Started by Draugr, April 23, 2019, 12:03:50 AM
Quote from: Penned Gladiator DocsThe dregs of society stood above you, and you failed. The common man and woman of Allanak stood above you, and you were nothing. Perhaps you sought out grandeur. Perhaps you were simply looking to feed yourself, your family. Whatever caused you to get here, whatever caused you to assume the mantle of those suited to die in the arena, you have failed.Here you in the cells and shared quarters of the other gladiators, some of you unproven, but bred for the pens, others criminals - those destined to die. None of you have gained the crowd's pleasure, none of you are spoken of, your names not bandied about on the tongues of the city. You are all worthless, you are all scum, and you will all be dead soon. The one hope that is spread throughout your cramped cage is the hope that you can gain the crowd's favor, and gain a bit of glory before you die.Gladiators are the celebrities of Allanak. Unfortunately for you, the people of Allanak only see your title as slave, as captive, as traitor, or thief, or murderer. You are here because you failed at freedom, you failed at living as the commoner of Allanak. Or because you have not yet succeeded for the thing for which you were bred. Though you may never be able to live a free life, perhaps, maybe, you can gain the crowd's favor and be called reigning gladiator before you die. (At least virtually.)You begin belonging to the Templarate of Allanak or to House Borsail, but in time you may be sold to a noble or merchant house proper. You are a slave now, and though you may not have been a slave all your life, you are here now. You are property, not prized, but worthless property made to be destroyed. You are not a household slave, on your knees emptying chamber pots, or a scribe stuck at a desk - they have quality, they have indispensable use. You fight day and night to keep your sanguine epitaph inside your skin, and unseen. You are a slave.
Quote from: Reigning Gladiator docsCongratulations! Either through wins or noble whim you have made your way out of the pits and into the big time. Now, all you have to do is survive. You are a magnificent creature. Everyone wants to own you. Everyone wishes they were you.Before the big time you lived down below the arena. You shared your quarters not just with other true-bred gladiators, but the cesspit of captured criminals and human refuse captured by the Templarate within the despotic city of Allanak. Now, you have luxurious accommodations below the stands.You live for the fights, the smell of blood, the taste of victory. Glory and truth are revealed annually when any reigning gladiators can fight the champion to the death in order to take the room, the armor and the prestige, and most importantly the title. Matches take place at least six times a year. For all but the championship, the crowd decides whether the victor may strike the killing blow. They may call for blood. They may call for mercy. The decision is theirs. The victory can be yours.Gladiators are the celebrities of Allanak. People want to see you. They want to be near you. They want some of your shine to rub off on them. Go out. Let people buy you drinks. Tell stories. Screw groupies. Be the star you are. You begin belonging to Borsail, but in time you may be sold to another House. You are a slave. This is not a bad thing. This is a point of honor. You are property, but you are prized property. You are not a household slave, on your knees emptying chamber pots, or a scribe stuck at a desk. You come to life on the field, bring the true color of Allanak out in sanguine glory. Your value is a point of pride. You are a true Gladiator.
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