Archangel
Recruit
And thus did the Archangel descend from Heaven itself...
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Post by Archangel on Mar 11, 2006 2:54:10 GMT -5
The sun slanted sharply into the barracks through the high windows to the east. Batair was lucky enough to have a cot that was hidden in the shadow cast by a pillar directly in the center of the room. But still, the warrior was awake within minutes of the sunrise. It was his habit. No matter how late he had gone to bed the night before, he would wake with the sun the following morning. And it was always enough sleep for his body. In fact, he had fought fights before on 2 hours of sleep, and was still alive to tell the tale. It was interesting, to see how some were affected by sleep. Some were drowsy in the mornings, even after a good long night's rest. Some were grouchy, irritable, disgusted. Some were definitely morning people, waking up with the sun and facing the day straight away. Batair was one of the latter people.
He got up swiftly and pulled on his "clothes", if you could call his loincloth clothes. He peered around the room, and snorted in distaste. The place smelled of alcoholic vomit. There were at least three warriors covered in their own vomitus and completely passed out on their cots. Others were in various stages of unconsciousness and filth, and there was only one other Gladiator fully awake. Batair frowned. This would not be an interesting day at the Coliseum. Or, actually, it would. For those supporting their opponents. Because he had a feeling that the Contesar's men were going to get slaughtered today.
He made his way to the kitchen, where there were slaves cooking up what was for some of the Gladiators their final meal. Mostly gruel, and not particularly good gruel, with a couple chunks of pig gristle thrown in for flavor. Not exactly comparable to the food they had had last night. But hey, such was the way of a slave's life. There was some water to drink, and that was about it. Batair took his tray and his wooden cup of water back to his cot, where he sat and ate his gruel carefully with a broad spoon. It was, to say the least, disgusting. And as he somehow shoveled it down, he thought on the battle today.
He was once again the prime attraction at this performance. The contender, a newcomer, was Gallic, and thought to be a living legend. The Gauls had treated him like a king, and there were rumors even among the Gallic slaves in the Contesar's barracks that the man was unbeatable, that he could not be killed. Batair had never seen him of course. It was considered impolite to let two slaves who were scheduled to fight to the death to see each other beforehand. Whoever thought up rules like that was obviously out of his mind, but in any case, Batair and this mysterious Gaul had not met. It would not be an easy fight, no way. He would have his main weapon of course. The Contesar wouldn't be so stupid as to arm his best fighter with an unfamiliar weapon. Not that any weapon was unfamiliar to Batair anymore. He had used everything, from ax to quarterstaff, to kill men, and each time he had succeeded. But this fight, he would be using his baby, his hooked chain flail...and he prayed to Batucadros, the god of war, that he would perform well today.
Finishing up his gruel, he brought the tray back to the kitchen, and then made his way to the training room. He would practice a little here, before the others woke up, just to get his muscles warmed up and his body in peak physical condistion. Fastening heavy weights to his ankles and his wrists, he began a series of warm-ups designed to increase blood flow and stretch out worn muscles. He wasn't as young as he used to be, and even at his age, his body was starting to fail faster and faster. It was no longer a sure thing that he would win the fights anymore, just as it was no longer a sure thing that he would not injure himself in the process. He had to make sure his body was in peak physical condition, or else he could risk losing the fight. And that was one thing he could NOT do.
He finished his work out with plenty of time to get out of the room before any of the others were awake. Softly, he went back to his cot, and sat down on it. He could hear the wooden planks groan under his weight. Sitting there, he would wait until the Roman soldiers brought them all to the Coliseum. Because then would be the big fight. And then, he would be faced with death once again. It didn't scare him, so much as attract all his focus. He WOULD win this time. He swore it. He sat quietly, pondering, waiting for the right time.
(OOC: Next post I'm gonna do the battle. If that's not what you want yet, just let me know!)
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Post by Caligo [Inactive] on Mar 11, 2006 22:08:41 GMT -5
{Dreams of War... (Continued)}
A small child was left in tears amidst the raging fires that had taken his camp. The barbaric races his Christian family had set out to enlighten had attacked during the night as the Westerners had done to them. Many were killed; some of them in their sleep. The child's parents were among the dead. His father had died fighting without armor, his mother's head taken as she prayed. Or perhaps they both died in their sleep? Perhaps they were sinners and punished for their crimes by their god...
It mattered not, really. They were gone, and this child was left alone, tears streaming down his face as he sat crumpled in the dry dirt. A strong warrior with darker skin than that of the child approached him; blade at the ready. What could have only been his young wife jogged up beside him and they both looked at the young one before them. They were commanded by custom to kill it, but this boy was too young; he wouldn't remember anything of his parents' poisoning. The two decided to spare him, taking him in as their own.
They pleaded their case before the elders, and their wish to keep him was granted; the child was now theirs to raise. Aurangzeb and Sirvart Munir named their adopted son Altair.
He was naturally instilled with the will of a warrior - his upbringing as an outsider in a western Asian society helped solidify this identity. He and his parents put him through the best education they could find, and when he became old enough - not quite 16 - he moved away from home. Altair travelled the lands in search of knowledge and power; he trained with the Islamic, the Hindu, the various Christian faiths, whose churches saw him as a heretic, leading to a few fights with the paladins... He made it as far as the islands of the Far East, the Code of Bushido and Kendo taking special places in his heart. He trained here for years on end under an elder samurai, a man named Yuudai Katsuo.
As with all places he travelled to, Altair learned the language as best he could and treated everyone he met with the highest honors he could get them to understand. And, as expected, an honor in one area is an insult to another, and misunderstandings erupted now and again. With Yuudai supporting him as a mentor, however, Altair soon learned much of the land called Japan.
As time wore on, however, the already old Yuudai began to get older, and having no sons of his own, Altair was more or less his only heir. Mizuki, Yuudai's only daughter, whose beauty rivalled the moon as her name implied, took no interest in Altair and in fact scorned him as an oni from the west. This would mean that she would be left with nothing when he passed.
On his sensei's deathbed, Altair's teacher made one final request of him: "Please, Altair-san... You know, by tradition, that all of my possessions will be given to you upon my death... Please, Daichi (great fist son, as he was called by his mentor), when I pass on, leave here soon after and carry out my wishes: leave my estate and possessions with Mizuki... Save, my son, Ai and Rin..." Altair expected as much from the great man, but he had never in his wildest dreams imagined that this great man would bequeath his twin katanas, Love and Cold. "Hai, sensei," he had said, tears in his eyes.
...The rest is history...
Altair listened to the sound of the wall opening and cracked a shadowed eye toward the one that came in. As she was not a threat, he let her be. He watched Asira look to him, closing his eye for a moment as she did, and then her mail. He decided it would be better if he were 'asleep', and so closed his eyes. The warrior was taken by suprise when she caressed his face with her petal soft hands. She stood and he stirred, watching from barely open eyes as she readjusted her slip. He smiled at her warmly, "Good morning, your highness..." He stretched and shook off the heavy sleep so easily induced by the luxurious accomidations of Asira's room.
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Post by Kai! Kai! on Mar 12, 2006 3:49:30 GMT -5
Asira had been given clena up duty much to her disdain but as alwyas she did her work with no complaint and ot the best of her ability ensuring the floor was mopped clean of wine, vomit and food as wlel as dry. her shoulders, back and feet ached warnnig her htta she was getting slack. She needed ot start her training again soon but the problem was finding a place where she could practice withuot being seen. leaving the now clean hall Meskhenet put the problem aside for now and continued with the rets of her cjores. It was still only early morning and the royal family still needed serving and the breakfast hall to be attended. While shje walked Meskhenet entertaiend the Idea of entering the Colasium battles. Nothing big just a few of the small skirmishes where she could work out a few kinks in her reflexes and some well needed weapons practice. nothing quite tested you then fighting for your life. Though she would first have to get a yea or nay from Asira first.
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Post by Skye on Mar 13, 2006 20:02:32 GMT -5
Asira's jumped, startled by him awakening. Tripping over a foot stool she flailed to find something to grab but only grabbed air, while cursing in some language.
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Post by Caligo [Inactive] on Mar 13, 2006 21:41:07 GMT -5
The warrior's quickened reflexes prevailed again! ...To some extent. Altiar sprung across the bed to catch the princess. He did this successfully... But the blankets from the bed tangled about his feet and he fell hard to the floor, taking care of Asira beneath him and holding her so that she didn't get much of the shock at all and so he was now looking down at her with a smirk. "Eh heh... Sorry about that... Are you alright," he whispered, realizing he had not meant to.
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Post by Kai! Kai! on Mar 13, 2006 21:44:07 GMT -5
Meskhenet had chosen that particular time to enter tAsira's personal chambers ot tidy them up. What she found made her raise both her eyebrows though she said nothing. merely cleared her throat and bowed. 'I am here to... ah... clean chambers mistress...' her words were broken and poorly fraised and behind her servant appearance she was trynig very very hard not to laugh. The whole situation looked VERY suspitious if not comical.
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Post by Skye on Mar 13, 2006 21:46:23 GMT -5
Asira wasn't too embarrassed about him being ontop of her n' all, she found it quite funny, she even got goosebumps. His touch... Though when Meskhenet came in Asira's jaw dropped as her face went a bright red. "Oh my... Er... Meskhenet, this isn't what it looks like."
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Post by Kai! Kai! on Mar 13, 2006 21:47:52 GMT -5
The look Meskhenet returned spoke of a thousand things though the most visable was suuuure it wasn't. She bowed once agai nand began to clena up the room about the tumbled pair her jaw aching for mthe effort of trying not ot laugh, though over her shoulder she remarked in her broken Greek. "Well, it looks like he caught you from tripping..."
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Post by Caligo [Inactive] on Mar 14, 2006 1:58:41 GMT -5
"A sharp eye, my dear," countered Altair as he tried to get up, tangled a bit in the blankets and falling over once or twice more sharing giggles with Asira. Managing to stand and help the princess to her feet, Altair took his armor and weapons before the cleaning girl could touch them. "And such timing, as well, I might add..." He then made an obvious look from the letter on Asira's dresser to Meskhenet with a knowing smirk, "But ther is more to each of us here than meets the eye, is there not...?"
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Post by Kai! Kai! on Mar 14, 2006 2:30:27 GMT -5
Meskhenet looked ta him blankly and tilted her head ot the side. 'I would... not know sir...' she shrugged and then returned to her work paying the gladiator no more heed as she bussied herself straightening the bed and many other things before looking to Asira. 'Dose.... My Lady re...' she paused as if thinking for the word. 'Require anythnig else?'
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Post by Skye on Mar 15, 2006 19:17:39 GMT -5
Asira cleared her throat, "well then," eying them both she looked to Meskhenet, "I need to speak with you later." Obviously about the letter, she then turned to Altair, "I hope you enjoyed your stay here," she smiled, "feel free to relax a bit longer, or I can show you to the baths." She paused, "Egh... my brothers birthday ceremony..." she stiffened up, "Meskhenet, how much time do I have until the starting ceremony?!"
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Post by Kai! Kai! on Mar 15, 2006 21:18:31 GMT -5
Meskhenet looked for a moment out the nearest window checked hte shadows and then smiled. 'an hour Mi'lady... i'll go get the baths ready.' She cursied and hurried off to organise the baths for the pair of them, clean clothnig and other things they might need but hadn't thought of.
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Post by iason on Apr 14, 2006 17:15:43 GMT -5
Silence.
That was the language. Some prayed, some did not, but all of them prepared for the fight to come.
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Post by Caligo [Inactive] on Apr 23, 2006 12:01:40 GMT -5
"Well, I'll show you to the baths," she smiled and started toward the door. Getting into the hall, she peeked in to check Draii. He was still sleeping. That was alright. She went a little down the hall and started down a narrow passageway, "This is just the quicker way down." Altair followed the princess down the dimly lit passage. Upon arriving at the baths, she was kind of surprised the mens side was empty. Then again, everyone would have had theirs early thanks to the games today. "Right so this is the men's side," she walked around the huge pool filled with steaming water, "make yourself comfortable, everything you need is just on the edges like any other bath. If you need me for some reason, I'll be on the other side; the door is just down there." She pointed and sure enough in a dark area was the door, wasn't used much but it was more for servants to pass through each side quickly. "Enjoy the bath." She smiled and began her way to the female's side.
Altair simply watched, catching himself slack-jawed as she walked off. He looked after her for a long moment before setting about his bath. He set his equipment down and perused the items along the side of the steaming pool. He realized as he took off his formal shirt that he had no change of clothes. He mentally shrugged and crossed to the door. Just before he could knock, however, he heard a rather large splash from the pool on the other side. In that moment, he felt something amiss. He listened a moment longer, and the splashing increased in fervor. Without another thought, Altair burst through the dividing door and looked to the water, where a dark skinned woman that held Princess Asira pinned and her head underwater was now looking at him with a shocked expression.
Altair tackled the servant from her perch and the two rolled across the floor a few times, the woman coming out on top and springing from him. He thought about his swords and their location in the other room, but it looked as if this would indeed prove interesting. The assassin took a stance - desert cobra, Middle Eastern, he recognized - with a small dagger in her hand. He mumbled wonderful to himself before they started to circle each other, the warrior keeping his back to the coughing Asira and her attacker away from her. "Asira, are you gonna be alright?" She coughed an affirmative, and the assassin jumped at him. Somewhat familiar with the feint and strike pattern that was the base of the desert cobra style, Altair moved into the apparent path of the knife. It pulled back and missed him at the last second, and he took the woman by the wrist and spun her around, forcing her blade into her own belly in the process. She cursed in Arabic and then spun herself free and staggered back a few paces. Altair offered her a condescending smile and an insult in the same language. The attacker's fury and pain bending her better judgment, she again lunged at him, this time out of stance. Altair dodged to the side and then ducked a crossing blow, tripping her with a swift kick to her supporting leg. The assassin went down hard, hitting her head on the stone floor, yet she refused to give in. She again set herself against Altair, but this time, she feinted against his dodge and went straight toward Asira.
Crimson flowed from the gash the knife had carved. Altair cursed as he clutched at his forearm, only narrowly interrupting the deathblow to the vulnerable princess. The assassin wasted no time in taking to his life as well, her blade gleaning with blood as she struck for his throat. Altair managed to roll out of the way and spring at the woman in an instant, again taking her to the floor. She frantically drove the dagger deep into his back a few times with all her might as he tried to suffocate her. She drew back for his neck, and plunged down with all of her might. The knife cut into his shoulder as he moved barely out of the way, it now sticking into the floor through the killer's throat. She rasped a scream of terror with eyes wide; paralyzed and bleeding to death.
"...Good Lord..." He fell down, onto the floor in exhaustion and pain for a moment before spinning on a knee to see to Princess Asira. "Asira! Are you hurt!?" Blood diluted with water dripped down her chest, but as he absent-mindedly ran his hand across her, it smeared with his touch. The blood was not her own, and for that he was thankful. He was also thankful that the assassin's strikes were more glancing than serious. Altair sat back with a sigh and gave Asira a tired and somewhat pained smile, "I think you'll live..."
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Post by Skye on Apr 23, 2006 15:56:46 GMT -5
Asira was shaking from the whole ordeal, had it not been for Altair she would have been dead, and if she doesn't help him soon, he himself will be gone. "Altair..." she whispered, "I'll get you help." The fact she was near him naked didn't phase her for that was not on her mind, instead she headed straight for the servant halls. "Somebody help!" she yelled, but no one came. Damnit the games! Everyone would be tending to them! Looking back to Altair she exited the baths, poking into a hall, she saw a guard, "Please help, a friend has been injured." The guard ran up to her, "send for a medic, he's in the baths," but they simply stared at her. Snatching one of their cloaks she cursed at them and made one of them follow, the other proceeded to find a medic. Upon arriving once more in the female baths, Altair was covered in crimson, as well as the floor below him. "We need to get a medic fast." Seeing the dead body, the guard hesitated, "what the hell happened here?" "Do I have to explain to you?" She curled her lip and bent by Altairs side. Taking the assassins knife she cut up some strips off the cloak and began dabbing his wounds, and attempting to stop the blood using pressure. "Thank you Altair, thank you so much." she spoke softly, while trying to avoid causing him pain was impossible, she was still somehow gentle.
It took quite some time for a medic to show up with his supplies, and when Asira saw him she breathed a sigh of relief. There was no time to move him to the hospital right now so the medic worked on him right there and then. The bleeding had slowed, and while Asira watched she began thinking how she's going to need Draii by her side almost 24/7 after this attack, her family will not be pleased, Meskehnet would not be happy about the attack either, and Altair, she felt a pang of guilt, had she let him go last night none of this would have happened. Asira concluded she needed to be trained how to fight.
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