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]

Thanks for all the comments. Allow me to present you the 4th chapter.

Chapter IV

Charon heard the bars clang behind him, releasing another prisoner with some Altmer help. He smiled slightly, then assumed a battle stance, seeing as the footsteps approached. The Redguard alone was enough to block the entire passage – he could efficiently hold it until the others returned.

Soon enough, Charon was facing two Vigiles. As he suspected, the men didn’t look like good soldiers – they only wore helmets, red woolen tunics and short skirts of the same color, and were armed with the large Scutum shield, a spear and a shortsword. However, even such weaponry was superior to the iron shortsword and the loincloth, held in place by a wide belt, the equipment of Charon.

It was natural for the Vigiles to laugh when facing such an enemy, for you didn’t have to be a genius to understand that the Redguard was an enemy. To the laughter, Charon only replied with a slight smile that bore a shade of sarcasm.

“Enough jokes, slave. Step aside until we haven’t dealt with you.” One of the Vigiles commanded while the other nodded in agreement to the words of the first one. Now, it was Charon’s turn to laugh.

The laughter made it obvious – the Redguard wasn’t going to stand back and let the watchmen pass. Thus, the two Vigiles lifted their shields up, aiming the spear tips towards the opposing Redguard. Charon took a step back, knowing that it wouldn’t do him any good to be impaled.

Seeing this, the two Vigiles advanced, but Charon took no more steps back. Seeing this, the watchman that told Charon to stand back spat, before thrusting his spear towards the Redguard.

Wrong move. Charon had enough previous experiences with spears and fighting, so he just dodged the incoming attack, catching the spear near the tip. Taken by surprise, the watchman took a step forward, which Charon used to full extent, pulling the weapon and sending the watchman on the ground, letting go of his spear in the process. Having gained another weapon, Charon used it immediately with his shortsword to stop the attack of the second watchman.

Using the free moment, Charon grasped the spear properly, aiming it at the watchman who remained on his feet. The man, unnerved by the disarming of his ally, decided to end this quicker and charged towards the Redguard, who jumped back, avoiding the hit, then thrust his own spear at the Imperial.

Due to the lack of armor, the watchman fell down with a wound in his stomach – he did not move his shield fast enough to block the incoming attack. It was obvious that, while the wound did not kill him right away, he would die sooner than anyone could help him.

The second watchman got up at the meantime, and unsheathed his shortsword.

Charon took offense, starting it by thrusting his spear towards the Imperial’s head. As he expected, the Scutum blocked this obvious hit, though another soon came at the now-unguarded foot of the watchman. This one was too blocked, with the shortsword this time.

The watchman attempted to attack Charon with his shortsword, though the weapon was met with Charon’s short blade. The Redguard attempted to thrust his spear into the open stomach of the Imperial, though the hit was met with the Scutum. Unfortunately, after the shortsword was retreated, this left the watchman’s head completely vulnerable, so the Imperial was down in moments, Charon’s shortsword in his eye.

After all, it appeared that the Vigiles were less of a trouble than Charon expected.

Having dealt with the two opponents, Charon turned around. The Altmer has done opening the cells by now, and the monk was firmly held by the Dunmer. From the other end of the hall, Charon spotted a Nord, two Imperials and an Orc returning with the weapons.

As fast as possible, the Gladiators equipped themselves in the fashion they fought in the arena. Besides himself, Charon could see only one another Retiarius, yet he saw a total of three Secutores, two Hoplomachi, four Murmillones, two Dimachaeri and one Thracian. Thus, there was a total of fourteen of the escaped Gladiators.

Now that they were armed, all that remained for them was to escape the Imperial City in some way. There were no sewer hatches near the prison cells, but one Imperial claimed that the pit in the middle of the arena is connected with them. Thus, the Gladiators moved up the stairs, only to meet the iron bars that halted their process.

“Let me help.”

Charon looked around to see whoever said this. What he saw was the Altmer he first freed, the only Altmer in the whole escape party. He was equipped as a Thracian, armed with a falx. The falx, while a powerful weapon, could not hope to beat the iron bars, so Charon looked at the Elf with interest.

What he did was nothing special – the Altmer put a fire spell into use, using it to soften the iron. The spell must’ve been quite powerful, since the Altmer soon presented them with his piece of work – a hole large enough for a man to fit through. The same was done to the second bars.

To their luck, the hole in the middle of the Arena was open, though the sight that greeted them made them stop for a moment – a body of the last man defeated in the arena. When they were fighting each other for their lives, the Gladiators had no time to mourn the one that could’ve fell, but now, their minds were clear enough for them to become horrified.

This did not halt the progress of the Gladiators for long, for they couldn’t waste any time. Charon climbed down into the pit using the wooden ladders positioned against the wall, then laughed in relief – the Imperial was correct. Now, the only thing they could do is pray that the sewers shall lead them out of the city. IF they were heading into the sewers.

The tunnel they went down was filled with horrible stench – no doubt, the numerous rotting corpses of past Gladiators were to be blamed. It appeared that they were tossed into this tunnel without receiving a proper burial. It wasn’t unexpected to Charon that the fallen warriors did not receive a proper burial, but… he certainly hadn’t expected them to be tossed into a tunnel and left to rot. I his mind, he thanked HoonDing that he did not fall in the arena.

Soon enough, the walls of the tunnel became more and more slimy, and the stench of rotting corpses was replaced by the stench of rotting food and other things - trash from the whole Imperial City. Charon only barely stopped himself from throwing up, though he carried on, leading the Gladiators to freedom, as he hoped.

The escapees weren’t confronted with anything more than a couple of rats and a sole goblin. While the two animals were smart enough to run away from the party of men, the goblin charged on, and soon fell down dead with three holes in its stomach – work of Charon. Apart from that, their journey was uneventful.

Finally, Charon spotted daylight coming from behind a turn. He heard gasps of hope behind him, though ignored them and rushed forward to see what was responsible for the light. Upon finding out, he only barely held back a cry of joy – bars were in front of him, and behind them… was the world, the world of free men. The Gladiators were only a few steps away from freedom.

With a little help from the Altmer, the bars fell out, and Charon rushed out.

The experience was overwhelming. The sound of water flowing and birds chirping, the sight of the bright, yellow sun of free men, the feeling of wind kissing the sweat on his back… Charon finally let go, and collapsed on the sand, filled with the purest joy a man can feel. He was feeling dizzy… Only by sheer power of his will did he manage to keep himself conscious. It took the help of a Dunmer – the same one who held the priest – to get back up.

However, when Charon got up, he realized that they were missing one face.

“Where’s the monk?” He turned to the Dunmer to which he handed the hostage that so foolishly offered himself to the Redguard, which led to their escape.

“I killed him.”

“WHAT?!”

All out of sudden, the great joy died down as he realized what the Dunmer just said. Charon hated Imperials and their false gods, yes, but he did not intend to descend to their level and kill the hostage. He would’ve figured out what to do with the priest later, but certainly not kill him…

“Why did you do that? WHEN did you do that?” The Redguard questioned, feeling as if someone was tearing his stomach up from the inside, a feeling that obviously made him sick.

“When you all left. The pig continued to babble about his false gods… I feared that he would scream for help, so I silenced him by the name of ALMISIVI for eternity. It sickened me to get my weapon dirty with the blood of one of them pigs, but on some occasions…” The Dunmer explained, gesturing towards the knife strapped to his waist. (He was armed as a Retiarius)

Charon gave no reply, but the moment before he turned away, one could’ve seen that his brow was clouded – things were beginning to get out of hands, and they weren’t even truly safe yet. Several trees blocked them from the walls, though they couldn’t stay there forever… They had to move on, immediately.

Realizing that he could do nothing to bring the monk back, nor anything to make the Dunmer realize his mistake – for Dark Elves were known to be rather stubborn when it came down to religious matters – Charon gestured the Gladiators to move out.

A minute later, one of the Imperials on the walls of the Imperial City gestured for his friend to look – he noticed a group of men heading towards the water. However, until the other Imperial, who had the sharper sight of the two, realized who these men were and rose an alarm, the Gladiators were already out of arrow-shot range. A party of horsemen was prepared to chase them, but by the time the party was assembled, the sun was already heading down west and the escapees gone. There was a hundred ways where they could’ve headed, though for now, the Empires troops believed that the group was heading roughly north-west.

By the next morning, posters with the faces of the escaped Gladiators were all around in the cities of Cyrodiil, creating a new source of talk in the local inns. The County of Cheydinhal, the place where the Gladiators were supposedly headed, was preparing to meet the escapees.

Little did the authorities of Cyrodiil know that the Gladiators weren’t heading for the County of Cheydinhal at all. Instead, the sought-after escapees were nearby the Niben Bay, keeping to the opposite side of the body of water than the city of Bravil. Charon’s (who became the self-proclaimed leader of the gladiators; none dared to challenged him for the title yet given what he did for the escapees) plan was to reach the Topal Bay, then either to negotiate his way on a pirate ship or to somehow capture one that belonged to the Empire. Then, all of Tamriel was open to them – they could quickly reach Elsweyr and Black Marsh, or take more time for themselves and head over to Morrowind or Valenwood, or take a lot of time and set sail for Summerset Isles, though that route was unlikely.

As much as he wanted, Charon could not even allow himself thoughts of reaching Hammerfell…