Gladiator Six, a narrative retelling.

[Joslae]

Chapter 1: The Yellow of His Eyes
Part 1 of 2

The yellow eyes of gladiator six drifted from the corpse he had made to the yet-living, and physically imposing body of gladiator two, human, taller than him by a head but Six was scheming his downfall like it was a sure thing. Two was cumbersome and while their movements could make an impact befitting their size there was no strategy. Bulging with muscle and scars Two would be any spectator’s best bet when compared to the lean form of the yellow eyed Six. The arena floor was unnaturally cold to the touch of the fighter’s bare feet, formed of some ancient stone unnatural to the arid deserts of Tatooine, it had been an arena for centuries, but the Lords never dared step upon it, this was not a ground worthy of their presence, even looking at it insulted those with contempt to spare. Awash with the stains of past blood spilled, and the now pooling blood of gladiator four none could guess at the natural colour of the carved stone, it looked sickened. Around the circular arena floor, the walls were high and smooth, carved from the more natural rocks of the planet, and atop them were the spectators to the event. Six doubted any audience would linger for this occasion, it was merely a proving a means to clear gaps in the pens for new blood, the combat here was often ferocious, Six could tell by the calls and roars when a day of tournament was in progress, those with a worthy voice would call out their commands. But today, the high walls were not lit by the stone carved torches of the upper seating, the space above was taxed of all life.
Six only had moments to react to the blade of Two cutting across toward his left shoulder, driven by the physical prowess of his opponent it was as if the blade parted the very air. His feet had been poised, and he sprang in the same direction as the strike. Parting his position and rolling Six’s movement was too fast for Two to act with efficiency, regardless the brute swung with the missed blow and then swung in the opposite direction to carry himself in pursuit. Six cursed his distraction that allowed him to put his opponent on the offensive. Even now as he narrowly ducked under the follow-up strike, that would’ve decapitated him if he’d been a fraction slower, Six could only respect his foe for their might. The broad arc of the follow up strike leant itself into coming down from the direction it flailed off into down across to embed itself in Six’s collarbone. Having ducked, Six realised his mistake of underestimating the lummox, the blade crashed downward and with his legs flexed, he was stuck in place and thus he could not lower himself any further without breaking his legs, arising would mean the blade met him harder and rolling would get his arm cut off. He had no time to comprehend it as his blade rose to meet his opponent’s almost with a will of its own, pivoted down and away from the point of impact Two’s blade ricocheted off the angled surface and carried itself and its wielder off to the side. The unlikely parry provided an opening, with Two’s balance little more than history and his broad chest threatening to crush Six as it rotated on two fumbling legs. Six released the tension in his contracted legs and leaping up and across the width of his opponent’s chest, which seemed to last forever, his blade still angled, bit deep from the ribs up and across and through the bulging muscles of Two’s neck. The leap being more potent than he could’ve judged made the landing messy, all his weight shifting onto one foot, swayed by his arms that followed and then the rest of his body mass colliding with the floor. Gladiator Six groaned as his elbow bone collided with the unnatural stone of the arena floor. Sitting up in an instant he realised the left leg of his garb was moist, expecting to no longer have a leg his yellow eyes rumbled with curiosity when he saw blood with no noticeable wound to accompany it. Immediately his gaze flung itself up to Gladiator Two, who’s movements were sharp and convulsive. Six understood the outcome, he had seen many men, and women, in such a state. Soon Two would succumb to drowning in his own blood and Six would be given his evening meal.
Prompted by the fight’s conclusion the form of Bentar walked from the shadows he had inhabited, the Twi’lek’s broad frame came into the focus of the meagre lightrods that just about illuminated the arena for the fighters, the light was better when the fight was being spectated, it gave Six more to see and he had begun to use the light as a mean of blinding his opponents when he leapt over them, Bentar wore a more serviced garb than Six and his peers, such was his position as arena keeper, a status Six had always longed for since he could comprehend ambition. The Twi’lek passed by the corpses of Two and Four with only meagre looks of disappointment, but as he approached Six it shifted to a gaze of malice. Six felt the spit in his mouth dry at meeting the eyes of the arena keeper.
“You took your time.” Bentar said. “This was to be a short matter, now you are late for the evening meal.”
Six’s heart sank. He had been muscling his hunger for the duration of the fight, tricking his mind into thinking it’d gain sustenance if it fought harder. Whether this line of thought had affected his actions he could not say, but he had managed to inexplicably avoid a death blow from Two, so perhaps it did.
“But I killed them?” Six said, his questions would always draw something vile from the soul of the arena keeper, and it would be half a beat of his human heart before Bentar planted his boot into it. Recoiling against the arena floor his arms and legs flattened so suddenly he thought his bones would shatter, his mouth opening to scream would be filled with the other boot. The impact engorged by being pinned in place he felt his neck strain as his head sprang off to the side from it.
As if it had been as easy as blinking Bentar discarded Six like a cloud of dust and walked over to the corpses of Four and Two. Not out of concern but given the pools of blood he was unlikely to be happy, it was his job to keep the arena floor clean and as he’d often say: “Blood has a tendency of leaving scars on the stone the arena is carved out of.” If he were not in crippling agony with his hands clutched to his chest Six would’ve expected to be thrown headfirst into the arena floor by the Twi’lek for making a mess. But as it was he could only focus himself on recovering and hoping his ribs had not been broken. They had been once and were it not for his victory over a visiting house’s prized fighter it was likely he’d have been thrown into the beast pits to sustain the strategically starved creatures before their own fights. It was during this time Six had met people that weren’t other fighters or Bentar, people that could leave the arena for the outside world, but they looked upon him as if they were in pain to be near him, so he didn’t ask his questions. Though he did once get asked one himself: “How is it your eyes are Yellow?” He had no answer to give to them, so the healer departed only with a look of curiosity. Six had recalled the healer many times in his dreams a female human like himself, but unlike those he had fought and killed, her skin was full and soft, features angular but without a speck of blood or dirt or muscle. She embodied what he’d consider a dead-drop, that was: one who would not last a fight past the first blow. And yet something drew him to remember her in good graces, her hair was black like his and her eyes bore a Smokey shadow around them that curled off into points toward her temples.
Six had no words for it, and naturally his questions posed to Bentar would just get him kicked so he dodged that avenue. But he could not shift the healer from his mind’s eye, her allure was mystical to his thoughts at the time. Being little more than a child when she was assigned to re-align his ribs he never forgot her face, indeed hers was one of the few that he could remember at all. The list of fighters that had come, died and gone numbered in the hundreds. Some stood out for their deformities, and others for their style but none were still living so he easily forgot them. Bentar was quick to dismiss the still contorted Gladiator Six and the adolescent did not hesitate to comply lest the impending punishment for spilling so much blood become a reality.

[Joslae]

Chapter 1: The Yellow of his Eyes
Part 2 of 2

As always, he walked from the arena through one of the two doors that lead into it on opposite sides, there was no mistaking the smell of the catacombs behind the arena, barely lit, the stench of faecal matter was thick on the air and often a means of navigating the maze of tunnels and corridors. The only thing containing the beasts that slept within ten metres of the fighters was a closed door, if those doors were accidentally opened by a fighter then the creatures would be set loose. Learning your way around was the first lesson, and the smell of animal waste was the way to tell you were walking into trouble. He made his way along the wall, relying less on his nose and more on his instincts as he walked the hallway, descending a stairway to the left, the stone steps of which were obnoxiously spread out in height. His own pen was the first on the left. Its position was as ceremonial as things got for the fighters. Closest to the door and given the most space it was the place of the survivor of the proving, a prestigious placement, dwarfed however by Bentar’s position as arena keeper, which gave the keeper the right to a name and to train new fighters as he saw fit. Bentar had always been stringent, some said he was once a soldier, a fighter who fights by choice for someone, to Six the term was alien but some of the fighters that came through had been acquired at a later age and so had some idea of the outside world. He took their world for it in most cases, his own experiences of the outside were limited. The most he could hope for was to look up to the spectator seating and see a sliver of sunlight as the door was opened for the audiences of the tournaments, he could have sworn that the light changed colour on different days though he did not understand why. Often pondering what lay beyond and his imagination gave birth to some truly horrific and yet awe-inspiring creations. His own thoughts were his only creation, even his pen would one day be replaced when he missed a parry and another fighter’s blade cut him down.


His pen was simple, yet extravagant, the lesser pens were more like fitted storage, like a blade rack. The space was exactly enough to fit the average grown male, no wider than the opening that lead into it and barely deep enough to lay down without one’s head resting against the back wall with their feet at the opening. Six had always had this problem, his height was what made him stand out, he wasn’t afforded extra food to bulk in muscle, so he remained lean, Bentar had explained this much to him after kicking him following him asking for more meat in his meal. Six believed he could fight better with more muscle, but adversely his victories had always come at the expense of greater foes weight, his agility was something to rely on. Remembering disembowelling Gladiator Four and opening the neck of Two his eyes drifted to where they both once slept. Two was opposite him and Four three down from that. Six often wondered how Two could sleep at all given his bloated form, just looking at the brute gave Six indigestion, meanwhile Four was the timid kind, he’d won a few fights and thus earned a place in the pens. In sparring Six had realised that Four was a deceptive fighter, the outset was frail, but the mind was sharp, Six never underestimated anyone and when the proving came around he had leapt at Four like a beast unto prey, hacking out the Cathar boy’s guts with maybe the second or third stroke of his blade. He had lost track when Bentar had clapped his hands, Six just leapt, he had been the victim of a temporary alliance between fighters at his previous five proving days and he was unwilling to let the strength of Two combine with the deceptions of Four.


Their pens were empty now, each destined to be filled with new blood, Six thought that he might see some new species this time, he had met the fur-clad Cathar, several Twi’leks like Bentar, some Rodians and even a prepubescent wookie cub in the past. The wookie was something of a fear factor for all, Bentar was certain to make sure that one of the fighters could kill it. As it happened the Gladiator Ten of those days had managed it, and Six had in turn killed her, usurping her place in the proving as the survivor. Memories of such times caused his chest to expand and a smile to form on his lips. As if as a hinderance to his senses he turned to walk into his room, but he had somehow not noticed the shadow in his doorway his foot colliding with something warm that came up to his knee he fell forward into the pen, his hands flew forward to prevent his head from bouncing off the stone floor barely masked by a Bantha hair futon. His prideful recollections washed from his mind in a shameful wave, he turned to face the root of his embarrassment wearing the visage of a wounded beast. To his surprise the thing that had embarrassed him squeaked as their eyes met and proceeded to rise to both legs only to fall back and digging their heels into the ground to retreat from him. The dark of the room eluding him as to whether he had tripped over a Jawa his senses soon collected the identity of the individual. The head was bulbous at the top, implying appendages, head-tails, Twi’lek, the frame was smaller than his own but the limbs long enough to match his age, yet they moved so erratically it was hard for him to discern anything else.


No new-blood should have arrived, and the figure had lingered over a wooden bowl, the scent betraying its contents as the gruel he had been raised on. His stomach exploded with joy, but his instincts overpowered his body’s growing fatigue as he quickly rose to his feet and pursued the Twi’lek. It was not uncommon for fighters to try to poison the food of others for an easy win, Six knew this because he had tried it against Gladiator Two the day prior, but the dosage was off and the brute shook it off as a headache. Quick on his feet and the Twi’lek in a panic caused Six to close the distance with enough speed to tackle a Zabrak clean off their feet. Bearing down on the Twi’lek the light of the room barely gave life to her features, female, perhaps she expected some hesitation from him at this revelation of gender, but as he grabbed her she squealed again. Hands around the green skin of her neck his thumbs poised over her airway he made his position clear, she knew what he was capable of, and he gave her the means to escape his combat cultivated instincts; questions.


“Who the hell are you?!”


“I-I-I’m,” The words stuck in her throat and she squirmed. Six responded by applying pressure to her soft throat.


“Answer me!”


“I’m Hathe!” The threat to her life providing her clarity as it did for Six in the arena.


“I don’t care about your name, who are you?!”


“I-I told you!”


Unsatisfied and feeling his rage boiling over Six raised one hand from her neck and struck her. The impact drawing a wail from her, satisfying him deeply.


“I said who are you?!”


“I w-was bringing you-your food!” Her answer was so hasty that she referred to the food as his own and not the masters Six immediately realised that she was a new addition and he had no doubt scared the girl just short of her vacating her bladder.


“Serving girls never linger here! What did you do to the meal?!” Six was under no delusion that her presence was an abnormality.


“N-Nothing!” Her pleas seemed genuine, but Six never underestimated anyone. Grabbing her by the scruff of the neck he’d pull her past the threshold of the pen and force her onto her front the wooden bowl sitting there in it’s place.


“Then eat!” His grip on her unrelenting, even tightening as he made his demand.


“W-What?!” She protested, though with uncertainty. The evidence was stacking.


“Eat it!” He yelled again tugging on one of the tails protruding from her skull, he knew this was a source of great pain for Twi’leks he had fought, why should a Serving Girl be different?


Like a gate responding to the pull of a chain a yelp protruded from her lips. One of her green hands extended outward and stuffed themselves into the food with such urgency Six had almost not seen it. She took a mouthful, tears streaking down her face her chews were idly mushing up the food, what focus she had was on the adolescent with her head pinned to the floor. She finished the mouthful and swallowed and Six simply held her there as his captive expecting a convulsing corpse to be all that would become of the girl. To his disdain at judging the situation badly she did not, the common poison of choice was venom extracted from Ackley hatchings among the fighters was known for such results. With her pleas and confusion, he had come to notice during his apprehending her Six gradually pieced the way of things together. She had made the meal delivery late and was about to leave the pen when he walked over her. His grip on her head tail releasing along with the grip on the back of his neck he scooped up the bowl and stepped over her whilst she lay in a heap sobbing. His grip on her neck had been met with metal, her collar marked her out as untrained. And as a serving girl rare were the ones who had their collars removed. Six had his own removed once he had aged past puberty into young adulthood, after kicking him Bentar had told him it was because puberty presented the hardest time for a servant to be controlled. He often wondered why that was, but he could make a guess having witnessed the males of bestial species fighting much harder in youth, that it was biological. He dug his hands into the bowl and ate, the Twi’lek simply remained in place weeping her way into a fetal ball. Courtesy suggested he had done her wrong and he should apologise, but Six was debating it, did she not understand the way of things? How could she not? Her crying served only to fuel his rage.


“Stop that.” He said bluntly, expecting her to fear him enough to respond immediately. She did not.


“Stop that right now woman!” He yelled with no consideration that the echoes would be carried down the hallways of the pens straight to the ear of Bentar.


She sniffed twice and rose to sit on her side her legs curled up and off to the side she did not make eye contact with him, some of the gruel dripping from the corner of her mouth, that annoyed Six too, such a waste. Six looked her over, she was dressed in clothing more fitting to a server for certain, the fabric was of a finer cut than his own garb, it was dirty from his man-handling her now, that’d serve only to get her punished. Knowing the wrath that punishments for negligence could bring he involuntarily rose to aid her gathering up one of the thin Bantha fur pillows that served to cushion his head while asleep. His approach sent a jolt of reflex through her green body and her face immediately turned to look at him, perhaps to conceive a guard to defend against another strike to her face. Her features were soft, yet angular, eyes a vivid blue and her lips defined despite the lack of variation in a Twi’lek’s skin colour and tissue colour, eye brows had been drawn on above her eyes and her head tails bore no markings. Struck aback by the girl’s appearance as her soft features reminded him of the healer he had dreamt of for years, his warrior’s mind was quick to shake the imbalance as he lowered to her level. The pillow in his hand he used to brush at her clothing. Naturally she tried to escape her former attacker, but he simply put her shoulder in a steel-clad grip and held her there, turning her intriguing face from him Six could not help but be disappointed by it’s loss from his sight. Holding her still he brushed her down, front and back with the pillow before straightening out the creases in the fabric. It was not much of a job, but it might aid the girl in dodging punishment because of him. And if it did not he can say he tried. Some half-way through the action the girl’s face met his own, her expression a mix of perplex and impending fright. Finishing the task, he assigned himself Six threw the pillow against the wall where it bounced back into place onto the bed and walked past her to collect his meal.


The Twi’lek could not have been quicker to leave. And with her departure it was suddenly clear to Six that the torches in the pens had died out. They had died down during his wrangling of the Twi’lek and extinguished while he had forced her to eat the meal he thought was poisoned, and yet he had retreated to the back of his pen with the food and seen her clearly through some unknown means, her eye colour, her lips, the lack of pattern on her head tails even her angular features and expression. Her picture was cemented in his mind, but his eyes could not have comprehended such detail in the darkness that enveloped the pens, he began to wonder how he had seen so much where anyone else would be blind. In that instant the picture of the Twi’lek disappeared replaced with the much less appealing Twi’lek face of Bentar at the opening of his pen. He didn’t even feel the kick that forced him to vomit up his previous mouthfuls of food, his mind a-wander.

[Joslae]

The last known headshot of Gladiator Six
This shall be my last post as I have departed the discord and subsequently the guild, I had genuine good times in my short membership and I hope the community only grows. This picture was a commission with the deviant artist Varjopihlaja whose customer service was stellar and I heartily recommend her for any works you’d like to persue.

A fond farewell

-Solitaire (Ravnor/Varsyke)