Alea Iacta Est

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Indeed."

For the first time since they'd entered the arena, Fyrian showed interest in the goings on below.

"And which one of those creatures down there would you say represents Necia?"

[Csephion Draxus]

"I would consider that a false dichotomy, but to be sporting, the quill cats would certainly best suit the barest notion of the League."

The cats began to carefully work at the periphery as the Tigraphant tried to isolate them and charge. A swing of a trunk succeeded in sending one of the cats airborne, but another cat nipped at the Tigraphant's flank, distracting it and keeping it from exploiting its success.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

She thought of that, and supposed that it made the some amount of sense. She watched the gory spectacle with a growing detachment.

"Then would it be correct of me to think that you enjoy pulling your prey in all different directions to keep it from achieving what it wishes?"

[Csephion Draxus]

The Satrap sipped his wine, looking back at her with a slightly chiding expresison.

"I think you are having too much liberty with this hypothetical. The notion is merely of the many becoming one, and more than the simple sum. Necia has faced many Tigraphants, tyrants of audacity and genius whose deeds intimidated many."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian made a face then, and before she could think to correct herself, spoke once more.

"And yet the tigraphant that is Fyrian still eludes the many who have become one."

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus's face was impassive save for a slight tightening of skin at the eyes. He said nothing for a moment and continued to watch the animals fight. As a pass from one of the cats gored the Tigraphant with its sharp quills, Draxus almost smiled.

"That Tigraphant will at least be bloodied today."

He continued to look ahead.

"In the end, they all fall."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"Prophetic words."

Noting his expression, she kept her tongue in check. It would not do to simply snap at the man, and she gave a light pat to his hand.

"But as much as the sword or spear can gut a pirate, pride can impale a nation just as terribly."

[Csephion Draxus]

"It is only hubris if we fail."

Draxus answered her glibly as he sat back down and reclined. As a slave refilled his glass, the Tigraphant began to tire and to falter. The inevitable was approaching. One cat lay half crushed and dying, but the other two were able to move around the animal without reprisal.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Fyrian watched the battle only half-heartedly; watched the cats as they closed in for the kill. That he likened Necia to those beasts made her wonder just how much he was willing to risk so that he'd be able to claim whatever grand victory that he wanted. Turning her eyes from the animals to him, Fyrian folded her hands in her lap. The look that she gave him was level and true without being submissive in any way.

"Forgive my wandering thoughts; I did not mean to sour your excitement of the day."

[Csephion Draxus]

He waved his hand at the scene casually.

"As it were, we are merely watching beasts."

The Tigraphant, wounded and exhausted, fell to the ground. While the quill cats woud be perfectly capable of gnawing the exhausted animal to death over a few hours, there would be no coup de grace delivered by the animals. With the fight already won, beast handlers came in, putting the Tigraphant out of its misery with a heavy spear thrust at the base of the massive skull. The huge beast twitched, and lay still.

"The executions should be beginning now."

And sure enough, a procession of condemned people began to file out of one gate as the cats were herded out of the other. There was a group of fifteen, among them the four Fyrian pirates marked for death.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

At that, Fyrian fixed her eyes to the men below. The four of them that belonged to her held their heads high and stared back at the crowds with no remorse. They were hard men, three Glaucans and one Freeman. Each one seemed to scan the people gathered in the arena as if challenging each and every one. They were not afraid of their deaths it seemed, and bristled at their handlers.

One in particular caught Fyrian's eye, and she felt as though the breath had been knocked from her. Blackpool. She opened her mouth, but quickly closed it once more lest a slight whimper of sorrow escape her lips.

Suddenly sullen, she continued to look on with a glossy-eyed stare as the muscles in her jaw clenched.

[Csephion Draxus]

The first four of the men, petty murderers, were stripped of their clothing, and given shields made of thatch and swords made of wood. These men were led to a partition that was quickly set up, and thrown inside. Another gate opened up, and a massive wolfbear was carefully prodded toward the entrance by men on swift horses, with long staffs. The wolfbear, angry and disoriented, soon found the path of least resistance, and thundered into the partition.

Draxus busied himself with some minutiae that Pascias brought to his attention. There was no sport to be seen here, only creative death.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

Her men no doubt were being saved for the last of the day's executions, and so Fyrian too turned her gaze from the arena floor, wondering what it was that Pascias had brought to the Satrap's attention.

She could hear the sounds of men yelling and the wolfbear thundering its' roar at them, but shut the noise out for now as she leaned forward ever so slightly to afford Draxus and his slave her curiosity.

[Csephion Draxus]

Draxus sorted out some routine affair with Pascias and dismissed him casually. Returning his attention ahead, he watched the wolfbear dispatch the third victim as the fourth screamed, hurled his sword at the beast, and urinated on himself. The wolfbear lunged forward and tore the man's entrails from his belly, bringing the foregone conclusion to its inevitable end.

The Satrap shrugged, and extended an amphora to Ariadne.

"More wine?"

[Ariadne Fyrian]

A nod, and she extended her empty glass for him to refill.

"I'm afraid that I cannot look at death as the game and spectacle that your fellow countrymen and yourself seem to enjoy. It's always been a simple part of business for one like myself. It is unfortunate."

She frowned.

"Nothing to cheer at no matter who it is that dies."

[Csephion Draxus]

"They're criminals who forfeit their lives at the defiance of state and the laws of all people."

Draxus reclined and nibbled a fig.

"I don't grieve them. They made this choice. Their death serves as a warning for others to make different choices."

[Ariadne Fyrian]

"I never said that I grieved them."

She declined any sort of food, favoring instead the wine she held. Her appetite was gone, but her thirst strong. It was the best way to stomach the coming events.

If there was any comfort to be found anywhere, she could not find it. Not even in the Satrap's presence. Perhaps later, once this sham was completed, but now it was not so.

[Csephion Draxus]

Another batch of the condemned were paired against seasoned arena fighters. This lot were given actual weapons, but their talents could be seen evidently in areas other than combat. They resisted desperately, but were cut down in effective brutality. Every sword strike that hit home caused a raucous shudder of approval from the audience. This gave the Satrap a bit more attention, as he at least could appreciate a desperate effort toward a lost cause. He leaned forward somewhat, watching each individual combat reach its foregone conclusion. After some amount of fighting, one of the prisoners managed to skewer the seasoned fighter he faced in the arm with a lance.

Smiling, Draxus clapped his hands in approval.

[Ariadne Fyrian]

It was easy to feel the excitement around her at the executions, and Fyrian cast disinterested eyes to either side of her. This show was nothing but, yet it seemed that everyone in the arena was enjoying it thoroughly. If she were in any other situation, the Glaucan supposed that she too would be more apt to engage herself, but not this day. Not with the men slated to die.

Staring back down to the dusty arena floor, Fyrian watched as the last criminal scored a minor victory with his spear, but like the others, he too was soon enough cut down. It was a gory end to have, and she briefly wondered if her fate was destined to be as such in some form or another.

But the Satrap's clapping was enough to pull her from her thoughts, and she turned to look at him with an odd, unreadable expression.

[Csephion Draxus]

"Whatever wrong that man has done, his death was a respectable one."

Draxus seemed obliged to explain his sudden approval for the bloodsport.

"I can find an appreciation for this that transcends the usual notions of punishment."