Richard stood at the edge of the empty arena, simply thinking as he looked around at the flat sand of the arena floor. Several places in the sand were darker in colour, escpecially in the middle. He didn't need a very sensitive nose to tell that the middle of the arena had drank it's fair share of blood.
Moving from the edge of the arena he made his way to the centre of the sand floor. Once there he looked around the arena again, his gaze moving up to take in the rows of benches and the few private boxes. At the centre, raised just above the arena floor's walls, was a box open on three sides. The seats inside this particular box looked more like thrones than chairs, draped in purple velvet as they were.
The box for the Emperor to sit in as he watched his subjects die for his amusement, Richard thought with a small smile.
This place, this arena, was modelled almost exactly on the gladitorial arenas of the Ancient Romans. The sand beneath his feet was light, when not tainted with blood, and the scent was of soft wood and dry air. Amazing as it was, this style of arena was not uncommon.
Wizards had watched each other die in the arena even more than the muggle Romans had. For countless years, Wizards too deep in debt to have a prayer at pulling their way out had sold themselves into the life of a purpetual fighter, for the good of their families. Others had come for the glory that they perceived would come from tearing the heart out of another. Many more had come as some kind of plea before a judge. A chance to live instead of the death sentance.
Of course that had been many years ago.
Now fighters had to sign a binding magical contract that assured the 'manager' that they entered the life of a gladiator of their own free will. Which meant that stupid young men were still able to sell themselves into the arena for glory or out of desperation.
But then again, who was he to judge any of them?
He smiled a little at the thought.
He was here for such a reason that it would shame those who had died on these sands. He was here because he was bored.
He was here simply to find something to kill time.
And so he sighed a little and drew his wand. With a small wave, a miniture box floated out of his pocket and set itself down gently on the other side of the arena. A small push with his wand and the box expanded to become a very large trunk, which began to unlatch itself. The lid lifted itself up and the sides fell away to reveal it's contents.
Jars of fluids, piles of materials and bags of non-descript oozes.
Richard's smile became slightly more grim as he waved his free hand at the collection of assorted mixtures and ingredients. His smile became grim as he waved at the remains of his brother.
Sighing a little more he took a breath and slashed his wand savagely at the pile of ingredients. Instantly the piles and jars flashed brightly and forced themselves together. When the flash died down, a man was stood in their place.
He was not overly tall, but he was brushing the six foot mark to be sure. His body was pale, the skin leathery and the hair thin and greasy. Caked in blood matted his hair to his face and neck, each frozen river of the fluid having to crack and break to allow him to look up at Richard with his glassy white eyes. The man looked down at himself, at his own inhuman body, and noted that he was clothed only in trousers. Looking back up at Richard, the re-made man tilted his head to the side slightly, the solid blood snapping as he moved,
"Brother." the man croaked out, his voice harsh as if his throat were made of sandpaper. Richard stared across the sands of the arena to look into the eyes of his reanimated brother,
"Calab." he replied, his voice cold and stony, "You know why I have awoken you brother."
Calab, the re-born man, attempted a smile. The gesture made more of the caked blood crack as his facial muscles moved after being dead for many years,
"Richard." he tilted his head back to the centre, "I assume you want a fight. But are unwilling, or unable, to find someone living to kill. So you turn to your back-up plan... use the stored remains of your dead brother and use his horcrux to make him alive again. All so that you can kill him again."
Richard nodded a little as he threw his overcoat to the side, dropping his wand onto the pile of cloth as his did so. Calab watched with amusement as his brother unbuttoned his shirt so that they were both dressed only in the black leather trousers that the Romain Brothers had been renowned for wearing at all times. He clicked his dry and clumsy tongue to the roof of his mouth,
"And after all these years... you still don't know when to use and advantage when one is given to you." he shook his head, once again making the cracking sound of dried blood breaking echo around the arena, "That clothing would have helped your greatly. And the wand... well I don't need to tell you exactly how much easier this would all be with that."
Richard frowned a little,
"You know I'm not here for simple." he replied quietly, knowing the complete silence of the arena would carry his voice to his brother, "Simple has never been something for me."
Calab smiled his crooked and bloodied smile,
"Of course. I know exactly what you want." he clicked his neck to the side a little as he began to pace from side to side slowly, getting his legs used to moving again, "But you do want something simple Richard. You cry out for the simplicity of blood and victory. Of feeling your opponent quiver and die beneath you. I'll make a Romain of you yet little brother."
Richard remained impassive for a few moments before he bent down and pulled two swords and two knives out from his overcoat. Without a thought he threw one of each in Calab's general direction as he stabbed both of his into the sand before him. Calab chuckled, a dry and raspy sound, before taking his weapons and doing the same. Both brothers knelt in front of their weapons,
"Wir sind Kämpfer."
Both brothers took up a handful of sand.
"Wir sind Krieger."
Both brothers rubbed the sand in their bare hands, the soft sand sticking to their sweaty skin.
"Wir sind Killer."
Both brothers looked up at each other and placed their hands on their weapons.
"Wir sind Romain."
As one the two brothers rose, each holding their weapons tightly in their hands and both in the same stance. The right arm, with the sword held tight, ahead of the body. The left arm, held close to the body, over the heart, with the curved knife ready to sting should the opponent get inside the reach of the sword.
Their attention focused entirely on each other, the two brothers zoned out of the world. The arena stands melted away to them until only their oppoent, and the sand on which they stood, was seen.
((OOC: Watch, join in, do whatever
I was just compensating for the lack of threads in this arena 
))
Moving from the edge of the arena he made his way to the centre of the sand floor. Once there he looked around the arena again, his gaze moving up to take in the rows of benches and the few private boxes. At the centre, raised just above the arena floor's walls, was a box open on three sides. The seats inside this particular box looked more like thrones than chairs, draped in purple velvet as they were.
The box for the Emperor to sit in as he watched his subjects die for his amusement, Richard thought with a small smile.
This place, this arena, was modelled almost exactly on the gladitorial arenas of the Ancient Romans. The sand beneath his feet was light, when not tainted with blood, and the scent was of soft wood and dry air. Amazing as it was, this style of arena was not uncommon.
Wizards had watched each other die in the arena even more than the muggle Romans had. For countless years, Wizards too deep in debt to have a prayer at pulling their way out had sold themselves into the life of a purpetual fighter, for the good of their families. Others had come for the glory that they perceived would come from tearing the heart out of another. Many more had come as some kind of plea before a judge. A chance to live instead of the death sentance.
Of course that had been many years ago.
Now fighters had to sign a binding magical contract that assured the 'manager' that they entered the life of a gladiator of their own free will. Which meant that stupid young men were still able to sell themselves into the arena for glory or out of desperation.
But then again, who was he to judge any of them?
He smiled a little at the thought.
He was here for such a reason that it would shame those who had died on these sands. He was here because he was bored.
He was here simply to find something to kill time.
And so he sighed a little and drew his wand. With a small wave, a miniture box floated out of his pocket and set itself down gently on the other side of the arena. A small push with his wand and the box expanded to become a very large trunk, which began to unlatch itself. The lid lifted itself up and the sides fell away to reveal it's contents.
Jars of fluids, piles of materials and bags of non-descript oozes.
Richard's smile became slightly more grim as he waved his free hand at the collection of assorted mixtures and ingredients. His smile became grim as he waved at the remains of his brother.
Sighing a little more he took a breath and slashed his wand savagely at the pile of ingredients. Instantly the piles and jars flashed brightly and forced themselves together. When the flash died down, a man was stood in their place.
He was not overly tall, but he was brushing the six foot mark to be sure. His body was pale, the skin leathery and the hair thin and greasy. Caked in blood matted his hair to his face and neck, each frozen river of the fluid having to crack and break to allow him to look up at Richard with his glassy white eyes. The man looked down at himself, at his own inhuman body, and noted that he was clothed only in trousers. Looking back up at Richard, the re-made man tilted his head to the side slightly, the solid blood snapping as he moved,
"Brother." the man croaked out, his voice harsh as if his throat were made of sandpaper. Richard stared across the sands of the arena to look into the eyes of his reanimated brother,
"Calab." he replied, his voice cold and stony, "You know why I have awoken you brother."
Calab, the re-born man, attempted a smile. The gesture made more of the caked blood crack as his facial muscles moved after being dead for many years,
"Richard." he tilted his head back to the centre, "I assume you want a fight. But are unwilling, or unable, to find someone living to kill. So you turn to your back-up plan... use the stored remains of your dead brother and use his horcrux to make him alive again. All so that you can kill him again."
Richard nodded a little as he threw his overcoat to the side, dropping his wand onto the pile of cloth as his did so. Calab watched with amusement as his brother unbuttoned his shirt so that they were both dressed only in the black leather trousers that the Romain Brothers had been renowned for wearing at all times. He clicked his dry and clumsy tongue to the roof of his mouth,
"And after all these years... you still don't know when to use and advantage when one is given to you." he shook his head, once again making the cracking sound of dried blood breaking echo around the arena, "That clothing would have helped your greatly. And the wand... well I don't need to tell you exactly how much easier this would all be with that."
Richard frowned a little,
"You know I'm not here for simple." he replied quietly, knowing the complete silence of the arena would carry his voice to his brother, "Simple has never been something for me."
Calab smiled his crooked and bloodied smile,
"Of course. I know exactly what you want." he clicked his neck to the side a little as he began to pace from side to side slowly, getting his legs used to moving again, "But you do want something simple Richard. You cry out for the simplicity of blood and victory. Of feeling your opponent quiver and die beneath you. I'll make a Romain of you yet little brother."
Richard remained impassive for a few moments before he bent down and pulled two swords and two knives out from his overcoat. Without a thought he threw one of each in Calab's general direction as he stabbed both of his into the sand before him. Calab chuckled, a dry and raspy sound, before taking his weapons and doing the same. Both brothers knelt in front of their weapons,
"Wir sind Kämpfer."
Both brothers took up a handful of sand.
"Wir sind Krieger."
Both brothers rubbed the sand in their bare hands, the soft sand sticking to their sweaty skin.
"Wir sind Killer."
Both brothers looked up at each other and placed their hands on their weapons.
"Wir sind Romain."
As one the two brothers rose, each holding their weapons tightly in their hands and both in the same stance. The right arm, with the sword held tight, ahead of the body. The left arm, held close to the body, over the heart, with the curved knife ready to sting should the opponent get inside the reach of the sword.
Their attention focused entirely on each other, the two brothers zoned out of the world. The arena stands melted away to them until only their oppoent, and the sand on which they stood, was seen.
((OOC: Watch, join in, do whatever
I was just compensating for the lack of threads in this arena ))
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