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 Personal Logs: Aricles

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PostSubject: Personal Logs: Aricles   Thu May 03, 2018 10:25 am

Blood and Sand
The Lessons of Your New Doctore




Biird: The house of Quintis Oranius Salonious nestled in the foothills, living in the shade of the Emperor's villa, yet rested upon its own magnificent hillside. Though his villa was grand and opulent, it was not within the walled community of the greater noble houses. This was not for his want of living there, but the threatening landscape of a dead drop from a single side of the training yard made location far more suited to taming of wild beasts and men than pretty marble walls standing a constant reminder of what would lay beyond. Instead, the drop showcased all the world beyond, right down to the glittering sea, and a gladiator could stand at the edge of his world and admire all that he was free from, enslaved too, the god of and still remember that his mortal coil could be snuffed out on the rocks below. While all the members and slave to the house could see the view, only a gladiator would be able to appreciate the true complexity that it showcased.

In the many hours that the newest Gifted purchase slept away, the other slaves and would be gladiators were introduced to their new home. The house slaves were given appropriate robes and instructed in their manner of address and duties, which were simple enough -- always be ready to receive and order and always work quickly and silently unless addressed for response. They would remain in the company of senior slave for weeks until either assigned solely to a patron of the house or a singular task. Lucilia had purchased a slave solely for her own use. One of her former found freedom in death. Having gone quietly in her sleep, she may have been the envy of many a slave, despite being older than the ludus and having been privy to a number of horrendous acts. The Twins didn't deal in personal slaves and there may have been whispers that they both, Quintis and Lucilia, were afraid to give them any after a few had disappeared from reality leaving behind only telling signs of blood in the boys beds on their walls. Their explanations of the deeds had been menacing smirks and Quintis had no desire to beat straight answers out of his boys.

Octavia, however, was a completely different affair. The emotions Quintis held for his eldest child and daughter were as complex as the view he afforded all those within his walls. She was the first, and births were said to be blessings from the gods. In truth, the girl was, as with her birth swiftly came victories in the arena, the luck of masterful purchases and the rising notary of his house and growing legacy. All of this, still was often eclipsed by her gender and her willful nature. There were times when Octavia surmised had she been born after the twins, the relationship she shared with her father would have been vastly different. Perhaps, even she might have been different, but she was often pulled from such thoughts, such longing for consequential love, by the reality of her situation... and a swift backhand from the man in question. After returning from the market, she kept this reality close at heart and hand. The man was both reeling form his fine purchase but also teetering on the edge of rage of having it stolen from him by his own daughter. She had laid claim to the creature in full view of many, including other lanista's and gossipy hens of noble birth which meant snaking the creature from her would be problematic and not without it's own ill-favored gossip. Whether she had done this purposely or the gods had favored her in that moment didn't really matter to him. What mattered was, saving face and ensuring that no matter who the creature bowed too it was in honor of the house of Salonious.

Octavia waited until the moon had risen well into the night sky, having spent her day close at her mother's side and deep within her own duties in order to both calm her father and lower his guard -- literally, before attempting to venture down into the ludus. Her own guards, which she treated very well, feigned ignorance to her leaving her room and only one left his post to escort her down and they would rotate routinely checking on her while she remained below. Having had no appetite for her supper, which her mother explained away has a turned stomach now settling on the matters of the day, Octavia had her personal attendant wrap the food in burlap and leave it in some quiet place in her room. This, she took with her as she entered the bowels of her own home, the ludus. The ludus was the lower half of the villa accessed through a small store room for wine and affects in abundance, and beyond the quarters of the guards and the slaves. It was a catacomb of cells, a small bathhouse and dining area that led out into the sandy training yard. The only other room of note was that of the medicus, which is where Octavia was headed. At this hour the medicus would be sleeping soundly on his cot in small room adjoining his place of work, more than likely high on his own supply. He was a quirky man, thin and frail looking, but lively. His wild eyes were the color of walnuts and his long brown hair was constantly in disarray. He seemed to thoroughly enjoy his job but more so finding new blends of herbs that solved a various strange ailments and new ways of stitching the often grievous wounds of the gladiators.

As suspected, Octavia found her champion laying on a slab, his arms and legs fastened with chains that came up from the floor but allowed him to sit up and swing his legs over one side or the other if he wished. The collar around his neck was imbued with magic and herbs from the students and masters living in The Aura, that constantly worked to sap him of the "power" or "ability" to become that monstrous wolf. If he were left with any abnormal strength while not in the wolf form, a tenth of that power would be sapped as well. You know, just to keep him manageable but entertaining. There was a stillness to the room as Octavia entered, save the rhythmic snoring of the medicus from behind a thick wooden door. No one had bothered to try and wrap his lower half in the traditional cloth, so he lay on the slab with just one thrown over his more interesting parts. Having seen many shapes and sizes of men, Octavia was not so taken with that ... at the moment. Though her eyes, like sapphires illuminated by the flicker of fire light, roamed his full form, what really interested her were the visions of his bones and muscles shifting from one form to the next. Right now he was just a man. He was dusty and grimy which only served to highlight each of the many curves and dips of flesh stretched around muscle, or the way his jaw stood straight and rigid and strong. He had long feet and muscled calves and thighs. His fingers were long and tacked with many cuts and scars. Placing the burlap on the table beside his slab, amidst a pitcher of water, a cup and many bowls of herbs, Octavia approached slowly, her steps only heard by the gods themselves; a trait her father despised. Her fingertips, clean and soft, drifted along that angular jawline and slowly rounded his ear into that pelt of silky soft white hair.

"A beast, so far removed from the man." She spoke quietly into the still air around them.


Nomad: Sleep was never a reprieve from the true torments of ones mind. The dream state only allowed that which haunted you most to find more, creative methods to torture the soul of their choosing. Few creature's knew this better than the Beast of Barin or Aricles as a handful knew him, though even those few dwindled down to less after the Blood Moon Massacre. Now he was just property and blood entertainment for the masses. While asleep he was barely more than a chew toy for the monster he never could understand or control. It was a battle he never spoke of when awake and a fight he forever waged within his own mind though over the years he had gotten a little better at it. This in turn brought it's own problems for when the beast was lose he took extra delight in destroying anything the man got close to as retaliation for whatever slight the human had caused the beast within the unconscious world he thought he ruled.

It had been a couple of days since Aricles had been in human form, because of this his muscles twitched and flexed as if little shocks surged through his body as muscles flexed and settled back into their 'normal state'. Now he lay chained to a new slab though just as comfortable as all the rest he had called his own. The exhaustion of a Blood Moon would weight heavy on Aricles for the next week as his mind tried to regain  some semblance of humanity and he tried to push the wolf down into it's den. It was not always easy and the man's temper was always at it's worst when he awoke following such an incident. It was often a time previous owners tossed him straight into a pit to fight for his ferocity almost matched the wolves but it was far more entertaining to the masses for their was more of the victims left to identify and he was easier to subdue. Well, easier, but not easy. Anything can be easier than a seven foot twenty two thousand pound wolf.

Even while unconscious, the mans ear twitched whenever someone or something passed close to where he lay. It was just another sign that calling him  human even when he took up ones appearance was a misconception, he was a whole lot more or less then that if you asked any previous house that held his chains. Even his nose twitched when a scent started to grow stronger, lids fluttering slightly though overall the wall of muscle that was his body remained deathly still. Everything that he was doing Aricles had no knowledge of, it was instinct and nothing more than that. Even while sleeping one had to always be conscious of their surroundings, human or animal.

Deep within his mind however, things were not so peaceful as Aricles would have preferred them to be. No, instead he was once again in a very familiar pit with a starless sky and a circular wall of flames he is never able to pass. The ground beneath his bare feet to some may seem like sand but Aricles knew that the reality, if you could call it that, was far more grim. This material was the ground up bones of people and creatures killed by the wolf. It started out as dirt with a small patch of this whitish grey sand, but over the last decade the pits floor no longer showed any dirt. It was the one place Aricles hated the most but it was the one place he always found himself after a Blood Moon change. The wolf circling him with a large grin tugging on it's massive maw. The beast always taunted the man and as much as Aricles fought back there was no beating this monster. This might have been inside Aricles mind but it was the Wolf's world and he was akin to a God in this realm. No matter how many times he was devoured Aricles always awoke moments later back in the center of the arena. The pain was so real it was a wonder that his conscious mind was not driven mad. Only the Gods knew of this humans torment, but you think the gods really cared about one single humans suffering? The idea alone was one of the only things that made Aricles laugh.

In the beginning he begged, pleaded with those very Gods to save him from his nightmare. To Barin who made the original packed with Aricles Great Great Grand Father for favor in a battle that would either make their family incredibly power or destroy them. The deal was, the first born boy would be struck with this curse yet for the next number of generations all his line saw were daughters, that was until Aricles was cursed with life. Since his first change and learning about his curse, Aricles called to Barin, the God of War to aid him, revoke his curse or help him in some shape or form but all Aricles ever said he received was a ghost like laughter he heard upon the wind. Ten years of unanswered prayers drove the, now feared gladiator to despise not only Barin but every God that sat in the heavens for not one ever came to his aid. So in this world Aricles was truly alone for the Gods cared nothing for him and the humans saw him as nothing more than property. Often he had contemplated ending his own existence but a part of him would not give any of them the satisfaction of seeing him weak and it was that single thought that staved the madness from his mind and curved his drive to live and defy any odd thrown his way.

Just as the beast was rearing up to take another chunk from the bloodied and bleeding man, Aricles consciousness was pulled from the wolf's realm to that of the real world. Something brushed his hair and with a reflex faster than one would thing a person of his size could manage Aricles' hand shot up and gripped the wrist of whoever touched him. Never once did he think it was someone of noble birth for they never touched him so softly, at least not unless they wanted him for some other, more private, entertainment. So when his lids cracked open and his crimson glowing eyes began to focus he was taken back to see a girl, no, a woman beside his bed. Still he held her very slender wrist that he was lucky he had not snapped when gripping it for a long moment until finally he released her with a deep and extremely animalistic growl rumbling within his massive chest and rested his chained hands back upon his stomach once more. Slowly his lids closed though he fought the urge to pass out once again, not wishing to go back to that pit where he could hear the Wolf howl for him. It would still be a couple days before he could rest and have enough control over his dreams to avoid that place, but even still he was never fully free of the beast. This girl beside him though seemed so little of a threat that Aricles actually had closed his eyes without even a second thought to her presence beside him still.

When he would be awake enough to consider this one factor alone he would very much find it extremely odd that he relaxed so much when someone was so close, even a noble, or rather especially a noble. At least gladiators only attacked you if you offended for they fought enough in an arena for others entertainment it was rare they did it amongst themselves when there was nothing to gain but a lashing. Though who knew, maybe he's new owners brood was a more violent sort. Only time would tell.


Biird: As her fingers roamed his flesh and the unusual texture of his snow colored hair, Octavia's eyes watched his nostrils flair and his ears twitch, his eyes moving rapidly under fluttering lids. Signs of an internal struggle. The man was not outwardly injured though his body bore many signs of the survival of grievous wounds long healed. Despite the war torn scars, he was otherwise carved from marble like statue of a great hero; made to look beautiful and fearsome all at the same time. What was truly fearsome was the speed a man practically in a coma could move in. Octavia inhaled sharply to feel his long fingers coiled around her wrist, his chains rattling to life and causing quite a racket within the otherwise quiet room. Her lips were parted, eyes blinking as he own opened and peered at her with that same look of bewilderment he had in the market place. It seemed it would take more than a few hours of rest before he fully returned from whatever deep, dark place in his own mind he had been forced to while the beast roamed free. The daughter of the house placed her free hand on his chest and murmured, "Still."

His eyes fluttered but closed again. Leaning over, her parted lips released the soft, warm breeze of her breath onto his earlobe. His raw scent, like earth and stone, filled her nostrils. As it had been in the market place, Octavia's eyes seemed to glaze over. The reality of the world around her faded away into something much different, something deep within the man before her. His profile was a shadowed outline to a dark world. "You yet lie still and safe. Control stands yours once more. The moon has gone and the man rises." It was almost as if her words were not her own. How could she know of the moon's control of his shift? How could she be so sure that the beast was not the man? How could she be certain that the man was not as unforgiving? The questions would go unanswered saved to say that Octavia felt it deep within her soul. What "it" was remained to be seen.

The words had only just left her lips, when the medicus came stumbling out of his quarters, rubbing at sleep heavy eyes. He blinked rapidly, rushing to the slab where the new gladiator lay and nearly went headlong into his mistress. As she rose to her full height, which was not much, the medicus doubled back and stood up as well. "Domina." He said in his groggy voice. "My mistress, you must be careful with this one. So close you are." He chuckled then. "You give no pause for danger."

Pushing her own dark brown hair behind one ear, she smiled. "No danger lies in a sleeping man." That was a lie. His grip on her wrist had been hearty. With just a bit more strength into the deed she would have been cradling broken bones. The medicus had not been privy to the act so there was no need to further gossip of monstrous man.

Chuckling, the medicus looked around the room. Briefly a frown formed on his sagging features, but as his head turned back to his Domina it was gone. He wouldn't comment on the fact that she had no guards with her or the late hour. They had long passed those tutted talks about her activities. Instead he checked the chains on the new creature. Finding them uncompromised, he moved to the opposite side of the slab and pulled up a stool, but not too near. "There is nothing you can do for him, Domina. He yet requires more rest, a trait, I am sure, your father will see beaten from him."

The medicus was right. If he took too long to recover from his changes, her father's training would take a gruesome turn. He had a few Gifted in his stable of entertainment and if their ability wasn't able to be called upon at his whim, well, he had ways of insuring it was. Octavia's eyes returned to the sleeping man's face. Save for her wide eyes, dark blue in the light, she was void of any immediately discernible reaction to the subject brought on by the medicus. The world of gladiators had been her world all her life, the only world she knew. His treatment here would depend entirely on his disposition once awake and that was something she could not stop or shield him from.

She stayed a while longer, speaking quietly with the medicus and giving him the food she'd brought for her sleeping beast. He did not seem like he would awake before she would need to return to her quarters and as thin as the medicus was he was never not hungry. After the third guard rotation to check on her, Octavia returned to her room with mere hours before the sun rose on another day. Just as she was getting settled into her bed, the house began to stir with the movement of slaves rising to prepare the house for the rise of their owners. No one would disturb her but a warm bath would be waiting when she decided to rise. Sleep was more like a nap because she didn't want to miss seeing the beast lined up with the rest of the new recruits, because broken by his own mind or not, her father would have him dragged out as he would not be making his speech twice.



Nomad: The words spoken around the sleeping giant of a man fell on a deaf ear. They were hardly more than a hazed murmur in the wake of the wolf's howl and demand of blood. Still the titans lids fluttered as unseen eyes darted left and right, scanning for a predator some would never see if the gods blessed them with such fortune. Though the very thought of the Gods caused Aricles to growl even in his sleep as his unconscious form circled the flaming arena with bone white sands. The beast upon the far side licking it's tongue across dripping fangs. It would be another night of blood, death and blind pain before the sun beckoned the cursed male from his ever present nightmare.

It seemed like days had passed before lids cracked open, though not by choice as a rough and callus hand pulled the muscle bound figure from his slab. Growls and groans rumbled through his chest as his body hit the dirt and a sharp tongue ordered him to stand. Shaking his head to clear as much sleep and pain as he could Aricles rose to his feet, arms still chained but no longer to the wall and his feet released. The more he rose the more the individual that did the waking took a step back. When at his full height of 6'5ft, Aricles was an intimidating sight even to a seasoned gladiator, of which this individual was not. Just an errand boy thinking himself better than the other slaves for a simple a thing as a robe for clothing and not a cloth about his waist. Swallowing hard, courage was summoned though very little came as shaky words left a trembling lip.

"Y-You are to rise, the Dominus speaks."

The man-boy fled when his message was delivered and was chased by a low growl from within the room. Aricles was well versed in the life of a slave and a gladiator and though he might despise his existence, his willingness to defy the gods out shun even that. Raising his hands to his head he brushed the ashen white strands of fur like hair from his eyes and back along his scalp. A deep intake of air ripe with the scent of blood, piss, dirt and sweet was all too familiar as it flooded his senses. The door was once again shadowed by two more figures, these just as timid as the last but with far more reason. Two slave girls entered with a basin of water, a cloth and the other with oil and a shaving knife. Exhaling and clearing his lungs Aricles lifted his arms above his head, one of the girls removing the loose cloth from his waist and proceeded to wash the dirt and sweat from him. No Dominus wished to address filth and if that is what was about to happen then Aricles would be cleaned and shaven as much as possible.  Not to the standard of a noble but enough to make him look somewhat human. The oil used to smooth the skin and allow the blade to move every ounce of hair from his body, the sides and back of his hair also cut extremely short. But when the girl moved to try and shorten the hair atop his head she was met with another growl that was becoming an all too common means of communication. The girl almost fell from the step she used to reach his head but Aricles caught her before she hit the ground.

The last of the oil Aricles used himself to keep hair from his face and with that the girls left the small room, leaving behind a new cloth for him to wrap himself. Using his hands as best he could while still bound together at the wrist, Aricles wound the brown leather cloth around himself and through his thighs to keep all required personage, secured. The last, a lighter leather shade draped about his waist and hung to his knees upon one side. On his feet he wrapped sandals, not of any good quality but enough to protect feet from jagged stone while training. With that the man was ready and stepped foot through door and into another round of bloodshed.

Beyond said door was a short corridor and at it's end the rising sun beckoned his approach. Stepping out onto the stage that would be his training center for as long as the Gods allowed him to return from the arena, Aricles' crimson red eyes blinked as they adjusted to the mornings glare. When pupils adjusted a brow rose and for once Aricles found himself intrigued with what he beheld. The Ludus was located right at the edge of a cliff with one wall missing yet a barrier of escape more sturdy than any fortification. Stepping to it's edge, the titan of a gladiator looked down the sheer drop to a ground that was covered with a morning mist. Raising his head he looked out onto a freedom he never would gain even if shackle was removed and papers granted for he carried a chain no other could understand.



Biird: While the gladiators were roused form their sleep and the servants in the house set the balcony to receive their masters, Quintis diligently attended to the ravenous needs of his wife. Ever a good man of timing, he allowed his wife to collapse unto their shared bed in pleasure just as the sun began to creep its rays across their marbled floors. The man took a brief reprieve, just long enough to kiss his wife, before rising and allowing the slaves to sponge away the stains of their grand ol' time, then dress him. As cloth was being placed over is body, his wife, still dizzy with pleasure, rose and began to bathe and dress as well. They shared colors of light blue with trims of cold and under colors of white and beige. Lucilia crowned her mass of woven braids and curls with sprigs of baby breath and clutches blue hydrangea. Her daughter would be dressed similarly and their sons as well. It was important for the family to show solidarity and unification at all times, especially when addressing 'lessors'.

The twins were already on the balcony, playing their favorite game of latrunculi. Each was dressed in the same heather blue as their father, the golden trim of their toga causing the rich, sun kiss tone of their skin and the equally vibrant bright blonde curls atop their heads to stand strong against strong features. They rose simultaneously, even though Augustus had his back to his parents, to greet the patrons of the house when they appeared on the balcony. Lucilia, however aloof she was, was always loving, tendering kissing their curls. Quintis offered little more than a nod of acknowledgement and a scowl at the absence of his eldest. The girl, silent as an answer from the gods, appeared behind him, her hands meekly folded in front of her. The delicate blue dress that wrapped around her slim curves and bunched in flattering places mirrored that of her mother. The flowers in her hair were darker than that of her mother, for she shared the same glossy brown-black hair as her father. Her arrival appeared to have risen the hairs on the back of her father's neck, causing him to turn and narrow his eyes at her. She watched his fingers flex with the urge to strike her for all too common silent appearance but instead turned back to the balcony. The girl moved beside her brothers where she could have a clear view of the training grounds below and be clearly viewed.

Members of the brotherhood were already training because by now the sun had more than half crested the horizon. The newest purchases, including her own were lined along the far wall by the gates, all with their wrists chained in front of them. Then their Doctore appeared from beneath the villa and onto the stands. He was a tall, lean man who's heritage couldn't immediately be identified. His eyes, the dark green of emeralds, were slanted and narrow by nature, and ever watchful. His skin was polished cherry wood and he worn his thick black hair in shoulder length dread locks. The whip in his hand kept every man under his tutelage which in disciplinary reach at all times; his accuracy was deadly. "Attend!" Came his booming voice over the clash of practice weapons and the seasoned men moved with purpose to form neat lines before the balcony. Doctore then motioned for the guards to bring the new recruits to a line in front of the already branded men. "Attend." the man repeated. "Your Dominus speaks."

All of the new recruits who had not been deep within the land of nightmares the night before had been versed in the ways of the house. The last of the group would be left to have the teachings passed down from the other slaves or be doomed to learn his place and his mannerisms the hard way. Since he had been purchased from one slave owner to another, Quintis had little doubt that he would be lacking knowledge in address and manner. He pressed his hands to the heavy wood banister and looked down at the men he owned with those dark blue eyes. "The house of Salonius welcomes you. In the coming weeks you will train hard. Those that do not fall to heat and exhaustion will be put to the test and receive the brand of the house of Salonius and rise as titans on the sands of the arena. Heed the words of your new Doctore and you will see yourself well cared for. For as you rise in the arena, so to do you elevate the house of Salonius and the house of Salonius will reward you well." As if to punctuate his statement, the branded men roared the name of their patron house in unison. Quintis lifted his hand to silence them and smirked. "Back to training." He turned his back then, motioning for his sons to follow him, and leaving the balcony.

Lucilia turned and went back into the house followed dutifully by her attending slaves, but Octavia remained. Many of the gladiators nodded and smiled up at her before returning to their training and she returned the gestures. Slowly her eyes shifted over to the beast with the snow white hair. He still a man this morning, standing tall amongst the newest recruits and not looking nearly as bewildered as the night before. Though anxious to see how he would fare in his training an empty stomach required attention first. Lowering herself to a lounge while the new recruits were unshackle and paired off for training, a tray of fruit and cheese was put before her to fill an empty stomach, with sweet wine and water to wash it down. The sound of clashing swords and shields was a comforting and familiar noise that by noonday sun would be replaced with loud jesting and clattering of men eating and giving each other hell. For now, though, they would train hard, rotating routines to keep them sharp and test every portion of their will and physical strength.

_____________________________

Flintlock: Lycares hadn't been able to sleep the night before the new recruits arrived. He never was able to. Something gnawed at his gut whenever he heard the news that new recruits would be coming in. Was it an anger? It was at first, sure, but that slowly died away into resignation? Was it fear for the new recruits? That may be it. Or was it shame that he had become so accustomed to the life before him? That was most likely it, if he were being honest with himself. He didn't want for there to be new recruits. He knew that a third of them would be dead before the year ended. Not everyone was fit to be a gladiator, after all. The other two thirds would be broken down and rebuilt as killing machines for others' entertainment. It wasn't a life he wished on everyone. Alas, he was realistic. There was nothing he could do to change the situation, so he accepted it. Anywho, he was feeling the effects of the sleepless night right now. Lycares dodge under a swing from one of his fellow gladiators, a veteran named Friadnes. The vet quickly followed up with a kick aimed at the younger man's midsection. It was only his gift that allowed him to hop backwards, out of the range of the older man's legs. Regaining his bearings, he twirled his practice sword before lunging forward. He struck again and again, the practice blade twirling and stabbing through the air in a hard press against the vet's defense. Just as his defense was about to fail, Lycares sensed, he heard the booming voice of the Doctore, causing the gladiator to stop mid-swing. Dropping his sword to his side, his chest rising and falling in huffed breaths, he immediately, as well as all the other training men, moved into the proper formation. Lycares was somewhere near the back, the practice sword plunged into the dirt between him and the next gladiator, his back straight and tall and his hands clasped behind it. His grey eyes began to roam over the new recruits as his Dominus addressed them. None of them particularly caught his eye, save for one. The one all of his colleagues had been gossiping about. The Beast, they had taken to calling him. Lycares was brought of his thoughts by the sound of his colleagues roaring the name of their patron house in unison. He quickly did so as well before returning his attention back to the new one. He was every bit as intense as they described him to be, standing over the men that surrounded him in the line. Lycares' head tilted slightly to the side as he regarded the man's hair. An interesting color. Perhaps it was a side effect of him being Gifted. He was broken out of his thoughts by the sound of his Dominus wrapping up and dismissing them to resume training. Lycares moved his gaze from his fellow Gifted to the daughter of his Dominus, Octavia. He gave her one of his small rare smiles before turning and yanking his sword out of the dirt. Time to resume training.


Nomad
: It was a speech like every other, all of them building the pompous name of the house up to be something so grand and special that all should revere just hearing it on spoken tongue. To Aricles it choked and parched the throat for he knew all it was designed to do was instill a will to fight for your master, a false sense of pride that one could take in their existence. Behind every Dominus was a greed for gold that the blood paid to obtain was never enough. A wife that always wanted more, her greed almost matching her husband's and though Aricles knew nothing of his new owners he doubted what he spoke of did not ring true to their being. Though crimson eyes peered up at the man as silence fell his tongue and his back the last they saw as his departure came, keen ears were deaf to the ramblings that fell from tongue. Hands flexed as wrists bound to his waist and the itching of another brand removed with fire stung at his arm now covered in cloth that seeped with blood. The wound would not take long to heal, faster than even Aricles would appreciate for the faster he mended from any wound the faster he would be set to task of earning more coin. It was a blessing and a curse just like his very existence. Lowered blood hues glanced at the previous stock of gladiators that were well into their morning routine as was very evident by the sheen of sweet upon them all. Each of them had eyes sizing up the latest additions but all took their time to regard Aricles. Another annoyance. Though his reputation always preceded him none ever believed it until witness by their own eye. Especially gladiators who possessed egos even the Gods would bare notice if not for their standing as slaves. All of them wanted to test themselves against the so called 'Beast' and it was a coming bout that Aricles would rather avoid when not explicitly required too. On another note, within the Ludus their challenges were almost always done through spoken tongue as no real Gladiator would spill the blood of another if it did not benefit them and it rarely ever did outside the arena.


Biird: It took only a flicker of her eyes bopping from one familiar face to another before Octavia's eyes feel on Lycares. He was hers too, though she'd never had the occasion to claim him outright as she had with the newest once. They were close, though. That was perhaps because he had come to them as a boy and risen to the rank of a powerful gladiator at a young age while many of the others came as men with little time for a girl's dangerous wandering around brutes. Octavia finished up her breakfast and rose from the lounge with a strawberry perched in her fingers, the end was tipped with honey. Moving toward the balcony, she rested one arm across it and leaned over, watching as the brothers went back to training. The newest ones were moved back to the far away to have their shackles removed and Doctore took to the sands once more. His whip was wrapped and held in one hand as he walked the line examining the new wares. He could already tell which ones were not going to last and which were going to be trouble and which had already resigned themselves to the only glory afforded to slaves. There were ten of them and if five survived it would be a lot. The scrawny ones were sent to haul wooden pillars while he decided who to pair with who. Stopping in front of the white haired one, Doctore didn't need to look away from his face to notice the healing of old brands. "Lycares, pair with this one." At the sound of this, Octavia threw the green petals of the finished strawberry down onto the sand and pushed off the banister. Gladiators faced many dangers in the arena, none ever knew when the crowd would call for death and be appeased, but to pit Lycares against such and unpredictable newbie was madness. "Doctore." The man turned and looked up at Octavia's face. Even from a distance he understand her worry and simply waited awaited her command. Her fingers flexed on the banister as she looked between her Rising Sun and Beast. The silence drew the attention of others. Finally, a smile broke her features. "Apologies, Doctore, send a slave with a list of your needs before I forget to command." The man nodded at her recovery. To counter his command would be to counter a command of her father when it came to the gladiators and any leniency she showed to too much of to any of them would only see them hurt more.


Last edited by Wolf on Fri May 11, 2018 6:03 pm; edited 1 time in total
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Personal Logs: Aricles
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