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 Posted: Fri Mar 16, 2007 9:36 pm
Long ago, during a time of unrest and war between nations, there were those who fought their, and other’s, battles within the walls of an arena rather than a battlefield. They were an elite group of individuals from all corners of the world brought together for one purpose, Victory. While these warriors were among the most brilliant fighters in the world, they were not free men. They headed the call of a master, the crowd, and the emperor. Some fought for fame, some for freedom, and some for the sheer thirst for another man’s blood on their blade.
Some time has passed since those days. The gladiators were set free by the order of a new emperor, and the lives of the combatants were flipped upside down. They became citizens, soldiers, councilmen, herders, and husbands. The children of these warriors have grown to their late teens, now old enough to form a life for themselves. A new mandate has been posted on the doors of the great coliseum in the middle of the metropolis. Once again will the gates of the arena be open, but this time it is at the will of the combatant to compete. The one major change in laws of battle in the arena, Deathblows are forbidden.
One boy, first son to a gladiator whose wins surpassed that of many, stands before the gates to read the mandate. He slid his black bangs out of his eyes and behind his ears so as not to block the text. The boy’s emerald eyes illuminated as his heart pounded in his chest. His childhood was filled with stories of glorious battles, fame, fortune, and women. This was the life he too wished to have. His father had shown him how to fight as a boy, and even though he didn’t feel to be the best, he believed he would be able to compete.
This is Sampson, the tall, clumsy boy known in the marketplace by all the other merchant friends of his father.
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Posted: Fri Mar 16, 2007 10:57 pm
Without the glorious, sky-reaching walls of Rome, an elderly man sat dormant. His legs had crossed behind him, dirtied bare feet sticking out to either side. The rags he now adorned, once lavish, were now simply falling apart. He sit, kneeling over an otherwise peaceful stream. Both hands, both of which seemed rather unhealthy, clutched at the earth before him as he took in great breaths, only to spit them back out in gasping, coughing fits.
Now, with his pallet wet, the elderly man set off for rome. He was waved through gate upon approach, neither of the guards paying him any heed. With slow, calculated steps he made his way through rome, not stopping when addressed nor caring to explore the nearby vendors.
His first stop was the bath house, where he cleansed himself of the toils of the days work and travel. The grease and dirt fell from his brittle bones like a sludge overtaking a swamp. When finally he felt himself suitably cleaned, he had again been bathing in his own filth, and too had emptied the entire bath house.
His feet carried him onwards to the crowd of excited citizens clamouring to get their eyes on a well used billboard announcing battles of Free-Men. A battle for victory, and not for death? Well, that was simply absurd! Still....It might be, entertaining.
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Posted: Fri Mar 16, 2007 11:18 pm
Bread, that’s what it was, bread. It was at that moment that he realized his responsibility of the afternoon. He had been so flustered by the idea of himself within the walls of the coliseum that he had simply forgotten to pick up bread on the way home from the stables. Other than the grotesque smell, rude comments and laughter, being a stable hand had its advantages. Travelers from all over spoke to him of their home land, warriors told of war, and scholars told of philosophy and history. It also built him a sturdy back.
Sampson broke free of the small crowd that had surrounded the posted announcement only to stumble into a very well aged man. Instantly he was swallowed whole by guilt, “I beg your pardon sir,” he said with a bow, “Are you alright.” His eyes only showed concern for the man.
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Posted: Fri Mar 16, 2007 11:26 pm
The man stumbled back a few paces and clutched his breast, as if he had been harmed, but at the boys insistances, he lifted one decrepit palm at the boy and waved it in the negative.
"No boy, I'm all right. You merely startled me." He lifted himself back to a fully upright position and offered a smile, revealing a mouth fullof rotting teeth. "I am Perius, and who, I beg, might you be?"
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Posted: Fri Mar 16, 2007 11:52 pm
His eyes had flicked only momentarily at this old mans over all stature. He did indeed feel bad for running into someone who appeared so sickly and fragile.
"My name is Sampson, Son to Orthus the Mer-...er..." He thought for a moment, "Gladiator!" and he grinned broadly with pride at the mention of his father's previous occupation. "I too will be a gladiator!" he pronounced. His youth was beaming.
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Posted: Sat Mar 17, 2007 12:00 am
"Ahhh, Gladiator then? And you'll be joining him? I assume that you'll be fighting in this free-man's tournament?"
Hazy orbs the color of some putrid fungal green roamed over the boys features and musculature, as if sizing him up. Again that decrepit smile pervaded those cracked, elderly lips as he began to speak again.
"And what would one have to gain by taking up such an occupation, Mr. Sampson?"
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Posted: Sat Mar 17, 2007 12:07 am
Sampson gave a short nod to the elder. "Yes sir." was his first response. His eyes jumped to the sun as it had begun to set, dusk was approaching faster than he had anticipated. But he shrugged it off, he still had pleanty of time to get back home.
"Well sir, for honor mostly. My father was a gladiator, one of the greats, and I want stories to tell my son as he did me." He chuckled briefly. "That and I hear there are a lot of women."
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