a goose

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Abandon All Hope) Damn. He had almost forgotten. He took the video telegraphy device from his pack and attached it to his head, his mouth and nose still covered with cloth. “Celrys’ device can send what we see without us needing to return. Video telegraphy, as I said. That said, we can’t make any assumptions about how this spread or how it began – it’s our duty to go inside and learn everything we can. However…” His face become thoughtful for a moment. “The telegraph station would not be a bad place to start. I want to know why they never reached out for help, or informed the other villages of their situation.” OOC: @Toru Nui @Nato G @dreamers

IC: Tueris (Staff NPC; Abandon All Hope) The smell of smoke and death had been thick in their nostrils for half a day now. The smell of Ferrum. There were no vultures in the sky; they were on the ground, picking through the bones. They had passed bodies on the way here, lying in the dirt of the canyon, all of them picked clean by the carrion-eaters, all of them survivors who had crawled out of one hell and died in another. Some had died in groups. Some bodies were… smaller, than others. The pit outside the gates was overflowing, a would-be mass grave, black with flies and burnt bodies, and Tueris had to cover his face to keep from retching. It wasn't the only such attempt in sight, but it was the only one for which they had bothered to dig; elsewhere, the charred corpses lay piled in crude pyres. At some point, they had begun dying too fast for it to be worth the effort. Tueris turned his gaze to the Ferrumite in his party – these were neighbours, friends, family. He opened his mouth to speak and was overwhelmed by the taste of ash and rot, becoming immediately wracked with a fit of bilious coughing. At last, he choked down the rising gorge and spoke: “We have to go in,” he said, voice hoarse, as much to himself as to the others. Before them, the gates of the village were shut and barricaded with furniture and scrapwood – from the outside, no less. There was no written warning, as if such a thing would even be necessary; no one could possibly be fool enough to enter so cursed a place. Tueris grabbed a blood-crusted dinner table and tossed it aside. OOC: Recommended listening: https://youtu.be/yfCRXCfL_Ls?si=zQAHZk-dWLK02oUu @Burnmad @Toru Nui @~Xemnas~ @Nato G @oncertainty

IC: Aenia (Tajun, Ready-Room) As her competitors came filing in, Aenia stood off to the side, arms folded. Watching. Listening. A few were louder than the rest – a group, interacting with an imperious Skrall. She recognised one of them, a Glatorian from her old tribe. She didn’t know him by name, and she didn’t know the ugly cybernetics stuck roughshod into his head either; no doubt the golden boy had been playing god again. He looked, and sounded, typically arrogant. Another would-be Second, most likely. She smiled to herself. With any luck, she’d get to dash those hopes personally. One Jungle Glatorian would be as good to take her anger out on until the next. Until she got to fight Vastus personally. He’d have the first fight of these matches, and again in Tesara and possibly Vulcanus. She doubted he would fight at all in Iconox, without another Prime to go against. He didn’t much care for anyone below his weight-class. All the better for her – she wanted him to see her coming. Watch her pummel every fighter in her way until she finally got the chance to face him herself in the tourney proper. And then she would fucking kill him, right there, for all to see. And it would be glorious. OOC: Aenia open for interaction.

The big two attractions in Tajun at the moment for a non-combatant would be mingling in the audience and enjoying the fights or – for the more mystery-minded – maybe having a look into the sudden and unusual death of Kirbraz, which is now public knowledge the morning after. (There will be a more specific hook for this very soon, watch this space)

Okay so, a breakdown for everyone on how these exhibition matches work: A character can participate in one exhibition match in each village, and these are informal matches that don't affect brackets for the grand tournament. You're welcome to play against an NPC, either one of your own or if you like us staffers can fight you with one instead. Anyone who wants to go up against another PC can either organise it themselves with the other player or PM me with the name, affiliation, and basic description of your character, and we staff will arrange a match-up for you.

"At long, long last, I am honoured to say: Glatorian, Agori, gathered friends… Let the Games begin!" After slightly more ado than everybody would have liked, and things finally beginning to move again independent of me, I've decided to make my own contribution to that movement. If you have stuff you wanna do before the match, feel free to roleplay it as a flashback! But finally, for those of who were probably chomping at the bit a year ago and might have forgotten since, we're going to have some actual gladiatorial combat in our gladiatorial combat game.

IC: Once a year, Tajun was flooded. A great tide poured through its streets, an overflowing river of people all bound for one destination: the Arena Tajun. It began as a trickle in the early morning, tributaries gathering mass until they turned into streams and then finally broke their banks altogether. By midday, roads and paths were entirely indiscernible; there was only the throng, that great ocean that was the crowd, within and without the Arena itself. The heat of the day didn't matter, not here, nor did the fact that neither the opening ceremony nor the inaugural matches would begin until a few hours hence. It was important to find one’s place early. As for Scodonius, well, he had always known his place. All his life he’d been fighting to make it here, and as of this morning, that fight was over. He was the unchallenged ruler of all that he surveyed. It was all that he had ever wanted. It was an unalloyed success. His old arena partner would never again snatch defeat from the jaws of their victory. Never again. Never again. It hadn't sunk in yet, that was the problem. He had identified Kirbraz’s body himself, and still, out of sheer habit, he found himself anticipating what his rival might do to undermine him at the opening ceremony. Habit, he was quite certain, was at the heart of all his current troubles – after all, it would take time to adjust to this new status quo, after so many years spent quarrelling with Kirbraz. Once it felt real, once he had finally broken all those habits, his victory would feel real too. This hollowness he felt was merely a transitional phase. In the meantime, Scodonius had people to greet, the representatives of each village who had arrived in advance of the opening ceremony; typically, that meant the Tribe’s leader, but Raanu was staying in Vulcanus to await word from the Ferrum expedition, and Ackar alone had made the journey. He was one of only two Prime Glatorian to make the trip – the other, naturally, was Strakk, who hovered over Metus’ shoulder wherever he went. The brute was more mercenary than champion, but Iconox paid well. Naturally, after Scodonius and Tarix, the Iconox delegation were the first to arrive. Metus’ grin was almost as wide as Strakk’s as he approached him, and shook his hand. The hunchbacked brute lingered behind him. “I was so very sorry to hear about Kirbraz,” Metus said in mock sympathy, with a knowing glint in his eyes. “But I suppose the show must go on.” “People shouldn't see us talking,” Scodonius whispered. He didn't like this, being out in the open with him – not even with his own Prime Glatorian nearby. “The peanut gallery aren't here yet, Donnie. It's just you, me, and the dumb muscle.” Scodonius glanced over at Tarix, who was sitting in the stands, staring anxiously at his feet. “But I get it. I won't keep you for long. Not this time.” With Scodonius’ hand still trapped in his, Metus leaned forward to whisper in his ear. Whatever he said, Scodonius blanched. “I- I didn't know-” He relaxed his posture, but not his grip, nor his toothy smile. “That’s okay, Donnie. We all make mistakes. And hey – try to enjoy the games. I bet poor Kirbraz never even knew when he was watching his last. Might not have appreciated what he had.” Finally, Metus released him, and walked away without another word. As Strakk followed, he deliberately shoved into Scodonius, laughing to himself. “Oops,” he monotoned, grinning all the while. “You should watch yourself, little man.” Shit. Well, at least that was the worst of the arrivals dealt with. He had already forgotten about the Skrall. ***** It was one hell of a turnout, considering. Between the trouble in Ferrum and the new participants, Ackar hadn't known quite what to expect. The opening ceremony itself would be easy; as reigning Champion, he was obliged to say a few words, and then Scodonius would take it from there. The matches would begin in earnest afterwards, though he never took part. Exhibition matches were for the young, those seeking to make names for themselves. What had really troubled him was first arriving, and speaking to Tarix – the young Prime Glatorian was troubled, deeply troubled, and understandably so. Just last night, they had both been witness to something they did not fully understand, and that the powers that be did not want to be understood. Kirbraz's death, it had been decided unanimously by the Tribe leaders in attendance, was nothing more than tragic misadventure, the product of drink, drugs, and a cold Tajun night. Ackar lacked Raanu’s authority, the Rock Tribe delegation was late, and Somnii was… It wasn't right. Ackar knew that, and Tarix knew that, but there was nothing they could do. As Linnea so loved to point out, there were rules to be followed, laws to be upheld. Such strictures were the foundations upon which civilisation rested. It wasn't his place to question them; he was just the entertainment. “And now, to introduce this Grand Tournament, we have the man to beat – our Grand Champion, Ackar!” The show must go on. It sickened Scodonius to see how the crowd cheered for a frail old man, so long past his time. Ackar wasn't to blame, not exactly – certainly, he should have retired long ago, but that wasn't what angered Scodonius, nor was the total incompetence Vulcanus had shown in finding a successor (that this was, in no small part, Scodonius’ own fault did not occur to him). No, it was the fact that Scodonius’ own glory was finally about to begin, and that snake was going to cut it short. He and Metus may have founded their fragile little alliance in order to get one over on Raanu, but the vitriol with which Scodonius greeted his pale colleague was far from fraudulent. He just happened to hate Raanu even more. But now, here he was, victorious, and Metus was ready to tear it all away from him. And for what? One mistake? So Kirbraz’s death hadn't looked like an accident. So what? Why did that matter to Metus, when it would never be traced back to him? For far too long, Scodonius had been taking that snake’s orders, doing as he said, and he had gotten nothing but money and power and the deaths of his enemies in return. Well, that wasn't good enough for him, not anymore. He was done with Metus’ little games, and if he was going to be punished for one botched assassination regardless of whether he covered it up, then he was going to take the route that would irritate benefactor most. Kirbraz was dead, and that was supposed to mean the end of Scodonius’ life spent in the shadows. This was his moment. “-And lastly, I would like to wish the best of luck to all the fighters who have come out to take part in this Tournament. It's easy to forget, sometimes, just how important these Games are – as Glatorian, it is our job to fight for those weaker than us, not only to protect them, but to keep us all from a war that none of us could afford. We come to see our neighbours as rivals, sometimes even as enemies, and that's particularly true when you're in the arena. We all do what it takes to survive in the Wastelands, but we cannot do it alone, and the games are our biggest reminder of that. This is the time of year when we all come together, when we fight not for survival, but for sport. To me, the Tournament isn't about the fight itself – it's about the moment after, when you shake hands and bow, pat each other on the back and compliment each other's form. It's about kinship, about camaraderie. It's about reminding us all that every one of us is a person, making our way in the world, and that we're all in this together. I look forward to the fights ahead, to the friends new and old that I’ll meet in the arena. Most of all, though, I look forward to one of you bastards beating me, so I can finally get a year off from writing a bloody speech!” He paused for the laughter, for the applause, and smiled. “Now, I know what you're all waiting for, and yes – I am going to shut up. But first, I'd like to welcome Scodonius up onto the stage, so that he can get this damned thing started already and I can finally sit these old bones back down for the rest of the exhibition matches.” Scodonius forced himself to smile as he approached the podium, taking the microphone from Ackar. “Our Grand Champion, everyone. I don't know about all of you, but I would’ve thought that after giving so many of these speeches, he might be better at it by now.” He allowed a tasteful beat for Ackar and the audience to laugh, and then continued. “He is right, though – the Tournament may look like a competition, but what it's really all about is coming together in celebration. In brotherhood.” He paused, his eyes seeking out the shape of the Tribe leaders’ box in the stands. “I had a brother. Like brothers, we rarely saw eye to eye, but I am still heartbroken that he can't be with us this year. And he's not the only one: this year, we fight in honour of all our absent brothers and sisters from Ferrum, and for the brave heroes who even now are making their way through Iron Canyon to learn the truth of what has happened to them, and help them if they can. And though there is no noble party acting on his behalf, I know that the truth of Kirbraz’s death, too, will out, and that his murderer will face justice.” He forced himself not to smile as he heard the ripple of shock and consternation in the crowd, and imagined Metus' face up there in the box, smug grin finally wiped clean. “But for now, let us set those sad matters aside, and focus on what is ahead of us. At long, long last, I am honoured to say: Glatorian, Agori, gathered friends… Let the Games begin!” OOC: slightly overdue, folks, but let's have some fun!

IC: Portia (NPC; Arena Hotel, Tajun) Portia was in shock. She almost hesitated to say another word, for fear that whatever magic had brought these two to a peaceful conclusion would be broken. But she was a receptionist, Lords darn it, and this was her job. She was a professional. “One bed. It’s, uh, it’s large, but as you two are strangers we can provide some spare pillows for the, uh. Floor.” She reached under the desk, and then slid the key across it. “Thank you for choosing the Arena Hotel!” She said, with a smile more forced than the one with which she had first entered the conversation. IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) Somnii narrowed her eyes. There was nothing more she could say, not without tempting the Bone Hunters in the same way her own people had been tempted. “No. There’s nothing else.” OOC: @Alex Mason@Toru Nui

IC: Skrall (Second Wagon) Skrall shook his head, and replied in unusually hushed tones. “That's what I'm trying to tell you – failure, success, it doesn't matter. Do you honestly think Tirveus will entitle a woman? And what do you think happens when you win, and your brothers-in-arms all believe you cheated with witchcraft you don't have?” He didn't pause long enough for her to answer. “I’ll tell you what the mission is: Lose, or die trying.” He took a swig of water, and grimaced. “Give it your all, sister, survive Tartarus itself, and watch as you’re punished for it. I see that glimmer of ambition in your eyes, and I'm telling you now that you have to kill it before it kills you. Skrall aren't meant to stand out or to stand alone – that's what our ex-comrade and I were really punished for. And what else do you call the only Skrall of this delegation to make it through the Tournament undefeated, if not the sole survivor? That's a dangerous person to be.” OOC: @Vezok's Friend

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) “No one saw the culprit,” she repeated. The words came out hollow, but she would stand by them, and she wrote as she spoke: DEATH. Somnii glared at Taldrix with exhausted eyes. Those eyes had seen far too much. Memories of Ferrum were screaming in the back of her mind; she could still smell the blood, still taste the smoke. The horrors she had witnessed clung to her, and they would until the day she died, but she now understood what it meant for something to be better off buried. Like the Great Beings before her, she would take the truth to her grave, and hope that her warnings would be heeded. OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Skrall (Second Wagon) “You haven't worked it out yet, have you?” He smiled grimly. “You will. Perhaps even before it's too late, and you end up like our ex-comrade and me.” OOC: @Vezok's Friend @ any Skrall who are in this coach IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) “All of our vehicles were also… malfunctioning. That route is too long to walk; Iron Canyon was the only choice.” Somnii's focus was still on their second conversation. As she read Taldrix's message, she shook her head and began to write again. IT'S BURIED FOR A REASON. WE SHOULD HAVE LEFT IT THAT WAY. DON'T MAKE THE SAME MISTAKE. OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) Taldrix didn't know, then. Unfortunately, Somnii did; she knew what this Ghost was searching for, and she knew exactly where it was to be found. After all, she had found it first. She took a deep breath and started writing again. She felt a lucidity she hadn't in some time, as if somehow the horror of her situation had grown so immense that she had shut it out entirely in order to preserve what little of her sanity remained. She lifted the card, and looked into Taldrix’s eyes again, this time with a calmness that felt entirely out of keeping with what she had learned and what she had written. More than anything, though, it felt out of keeping with how she had written it. Y̸̨̖̍͌O̸̰̯͊̇U̵̺͝R̶̳͊̕ ̸̢̄B̶̘̃̽O̴̕ͅS̴͚̝͌S̷͎̄ ̵̡̎I̷̯̝͒̏S̸̨̘͂͑ ̴̧̅̌͜G̷̡̫̽Ō̵̺͉̊I̶̞̘̒͝N̴̝̈G̷͕̲͌̓ ̴͍̺̾͛T̵͎͛Ō̷͚͎ ̴̝̂͂Ẹ̸̅͝Ṇ̴̓̌D̸͈̚ ̵̤̂̉͜T̶̰̗̍H̵̰̕͝Ẻ̶̛̖ ̶̅̓͜Ẃ̴̹͠O̵̦̓R̶̖̳̅̇L̴͍̣͑D̴̩̘̆ She turned the card over. S̶T̵O̷P̴ ̷H̴I̶M̸.̴ OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Portia (NPC; Arena Hotel, Tajun) A pair of nostrils arose to join the eyes. “It’s, uh, it's for emergencies. But I can see that you're both, um, in need.” OOC: @Alex Mason @Toru Nui IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) She stepped away, just as she was told. Once Taldrix was clear of the bars, Somnii silently picked up the paper and stylus. Then she began to write, quietly but urgently. When she turned the paper around, her handwriting was a desperate, uneven scrawl. IN THE CANYONS OR UNDER THEM? OOC: @Toru Nui

IC: Portia (NPC; Arena Hotel, Tajun) When Karak looked to the receptionist, he found that the small figure behind the counter had almost entirely receded. All that remained was a pair of eyes, peeking over the desk, which quickly darted back down upon being spotted. Behind – or, rather, beneath – said desk, Portia was hyperventilating. This situation had quickly spun out of her control, and she knew for a fact that her supervisor was unavailable. She hadn’t been trained for this. She hadn’t been trained for anything, in fact, and she was beginning to suspect that she might have secured this job so easily not because of her enthusiasm and her bubbly demeanour but instead because the staff turnover rate might be… rather high. She also had begun to suspect that hiding was not an effective method of conflict resolution, and needed an alternative methodology. “WE DO HAVE ONE ROOM,” she shouted, eyes screwed shut. “TECHNICALLY.” OOC: @Toru Nui @Alex Mason

IC: Somnii (Bone Hunter Stronghold; Somnii's Cell) Somnii paled, and went silent. Horror tore at her, threatening to shred away what little remained of her sanity; she was falling, falling again into that Stygian abyss, buried beneath the sins of her forebears. A darkness blacker than a moonless night pressed in from all sides, and even the thunder of the collapsing walls could not drown out the cries of the damned. In Somnii's mind, they were screaming still, down in those dreamless depths. Lords save us all. “No one saw the culprit,” she replied at last. The words came out smoothly. Rehearsed. As she spoke, she gesticulated – an impression of writing with a stylus. All the while, she kept her wild, half-mad eyes fixed on Taldrix’s. OOC: @Toru Nui