StarDestroyer.Net BBS

++FYI, none of my minions are in this. We are in the crowd++

Laz eyed the fights with disgust. He turned away from the grusome specticle and scanned the rest of the arena, looking for the security that would invarable be there.

Coaan rested against the support for the crowd stand and shook his head from within the drawn up cowl. All the while, he was keeping an acute eye on his surroundings for pickpockets. As the slaves began to march out, he had to lift his hand to carefully cover his ear against the racket as the crowd went wild. He sighed.

"Westgate has not improved much...not much at all.."

He muttered, turning his attention to watch the sky with a mournful if longing look, trying to block out the Arena below

++ooc: if anyone could give me a short infodump on this Westgate via PM, I'd appreciate it ++

Duncan wasn't impressed. In fact, he had to keep a chuckle to himself. Having been through a bloody war, he knew what real battle was like. And then there was the concept of slaves, to begin with... Just not his style. But other countries, other customs...
His impressive size let him see the whole scene undisturbed.
"What do you think?" He asked his companion beside him. Tash only snorted. He wasn't the talkative kind of guy.
"Yes, you're right. Stupid. But maybe something interesting still might happen."
Another snort.

Astinius sat huddled in his robes desperately trying to watch the fight without coming into physical contact with any of these "fleshies"

His blue robes flowed around him as he moved with a poise and grace that most people couldnt match, his golden eyes glinting with an otherworldy intellect.

As he dodged through the crowd a small boy attempted to pick his pockets. He picked it up immediatly and grabbed the childs wrist

"Touch not lest ye be touched BOY" he hissed as he thrust the childs hands way and gave him a stare that could mean nothing other than "I will kill you if you try that again"

Astinius abhored slavery in all its forms, not because he liked peole, or because he felt that all humanoids deserved a chance, but rather becase he knew all to well what it was like to be in their shoes. No creature, no matter how sickening, deserved to be held in shackles.

Which is why he was here. He had met a few friends that shared the same views and they were placed strategically around the arena. Soon the time to strike would be at hand.

Standing amidst the bustle of the crowd, Rahnort looked down upon those who were about to die, seeing the chaos of the impending battle, and it made him feel... disturbed. The lack of order, or of discipline. Turning an artform into some cheaply mocked up entertainment for those that had been kept away from the beauty and efficiency of warfare, not this poor substitute on display. Taking a place amongst a group of short people, he watches.

The two groups of slaves form into disciplined battle lines, locking shields and bringing their swords and spears to bear. The crowd surges again, egging them on, tossing rotten fruit and vegetables into the arena, and hurling curses. The two groups hold steady, however, waiting for the signal. The man in the red breastplate still stands between them, and then nods. The crowd roars, and the 2 groups charge at each other...

Earlier that day...

Gaheris walked into Westgate once more, not having been to the city of his birth in nearly five years. When he had heard about High Lord Abbot Grigor Khazar's ambitious plan to build a fortified cathedral and clean Westgate, he knew that his experiences as a youth would be invaluable to the effort. He knew the streets of Westgate, and he knew how the Night Masks operated.

He arrived at the massive, wrought iron doors with his deity's holy symbol embossed on the outside. One of the doors was propped open. Six guards were standing there. "Hail. I am Gaheris Trollbane, paladin in the service of Tyr. I come to offer my services to High Lord Abbot Khazar."

Rogue 9 wrote:Earlier that day...

Gaheris walked into Westgate once more, not having been to the city of his birth in nearly five years. When he had heard about High Lord Abbot Grigor Khazar's ambitious plan to build a fortified cathedral and clean Westgate, he knew that his experiences as a youth would be invaluable to the effort. He knew the streets of Westgate, and he knew how the Night Masks operated.

He arrived at the massive, wrought iron doors with his deity's holy symbol embossed on the outside. One of the doors was propped open. Six guards were standing there. "Hail. I am Gaheris Trollbane, paladin in the service of Tyr. I come to offer my services to High Lord Abbot Khazar."

One of the guards steps forward and salutes you crisply. "Welcome, Lord Trollbane. High Lord Abbot Khazar is busy at the moment, but I can leave him a message, or you can wait here in the hall"-he gestures inside to a large, marbled hall adorned with religious symbols. "My men here will watch over you; you understand we can't be too careful here. Now, what is your message for Lord Khazar?"

"Tell him that Gaheris Trollbane, who was once a street urchin in Westgate before finding his calling to Tyr's service, wishes to help him in his quest to cleanse this city. I will await his reply." He thought back to his companions, who had gone to the arena to discover what all the hubbub was about. Perhaps he'd take Percival down there to see for himself when his audience was over.

In the arena...

The two groups close, hacking and slashing, but with notable reservation. They are hitting with the flats of their blades, or the poles of their spears, using commendable self-control. The two groups seem evenly matched for a few faint seconds, but then the left group executes a sneaky flanking manvuer, disarming a dozen opponents and laying them to the ground. The man in red stands calmly at the center of the melee, watching closely. The left group begins cinching the other group in, as if tightening a fist. More and more slaves fall to the ground, either unconcious or just so roughed up they cannot stand any longer. Within another few moments, the battle is over.

Rogue 9 wrote:"Tell him that Gaheris Trollbane, who was once a street urchin in Westgate before finding his calling to Tyr's service, wishes to help him in his quest to cleanse this city. I will await his reply." He thought back to his companions, who had gone to the arena to discover what all the hubbub was about. Perhaps he'd take Percival down there to see for himself when his audience was over.

The guard bows his head, and marches off into the hall and through a set of wooden doors.

In accordance with the plan, Astinius scanned the arena for mages or clerics of tempus that could prove... troublesome

He scanned the crowd and that of the 'battle' from his position in the spectator's stand. The Air lingered with the scent of blood although barely noticable above the stench of the city. He shook his head, the barbarism of keeping slaves had long been a practice He had abhored although had never been in a position to effect anything.

Coaan scanned the crowd again and peered for a moment in thought. Was something about to happen or was it merely a trick of the eyes due to the arena being filled with so many patrons? He sighed

"It is too crowded here..."

Quietly he snuck off and withdrew from the Collosieum until he was out of sight, opening his mind to the ways of the wild. Moments later, the skies above the arena had one more raven soaring the skies when in truth, it was to garner a better vantage point to watch the crowds with..

Gaheris came into the front hall and sat down in the entryway across from the guards. "How have things been progressing since the cleansing began?" he asked the guards. "The Night Masks are no one to be trifled with; they drove me from this city as a youth. They will be a formidable enemy, even for the monks."

When the next group of battle ready slaves was brought out it woud be time to strike. His spells were ready and he prepared himself mentally for batle.

++I have every illusion spell in the book, pick any vocal one that works++

Muttering the words of severel illusion spells to make his voice clearly heard, Laz speaks, his voice resonating around the vast building, clearly heard.

Nobles, visitors, slave-trading scum, I regret to announce that there has been a change of plans......

On cue, at least 100 armed warriors start to appear out of the crowd, weapons and sheilds out.

All the slaves are going to be set free, not just the winners, they will be released immedeatly.....

Once again on cue, All the warrior shapeshift, the arena is now filled with fuzzy death-machines.

You are outnumberd, out powered.....

Casting quicked fireball into the air, Laz creates a huge explosion.

And our mages have allreay infiltrated your pathetic security. Comply with out demands and no one will be harmed, resist and you will perish.

"A bit earlier than expected..."

He lept from the wall, uttering "pfetherfall" as he dropped.

Wen he hit the ground he went through the motions, his mind slipped into a trance as his hands worked the weave into a safe refined magic, that his words then mounlded into a Globe of Invulnerability

The man in the red breastplate, upon hearing the booming voice, snaps his fingers. Suddenly, a dozen heavily armed guards, a pair of robed wizards, and several men wearing the vestmentss of clerics appear around him out of thin air. The portcullis's suddenly grind shut, and the crowd begins panicking. More guards and clerics begin pouring out of the hundreds of doorways located around the top of the arena seats. They block the exits, and more of them move down to engage the rebels.

Knowing that the guards can't even touch them, my infantry proceed to attack and MAUL them.

--

Activate a quickened fireball and cast chainlightning at the guy in red.