Ragnarok

[Rookwood]

Regilus Gaius Voxus stands as the most powerful gladiator of his day. Crowds scream when he swings steel, roar when he draws blood. Undefeated, he has lived longer than any gladiator is expected to survive. But this is no mere stroke of luck. His blood carries noble Nordic blood, descended from the gods of Northern mythology. Forsaken, cursed, and a fallen half god despised by his own father, he was abandoned, alone, shacked to fulfill a life without destiny. Regilus spent his days fighting for a life he found becoming less valuable by every moon that passed.

He lived only to see another day.

A Roman of noble birth saw strength and compassion where others saw death. She braved gladiator pits and dungeon cells to visit him nearly every night. The daughter of Idith, queen of Rome, wife of the Emperor Cassius, loved Regilus, gladiator or not. And most likely, the consequence of the discovery of their relationship would have him killed and the daughter disgraced.

But she was not the only one who watched him.

His father Njord, saw potential. Power. Ambition. Reasoning. Danger that threatened his throne. He wanted no man but him on the throne of the gods, for his own ambition was rivaled by none.

But Zeus saw a child. Neglected, lost, furious. But a soul that wanted nothing more than redemption. To prove he was worthy of a role in this world.

He would get his chance soon.

The Greek gods paid no homage to the Nordics, and rightfully so. Zeus led the greatest Pantheon of gods the heavens had ever seen. Yet, Njord and his brother Loki grew jealous of the power the God of Thunder possessed. They tricked him, fooling him into losing his great power over the heavens, and spread the dark stain of chaos across the realm of the gods. The world fled into panic, two sides pitched into a mortal battle no one could ever win.

Regilus wielded the power of neutrality. Neither good nor evil took his heart. Only a chaotic sense of what was right or wrong made him immune to the destruction that corrupted the souls of so many. And, perhaps, only he can pass through the fires of the Underworld unscarred to return the former peace the world demands.​

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Lurid sweat shone brightly on his muscled figure in the midst of the evening torches. A trickle of blood rolled, curling like a snake down the length of his arm, wrapping itself around the hilt of his sword. The humid air of the Roman summer matted his long tangle of dark, hazel hair, moisture dotting his dark, sun touched complexion. The arena was near deathly silent, as the conclusion of the month's tournament faced each other off. Regilus had little doubt that thousands of pounds of gold were riding on his defeat.

The entire competition had been designed that way, much of the trials pitted against him. While other contestants had one, or even two tigers or wild animals to fight off, or simply one on one matches to deal with, everything he'd dealt with had the odds stacked almost disgustingly against him. Much to the crowd's delight or dismay, he overcame each one of them. His swordplay was a dance, theirs, was brute brawling. A single swing of the enemy gave Regilus time to deliver three, and he had not met a match of his own talent yet.

But the final opponent that had made it past until now was a different story. A disgraced captain of the Roman army, defeating Regilus would have the captain back in his ranks. The captain was skilled, grizzled, and he could see the desperate glint in his eye that yearned to thrust his blade between Regilus' throat. Unfortunately, they had given each blow for blow, and stared at each other in a stalemate, each eyeing the wounds they had scored on each other's body. Suddenly, the Roman leapt forward, hoping to catch Regilus off guard.

The final lunge was reckless. He had relied on Regilus being worn out, but he was ready, more or less still sober but eager for the fight. The captain thrust his sword at his chest, nicking him in the rib, but unable to score a killing blow. Regilus simply twisted around the protruding arm, and with a vicious hack, smited the poor captain's arm in two.

The crowd exploded.

A near half hour long of fighting to be ended so quickly, the crowd's pent up cries rang around him. The captain had cringed down, screaming, cradling his now crippled limb.

Regilus had this peculiar policy of sparing all his opponents, whether the king wanted him to do so or not. In fact, he'd stopped looking for the thumbs up or down a long time ago. Not a number of whip lashes had changed it, either.

The servants nervously carted the captain away, to the infirmary. The young worker eyed the arm nervously at the ground, and after a second of pondering, grabbed the bloodied arm and trotted off after the rest to the infirmary.

Regilus himself was led away afterwards. The usual brawny guards tied his wrists as tightly as they could, eyeing his cool face warily. There had once been a guard who had spat at Regilus, after losing a bet on his defeat. Regilus had broken his neck in seconds, dark, steel colored eyes as stoic as ever.

 

[Talin]

Arissa sat next to her parents in the viewing box, built above the commoners and giving them a birds eyes view of the fights. several had come and gone, none holding as much interest for the princess save one. She’d kept tabs on him, the guards feared him and it made her smile. They were cruel, just like her father, however Arissa was kind, a true gem amongst the nobles. Her straight nose and creamy unmarred complexion set her high above the other nobles. Everyone knew who she was, everyone. Dark brown almost black hair curled about her face in soft waves while her blue green eyes missed nothing.

The man certainly knew how to gain her attention, Regilus, even his name cause her heart to palpitate uncontrollably in her chest. Sitting there she watched, the white toga she wore was trimmed in gold a true symbol of her honor amongst the rest. The gold leaf crown she was forced to wear in public, sat upon her glorious locks. To keep from standing up and cheering when he got in a good hit she clenched a corner of the finely pressed garment and crinkled it in her palm. Her blue green eyes went wide when he was hit, but she was able to stay in her seat. The crowd helped fill the place with tension.

The guard she knew well, he’d dined at their table with the rest of the men many months ago. Never fully understanding what it was he’d done, she’d dropped the thought before she spoke it and got herself in trouble. Cheering with the crowd when he won she stood from her lesser throne and clapped as she had for the other winners although she wished to give him more of applause than was appropriate. Once they bound him and led him away, her father made the call for the finish of the battles.

“We’ll resume tomorrow, go home.” the people filed out, some still chatting about the events and others quiet. Meeting her father’s gaze she moved to his side and pressed a kiss to the apple of his cheek. “Did you enjoy the battles today Arissa?”

“Very much so father, I especially liked the last one, it kept me on my toes for I never really knew who to expect as a winner.” Seeing his nod she watched as a few servants approached. “Goodnight Father.” She stifled a yawn and headed to her room. She had to change and act quickly of be caught. Her mother was ill and in bed, she suspected her mother needed a rest from the battling. Too much blood made her ill, she was weak of stomach. Passing their room she peeked in and found her sleeping, Closing the door she moved away to her own quarters.

Each night he battled it was required by her to send him sustenance. She knew they treated him ill in the gladiator’s pens, or cages. Hating the fact he could not be free she tried to make sure he was cared for. A doctor would tend his wounds in the morning unless she felt it was needed then, she knew it wouldn’t be necessary. Thought tonight was different; she wanted to see him face to face. She’d always watched from afar, but no longer would she hid behind her crown, she would make herself known. At only 19 the princess was already the epitome of poise and grace. Changing into a darker toga, one in a dark grey color she pulled it on and made her way out and into the shadows, sandaled feet barely made a sound as she walked. The midnight blue hooded cape she wore covered her well, these meetings, if they became regular she would need her identity kept a secret.

Her heart was racing so fast when she rounded the bend on the cages; she didn’t stop as the guard approached, and tossing him coins she spoke quietly. “You never saw me.” The tray of food sat on a cart; she retrieved it and moved past on swift feet. Most nobles had a favorite and she was shocked he hadn’t caught another’s eye. Coming to his pen she grasped the torch in her small hand. and moved it so she could see him. Close up he was even more intimidating. The sheer power that radiated from him should have scared her, but it didn’t. “I have watched you for some time Regilus,” she spoke his name as though she had a right to, being a royal she had the privilege. “You have piqued my curiosity and though I shouldn’t, I most certainly am here. Would you accept an audience with me, to speak freely and voice anything and everything you’d like?”

Small pink lips curled into a smile as she set the tray before him, “I have a doctor coming to look at your ribs first thing in the morning. Whether you want me to or not, I will be coming to see you. Once my curiosity is tapped I find it hard to go elsewhere, you understand.” She looked him over, a most formidable man. She wanted to know what he thought and why he didn’t finish his opponents off, everything about him was intriguing.

 

[Rookwood]

His first response was to question her motives. Certainly a noble did not come down here simply to visit a lowly prisoner. That being said, he oft heard the sounds of scandalous duchesses and mistresses of high positions enjoying themselves quite shamelessly in the arms of fellow, ruggled gladiators who enjoyed their moment of glory before another day of possible death began anew.

But she was young, curiosity sparkling in her beautiful eyes. He found it hard to say no, and the novelty of female company was so profound after so long of having none that he found it welcome either way.

He was silent for some time, simply watching the rise and fall of the pulse in her supple throat. "I have little thought to voice, princess. Although your presence is most welcome." He gave a solidary, rare smile that he thought had been lost to him ages ago.

He asked about her family, life in Rome. Regilus had rarely been given a chance to see the world outside the arena, deemed too dangerous to be set even on a loose leash. But he didn't mind - this way, his father, Njord, would not find him, and he would much rather spend his time fighting mortals for brief glory than hellhounds for his life.

But the throbbing in his head had gotten worse. His father was clearly on the loose, not only searching for him, but brewing other plans as well. For some reason, he could see brief glimpses of his father's plans, and what was most disturbing, was that he could see Rome as part of it - in ruins.

But swirling him back to the present was the exotic specimen he had before him. Rolling, dark locks, with pale creamy skin, she was a ways different than the coarse prostitutes or older women who roamed the usual dungeons in search of forbidden company, and for some reason Regilus welcomed it that way. He was patient to answer her questions, but never once did he bring up his freedom. His time would come, and he preferred not to bring her into anything ugly that could happen.

 

[Talin]

When at first he was quiet she stood there unsure of whether she should run and hide, as most in his breed would expect, but she stood her ground. His smiled pulled her from her uncertainty and without fear she stepped to his cage, wrapping one creamy hand around the forged bars. The smile that adorned her lips was brilliant, though she kept the hood forward. He could know who she was the guards did not need to know.

“My mother is ill again and father, well father is father.” Ever the tyrant, she never spoke ill of him as it wasn’t her place. She was of the weaker sex and deemed only good for stress relief and bearing children, a product of the stress relieving process. Not she personally, she had yet to find a male worthy of her time or her talents. Taking a long low breath she bit at her lower lip, “It is sad that you are not allowed freedom, even for a few minutes.”

She spoke of life, it was not as interesting as watching him fight and stated such. life existed but was mundane and without fail never enough to rival that of one of the lesser fights of the gladiators. Motioning to the tray she bade him eat. She knew the men here were never cared for. “Have they given you the other trays I’ve sent or have they simply denied you those gifts?” She often found herself wondering if the guards pretended to do their job and just let anything happen.

“Please, if there is anything that you are in need of, allow me to provide it.” She smiled, “It’s the least I can do. Within reason, of course as there are some things after all, I cannot allow to happen, nor provide.” Her tender throat went dry and she smiled at him. Moving to the wall opposite his cage she placed the torch. She moved back to face him.

“You spare your opponents if I asked why … Would, you enlighten me or give me no answer. Simply allow me to come up with my own answer and ponder the true reason for your mercy. Especially when we both know they would never do the same for you.” She smiled and a slight lilt came upon her voice, “Father grumbles, but knows now the signal doesn’t matter.” She sobered, “The guards carry out the orders, he just simply gives them directly to the guardsman later, unless the man is able to fight.”

Looking up at him she smiled softly, being so far away during the fights one would be denied the true blessing of his face. the golden brown colored hair that would have shimmered like copper in the sunlight. Steel orbs that took in everything, or so it appeared. He was powerful, she could feel it and it was intoxicating. If she could have moved through the bars she would have, though once there she wasn’t sure what she would do.