RP:A Proposal of Brotherhood

From HollowWiki

Frostmaw Colosseum

Satoshi is not a spectator this evening. Tonight, the Lady of Frostmaw is -in- the arena. The match is no more than one of the daily casual contests, where a warrior of the city or other volunteer enters the fighting stage to face off against a wild creature of some sort, but it is bloody nonetheless. Stalking in a circle with all the liquid grace of a predator, Satoshi stays level with her opponent, a male Frost Howler. The gray skinned beast is roughly the size of a wolf, covered in long, crystalline quills from shoulders to flanks, limbs angular and flexible, with paws that house dextrous talons, and a muzzle that sports dripping fangs. Its quills drip with blood and oozing cuts litter its leathery body, while the magus seems relatively unharmed save for a long gash running across her stomach and a tear down the sleeve of her right arm, revealing the icy limb beneath. Both are tense as they pace, watching every step the other makes, waiting for that moment where the gap is closed between them. Lips draw back as the kit bares her fangs in a silent snarl at the Howler, trying to provoke him into striking first...


Hadrian strolls into the frost-laden arena; a sense of calm to wash over him, as his mind's eye portrays the battles that could have been wrought in blood and steel here. His gait, veritably identifiable as a soldiers march, is matched to the cadence of his sword 'clicking' in scabbard. This day, the Gladiator is not donned in the ferocious garb he so oft chooses over fancy attire. Nay, for the latter is his form of dress; a red high-collared doublet, trimmed with intricate scroll-work, and fastened at the midriff by three gold-wrought buttons. His black trousers--pants! How he despises their constricting confines--is tucked caringly into boots that share similar golden side-buttons to the doublet. A long sword, out of tradition, is strapped by means of a baldric over his shoulder, the brand itself unremarkably bland; perhaps to suggest its real purpose--a weapon, and not for ceremonial shenanigans. The serenity of reminiscent past trials slowly ebb from his mind, and once fully expelled, his arresting gaze of bland moss green eyes find themselves staring down into the pit. It is undeniable… The Lady of Frostmaw herself is duking it out with what seems to be a creature borne of nightmare, and hell-bent on claiming itself a juicy, albeit noticeably frozen-esque slab of steak. His pretentious desire to make good with the Lady Frostmaw stir up inside of him, his ambitious nature roiling like an never-stilled adolescent child; vying desperately to be unleashed and allowed free reign. A smirk cracks his otherwise placid features, eyes meticulously scrutinizing the Ladie's every step and gesture… it never hurt to know well your hopeful allies. His entourage, ordinarily made up of ruthless Orcs and Humans, seem amiss on his personage. It seems Hadrian has come today on political business, and not that of the intimidating kind….


Satoshi, positioned as she is facing the arena's main entrance, spots the well-dressed man over the Howler's shoulder, his red doublet standing out harshly against a background of white and a forest of translucent quills. Well, that's an interesting sight, no doubt about it. Not everyday does a person so well-groomed saunter into the colosseum, a place renowned for being near-constantly bathed in blood. Judging by the glimpses she's able to steal, the kit will wager he's not the average politician or businessman. There is too much of a warrior's grace in his steps, too much unease in such fine clothing, and the longsword... so mismatched from the clothing screams of a man learned in its uses. Satoshi privately admits to a twinge of curiosity at this strange sight... although her brief distraction she'll never admit to. Not even when the Howler seizes upon it, launching himself at the foxkin with a deafening screech. Satoshi instantly drops and her back arches--lithe form twisting at an almost inhuman angle, and at a speed born of vampirism--so that when the Howler's extended forepaws arrive, they pass over her nearly horizontal body, missing by inches. Alarm registers on the beast's face then when he finds no flesh beneath his claws, the expression deepening into surprised agony when searing pain erupts in his sides a split second later. A squeal comes from the beast in response. It'd seem Satoshi's own claws have found purchase around the Howler's ribcage and sunk in, allowing herself to be carried by his momentum while simultaneously wrenching her own form so as to transform the Howler's landing into a rolling crash. In a tangle of limbs and quills, the two skid across the snowy field, splatters of blood left in their wake until they come to a grinding stop paces away with Satoshi atop the animal. Shifting her weight, the foxkin straddles the Howler's bloodied torso as her right hand is extended outward. The ice that forms the limb begins to change then, normally sharp fingertips elongate into a set of glassy blades that are flexed briefly before they're plunged into the squirming Frost Howler's throat, immediately silencing its snarls. "Did you need something, monsieur? Or are you simply here for the show~?" the magus' voice is a velvet purr as she glances over her shoulder at the well-dressed stranger. Slowly her claws her draw from the Howler's body and brought to her face to be licked clean, earning cheers from the handful of giants present for the match.


Hadrian tilts his head at the sight, both bewildered by the show of agility, and that of the ice-shifting limb. Hadrian is near a stranger to the use of magic. At any rate, once her words register in his mind, noticeably recognized by the blank look vacating his features, he steps closer to her, and further into the belly of Frostmaw's Arena. "I came here to lay witness to the kind of people Frostmaw is made up of. You can always garner a good guess by the way they treat their arena; if they even have one." His voice is the gruff sound of gravel grinding beneath boot, coupled with the oddity of his foreign accent, making him out to be a man both out of place in attire, and locale. "Honestly enough, Lady Frostmaw, I didn't expect to gain an audience with you for a fortnight at least." His words are made reverent by the use of a ceremonious bow--one not quite that of a politician, but more along the lines of a Gladiator in salute of his Patron. "Ordinarily, I would offer up a challenge to you, in order to gain a better understanding of your character," These are his customs, "But with the quick dispatch of the Howler, I see no need." Hadrian's hand instinctually, habitually, comes to rest upon the pommel of his long sword, whilst the other moves around to be held flat against his back. His motion of rapt attention is only bolstered by the stoic demeanor at a constant upon his visage. "I have looked forward to the moment when I would share the same breath as you, Lady Frostmaw." He means breath as air--stating he looked forward to meeting her in person. And yet, the semantics of his words may be taken at whatever literal or non-literal form they are derived; he seems unaware that they eerily harbor the quality of mention made in the company of a lover. "And yet, I must be acting a fool…" A small break in his serene expression allows the movement of lips to form a droll smile, "I am Hadrian of Gualon."


Satoshi rises in a single fluid motion, a lopsided smile on her face as she turns to properly face the man. A moment is taken to shake the remaining blood from her altered talons before they retract into the shape of a dainty hand, the body part as clear as glass. "Welcome then, Hadrian of Gualon. Tell me, how do you find our arena?" Satoshi spreads her arms to take in the colosseum's entirety, the gesture provoking the wound on her stomach so that fresh blood spills from it. Pausing at this, the foxkin glances down, frowns, and half-sings a string of words. The response is immediate, blood frosting over to seal the injury closed with ice. Pleased with the temporary patch, Satoshi looks back up at Hadrian and smirks, the expression filled with vulpine fangs. "I should hope it's to your liking. Gualon is a land of warriors much like Frostmaw. We carry similar values on might and victory, from what I've seen. It wouldn't do to have a poor arena in the City of War, would it~?" As she talks, Satoshi approaches Hadrian, her angle straight on, a confident prowl rather than a wary stalk, that leaves stark white hair and quartet of tails fanning out behind her like so many banners. When she reaches the base of the arena wall, she stops to peer up at him, amber-flecked eyes intrigued and amused. ...And slightly pained, as she flinches suddenly, eyes drawn down to a trio of quills embedded in her left leg. An involuntary hiss follows her plucked them from her flesh before Satoshi continues with a dismissive shrug, "I'm not sure just how much breath of mine you could share, however. Vampires don't breathe, after all~." A foxish wink finishes off the remark.


Hadrian makes no motion to likewise share Satoshi's gesture of taking in the Arena, instead his seemingly ubiquitous gaze stays mounted upon her own, "Blood and sweat can be found here, tainting the sands, and spurring forth yet more men and women of the brotherhood of battle to fall." His words are a clear-cut quote from a vivid memory whilst training in his old Ludus, "Suffice it to say, your Arena is well enough." To marvel at the grandeur of the place is to be taken reproachfully when speaking of the place where men and women toil endlessly in mortal combat. Hadrian holds much respect and reverence for any such structure, regardless of magnitude and scale. "Forgive me for avoiding banter, but I wish to ask for your words on a particular matter." Like a bug to torchlight, his ambition thrives in the company of those with connections and power. His seeming discomfort from standing above a Queen is apparent, what with the idle fidgeting of his hand behind his back, or the occasional glance to the wall separating the pair from being on level ground. It is never courteous to anyone, let alone a Queen, to stand taller without considerable evidence to support your right in doing so.


Satoshi isn't unaware of Hadrian's discomfort, and she's fairly certain it doesn't have anything to do with the blood spattered across her. Is it her magic, then? Gualon isn't a land with much magic, even its arena exudes a foil to the arcane, thus it wouldn't be peculiar for the fellow to be uncomfortable in its presence. It's that, or the considerable difference in height. Too often since she became a queen has Satoshi noticed the fidgeting of soldiers and noblemen alike whenever she stands in a position lower than theirs. In all honesty, such a thing amuses her. She's naturally petite, shorter than most people she meets, so the differences mean nothing to her--especially when she's so ridiculously self-confident as to believe she's the better in a situation no matter where she stands. Whichever it is that's making Hadrian fidget now, Satoshi has no intentions of remedying it. It's an amazing thing, how much more truthfully a person speaks when they're uneasy. And the kit prefers her politics filled with truths, rather than with twisted words and bold-faced lies. All this flickers through the magus' mind in a matter of heartbeats, leaving her time enough to offer Hadrian a bow before she replies to his statement. "Speak plainly then, Red, and I'll answer in like. What matter do you need to ask about~?"


Hadrian clears his throat, as if to suggest the matter a lengthy, and important one worth hearing, "I do not presume to attest to your knowledge of the proceeds in your neighboring cities, but Gualon is in a state of disrepair…" He trails off, to bolster the weight of his words, and allow them to sink in for a few moments. Before the silence can drag painfully into the wee moments of awkwardness, he speaks again, "King Tristram is nowhere to be found, and my people are suffering. I have begun bringing in trade and foodstuffs, but one man can only do so little." The pang in his words reflect the truth in which he speaks, "It is to my belief that Tristram is no longer capable of handling the crown, and my hope that someone with a bit more… ambition (See what he did there?) will take up the crown and assume the responsibilities that lie therein." His unfolding of these things, so stark and bare to the scrutinous eye, that it may appear he wishes to harbor no secrets from her. Hadrian's self-appointed status as political negotiator might seem weak and without cunning based on his unbridled mention of his intentions, albeit this is the front in which he seeks so. A resplendent display of ill-advised political movements, forthcoming, and the manner of sentinel--to suggest his steadfast determination to serve--all form that which is his meticulously concocted façade to bring in the wary, to easily avoid spines and swords. After all… he is just a simple Gladiator dressed up as a politician… right? "I seek your help in this, Lady Frostmaw." He finishes, lowering his head to gaze down at his feet, before eyes flick up to catch her own, intent on grasping the effect his words bring to her. Momentary reactions say it all.


Satoshi's face is a neutral mask, no flicker of emotion showing her thoughts one way or another for Hadrian's words. She may despise the dance of politics, but that doesn't mean she has two left feet. Predators that survive the longest are the ones without fear, yet in possession of caution. Caution is what kept her alive when dealing politics with the Time Lord, and the Eldermage. For now however, she accepts things at face value. The shadows will bring her anything else she may need at a later time, as they always have for the former Director of the Assassin's Guild. "What sort of help do you mean? That word is a tricky one, especially in matters of cities, rulers, and their citizens." The one thing she can be certain of is that this Hadrian is no fool. There are lands aplenty around Gualon that he could seek aid from, but instead he travels to the distant Frostmaw, a place known for its martial prowess and with strong connections to the Eyrie's outpost situated on the edge of Gualon's swamp. An outpost that houses a small air force of gryphons, dragons, and other such beasts. "And why Frostmaw?"


Hadrian allows the briefest of smiles to cross his features--perhaps pleased with one aspect or another--his hands coming together in front of himself, to suggest no hidden daggers are to be found with his words, "For the very same reason you mentioned earlier, Lady Frostmaw. Gualon and Frostmaw are similar, both in culture, and the fact they are distant from the interworking of the collected masses throughout the central cities. It is in my best interest to see to it that you and I forge some sort of working relation, so that we may stand fast against any oppressors that would seek to still the fighters in us, and claim that which they have no right to." As it stands now, Hadrian has made it apparent to Gualon that he expects the rulership to fall to him, of which he has received little resistance from the citizens; this does indeed present a problem from those vultures of society to reap the rewards of his hard work, by swooping in and scattering his forces during the time of transition. "The help I seek from you would be in the form of a promise… a promise to hold fast, and allow what little semblance of government we will have when the change occurs in Gualon, to plant itself firmly in the land. It is not my desire to incur the wrath of a society built around bloodshed such as yours." The buildup to the proposed question, and yet he asks so little of her. Perhaps his intentions do not come with poisonous tithings.


Satoshi thoughtfully turns over the three quills still in her hands, trace each length with the tip of a claw. "So, you wish us to back your reform, but you don't ask that we actually step in and bring it about, am I right? If you were asking me to do the latter, I'd naturally have to refuse. It isn't our way, to stab one ruler in the back so as to plant another in their place. However, we have no reason to interfere, or stop, natural selection as the strong weed out the weak. If it means the improvement of our brother city, you'll find no objection from Frostmaw in your attempts, only support." Which is to say, Satoshi won't try to stop someone else's climb to power, so long as it doesn't threaten her own standings or require her to turn on existing allies. Neither Hadrian or Tristram will find an enemy from her during this power struggle.


Hadrian bows his head to her, a grin to pull across his teeth, baring the near sickeningly perfect collection of ivory rows. "I would never presume to ask a stranger to lend their army to me, let alone fight my own battles." A momentary glance of moss green eyes skyward, suggest his taking into account the hour, "I simply hope that by my being forthcoming with you about my intentions, that you will not believe me a snake… and that we may build upon a relationship that supersedes the grueling politicians role. After all, I do hear that Frostmaw engages in the festivities of mortal combat," It is here now, that he glances about the arena, a reminiscent smile borne upon his features from those vivid memories of his time enclosed so in the walls of the Pit.


Satoshi nods, tucking one of the quills into her hair. "We're on the same page then~. I'll wish you luck in your endeavors, in the hopes Gualon will flourish." His glance and smile are caught then, and while Satoshi doesn't know exactly what it is he's thinking, she's not unfamiliar with that expression of recollection. "And, if you ever desire to test our arena's worth, it is always open to the stout of heart."


Hadrian nods to her vigorously, "Oh I do hope that the time will come when you may welcome me into your Arena first as combatant, and then as Champion. I do not settle for less." Whether the last of his words speak for his ambitions, or a tournament, he leaves unknown. With that Hadrian salutes--yes, salutes--Satoshi, "I must be returning to Gualon, Lady Satoshi. I thank you for your time, and consideration. Gualon can use all the allies it can get in its time of depression." Slowly, he steps back, as if shrinking away from her presence, before turning aboutface, and marching away. Again, the man harbors the gait of a soldier born to battle, a gladiator wrought through hardship, and a weary man with the weight of the world on his shoulders--he was indeed getting tired of his constant battling with everyone. Hopefully, his ambition will be the rise of him, and not spell his demise.


Satoshi can't help a smile at the man's eagerness. "Never settle~!" As he departs, the kit returns the salute with a hearty one of her own before rocking back on her heels and voicing a low whistle. The remaining pair of quills are clicked together in a quiet rhythm as she comments to herself, "Gualon's being awakened, it'd seem. Let's hope it is by one with a warrior's soul, and not a soldier's. It needs strength and compassion, not blind loyalty, eh~?"


(Continued in Socially Awkward Rabbit.)