and then smiling she continues "I might put my charms to work on them to see if they have any useful information for us going forward."

Having said that Ylonis tries to peer out of both sides of the pen to see if she catches sight of any arena trainer, (freeman) gladiator, or other arena worker in sight and coaxes them for a chat. She tries to glean some information from them, possibly indicating what is up, or what has recently been happening in Nibenay.

(OOC: basically, I'm using the Arena Mage kit's special benefit described on pg. 45-46 of Defilers&Preservers to learn a piece of information)

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Bharnag refuses any aid or healing when the templars come by. During his meditations, the wounds he took from healing others slowly knit together and mend themselves. Though he still bares many injuries, once his meditation is complete the spark has returned to his eyes and his demeanor improves slightly.

He spends the rest of his time inspecting and adjusting the piecemeal armor and sharpening the bone blades and tips of his impaler, tortoise blade and 10 javelins.

[Niachi]

As Yag is led back to the cel, he visibly slumps back into a small, frail thing. His reply is quiet and bitter, rising with conviction:

"Another daay in here is an insult. Aside from the other haa'-giant, are any of us content to fester in here, tossed out as crowd bait?"

He pauses to look at each prisoner, lingering on the kreen and using gestures to punctuate his next words:

I will dig, claw, sneak, bribe, or die trying to get us out of here, to fill our lungs with freedom. We need to work as one, yahh? We each show skills. We will need each skill."

As the adrenaline wears off, he sits  in view of the window and door, and tries to fan the miserable air.

[Deleted]

Ylonis's attempt to garner information would be a good opportunity to use Rimir, considering that as a freeman gladiator, he meets the criteria as a good source of information!

Kharam, in the meantime, offers a little bit of information to answer Nadiya's first question. "I know few names in Nibenay's arena. Agu, the Sleeping Cat, is blind yet fights anyway. The crowd love that one. Then there's the champion. Ruach, Silvertrident! Such a lovely name. The crowd chant it so loudly. Master Piscator, they call him. He is a Half-Elf, and as I stated earlier, a master of the trident and net. No one in Nibenay can hope to best him. Xutan was condemned to the death penalty here, but no one has managed to kill him yet. He's another Half-Elf, from Raam. Used to be a servant to a Templar there. At last, there's Rayne. Human girl, she is--fights from a chariot. Not bad at what she does."

He pauses, taking in Yag's outburst. Kharam indicates the Aarakocra with a jerk of his thumb. "You hear that? That's why slavers don't bother capturing Aarakocra. They're all like that. Whoever dragged that one in here must have been real desperate." Several of the other slaves offer crude grins at Yag'haara's blatant talk of escape. The Thri-Kreen, in particular, seems to be listening closely, as does the Mul, who offers a brief reply. "I can't afford to let that happen again. That was the end of me out there--now I'm going to have to really outdo myself if I don't want Master to throw me to the dogs."

Through the door, a muffled conversation can be heard. "...suits of armor and nearly two dozen weapons. Which imbecile let all this go missing?!"
"...slaves...that door..."
"...get good help these days? Fetch three of the Psychokineticists and two Telepaths. Those slaves should have been disarmed the moment they left the arena!"

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Bharnag takes off his armor, folding them carefully then stacking his weapons on top of the pile. He walks to stand infront of the door to their quarters to greet the templars and their lackies.

He hands over the items one at a time, verbally describing the item in meticulous detail to take up a lot of time and attention. He seems focused on making sure those taking the items are sure of what he is giving them, like an accountant doing an inventory.

[Quila Oris (John M.)]

Looking outside of the window Ylonis sees the freeman gladiator that fought with them and calls out to Rimir and have a quick chat.

When hearing the voices Ylonis is quick in taking of the leather armor and putting all weapons and ammo near the door and then going to stand over near Kharam. She will take a good look at the templars and/or lackeys coming to visit the slave barrack so she is able to identify them if ever running into them again or wanting to target them with psionics or magic.

(OOC: I'm fine with Rimir being the line outside for my arena mage ability, it makes sense and is a good way to make him connect easier to the party.)

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Bharnag is met, not with the Templars, but with the head trainer--the one in charge of training slave gladiators and the scant few freemen that can afford those pricey services. Rather unusual for the position, Nibenay's is a seven-foot-high figure swaddled in a thick, sand-colored cloak that obscures every feature from head to toe. Most people who wore such an outfit in this heat--what is it, a hundred and ten (fahrenheit) in the shade?--would pass out in minutes, but this one doesn't seem to mind. One can only assume it's an elf--it's the only race that lines up. Heat resistance, plus around seven feet tall--but wearing that getup, it's impossible to tell race or sex. Flanking this figure are five Psionicists--by the look of them, they know what they're doing. Two are human, one is elven, one is dwarven, and the last is a Pterran. Somewhat surprisingly, Bharnag and Ylonis's readiness to fork over their arms and armor draws a pleased tone from the taskmaster's dry, crawling voice, and the dwarf's meticulous descriptions seem to similarly amuse the figure.

"My, my--I didn't even have to threaten you. Perhaps there is hope for you after all--those who have such a sixth sense to divine what is expected of them go far in Nibenay, and I cannot tell how long it has been since I have met one who knew more than the bare basics of the art we practice here at this low position in the arena. Perhaps you will succeed here after all. As for the rest of you--fork over anything besides the barest clothing to cover your backs, or my men will turn you to dust where you stand."

This threat given, the remaining gladiators begin, slowly, one by one, to fork over their arms and armor, as well. The Thri-Kreen sways from side to side, seemingly smugly satisfied in the knowledge that the master trainer cannot take away their claws and teeth.