Gladiator, No, his name isn't Spartacus... Options

[Gaius Maximus]

Since I couldn't get myself to write more about Gaius, I decided to give that story a break, and instead try a different character. This was the result.

Author's note: I'm portraying the Arena of the Imperial City in a different way than it is presented in Oblivion - not a coluntary fighting Arena, but a place where prisoners of war and criminals are stuffed to die after being given training with weaponty and the like.

Chapter I

The burning village was full of cries of despair and hatred. The mounted Legionnaires paid no attention to this horrifying music, though, killing the Ra Gada warriors that dared oppose them. Not one fell from a lance or a sword, and that was the punishment a small desert village would receive for a rebellion. Against the lightly armed Redguard infantry, the disciplined cavalry of the Legion seemed invincible, partially because of the advantage their steeds gave them. Still, even though they killed warriors, they weren’t mindlessly planting death right and left – women and children were spared, if they chose so. But most chose to burn with their homes.

“Oi! Hold some for the Arena; we’ll have plenty of pleasure later!”

This shout that pierced the air came from who was undoubtedly the officer of these soldiers, as easily presumed by the armor which was colored lighter than the standard issue Legion armor, also decorated with gold heavily. The Imperial’s hand was grasping a long spear, bloody from all the fighting it had seen today.

Laughter hit the air as soon as the officer spoke, and the Legionnaires’ way of fighting turned from offensive to defensive lighting-fast – a sign of perfect discipline the Legion was famous for. This turned out to be effective enough – several Redguards were knocked out as soon as they started showing signs of weariness. But several Redguards still held, and among them was a relatively young one, fighting it out with a spear and a large shield. The fact that he had a wall behind him, and a large shield and a spear effectively keeping the cavalrymen away made him appear victorious for some time.

Not for long. A cavalryman charged at him from the left, though the Imperial was quick to direct his horse away as soon as the enormous spear turned towards him. Unfortunately for the warrior, another Legionnaire took advantage from this, hitting him in the back of his head painfully. After a ‘thud’, the Redguard fell down, knocked unconscious.

With the thud, the Redguard woke up from his uneasy sleep, breathing heavily. Another thud, so similar to the one in the dream, and a hit in the back of his head followed. Realizing what was happening, the Redguard lifted himself off of the ground, looking at his surroundings with bloodshot eyes.

The dirty cell he was in was certainly not a place one would like to end up in. The walls were crude rocks, with many sticks painted on them, along with not one puddle of dried blood, several in the shapes of palms. The floor was only bare ground, with quite a few sharp rocks sticking out. Several bones lying nearby the walls and the bars didn’t help cheer up the mood. Speaking of the bars, they were the only source of light, though the majority of it was currently being blocked by a person that was standing at the bars. A rock in his hand indicated that he was the one responsible for the hit in the head the Redguard received, since a similar rock was lying nearby his head.

The person blocking the light was a middle-aged Imperial, clad in iron armor. A blade was hanging by his side, almost reaching the ground due to the short height of the man – five and a half feet at most, maybe less. The legs were oddly stretched, and the broad shoulders and long, muscular arms didn’t make him look better. His facial features weren’t the best, too – somewhat fat lips, a humped nose and large, silver-colored eyes. To top that, his hair was too short to cover these features up at least a bit, so he was left with what he had, and it wasn’t much. To tell the truth, the Redguard in the cell wasn’t surprised that this Imperial was stuffed somewhere as rotten as the Arena of the Imperial City – he wasn’t something he would choose to keep in the Legion, or the Fighters’ Guild. Still, this man made it to become the Blademaster of the Arena, after the previous one died after an unsuccessful attempt at demonstrating how wild lions are supposed to be dealt with.

“Wake up, scum. You’ve been having your beauty sleep long enough now, it’s time to fight!” The Blademaster proclaimed, throwing the second rock at the Redguard. The man in the cell was quick enough to dodge it, though almost fell down after the movement – he was still not fully awake. The Imperial spat, a sarcastic smile curling up on his face, sticking the key into the keyhole. With a loud clang, the bars opened, and the Redguard slowly walked out into the bleak light of the Bloodworks.

In the bleak light, the looks of the Redguard could be observed with less difficulty than in the dark cell.

The Redguard was somewhere around five feet eight inches tall. Built in a well-toned way, he looked like an agile warrior, in contrast to the heavy Imperial that was currently starring at him with hate and disgust. Still, from the first glance you could see that the Redguard was a prisoner – many scars and wounds, undoubtedly made by a whip, both on his chest and on his back were visible now that the man was wearing nothing except for a dirty loincloth, held in place by a wide leather belt.

As much as his body contrasted with the Imperial’s, so did his face. The Redguard was no beauty king, though his thin lips, mid-sized nose and maybe only a bit too small sea-green eyes would’ve captured the attention of a woman, if effort was put. But now, getting a woman was the last thing he thought of. At the current moment, what mattered was survival of another battle in the Arena. There was no telling who he would face – lions? Other gladiators? Monsters?

“Well, come on, move up, Charon! There’s no time for glorious processions!” The Blademaster yelled again, slamming his fist on the back of the man he just called Charon. The Redguard looked back at him with hatred, and there was no doubt that if Charon got a sword for a single second, he would’ve stabbed the Imperial right on the spot, even if his life depended on the life of the man. But now, Charon had no choice but to move forward.

The pair walked through a torch-lit corridor, passing not one or two cells similar to Charon’s on their way. Various people could be seen inside the cells – Imperials, Bretons, Nords, Redguards, Dunmer, Bosmer, Altmer… All prisoners were occupied with different things – be it sleeping, pointing on the walls or whatever else – but none let the Blademaster pass without hissing at him, or expressing their hate in other ways. One Redguard even dared to spit at the hated man, though he missed. Maybe it was for the best, though – the Blademaster of the Arena wasn’t exactly known to for patience when dealing with gladiators.

Finally, the duo made it to a quite large room that looked relatively well in comparison to the rest of the Bloodworks. The walls were made out of bricks – something not found in the cells – and the floor was covered with rocks, not as crude as the ones making up the walls of the cells. In the opposite end of the room, stairs could be seen, rising up to the Arena. Many tables were lined along the walls, with weapons and armor of gladiators upon each. Maces, nets, shortswords, daggers, tridents, spears…

The Blademaster took a large arm guard from one of the tables and tossed it to Charon. The Redguard caught it easily, and started putting it on. Meanwhile, the Imperial collected a trident, a net and a dagger in a sheath, and, seeing that Charon was armored and set to go, tossed him the weapons as well.

Now, Charon looked battle-ready. The large arm guard, ranging from his wrist to his shoulder, was the only armor he wore, yet that allowed him to be more agile than any other gladiator types. In his left hand, the Retiarius was holding the trident, and in his right hand, the net was grasped. Strapped to his wide belt was the dagger, which was the only weapon he could use if he lost his net and his trident.

Slowly, Charon walked towards the tunnel leading up to the Arena. The Blademaster looked as he disappeared behind the corner, before spitting and turning around, leaving the room as well. He was confident that the Redguard would die today, and he wouldn’t have to deal with him anymore. Training gladiators was a pain for him, because they had a tendency to die after the first fight – especially Retiarii.

[Gaius Maximus]

So far, I like the premise a lot. The battle was good, although perhaps a tad too onesided. Redguards have to have gotten their reputation as badass from somewhere. But then again, the Legions must have gotten their reputation from somewhere as well.

Well, it was supposed to be one-sided - after all, it was a loose bunch of Redguards against a well-disciplined unit of Imperial Cavalry.

I really like the direction you've took with the Arena. If I'm ever to write a fan fic set in Oblivion I'll surely change a few things to make Cyrodiil seem more roman than medieval. Just so you know though, gladiators weren't really treated like walking pieces of trash. Most of them were professional fighters and gladiators were quite an expensive thing to have, much alike to a modern-day football or rugby team. They were split into teams, which had their own personal medic and a sponsor that paid all the expenses. A gladiator dying in a fight was quite rare, since a new one was pretty expensive to train from scratch. Anyway, Cyrodiil ain't Rome so you can style it your own way.

Yes, I know all that, but what I wanted for this fan fic was a place to stuff criminals and prisoners of war to be stuffed in. As you said, it's Cyrodiil, not Rome.

Chapter II

As he slowly rose up the circular stairs, the grey color surrounding Charon slowly gave in to light. The bricks making up the walls slowly turned light grey. The dried blood on the wall became dark red, instead of light grey. And then, out of sudden, a bright light appeared, blinding the Redguard for a moment. Several tears appeared in his eyes. Rubbing them, he had to lower his gaze until he got used to the light.

Not only light hit Charon upon reaching the end of his path. A great noise struck him as well, consisting of the mixed yells of the spectators, the sound of heavy iron gates slamming down behind him and the trumpets that were sounded as soon as he approached the gates separating him from the arena, in which he was to engage in a fight for the pleasure of people he never knew. For the pleasure of people he hated, for the pleasure of people who enslaved him and his race…

As Charon got used to the light, he could get a better view at the arena, in which he fought for the first time today. The gates he was behind got in his way to a degree, though he could still get a good view to the battleground.

The arena was a round field, with a pit covered with bars in the middle, and four pillars standing out nearby the pit. Chains hung from each pillar - four chains for one pillar to be more exact. The ground was covered with sand, rocks and the occasional puddle of blood. Bones were scattered in the arena as well, and the smell most likely produced by the remaining flesh on them rotting wasn’t exactly helping the atmosphere get cheerful. The only thing that indicated joy was the yells of the people, though the joy was bloodthirsty joy, not simple joy.

While Charon was trying to get himself used to the surroundings, he didn’t even notice the shout ‘Begin!’ . The Redguard only got to his senses when the gates in front of him opened loudly. The same thing happened on the opposite side of the arena.

Slowly, Charon made his way out of the small room. He heard a loud ‘clang’ as the gates closed once again, leaving him trapped in this battlefield of sorts, on the opposite side of which he could easily see his opponent, a sight which quite unnerved the Redguard. His opponent had more than one advantage against his weapons, and Charon had no armor to speak of, except for the arm guard.

The person Charon was pitted against was heavily armed in comparison to him. While his opponent had no chestplate, similarly to the Redguard himself, he wore a helmet that covered his whole face, the only spots open being two eyeholes. The helmet had a rounded top, so it could be easily assumed that the helmet wouldn’t be caught in a net. The other things concerned Charon a bit less – a wide belt and a loincloth, similar to the one he wore himself, a large armguard, again similar to the one Charon used himself, and a greave made out of boiled leather on the opponent’s left leg.

But then there was another thing that made Charon unnerved – a large, rectangular shield that was carried by the gladiator that was here to fight him. The shield was a notably worn Imperial Scutum. Worn as it was, it was still more than fit for usage in combat. While Charon fought Legionnaires that used such shields, back then he had his own large shield, although a round one, and a long, trusty spear. Now, he was suited up in weapons he touched for the first time, and had no shield to speak of.

Still, the Redguard had to get into action, since the opposing gladiator was already heading for him, and the sight of the tip of the shortsword sticking out from behind the massive Scutum was not pleasant in the current situation.

Thus, forced into action, Charon started slowly moving along the right wall of the arena, holding his trident in front of him. The Secutor made note of this movement, and quickly began advancing to the same way that Charon was, also notably heading forward as well. It was sure that soon, he would be close enough to strike a blow that might’ve been the last one for Charon.

I must not give him the upper hand…The Redguard began slowly heading left, which resulted in the Secutor heading left as well, increasing the pace of his advance forward. This slightly unnerved Charon.

The Redguard made a quick run forward, heading towards the center of the arena. The Secutor stepped in his way, though Charon only jumped left, only barely avoiding the thrust of the dangerous shortsword that his enemy was wielding. Using the moment, he attempted to get a strike at the opponent’s chest with his trident, only to have the obvious attack be foiled once the large shield got between the body of the Secutor and Charon’s trident.

However, this did not confuse him at all. The Redguard sidestepped the blow that followed, again only barely missing him, and attempted to unarm his opponent with his net. This failed when the Gladius was retreated to the safety of the shield of the Secutor, with the gladiator himself taking a step back.

Now, Charon was open to attack. The Secutor rushed forward, beating the short distance that separated him and Charon quickly, swinging his Gladius. Charon jumped back, though not fast enough – a nasty scar appeared on his chest, which earned a loud gasp from the crowd. The first blood of this match was spilled.

However, Charon himself wasn’t happy with this at all, given the way the things were going for him. Since the Secutor was dangerously close, the Redguard had to make a quick retreat, though was sure not to turn his back to the enemy. The Secutor quickly gave chase, earning another gasp from the crowd when his blade made another scratch appear on Charon’s body.

But, to his misfortune, the gladiator did not retreat his weapon soon enough to avoid the net thrown by his opponent. In a quick motion, Charon pulled the net back, effectively unarming his opponent. What he didn’t foresee was the hit with the Scutum that followed – the Secutor got dangerously close to him again after being unarmed, and didn’t pass up the opportunity to get his foe to the ground with his shield.

Charon landed on his butt quite painfully, his chest sore from the strong blow it had to receive. Still, he didn’t stay down for long, quickly leaping back on his feet and thrusting the trident forward, again hoping to strike the chest of his opponent.

But once again, metal only met metal and not flesh. Charon had to retreat his trident once more, gaining nothing from the quick attack. Still, he managed to unarm his opponent, and that was something. Now, he needed to make use of that.

Fortunately for Charon, the Secutor was beginning to get weary. This match was lasting long enough to have effect on the heavier of the two, while the Redguard did not feel tired, due to his light armament. The Secutor would need to finish this quickly, else he could collapse from exhaustion and loose. Plus, he had no weapon, shifting the odds towards Charon’s side a slight bit.

Okay. So, I need to get past that large shield, and then he’s as good as dead. The Redguard contemplated, retreating backwards to avoid another shield-bash.

There were two options he could choose now – either stretch out the fight out so that his opponent is exhausted, or attempt to get past the shield and get the opposing gladiator down with his own strength. The first option was safer, though the second one appealed him and his Redguard honor more. He couldn’t let time take all the credit, so…

Slowly, Charon began his attempt at circling his opponent. The tips of the trident were all aimed towards the Secutor’s chest, who at the moment choose to stand in one place and protect himself with the large Scutum. However, this could not make Charon drop his plan. The Redguard would stop when either his opponent was down, or when he himself was dead.

When he was in the middle of forming his second circle around the Secutor, Charon suddenly leaped forward, aiming his trident at the upper chest of his opponent. The opposing gladiator once again moved his shield between his chest and the trident, though this left a slight bit of his right leg open.

This was enough for Charon. Once his trident touched the surface of the massive shield, he suddenly let it slide down, finally digging into the flesh of his opponent. The uncovered right leg was pierced, which resulted in the Secutor yelping in pain, and the crowds roaring in excitement. Was this injury enough to get the Secutor to surrender was yet to be seen…

Apparently, it was not.

Charon cursed loudly as the shield hit him again. The sudden impact sent him down on the ground again, and with him, the Redguard took the trident. The movement which got the weapon out of the Secutor’s leg was painful for the owner of the leg, resulting in him dropping on the knee of his right leg, and shifting his Scutum in a way it covered his whole front, though left him in a lower position.

The Redguard leaped up, furiously performing a quick attack that bounced off of the Scutum of the Secutor, though pushing it back a bit. Without a further thought, Charon, feeling the pain in both his chest and in his butt from two impacts, started raining down hits on the Secutor. Blow after blow landed on the shield, bending it in several spots. The man wielding the shield began breathing heavily, unable to keep his shield in the original spot…

Finally, when Charon raised his trident, which was beginning to get into quite blunt, for another strike, the Secutor lowered his shield, leaving himself defenseless. This action made Charon freeze before he could deliver the next blow – his opponent finally surrendered.

The tribunes were struck by a wave as all the spectators got up one after another, line after line, until all were up and cheering. Charon stood in the battlefield, caught off guard by the sudden noise. He didn’t even lower his trident, which was still held up in a way it looked like he would strike any moment.