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]

Right. Sorry for the long delay of this chapter... I was a bit too busy to write a new one. Also, it is the shortest chapter yet, though I am planning to make the chapter after this longer than usually, for all the big things shall start kicking in.

Chapter III

Several weeks passed since Charon won his first fight in the Arena. Since then, he got a few more scars, and fought another two battles. He won both, though the second victory was earned by pure coincidence – his enemy impaled himself on his knife when he jumped on him. Still, it was counted for a victory all the same, and as thus, Charon became a favored betting subject.

Of course, all this did not matter to him. Most of the time when he was not fighting he spent planning an escape from this cell, from the Imperial City, from Cyrodiil. None of the plans he made up seemed worthy to try, and he could not risk – one failed attempt and he’s as good as dead.

Thus, he was still stuck in his cell, with no hopes of escaping. It changed soon.

Two times a year, also whenever a prisoner in the cells would be of so poor health that it could be seen that he will die soon, a monk of the Nine Divines visited the prisoners and listened to their confessions. Very few in the cells were followers of the Nine, and fewer yet were still willing to confess sins in such a place, but several of the prisoners still confessed.

Charon arrived to the Arena several weeks before the second visit of the monk. He had no clue of such an event, less so when it happened, so he could not include this monk’s visit in his plans for escape. As thus, it came to the Redguard as a surprise when a brown-robed bald Imperial appeared in front of his cell and disturbed his thoughts.

It took a stone in the head from the Blademaster for him to realize what the Imperial was asking of him.

“Answer, scum, the man has given you a question!” After this yell came the familiar ‘thud’ and a pain in the head. While the priest began arguing with the Blademaster about how he treated his gladiators, Charon thought up a plan. It was flawed, and would most likely fail, but execution would’ve been better than any of this.

“Yes, I want to confess my sins.”

The monk nodded, shot an angry look at the Blademaster, and unlocked the doors to Charon’s cell. The Redguard made note of the shortsword hanging at the man’s side, before giving one last doubt whenever the superstitions of the Imperials affect them stronger than their cruelty. His whole existence depended on that.

“So, child, what are your sins to the Gods?” The monk approached him with a nod of his head. Charon smiled slightly.

“My only sin is that I allowed myself to be captured by you scum.” Before the monk could react, Charon’s hand was already holding his shortsword, and pulling the Imperial’s frozen body to a position where the Redguard could keep his new weapon on the monk’s throat at all times.

The Blademaster roared in anger, kicking the unlocked doors open and unsheathing his sword. “I’LL KILL YOU WHERE YOU STAND!” He exclaimed, preparing to swing his weapon, though holding this action back after realizing that he would strike not Charon but the monk, who was now sweating like a pig.

“I’d think it over if I were you. Now, put the sword down or the fat monk gets it!” Charon commanded, pressing his shortsword against the throat of his hostage. The angered Blademaster, knowing that the authorities wouldn’t thank him for the murder of a priest, had nothing else to do but to put his weapon down.

“That’s better.” Charon smiled slightly, maneuvering his way out of this cell. It was somewhat difficult – he had to keep an eye on the Blademaster, and keep his shortsword on the monk’s throat.

Still, he made it out. Since the key was still in the lock, he used the occasion to avenge the Blademaster – he locked him up in Charon’s own cell. No doubt, this left the Imperial yelling and growling in rage at the Redguard, occasionally spitting curses and promises out for him.

Almost dizzy from his success, Charon took the key bundle out of the lock, then directed himself and the monk towards the nearest cell. Ignoring the monk’s babbling about how ‘the Nine will avenge him for his sins’ (apparently the monk did not know that Charon did not follow the teachings of the Nine Divines – he was a follower of the Yokudan pantheon), he attempted several keys on the lock before finally getting the right one.

The iron bars creaked slightly as they opened, and from the cell came out a beaten-up Altmer. Charon did not stop to ask the prisoner anything – instead, he moved on to unlock the cell next to the Altmer’s. He was in a hurry, for he knew that eventually, someone would come down to check what was happening. Still, the monk hindered his process.

Unfortunately, when he was attempting to unlock the seventh cell, all of the escapees heard footsteps approaching. The footsteps were heavy, and of at least two men, so it left little doubt what it was – Imperial Watchmen, going down to check out where has the monk disappeared.

Tasking the Altmer he first freed with unlocking the doors and handing the priest to a Dunmer (he guessed that the Dunmer wouldn’t let the monk have it easy, for many Dunmer, even living in Cyrodiil and other provinces, were still followers of the Temple’s teaching), Charon himself moved forward to meet the guards, gesturing others to run to the armory, which was on the opposite side of the corridor than the entrance.

He had little hope that he would hold the two Watchmen for long with his shortsword, though he now knew that backup would come at some point – Gladiators, equipped with their weapons of favor. Charon could only hope that the Gladiators he freed would turn out to be one of the best ones, for then, dealing with the Vigiles, who made up the bulk of city’s watch, would prove to be quite easy.