Post by Non Compos Mentis on Feb 1, 2007 13:59:39 GMT -5
I'm here agin with another rp from my character in the 'other' fed. After a massive review of my character he has almost completely changed and the only thing remaining is his name. Think Brock Lesner with more charisma. This rp is for my first PPV match against a guy called Kindred London. Feedback would be good.
ANIMA ANIMA ANIMA
The crowd chanted for blood. They had seen all the sport their minds could muster and now all they wanted was to have their bloodthirsty guts catered to. They sat in comparative heaven, looking down from their ignorance with no knowledge of the true reality of my existence or, indeed, theirs.
The Circus Maximus loomed over my head like a behemoth waiting to deliver the final blow to my cerebral cortex. The massive structure was one of true magnificence but also of macabre horror and gore. This place had been used to end the lives of thousands of men, women and creatures, so much so that the walls of the arena had taken on the crimson glow of the blood spatter. The Coliseum had been the sight of legendary battles and of massacres of slaves. The audience did not care which they saw, all they wanted was the blood.
The masses stood to attention like puppets being made to dance by their masters. The Emperor wanted the crowds to be entertained by any means only because it made his job that little bit easier. If he wanted to the crowd to chant his name he would do whatever it took so that they would think of him as the person that looked after their interests. The Emperor was an attention whore.
ANIMA ANIMA ANIMA
They chanted again and again, their insatiable blood lust had not been quenched yet and it would stop when only one slave was left breathing. I looked forward through the dust that had risen from the arena floor to see the Samnite standing steady and confident. He was gasping for air just as all of us where but he was gasping because of the blood trickling down from behind his breast plate. The Samnite was both heavily armed and armored but that had not stopped a powerful spear strike from piercing the metal that protected his chest. The razor-sharp tip had sliced through the breast plate like butter and had punctured into his lung. Every breath he took in went straight out through the gaping whole in his chest, as did every pump of blood that his heart sent out.
The Samnite lunged forward with his gladius, the sword that I was named after just like everybody around me. We were all called Gladiator to those who watched us. Only those who became well known and revered earned their real names. He came forward with a heave of breath, his arm thrust the sword towards my stomach as I sprawled away fearing for my life. The Samnite stumbled forwards, presenting an opportunity, I turned and gripped my spatha before trying to slice through his back but my blade hit metal. Sparks flew from the back of his breast plate, the metal not giving way this time, but the blade of my sword carried on and sliced into his lower back. Blood came forth immediately, a crimson cascade rushing all the way down to his loin cloth and the beast of a man screamed in pain and fell to his knees. He was vulnerable, he was as good as dead.
DADO DADO DADO
A small group above me in the more expensive seats began to scream their demands. They screamed DIE DIE DIE and I was unable to resist their orders. After all, I was a slave and they were my masters. The Samnite knew what was coming, he also knew he would not be able to act fast enough to stop it. I grasped the handle of my spatha tightly and drove it into the back of his head. He didn’t die instantly like I had expected. He began to shake uncontrollably, through pain or by the effects of the blow I did not know. He dropped to the floor and flinched in the dust until, finally, he ceased movement. By his mouth he left a pool of his own blood, a sure sign it was the blood loss, not the damage, that had killed him. He had felt the cold metal of my sword against his brain before the end had some and he has been in pure agony.
The crowd cheered in the full knowledge that he had died in the most violent and painful way possible. I could not bare to move, I just stayed above him looking at what I had done. My first contest and I had proved my worth but at what cost? The life of another person, another human being.
I turned suddenly to see the immense broad oval shield of a fellow gladiator slam into my chest like the hand of Mars, the god of war, himself. I stumbled over my own feet and the lifeless corpse I had just dispatched. I fell to the floor and into a pool of burgundy colored sludge where the blood had mixed with the sand. I was surprised that the gladiator did not strike as I was vulnerable on the floor and open to attack.
VERBERA VERBERA VERBERA
They were chanting for my downfall, calling for him to strike. I picked my head up of the floor and out of the sand to see the man who had dared stun me. He was standing not ten feet away just waiting for me to stand so that he could fight me on equal grounds. I gladly obliged, bringing myself up to a knee before taking my time to rise again, scanning him for weakness. He stood smaller and weaker than I but he showed more scars and war wounds showing that he was experienced and had gained respect in this environment.
He had no helmet to disguise his features and his head bore a shock of white hair that indicated age beyond his years. His hair reminded me of the one time I had seen it snow in Rome, it was a sight for sore eyes from behind the bars of my cell. He was a fighter who had worked as a mercenary before. He had worked for the highest bidder but was finally captured and made to serve his sentence. He had fought before and he would fight again.
As I got to my feet he raised his trident, the retiarii stood primed for battle like a bull dipping its horns. He bore resemblance to a Greek, holding his three pronged dagger like Poseidon himself. He would also make like a Greek and die at the hands of a Roman. I gripped my Spatha’s handle before pulling it from the head of my kill. As I held my weapon he advanced towards me scouting my every movement and seeing if I would make the first attack. I was smarter than that, I stood at attention, blood still dripping off the edge of my trusty blade, and waited as he came ever closer. He flicked his blade sideways in preparation for a strike and I moved quick. Up his arm came and I took the chance, driving my already blood soaked blade into his side. I had wounded him but his blade kept coming and plunged through my leather armor and through my ribs. Cheers from the crowd seemed to push the edge further into my flesh, the crowd had cheered my kill but were now cheering what I though was my certain death. He yanked at the handle of the sword and serrated more flash as he pulled it out of my gaping wound.
Closing my eyes I anticipated the end as I slumped helplessly to my knees. I couldn’t bare to look into the eyes of my killer, the victory was his and he had taken my dignity and my ego already. I could feel the blood gushing through my open chest and running down my torso like a cascade. With my eyes to the dusty floor I waiting for the end to come, the one certainty was my life would be rewarded with a life in hell.
Nothing happened, I thought at first that he was looking to the crowd for a sign just like I had. My thoughts were confirmed as I heard the calls of DADO DADO DADO – DEATH DEATH DEATH. All that I wanted was a single call of VITA – LIFE. All I wanted was a call that showed some mercy in an entire civilization, one person out of hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, that has a single ounce of remorse for human life. I wanted it but it did not come.
I heard to sound of metal on flesh and bone but I had no feeling to go with it. Had the blow killed me before I could even feel the pain? Had I passed out on impact? My eyes opened to see only dust and sand on the floor and not the bare feet of my attacker. He had gone from my sight. Lifting my head from my plight I saw where he had gone. A Murmillo had attacked him from the side, swinging so violently that he had hacked off everything south of the man’s humorous. Swimming in blood, the ground showed his movement as he had reeled away in pain. A path of crimson followed him until his stump could bleed no longer. The man had a victory over me in that I was as good as dead, I was beaten and he was victorious. The snowy haired warrior had claimed my life and I was lucky not to have it taken. If he would live now would be doubtful, my wounding of him was nothing to what he was experiencing now. Absolution would only come in the form of a quick death now.
I slumped over onto the ground, sitting in the blood of an opponent yet again. This time it did not matter as the feeling was much more satisfying than that of death. I tried to gain my breath as the crowd behind me screamed for me to get up and die like I was supposed to. I got a lung full of air before standing up and refocusing on the nearest person. A dark skinned warrior was finishing off another Samnite with a swift and precise swing of the gladius through his neck, severing the Samnite’s head instantly. A sea of red came forth, hitting the floor and turning it to quicksand. The dark skinned man turned his gaze, unfazed by the headless corpse bleeding onto his feet. He was experienced and had done this before.
Burning with the sand, the gouged hole in my side was distracting me from the dark skinned man. It felt like my ribs were eroding into the hole and I would finally be left with no chest at all. The man was emotionless and showed his experience as he efficiently turned and walked my way, preparing his weapon for combat once again. Labouredly, I grasped my blade and tried to ready myself for the advancing warrior. I had seen him before through my bars. He was a veteran of the arena but had disappointed himself and felt he needed to rejoin the gladiator at the very bottom of his barbaric food chain, that meant fighting the slaves and me. It did nothing for him but for me it allowed me to gain respect and favor with the crowd. His scalp was worth that of 100 slaves.
Advancing quickly, I noticed that he was much smaller than I was but I would not take that for granted, he was a veteran for a reason and I would not forget it. My hands were primed and ready to strike, I was eager to slice into him, but he showed no fear of my size or my previous actions. His eyes were fixed and hinted nothing of what he planned. Now only five feet away and approaching fast, I raised my arms to land a downward strike on the man. My massively powerful arms raised like giant pillars of rock but then the whole in my chest kicked me, like the boot of Jupiter himself, in the chest and I lost all my air and power. The dark skinned man saw his opportunity, throwing his arm into a wide arc with his blade trailing in a back hand motion. I saw his action but I was too slow to act as his blade slashed me across both of my thighs as blood flushed out onto my legs.
I fell down to the floor in pain, less a sign of a destroyed will but the inability to stand even if I wanted to. His agility was impeccable, his speed undeniable and his brutality guaranteed. This man would murder his Kindred willingly if given no option. He advanced again and struck with no opposition for my arms were to occupied with stemming the blood flow in my legs. He slashed one of those very arms, the one still in possession of my beloved weapon. The pain the slice caused was immense and I released my rock hard grip on my sword. He had nearly lopped off my arm like the man before and now I was helpless.
He stopped his agile attacks in seeing my vulnerability. Walking up to me, he bent down and picked up my own blade wanting to kill me with the weapon I had used to kill others. I heard a scream in the distance that reminded me very much of the destiny that I was certainly about to receive. A blood curdling shriek that I could not escape from. The dark skinned man lifted his twin blades and positioned one of either side of my neck. Looking up to the crowd, the man called for their wish. I knew what to expect, just what they had been saying for the whole of the battle. DADO DADO DADO. I expected the call of Death and fully anticipated the blades slicing into either side of my neck, severing my head from the rest of my body in a gore filled exodus.
I anticipated it but I still did not come, the will of the crowd had yet to be given and the dark skinned warrior became restless. VITA. A call for life, a call for mercy. Somewhere in the mingling masses call a voice of modesty and reason. Those around the voice thought this also, joining the chorus of merciful cries. Soon a torrent of comparative good will was washing down over the warrior with his sword around my throat. The crowd had spoken and it was not his place to end my life. The Emperor, seeing the crowd’s lack of bloodlust, rose from his throne under the only shade in the arena.
THE BATTLE IS OVER
He had spoken and my life was safe. Stuck between a wave of elation and massive, crippling pain I passed out and fell into the crimson sludge of the arena floor.
ANIMA ANIMA ANIMA
The crowd chanted for blood. They had seen all the sport their minds could muster and now all they wanted was to have their bloodthirsty guts catered to. They sat in comparative heaven, looking down from their ignorance with no knowledge of the true reality of my existence or, indeed, theirs.
The Circus Maximus loomed over my head like a behemoth waiting to deliver the final blow to my cerebral cortex. The massive structure was one of true magnificence but also of macabre horror and gore. This place had been used to end the lives of thousands of men, women and creatures, so much so that the walls of the arena had taken on the crimson glow of the blood spatter. The Coliseum had been the sight of legendary battles and of massacres of slaves. The audience did not care which they saw, all they wanted was the blood.
The masses stood to attention like puppets being made to dance by their masters. The Emperor wanted the crowds to be entertained by any means only because it made his job that little bit easier. If he wanted to the crowd to chant his name he would do whatever it took so that they would think of him as the person that looked after their interests. The Emperor was an attention whore.
ANIMA ANIMA ANIMA
They chanted again and again, their insatiable blood lust had not been quenched yet and it would stop when only one slave was left breathing. I looked forward through the dust that had risen from the arena floor to see the Samnite standing steady and confident. He was gasping for air just as all of us where but he was gasping because of the blood trickling down from behind his breast plate. The Samnite was both heavily armed and armored but that had not stopped a powerful spear strike from piercing the metal that protected his chest. The razor-sharp tip had sliced through the breast plate like butter and had punctured into his lung. Every breath he took in went straight out through the gaping whole in his chest, as did every pump of blood that his heart sent out.
The Samnite lunged forward with his gladius, the sword that I was named after just like everybody around me. We were all called Gladiator to those who watched us. Only those who became well known and revered earned their real names. He came forward with a heave of breath, his arm thrust the sword towards my stomach as I sprawled away fearing for my life. The Samnite stumbled forwards, presenting an opportunity, I turned and gripped my spatha before trying to slice through his back but my blade hit metal. Sparks flew from the back of his breast plate, the metal not giving way this time, but the blade of my sword carried on and sliced into his lower back. Blood came forth immediately, a crimson cascade rushing all the way down to his loin cloth and the beast of a man screamed in pain and fell to his knees. He was vulnerable, he was as good as dead.
DADO DADO DADO
A small group above me in the more expensive seats began to scream their demands. They screamed DIE DIE DIE and I was unable to resist their orders. After all, I was a slave and they were my masters. The Samnite knew what was coming, he also knew he would not be able to act fast enough to stop it. I grasped the handle of my spatha tightly and drove it into the back of his head. He didn’t die instantly like I had expected. He began to shake uncontrollably, through pain or by the effects of the blow I did not know. He dropped to the floor and flinched in the dust until, finally, he ceased movement. By his mouth he left a pool of his own blood, a sure sign it was the blood loss, not the damage, that had killed him. He had felt the cold metal of my sword against his brain before the end had some and he has been in pure agony.
The crowd cheered in the full knowledge that he had died in the most violent and painful way possible. I could not bare to move, I just stayed above him looking at what I had done. My first contest and I had proved my worth but at what cost? The life of another person, another human being.
I turned suddenly to see the immense broad oval shield of a fellow gladiator slam into my chest like the hand of Mars, the god of war, himself. I stumbled over my own feet and the lifeless corpse I had just dispatched. I fell to the floor and into a pool of burgundy colored sludge where the blood had mixed with the sand. I was surprised that the gladiator did not strike as I was vulnerable on the floor and open to attack.
VERBERA VERBERA VERBERA
They were chanting for my downfall, calling for him to strike. I picked my head up of the floor and out of the sand to see the man who had dared stun me. He was standing not ten feet away just waiting for me to stand so that he could fight me on equal grounds. I gladly obliged, bringing myself up to a knee before taking my time to rise again, scanning him for weakness. He stood smaller and weaker than I but he showed more scars and war wounds showing that he was experienced and had gained respect in this environment.
He had no helmet to disguise his features and his head bore a shock of white hair that indicated age beyond his years. His hair reminded me of the one time I had seen it snow in Rome, it was a sight for sore eyes from behind the bars of my cell. He was a fighter who had worked as a mercenary before. He had worked for the highest bidder but was finally captured and made to serve his sentence. He had fought before and he would fight again.
As I got to my feet he raised his trident, the retiarii stood primed for battle like a bull dipping its horns. He bore resemblance to a Greek, holding his three pronged dagger like Poseidon himself. He would also make like a Greek and die at the hands of a Roman. I gripped my Spatha’s handle before pulling it from the head of my kill. As I held my weapon he advanced towards me scouting my every movement and seeing if I would make the first attack. I was smarter than that, I stood at attention, blood still dripping off the edge of my trusty blade, and waited as he came ever closer. He flicked his blade sideways in preparation for a strike and I moved quick. Up his arm came and I took the chance, driving my already blood soaked blade into his side. I had wounded him but his blade kept coming and plunged through my leather armor and through my ribs. Cheers from the crowd seemed to push the edge further into my flesh, the crowd had cheered my kill but were now cheering what I though was my certain death. He yanked at the handle of the sword and serrated more flash as he pulled it out of my gaping wound.
Closing my eyes I anticipated the end as I slumped helplessly to my knees. I couldn’t bare to look into the eyes of my killer, the victory was his and he had taken my dignity and my ego already. I could feel the blood gushing through my open chest and running down my torso like a cascade. With my eyes to the dusty floor I waiting for the end to come, the one certainty was my life would be rewarded with a life in hell.
Nothing happened, I thought at first that he was looking to the crowd for a sign just like I had. My thoughts were confirmed as I heard the calls of DADO DADO DADO – DEATH DEATH DEATH. All that I wanted was a single call of VITA – LIFE. All I wanted was a call that showed some mercy in an entire civilization, one person out of hundreds of thousands, maybe millions, that has a single ounce of remorse for human life. I wanted it but it did not come.
I heard to sound of metal on flesh and bone but I had no feeling to go with it. Had the blow killed me before I could even feel the pain? Had I passed out on impact? My eyes opened to see only dust and sand on the floor and not the bare feet of my attacker. He had gone from my sight. Lifting my head from my plight I saw where he had gone. A Murmillo had attacked him from the side, swinging so violently that he had hacked off everything south of the man’s humorous. Swimming in blood, the ground showed his movement as he had reeled away in pain. A path of crimson followed him until his stump could bleed no longer. The man had a victory over me in that I was as good as dead, I was beaten and he was victorious. The snowy haired warrior had claimed my life and I was lucky not to have it taken. If he would live now would be doubtful, my wounding of him was nothing to what he was experiencing now. Absolution would only come in the form of a quick death now.
I slumped over onto the ground, sitting in the blood of an opponent yet again. This time it did not matter as the feeling was much more satisfying than that of death. I tried to gain my breath as the crowd behind me screamed for me to get up and die like I was supposed to. I got a lung full of air before standing up and refocusing on the nearest person. A dark skinned warrior was finishing off another Samnite with a swift and precise swing of the gladius through his neck, severing the Samnite’s head instantly. A sea of red came forth, hitting the floor and turning it to quicksand. The dark skinned man turned his gaze, unfazed by the headless corpse bleeding onto his feet. He was experienced and had done this before.
Burning with the sand, the gouged hole in my side was distracting me from the dark skinned man. It felt like my ribs were eroding into the hole and I would finally be left with no chest at all. The man was emotionless and showed his experience as he efficiently turned and walked my way, preparing his weapon for combat once again. Labouredly, I grasped my blade and tried to ready myself for the advancing warrior. I had seen him before through my bars. He was a veteran of the arena but had disappointed himself and felt he needed to rejoin the gladiator at the very bottom of his barbaric food chain, that meant fighting the slaves and me. It did nothing for him but for me it allowed me to gain respect and favor with the crowd. His scalp was worth that of 100 slaves.
Advancing quickly, I noticed that he was much smaller than I was but I would not take that for granted, he was a veteran for a reason and I would not forget it. My hands were primed and ready to strike, I was eager to slice into him, but he showed no fear of my size or my previous actions. His eyes were fixed and hinted nothing of what he planned. Now only five feet away and approaching fast, I raised my arms to land a downward strike on the man. My massively powerful arms raised like giant pillars of rock but then the whole in my chest kicked me, like the boot of Jupiter himself, in the chest and I lost all my air and power. The dark skinned man saw his opportunity, throwing his arm into a wide arc with his blade trailing in a back hand motion. I saw his action but I was too slow to act as his blade slashed me across both of my thighs as blood flushed out onto my legs.
I fell down to the floor in pain, less a sign of a destroyed will but the inability to stand even if I wanted to. His agility was impeccable, his speed undeniable and his brutality guaranteed. This man would murder his Kindred willingly if given no option. He advanced again and struck with no opposition for my arms were to occupied with stemming the blood flow in my legs. He slashed one of those very arms, the one still in possession of my beloved weapon. The pain the slice caused was immense and I released my rock hard grip on my sword. He had nearly lopped off my arm like the man before and now I was helpless.
He stopped his agile attacks in seeing my vulnerability. Walking up to me, he bent down and picked up my own blade wanting to kill me with the weapon I had used to kill others. I heard a scream in the distance that reminded me very much of the destiny that I was certainly about to receive. A blood curdling shriek that I could not escape from. The dark skinned man lifted his twin blades and positioned one of either side of my neck. Looking up to the crowd, the man called for their wish. I knew what to expect, just what they had been saying for the whole of the battle. DADO DADO DADO. I expected the call of Death and fully anticipated the blades slicing into either side of my neck, severing my head from the rest of my body in a gore filled exodus.
I anticipated it but I still did not come, the will of the crowd had yet to be given and the dark skinned warrior became restless. VITA. A call for life, a call for mercy. Somewhere in the mingling masses call a voice of modesty and reason. Those around the voice thought this also, joining the chorus of merciful cries. Soon a torrent of comparative good will was washing down over the warrior with his sword around my throat. The crowd had spoken and it was not his place to end my life. The Emperor, seeing the crowd’s lack of bloodlust, rose from his throne under the only shade in the arena.
THE BATTLE IS OVER
He had spoken and my life was safe. Stuck between a wave of elation and massive, crippling pain I passed out and fell into the crimson sludge of the arena floor.
