Welcome to Gaia! ::

Detraeus rolled his shoulder, grimacing at the pinch of pain from the cluster of sore muscles there before taking a hearty swig from his canteen. Eowyn’s sun beat hot as ever, though it was already sinking into the latter half of the sky, signalling early afternoon. His training sessions with Casseth always proved suitably exhausting, but he wouldn’t have had it any other way. He knew he improved in ways around Casseth that dragons — or any of the beasts of Eowyn or beyond, for that matter — could teach him, and the fact that he didn’t have to worry that a misstep would lose him his head was more than a small bonus.

Idly, Detraeus itched at the bandana covering his forehead, thumbing under its rim to rub at his skin and then frowning. The longer he spent on Eowyn, the more having to cover himself so completely irked him. It was hot. Uncomfortable. Impractical. His dark skin barely burned at all, near perfectly resistant to even the worst of its heat, and the way he kept himself masked under his clothes felt stifling at best and suffocating at worst. Besides that, the middle continent harbored hybrids, vagabonds, criminals, gypsies — every breed of outcast imaginable — and all of them alongside soldiers and simple adventurers.

What was he still hiding from? Running from? Ashamed of…?

Detraeus shoved the thought aside, and buried it, scuffing his boot hard over the baked earth instead. While the thought of spitting on the world’s opinions and throwing his false ‘modesty’ to the wind appealed on some distant level, whenever he dwelled on it seriously, his stomach still churned, roiling into tight knots with raw panic in a way that left his fingers shaking and his breath unsteady between his lips. He didn’t need to fight any extra battles that he hadn’t asked for. Not yet.

In an effort to distract himself, he turned his attention to Casseth. “What do you know of the weapon makers in this city?”

Detraeus wanted a bladesmith, in particular. Someone that could craft him either a longblade or two, dual short swords for more versatility in close-range combat. But as of yet, he hadn't wanted to risk wasting coin on something that couldn’t keep up with him.

Detraeus tilted his head, thoughtful. The term sounded familiar. Something he had likely heard in snippets of passing conversation. He was also fairly sure, whatever it was, it was advertized amidst the other various posters, wanted ads of missing criminals, and listings for various shops and traders that were plastered about the city. But he couldn’t, of course, discern one from the next, so his concept of the thing was limited.

If he’d guessed correctly, it was some kind of tournament. Or arena. How extensive it was, where it took place, who it accepted as entrants, what crowd it catered towards, and what it looked for in its participants — all that, Detraeus was entirely unsure of.

At length, he said simply: “Maybe. Why?”

Detraeus watched as Casseth spoke, attention peaked, and when the other finished, he couldn’t deny a certain spark of interest. Curiosity. Competitiveness. Practice. Training on the wide scale, against a full variety of competitors. Even birds.

“Anyone?” Detraeus repeated. “What’s the reward?”

Detraeus felt his pulse pick up, a ripple of excitement quivering just beneath his skin. An arena that allowed anything. Real unrestrained, unstructured fights. And for pay. A part of Detraeus knew that he ought to have more reservations about the concept. After all, if death was permitted, it could apply to him also. But he was near full grown, capable, and becoming more practiced by the day. Besides, Casseth had said the fights started out with those of less skill. ‘Tiers’ that a participant could work their way up through.

Everything about it made Detraeus itch to see exactly how the place ran itself, and how much he could learn from it. Eventually, he said only, “Show me.”

In answer to Cas’ question, Detraeus only nodded, his attention already everywhere, struggling to take in everything at once. The grit. The noise. The atmosphere of raw tension and fierce competition. On the one hand, it put him on edge: the close quarters, the mashing of bodies against bodies and the near impossibility of fully avoiding contact with all the other patrons. Not to mention the melting pot of races, the entire scene amok with hybrids of every type alongside their mother breeds.

Detraeus funneled his attention, though, narrowing his focus down to himself — on high alert for any colliding body that might try to reach towards anything of his that it had no business touching — and out, towards the arena itself as they made their way in, and down. Down. Down. He must have looked a fool, as openly as he stared when they reached their viewing platform, and his palms itched, fingers curling absently over the hilt of his dagger as his eyeless vision swept the stadium.

So much to take in, and he found himself riveted by the inpour of information.

Casseth, true to character, spoke with bounding enthusiasm as they made it within view of the arena itself, his voice strong enough to carry easily over the roaring crowd, and Detraeus listened with silent, rapt attention to his companion’s words, letting his gaze draw over each of the described features as Cas outlined them. When the actual match began, Detraeus did not blink.

At its conclusion, Detraeus turned to Casseth. “We can start now?”

Detraeus followed Casseth readily, stepping into his wake as he lead the way. When they reached the area Casseth intended to wait for his ‘friend’, Detraeus let his eyes scan the crowds around them, studying faces at leisure from a distance. So many different types. Mostly poorer, but there a good mix of more smartly dressed patrons also. Then, Detraeus’ study paused, catching — frozen — on a now-familiar face, even from a distance.

It couldn’t be…could it?

But there was no mistaking her, not now. Butterfly horns, near bleach-pale skin, and strange, blotted black eyes. Detraeus frowned, attention locking on the man at her side, hand wrapped possessively around her waist and lips close to her ear as they conversed. Tall. Proud with rich, tanned skin and glinting scales. Clearly a pureblooded dovaa with a stance like he owned the world and large, upsweeping dark horns that seemed to mirror their owner’s entitled attitude.

Detraeus decided he didn’t like him. Perfect for her, really.

“Casseth!”

An unfamiliar female’s voice yanked Detraeus out of his musing, and he turned his attention away from the irritating dovaa girl and towards their newest company. Another dovaa girl. Fantastic. Detraeus pursed his lips.

“You made it after all,” the girl — or, rather, young woman, since she looked to be nearing in on twenty summers if she wasn’t already — said. “And here I was thinkin’ your old man wouldn’t have let you after all. Ready to take the big plunge?” After a flick of a glance towards Detraeus, she tilted her head. “Friend of yours?”

Takhi chuckled at Casseth’s reaction. “Hey,” she said, clapping him on the shoulder for emphasis, “you’re a big boy now, right? Daddy can worry all he likes, but it’s good you’re making your own decisions. ‘Sides, I’m sure he knows by now you’re capable. How many dragons was it you said you and your water boyfriend took on last time? Not to mention I started younger than you, after all, and I’m not even missing a limb yet!” Still grinning teasingly, her attention flicked sidelong to settle on Detraeus. “You and all your pureblood friends. Does this one have a name, or does he just stand there silently brooding all day?”

Detraeus narrowed his eyes.

After an extended pause, Takhi cleared her throat. “Well, I’d say he’s at least twice as friendly as most people down in the mess, so he should fit right in.” Turning back to Casseth, she smiled again, unphased. “You’re ready to get this dance kicked into action, then?”

At Casseth’s confirmation, Takhi lead the way through the less-public avenues of the arena, and through the initial sign-up process. The basic set-up was explained to them in greater detail as well as the variety of different arrangements available for those who had never participated, the risks, payouts, and tier system. It took, as far as Detraeus could guess, over an hour, but by the end of it, both he and Casseth were marked down as entry level fighters, ready to be mixed in as warm-up entertainment for the coming week when needed.

Detraeus left the arena with a budding, unscratched sense of curiosity and nerves, but above all: anticipation. This, he felt, was finally his first real step towards progress in the right direction.