<span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Dowan Hess strode into the arena carrying his gleaming hammer. Both he and his weapon were a solid, destructive mass, honed in savagery and hardened beyond adamantine steel. His bare flesh was his trademark, and when the crowd saw his war-painted chest, wild, ragged hair and long, braided beard, they rose in uproarious cheers. He was an old crowd favorite, and they knew what to expect from him: violence, blood, and unmatched technique. Dowan was the longest standing gladiator in the Criot pits, surviving fights that had been stacked so egregiously against him that it was said he bore demon blood, for no man could have overcome the odds as he had.<br/>
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Dowan ignored the crowd, having eyes only for the doors opening on the other side of the pit. The crowds had learned to never bet against him, and so the pits had resorted to using him to let the new gladiators cut their teeth in the arena. A new day, a new opponent. The man entering the arena across from him was sly and lean, and had a look in his eyes that told Dowan he knew exactly how this fight would go, were they to fight to the death. Dowan inclined his head to his opponent, and tossed his hammer aside, to the crowd’s deafening approval.<br/>
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They began circling, and Dowan watched the other man’s movements. The announcer was going on about who was who and what to expect, but Dowan’s world was fully encapsulated by the walls of the arena, and focused on his lithe, quick opponent. He saw the burning hatred of the arena in the other man’s eyes, his railing against being captured, enslaved, put up as fodder for the machine that was the pits. It was an issue long dead for Dowan, but he nodded his respect, and saw the final glimmer of uncertainty leave the other man’s eyes. They were gladiators, equal, and neither of them would die this day.<br/>
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The claxon rang, signaling the start of the fight, and the new one charged, seeking to take advantage of his opponent’s disarmed condition. Dowan dodged and weaved through the slashing saber attacks, slipped inside the other man’s reach and slammed the heel of his palm into the wiry man’s chest, lifting him off the ground and launching him through the air to land on his back in the sand. Instead of bearing down on his fallen foe, he paced back and waited for the fledgling gladiator to rise. Dowan flashed a fierce grin at the burning rage that rose with him and nodded once more, slow and patient, waiting for the other man to notice that Dowan had his saber. In that moment, Dowan charged, just as his opponent had, and launched the same attack. The new fighter replicated Dowan’s movements, but rather than sending a palm into Dowan’s chest, the spry gladiator produced a dagger, slipped inside Dowan’s mimicked attack and held it at Dowan’s throat. Dowan smiled, dropped the saber and acknowledged defeat. The crowd roared for the smaller man’s victory, and Dowan spoke in the midst of the noise. “No one will ever spare your life again. Do not waste it.”<br/>
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The younger gladiator stared hard, then nodded and dropped the dagger to his side. They bowed to each other, and Dowan was turning back toward his gate when a mocking cry rose up out of the crowd. “That’s all? That was the great Dowan Hess? I could have defeated this pathetic brute when I was but a boy!”<br/>
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Silence swept through the arena, and the other gladiator wisely took his exit. Dowan turned to face the heckler, and listened while he continued.<br/>
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“Your form is pathetic, your attacks slow, and your mercy disgusting. You are a disgrace to every gladiator alive and dead.”<br/>
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Dowan focused his dark gaze on the heckler. Young, rich, entitled, arrogant, stupid. Foolish. “Is that so?”<br/>
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The young noble lifted his chin. “It is, and I do say so myself.”<br/>
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Dowan’s brow rippled in capitulation. “Then perhaps you would be so good as to come down here and educate this brute with your superior technique and manner.” A nervous, murmuring tremor rolled through the crowd, but Dowan focused on his opponent. “Unless, of course, you find yourself incapable.”<br/>
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The young noble bristled, unfamiliar, apparently, with being spoken down to like the child he was. “By all means, Dowan the brute, I, Toffner Gilian III, will gladly enlighten you.” He disappeared in the crowd, apparently to find his way down into the arena.<br/>
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Dowan scanned the eyes in the crowd as he waited, seeing, to his surprise, sadness. As if their favorite had already died. He raised his fist, drew his sharp thumbnail across his chest in a line under his collarbone, letting his blood run down his front, <i>my blood for the arena.</i> The crowd went dead silent as he made his salute, a quiet reverence seizing their voices and their attention. Dowan saw their eyes move, and turned around to see the one who had called himself Toffner lifting his hammer. His eyebrow went up when Toffner nearly overbalanced himself in lifting the weapon, but he fell into a balanced poise that resembled a fighting stance.<br/>
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“Well, brute?” Toffner taunted. “Retrieve your sword and let us end this farce.”<br/>
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“My apologies, your highness, but I thought you would be the one giving the demonstration. Surely you do not mind attacking an unarmed combatant.”<br/>
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Toffner furrowed his brow at that, but the jeers of the crowd got under his skin. “Surely not, brute. Watch and learn.” Toffner charged, holding the hammer up in both hands, and whirled as he reached Dowan, spinning like a dervish and launching a perfectly executed series of thrusts and sweeps that, had they landed, would have crippled or killed Dowan. Dowan moved only enough that the attacks rushed past him or glanced off of his body, until the younger man had completed his routine and fallen back into his poised stance. “That, fighter, is the meaning of speed and grace. This is perfection.”<br/>
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“My gratitude, oh noble one,” Dowan bowed his head, “for your most helpful display.”<br/>
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The noble lifted his chin and scoffed. “Too right. Maybe your next fight will at least be entertaining.” He dropped the hammer in the sand and turned his back on Dowan as he marched away.<br/>
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He never saw the cunning gleam in the pit fighter's eyes. “Maybe if you were to enter the arena as an actual gladiator, we could settle this as men.”<br/>
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Toffner stopped mid-stride, twitching into a sudden rigidity. “What,” he seethed, “did you just say to me?” He turned what would have been a withering glare on Dowan.<br/>
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Dowan shrugged easily. “Well, your nobleness, how are we to test your claim if you remain in your lofty station? Descend to my level, brat, become a gladiator, and we will see who will best whom.”<br/>
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“You… you dare speak to me in such a manner?”<br/>
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“When I see a sniveling coward on these sands, that is all they are,” Dowan replied.<br/>
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Toffner’s eyes went bloodshot as his rage shook his entire frame. He sputtered, and was about to speak, but Dowan cut him off.<br/>
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“Filthy, worthless, pathetic. The arena has no place for cowards. Go crawl back to your fop of a father, boy, and leave the arena to the concern of better men.”<br/>
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Toffner fumed, then turned his fury on the announcer. “Arena master! Enter me as this combatant’s next bout, right this instant!” He turned back to Dowan, snarling. “You will pay for your insolence, wretch.”<br/>
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Dowan bowed in mockery of court finery with a tiny smile curling his lip. “As would befit my station, I am sure.”<br/>
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Toffner, still snarling, kicked the hammer toward Dowan’s feet, and lifted the saber. “I’ll make this quick.”<br/>
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Dowan kept his opponent in his periphery, and nodded to the arena master. “Far be it from us to act against the word of a nobleman,” he raised his arms to the crowd, “am I right?” The crowd roared in jubilant approval and savage bloodlust.<br/>
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The announcer shook his head at Dowan, but made the announcement. “Ladies and gentleman, Dowan Hess, the doomed gladiator, versus our very own, newly minted gladiator, Toffner Gilian! Fighters, choose your weapons!” Dowan made a show of bowing to the noble as he bent down to lift his hammer. Toffner brandished the saber, then fell into the very same poised stance from before. “Begin!” The crowd roared, and Dowan charged immediately. Toffner’s eyes bugged out as Dowan closed the distance, interrupted the saber’s flourish with a bat of the hammer’s head, and lashed out with a kick that Toffner was forced to leap back to avoid. Dowan came on without missing a beat, sweeping the hammer through a stroke that flung the saber from the noble’s hand. He stepped into the noble’s reach before he could recover and used his gauntleted fist to backhand the noble’s face, sending a bitter spray of blood from Toffner’s mouth. Toffner reeled back, regained his balance then looked back just in time to see that same fist crash into the bridge of his nose. Before he could fall to the ground, Dowan dropped his hammer, gripped the noble’s wrist, then dropped an elbow into the man’s bicep. The sound of breaking bones echoed through the arena, but Toffner had no air to scream, clearly experiencing real pain for the first time in his life. Dowan raised his foot then stomped into the inside of Toffner’s knee, and again a sickening crack resounded through the silent arena. Toffner fell to a knee, and Dowan raised an arm to drop the back of his elbow into Toffner’s neck. Toffner collapsed into a heap, unable to move.<br/>
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Dowan’s face was calm, the same serene mask he had worn while listening to the now broken man’s words. He bent down, lifted the foot of the unbroken leg, set his foot on the inside of the thigh, gripped the ankle in both hands then stomped down, shattering the femur. This time Toffner screamed, and kept screaming. Dowan kicked him over onto his chest, took the unbroken arm by the wrist, and pulled it straight backward as he dropped a knee into the man’s spine. Toffner went silent, unable to draw breath. Dowan’s voice was quiet, but the air was completely still.<br/>
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“Now, as a noble, we all know that Toffner Gilian III is better than us. He’s mightier than us. He’s better bred and more powerful, bigger, stronger, faster, and smarter than we will ever be. But when you step into my arena, you are nothing. No one. You have no name until you earn it, and you have earned nothing. You are nothing.” Dowan lifted the saber that Toffner had dropped, inspected the blade, then used it to carve Toffner’s bicep from his arm. He crushed the man’s chest under his knee so Toffner could not draw air to scream or otherwise interrupt. “You are pathetic, weak, and slow. Perfect in form, perfect in predictability, perfectly defeated. Now, young noble, you were raised to believe you were above contempt, above reproach, above the blade. Let us see if that is true.” Dowan yanked the brat up by his mutilated arm, bending him backward over the knee buried in his spine, then swept the saber out in a stroke that separated Toffner's noble head from his noble shoulders, sending it rolling through the gladiator’s sands. Dowan’s upper lip curled in disgust. “I guess not.” He pitched the saber and the body to the ground, retrieved his hammer, then let the silence watch him take his leave from the arena.<br/>
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<a class="username" data-user-id="6" data-username="@Kalinda" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/6/">@Kalinda</a></span>