Life in Thay
Surthayan Slave Market
From his vantage upon the stone plateau Kanithar glared into a sea of hairless tattooed faces below. They bickered and bartered and auctioned furiously in a language that he did not know. Taking their bids and goading them for more, a quite overweight man in dark silks with great gold rings piercing his ears paced the platform back and forward in front of Kanithar.
He occasionally stopped near Kanithar, slapping the Rashemi's strong thighs or lifting an arm out by the wrist to example his might to the prospective buyers. The barbarian followed him with a dark gaze, unflinching with the strikes and without resistance to being so handled.
From the crowd, one voice suddenly rose above the others and silenced them all at once - a bid so extravagant none dared to oppose. The crowd parted and the man emerged - a young man, but walking with a blackened mithril staff - one that was twisted and ribbed like the horn of a goat. He wore a flowing red gown with chips of ioun orbiting a generously tattooed cranium. As he ascended the steps of the plateau the piercing gaze of the bidder met with the bloodshot scowl of the brooding Rashemi. The man with the staff searched out the depths of the warrior's sea blue eyes without fear.
Kanithar perceived that the source of this man's confidence was not the strong pair of knights that accompanied him. This was surely a Magus - a Red Wizard of Thay.
~~~
The Colosseum of Eltabbar
The audience were wild and tumultuous and many were up on their feet as Kanithar, bare chested in the glaring heat of a midday Eltabbaran sun, circled with his final opponent in the Thayan Arena.
The foe, who had until this point been Kanithar's ally in the fighting by some unspoken understanding, was a dark skinned Chultan - almost a foot taller than the stout Rashemi. He was shaved of head and clad in exotic spotted pelts and sections of splintmail armour. In his hand a flail swept slowly, winding to keep a ready momentum.
Each knew there could only be one victor in the arena today - a secondary placing was first among the dead.
Kanithar's elbows and knees were scathed and a lacerations split the skin of his shoulder and back - the claw marks of an animal. Otherwise he was unharmed.
Dead men and beasts littered the floor of the colosseum. One of the few who remained alive struggled with the undertaking of dragging his dismembered body away from the carnage, leaving one of his legs behind.
The dust of the arena clung to Kanithar's skin for all the blood and perspiration. His fist gripped a long fighting dagger in reverse while the other hand, free, was open and ready to literally grab at any opportunity that might gain him advantage.
The noise of the assembly was deafening. The heat of the sun was intense. Eager for the kill, the Chultan hustled forward through the mirage of heat swinging the barbed ball of his chain link flail mightily overhead. He hoped to finish the battle with a single deadly blow. But Kanithar had read the intention of the warrior - and he was ready.
With the agility of a great cat Kanithar sprung around the oncoming adversary, easily timing his assault out of the way of the flail's cruelly spiked ball. He gripped the larger man by the buckler of his left arm and used all his might and his enemy's own momentum to yank and throw the attacker off balance. The giant negro staggered and jarred to catch himself - but he was no novice combatant. Quickly regaining his footing he back-peddled hurriedly, a hand outstretched as if to ward Kanithar off while he began to wind up once more the momentum of the flail that had fallen limp.
Kanithar wasted not the opportunity.
He closed in quickly and aggressively with no second thought - a direct attack, like a charging bull. The Rashemi shrugged off a desperate kick from the Chultan to his hip and reached to snatch the wrist of the man. The instrument of whirling death was paralyzed in Kanithar's iron grip.
The melee quickly degenerated into a grapple. The clash and contest of their might was brief and explosive - they were almost equals in strength, but Kanithar's reserve was greater. Berserker rage surged up in the barbarian and turned the tide - a rush of adrenaline by which the stout Rashemi out stepped the strong legged Chultan and threw him down onto his back.
Kanithar fell with him into the cloud of dust, straddling the winded man, pinning him. One strong hand gripped the Chultan by the throat. The man groped desperately to strangle Kanithar in return - but the barbarian sat upright enough to be out of reach. His dagger was overhead, poised and ready to drop.
While the Chultan's bloody fingers brushed at Kanithar's throat, the barbarian's gaze roamed the vast colosseum benches. Multitudes upon multitudes. The crowd roared for a merciless ending and Kanithar found in the darkness of his rage that he was more than willing to fulfill their desire.
Wild blue eyes lowered to stare into those of his enemy. The Chultan saw no remorse there in Kanithar's glare - it was betrayed to him in that moment what the barbarian determined.
The fine dust of the arena that had kicked up in their skirmish and collapse partially obscured the murder from the audience - that savage rising and falling of Kanithar's red dagger - slow, deliberate, strong repetition. The audience roared and chanted his name silencing the screams of second place.
Kanithar! Kanithar! Kanithar!
When it was done, Kanithar staggered off of the dead man and gazed round about at the havoc he had wrought in the insanity of battle. He was the last man standing. Once more, his eyes lifted to the applauding audience. Kanithar lift his dagger in a blooded fist and hailed them silently. This met a further cry of acclamation even as an entourage of Thayan soldiers entered the arena armed with towershields and swords. When they siezed Kanithar he did not resist their shackles and chains. Away he was led by the mob - back into the dungeon.
