Guild icon
ROLEPLAY HQ
📬 1:1 Roleplay (F-G) / friday-night-fire-fight
Triggers: Blood, Gore, Violence, Drug and Alcohol abuse, sexual themes, generally dark themes
Avatar
The ragged gasp of his opponent was drowned out by the loud cheers of the spectators as the gladiator shoved the spear deeper into their diaphragm. Their mouth gaped open and closed as they struggled to breathe. The look of terror and desperation was as clear as day on their face, but the gladiator stared back with cold, unemotional eyes. For someone who has seen this look more times than he could count, it no longer phased him. They were just the stepping stones to a better life—a way to get out of here. Soon enough, he saw the light within their eyes flicker out as the corpse fell limp against his weapon. With a sharp yank, his spear tore free from the hole it created. He raised the bloody weapon over his head and let out a feral cry of victory. The crowd roared even louder as they chanted "Ah-quil-ah! Ah-quail-ah!" ------
7:29 PM
Despite the rush of dopamine that came with each battle he won and the chanting of his name, Aquila wanted nothing more than to get out of the gladiator school he was forced to attend and live a tranquil life somewhere scarce of people. The only reason he was here was due to having to repay the debt his idiotic brother created. The man couldn't help but release a slow sigh of relief as he felt the cold water from the shower run down his heated body. The stinging slashes, nicks, and bruises he gained from the arena immediately quelled as the water flushed out the grime and dirt within them. Staring down at the floor, he could see the rivulets of bloodied water swirling toward and down the drain. His mind was blank with exhaustion and hunger. Out of everything he had to endure in the school, the one thing he did appreciate was the steak you got if you won. It wasn't the best he'd had before, but he'd take the barely seasoned, well-done hunk of meat over the sorry excuse of food everyone typically got during each meal. After cleaning up in the shower he redressed himself, which was nothing more than a loincloth that barely covered his genitalia, and made his way to the mess hall. Once there, he grabbed his hard-earned meal before retreating toward the cell in which he slept. He had only gotten through half his meal when two of the school's appointors walked into his cell. "Hey!" He snapped as they roughly grabbed his arms which caused him to drop his plate with a loud clatter against the floor. He tried to jerk out of their grasp, but a harsh blow to his temple that caused him to see stars made him cease his struggle. When they got out of his cell, their vice-like grip was still on his arms, but after growling out that he was going to follow them, they reluctantly removed their hands and herded him back to the arena. (edited)
7:29 PM
@MJ Miracle <<||°_°||>>
Avatar
Marcel Armano BOT 10/13/2024 10:06 AM
Your destination of the St. Martinez Arena will be reached in 5 minutes. The voice of his digital assistant tore Marcel out of his thoughts. Behind his wide shaded glasses, his eyes trailed out the window of his car into the streets of the Metastrata District. It was crowded and lively as always with few minor traffic jams here and there. Luckily to his advantage, he was one of the privileged people to be granted access to use the express lane. A small holographic window suddenly appeared in the corner of his eye, a notification about the latest news revolving all around St. Escriva. Nwadike Corp. Tech gains further popularity and size- Marcel scoffed to himself before closing the notification again. Right now he had other plans. Not soon after, the car finally came into a stop in front of the large building, it's outer ring resembling somewhat of a Roman arena. The doors of his black BMW were opened by one of his guards, allowing Marcel to step out. His name was one well known and feared around all parts of St. Escriva: Marcel Armano, or as his nickname suggested, Chrome. Though as for the irony, he was one of the few people who barely had any implants. His frame was tall and lean, the half opened front of his white suit still exposing a impressive set of dark bronze muscles. Several large long braids adorned with small pieces of silver tumbled over his shoulders as he made his way into the building. Two guards followed the man in silence as he passed through the halls to enter one of the elevators that would bring him to the spectator balcony. There he was certain to meet with the owner of this whole building and more importantly, all the gladiators this school had to offer. The elevator door opened with a small ding again as
10:06 AM
Marcel entered the wide lounge with an open balcony, the perfect view to watch all the fights from above yet up close. Marcel wasn't surprised that he could already hear the small bald man yapping about some minor inconveniences, clearly still unaware about his presence as he stepped closer, leaving his guards at the elevator door... @Blue Hound
Avatar
"— bitch can't do anything right! I'll have to clean up the goddamn mess like al— wwAAYYS!" The pudgy little man's voice pitched in fright upon realizing Marcel's sudden arrival after pivoting on his heel to throttle whoever he was complaining about. It took him a moment to regain his bearings, but once he did, the snappish, condescending voice he held a moment before quickly shifted to one of overly pleasant and modest. "....Ahh! You must be Master Armano! It is my greatest pleasure to have you here at St. Martinez Arena." Mr. Brimsley greeted with a bow before rising back up. Despite his lower teeth and jaw being completely made of gold, He somehow was still able to express a sheepish and apologetic smile. "I am truly sorry about being ill-prepared for your arrival. I shall fetch the gladiators right away, Sir." Without a moment to spare, he raised his hand which glinted in the sunlight from the massive golden rings that adorned each of his fingers to call for a servant. Like a good slave, they arrived in a heartbeat, bowing low to Mr. Brimsley as he gave off a list of about a handful of different names. Once done, they scurried off. Turning his attention back to Marcel, the little man gestured toward the edge of the balcony as an invitation to watch the gladiators show off their fighting prowess. It took a few moments to swap out the current fighters with the ones who were going to be on display, but once they were, Marcel would have been able to see 4 women and 3 men lined up a few paces away from a practice dummy. Every single one of them wore the bare minimum amount of clothing; sparse loincloths and/or a single strapped bra, to show off the bulging muscles, scars, and any kind of obvious, cheap implants they might have.
5:34 PM
With a sharp whistle from Mr. Brimsley, the first gladiator, a middle-aged dark-skinned woman, stepped up toward the dummy to show off her skills. After a while of throwing well-trained punches, kicks, and an occasional show of weaponry use, she spun to face the balcony the two men stood upon and bowed before walking off to the sidelines so the next person could perform. For each performance, the bald man informed the young lad of the gladiators' names and how they came to the school. Eventually, the last fighter stepped up to the dummy. He was a tall man who had shortish brown hair with closely shaved sides and a closely shaved brett-styled beard. His body was littered with battle scars, but the most obvious one was a large, dark scar that started at the back of his neck and trailed down toward the middle of his bicep. Surrounding the scar were more scars, albeit smaller and appeared more man-made than natural; as if someone carved them into his skin. "The last one is named Aquila Gaius, age 30. He came here a little over a decade ago due to needing to repay a hefty debt his deceased brother acquired." Mr. Brimsley supplied. When Aqualia went to attack the dummy, his movements were powerful, agile, and well-placed. Despite his skills though, it was obvious that he favored kicking rather than punching. He also had his head tilted to the left the entire time he performed, implying he was blind sighted on that side. Unlike the others, he did not show himself using a weapon.
5:34 PM
Once he finished his performance, he faced the balcony and bowed. With him facing them, one would see an ugly vertical scar running down the left side of his face and eye. Within the eye socket, there was an eye implant that was so cheap its sole purpose was just to make sure his eye socket and eye anatomy continued to function properly. It served no visual input. He returned to his full height but didn't move as the rest of the fighters returned into line beside him. They all were now watching the balcony, waiting for Marcel's verdict on who he'd like to watch fight in an actual duel or not.
5:34 PM
@MJ Miracle <<||°_°||>>
Avatar
Marcel Armano BOT 11/17/2024 12:13 PM
The little shriek the small man let out was like that of a pig. A pig that was frightened at the glimpse of the butchers knife. Marcel had heard a few good things about Brimsleys gladiators. They performed well in the arenas. A promising and necessary requirement. From the start, Marcel only felt disgust towards this little sweaty palmed man. Rows of golden teeth, his fat grabby little fingers adorned with more gold and gems. Given the bad taste in his mouth, Marcel only raised his eyebrows behind his visor sunglasses as he watched Mr. Brimsley in front of him stammer away while rubbing his little sweaty hands. "Mr. Brimsley I assume?." Marcel only acknowledged the small man with a small side glance. "I do hope that your gladiators will be worth my time." He noted as he walked up besides Brimsley. Behind his visors, his eyes scanned over the sandy, round arena that surely hosted bidding training fights for the public as well. It didn't take long for the gladiators to step into the ring. 20 gladiators in total were brought in front of them on display, bowing in unison towards their master and his guest. Each of the slaves was given a number and name. Marcel only listened half to those details that Brimsley skimmed while Marcel removed his visor. They revealed two different types of eyes: left a deep natural brown while the right was clearly mechanical, two pupils and irises on top of each other that gave off a soft comparably bright amber glow. While Marcel scanned over each of their postures, for a quick moment his eyes stayed on a man, 15th in the row. For a moment that seemed like an eternity, they both held eye contact, before Marcel began choosing the most promising numbers out loud. All that while the eye contact remained. The 20 Gladiators were quickly rendered down to 8. Each of them lined up, demonstrated their skills at a training dummy presented. While Brimsley went on about each and everyone of them,
12:13 PM
Marcels eyes kept track about each of their movements and fighting techniques. None of them really sat right with him. Each of them he stopped soon after with a raised hand, signaling he'd seen enough. As he was about to loose hope, the last man stepped up to the dummy. His kicks were more precise, powerful with acceptable stance. Still, Marcel did not overlook the impairef field of vision in his posture and fighting style. A big disadvantage. Aquila was the first one to be granted just a few seconds more than the others before he finished his display. Now that all of the fighters were rowed up again, Marcel still looked looked at Aquila with stern gaze, no emotion to be read from him. "Nr. 2 with 5, Nr. 8 with 9." Marcel spoke loudly after that long pause, letting his gaze wander over the gladiators before stepping away from the balcony to take his seat, waiting for the gladiators to prepare themselves... @Blue Hound
Exported 11 message(s)
Timezone: UTC-10