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As soon as the gates to the gladiator pits had opened, men dressed in crimson red filed out into the arena and Iason’s eyes flashed towards the Stravos family - who wore the same colours - and then to the King. Was this intentional, perhaps a message of sorts? Iason has heard one or two rumours, and although none he could confirm to be true, he knew that they did not support King Minas’ wish for his daughter to succeed him. The crowds cheered loudly, but the tumult quickly died down and so Iason returned his gaze upon the field. It was quiet, suspense filled the audience and just when some seemed like they could no longer bare it a roar erupted from behind the dais and a gladiator dressed in black and silver came running from beneath.
The warrior set his direction towards the balcony where Persephone now stood and charged at it with a menacing cry, his sword lifted in the air. Iason has seen his fare share of battles such as the one about to unfold, and every time a champion of a House was introduced they would attempt some dramatic display to gain favour early on with the crowd. This one was no different, in fact, it was barely unique and most certainly reckless given their situation. As soon as the gladiator set his sights towards the Royal family Iason knew this man’s intention was merely to gain favour, and not to harm the Princess. However, he stared at the spectacle with little amusement, instead far more taken by the reaction it got out of Vilmar who stood at the ready, hand on his swords' hilt. Iason looked to his own men who stood further back than the guards of Athenia. They were at the ready, their eyes were focused and yet they were standing perfectly still. Like Iason, they too could see from the gladiator’s approach that he was no threat and so they stayed firm.
Iason nodded towards Ptolemy, the head of his guard, in assent. It would not have been favourable for too many to act out against the gladiator’s approach; some may view it as a sign of weak judgement on the Princess’ part. The entire event was so that they may win over the people, the Senate and other Houses. How can they do so if they see Xanthos as incapable of choosing a steadfast champion. Rising from his seat he walked up to Persephone’s side, placing an arm loosely around her before smiling down at her, hoping to ease her nerves and excitement. ”Breathe,” he said, half teasingly, as the crowd quieted down enough for his voice to be heard. Although her reactions were normal, and the excitement that caused her shoulders to heave ever so slightly something none should be denied, she needed to stand taut and regain her decorum.
Focusing his gaze back towards the gladiator who now cut through the crimson force with what seemed like ease he was thankful that the man at least possessed skills on the battlefield as opposed to his skills in judgement. Once the arrows and spears came raining down on those who were still left standing, Iason pulled Persephone in closer, his arm still securely placed around her lower back.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
As soon as the gates to the gladiator pits had opened, men dressed in crimson red filed out into the arena and Iason’s eyes flashed towards the Stravos family - who wore the same colours - and then to the King. Was this intentional, perhaps a message of sorts? Iason has heard one or two rumours, and although none he could confirm to be true, he knew that they did not support King Minas’ wish for his daughter to succeed him. The crowds cheered loudly, but the tumult quickly died down and so Iason returned his gaze upon the field. It was quiet, suspense filled the audience and just when some seemed like they could no longer bare it a roar erupted from behind the dais and a gladiator dressed in black and silver came running from beneath.
The warrior set his direction towards the balcony where Persephone now stood and charged at it with a menacing cry, his sword lifted in the air. Iason has seen his fare share of battles such as the one about to unfold, and every time a champion of a House was introduced they would attempt some dramatic display to gain favour early on with the crowd. This one was no different, in fact, it was barely unique and most certainly reckless given their situation. As soon as the gladiator set his sights towards the Royal family Iason knew this man’s intention was merely to gain favour, and not to harm the Princess. However, he stared at the spectacle with little amusement, instead far more taken by the reaction it got out of Vilmar who stood at the ready, hand on his swords' hilt. Iason looked to his own men who stood further back than the guards of Athenia. They were at the ready, their eyes were focused and yet they were standing perfectly still. Like Iason, they too could see from the gladiator’s approach that he was no threat and so they stayed firm.
Iason nodded towards Ptolemy, the head of his guard, in assent. It would not have been favourable for too many to act out against the gladiator’s approach; some may view it as a sign of weak judgement on the Princess’ part. The entire event was so that they may win over the people, the Senate and other Houses. How can they do so if they see Xanthos as incapable of choosing a steadfast champion. Rising from his seat he walked up to Persephone’s side, placing an arm loosely around her before smiling down at her, hoping to ease her nerves and excitement. ”Breathe,” he said, half teasingly, as the crowd quieted down enough for his voice to be heard. Although her reactions were normal, and the excitement that caused her shoulders to heave ever so slightly something none should be denied, she needed to stand taut and regain her decorum.
Focusing his gaze back towards the gladiator who now cut through the crimson force with what seemed like ease he was thankful that the man at least possessed skills on the battlefield as opposed to his skills in judgement. Once the arrows and spears came raining down on those who were still left standing, Iason pulled Persephone in closer, his arm still securely placed around her lower back.
As soon as the gates to the gladiator pits had opened, men dressed in crimson red filed out into the arena and Iason’s eyes flashed towards the Stravos family - who wore the same colours - and then to the King. Was this intentional, perhaps a message of sorts? Iason has heard one or two rumours, and although none he could confirm to be true, he knew that they did not support King Minas’ wish for his daughter to succeed him. The crowds cheered loudly, but the tumult quickly died down and so Iason returned his gaze upon the field. It was quiet, suspense filled the audience and just when some seemed like they could no longer bare it a roar erupted from behind the dais and a gladiator dressed in black and silver came running from beneath.
The warrior set his direction towards the balcony where Persephone now stood and charged at it with a menacing cry, his sword lifted in the air. Iason has seen his fare share of battles such as the one about to unfold, and every time a champion of a House was introduced they would attempt some dramatic display to gain favour early on with the crowd. This one was no different, in fact, it was barely unique and most certainly reckless given their situation. As soon as the gladiator set his sights towards the Royal family Iason knew this man’s intention was merely to gain favour, and not to harm the Princess. However, he stared at the spectacle with little amusement, instead far more taken by the reaction it got out of Vilmar who stood at the ready, hand on his swords' hilt. Iason looked to his own men who stood further back than the guards of Athenia. They were at the ready, their eyes were focused and yet they were standing perfectly still. Like Iason, they too could see from the gladiator’s approach that he was no threat and so they stayed firm.
Iason nodded towards Ptolemy, the head of his guard, in assent. It would not have been favourable for too many to act out against the gladiator’s approach; some may view it as a sign of weak judgement on the Princess’ part. The entire event was so that they may win over the people, the Senate and other Houses. How can they do so if they see Xanthos as incapable of choosing a steadfast champion. Rising from his seat he walked up to Persephone’s side, placing an arm loosely around her before smiling down at her, hoping to ease her nerves and excitement. ”Breathe,” he said, half teasingly, as the crowd quieted down enough for his voice to be heard. Although her reactions were normal, and the excitement that caused her shoulders to heave ever so slightly something none should be denied, she needed to stand taut and regain her decorum.
Focusing his gaze back towards the gladiator who now cut through the crimson force with what seemed like ease he was thankful that the man at least possessed skills on the battlefield as opposed to his skills in judgement. Once the arrows and spears came raining down on those who were still left standing, Iason pulled Persephone in closer, his arm still securely placed around her lower back.
Persephone was thankful that the battle below had not halted or stood for dramatic effect. Instead, the Xanthos Champion had stormed over the balcony, landed agilely on the sandy ground and stormed towards the enemy, leading a battalion drenched in the colours of the House of Xanthos. Such a clash that was met in the centre of the stadium had everyone's eyes pinned on the fight below, allowed her a few seconds to compose herself.
While it was only those who were within spitting distance that might have noticed her distress anyway, the tension she felt in the back of her mind that someone might witness the supposed heir to the throne being jostled and set off balance by the appearance of her own gladiator was a fear that only took her difficulty to breathe higher.
It was in that moment that a hand found its way around her waist and Persephone looked up to find the smiling face of Iason looking down at her. The smile was kind, the eyes compassionate and the single instruction he voiced, low enough for only her to hear, was said in a manner that was neither chastising or penalising. There was no judgement in Iason's manner, face or voice - just a simple fact that she needed to obey and follow.
Swallowing, Persephone did as he said, straining the confines of her gown for several deep breaths that would allow her mind to clear and the thoughts to calm.
Smiling back at her new fiancé when she felt her collected manners fall back into place she dipped her eyeline in thanks.
Looking out across the arcus where her people had been roused to their feet to cheer at the victory of the Xanthos Champion and his brethren against the evil Stravos-decorated enemy, Persephone took a quick glimpse towards the Stravos box, curious as to their reaction.
Upon meeting the eye of her cousin, Lord Elias, she did little besides twist her lips into something that might have been considered a smile and leant into Iason's side as he tightened his grip around her waist.
Standing as a couple now, the two of them watched the fight progress only to have Persephone stiffen once more when a shower of arrows suddenly bombarded the Xanthos warriors from above.
Keeping her lips close together and her chlamys in place, only Iason - standing so close and their sides together - would have noticed Persephone's short gasp of horror as the raining weapons struck shields but also bodies.
Had the fighters been told this would happen? Clearly not, for many of them fell to the onslaught.
While she understood that gladiator fights were real and not some show, this entire event was orchestrated to show the greatness of Xanthos - not to kill off its most prosperous young fighters.
Tense and taut beside her betrothed, Persephone found her gaze seeking out the only one of the Xanthos fighters who wore more obvious silver in his armour and had lost sight of the man entirely, beneath the roof of shields the unit had formed.
It wasn't until the Xanthos fighters were sent back towards the other end of the stadium - her end of the stadium - that she spotted him backing away from the fight, his shield raised protectively.
As he drew close she noted the blood running down one of his arms - clearly, he had not escaped the first foray without injury - and she found her heart hammering in panic. The man was going to think she had talked him into becoming her House's Champion only to be waylaid in the arena and sent to his death. He would never trust her or their arrangements again!
Persephone had half a mind to seek out the arcus director and put a stop to the fight here and now, but of course she knew this to be impossible.
She would simply have to trust in her choice of fighter - that he would survive not only the match but his suspicions regarding her honesty also.
It was when the fighters in Xanthos colours were backed all the way towards the gladiators' entrance beneath the royal box that Persephone's will was tested again.
This time, it was tested by the people, as they dropped to a quiet and curious hum of noise over the apparent defeat of the Xanthos forces. Standing straight and proud and placing a hand on the railing of the balcony to show her relaxed state, Persephone simply stood and waited, internally praying that the day was not about to fall into one of desperation and humiliation for her House and father.
This had been one thing she had been able to do for her ailing king. The one thing she had set out to do herself, through her own initiative. They could have simply held the games. There had been no need for the addition of a Champion of Xanthos. There had been no desperation to have a representative among the people. But Persephone had thought it a good idea and had been proud to act upon it. To make that choice on behalf of her father and king.
She offered up a silent prayer to Ares that she had not been mistaken in her choice.
It was at that moment - as if in answer to her prayers - that the gladiator she had indeed chosen, had somehow made it to the upper walls at the other end of the arena.
Like a wild animal he sprinted across the high ledge that ran the length of the structure, ducking and avoiding arrows as he got close enough for the enemy archers to spot him.
Leaping for his foes, the warrior hacked and destroyed the men who had dared to fire down upon him and his men, throwing bodies over the side of the ledge and down into the stands.
Another moment of tension flowed through Persephone as she noted the bodies to be falling on the innocent members of her populace but she was pleased to see them quickly stepping back and out of the way.
The denizens of Athenia roared their approval of the brutality of it all as the Xanthos Champion succeeded in removing the last of the archers from the game. For it was a game that he was playing. That Persephone did not need to be close in order to see. He ran and moved with energy and exuberance. Like a child accepting a challenge. She had seen it in his eyes when the man had refused to bow to her authority and she saw it in the swing of his muscles now.
To Androkles, the balance of life and death - the walking of the fine tightrope between - was all simply a game...
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Persephone was thankful that the battle below had not halted or stood for dramatic effect. Instead, the Xanthos Champion had stormed over the balcony, landed agilely on the sandy ground and stormed towards the enemy, leading a battalion drenched in the colours of the House of Xanthos. Such a clash that was met in the centre of the stadium had everyone's eyes pinned on the fight below, allowed her a few seconds to compose herself.
While it was only those who were within spitting distance that might have noticed her distress anyway, the tension she felt in the back of her mind that someone might witness the supposed heir to the throne being jostled and set off balance by the appearance of her own gladiator was a fear that only took her difficulty to breathe higher.
It was in that moment that a hand found its way around her waist and Persephone looked up to find the smiling face of Iason looking down at her. The smile was kind, the eyes compassionate and the single instruction he voiced, low enough for only her to hear, was said in a manner that was neither chastising or penalising. There was no judgement in Iason's manner, face or voice - just a simple fact that she needed to obey and follow.
Swallowing, Persephone did as he said, straining the confines of her gown for several deep breaths that would allow her mind to clear and the thoughts to calm.
Smiling back at her new fiancé when she felt her collected manners fall back into place she dipped her eyeline in thanks.
Looking out across the arcus where her people had been roused to their feet to cheer at the victory of the Xanthos Champion and his brethren against the evil Stravos-decorated enemy, Persephone took a quick glimpse towards the Stravos box, curious as to their reaction.
Upon meeting the eye of her cousin, Lord Elias, she did little besides twist her lips into something that might have been considered a smile and leant into Iason's side as he tightened his grip around her waist.
Standing as a couple now, the two of them watched the fight progress only to have Persephone stiffen once more when a shower of arrows suddenly bombarded the Xanthos warriors from above.
Keeping her lips close together and her chlamys in place, only Iason - standing so close and their sides together - would have noticed Persephone's short gasp of horror as the raining weapons struck shields but also bodies.
Had the fighters been told this would happen? Clearly not, for many of them fell to the onslaught.
While she understood that gladiator fights were real and not some show, this entire event was orchestrated to show the greatness of Xanthos - not to kill off its most prosperous young fighters.
Tense and taut beside her betrothed, Persephone found her gaze seeking out the only one of the Xanthos fighters who wore more obvious silver in his armour and had lost sight of the man entirely, beneath the roof of shields the unit had formed.
It wasn't until the Xanthos fighters were sent back towards the other end of the stadium - her end of the stadium - that she spotted him backing away from the fight, his shield raised protectively.
As he drew close she noted the blood running down one of his arms - clearly, he had not escaped the first foray without injury - and she found her heart hammering in panic. The man was going to think she had talked him into becoming her House's Champion only to be waylaid in the arena and sent to his death. He would never trust her or their arrangements again!
Persephone had half a mind to seek out the arcus director and put a stop to the fight here and now, but of course she knew this to be impossible.
She would simply have to trust in her choice of fighter - that he would survive not only the match but his suspicions regarding her honesty also.
It was when the fighters in Xanthos colours were backed all the way towards the gladiators' entrance beneath the royal box that Persephone's will was tested again.
This time, it was tested by the people, as they dropped to a quiet and curious hum of noise over the apparent defeat of the Xanthos forces. Standing straight and proud and placing a hand on the railing of the balcony to show her relaxed state, Persephone simply stood and waited, internally praying that the day was not about to fall into one of desperation and humiliation for her House and father.
This had been one thing she had been able to do for her ailing king. The one thing she had set out to do herself, through her own initiative. They could have simply held the games. There had been no need for the addition of a Champion of Xanthos. There had been no desperation to have a representative among the people. But Persephone had thought it a good idea and had been proud to act upon it. To make that choice on behalf of her father and king.
She offered up a silent prayer to Ares that she had not been mistaken in her choice.
It was at that moment - as if in answer to her prayers - that the gladiator she had indeed chosen, had somehow made it to the upper walls at the other end of the arena.
Like a wild animal he sprinted across the high ledge that ran the length of the structure, ducking and avoiding arrows as he got close enough for the enemy archers to spot him.
Leaping for his foes, the warrior hacked and destroyed the men who had dared to fire down upon him and his men, throwing bodies over the side of the ledge and down into the stands.
Another moment of tension flowed through Persephone as she noted the bodies to be falling on the innocent members of her populace but she was pleased to see them quickly stepping back and out of the way.
The denizens of Athenia roared their approval of the brutality of it all as the Xanthos Champion succeeded in removing the last of the archers from the game. For it was a game that he was playing. That Persephone did not need to be close in order to see. He ran and moved with energy and exuberance. Like a child accepting a challenge. She had seen it in his eyes when the man had refused to bow to her authority and she saw it in the swing of his muscles now.
To Androkles, the balance of life and death - the walking of the fine tightrope between - was all simply a game...
Persephone was thankful that the battle below had not halted or stood for dramatic effect. Instead, the Xanthos Champion had stormed over the balcony, landed agilely on the sandy ground and stormed towards the enemy, leading a battalion drenched in the colours of the House of Xanthos. Such a clash that was met in the centre of the stadium had everyone's eyes pinned on the fight below, allowed her a few seconds to compose herself.
While it was only those who were within spitting distance that might have noticed her distress anyway, the tension she felt in the back of her mind that someone might witness the supposed heir to the throne being jostled and set off balance by the appearance of her own gladiator was a fear that only took her difficulty to breathe higher.
It was in that moment that a hand found its way around her waist and Persephone looked up to find the smiling face of Iason looking down at her. The smile was kind, the eyes compassionate and the single instruction he voiced, low enough for only her to hear, was said in a manner that was neither chastising or penalising. There was no judgement in Iason's manner, face or voice - just a simple fact that she needed to obey and follow.
Swallowing, Persephone did as he said, straining the confines of her gown for several deep breaths that would allow her mind to clear and the thoughts to calm.
Smiling back at her new fiancé when she felt her collected manners fall back into place she dipped her eyeline in thanks.
Looking out across the arcus where her people had been roused to their feet to cheer at the victory of the Xanthos Champion and his brethren against the evil Stravos-decorated enemy, Persephone took a quick glimpse towards the Stravos box, curious as to their reaction.
Upon meeting the eye of her cousin, Lord Elias, she did little besides twist her lips into something that might have been considered a smile and leant into Iason's side as he tightened his grip around her waist.
Standing as a couple now, the two of them watched the fight progress only to have Persephone stiffen once more when a shower of arrows suddenly bombarded the Xanthos warriors from above.
Keeping her lips close together and her chlamys in place, only Iason - standing so close and their sides together - would have noticed Persephone's short gasp of horror as the raining weapons struck shields but also bodies.
Had the fighters been told this would happen? Clearly not, for many of them fell to the onslaught.
While she understood that gladiator fights were real and not some show, this entire event was orchestrated to show the greatness of Xanthos - not to kill off its most prosperous young fighters.
Tense and taut beside her betrothed, Persephone found her gaze seeking out the only one of the Xanthos fighters who wore more obvious silver in his armour and had lost sight of the man entirely, beneath the roof of shields the unit had formed.
It wasn't until the Xanthos fighters were sent back towards the other end of the stadium - her end of the stadium - that she spotted him backing away from the fight, his shield raised protectively.
As he drew close she noted the blood running down one of his arms - clearly, he had not escaped the first foray without injury - and she found her heart hammering in panic. The man was going to think she had talked him into becoming her House's Champion only to be waylaid in the arena and sent to his death. He would never trust her or their arrangements again!
Persephone had half a mind to seek out the arcus director and put a stop to the fight here and now, but of course she knew this to be impossible.
She would simply have to trust in her choice of fighter - that he would survive not only the match but his suspicions regarding her honesty also.
It was when the fighters in Xanthos colours were backed all the way towards the gladiators' entrance beneath the royal box that Persephone's will was tested again.
This time, it was tested by the people, as they dropped to a quiet and curious hum of noise over the apparent defeat of the Xanthos forces. Standing straight and proud and placing a hand on the railing of the balcony to show her relaxed state, Persephone simply stood and waited, internally praying that the day was not about to fall into one of desperation and humiliation for her House and father.
This had been one thing she had been able to do for her ailing king. The one thing she had set out to do herself, through her own initiative. They could have simply held the games. There had been no need for the addition of a Champion of Xanthos. There had been no desperation to have a representative among the people. But Persephone had thought it a good idea and had been proud to act upon it. To make that choice on behalf of her father and king.
She offered up a silent prayer to Ares that she had not been mistaken in her choice.
It was at that moment - as if in answer to her prayers - that the gladiator she had indeed chosen, had somehow made it to the upper walls at the other end of the arena.
Like a wild animal he sprinted across the high ledge that ran the length of the structure, ducking and avoiding arrows as he got close enough for the enemy archers to spot him.
Leaping for his foes, the warrior hacked and destroyed the men who had dared to fire down upon him and his men, throwing bodies over the side of the ledge and down into the stands.
Another moment of tension flowed through Persephone as she noted the bodies to be falling on the innocent members of her populace but she was pleased to see them quickly stepping back and out of the way.
The denizens of Athenia roared their approval of the brutality of it all as the Xanthos Champion succeeded in removing the last of the archers from the game. For it was a game that he was playing. That Persephone did not need to be close in order to see. He ran and moved with energy and exuberance. Like a child accepting a challenge. She had seen it in his eyes when the man had refused to bow to her authority and she saw it in the swing of his muscles now.
To Androkles, the balance of life and death - the walking of the fine tightrope between - was all simply a game...
Princess Persephone's voice was one of the only things that could stay Vilmar's hand and blade. He still found it difficult to not give into his battle lust. The fires of youth ever burned in him eager for the release of battle. He had trained himself to listen for her voice, the tone of it. She did not give direct orders often, but when she did, he attended. Vilmar was still young, but he took the role of bodyguard seriously. When he observed the skill of the gladiator, he was glad his blade was not tested that day.
Vilmar improved the impressive display of battle skill that the gladiator provided. It was different than that of a soldier. There was a certain flair to the way the man moved. He could understand the appeal of it to the crowd. It seemed the Princess had chosen her champion well. He made quick work of his opponents in a bloody assault. He doubted the other fighters had much chance.
He looked down at the dirt and blood covered faces of the archers tossed down. For a brief moment, he felt doubt as he looked around at his surroundings. The lifeless eyes of the men on the dirt floor looking back at him. The spectators were cheering approval of the open display below. Was there any honor in this? They had died a warriors death at least, and he would see them when the end came perhaps. One final field of battle to test them all.
Vilmar often wondered what his life might entail if he had chosen a different path or been born to another family. Would he still be a warrior? Perhaps he would be one of the men resting in the sand below now. Life seemed so fleeting at times and squandered so recklessly. Had he done well with his own life? He tried to use the gifts the gods had provided him, and yet he wondered if he squandered his opportunities. Would he be remembered, or just another face in the sand when it was all done. In the quiet of the shadows behind the Princess, he swore to himself that whatever came next, he would not waste the chances he was offered.
The royal bodyguard observed the rest of the battle below unfold much the same. The champion carving his way through any opponent. Vilmar kept one hand steady on his sword. It rested back in the hilt as commanded. He was still uneasy with so many armed individuals around the Princess. There were undoubtedly less now that the event was coming to an end. He would be glad when the whole celebration was over.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
This post was created by our staff team.
Please contact us with your queries and questions.
Princess Persephone's voice was one of the only things that could stay Vilmar's hand and blade. He still found it difficult to not give into his battle lust. The fires of youth ever burned in him eager for the release of battle. He had trained himself to listen for her voice, the tone of it. She did not give direct orders often, but when she did, he attended. Vilmar was still young, but he took the role of bodyguard seriously. When he observed the skill of the gladiator, he was glad his blade was not tested that day.
Vilmar improved the impressive display of battle skill that the gladiator provided. It was different than that of a soldier. There was a certain flair to the way the man moved. He could understand the appeal of it to the crowd. It seemed the Princess had chosen her champion well. He made quick work of his opponents in a bloody assault. He doubted the other fighters had much chance.
He looked down at the dirt and blood covered faces of the archers tossed down. For a brief moment, he felt doubt as he looked around at his surroundings. The lifeless eyes of the men on the dirt floor looking back at him. The spectators were cheering approval of the open display below. Was there any honor in this? They had died a warriors death at least, and he would see them when the end came perhaps. One final field of battle to test them all.
Vilmar often wondered what his life might entail if he had chosen a different path or been born to another family. Would he still be a warrior? Perhaps he would be one of the men resting in the sand below now. Life seemed so fleeting at times and squandered so recklessly. Had he done well with his own life? He tried to use the gifts the gods had provided him, and yet he wondered if he squandered his opportunities. Would he be remembered, or just another face in the sand when it was all done. In the quiet of the shadows behind the Princess, he swore to himself that whatever came next, he would not waste the chances he was offered.
The royal bodyguard observed the rest of the battle below unfold much the same. The champion carving his way through any opponent. Vilmar kept one hand steady on his sword. It rested back in the hilt as commanded. He was still uneasy with so many armed individuals around the Princess. There were undoubtedly less now that the event was coming to an end. He would be glad when the whole celebration was over.
Princess Persephone's voice was one of the only things that could stay Vilmar's hand and blade. He still found it difficult to not give into his battle lust. The fires of youth ever burned in him eager for the release of battle. He had trained himself to listen for her voice, the tone of it. She did not give direct orders often, but when she did, he attended. Vilmar was still young, but he took the role of bodyguard seriously. When he observed the skill of the gladiator, he was glad his blade was not tested that day.
Vilmar improved the impressive display of battle skill that the gladiator provided. It was different than that of a soldier. There was a certain flair to the way the man moved. He could understand the appeal of it to the crowd. It seemed the Princess had chosen her champion well. He made quick work of his opponents in a bloody assault. He doubted the other fighters had much chance.
He looked down at the dirt and blood covered faces of the archers tossed down. For a brief moment, he felt doubt as he looked around at his surroundings. The lifeless eyes of the men on the dirt floor looking back at him. The spectators were cheering approval of the open display below. Was there any honor in this? They had died a warriors death at least, and he would see them when the end came perhaps. One final field of battle to test them all.
Vilmar often wondered what his life might entail if he had chosen a different path or been born to another family. Would he still be a warrior? Perhaps he would be one of the men resting in the sand below now. Life seemed so fleeting at times and squandered so recklessly. Had he done well with his own life? He tried to use the gifts the gods had provided him, and yet he wondered if he squandered his opportunities. Would he be remembered, or just another face in the sand when it was all done. In the quiet of the shadows behind the Princess, he swore to himself that whatever came next, he would not waste the chances he was offered.
The royal bodyguard observed the rest of the battle below unfold much the same. The champion carving his way through any opponent. Vilmar kept one hand steady on his sword. It rested back in the hilt as commanded. He was still uneasy with so many armed individuals around the Princess. There were undoubtedly less now that the event was coming to an end. He would be glad when the whole celebration was over.
The last match was appropriately deadly, gruesome, loud and all done to showcase the greatness that was the elected gladiators to represent the royal house -everything that Emilia flinched at. Her father perpetually soothed his youngest with his thumb rubbing over her hands, as the young one sat stock still, pale and disliking every second of witnessing the barbaric fight that went on below. Why again, did humans enjoy watching such dastardly acts?
The end of the fight as the Xanthos fighters were sent back, only then did Emilia breathe again, her shoulders losing their rock-hard like state upon the conclusion of the rampant brutality that had taken place in the arcus. The cheers of the people as the Xanthos champion her sister had picked out tossed aside archers and foe alike as if they were sacks of potatoes - they may like it, Emilia simply found it brutal. Dawn's offer of wine had done well in easing her dislike and horror, and she had downed two chalices of it by the end of it all.
No one more eager then her to exit the arcus, as the announcement went up on the victory of the gladiator representing their house, Emilia found herself rising with her father, who headed to Persephone with an approving smile for his elder offspring.
After an appropriate time had went past for the crowd to sufficiently cheer and for the royal family to ensure all was well, the guards were well versed in their duty to come forward and begin escorting their charges to the arranged closed carriages that were readied at the entrance of the arcus to ferry them to their next destination of the day. Emilia gave one last sweep of the arcus and the royal family boxes - watching with a raised brow as the Stravos family left along with everyone else before she was shuffled to the exits by her guards and slaves.
Behind them, the horn blasted loud and long to signify the end of the Arcus games, while people poured out the commoner entrances, chattering, and adrenaline obvious in the crowds. At the foot of the private steps designated for the usage of the royal family and their retainers, Emilia kissed her father's whiskered cheek as he was led with assistance to a separate carriage to return to the palace, before waiting for her sister to arrive so that they could take the same carriage to the central palateia.
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The last match was appropriately deadly, gruesome, loud and all done to showcase the greatness that was the elected gladiators to represent the royal house -everything that Emilia flinched at. Her father perpetually soothed his youngest with his thumb rubbing over her hands, as the young one sat stock still, pale and disliking every second of witnessing the barbaric fight that went on below. Why again, did humans enjoy watching such dastardly acts?
The end of the fight as the Xanthos fighters were sent back, only then did Emilia breathe again, her shoulders losing their rock-hard like state upon the conclusion of the rampant brutality that had taken place in the arcus. The cheers of the people as the Xanthos champion her sister had picked out tossed aside archers and foe alike as if they were sacks of potatoes - they may like it, Emilia simply found it brutal. Dawn's offer of wine had done well in easing her dislike and horror, and she had downed two chalices of it by the end of it all.
No one more eager then her to exit the arcus, as the announcement went up on the victory of the gladiator representing their house, Emilia found herself rising with her father, who headed to Persephone with an approving smile for his elder offspring.
After an appropriate time had went past for the crowd to sufficiently cheer and for the royal family to ensure all was well, the guards were well versed in their duty to come forward and begin escorting their charges to the arranged closed carriages that were readied at the entrance of the arcus to ferry them to their next destination of the day. Emilia gave one last sweep of the arcus and the royal family boxes - watching with a raised brow as the Stravos family left along with everyone else before she was shuffled to the exits by her guards and slaves.
Behind them, the horn blasted loud and long to signify the end of the Arcus games, while people poured out the commoner entrances, chattering, and adrenaline obvious in the crowds. At the foot of the private steps designated for the usage of the royal family and their retainers, Emilia kissed her father's whiskered cheek as he was led with assistance to a separate carriage to return to the palace, before waiting for her sister to arrive so that they could take the same carriage to the central palateia.
The last match was appropriately deadly, gruesome, loud and all done to showcase the greatness that was the elected gladiators to represent the royal house -everything that Emilia flinched at. Her father perpetually soothed his youngest with his thumb rubbing over her hands, as the young one sat stock still, pale and disliking every second of witnessing the barbaric fight that went on below. Why again, did humans enjoy watching such dastardly acts?
The end of the fight as the Xanthos fighters were sent back, only then did Emilia breathe again, her shoulders losing their rock-hard like state upon the conclusion of the rampant brutality that had taken place in the arcus. The cheers of the people as the Xanthos champion her sister had picked out tossed aside archers and foe alike as if they were sacks of potatoes - they may like it, Emilia simply found it brutal. Dawn's offer of wine had done well in easing her dislike and horror, and she had downed two chalices of it by the end of it all.
No one more eager then her to exit the arcus, as the announcement went up on the victory of the gladiator representing their house, Emilia found herself rising with her father, who headed to Persephone with an approving smile for his elder offspring.
After an appropriate time had went past for the crowd to sufficiently cheer and for the royal family to ensure all was well, the guards were well versed in their duty to come forward and begin escorting their charges to the arranged closed carriages that were readied at the entrance of the arcus to ferry them to their next destination of the day. Emilia gave one last sweep of the arcus and the royal family boxes - watching with a raised brow as the Stravos family left along with everyone else before she was shuffled to the exits by her guards and slaves.
Behind them, the horn blasted loud and long to signify the end of the Arcus games, while people poured out the commoner entrances, chattering, and adrenaline obvious in the crowds. At the foot of the private steps designated for the usage of the royal family and their retainers, Emilia kissed her father's whiskered cheek as he was led with assistance to a separate carriage to return to the palace, before waiting for her sister to arrive so that they could take the same carriage to the central palateia.
Arrows and spears rained down upon the unsuspecting warriors and though some fell, unable to raise their shields in time, others were quick, reflexes and dexterity not failing them today. The champion was among the first of the men to have his shield up, and he was also the first to call to the others to urge them to rally together; an idea no other Gladiator seemed eager to turn down. They gathered together, forming barriers at their sides and atop their heads as they moved in unison towards the entrance. However, there will always be weakness in such a defence and a good archer would know where to find them and so those at the sides fell easily as the champion and a handful of men managed to scurry away like a turtle hidden underneath its shell.
The Xanthos warriors disappeared from his view completely and by simply listening to the crowd Iason had known that they were no longer even in the audience’ sightlines. Had the champion retreated? No, perhaps the men that were with him would lay down their shields and curse at the walls in defeat, but not the man that made a spectacle of himself upon his entrance. Men like that would rather fight to the death, until their very last breath, before they just retreated into the shadows.
Persephone stood firm, strong, and although Iason could sense she felt slightly fearful due to all the uncertainty, she showed her resolve to her people as they instinctively looked to her for answers. Suddenly, as if to assure their King of their devotion, the crowd began to cheer out for Xanthos, calling for the warrior they seen but moments ago. Out of the corner of Iason’s eye he noticed a body drop, and soon two, three, four had followed. The gladiator seemed to have a few more braincells than what Iason had previously given him credit for, and for the first time the Lord found himself intrigued. However, his facial expression remained unresponsive, his eyes merely following the sight of bodies splintering into the stands. A mixture of panic and excitement came from the crowd as they moved accordingly, and thankfully so. It was often part of the game, even in Chariot races, that the spectators would get involved and somehow injured. It was part of the promise of the entertainment. Still, the last thing they needed was for the casualties to be unfavourable.
The last archer fell and the champion along with the gladiators that aided him in his victory stood triumphantly. It was over.
The fighters were gone, the crowds’ cheers were dulling down, and some were already hurrying toward the exits to make it to the next event in time. After the King was escorted safely to a separate carriage that would be heading to the palace, Iason, along with Persephone and the younger Princess, Emilia, set off to their next destination.
JD
Staff Team
JD
Staff Team
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Arrows and spears rained down upon the unsuspecting warriors and though some fell, unable to raise their shields in time, others were quick, reflexes and dexterity not failing them today. The champion was among the first of the men to have his shield up, and he was also the first to call to the others to urge them to rally together; an idea no other Gladiator seemed eager to turn down. They gathered together, forming barriers at their sides and atop their heads as they moved in unison towards the entrance. However, there will always be weakness in such a defence and a good archer would know where to find them and so those at the sides fell easily as the champion and a handful of men managed to scurry away like a turtle hidden underneath its shell.
The Xanthos warriors disappeared from his view completely and by simply listening to the crowd Iason had known that they were no longer even in the audience’ sightlines. Had the champion retreated? No, perhaps the men that were with him would lay down their shields and curse at the walls in defeat, but not the man that made a spectacle of himself upon his entrance. Men like that would rather fight to the death, until their very last breath, before they just retreated into the shadows.
Persephone stood firm, strong, and although Iason could sense she felt slightly fearful due to all the uncertainty, she showed her resolve to her people as they instinctively looked to her for answers. Suddenly, as if to assure their King of their devotion, the crowd began to cheer out for Xanthos, calling for the warrior they seen but moments ago. Out of the corner of Iason’s eye he noticed a body drop, and soon two, three, four had followed. The gladiator seemed to have a few more braincells than what Iason had previously given him credit for, and for the first time the Lord found himself intrigued. However, his facial expression remained unresponsive, his eyes merely following the sight of bodies splintering into the stands. A mixture of panic and excitement came from the crowd as they moved accordingly, and thankfully so. It was often part of the game, even in Chariot races, that the spectators would get involved and somehow injured. It was part of the promise of the entertainment. Still, the last thing they needed was for the casualties to be unfavourable.
The last archer fell and the champion along with the gladiators that aided him in his victory stood triumphantly. It was over.
The fighters were gone, the crowds’ cheers were dulling down, and some were already hurrying toward the exits to make it to the next event in time. After the King was escorted safely to a separate carriage that would be heading to the palace, Iason, along with Persephone and the younger Princess, Emilia, set off to their next destination.
Arrows and spears rained down upon the unsuspecting warriors and though some fell, unable to raise their shields in time, others were quick, reflexes and dexterity not failing them today. The champion was among the first of the men to have his shield up, and he was also the first to call to the others to urge them to rally together; an idea no other Gladiator seemed eager to turn down. They gathered together, forming barriers at their sides and atop their heads as they moved in unison towards the entrance. However, there will always be weakness in such a defence and a good archer would know where to find them and so those at the sides fell easily as the champion and a handful of men managed to scurry away like a turtle hidden underneath its shell.
The Xanthos warriors disappeared from his view completely and by simply listening to the crowd Iason had known that they were no longer even in the audience’ sightlines. Had the champion retreated? No, perhaps the men that were with him would lay down their shields and curse at the walls in defeat, but not the man that made a spectacle of himself upon his entrance. Men like that would rather fight to the death, until their very last breath, before they just retreated into the shadows.
Persephone stood firm, strong, and although Iason could sense she felt slightly fearful due to all the uncertainty, she showed her resolve to her people as they instinctively looked to her for answers. Suddenly, as if to assure their King of their devotion, the crowd began to cheer out for Xanthos, calling for the warrior they seen but moments ago. Out of the corner of Iason’s eye he noticed a body drop, and soon two, three, four had followed. The gladiator seemed to have a few more braincells than what Iason had previously given him credit for, and for the first time the Lord found himself intrigued. However, his facial expression remained unresponsive, his eyes merely following the sight of bodies splintering into the stands. A mixture of panic and excitement came from the crowd as they moved accordingly, and thankfully so. It was often part of the game, even in Chariot races, that the spectators would get involved and somehow injured. It was part of the promise of the entertainment. Still, the last thing they needed was for the casualties to be unfavourable.
The last archer fell and the champion along with the gladiators that aided him in his victory stood triumphantly. It was over.
The fighters were gone, the crowds’ cheers were dulling down, and some were already hurrying toward the exits to make it to the next event in time. After the King was escorted safely to a separate carriage that would be heading to the palace, Iason, along with Persephone and the younger Princess, Emilia, set off to their next destination.
