RP:Xzavior, Champion
Part of the Craughmoyle's King Arc
Summary: Xzavior enters a gladiator tournament at Trist’oth Arena and wins after defeating 8 opponents in a row. His prize is 5,000 gold, and, more unusual, an audience with First Daughter Gevurah. The two feel each other out, figuratively (get your mind out of the gutter). Gevurah asks him to infiltrate House Dragana to see if Lady Larewen possesses any texts about the Order of the Shade.
Trist’oth Arena
Gevurah has few hobbies and pastimes, and watching warriors tear each other into pieces is one of them. She sits in the most prominent center platform reserved for the ruling house of the city. In the booth servants and a couple of guards accompany her. Notably, she entertains no guests. Instead of buying food and drink from the vendors weaving through the stinking crowd of commoners, she indulges in wine and pickled plums provided by her entourage. Her gaze is fixed on the battle transpiring on the debris-strewn stage below. The combatants’ armor gleam in the faerie light. Their weapons hum with enchantment. It’s a drow versus a troll. The drow ducks behind a fallen stalactite to avoid the troll’s spiked club, then leaps over the barrier to drive his serrated dagger into the troll’s skull from above. A quick victory for the drow warrior, and he thumps his chest and shakes the blood-soaked dagger to rally the crowd that cheers for him. Gevurah offers no applause yet. Today’s spectacle is an uncommon one. Most shows at the arena are pathetic slaves fighting each other for scraps of food. Today, true warriors choose to enter combat in exchange for glory and gold. Gevurah looks to the arena door to see which warrior will come through next.
Xzavior makes his way through the door with a sigh and doesn't even register the roaring crowd around him, this place could be empty for all he cared. He wasn't here for the glory, though the gold did interest him. He was just mad and needed to get this out of his system and this was the best way he found he could. He wore no armor and had no weapon. Well, not visibly but he wasn't wearing anything to hide a weapon either. He looked about the arena with smoke grey eyes and a bit of disdain, he rolled his neck while mumbling to himself, "Come on now, I don't have all day." It took him quite a bit to get down here and this was actually the first time being here despite having a close friend being drow. Hell of a way to get to know a town, jumping into a fighting pit right away. His ice blue scales looking dull being lit by only the faerie fire he crossed his arms and coiled his tail under him waiting for his opponent.
The Arena is metaphorically the perfect model of the city. If you want to know the heart of Trist’oth culture and the beliefs of its people, few places would better answer those questions than this arena. The drow circles Xzavior slowly to appraise his new opponent. The lack of armor suggests a magic user, or possible a monk. Kung-fu naga? He unhooks two balls connected by a chain and throws it like a chain boomerang towards Xzavior’s throat. The weapon is mildly enchanted to curl around a throat and bang either of its two balls against the throat, collapsing it hopefully. If it misses its mark, it boomerangs back to the drow.
Xzavior was a magic user, a cryomancer to be exact. When the chain came his way he made no move to dodge it until it was too close to pull back before conjuring a staff of ice and replaced its initial target with that. Once the chain did as it would Xzavior pulled the staff towards him with force hoping to drag the drow with it and ram the unchained end right into the man’s stomach. Xzavior was not magic dependant. He used it when it was needed then handled the rest with hand to hand. Or hand to tail. Whatever the case may be he was not going to be an easy opponent.
The staff’s magical interrupts the chain’s enchantment and when it boomerangs back to the drow it comes high and whacks him in the shoulder hard. It’s his sword-wielding arm too. With a magic user it’s usually a good idea to get in close to disrupt their spells. Ambidextrous to some degree, the warrior wields his serrated dagger in his left hand and charges towards the naga. He feints to the snakeman’s neck, then with cat-like reflexes lowes his attack to stab and swipe at Xzavior’s lower abdomen. His opposite arm’s gauntleted forearm at the same time lifts to protect him from Xzavior’s staff.
Xzavior wasn't going to have it either way, he reared back from both the feigned neck swipe and the body shots making himself appear taller, feeling the dagger pass by, leaving a fine red line along his abdomen. He dropped down hard and in that same motion whipped his tail out to either cause the drow to trip or jump. In any case he brought his staff down with the intention of skewering the warrior. The task made easier with the spearhead he gave the staff beforehand. Even if it missed there was enough force behind it to drive the spear a good 6 inches into the ground.
The drow has little experience fighting a naga and did not expect the tail. He trips, is skewered, convulses and spits blood as he fights for one more breath, then finally dies. The crowd goes wild. They have no loyalty to their recent hero. Now they have a new champion— well, potential champion. Xzavior has to defeat 8 opponents in a row. The number eight remains fixed in drow tradition despite the fact the Spider Goddess has been banned from worship in the city by House D’Artes. A female drow priestess is next, then a shadow gnome illusionist, then a drow crossbolt wielder, an ogre barbarian, a giant monk of Aramoth, a drow double-swordsman, and finally a vampire pyromancer. Xzavior cuts through these in some fashion, and emerges the otherside today’s weary victor. He isn’t the first to win this type of tournament, but something about the way in which he won it earns him Gevurah’s attention. She rises in her booth and approaches the banister. In a magically amplified voice she addresses the crowd with the tenor and reverb of a well-rehearsed orator and priestess: “Your name, champion?” If Xzavior can speak, he will find his voice amplified as well.
Xzavior was a bloodied mess, both from his opponents and his own. Cuts and gashes here and there, bruises along his body. He was sure he had a broken rib in there somewhere. He hadn't once broken a sweat, but that was mostly do to the fact that he constantly regulates himself with magic. He took this moment to learn different fighting styles and how to counter them in the right way along side letting out some steam. This wasn't just for fun you know. When he turned to the voice he raised a brow and tilted his head, "Xzavior. May I know who is asking?"
Gevurah laughs cruelly at the question. The emcee of the event, the overseer of the warriors, moves towards Xzavior with a hand on his whip. Such a question is considered an insult to the ruling class in Trist’oth, but Gevurah signals in the dark. The drow use a sign language that plays on their ability to see heat signatures. He sees her command to stay his hand. “As a foreigner to our ways I can overlook your ignorance on this first offense. I am Gevurah D’Artes, High Priestess and First Daughter of the Ruling House of this city, which is also the house paying you your handsome reward. Your name.”
Xzavior watched the overseer and his whip for a moment until Gevurah started talking. He hummed and bowed slightly in respect. He paid little mind to who actually ruled but tried to make it a point not to get on the bad side of. He was a really laid back person and thought he could handle himself well in many situations. Even if that situation was running at any given sign of trouble. "As stated, my name is Xzavior. An honor."
Gevurah , in contrast to Xzavior, has no chill. It’s a drow thing. Her voice booms again this time addressing the crowd. “I present to you Xzavior, your champion. His material reward is 5,000 gold, but this pales in comparison to the reward paid to him in glory.” The crowd goes wild again. The emcee approaches Xzavior with a small black lacquer chest filled with gold. He whispers to Xzavior. “High Priestess Gevurah will see you in the First House’s booth.” A slave approaches Xzavior to lead him to Gevurah who waits in her booth with a glass of wine in hand. If he follows, he’ll find her standing with her back to the arena, facing him as he enters.
Xzavior took the offered gold and would follow the slave to the booth, he was actually quite interested in meeting the high priestess. It was never a bad thing to get acquainted with superiority, especially someone who held so much authority as herself. Once he entered her presence he offered the same small bow he gave on the lower level. The bow secured by his tail. "Now I really am honored. What makes me acceptable company?"
Gevurah nods in greeting when Xzavior bows, but does not lower herself by bowing to him. (Like I said, no chill.) Still she smiles, sort of. It’s more akin to a cruel grin. It’s the only natural smile she has. Briefly she wonders how naga climb stairs. “Your lethalness. On rare occasion does a combatant that I have never heard of before win the tournament. I want to know where you come from, what you are after, where you learned to fight. But first.” She waves a hand to the bottle of wine and a servant stands at attention. “Would you like a glass?” She scans his injuries and notices how he favors the ribs not fractured. If he accepts the wine, the servant will pour it for him.
Xzavior nodded to the offered wine, after it was poured for him he swirled it gently and gave it a sniff, "Not a wine man myself but I can't deny it when it's offered." He took a silent drink from the glass before looking back at Gevurah with a small smirk, "Where I come from? No where. Though I have just recently made home in south Sage.I am after nothing other than to further my skill in combat though the gold is a nice bonus. I could actually say I come from Frostmaw, that is the place I spent the last seventeen years honing my skills. But I learned to fight through experience." He may have been favoring his less injured side but other than the slight tilt he hadn't shown much outer distress for his injuries. Though he did make himself more presentable by freezing and pulling off the frozen blood before tossing it into the arena below.
Gevurah sits as Xzavior accepts the wine. When he mentions Southern Sage she drums her fingers on the armrest. Her cruel grin becomes false, her eyes a little more sharp and critical. Then he mentions Frostmaw and her teeth can almost be heard grinding together in frustration. Her grin grows in width and falseness. Remembering he is a cryomancer, she asks, “Did you train under Satoshi?” Her tone is a bit suspicious, as if mentioning Southern Sage and Frostmaw are points against Xzavior.
Xzavior shook his head and noted her new tone. Watch what you say even if it was the truth. "Like I said, I am self trained. I should clear things a bit. I have been by myself for most of my life up until Q'na froze my race in time. Only after that have I been involved with other people. So before a few months ago I carried no connections to anyone."
Gevurah seems somewhat soothed that his time on this planet has been measured in months, not years or decades.She sips her wine pensively, openly appraising and judging him. “Are you a mercenary?”
Xzavior shrugged slightly and drank the rest of the wine. He placed the glass aside and rested in his coils like a personal chair, "I do what I have to do to live. If that means getting paid in the meantime then at that time I am. It isn't my occupation but I am not opposed to doing an odd job here or there when I need something I can't get with survival skills alone."
Gevurah drums her fingers again. She has three bounties out on people, their names whispered through the shady network of assassins. And a couple of spies following a few more people. Xzavior doesn’t seem like the type who picks up those types of jobs. “Right. Well.” She sits up in a way that suggests she is done with him. “Congratulations on your win.”
Xzavior raised a brow when she drummed her fingers again but when she stood up he knew to take his leave. He nodded with a small smile and made his way to the door, "Well, if you have any use for me I'm more than certain that you'll find a way to contact me. I still need to make a living, so keeping an open market is kind of nice." He should probably head to a healer before he bleeds out.
Gevurah is a healer, of sorts, in that she could patch him up, but she chooses not to. His comment about keeping the market open, to her of all people, gives her pause. He clearly wouldn’t mind getting into business with a character as shady as she. “Hold.” she commands. If he stays she makes him wait as she thinks of a task that she would risk revealing to him, and which would be a suitable test for him. “There is something I would like fetched from Vailkrin. There is a noble there named Lady Larewen Dragana. She is a necromancer of great power. It is likely that she has texts pertaining to an ancient necromantic sect that was founded by my people.” Sort of. She is presenting the rose-colored version of their history. The founders were actually publicly executed by her ancestors, but these details are unimportant right now. “The sect called itself The Order of the Shade. I want to know what information Dragana has on the Order, and if she has any texts at all, I want them procured for myself by any means necessary. I have my own spiders on this task, but if you do it before them, I will pay you.”
Xzavior stopped when she said to and turned around. Looks as if he found himself a job. Internally he grinned but he kept it professional by keeping a straight face and listened to the details. With a nod he gave a small hum, "Order of Shade. Never heard of it, but sounds like they have a lot of very dangerous tricks. Alright, I'm in. I'm going to need to know exactly just what company she keeps, race mainly. How you'd like me to get that information and if you'll oppose to a casualty here or there." A plan was already formulating with the details he was given, he just needed these finer details to brush up on said plan.
Gevurah’s voice grows dark as she says. “You’ll be hearing about the Order soon. Necromancers in Xalious have summoned a legendary creature from another plane called The Shade Nightmare. It will try to impose its dark will on the world soon. You won’t escape it.” As he asksfor information all she can offer is, “She leads a family of vampires in the Dragana Estate in Vailkrin. I do not know the members of her house, just hers. But I am sure if you ask around Vailkrin you’ll be pointed both to her estate and to her house members. Casualties are viewed as offerings to Vakmatharas, the God of Death, and very much welcome. May Vakmatharas guide your dagger.” That last phrase is her version of ‘Godspeed.’
Xzavior gave a slow nod at the new details. The whole nightmare thing was an interesting bit of news too. Not his problem at the moment really but interesting nonetheless, "If I can't get away from it, why not run headlong into it then?" The target being vampire didn't help all that much but did narrow it down. Being free to kill did however. Snapping back into attention he looked to Gevurah and gave her a fanged grin, "I'll get started right away. A simple infiltration job shouldn't take me too long either." With a more respecting bow he took his leave and his gold with a small wave. Seems like Frost is going to having more fun soon.