HOME | DD

Description
While his Liegelady was gone, Sventar had been in the Archive room of the complex, or whatever one would call a room of the recordings of the Coliseum's history. One whole side of the room was dedicated to scrolls in which a whole decade of recordings was inked into every single one. This coliseum had stretched back to even before the Grand Campaign in 4079 AR. It was then that the warrior learnt just how monumental this Arena was to the city. The people drew hope from it. Being victorious in the Arena was something that every person aspired to in the city, and those who did not want to fight wished dearly to have those that won use their products.
Sventar was an excellent reader and writer. It had been his primary method of communication in the days when he had been a mute, and granted he could talk now, but his literacy skills hadn't decreased much. He sat at an oak table, with comfortable robes in place instead of his armour. Before him was a pristine scroll, and another scroll covered in scribblings. He had wondered just how to write it. Was it to be in the Common language, so that anyone may read and understand its terms? He thought about that, and the troubles it could bring. Then he thought about the proud and arrogant people of this city and decided. They did need humbling, after all.
The man took up the inked quill and began to write in the loops, spikes and boxy sigils of the Celestial alphabet. Damn them all if they couldn't read it. He had enough of arrogant fools who thought they knew everything. If the ordering of the new organisation was written in a language they couldn't understand and he could, then that was all the better to teach them a lesson.
Eventually, with the sun changing the shadows throughout the window, he finished the Code, and he looked up at his work. And before him he saw the bones of the organisation he had envisioned.
To lead them, there would be the Grand Master. Currently that position was filled by himself. To be the one who looks over them all, there would be the Consul. Currently, his Liegelady held that position. To be his second-in-commands within the arena, there would be the position of Captain, and that was in the plural partly because he couldn't rely on one single person to hold that position, but on another piece of paper he had written the central ideal of it: "Curse the man who stands alone! For he has none to aid him in his time of need.". And that was the core of it. The Captains in the future may hold that rank and though they could command their subordinates as they wished, two or more would work far better than one.
Then he moved on to those less important. To supply and equip his gladiators there would be the Sergeant-at-arms and his Quartermasters, so that they may have expert guidance on the ways of equipping a gladiator so that he could fight to the greatest. And the Gladiators themselves would be at the bottom, working to eliminate the enemy under the orders of the Captains and they would work together to kill the scum that they would face. For recruiting, no less than a hundred selected outstanding members of the populace would be given the chance, and then the Captains would train them each in the harshest conditions they could reach. Then the survivors would be taken back to the Coliseum, and one final blood match would be undergone, the victor among them being the most viable recruit for the Coliseum's ranks.
At the bottom of the paragraph, there was one line. Persons Mortalis may argue it all to be barbaric, and vicious. Persons Exemplar would name it spartan.
He finished his thoughts about his organisation just as his Liegelady returned, and entered the room. He turned his head to face her with a smile. "My Lady Consul, to what do I owe this pleasure?" he said in a jesting tone.
A sombre expression sat oddly on the cleric's face. "I've returned from the abbey. Or more accurately, what is left of it. I fear for the clergy." Taking a seat at the table next to the warrior, Sarae propped her head up in a hand. Even now, she still had no answers. The city certainly still needed her to keep up the Arena so soon after having changed hands, but the urge to hunt down Daral grew stronger every day. One task assigned directly to her by even more important Clerics of Sarenrae than her, and she still hadn't completed it. Each passing though brought her head lower, until she simply rested it on the table. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
He saw his Liegelady's head on the table, and brought up his bare hand to pet her head, and a smile slowly grew on his face as white-gold hair line silk curled and ran through his fingertips. Then he brought down his hand, and massaged the small part of her neck above her armour. "You fear too much, milady. And we may yet be able to save them. And if we cannot interfere directly, then..." he paused for a moment, still thinking. "We may offer the clergy an alternative." he said, silently pondering the notion himself and awaiting her reaction.
For a while, Sarae simply stared at the wall of scrolls to her left. "That's not all. I still need to find Daral." The only hint of his crimes was the pause before she said the name. A pause that said everything Sventar would need to know. "As for those members of the clergy, they don't matter so much. Eventually, those who cannot keep themselves in the grace of the Light will fall from it. Our job is to help those we can."

A heavy scowl set into Sventar's face as he heard the name. He tried to keep his hands from coiling into fists, instead deliberately keeping them smooth but operational. He still had his hands at her neck, after all. And then he considered. With a few letters sent to the right people, he could change things. Influence events. To pull the strings, as it could be called. And the circumstances could be created so that this Daral would be trapped, and with no escape. He would need soldiers. He would need resources. And it would all result in everyone being better off in some way, shape or form.
"Worry not, milady. I shall stand with you. And we can work better than just one." He said, taking his hands away from her, setting his elbows down on the table, intertwining his own fingers and bringing them to rest his chin beside his thumbs. "And... do you exactly know him? Persona, Tactics, Abilities?" he asked. Basic knowledge. From there they could formulate a plan of attack.
"Of course I do. He may be a mad dog now, but some things never change. Tactics wise, he'll go in swinging, focused on an all-out attack. If things get too rough, or he sees a challenge he can't face, he'll vanish without a trace like last time. The best plan would be an ambush baited with something he won't suspect. Or at least, something he thinks is worth going after."
"What would that be? What would he find valuable?" Sventar said, turning his head to face the back of his Liegelady's head. "Would he want to go after you again? Is there a particularly corrupted weapon or artefact within your knowledge around here?" he asked, getting a piece of paper to write down important details.
"It's impossible to say what he would or wouldn't go after. This is a servant of Lamashtu we're speaking of. He doesn't think like a normal person would anymore. He doesn't care for the things we have, and anything corrupt enough for his goddess, he could simply make himself." Sarae paused, shutting her eyes for a moment. "He might come after me again..." She refused to finish vocalizing the thought.
Sventar scowled in anger, and noted down these things. The only thing they had in possession what was appealing to the mutant was Sarae, and she was far too valuable to risk losing her in an operation. So he thought some. "He may have tried to... take... others. Would a group of chained... shapely... women, pulled along by a single guard. Would that be enough to draw his attention? After that, me and my brothers can ambush him before he escapes." he said, contemplating an option.
Frowning, Sarae shook her head. "It isn't the women he's after. It's the corruption itself. " No, he wouldn't go for just any trollop he could find. And making bait that obvious would only dissuade him. No, it would have to look natural. The more she thought about what had to be done, the bigger Sarae's frown became.
"... Would he be swung by particularly... inexperienced... persons?" he said, taking the quill in hand. "Young ladies of the clergy, perhaps?" Sventar was simply launching ideas out of his head here. He would not stand for that cur having another chance to harm his Liegelady, no matter if it could end this matter once and for all.
Sarae placed a hand on Sventar's shoulder. "That isn't going to work. The only other thing I can think of would be to steal a symbol of Lamashtu. I don't think something that important would bring him out though, he'd be more likely to hang back and let someone else steal it back from us, then take it from them."
Sventar clenched a fist and brought it to his head. "Milady, I cannot make the risk of using you as a bait. What if he escapes once he has you in his clutches, and I do not arrive fast enough to get at him?" He said, rubbing the knuckles of his clenched fist against the temple of his head.
"I cannot risk that, milady. There must be another way." Ever so slightly, his voice wavered at the very end.
"I know you don't want to, but it's the most likely way to catch him. Daral doesn't come anywhere near where we'd even think to look unless he's after something." Sarae drew her mailed fist away, mind made up on the subject. It had been her failure to kill him the first time, and now she would make up for that, regardless of the potential outcome.

He bowed his head and held it up by his hands. "If you wish that, milady." he said, the full-blown certainty of what he was about to do setting in on him. She would be supposedly helpless, and open and waiting for Daral to move to claim her. He did not fear the bastard. He only feared he would not be in time to dispose of the monster.
"I must go, milady. I have business that I must take care of." With those words, he rose and walked out of the Archival room, head hung and shoulders slumped. Then he picked himself up and he walked on to the Armoury. He passed through and left the room soon after to go see the group he decided to make his own Honor Guard.
They sat at a table, playing a game of cards. That was, however, until their Grand Master walked in, and then they got up and to attention.
"At ease." he said, and they more or less relaxed. And being professional gladiators, that meant that they did nearly nothing.
"Champion, sir, have we-" one of them said before breaking off. Sventar turned his head to the man before him and quirked an eyebrow. Sensing Sventar's silent request to continue, the man carried on a little awkwardly. "Have we done anything wrong, sir?"
Sventar smiled, taking his helmet off. "No you have not. In fact, I was just here to inform you all of your promotions, and a restructuring of sorts."
"The re-organisation you mentioned to the Consul." one of them offered. Sventar nodded to the gladiator in approval.
"Yes. You won't be a part of it. Not majorly, anyway." He heard small sounds of disagreement behind him as he reached the end of the line of the gladiators. He turned around to see the guards looking a little discontent.
"You are soldiers. Fighters. Not Smiths, not Quartermasters and not Recruiters. Not Captains. You shall be my Honor Guard. Simply follow, and I can ask of you no more than to protect me."
To them, this was a godsend. Regardless of whatever new system their Champion Sventar had organised them under, to be around him, even if it was for menial work, was a blessing from the heavens above. They would get so much to their social standing for this.
He turned and headed back out the door, waving a hand at the armoury. "Take the best items in there and familiarise yourselves with them. I don't want to risk any of you failing to use your weapons in the field of battle. They as one started forward, eager to get at all the best things.
Sventar wandered back up to the Archive room, and he saw that Sarae was still there, reading through his writing. "I trust it is to your satisfaction, milady?" he asked of the Cleric reading through his Code.

Her hand covering the left side of her face, Sarae carefully read over each of the new restructuring ideas. Most of them seemed like a good idea. The idea that regular people would fight each other to the death in order to compete alongside the professional gladiators bothered her, but it was the way of the world.
"It is... fine." Sventar. She worried about him, placing himself up at the top of an organization like this. He could watch himself well, but wasn't always aware of his own limits. In games like these... one wrong step could mean the difference between seeing the next sunrise, or mouldering in a shallow grave.
Thinking about it for a bit longer, an idea came to her. Sarae would never admit to it, but adding it in would spice up the games, keep the people happy, and provide a challenge for the gladiators themselves. "Have you thought about adding mounted combat?"
Sventar paused for a second while walking over towards the Cleric. The idea revolved sowly around in his head, before it clicked, and skyrocketed into the front of his mind. A smile crept up on his face as he stared forward, taking slow steps towards his Liegelady at the table in order to process the thought in his head.
"That... sounds like a good idea." he said, walking forward and sitting down on a chair that creaked under his weight, but held. He took off his helmet and placed it down on the table.
He noticed his lady looking rather depressed. He turned his head to her and put a hand to her shoulderplate. "Something the issue?"
"No." The lie sounded dull and flat, obvious even to her. The cleric had never been good at lying. Her hand shook a bit as she placed it on the table. "Just a little nervous is all." Abrubtly, she stood from the table. The archival room seemed suddenly tiny, and Sarae needed to leave. Without another word, she vanished from the room.
Sventar at there, in a state of deep confusion. His Liegelady had run off, in full armour and with her weapon in sheath. He would follow, but surely she would notice his armoured form following her. He was at a crossroads now. He could either go and maintain his position, and watch over his Liegelady, or he could remain here and wait. On one hand, he could drive her to a greater state of depression. On the other hand, she clearly wished to be alone.
He thought for a second more, and made up his mind to follow her, in plain clothes and with a short sword in case anything happened. He walked out behind her, as stealthily as he could.
Meanwhile, the cleric felt a thirst rise in her. A thirst she hadn't felt since the day she put her mind fully towards the murder of that servant of Lamashtu. The destination she had in mind to sate it wasn't far. A small, dingy bar called The Broken Buckler. Squashed between a bunch of other small shack-like buildings identical to it, The Broken Buckler offered nothing special up front. Sarae knew nobody she knew personally would expect her to be there. Looking at the wet, creaking wood of the barfront ignited her thirst, burning her throat with need.
Walking inside, she ignored the odd looks from the few patrons who turned her way. Slipping into a seat near the back, she waited for the bartender on duty to approach. "Mead." Her simple request was met with another odd look, but the woman behind the counter obliged, sliding Sarae a tankard as soon as it was filled.
He slipped into the bar while nobody was looking and dropped behind a group into a shady corner, eyes fixed on the mistress and everyone around her. He wasn't too far away from his Liegelady, and he slipped the hood of his robes over his head. When the bartender approached, he waved her away without a word. She shot him an odd glance, and he just sat there, eyes fixed on his Liegelady.
She was chugging down tankard after tankard, much to the chagrin of the bartender who at one point brought a whole tray of the drink over to her. He simply sat behind, glancing around at the fellow patrons of the bar and making his measures of them. Many were miners from the edge of the town who wanted something a bit cleaner than the usual dumps that they frequented.
A shady-looking character walked over and sat down at the table opposite Sventar, and briefly the warrior broke away from his eyeing of his Liegelady, who was idly drumming her gauntlet against the table in boredom. He glanced back at the stranger before him.
"Wanna make a deal?" he hissed out in a greasy voice. Sventar shook his head, and waved away the person. He stood up with a clatter, and as he left Sventar glanced at his retreating back before turning his eyes back to his Liegelady, who had started on another round of mead.
Fire burned in her guts just as much as her throat. With each tankard drowned, Sarae felt a little more free. Like she was not quite there. Pouring more of the honey liquor down the hatch, the cleric felt her problems slip even futher away. Finishing her last round, the room became bright and fuzzy, swaying a bit every time she turned her head. Passing across the required currency, Sarae stood up a little unsteadily, then exited the shabby establishment.
Swaying a little with every step, the cleric went on her way. Briefly, she began walking towards the inn she'd been posted up in for a while, before remembering that she was the Arena Consul. That's right. Arena Consul. She lived there now, didn't she? Yawning, she switched directions. The dark, close streets of the city would have made her nervous, had she been in full control of herself.
The more she stared at the mostly deserted streets, the quicker her mood fell. Eyes cast to the ground, she remembered the people she'd failed. The first to come to mind was her brother. She'd let him put himself in harm's way too many times, until he became too close to the darkness he fought. She'd failed The Snake, who could have no doubt done great things in service to the Light. Instead, she'd been forced to kill him. Every step grew slower and slower as a litany of her own shortcomings broke through her drunken haze.
Sventar followed on, his sandalled feet making little noise against the stone streets. He walked and watched his Liegelady stumble on through the deserted and dark streets. In the shadows, he watched. And he walked. Then just as soon as he made to move on at his Liegelady's pace, he saw different shadows slip through the night.
He drew in a breath and silently unsheathed the short sword he carried, looking on at the new sight.
The figure seemed crouched, and completely disregarded stealth as it walked out and into the moonlight. Sarae's armoured form tromped on, masking any sound the figure  behind her made. Sventar advanced behind the unknown. The figure walked up, and Sventar snuck up behind it.
He heard increased breathing from the person in between him and Sarae, and just as his Liegelady fell over with a clatter of armour, the figure stopped. Sventar stopped behind him, and when he heard the figure move its hands downwards, and when he heard an unbuckling of pants, his grip on the short sword tightened. Just as the figure started to move forward, Sventar rose up, grabbed the figure's neck from behind and pulled both himself and the would-be rapist backward into the shadows. Just as she stood up, the clatter of her armour masked the sound of a short sword going through the skull of a man who emitted a short grunt before losing motion and dropping limp. Sventar grabbed the blade, pulled it out, let the corpse drop to the ground and kept on walking, following his Liegelady's slow progress to the Coliseum.
The Warrior managed to sneak around his drunken Liegelady's path and quickly washed his hands in a tub of water before sneaking back up to the Master Suites. His Liegelady clanked and clambered in her armour against the walls, and as soon as the sounds of metal and mail stopped, he knew that she had removed her armour and he managed to get all the way into the Master Suite before she walked in. And he resumed working on a roll of paper when she walked in and sat down some way away from him.

She had wandered in, sobered by the depressing thoughts that returned to her head. Her shortcomings, her failures, her mistakes. Granted, some of the couldn't be helped, and some weren't even her own fault, but that didn't make any of them any harder to swallow. She wandered over to a chair and sat down, pulling her legs up till her chin rested on her knees. She stared off into the candle that was lit on the table, but it wasn't until she heard a scratching sound of quill on paper.
She saw Sventar sitting there, and he looked up from his work to see his Liegelady, looking far worse for wear than when she left this Coliseum. Their eyes met, and he saw his Liegelady in grief.
Keeping her eyes locked to Sventar's, Sarae tried to keep her emotions in check. Beyond any shadow of doubt, they showed on her face, but she didn't want to bother him. Every moment she tried harder to keep them down, the harder they rushed up, beating against the wall of her self-discipline. All at once, it crumbled, and she burst into tears. Hugging her knees tightly, the cleric rocked back and forth.
Sventar saw the distressed woman crying on the chair, and immediately he got up and walked over. Tucking one hand under her knees and another to her back to support her, he lifted his Liegelady up and sat down, placing her down on his lap. She leant sideways, and eventually they ended up with her releasing her emotion as hot tears into his chest. Instinctively, the man wrapped his arms around her, shoulders curling around to protect her better, and he breathed in, catching alcohol in her sweat while cradling her back and forth gently. A hand came up to stroke at her hair, and eventually she slowed her release of emotion to relax into deep breaths.
She let go of it all right then and poured her emotions out into Sventar's chest. She brought her arms around his chest just as he put his head down and nuzzled the back of her neck. All her failures, all her shortcomings, all her doubts, all the bottled-up feelings inside her cascaded out, and she relieved herself of them into the man's chest as genteel rocking motions swayed her from side to side.
She briefly felt him tensing before the pressure holding her up increased as he stood up and carried her over to bed. She saw nothing past her closed eyes, and she felt soft and warm things draping down over her, and then the surface underneath her tilted and with other senses felt Sventar once again wrap his arm around her. Letting out her emotions would have been an option at that point had she anything left in her to cry out. Instead, she just buried her face in him once again and focused on intaking deep breaths. Eventualy she slipped into blissful black unconsciousness.
Sventar was awake for much longer than when his Liegelady's sobs and shudders stopped, and eventually she dropped limp against the bed and his chest. Eventually, with  his Liegelady in his arms, he himself fell into a more or less guarded sleep.

Hours passed, the sun breaking over the far horizon. Outside, people gossiped on the streets, everything bathed in a blood-red hue. The Arena under new management. They'd all heard, of course. Crawling further across cerulean skies, the sun dragged itself to midday.
Behind the thick, windowless walls of the Rosenburg Coliseum's Master Suite, midday heat woke the cleric. Her head felt like someone had stuffed it, while every motion stabbed at her eyes and cast up a wave of nausea. Looking around for a glass of water to quench the dry fire in her throat, Sarae slowly tried to sit up. Pain lanced through her skull, and she gave up on that. Blinking woozily, she noticed Sventar lying next to her, an arm wrapped messily across her and around her shoulder. Gently, she prodded him in the head to wake him, before she whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry."
He opened his eyes, and he felt warm breath at his cheek before his Liegelady's words, soft and light as feathers, floated into his ears and just as her head started to nuzzle into his shoulder. From his position, face downwards on the bed and with his arms wrapped around his Liegelady, he awoke to a somewhat good morning. Opening his eyes, he saw the distressed face of Sarae looking over at him, a worried frown in place and hair still mostly stuck to the pillow. He smiled some more and stroked her neck.
"Milady, you have nothing to be sorry for. You wanted support and I was there for you. Also-" he paused to arch his back on the bed, clicking his back and waking up cramped muscles. "You have given me the most restful sleep I have had in my life. If anything, I should be thanking you."
Sarae smiled, putting her head against his shoulder. She would never admit it, but she felt the most secure and safe she would ever be in Sventar's arms. Then against the muscle of his arm, her face screwed up again. She mumbled a little into his arm, and when he asked what she said, she grabbed up at his collarbone and pulled herself up, until her face was in the gap above his shoulder, with her cheek resting on the man's collarbone.
"I'm sorry. For making you worry like that. I... I just don't want to see him. Ever." she said, before her words dissolved into sobs and she quietly cried into Sventar's muscled shoulder. "I... It's the best way. He'll immediately go for me. Just to v-" Sarae paused, and then her words dissolved into tender tears. She felt horrible. He was worrying for her and he had put effort into formulating alternate plans, and she rejected them all. But when his hand reached up and began stroking her head, she felt all his efforts hit her and sink in. He was doing all of this for her. And the worst thing of all, she knew no way to adequately repay him.

Sometime later spent in his arms, she didn't feel like doing much of anything. But duty called both of them, and waiting around in bed was no longer a luxury either had to spare. Scooting out of the bed, Sarae stretched languidly, pulling all the tension out of her limbs. Pulling on a mess of clothes discarded at the foot of the bed, she tried to remember where she'd put her armour. Another part of her mind worked to mentally put together a list of the things she needed to do today.
Sventar rose from the large bed, and he pulled on a few of the larger items of clothing from the pile and got up, pulling on a blue shirt and some comfortable leather trousers. He glanced at his Liegelady, and saw her shapely rear slip on some bluish trousers, and when she glanced up at him and caught him in the act of staring at her admittedly hypnotizing curves, she span around and quickly brought up a hand and before he knew it Sventar had been slapped across the face. But the hit was not hard, and his Liegelady had a smile on her face as she pulled him down by the collar, pressing warm lips to the spot his cheek had been slapped. He almost flailed a little before Sarae wrapped him in a brief hug before turning away and walking off.

He followed his Liegelady in a content silence down to the armoury, and briefly he decided to surprise her by helping her armour on. Just as she was bending down to fasten the greaves of her armour onto her legs, he lifted up the chestplate and the backplate of her armour and she briefly jerked upwards, still bent over at the waist, when he placed the plates onto her back. After her tense pause, he brought up the frontal plates of her chest armour and then Sventar drew up his hand to fasten the plates into place.
A warm feeling blossomed up in her chest, and her smile grew even wider. Straightening up, she winked at Sventar. "Thanks." Brushing off bits of dust and detritus her armour collected from the floor, Sarae brushed her hair back, and took a moment to think about the arrangements they'd need to make in order to go after Daral. That stewed in one part of her mind, the rest began thinking back on how to make mounted combat more interesting than just men on horseback.
Turning to the table off in the corner of the armoury, Sarae pulled out a chair and sat down, motioning for Sventar to take a seat across from her. "We can't leave this problem out there for much longer. I suggest we begin moving to trap Daral as soon as possible."
"That is a reasonable course of action. However, we cannot move to ambush him with only me and my Honor Guard. The other four professional gladiators. I made them my Honor Guard." He said by way of explanation to Sarae's mildly confused look.
"We need weapons, and Quartermasters to outfit those that will wield them. I think we should move to find such persons before we make a move. However, it is your decision on our course of action, milady." he said, picking up his helmet and placing it down on his lap, idly grabbing a cloth to polish it.
Tapping her fingers on the table, Sarae turned the idea over. Certainly, they needed more supplies, and more people for a proper ambush. Only six total people wouldn't be enough to take down any servant of Lamashtu. Resigning herself to a longer wait, the cleric finally answered. "Then we gather what we need, both in terms of manpower and supplies. Can't be too long about it, though."
Sventar scratched at the stubble on his chin. Stubble that was so badly tickled by the hair of the lady before him. He considered a while, and wondered how best to phrase what was on his mind. Certainly, they would need decent men and materiel. Although... No, thought the warrior. He would deal with the things himself. He nodded and stood up, clashing an armoured hand against his chestplate and walking outside after saying farewells and being dismissed. As he exited the gates of the Coliseum, he briefly wondered about the somewhat impersonal nature of the conversation he had with his Liegelady. Then he dismissed such notions from his head. He had work to do.
He walked through the richer marketplace of Rosenburg which consisted a series of stalls which were ordered, organised and each stall was clearly a specialised stall for weapons, wine flasks... Seems to be alphabetised as well. Much better than those flea markets in the lower sections of the city, thought the armoured warrior. As he walked, people got out of the way both in respect of him and his status as Champion, as well as the sheer bulk of him and his armour.
A small frown of thought crossed his unhelmeted face. Then he dismissed that too, and for the next few minutes that he was walking towards the Rosenbridge accountancy hall, postal messaging offices and Librarium that thoughts of marshalling, payment, and individualities among those he would select. Surely, he could not pay so much attention to every single recruit that passed his way. That would be the jobs of the wandering Captains, and the Champions that would roam the cities in their spare time. His mind turned to the recruitment processes of such an organisation. In specifics, the particularly high-ranking of his own direct subordinates.
Those thoughts swirled in his head as he kept walking on, out of the markets and along a neatly bricked whitewashed road that would lead to the general paperwork hub of Rosenbridge.

Meanwhile, in her own corner of Rosenbridge, the cleric shoved thoughts of the rampant cleric of Lamshtu from her mind. Focusing instead on the arena, her mind focused back on mounted combat. What possible way could it be more interesting than just the basics? Sitting and thinking on it, it slammed into her with a sudden certainty. Not all mounts were horses.
Sarae fumbled around for her sword-belt, fastening it to her armour and making sure her scimitar was properly stored. With her mind set to capturing beasts, she exited the Arena through the small back entrance. Focusing her magical energy, she began drawing on the power of the Planes. Before her, a white maelstrom whipped and crackled, stirring the air in every direction. Slowly, the aether-energy formed into a white equine. Its silvery mane shimmered blue in the direct sun, eyes glowing white with celestial power. Its very coat cast a glowing corona of light across Rosenbridge's cobblestones, and blue runes of arcane power trailed down its neck to each of its four hooves.
The celestial mount whinnied softly, tossing its head up and down. Hauling herself atop the saddleless horse, Sarae gently nudged it with her knees. It whinnied again, then set off at a slow walk. Getting a feel for the animal, the cleric finally pushed it into a trot, heading for the city's gates. Today, she would focus entirely on finding new sorts of creatures to bring back to the arena. Of course, such a venture would likely take more than weeks of search, but Sarae wouldn't be able to make a journey like that until much later.

Sventar was sitting at a table in a bar. Opposite him was a grizzled veteran of the King's old Army in light leather armour, and who was currently idly sharpening one of the many knives on his person. Sventar looked at the man who was applying for the position of Captain. And the man glanced back before his gaze fell back to the knife he was sharpening. Sventar took a sip of mead from his tankard and set it back down
"So. Rosseau." Sventar said, feeling the name dance around his mouth. "You think you have what it takes to become a Captain of my Gladiatorial forces."
"Damn right I've got what it takes. I've been through the most horrific war of this century! Killing a few fuckers daily isn't a problem." spoke the knife-sharpening man before him in a voice that was more akin to a beast's growl than a man's voice. Quite at odds with Sventar's regal tones.
"Ability to kill is not an issue. I am asking if you have the ability to command. To Lead. You will be in charge of a small detatchment of recruits, and a few fully-fledged gladiators of your own choosing." To this, the man's grip on the knife slipped, and both the knife and the whetstone that he was holding, and briefly horror flashed across Rosseau's face. Sventar arched an eyebrow and asked what was the matter.
Rosseau gulped, and then with shaking hands put the whetstone away and the knife back in its sheath. "I... I used to command a unit. It didn't end up well." he said, and he then dropped head into his hands. Sventar rapidly drew up a hand and crashed a gauntleted hand onto Rosseau's shoulder.
"Now listen here. You are not a sobbing, blubbering mess. You are a veteran of the bloodiest war of the century. You have led your men into Hell and you've made it back out in one piece!" Sventar didn't know if it was true, or not, but his patience was long lost and he needed to be moving on.
"I am giving you the opportunity to become a Captain of the Gladiatorial forces. Do you accept?" Sventar said in a low voice.
Slowly the veteran nodded, and the two shared a clasping of hands before getting up and leaving.

Wheeling her steed around, the cleric sighed in defeat. In her zealous attempt to hunt down more fantastical mounts, she'd gotten hopelessly turned around. Kneeing the white beast onwards, Sarae looked around for any signs of earlier passage. So focused on sight, she missed the rustling noises of the brush. Only the panicked whinny of the celestial beast alerted Sarae to the danger. Whipping her head around, she located an undead. The zombie's jaws gaped wide, broken teeth jutting out at strange angles, flies buzzing around the putrid green-rot flesh. Stumbling closer, it raised a shattered limb, trying to claw at the horse's muscular thighs.
Turning her mount again, Sarae unsheathed her scimitar. Light plunged forth from the blade, blasting the area with holy energy. The wretched thing shuddered and fell from its unlife. Behind it, she could hear another of the foul creatures drop to the ground. Pushing her holy horse forwards, Sarae followed the trail left by the undead. The leaves of the forest seemed dead and brown, corrupted by the very presence of the abberations. When the trail led to a clearing, the cleric looked for any signs of more of the creatures. Seeing nothing, she edged further forwards.
A smell like two-day old corpse flesh assaulted her nose. All around, blood lay thick on the forest's floor, soaking into the greedy loam. Supplies scattered every which way, tents lay in tatters, and half-eaten bodies littered the area. Bowing her head, Sarae prayed to Sarenrae for the souls of these unfortunates.
"Hey. Lady. Are you... an angel?" One of the less-damaged bodies bgan to move, propping himself up on a log. His missing arm and chewed-off leg weakly leaked blood. Brushing the sandy hair from his face, he stared at the cleric intently. "That's one mighty fine horse, even for an angel, I'd think."
Dismounting, Sarae approached the dying man. His face looked just shy of anguished. Kneeling at his side, she gathered up more magical energy, passing the healing forces into the man's body. "I am no angel, simply a servant of one." Her voice remained calm, though her focus remained intense. Slowly, the man's leg began to knit and re-grow, rebuilding all the lost bone and tissue.
Leaning back, he closed his blue eyes. "Y' may only work for an angel, ma'am, but you sure act like one." As his body absorbed more and more of Sarae's magical energy, he seemed to become more relaxed.
Unable to completely fix the damage as things stood, the cleric finished with what energy she had left. "What happened to you, ...?"
"Asher. We were sent from Gerra's Vale to get help from Rosenbridge. These zombies 'ave been attacking the village every day and night for the past week. Every time we tried to send a party in search of help, they died. This time, we weren't prepared for them to attack this far away. One moment of letting our guard down, and then they were at us. I fought most of them off, but the last few broke my sword, and well... you saw the rest."
Tapping her greaves absently, Sarae put this all into perspective. A village, beset by the undead? Alone, and weakened from her work here, she would be unable to help them. Deciding she'd need Sventar's help with this, she grabbed Asher's hand and helped him up. "I hope you know how to ride. We're going to Rosenbridge now. We probably we probably won't be able to mobilize today, but we ride first thing tomorrow."
As the two hopped onto the celestial mount, it whickered softly. "Ma'am, I thank you and all, but who exactly are you?" The one-armed man awkwardly tried to keep his balance on the saddleless horse.
"Sarae, Cleric of Sarenrae and Consul of the Rosenbridge Arena. Let's get moving."

Sventar and Rosseau walked through the hallways of the Coliseum, and a short meeting took place with the Honor guard. They briefly acknowledged the Captain before their attention flickered back to the Grandmaster.
Sventar made to speak, but he was interrupted by the sound of hooves striking cobblestine, and his Liegelady Sarae rode in through the front gates on a divine-looking horse, and as she neared Sventar saw that she had the top half of her body turned to the side, as though she were holding on to something behind her. As she arrived at the group of six men, it seems as though her grip slipped, and a dead man with an arm missing fell off the horse she rode in on and with a clump, fell to the ground. She looked down on Sventar, and he looked up. Her face was impassive, but Sventar knew her enough to learn that to herself, she had failed once again. This time with the corpse missing an arm that was now flat against the cobblestone floor of the Coliseum's Atrium.
"Gather your men and get ready for a long march. We're headed to Gerra's Vale. The village is under attack by the Undead." Sarae said, and as she turned her steed back outwards and rode through the main gate Sventar turned to his accomplices for this outing.
"Listen. We are going against Undead. Arm and armour yourselves heavily, Maces and warhammers are the preferred weapons here. You-" he pointed one of his Honor Guard, who stood to attention. "Escort the Captain to the Armoury. Rosseau, get what you want. You're a part of this Coliseum now, don't even think of paying for anything." Sventar said, to which the group of five men before him saluted, the newly minted Captain rather more snappily so than his lesser militarily trained colleagues, and soon the Grand Master was left with just the corpse of the man who fell off his Liegelady's horse. Briefly he wondered where she had acquired it.
Then two minutes passed in which Sventar managed to get the body out to the streets, and soon some of the passing Rosenbridge Guard took it off its hands and to the graveyard. When he walked back into the Coliseum, his Honor Guard were there with inlaid brazen heavy battle armour and two warhammers and two combinations of sword and shield. Rosseau had decided to enarmour himself with the standard chestplate that all Gladiatorial fighters were offered, as well as a few things that would keep him protected in combat, yet it would also leave him with the maximum maneuverability. Sventar noted this and brought his soldiers to readiness.
"We are exiting into a hithero unknown stage of battle. I advise you to keep your wits up and your striking arm ready when the time comes for battle. Till then, we march." Sventar said, and as he turned he heard the unified clash of his soldiers' gauntlets against their chestplates before armored boots descending unto stone resounded as his Honor Guard and his Captain followed. His Liegelady Sarae was there, on the same horse that she had rode in on.
"We are ready to march, milady." Sventar reported, and once the four enclosed her in a box of armoured protection, with Sventar and the new figure flanking the whole process, she nodded and set off on her horse at a pace that was to her slow, although they were able to keep the pace quite well in the heavy armour they wore. They moved along the streets, the peasantry of Rosenbridge moving aside in respect as the ensemble, gleaming in the midday sun, moved down through the main street of the city before they came unto the gates, in which they moved out into the plains and away.
One of the people who had seen the spectacle of the Consul moving on the back of a divine-looking steed was not a stupid woman. Agnes was her name, and she was carrying turnips to her stall in the flea markets. As such, she was very well versed in the social workings of the city. So when she saw the Consul of the Arena moving out and away, and then through the gates and out of the city, she turned back with a small frown. What could be so tremendous that it would warrant the Consul leaving the city, however briefly?
Hours later, with the setting sun behind them, they passed the sixteenth signpost that marked them on the correct course for Gerra's Vale. Sarae had turned her head down to the figure of Rosseau. She had asked him of himself, to which the man raised his visor and had spoken up.
"I am Rosseau, that's Rosh-oh. I'm a veteran of the Freedom War. I was just doing mercenary work at the time when I was press-ganged into service and a few fights consisting of saving my skin I ended up an officer. I led my unit through a few successful victories until shit went down the pan for us. Begging your pardon ma'am, but I'd rather not talk about that anymore." he said, before he bowed his head a little and carried on. If the Honor guard paid any attention, they showed no sign of it. All that happened was the genteel clinking of their armour down the road.
A short while in silence later, as they managed to get up a small hill, smoke started rising from the rim of it. Immediately Sarae rode up to the crest of the hill while the men guarding her ran up the rest of the hill, an impressive feat in full battle armour, and what they all saw was near horrific.
The valley must have once been beautiful, and the village that nestled a curve in the river must have seemed picturesque. However, the green forestry was alive, and swarming with a grey mass that made horrific sounds even as it advanced to the town's walls. To them all, it was as though the gods cast down a bolt of lightning into their mind as they realised that this was the undead swarms.
Sventar shook himself out of the reverie. "Quickly! The town needs our help!" and he went on forwards and down the hill. No time could be afforded to be lost here today.

Pushing her horse beyond the ability of any mortal steed, Sarae thundered down into the ruined village. Scimitar drawn, it began to glow with a holy rage, and a few of the undead turned to her. Flinching back as the scimitar exploded with light, anything unholy screamed and died. Before the holy energy faded from her blade, it began cutting swathes through the tainted bones and scant flesh of the hordes attacking Gerra's Vale.
Sventar charged with his shield raised and flaming longsword ready into the horde. They swung weakly with various things, ranging from dull swords to simple clubs made of sticks, but all their blows were for naught against the heavy armour the Grand Master wore. He dropped down, lowering himself and slowly bulled his way through the relatively weak skeletons and with well-placed shield bashes, a few of them were in pieces under his feet. A noise behind him and the sounds of a lot of them being destroyed in a short time heralded the arrival of his Honor Guard. The ones with the warhammers made short work of the bunch of skeletons, and then there was no more undead in their vicinity. Just as cheers sounded from a point off in the distance, and as Sventar glanced up he saw a stone wall surrounding what must have been the better parts of the village. He nodded to his companions and followed his Liegelady's steed through the village. Briefly he heard a skull crushing under his foot.
Bringing her holy steed up against the wall, Sarae looked over it. The few, bedraggled villagers left looked beaten and worn, but the arrival of help held their spirits. A young boy, no older than ten or eleven pushed his way too the wall. In a small voice, he asked a question of the lady on her shining horse. "D-does this mean Asher made it to Rosenbridge? Did my brother make it out?"
Sarae shook her head. "Your brother sent word to me, but he walks in the Light now." Inclining her head for a moment, the cleric sent a prayer to Sarenrae for the brave man's soul. "Where are the breaches in your defense? We will do our best to shore them up, and fight off any more undead that attack your town."
An older woman with a grim look on her face, and blood spattered across her ripped dress pointed south with the mace in her hand. "The girls' schoolyard was overrun a few minutes ago. We couldn't send anyone else from the front gate to help them, and if nobody gets there soon, I don't think those girls will make it to see the end of the hour."
Gesturing for Sventar to follow her, Sarae kneed her steed forward. It jumped high over the edge of the defenses, galloping down the roughshod streets in the direction to older woman had pointed.
Sventar surveyed the admittedly small breach which had only a few skeletons and the odd zombified villager idly coming through the crack in the walls, and conclusions formed in his head. "Captain! Take the Honor Guard and go assist with the other breaches! Me and Milady can hold this breach!" he bellowed, and as clashes of gauntlet  on chestplate sounded, he ran forwards in full armour through a set of gates and up a set of stairs, with his Liegelady on the back of her steed behind him.
He walked through the wrecked side-doors of the school and through the halls, until he walked into what was seemingly an assembly hall. The distressed and pale masses of white-robed schoolgirls was huddling near the wall closest to the opposite end of two massive doors. Sventar strode on through the smaller side-door he had come in through with his shield up and longsword quietly flickering with flames.
A quivering and short figure in black robes waddled up to Sarae. "Tell your servant the breach is through the wall in the courtyard outside." she spoke, seeming to ignore the hulking and armoured figure that proceeded to slam his own visor down and walk off through the doors and out into the courtyard. As he exited, a few murmurs rose from the clustered masses of children.
When Sventar stepped outside, he saw what was a formerly a schoolyard, now strewn with bodies of both villagers and undead. Two figures with bucklers and short swords were huddling behind a small barricade, which itself was nearly covered with corpses and bones. Sventar acknowledged them and they turned back to the school and moved to get any relief they could. Sventar stood out in open space, and squinting to get the glare of the evening sun reflected off the whitewashed courtyard out of his eyes, he took up his position. All undead that streamed through the broken wall would find him, and they would not find him wanting.
With that in hand, Sarae looked over the frightened mass of school girls. Though Sventar would hold this breach with his own body, being this far from town centre was no longer safe. After she dismounted, the celestial steed burned with a white-hot light, and vanished with a crack. "Come with me. We have to evacuate."
A few of the girls looked too frightened to move, but those more or less unaffected by the siege brought the others to their feet. The short, black-robed schoolmistress frowned, but said nothing. Beckoning a few of the girls forwards, Sarae began speaking. "I can't take all of you at once. It would be too big of a target. Sventar will hold the breach here, and I'll take you out in groups of four, starting with these girls."
The four mentioned huddled a bit closer together, but followed the cleric out into the muddy street. A ways off, she could hear the sounds of combat. Praying that no one else would die today, she kept moving. Sarae had failed the people of this town once, and she would not do so again.

There was nothing. Nothing save his blade that severed skulls, his shield that beat back his foe, his armour which took the blows he did not block, and his body which moved. He was silent, but the hordes of enemies before him seemed more than happy to fill out the noises, with a tide of gurgles and groans of the undead hordes.
He lunged, and a slash later a zombified villager was bisected across its gut, and the lumps of it fell to pieces.
He swung his shield across, and he felt the resistance of a skeleton's form break with a clang, and bones went flying away from his strike.
He bull-charged forward and knocked down a zombie with his own sheer bulk, before lifting his boot and bringing it down with the force of a sledgehammer, caving its skull and turning its head to paste.
He felt things stab at his armour from behind, and as he span left he used his shield to send the spears he had been given flying, and another charge with his shield raised saw the three knocked to pieces.
He was war. He was the defender of these people. He was the rock upon which these hordes would fling themselves and be destroyed.

One group dropped off, Sarae sprinted back to the ruined schoolhouse. Taking a look at the sudden extra horde of enemies clawing at Sventar, she changed her route. Energy spat from her scimitar, the holy weapon focusing the rage of Sarenrae herself. Undead withered and died under the assault, fall back into death's eternal slumber. Arm outstretched, the cleric imparted some of her healing magic, sealing the few wounds the shambling monsters had caused.
Done with that, she returned to the room filled with frightened children. Grabbing a few more, she took a look at those who were left. Four, maybe five trips. If she took more, the target would be more tempting, but she could ferry them along faster. Pulling over a fifth girl, Sarae took off once more.

Sventar was now on top of the piles of the dead. The bones and the flesh of the zombies had become pressed into one another, and wherever he walked, his leggings came up to the shin in the bloody mix. Yet he did not stop fighting.
It continued, on and on. Stench of decay. Stink of blood. Smell of hot armour, smell of hot self. Weight of longsword, jarring as it hits something. The enchantement on it had long since run out, and instead it was now just a long blade, gleaming with blood. No point wiping it off. It would only get bloodied again.
He was tiring, and he knew it. Fortunately, he did not to let this show, at least not to the extent where the shambling masses before him noticed it. He simply kept fighting. Then the wall started to crumble from something heavy striking it, and as Sventar put his blade through the last zombie currently in there, the wall was smashed down to the extent that the one who broke it to such a degree was visible. Sventar nearly blanched at the sight of a Troll Skeleton.
It charged forth, and it was all he could do to hold the line as best he could. He was actually forced back a few steps when it brought its bony fist down on his shield, and he took time to dodge his way around the second strike. Then shaking his helmeted head back into clear thinking, he prepared himself better and steeled himself for the thing's next assault. Thankfully, the horde seemed stuck at the gate, and they did not fare well against the ichor that bogged them down so well.

Sarae's holy light flagged, the ability to channel the Goddess' wrath expended. Making her way back to the school house, she shot a glace over to Sventar. The massive Troll Skeleton trying to crush him broke through her haze. As much as it hurt to watch, she couldn't afford to slow down. If anything got through, the people inside would be done for.
Storming into the small room, she spoke up. "Alright, we're out of time. The rest of you are moving out right now. Make sure to walk in front of me, so I can watch the back in case any of the unholy make it past Sventar." They all mumbled among themselves, slow to act. So slow! Gesturing for them to hurry up, the melangie of girls eventually formed up. Herding them outside, Sarae watched near the gap. A little ways away from the school, their journey was interrupted.
The huge Troll Skeleton bounded up the road, tackling the cleric to the ground. Its massive, bony fists crunched down on her armour, cracking bone and tearing flesh. Without her goddess' energy, she had no defense. "Run!" The last word she could get out to the petrified villagers came out in a panic. The undead troll seemed unimpressed, and continued tearing at the woman until she screamed.
Sventar had been polishing off the last few skeletons that managed to get through the gap in the walls before he shoved a broken section of the wall into the gap and stemming the tide of undead pouring through the gap. However, that was when he heard the scream. He turned his head, and saw the hulking form of the Troll skeleton bearing over his Liegelady and beating down at the grounded woman on her back. He saw the bone paw of the thing fall, and hit his Liegelady's flesh. When it came back up, the bleached white of the thing was bloodied. It was then when he felt something snap within him.
He had ascended. That was the only probable explanation. He had gone beyond simple anger, into the heights of tranquil fury beyond that. His face betrayed nothing. His body moved, and charged forwards in calm, empty flames that did not burn.
His armour creaked and thumped. His body was pushing itself. He felt the strain against his own bones as his muscles worked to pump and move himself forward at the velocity his mind was telling them to. All the while small bumps and thuds impacted against his armour, he kept on running in rage, and soon he had the monster in his sights. He charged, armour creaking, and just as it turned its head he brought up his shield. The two met with a clang and a crunch, and it was knocked back and away from his Liegelady. He stepped over her body and with that same tranquil fury, he brought up his shield and deflected a strike from the thing.
It roared into his face. He brought his shield around, and with all of his might he twisted his entire upper body and powered the lump of metal into the skull of the Troll Skeleton. Its head snapped to its side, and as it was dragged along by the force of his hit further away from his Liegelady. Sventar briefly heard teeth hitting the stones beneath his feet as he moved forward yet again and took his position against the thing.
It roared again at him, and he charged just as it moved to swing another paw at him in an attempt to knock away his shield. He parried two such more blows before he charged again, slamming the thing back. He took up his blade, and while it may have not done much against bone, it was better than nothing and his shield was badly dented. His longsword met the neckbone of it, and the flames of his blade sprung back into existence, before the Troll managed to bring up a bony paw to swipe at him. It caught him on the stomach, and he went flying backwards, armour and all. He heard his shield clanging rattling to a stop before he impacted against the ground, and the air got knocked out of his lungs.
Sventar slowly got to his feet, the Troll Skeleton still bellowing and roaring at him. Although this time it didn't move much, as though it were stunned as he regained breath and walked up to the monster. His left hand grasping his sword, he stabbed upwards with all his might, and as the blade broke the bones of the thing, he formed his right hand into a fist. He punched it with all his strength and with a jarring feel, his blade was ripped out of the skeleton's skull, trailing flames.
The Troll Skeleton made a few weak swipes before Sventar kicked it over, which upon impacting the ground the bones fell to pieces. The Troll Skeleton was finally dead, and he could feel that tranquil rage receding as he walked over, picking up his Liegelady and walking inside the assembly hall. It was all he could do to carry her to the school's infirmary, after which his strength failed him and he dropped down, ending with his head rested over his Liegelady's stomach.
Clawing her way out of the darkness, Sarae cracked open her eyes. Every shallow breath sent stabs of pain into every limb. Having used all her magic already, she couldn't spare any to help herself. Turning her head to the side, the cleric spat some blood.  Taking a look at the extra pressure on her body, she saw Sventar's collapsed form. He'd been beaten, bloodied, and broken, but he yet breathed. That explained how she was still alive.
The harder she tried to cling to wakefulness, the more unconsciousness dragged at her, bringing her back down. Within minutes, her mind shut down once more, resting her body. Blood leaked quietly from her shattered organs, but a smile touched her face. She knew that she would either wake up to find the Arena warriors had done their job, or she wouldn't at all.

Description
While his Liegelady was gone, Sventar had been in the Archive room of the complex, or whatever one would call a room of the recordings of the Coliseum's history. One whole side of the room was dedicated to scrolls in which a whole decade of recordings was inked into every single one. This coliseum had stretched back to even before the Grand Campaign in 4079 AR. It was then that the warrior learnt just how monumental this Arena was to the city. The people drew hope from it. Being victorious in the Arena was something that every person aspired to in the city, and those who did not want to fight wished dearly to have those that won use their products.
Sventar was an excellent reader and writer. It had been his primary method of communication in the days when he had been a mute, and granted he could talk now, but his literacy skills hadn't decreased much. He sat at an oak table, with comfortable robes in place instead of his armour. Before him was a pristine scroll, and another scroll covered in scribblings. He had wondered just how to write it. Was it to be in the Common language, so that anyone may read and understand its terms? He thought about that, and the troubles it could bring. Then he thought about the proud and arrogant people of this city and decided. They did need humbling, after all.
The man took up the inked quill and began to write in the loops, spikes and boxy sigils of the Celestial alphabet. Damn them all if they couldn't read it. He had enough of arrogant fools who thought they knew everything. If the ordering of the new organisation was written in a language they couldn't understand and he could, then that was all the better to teach them a lesson.
Eventually, with the sun changing the shadows throughout the window, he finished the Code, and he looked up at his work. And before him he saw the bones of the organisation he had envisioned.
To lead them, there would be the Grand Master. Currently that position was filled by himself. To be the one who looks over them all, there would be the Consul. Currently, his Liegelady held that position. To be his second-in-commands within the arena, there would be the position of Captain, and that was in the plural partly because he couldn't rely on one single person to hold that position, but on another piece of paper he had written the central ideal of it: "Curse the man who stands alone! For he has none to aid him in his time of need.". And that was the core of it. The Captains in the future may hold that rank and though they could command their subordinates as they wished, two or more would work far better than one.
Then he moved on to those less important. To supply and equip his gladiators there would be the Sergeant-at-arms and his Quartermasters, so that they may have expert guidance on the ways of equipping a gladiator so that he could fight to the greatest. And the Gladiators themselves would be at the bottom, working to eliminate the enemy under the orders of the Captains and they would work together to kill the scum that they would face. For recruiting, no less than a hundred selected outstanding members of the populace would be given the chance, and then the Captains would train them each in the harshest conditions they could reach. Then the survivors would be taken back to the Coliseum, and one final blood match would be undergone, the victor among them being the most viable recruit for the Coliseum's ranks.
At the bottom of the paragraph, there was one line. Persons Mortalis may argue it all to be barbaric, and vicious. Persons Exemplar would name it spartan.
He finished his thoughts about his organisation just as his Liegelady returned, and entered the room. He turned his head to face her with a smile. "My Lady Consul, to what do I owe this pleasure?" he said in a jesting tone.
A sombre expression sat oddly on the cleric's face. "I've returned from the abbey. Or more accurately, what is left of it. I fear for the clergy." Taking a seat at the table next to the warrior, Sarae propped her head up in a hand. Even now, she still had no answers. The city certainly still needed her to keep up the Arena so soon after having changed hands, but the urge to hunt down Daral grew stronger every day. One task assigned directly to her by even more important Clerics of Sarenrae than her, and she still hadn't completed it. Each passing though brought her head lower, until she simply rested it on the table. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.
He saw his Liegelady's head on the table, and brought up his bare hand to pet her head, and a smile slowly grew on his face as white-gold hair line silk curled and ran through his fingertips. Then he brought down his hand, and massaged the small part of her neck above her armour. "You fear too much, milady. And we may yet be able to save them. And if we cannot interfere directly, then..." he paused for a moment, still thinking. "We may offer the clergy an alternative." he said, silently pondering the notion himself and awaiting her reaction.
For a while, Sarae simply stared at the wall of scrolls to her left. "That's not all. I still need to find Daral." The only hint of his crimes was the pause before she said the name. A pause that said everything Sventar would need to know. "As for those members of the clergy, they don't matter so much. Eventually, those who cannot keep themselves in the grace of the Light will fall from it. Our job is to help those we can."

A heavy scowl set into Sventar's face as he heard the name. He tried to keep his hands from coiling into fists, instead deliberately keeping them smooth but operational. He still had his hands at her neck, after all. And then he considered. With a few letters sent to the right people, he could change things. Influence events. To pull the strings, as it could be called. And the circumstances could be created so that this Daral would be trapped, and with no escape. He would need soldiers. He would need resources. And it would all result in everyone being better off in some way, shape or form.
"Worry not, milady. I shall stand with you. And we can work better than just one." He said, taking his hands away from her, setting his elbows down on the table, intertwining his own fingers and bringing them to rest his chin beside his thumbs. "And... do you exactly know him? Persona, Tactics, Abilities?" he asked. Basic knowledge. From there they could formulate a plan of attack.
"Of course I do. He may be a mad dog now, but some things never change. Tactics wise, he'll go in swinging, focused on an all-out attack. If things get too rough, or he sees a challenge he can't face, he'll vanish without a trace like last time. The best plan would be an ambush baited with something he won't suspect. Or at least, something he thinks is worth going after."
"What would that be? What would he find valuable?" Sventar said, turning his head to face the back of his Liegelady's head. "Would he want to go after you again? Is there a particularly corrupted weapon or artefact within your knowledge around here?" he asked, getting a piece of paper to write down important details.
"It's impossible to say what he would or wouldn't go after. This is a servant of Lamashtu we're speaking of. He doesn't think like a normal person would anymore. He doesn't care for the things we have, and anything corrupt enough for his goddess, he could simply make himself." Sarae paused, shutting her eyes for a moment. "He might come after me again..." She refused to finish vocalizing the thought.
Sventar scowled in anger, and noted down these things. The only thing they had in possession what was appealing to the mutant was Sarae, and she was far too valuable to risk losing her in an operation. So he thought some. "He may have tried to... take... others. Would a group of chained... shapely... women, pulled along by a single guard. Would that be enough to draw his attention? After that, me and my brothers can ambush him before he escapes." he said, contemplating an option.
Frowning, Sarae shook her head. "It isn't the women he's after. It's the corruption itself. " No, he wouldn't go for just any trollop he could find. And making bait that obvious would only dissuade him. No, it would have to look natural. The more she thought about what had to be done, the bigger Sarae's frown became.
"... Would he be swung by particularly... inexperienced... persons?" he said, taking the quill in hand. "Young ladies of the clergy, perhaps?" Sventar was simply launching ideas out of his head here. He would not stand for that cur having another chance to harm his Liegelady, no matter if it could end this matter once and for all.
Sarae placed a hand on Sventar's shoulder. "That isn't going to work. The only other thing I can think of would be to steal a symbol of Lamashtu. I don't think something that important would bring him out though, he'd be more likely to hang back and let someone else steal it back from us, then take it from them."
Sventar clenched a fist and brought it to his head. "Milady, I cannot make the risk of using you as a bait. What if he escapes once he has you in his clutches, and I do not arrive fast enough to get at him?" He said, rubbing the knuckles of his clenched fist against the temple of his head.
"I cannot risk that, milady. There must be another way." Ever so slightly, his voice wavered at the very end.
"I know you don't want to, but it's the most likely way to catch him. Daral doesn't come anywhere near where we'd even think to look unless he's after something." Sarae drew her mailed fist away, mind made up on the subject. It had been her failure to kill him the first time, and now she would make up for that, regardless of the potential outcome.

He bowed his head and held it up by his hands. "If you wish that, milady." he said, the full-blown certainty of what he was about to do setting in on him. She would be supposedly helpless, and open and waiting for Daral to move to claim her. He did not fear the bastard. He only feared he would not be in time to dispose of the monster.
"I must go, milady. I have business that I must take care of." With those words, he rose and walked out of the Archival room, head hung and shoulders slumped. Then he picked himself up and he walked on to the Armoury. He passed through and left the room soon after to go see the group he decided to make his own Honor Guard.
They sat at a table, playing a game of cards. That was, however, until their Grand Master walked in, and then they got up and to attention.
"At ease." he said, and they more or less relaxed. And being professional gladiators, that meant that they did nearly nothing.
"Champion, sir, have we-" one of them said before breaking off. Sventar turned his head to the man before him and quirked an eyebrow. Sensing Sventar's silent request to continue, the man carried on a little awkwardly. "Have we done anything wrong, sir?"
Sventar smiled, taking his helmet off. "No you have not. In fact, I was just here to inform you all of your promotions, and a restructuring of sorts."
"The re-organisation you mentioned to the Consul." one of them offered. Sventar nodded to the gladiator in approval.
"Yes. You won't be a part of it. Not majorly, anyway." He heard small sounds of disagreement behind him as he reached the end of the line of the gladiators. He turned around to see the guards looking a little discontent.
"You are soldiers. Fighters. Not Smiths, not Quartermasters and not Recruiters. Not Captains. You shall be my Honor Guard. Simply follow, and I can ask of you no more than to protect me."
To them, this was a godsend. Regardless of whatever new system their Champion Sventar had organised them under, to be around him, even if it was for menial work, was a blessing from the heavens above. They would get so much to their social standing for this.
He turned and headed back out the door, waving a hand at the armoury. "Take the best items in there and familiarise yourselves with them. I don't want to risk any of you failing to use your weapons in the field of battle. They as one started forward, eager to get at all the best things.
Sventar wandered back up to the Archive room, and he saw that Sarae was still there, reading through his writing. "I trust it is to your satisfaction, milady?" he asked of the Cleric reading through his Code.

Her hand covering the left side of her face, Sarae carefully read over each of the new restructuring ideas. Most of them seemed like a good idea. The idea that regular people would fight each other to the death in order to compete alongside the professional gladiators bothered her, but it was the way of the world.
"It is... fine." Sventar. She worried about him, placing himself up at the top of an organization like this. He could watch himself well, but wasn't always aware of his own limits. In games like these... one wrong step could mean the difference between seeing the next sunrise, or mouldering in a shallow grave.
Thinking about it for a bit longer, an idea came to her. Sarae would never admit to it, but adding it in would spice up the games, keep the people happy, and provide a challenge for the gladiators themselves. "Have you thought about adding mounted combat?"
Sventar paused for a second while walking over towards the Cleric. The idea revolved sowly around in his head, before it clicked, and skyrocketed into the front of his mind. A smile crept up on his face as he stared forward, taking slow steps towards his Liegelady at the table in order to process the thought in his head.
"That... sounds like a good idea." he said, walking forward and sitting down on a chair that creaked under his weight, but held. He took off his helmet and placed it down on the table.
He noticed his lady looking rather depressed. He turned his head to her and put a hand to her shoulderplate. "Something the issue?"
"No." The lie sounded dull and flat, obvious even to her. The cleric had never been good at lying. Her hand shook a bit as she placed it on the table. "Just a little nervous is all." Abrubtly, she stood from the table. The archival room seemed suddenly tiny, and Sarae needed to leave. Without another word, she vanished from the room.
Sventar at there, in a state of deep confusion. His Liegelady had run off, in full armour and with her weapon in sheath. He would follow, but surely she would notice his armoured form following her. He was at a crossroads now. He could either go and maintain his position, and watch over his Liegelady, or he could remain here and wait. On one hand, he could drive her to a greater state of depression. On the other hand, she clearly wished to be alone.
He thought for a second more, and made up his mind to follow her, in plain clothes and with a short sword in case anything happened. He walked out behind her, as stealthily as he could.
Meanwhile, the cleric felt a thirst rise in her. A thirst she hadn't felt since the day she put her mind fully towards the murder of that servant of Lamashtu. The destination she had in mind to sate it wasn't far. A small, dingy bar called The Broken Buckler. Squashed between a bunch of other small shack-like buildings identical to it, The Broken Buckler offered nothing special up front. Sarae knew nobody she knew personally would expect her to be there. Looking at the wet, creaking wood of the barfront ignited her thirst, burning her throat with need.
Walking inside, she ignored the odd looks from the few patrons who turned her way. Slipping into a seat near the back, she waited for the bartender on duty to approach. "Mead." Her simple request was met with another odd look, but the woman behind the counter obliged, sliding Sarae a tankard as soon as it was filled.
He slipped into the bar while nobody was looking and dropped behind a group into a shady corner, eyes fixed on the mistress and everyone around her. He wasn't too far away from his Liegelady, and he slipped the hood of his robes over his head. When the bartender approached, he waved her away without a word. She shot him an odd glance, and he just sat there, eyes fixed on his Liegelady.
She was chugging down tankard after tankard, much to the chagrin of the bartender who at one point brought a whole tray of the drink over to her. He simply sat behind, glancing around at the fellow patrons of the bar and making his measures of them. Many were miners from the edge of the town who wanted something a bit cleaner than the usual dumps that they frequented.
A shady-looking character walked over and sat down at the table opposite Sventar, and briefly the warrior broke away from his eyeing of his Liegelady, who was idly drumming her gauntlet against the table in boredom. He glanced back at the stranger before him.
"Wanna make a deal?" he hissed out in a greasy voice. Sventar shook his head, and waved away the person. He stood up with a clatter, and as he left Sventar glanced at his retreating back before turning his eyes back to his Liegelady, who had started on another round of mead.
Fire burned in her guts just as much as her throat. With each tankard drowned, Sarae felt a little more free. Like she was not quite there. Pouring more of the honey liquor down the hatch, the cleric felt her problems slip even futher away. Finishing her last round, the room became bright and fuzzy, swaying a bit every time she turned her head. Passing across the required currency, Sarae stood up a little unsteadily, then exited the shabby establishment.
Swaying a little with every step, the cleric went on her way. Briefly, she began walking towards the inn she'd been posted up in for a while, before remembering that she was the Arena Consul. That's right. Arena Consul. She lived there now, didn't she? Yawning, she switched directions. The dark, close streets of the city would have made her nervous, had she been in full control of herself.
The more she stared at the mostly deserted streets, the quicker her mood fell. Eyes cast to the ground, she remembered the people she'd failed. The first to come to mind was her brother. She'd let him put himself in harm's way too many times, until he became too close to the darkness he fought. She'd failed The Snake, who could have no doubt done great things in service to the Light. Instead, she'd been forced to kill him. Every step grew slower and slower as a litany of her own shortcomings broke through her drunken haze.
Sventar followed on, his sandalled feet making little noise against the stone streets. He walked and watched his Liegelady stumble on through the deserted and dark streets. In the shadows, he watched. And he walked. Then just as soon as he made to move on at his Liegelady's pace, he saw different shadows slip through the night.
He drew in a breath and silently unsheathed the short sword he carried, looking on at the new sight.
The figure seemed crouched, and completely disregarded stealth as it walked out and into the moonlight. Sarae's armoured form tromped on, masking any sound the figure  behind her made. Sventar advanced behind the unknown. The figure walked up, and Sventar snuck up behind it.
He heard increased breathing from the person in between him and Sarae, and just as his Liegelady fell over with a clatter of armour, the figure stopped. Sventar stopped behind him, and when he heard the figure move its hands downwards, and when he heard an unbuckling of pants, his grip on the short sword tightened. Just as the figure started to move forward, Sventar rose up, grabbed the figure's neck from behind and pulled both himself and the would-be rapist backward into the shadows. Just as she stood up, the clatter of her armour masked the sound of a short sword going through the skull of a man who emitted a short grunt before losing motion and dropping limp. Sventar grabbed the blade, pulled it out, let the corpse drop to the ground and kept on walking, following his Liegelady's slow progress to the Coliseum.
The Warrior managed to sneak around his drunken Liegelady's path and quickly washed his hands in a tub of water before sneaking back up to the Master Suites. His Liegelady clanked and clambered in her armour against the walls, and as soon as the sounds of metal and mail stopped, he knew that she had removed her armour and he managed to get all the way into the Master Suite before she walked in. And he resumed working on a roll of paper when she walked in and sat down some way away from him.

She had wandered in, sobered by the depressing thoughts that returned to her head. Her shortcomings, her failures, her mistakes. Granted, some of the couldn't be helped, and some weren't even her own fault, but that didn't make any of them any harder to swallow. She wandered over to a chair and sat down, pulling her legs up till her chin rested on her knees. She stared off into the candle that was lit on the table, but it wasn't until she heard a scratching sound of quill on paper.
She saw Sventar sitting there, and he looked up from his work to see his Liegelady, looking far worse for wear than when she left this Coliseum. Their eyes met, and he saw his Liegelady in grief.
Keeping her eyes locked to Sventar's, Sarae tried to keep her emotions in check. Beyond any shadow of doubt, they showed on her face, but she didn't want to bother him. Every moment she tried harder to keep them down, the harder they rushed up, beating against the wall of her self-discipline. All at once, it crumbled, and she burst into tears. Hugging her knees tightly, the cleric rocked back and forth.
Sventar saw the distressed woman crying on the chair, and immediately he got up and walked over. Tucking one hand under her knees and another to her back to support her, he lifted his Liegelady up and sat down, placing her down on his lap. She leant sideways, and eventually they ended up with her releasing her emotion as hot tears into his chest. Instinctively, the man wrapped his arms around her, shoulders curling around to protect her better, and he breathed in, catching alcohol in her sweat while cradling her back and forth gently. A hand came up to stroke at her hair, and eventually she slowed her release of emotion to relax into deep breaths.
She let go of it all right then and poured her emotions out into Sventar's chest. She brought her arms around his chest just as he put his head down and nuzzled the back of her neck. All her failures, all her shortcomings, all her doubts, all the bottled-up feelings inside her cascaded out, and she relieved herself of them into the man's chest as genteel rocking motions swayed her from side to side.
She briefly felt him tensing before the pressure holding her up increased as he stood up and carried her over to bed. She saw nothing past her closed eyes, and she felt soft and warm things draping down over her, and then the surface underneath her tilted and with other senses felt Sventar once again wrap his arm around her. Letting out her emotions would have been an option at that point had she anything left in her to cry out. Instead, she just buried her face in him once again and focused on intaking deep breaths. Eventualy she slipped into blissful black unconsciousness.
Sventar was awake for much longer than when his Liegelady's sobs and shudders stopped, and eventually she dropped limp against the bed and his chest. Eventually, with  his Liegelady in his arms, he himself fell into a more or less guarded sleep.

Hours passed, the sun breaking over the far horizon. Outside, people gossiped on the streets, everything bathed in a blood-red hue. The Arena under new management. They'd all heard, of course. Crawling further across cerulean skies, the sun dragged itself to midday.
Behind the thick, windowless walls of the Rosenburg Coliseum's Master Suite, midday heat woke the cleric. Her head felt like someone had stuffed it, while every motion stabbed at her eyes and cast up a wave of nausea. Looking around for a glass of water to quench the dry fire in her throat, Sarae slowly tried to sit up. Pain lanced through her skull, and she gave up on that. Blinking woozily, she noticed Sventar lying next to her, an arm wrapped messily across her and around her shoulder. Gently, she prodded him in the head to wake him, before she whispered in his ear. "I'm sorry."
He opened his eyes, and he felt warm breath at his cheek before his Liegelady's words, soft and light as feathers, floated into his ears and just as her head started to nuzzle into his shoulder. From his position, face downwards on the bed and with his arms wrapped around his Liegelady, he awoke to a somewhat good morning. Opening his eyes, he saw the distressed face of Sarae looking over at him, a worried frown in place and hair still mostly stuck to the pillow. He smiled some more and stroked her neck.
"Milady, you have nothing to be sorry for. You wanted support and I was there for you. Also-" he paused to arch his back on the bed, clicking his back and waking up cramped muscles. "You have given me the most restful sleep I have had in my life. If anything, I should be thanking you."
Sarae smiled, putting her head against his shoulder. She would never admit it, but she felt the most secure and safe she would ever be in Sventar's arms. Then against the muscle of his arm, her face screwed up again. She mumbled a little into his arm, and when he asked what she said, she grabbed up at his collarbone and pulled herself up, until her face was in the gap above his shoulder, with her cheek resting on the man's collarbone.
"I'm sorry. For making you worry like that. I... I just don't want to see him. Ever." she said, before her words dissolved into sobs and she quietly cried into Sventar's muscled shoulder. "I... It's the best way. He'll immediately go for me. Just to v-" Sarae paused, and then her words dissolved into tender tears. She felt horrible. He was worrying for her and he had put effort into formulating alternate plans, and she rejected them all. But when his hand reached up and began stroking her head, she felt all his efforts hit her and sink in. He was doing all of this for her. And the worst thing of all, she knew no way to adequately repay him.

Sometime later spent in his arms, she didn't feel like doing much of anything. But duty called both of them, and waiting around in bed was no longer a luxury either had to spare. Scooting out of the bed, Sarae stretched languidly, pulling all the tension out of her limbs. Pulling on a mess of clothes discarded at the foot of the bed, she tried to remember where she'd put her armour. Another part of her mind worked to mentally put together a list of the things she needed to do today.
Sventar rose from the large bed, and he pulled on a few of the larger items of clothing from the pile and got up, pulling on a blue shirt and some comfortable leather trousers. He glanced at his Liegelady, and saw her shapely rear slip on some bluish trousers, and when she glanced up at him and caught him in the act of staring at her admittedly hypnotizing curves, she span around and quickly brought up a hand and before he knew it Sventar had been slapped across the face. But the hit was not hard, and his Liegelady had a smile on her face as she pulled him down by the collar, pressing warm lips to the spot his cheek had been slapped. He almost flailed a little before Sarae wrapped him in a brief hug before turning away and walking off.

He followed his Liegelady in a content silence down to the armoury, and briefly he decided to surprise her by helping her armour on. Just as she was bending down to fasten the greaves of her armour onto her legs, he lifted up the chestplate and the backplate of her armour and she briefly jerked upwards, still bent over at the waist, when he placed the plates onto her back. After her tense pause, he brought up the frontal plates of her chest armour and then Sventar drew up his hand to fasten the plates into place.
A warm feeling blossomed up in her chest, and her smile grew even wider. Straightening up, she winked at Sventar. "Thanks." Brushing off bits of dust and detritus her armour collected from the floor, Sarae brushed her hair back, and took a moment to think about the arrangements they'd need to make in order to go after Daral. That stewed in one part of her mind, the rest began thinking back on how to make mounted combat more interesting than just men on horseback.
Turning to the table off in the corner of the armoury, Sarae pulled out a chair and sat down, motioning for Sventar to take a seat across from her. "We can't leave this problem out there for much longer. I suggest we begin moving to trap Daral as soon as possible."
"That is a reasonable course of action. However, we cannot move to ambush him with only me and my Honor Guard. The other four professional gladiators. I made them my Honor Guard." He said by way of explanation to Sarae's mildly confused look.
"We need weapons, and Quartermasters to outfit those that will wield them. I think we should move to find such persons before we make a move. However, it is your decision on our course of action, milady." he said, picking up his helmet and placing it down on his lap, idly grabbing a cloth to polish it.
Tapping her fingers on the table, Sarae turned the idea over. Certainly, they needed more supplies, and more people for a proper ambush. Only six total people wouldn't be enough to take down any servant of Lamashtu. Resigning herself to a longer wait, the cleric finally answered. "Then we gather what we need, both in terms of manpower and supplies. Can't be too long about it, though."
Sventar scratched at the stubble on his chin. Stubble that was so badly tickled by the hair of the lady before him. He considered a while, and wondered how best to phrase what was on his mind. Certainly, they would need decent men and materiel. Although... No, thought the warrior. He would deal with the things himself. He nodded and stood up, clashing an armoured hand against his chestplate and walking outside after saying farewells and being dismissed. As he exited the gates of the Coliseum, he briefly wondered about the somewhat impersonal nature of the conversation he had with his Liegelady. Then he dismissed such notions from his head. He had work to do.
He walked through the richer marketplace of Rosenburg which consisted a series of stalls which were ordered, organised and each stall was clearly a specialised stall for weapons, wine flasks... Seems to be alphabetised as well. Much better than those flea markets in the lower sections of the city, thought the armoured warrior. As he walked, people got out of the way both in respect of him and his status as Champion, as well as the sheer bulk of him and his armour.
A small frown of thought crossed his unhelmeted face. Then he dismissed that too, and for the next few minutes that he was walking towards the Rosenbridge accountancy hall, postal messaging offices and Librarium that thoughts of marshalling, payment, and individualities among those he would select. Surely, he could not pay so much attention to every single recruit that passed his way. That would be the jobs of the wandering Captains, and the Champions that would roam the cities in their spare time. His mind turned to the recruitment processes of such an organisation. In specifics, the particularly high-ranking of his own direct subordinates.
Those thoughts swirled in his head as he kept walking on, out of the markets and along a neatly bricked whitewashed road that would lead to the general paperwork hub of Rosenbridge.

Meanwhile, in her own corner of Rosenbridge, the cleric shoved thoughts of the rampant cleric of Lamshtu from her mind. Focusing instead on the arena, her mind focused back on mounted combat. What possible way could it be more interesting than just the basics? Sitting and thinking on it, it slammed into her with a sudden certainty. Not all mounts were horses.
Sarae fumbled around for her sword-belt, fastening it to her armour and making sure her scimitar was properly stored. With her mind set to capturing beasts, she exited the Arena through the small back entrance. Focusing her magical energy, she began drawing on the power of the Planes. Before her, a white maelstrom whipped and crackled, stirring the air in every direction. Slowly, the aether-energy formed into a white equine. Its silvery mane shimmered blue in the direct sun, eyes glowing white with celestial power. Its very coat cast a glowing corona of light across Rosenbridge's cobblestones, and blue runes of arcane power trailed down its neck to each of its four hooves.
The celestial mount whinnied softly, tossing its head up and down. Hauling herself atop the saddleless horse, Sarae gently nudged it with her knees. It whinnied again, then set off at a slow walk. Getting a feel for the animal, the cleric finally pushed it into a trot, heading for the city's gates. Today, she would focus entirely on finding new sorts of creatures to bring back to the arena. Of course, such a venture would likely take more than weeks of search, but Sarae wouldn't be able to make a journey like that until much later.

Sventar was sitting at a table in a bar. Opposite him was a grizzled veteran of the King's old Army in light leather armour, and who was currently idly sharpening one of the many knives on his person. Sventar looked at the man who was applying for the position of Captain. And the man glanced back before his gaze fell back to the knife he was sharpening. Sventar took a sip of mead from his tankard and set it back down
"So. Rosseau." Sventar said, feeling the name dance around his mouth. "You think you have what it takes to become a Captain of my Gladiatorial forces."
"Damn right I've got what it takes. I've been through the most horrific war of this century! Killing a few fuckers daily isn't a problem." spoke the knife-sharpening man before him in a voice that was more akin to a beast's growl than a man's voice. Quite at odds with Sventar's regal tones.
"Ability to kill is not an issue. I am asking if you have the ability to command. To Lead. You will be in charge of a small detatchment of recruits, and a few fully-fledged gladiators of your own choosing." To this, the man's grip on the knife slipped, and both the knife and the whetstone that he was holding, and briefly horror flashed across Rosseau's face. Sventar arched an eyebrow and asked what was the matter.
Rosseau gulped, and then with shaking hands put the whetstone away and the knife back in its sheath. "I... I used to command a unit. It didn't end up well." he said, and he then dropped head into his hands. Sventar rapidly drew up a hand and crashed a gauntleted hand onto Rosseau's shoulder.
"Now listen here. You are not a sobbing, blubbering mess. You are a veteran of the bloodiest war of the century. You have led your men into Hell and you've made it back out in one piece!" Sventar didn't know if it was true, or not, but his patience was long lost and he needed to be moving on.
"I am giving you the opportunity to become a Captain of the Gladiatorial forces. Do you accept?" Sventar said in a low voice.
Slowly the veteran nodded, and the two shared a clasping of hands before getting up and leaving.

Wheeling her steed around, the cleric sighed in defeat. In her zealous attempt to hunt down more fantastical mounts, she'd gotten hopelessly turned around. Kneeing the white beast onwards, Sarae looked around for any signs of earlier passage. So focused on sight, she missed the rustling noises of the brush. Only the panicked whinny of the celestial beast alerted Sarae to the danger. Whipping her head around, she located an undead. The zombie's jaws gaped wide, broken teeth jutting out at strange angles, flies buzzing around the putrid green-rot flesh. Stumbling closer, it raised a shattered limb, trying to claw at the horse's muscular thighs.
Turning her mount again, Sarae unsheathed her scimitar. Light plunged forth from the blade, blasting the area with holy energy. The wretched thing shuddered and fell from its unlife. Behind it, she could hear another of the foul creatures drop to the ground. Pushing her holy horse forwards, Sarae followed the trail left by the undead. The leaves of the forest seemed dead and brown, corrupted by the very presence of the abberations. When the trail led to a clearing, the cleric looked for any signs of more of the creatures. Seeing nothing, she edged further forwards.
A smell like two-day old corpse flesh assaulted her nose. All around, blood lay thick on the forest's floor, soaking into the greedy loam. Supplies scattered every which way, tents lay in tatters, and half-eaten bodies littered the area. Bowing her head, Sarae prayed to Sarenrae for the souls of these unfortunates.
"Hey. Lady. Are you... an angel?" One of the less-damaged bodies bgan to move, propping himself up on a log. His missing arm and chewed-off leg weakly leaked blood. Brushing the sandy hair from his face, he stared at the cleric intently. "That's one mighty fine horse, even for an angel, I'd think."
Dismounting, Sarae approached the dying man. His face looked just shy of anguished. Kneeling at his side, she gathered up more magical energy, passing the healing forces into the man's body. "I am no angel, simply a servant of one." Her voice remained calm, though her focus remained intense. Slowly, the man's leg began to knit and re-grow, rebuilding all the lost bone and tissue.
Leaning back, he closed his blue eyes. "Y' may only work for an angel, ma'am, but you sure act like one." As his body absorbed more and more of Sarae's magical energy, he seemed to become more relaxed.
Unable to completely fix the damage as things stood, the cleric finished with what energy she had left. "What happened to you, ...?"
"Asher. We were sent from Gerra's Vale to get help from Rosenbridge. These zombies 'ave been attacking the village every day and night for the past week. Every time we tried to send a party in search of help, they died. This time, we weren't prepared for them to attack this far away. One moment of letting our guard down, and then they were at us. I fought most of them off, but the last few broke my sword, and well... you saw the rest."
Tapping her greaves absently, Sarae put this all into perspective. A village, beset by the undead? Alone, and weakened from her work here, she would be unable to help them. Deciding she'd need Sventar's help with this, she grabbed Asher's hand and helped him up. "I hope you know how to ride. We're going to Rosenbridge now. We probably we probably won't be able to mobilize today, but we ride first thing tomorrow."
As the two hopped onto the celestial mount, it whickered softly. "Ma'am, I thank you and all, but who exactly are you?" The one-armed man awkwardly tried to keep his balance on the saddleless horse.
"Sarae, Cleric of Sarenrae and Consul of the Rosenbridge Arena. Let's get moving."

Sventar and Rosseau walked through the hallways of the Coliseum, and a short meeting took place with the Honor guard. They briefly acknowledged the Captain before their attention flickered back to the Grandmaster.
Sventar made to speak, but he was interrupted by the sound of hooves striking cobblestine, and his Liegelady Sarae rode in through the front gates on a divine-looking horse, and as she neared Sventar saw that she had the top half of her body turned to the side, as though she were holding on to something behind her. As she arrived at the group of six men, it seems as though her grip slipped, and a dead man with an arm missing fell off the horse she rode in on and with a clump, fell to the ground. She looked down on Sventar, and he looked up. Her face was impassive, but Sventar knew her enough to learn that to herself, she had failed once again. This time with the corpse missing an arm that was now flat against the cobblestone floor of the Coliseum's Atrium.
"Gather your men and get ready for a long march. We're headed to Gerra's Vale. The village is under attack by the Undead." Sarae said, and as she turned her steed back outwards and rode through the main gate Sventar turned to his accomplices for this outing.
"Listen. We are going against Undead. Arm and armour yourselves heavily, Maces and warhammers are the preferred weapons here. You-" he pointed one of his Honor Guard, who stood to attention. "Escort the Captain to the Armoury. Rosseau, get what you want. You're a part of this Coliseum now, don't even think of paying for anything." Sventar said, to which the group of five men before him saluted, the newly minted Captain rather more snappily so than his lesser militarily trained colleagues, and soon the Grand Master was left with just the corpse of the man who fell off his Liegelady's horse. Briefly he wondered where she had acquired it.
Then two minutes passed in which Sventar managed to get the body out to the streets, and soon some of the passing Rosenbridge Guard took it off its hands and to the graveyard. When he walked back into the Coliseum, his Honor Guard were there with inlaid brazen heavy battle armour and two warhammers and two combinations of sword and shield. Rosseau had decided to enarmour himself with the standard chestplate that all Gladiatorial fighters were offered, as well as a few things that would keep him protected in combat, yet it would also leave him with the maximum maneuverability. Sventar noted this and brought his soldiers to readiness.
"We are exiting into a hithero unknown stage of battle. I advise you to keep your wits up and your striking arm ready when the time comes for battle. Till then, we march." Sventar said, and as he turned he heard the unified clash of his soldiers' gauntlets against their chestplates before armored boots descending unto stone resounded as his Honor Guard and his Captain followed. His Liegelady Sarae was there, on the same horse that she had rode in on.
"We are ready to march, milady." Sventar reported, and once the four enclosed her in a box of armoured protection, with Sventar and the new figure flanking the whole process, she nodded and set off on her horse at a pace that was to her slow, although they were able to keep the pace quite well in the heavy armour they wore. They moved along the streets, the peasantry of Rosenbridge moving aside in respect as the ensemble, gleaming in the midday sun, moved down through the main street of the city before they came unto the gates, in which they moved out into the plains and away.
One of the people who had seen the spectacle of the Consul moving on the back of a divine-looking steed was not a stupid woman. Agnes was her name, and she was carrying turnips to her stall in the flea markets. As such, she was very well versed in the social workings of the city. So when she saw the Consul of the Arena moving out and away, and then through the gates and out of the city, she turned back with a small frown. What could be so tremendous that it would warrant the Consul leaving the city, however briefly?
Hours later, with the setting sun behind them, they passed the sixteenth signpost that marked them on the correct course for Gerra's Vale. Sarae had turned her head down to the figure of Rosseau. She had asked him of himself, to which the man raised his visor and had spoken up.
"I am Rosseau, that's Rosh-oh. I'm a veteran of the Freedom War. I was just doing mercenary work at the time when I was press-ganged into service and a few fights consisting of saving my skin I ended up an officer. I led my unit through a few successful victories until shit went down the pan for us. Begging your pardon ma'am, but I'd rather not talk about that anymore." he said, before he bowed his head a little and carried on. If the Honor guard paid any attention, they showed no sign of it. All that happened was the genteel clinking of their armour down the road.
A short while in silence later, as they managed to get up a small hill, smoke started rising from the rim of it. Immediately Sarae rode up to the crest of the hill while the men guarding her ran up the rest of the hill, an impressive feat in full battle armour, and what they all saw was near horrific.
The valley must have once been beautiful, and the village that nestled a curve in the river must have seemed picturesque. However, the green forestry was alive, and swarming with a grey mass that made horrific sounds even as it advanced to the town's walls. To them all, it was as though the gods cast down a bolt of lightning into their mind as they realised that this was the undead swarms.
Sventar shook himself out of the reverie. "Quickly! The town needs our help!" and he went on forwards and down the hill. No time could be afforded to be lost here today.

Pushing her horse beyond the ability of any mortal steed, Sarae thundered down into the ruined village. Scimitar drawn, it began to glow with a holy rage, and a few of the undead turned to her. Flinching back as the scimitar exploded with light, anything unholy screamed and died. Before the holy energy faded from her blade, it began cutting swathes through the tainted bones and scant flesh of the hordes attacking Gerra's Vale.
Sventar charged with his shield raised and flaming longsword ready into the horde. They swung weakly with various things, ranging from dull swords to simple clubs made of sticks, but all their blows were for naught against the heavy armour the Grand Master wore. He dropped down, lowering himself and slowly bulled his way through the relatively weak skeletons and with well-placed shield bashes, a few of them were in pieces under his feet. A noise behind him and the sounds of a lot of them being destroyed in a short time heralded the arrival of his Honor Guard. The ones with the warhammers made short work of the bunch of skeletons, and then there was no more undead in their vicinity. Just as cheers sounded from a point off in the distance, and as Sventar glanced up he saw a stone wall surrounding what must have been the better parts of the village. He nodded to his companions and followed his Liegelady's steed through the village. Briefly he heard a skull crushing under his foot.
Bringing her holy steed up against the wall, Sarae looked over it. The few, bedraggled villagers left looked beaten and worn, but the arrival of help held their spirits. A young boy, no older than ten or eleven pushed his way too the wall. In a small voice, he asked a question of the lady on her shining horse. "D-does this mean Asher made it to Rosenbridge? Did my brother make it out?"
Sarae shook her head. "Your brother sent word to me, but he walks in the Light now." Inclining her head for a moment, the cleric sent a prayer to Sarenrae for the brave man's soul. "Where are the breaches in your defense? We will do our best to shore them up, and fight off any more undead that attack your town."
An older woman with a grim look on her face, and blood spattered across her ripped dress pointed south with the mace in her hand. "The girls' schoolyard was overrun a few minutes ago. We couldn't send anyone else from the front gate to help them, and if nobody gets there soon, I don't think those girls will make it to see the end of the hour."
Gesturing for Sventar to follow her, Sarae kneed her steed forward. It jumped high over the edge of the defenses, galloping down the roughshod streets in the direction to older woman had pointed.
Sventar surveyed the admittedly small breach which had only a few skeletons and the odd zombified villager idly coming through the crack in the walls, and conclusions formed in his head. "Captain! Take the Honor Guard and go assist with the other breaches! Me and Milady can hold this breach!" he bellowed, and as clashes of gauntlet  on chestplate sounded, he ran forwards in full armour through a set of gates and up a set of stairs, with his Liegelady on the back of her steed behind him.
He walked through the wrecked side-doors of the school and through the halls, until he walked into what was seemingly an assembly hall. The distressed and pale masses of white-robed schoolgirls was huddling near the wall closest to the opposite end of two massive doors. Sventar strode on through the smaller side-door he had come in through with his shield up and longsword quietly flickering with flames.
A quivering and short figure in black robes waddled up to Sarae. "Tell your servant the breach is through the wall in the courtyard outside." she spoke, seeming to ignore the hulking and armoured figure that proceeded to slam his own visor down and walk off through the doors and out into the courtyard. As he exited, a few murmurs rose from the clustered masses of children.
When Sventar stepped outside, he saw what was a formerly a schoolyard, now strewn with bodies of both villagers and undead. Two figures with bucklers and short swords were huddling behind a small barricade, which itself was nearly covered with corpses and bones. Sventar acknowledged them and they turned back to the school and moved to get any relief they could. Sventar stood out in open space, and squinting to get the glare of the evening sun reflected off the whitewashed courtyard out of his eyes, he took up his position. All undead that streamed through the broken wall would find him, and they would not find him wanting.
With that in hand, Sarae looked over the frightened mass of school girls. Though Sventar would hold this breach with his own body, being this far from town centre was no longer safe. After she dismounted, the celestial steed burned with a white-hot light, and vanished with a crack. "Come with me. We have to evacuate."
A few of the girls looked too frightened to move, but those more or less unaffected by the siege brought the others to their feet. The short, black-robed schoolmistress frowned, but said nothing. Beckoning a few of the girls forwards, Sarae began speaking. "I can't take all of you at once. It would be too big of a target. Sventar will hold the breach here, and I'll take you out in groups of four, starting with these girls."
The four mentioned huddled a bit closer together, but followed the cleric out into the muddy street. A ways off, she could hear the sounds of combat. Praying that no one else would die today, she kept moving. Sarae had failed the people of this town once, and she would not do so again.

There was nothing. Nothing save his blade that severed skulls, his shield that beat back his foe, his armour which took the blows he did not block, and his body which moved. He was silent, but the hordes of enemies before him seemed more than happy to fill out the noises, with a tide of gurgles and groans of the undead hordes.
He lunged, and a slash later a zombified villager was bisected across its gut, and the lumps of it fell to pieces.
He swung his shield across, and he felt the resistance of a skeleton's form break with a clang, and bones went flying away from his strike.
He bull-charged forward and knocked down a zombie with his own sheer bulk, before lifting his boot and bringing it down with the force of a sledgehammer, caving its skull and turning its head to paste.
He felt things stab at his armour from behind, and as he span left he used his shield to send the spears he had been given flying, and another charge with his shield raised saw the three knocked to pieces.
He was war. He was the defender of these people. He was the rock upon which these hordes would fling themselves and be destroyed.

One group dropped off, Sarae sprinted back to the ruined schoolhouse. Taking a look at the sudden extra horde of enemies clawing at Sventar, she changed her route. Energy spat from her scimitar, the holy weapon focusing the rage of Sarenrae herself. Undead withered and died under the assault, fall back into death's eternal slumber. Arm outstretched, the cleric imparted some of her healing magic, sealing the few wounds the shambling monsters had caused.
Done with that, she returned to the room filled with frightened children. Grabbing a few more, she took a look at those who were left. Four, maybe five trips. If she took more, the target would be more tempting, but she could ferry them along faster. Pulling over a fifth girl, Sarae took off once more.

Sventar was now on top of the piles of the dead. The bones and the flesh of the zombies had become pressed into one another, and wherever he walked, his leggings came up to the shin in the bloody mix. Yet he did not stop fighting.
It continued, on and on. Stench of decay. Stink of blood. Smell of hot armour, smell of hot self. Weight of longsword, jarring as it hits something. The enchantement on it had long since run out, and instead it was now just a long blade, gleaming with blood. No point wiping it off. It would only get bloodied again.
He was tiring, and he knew it. Fortunately, he did not to let this show, at least not to the extent where the shambling masses before him noticed it. He simply kept fighting. Then the wall started to crumble from something heavy striking it, and as Sventar put his blade through the last zombie currently in there, the wall was smashed down to the extent that the one who broke it to such a degree was visible. Sventar nearly blanched at the sight of a Troll Skeleton.
It charged forth, and it was all he could do to hold the line as best he could. He was actually forced back a few steps when it brought its bony fist down on his shield, and he took time to dodge his way around the second strike. Then shaking his helmeted head back into clear thinking, he prepared himself better and steeled himself for the thing's next assault. Thankfully, the horde seemed stuck at the gate, and they did not fare well against the ichor that bogged them down so well.

Sarae's holy light flagged, the ability to channel the Goddess' wrath expended. Making her way back to the school house, she shot a glace over to Sventar. The massive Troll Skeleton trying to crush him broke through her haze. As much as it hurt to watch, she couldn't afford to slow down. If anything got through, the people inside would be done for.
Storming into the small room, she spoke up. "Alright, we're out of time. The rest of you are moving out right now. Make sure to walk in front of me, so I can watch the back in case any of the unholy make it past Sventar." They all mumbled among themselves, slow to act. So slow! Gesturing for them to hurry up, the melangie of girls eventually formed up. Herding them outside, Sarae watched near the gap. A little ways away from the school, their journey was interrupted.
The huge Troll Skeleton bounded up the road, tackling the cleric to the ground. Its massive, bony fists crunched down on her armour, cracking bone and tearing flesh. Without her goddess' energy, she had no defense. "Run!" The last word she could get out to the petrified villagers came out in a panic. The undead troll seemed unimpressed, and continued tearing at the woman until she screamed.
Sventar had been polishing off the last few skeletons that managed to get through the gap in the walls before he shoved a broken section of the wall into the gap and stemming the tide of undead pouring through the gap. However, that was when he heard the scream. He turned his head, and saw the hulking form of the Troll skeleton bearing over his Liegelady and beating down at the grounded woman on her back. He saw the bone paw of the thing fall, and hit his Liegelady's flesh. When it came back up, the bleached white of the thing was bloodied. It was then when he felt something snap within him.
He had ascended. That was the only probable explanation. He had gone beyond simple anger, into the heights of tranquil fury beyond that. His face betrayed nothing. His body moved, and charged forwards in calm, empty flames that did not burn.
His armour creaked and thumped. His body was pushing itself. He felt the strain against his own bones as his muscles worked to pump and move himself forward at the velocity his mind was telling them to. All the while small bumps and thuds impacted against his armour, he kept on running in rage, and soon he had the monster in his sights. He charged, armour creaking, and just as it turned its head he brought up his shield. The two met with a clang and a crunch, and it was knocked back and away from his Liegelady. He stepped over her body and with that same tranquil fury, he brought up his shield and deflected a strike from the thing.
It roared into his face. He brought his shield around, and with all of his might he twisted his entire upper body and powered the lump of metal into the skull of the Troll Skeleton. Its head snapped to its side, and as it was dragged along by the force of his hit further away from his Liegelady. Sventar briefly heard teeth hitting the stones beneath his feet as he moved forward yet again and took his position against the thing.
It roared again at him, and he charged just as it moved to swing another paw at him in an attempt to knock away his shield. He parried two such more blows before he charged again, slamming the thing back. He took up his blade, and while it may have not done much against bone, it was better than nothing and his shield was badly dented. His longsword met the neckbone of it, and the flames of his blade sprung back into existence, before the Troll managed to bring up a bony paw to swipe at him. It caught him on the stomach, and he went flying backwards, armour and all. He heard his shield clanging rattling to a stop before he impacted against the ground, and the air got knocked out of his lungs.
Sventar slowly got to his feet, the Troll Skeleton still bellowing and roaring at him. Although this time it didn't move much, as though it were stunned as he regained breath and walked up to the monster. His left hand grasping his sword, he stabbed upwards with all his might, and as the blade broke the bones of the thing, he formed his right hand into a fist. He punched it with all his strength and with a jarring feel, his blade was ripped out of the skeleton's skull, trailing flames.
The Troll Skeleton made a few weak swipes before Sventar kicked it over, which upon impacting the ground the bones fell to pieces. The Troll Skeleton was finally dead, and he could feel that tranquil rage receding as he walked over, picking up his Liegelady and walking inside the assembly hall. It was all he could do to carry her to the school's infirmary, after which his strength failed him and he dropped down, ending with his head rested over his Liegelady's stomach.
Clawing her way out of the darkness, Sarae cracked open her eyes. Every shallow breath sent stabs of pain into every limb. Having used all her magic already, she couldn't spare any to help herself. Turning her head to the side, the cleric spat some blood.  Taking a look at the extra pressure on her body, she saw Sventar's collapsed form. He'd been beaten, bloodied, and broken, but he yet breathed. That explained how she was still alive.
The harder she tried to cling to wakefulness, the more unconsciousness dragged at her, bringing her back down. Within minutes, her mind shut down once more, resting her body. Blood leaked quietly from her shattered organs, but a smile touched her face. She knew that she would either wake up to find the Arena warriors had done their job, or she wouldn't at all.