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]

Well, it took me some time, but I finally decided with what plot am I going. And then I only had to overcome my renewed addiction with Rome: Total War (Or Roma Surrectum, to be more correct. Go Syracuse!) to write... <.<

However, to make up for it, this chapter gives youall two new names, a time setting, and an explanation why is the Empire more Rome-ish. Also a not-that-subtle hint towards where the plot will take Charon and Co.

Chapter V

Slowly, the small group of Gladiators made its way along the eastern shore of Niben Bay. The skies were completely clear, and the sun was blazing down on the backs of the men that recently became free, yet they ignored it, and didn’t stop to take a refreshing swim in the water, knowing that they had no time to loose. For Charon realized, as long as the Imperials thought they were heading towards Cheydinhal, they were rather safe. However, if they figured out where the escapees were, the fate of the Gladiators would be grim.

Thus, without a pause, the ex-Gladiators walked all the way from the Imperial City towards the Niben Bay. Charon was rather glad that their progress was lather big, yet he also knew they would have to stop and camp during midday, when the heat was the greatest. There was no point in exhausting themselves, and making little progress, as they wouldn’t have gotten far at that time of day, since the heat seemed to be sucking their energy. Even Charon was feeling exhausted, for he got accustomed to the rather cold air in the Gladiator cells.

Currently, the Redguard was a bit ahead of the others, constantly looking back to see how the Gladiators were doing. During one such look-back, he noticed that one of the figures sped up. Obviously this person was trying to catch up with him, so Charon slowed down a bit, making the task easier for whoever this was.

When the person caught up, Charon turned his head lazily – he was feeling rather exhausted after the night’s travel, as were all others – to see whoever this was. It appeared, from the golden skin color, that this man was the Altmer that helped them get out by making a hole in the bars through the use of spells.

The Altmer appeared to be quite young, looking not older than 25 or so, by what Charon saw when the Mer was without his helmet. However, Charon was confident that the Elf was older than himself or most of the others in the group for that matter, with the exception of the Dunmer maybe. The pale color of the Mer’s skin suggested that spending time in the sun wasn’t a favored activity during better times. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was a Gladiator, and thus bore an amount of muscle, the Altmer would’ve looked much like a stereotypical mage – rather tall, above six feet tall, and quite slim. The same muscles, however, were to be held responsible for the Altmer’s odd appearance.

When the Mer was in the same line as Charon, he began speaking from beneath his helmet:

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced… I’m Gilian.” The Altmer extended his free arm towards Charon. However, the Redguard chose to ignore the hand, and replied in a generally uninterested voice:

“Charon.”

As Gilian’s expression was hidden by the helmet, it was hard to tell how he reacted to Charon’s response, yet it could be assumed that he was rather offended. However, Charon didn’t really care to say the least. He never liked Mer, especially not Altmer. However, for the sake of not looking racist, he couldn’t shoo Gilian off, so he decided to patiently listen to whatever the Elf had to say.

It didn’t take long for Gilian to break the silence and begin speaking:

“I wanted to speak regarding our further plan. You only said we were heading towards Topal Bay, nothing more. But if we are to survive, I believe it is time we all know why we are heading there. So… Mind to share?”

Charon shrugged slowly.

“We’re heading for the Topal Bay. That you already know. Fro there, we’ll either negotiate ourselves on a pirate ship, or hija-“ He stopped abruptly upon hearing something. A strange, somewhat humming noise could be heard, vibrating the air – and Charon’s stomach. It wasn’t the most pleasant experience to say the least, and he could see that the Elf wasn’t too happy either, having moved his hand over his stomach.

Upon looking back, Charon saw that other Gladiators have also already heard the odd noise. In fact, the same Dunmer, armed as a Retiarius, was approaching them.

The Dunmer seemed to be older than the Altmer, looking to be around 30 years old. His body had quite a few scars, and some of them looked like they came from times before the Arena. The agile build of his body suggested that the Mer was an able fighter, and was so even before being made a Gladiator. He wasn’t very tall, shorter than Charon, actually – somewhere near five and a half feet tall.

“What the hell is that noise?!” The Dunmer exclaimed upon reaching Charon and Gilian. The Altmer shrugged.

“It’s full of Daedric Magic. So it’s obviously nothing too good. Nothing that’s full of Daedric Magic is ever good.” He proclaimed, then gestured towards the lake: “It’s coming from somewhere there.”

Charon eyed him suspiciously, then looked at the lake. He saw the city of Bravil in the distance, as well as… an island. The island stood somewhere near the middle of the lake, and Charon couldn’t help but feel that it did not belong to Niben Bay. He pointed at the piece of land with his finger.

“Am I the only one getting a feeling that that thing over there doesn’t look like it has to be here?”

Gilian frowned, taking a few steps towards the lake. In an attempt to see better, he took off his helmet, revealing oddly calm blue eyes, a snub nose, rather thin lips, and just a tired face of a young Elf in general. He shook back his long grey hair, then lifted his free hand up to his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun and staring at the island.

The Dunmer also approached the lake, though didn’t bother to shield his small crimson-red eyes from the sun. Charon imagined that he was used to such conditions, and thus wasn’t bothered much by the sun, much like himself.

“Well, I sure as hell can’t know where it’s coming from… This whole area is just too full of it all. Never felt so much of Daedric Magic before…” Gilian began, yet stopped abruptly. Charon turned to him, and saw that the Altmer’s eyes widened.

“Except for the times I approached an Oblivion Gate…”

Charon’s eyes widened as well. It couldn’t be. Oblivion Gates were closed a year ago… They were what made the Elder Council perform the Great Reforms shortly after, which changed the face of Empire completely, going as far as making it a Republic…

“How the hell is that possible?!” He heard the Dunmer exclaim, and felt that he wanted to hear the answer to the same question. It wasn’t possible… The last Emperor supposedly made it impossible for Daedra to invade through Oblivion Gates. The Elder Council made sure everyone knew that, so as to mark how heroic the Emperors were.

“I sure as hell don’t know. I’m not so sure about what is this, really, as it could be a very powerful Cultist, yet I know a good way to find out.” Gilian replied. The Dunmer shook his head.

***

Half an hour later, Charon, Gilian and the Dunmer, who introduced himself as Raynari Vandareth Indoril, were standing on a purple platform. Gilian was in front of the row, muttering something, so as to keep the platform in existence. Charon looked over his shoulder, to see the last of the Gladiators walk ahead, with some hesitation, then disappear. This was the job of a simple Illusion spell from the Altmer. Raynari, on the other hand, was looking ahead, frowning. He had agreed to go just in sake for his own honor, since he didn’t want to look a coward. Now, however, it was obvious he was regretting this decision.