The Sipeyn Colosseum

[Bospy]

A massive feat of engineering by the former Republic of Sipeyn, the Colosseum represents an old, barbaric, and deadly tradition all for the sake of entertainment of crowds in Sipeyn. The Emperor's palace connects to his observation seat, his massive post standing far above anyone with a weapon. The ancient Jute tradition is an old, barbaric remnant of the past that still remains in Sipeon's society. On this day, the Basileus of Sipeos sits quietly on his perch, watching as a crowd assembles below.

[Blitz]

Nine giants enter the palace, adorned conservative, summertime clothes and wearing silver trinkets. One of them makes their way into the coliseum, concealed in a large cloak with a hood. It has fur adorning its pauldrons. The nine make their way to Basileus' observation room, if they would be permitted by his guards to approach him. Eight men stand with one woman holding a large basket, they all bow in respect, the woman kneeling and raising the large basket over her head towards the king, being at almost the same height as a standing human. The basket is full to the brim with exotic furs and some odd fruits. The woman speaks Sipeon in a heavy accent,"The Confederates of Bjørgvolsa respect and honor the Emperor of Sipeos and his nation. We bear these gifts to you, and have brought our greatest warrior."

The hooded giant stands unarmed in the coliseum, waiting patiently.

[Bospy]

The guards allow them entry, and soon after the Emperor receives them he beams with a broad smile. His frail, old bones make a racket as he stands to accept the gift, dressed in full red and with a massive crown atop his head. 


"Thank you, friends. Your people are truly courageous to show up for this fight, and it is my hope that we have ourselves a nice day. Soon we shall begin this fight, and I'm sure my guards have reserved a special seat much like mine."


Soon, the giants are whisked away to a similar observation post that views the battle with ease, but is lower than the Basileus' post.

[Blitz]

An envoy of hardy looking, middle-aged scowling men approach the Emperor. They wear highly decorated dress uniforms, heavy trench coats, and various patches that denote their ranks. A young lad, wearing rather drab clothes compared to his older companions, approaches the Emperor and stands at attention. He declares loudly in broken Sipeon,"The Republic of Pycheko has come to compete in your arenas! The 5th Strelky Penal Battalion offers their best fighter, who will win his freedom if he succeeds this day! The gracious Czar offers his finest crate of Pychekan alcohol!"

[Bospy]

"Ahh, a gift of great value! Thank your Czar, sir, for I am sure he is a man of great martial. Perhaps your slave could become a eunuch if he got freedom."


The colosseum begins to be flooded with Sipeyn's many people, huge swathes of crowds gathering in the booths and on the sidelines. Trap doors begin to open up from under the sandy arena, soldiers being lifted up by hand-operated elevators under the ground.

[Omni]

A two Jotun folk enter the palace, accompanied by an escort of Sipeon guards. Even though the two nations were currently at peace, they had a long history of hostilities, and they had been greeted at the border with suspicion.  On the way to the capital, there had been trouble in a small town.  One of the Jotun warriors got into a tavern fight with a local. One is dressed in a leather coat of sorts- the only real thing that distinguishes him from a commoner is a flowing, blue cloak pinned together by a sapphire broach.  He's sheathed sword in his hands, but he's clearly not the intended contestant.  Then there's the other man.  The warrior.   He's dressed in a knee-length leather tunic, with steel, angular shoulder-pauldrons.  The crest on his tunic identifies him as a member of the House Serren, lords of Whitethorn.  His right arm also bears the same angular, steel armoring, ending in a clawed, steel gauntlet.  Sheathed at his belt is a longsword on fine make.  The man has long, unkempt hair, and light stubble.  He's at least twenty-five.

The man holding the sheathed sword, wearing the cloak, steps forward.

"We were told there was to be a tournament.  Jon Callistan, King of Jotun, Lord of Drakkenfel, sends his regrets that he could not attend.  I am Kevan Darnet, royal ambassador and counsel to the king.  With me is Ser Robert Serren- he is our chosen combatant." The man kneels, holding up the sheathed sword, offering it to the Siphon emperor.  Ser Robert winces a little bit, clearly uncomfortable with the idea of bowing down to a foreign king, but soon follows suit.

"We offer you this blade- forged by our finest smiths out of silver mined in the Sokanni mountains."

[Blitz]

The robed giant, stands stock still, it's fists tightening as the soldiers are raised into the arena. The wind picks up, and the giant's hood raises up and falls off. It is the head of a giant woman, her skin is a deep blue. She has a shave head, and a very calm look about her. With each exhale through her nostrils, a visible icy breathe melts into the air.

[Bospy]

The Emperor runs his hand along his white beard, nodding in acceptance of the two envoys. He smiles broadly, taking the sword.


"There is no need to bow to me, brother. Respect yourself. I thank you for your great gift, send my regards to your King."


The various gladiators in different armors stand, their swords drawn. Until a horn is sounded by the Emperor, they've got nothing else to do. Sweating profusely, some of the gladiators dressed in leather and cloth quake in fear of the giant. One man, clad in armor made entirely of steel, drags his sword in the sand around him. 


The Jotun fighters as well as the Pycheken fighters are led to a tunnel at the bottom of the colusseum, soon being placed on platforms and lifted into the sandy arena.

[Omni]

The lone Jotun fighter, Ser Robert, looked to the Pychekan combatants, unimpressed.  He adjusts some of angular steel plate armor attached to his right arm; he's a swordsman, through and through.  Shields were too cumbersome, and Bastard Swords were too unwieldy.  He entered the king's tournament the prior year; none, least of all himself expected him to win.  But win he did.  And so the king had chosen him to represent Jotun in the Sipeyn colosseum. Now he fought in a strange place, alone.  He unsheathes his sword, preparing for battle.

[Blitz]

The Pychekan penal soldiers, with tattooed markings on their foreheads, are a very odd bunch. They're a mix of half-blooded Orcs and Elves, Orcs, and humans. They do have one thing in common though: They all have tattoos across their forehead detailing their crimes, and are wearing ragged military uniforms with no markings of rank. They stand ten in number, and are all with mixed weaponry. They all share the same look in their eyes: The desperate, vicious glare of a cornered animal ready to fight.

They are forced off of the elevator platforms by armed, uniformed Pychekan soldiers. Shoving and beating them into the arena. Once the small squad has been kicked off the elevator, the few guards descend back down it.

The frost giant, on the other hand, stands alone, she takes a knee and lowers her head. Her lips move as she mutters something, her icy breathe taking off with the wind.

[Bospy]

The fifteen Sipeon gladiators, dressed in tans robes to full suits of armor, all frantically stare at one paticular gladiator who drags his sword across the sand. He grins, slowly bringing his close helmet down on his face. His suit is entirely steel, and his helmet is lined with gold. Armed with a blade that appears to be about a foot in length, his posture appears much different from the scared farmers and forced fighters around the stadium. All of the gladiators, regardless of nationality, have been placed in a circular arrangement, facing one man across from them with two men beside them, at least ten meters away.


Soon, the Emperor's entourage converse, and the crowd goes completely silent. One of the Emperor's guards raises a golden ceremonial trumpet to his lips.


The horn is blown, and the gladiators frantically scramble to fight one another. The man with golden bits in his helmet dispatches four Sipeon gladiators in minutes, his skill with the sword outmatching his incompetent and scared opponents. The crowd goes wild as blood is spilled across the sandy texture of the colosseum, their screams echoing the words "DAGOP!".

[Omni]

As the combatants take their places, Ser Robert quietly looks amongst them, readying his sword.  He had two real concerns; the Pychekans, and the Sipeon man in gold.  The Giant was large and easy to see; she could be dealt with later.  The Sipeon man was an obvious threat; he would prove a challenge.  The Pychekan men were a problem of a different kind; they were fighting for their freedom.  And they were raw, untrained.  Dangerous.  Like a feral wolf.


The horn blows.  He moves like a silent, angry wraith, focusing on thinning out the crowd, though the man in gold remains in the back of his mind.  He pulls his blade across the neck of a Sipeon combatant, quickly moving from his first kill back into a defensive posture. 

[Blitz]

The Pychekans raise their weapons in the air and let out a chilling war cry, full of anger, and mournful sadness,"NAAASHUT!" They raise their weapons in the air and charge as a group towards the Sipeons. They seem to be rallied by a large half-orc with many criminally identifying tattoos on his body, and as a result they try to work as a coherent unit to defeat their enemies. 

The frost giant stands at the sound of the horn, tightening her gauntlets around her hands. She charges into the crowd as well, swinging her fists like mad at anyone who stands before her.

[Bospy]

The Emperor smiles with delight as the fight continues on, staring at a trio of blue-dressed men around him who smile in return. 


"These northern men are quite organized. Diligent, easy, united. I wonder how they'll fare when they realize that only one man will win today."


Soon, the crowd of about 15 Sipeon gladiators is thinned out to five by skilled fighters. The nobleman with golden jewels on his armor fights off many of the Pychekens and avoids the massive giant, seeing his Sipeon brothers being torn asunder and their bodies split in two, organs splintering in all directions. The rest of the Sipeon gladiators are relatively easy to kill, but the noblemen has killed nearly seven Sipeons and five Pychekens.


A messenger scurries up to the Emperor in the observation post, quietly delivering his words. Soon, the Emperor's face turns pale. He stares out over the battlefield, dismissing several men in blue.

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