The year is 71 BC.
Rome.
Once a city-state on the edge of the Italian peninsula, now a vast...
Rome.
Once a city-state on the edge of the Italian peninsula, now a vast...
For We Who Are About To Die (A Gladiator School Quest)
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Statistics (5 threadmarks, 4.9k words)
User Total Telamon 5
0.0: Youth's End
- Location
- Texas
The year is 71 BC.
Rome.
Once a city-state on the edge of the Italian peninsula, now a vast polity that sprawls unbound across the face of Europe. From the frozen peaks of the Alps to the whirling sands of Carthage, from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic, from Spain to Greece, all falls under the might and glory of the Republic. From sea to sea and shore to shore, there is only the law of the Senate, unchallenged and unrivaled. The iron fist of Rome grips all the world. All are equal under the boot of the Roman--the Gaul and Thracian, the Visigoth and the Greek, each is ground under the might of the Republic in equal manner. An empire is fueled by blood alone, and rivers must flow to sustain the glory that is Rome. For those bound as thrall underneath the heel of Rome, there is no hope of freedom or redemption. It takes a lifetime to earn one's freedom, and once given, it is not easily kept.
Yet there are some who stand above base slave and mongrel wretch, men and women who, through strength of might and force of will, may see themselves free from Roman yoke. There are some who choose to spill their blood on hot sands for the benefit of their captors and the glory of Rome. They are called Gladiators. These champions of the sand are held above the common man. Those who succeed become gods of the arena, legends in their own right, and are granted fame, riches, and vaunted freedom. Those who fail die in obscurity, their names and their lives lost to time and the shadow of Rome.
The lanistas, the men and women who deal in the trade and training of these gladiators, are held to be little more than flesh-traders, glorified slavers. Yet glory begets glory, and a lanista who produces mighty legends from his ludus might rise among the ranks of the common people, ascending to the very echelons of the Republic. Such is the dream of every lanista--and a thousand such dreams have died in the bitter sands of the arena.
Perhaps yours will not.
Gladiators:
Estate:
Rome.
Once a city-state on the edge of the Italian peninsula, now a vast polity that sprawls unbound across the face of Europe. From the frozen peaks of the Alps to the whirling sands of Carthage, from the Mediterranean to the Atlantic, from Spain to Greece, all falls under the might and glory of the Republic. From sea to sea and shore to shore, there is only the law of the Senate, unchallenged and unrivaled. The iron fist of Rome grips all the world. All are equal under the boot of the Roman--the Gaul and Thracian, the Visigoth and the Greek, each is ground under the might of the Republic in equal manner. An empire is fueled by blood alone, and rivers must flow to sustain the glory that is Rome. For those bound as thrall underneath the heel of Rome, there is no hope of freedom or redemption. It takes a lifetime to earn one's freedom, and once given, it is not easily kept.
Yet there are some who stand above base slave and mongrel wretch, men and women who, through strength of might and force of will, may see themselves free from Roman yoke. There are some who choose to spill their blood on hot sands for the benefit of their captors and the glory of Rome. They are called Gladiators. These champions of the sand are held above the common man. Those who succeed become gods of the arena, legends in their own right, and are granted fame, riches, and vaunted freedom. Those who fail die in obscurity, their names and their lives lost to time and the shadow of Rome.
The lanistas, the men and women who deal in the trade and training of these gladiators, are held to be little more than flesh-traders, glorified slavers. Yet glory begets glory, and a lanista who produces mighty legends from his ludus might rise among the ranks of the common people, ascending to the very echelons of the Republic. Such is the dream of every lanista--and a thousand such dreams have died in the bitter sands of the arena.
Perhaps yours will not.
__________________________________
FOR WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE
A Lanista Quest
FOR WE WHO ARE ABOUT TO DIE
A Lanista Quest
OVERVIEW
~A summary of the fortunes of the House of Cadus~
~A summary of the fortunes of the House of Cadus~
Character Sheet:
Name: Marcus Surius Cadus
Titles: None
Age:31
Wealth: Twelve gold talents
Gladiators produced: 0
Purses won: 0
Fame: 15
Reputation: A flesh-monger of some small renown.
Respect: 14
Loyalty: 0
Mutiny Chance: 5
Titles: None
Age:31
Wealth: Twelve gold talents
Gladiators produced: 0
Purses won: 0
Fame: 15
Reputation: A flesh-monger of some small renown.
Respect: 14
Loyalty: 0
Mutiny Chance: 5
Gladiators:
Tius: A titan among men, a living giant out of the very pages of legend. He hails from the barbarous and strange lands to the north of the world, beyond the Rhine and the reach of Rome. To civilized Romans, he seems more beast than man, with a massive forest of a beard and wild, fierce eyes.
Starting Traits:
-Untamed: Those men who are born free do not bend easily. (-6 to all training rolls, -15 to all obedience rolls)
-Mighty: This gladiator was born with a strength to shake the roots of the world. (+5 to all combat rolls)
-Towering: Some men are born above all others. Literally. (+3 to all intimidation rolls)
-Beastial (-12 Charisma, -10 Crowd Favour, -2 to all Combat Rolls)
-(Special Trait) The German: It is said that those born beyond the Rhine are a wild and savage race, feared even by the barbarian Gaul. (+4 to Last Chance rolls, +4 to all unarmed combat rolls, +6 intimidation against Gauls, -4 to all servitude/obedience rolls)
Starting Traits:
-Untamed: Those men who are born free do not bend easily. (-6 to all training rolls, -15 to all obedience rolls)
-Mighty: This gladiator was born with a strength to shake the roots of the world. (+5 to all combat rolls)
-Towering: Some men are born above all others. Literally. (+3 to all intimidation rolls)
-Beastial (-12 Charisma, -10 Crowd Favour, -2 to all Combat Rolls)
-(Special Trait) The German: It is said that those born beyond the Rhine are a wild and savage race, feared even by the barbarian Gaul. (+4 to Last Chance rolls, +4 to all unarmed combat rolls, +6 intimidation against Gauls, -4 to all servitude/obedience rolls)
Estate:
The Ludus of the Cadii is currently well-maintained, though worn with age and time. Significant parts of it have fallen into inevitable disuse, and it will take time and effort to restore.
Training Areas: Well-kept, though barely stocked and in need of repairs.
Kitchens: Small and disused, but usable.
Gladiator Living Quarters: Dilapidated and largely unused, the lion's share of the rooms require repair or replacement.
Mess Hall: Dingy and hot, but usable.
Personal Quarters: Your brother put some effort into making sure he had a comfortable place to lay his head, and as such, your personal quarters are the best-kept and most expensive rooms in the compound, with a small cluster of rooms reserved for your bathing and luxury. Such excesses could easily be removed or sold off for more useful things, though your reputation among the wealthy elite will decline.
Main/Feast Hall: Where you will receive visitors and entertain guests for parties. Your father prided himself on showing a respectable facade to visitors, but your brother allowed the main hall to fall into disrepair.
The Grounds: The land around your estate. Somewhat well-maintained by your father's most loyal slaves and retainers, those who remained continued to keep it presentable during your brother's tenure as lanista.
Training Areas: Well-kept, though barely stocked and in need of repairs.
Kitchens: Small and disused, but usable.
Gladiator Living Quarters: Dilapidated and largely unused, the lion's share of the rooms require repair or replacement.
Mess Hall: Dingy and hot, but usable.
Personal Quarters: Your brother put some effort into making sure he had a comfortable place to lay his head, and as such, your personal quarters are the best-kept and most expensive rooms in the compound, with a small cluster of rooms reserved for your bathing and luxury. Such excesses could easily be removed or sold off for more useful things, though your reputation among the wealthy elite will decline.
Main/Feast Hall: Where you will receive visitors and entertain guests for parties. Your father prided himself on showing a respectable facade to visitors, but your brother allowed the main hall to fall into disrepair.
The Grounds: The land around your estate. Somewhat well-maintained by your father's most loyal slaves and retainers, those who remained continued to keep it presentable during your brother's tenure as lanista.
________________________
You are Marcus Surius Cadus, a lanista, or gladiator trainer, in the twilight years of the Roman Republic. In a scant few decades, a man named Gaius Julius Caesar will name himself dictator and change the course of history forever--but that is not your concern. You are the last living member of the Caduii, the House of Cadus. Your father's father's father was a cousin to a Consul of the Republic, and once your family name held much power in Rome. Now, you run a failing ludus in Capua, with only what remains of your father's savings to keep you afloat. Perhaps, if you can buy and train a gladiator of passable skill, if you can bring him to glory and triumph in the Arena, you could begin the long climb towards restoring your family name.
Luckily, you have accrued many talents over the course of your youth that will aid you in this aim.
Pick One:
The Legion's Line: [] In your youth you were a member of the legion, a soldier of Rome. You sailed the Mediterranean and fought wars from Greece to Africa, protecting and expanding the borders of Rome. The legion's iron discipline and unshattering sense of order were drilled into your very bones, and you came to understand how to win a man's loyalty, how to make him willing to fight and die in your name. You can better recognize fighting skill in prospective trainees, and direct their training better. Though you left the legions some years ago, you have some contacts from your military days who may aid you in several matters.
The Marble Halls: [] You sought influence and power with the Senate and the elite of Rome. Though many scorned the son of a flesh-trader, your natural charisma and charm won over some friends who allowed you into the lower echelons of the halls of power. Though a lifetime more of clawing might have earned you a small voice, perhaps even a seat, on the Senate, the sudden death of your father and brothers changed all that. You still have many contacts and friendships, and the lessons you learned in Rome will prove invaluable in the future. To be a person of note in Rome is to live a life of betrayal and intrigue in a society clawing endlessly towards power that few reach, a deadly game played by all--a game you are now adept in.
The Favoured Son: [] You stayed by your father's side, heeding his word and his will. He taught you all he knew of the caring and training of gladiators, and in turn you stayed with him in his old age. You know just the right amount to bribe the announcer so that he says your champion's name in that way that drives the crowds wild, you are quite aware of the best feast days to try your hand in the arena, and you know to never, never room a Thracian and a Gaul together. A lifetime of wisdom and knowledge in the field of rearing men to slaughter each other--what more could a son ask of his father?
The Pen Is Mightier, Yet Coin Is Mightier Still: [] Money makes the world go round. You knew this from an early age, and always sought after it. You became a bookkeeper for your father's games in time, taking some coin off the side for your own ventures, eventually breaking off on your own to run your own business taking bets on the games. You became especially adept in stripping fools of their money and returning it to rightful hands--yours. There isn't a pot in the city you don't have fingers in, with every shopowner and independent business owner owing you a 'favor' of some sort. And what wonderful things coin can do--a beautiful house, a renovated ludus, and first pick of the newly arrived prospects. Of course, you've stepped on several--more than several--toes on your way to the top, but that's what the bodygurds are for, is it not?
Luckily, you have accrued many talents over the course of your youth that will aid you in this aim.
Pick One:
The Legion's Line: [] In your youth you were a member of the legion, a soldier of Rome. You sailed the Mediterranean and fought wars from Greece to Africa, protecting and expanding the borders of Rome. The legion's iron discipline and unshattering sense of order were drilled into your very bones, and you came to understand how to win a man's loyalty, how to make him willing to fight and die in your name. You can better recognize fighting skill in prospective trainees, and direct their training better. Though you left the legions some years ago, you have some contacts from your military days who may aid you in several matters.
Last edited:
0.1: The Clay of Champions
- Location
- Texas
[X] The Legion's Line
Romans in Rome's day were the finest fighting force in all the world. Your youth has been one of oiled efficiency, undying loyalty, and unshakable determination. In Rome, those who wield the sword in the defense of the homeland are honored above all others, and your name carries some of that inherent respect, putting you a step above the other traders of flesh.
Respect gained--14
Training increased by 7
Mutiny Chance decreased by 12
Trait earned: The Grace of Mars
Trait earned: A Soldier's Voice
___________
The hot, dusty air of the market clings to your throat as you breathe it in. Above, the sweltering Roman sun beats down on your simple lime-green toga. The smell of sweat hangs in the arid air, permeating everything and rivaling the omnipresent grime for the attention of your nostrils. Before you, Mallius, the trader, offers you another yellow-toothed smile. You think it is supposed to resemble something apologetic.
"These are all we have.", he repeats insistently, in a voice he must no doubt think the very picture of regretful innocence. His crooked grin spins a different tale altogether, and you suddenly become acutely aware of the weight of the cloth bag at your hip.
You take a final look at the emaciated, weakened men on the benches before you. They are a sorry collection, young boys and old men left over from a crop picked clean by those who came before you. The strongest of them looks unfit for field work--much less the rigors of the arena.
You grit your teeth and reach into the small pouch by your side, drawing out a handful of silver denarii and pressing them into Mallius' browned palm. The slaver shoots you another crooked grin before ushering you into a small, cool room on the side of the market. It is slightly less grimy than the rest of this place, and there are signs that someone once made a somewhat decent effort to sweep the dirt of the floor. A cracked amphora of wine stands on a rickety wooden table in the middle of the room.
You suppose this is Mallius' idea of hospitality. The merchant himself vanishes for a long moment, then reappears through a nearby doorway, followed by several men, all bound in fetters. He makes a curt report of the name, place of origin--and of course--the price of each one before taking a seat in the corner of the room.
You calculate the prices in your head. Taking Mallius' gratuitous 'finder's fee' into account, you have enough coin for one, perhaps two if must be. Your brother was forced to sell off all of your father's gladiators in order to simply keep the ludus, and the twelve talents awarded to you upon your father's death are all the coin you have in the world. It is no small weight on your mind that the choices you make now may well determine the very future of the name Cadus.
Pick one. Remember, discussion and rationale are both liked and rewarded, even if it's just a sentence or two.
Romans in Rome's day were the finest fighting force in all the world. Your youth has been one of oiled efficiency, undying loyalty, and unshakable determination. In Rome, those who wield the sword in the defense of the homeland are honored above all others, and your name carries some of that inherent respect, putting you a step above the other traders of flesh.
Respect gained--14
Training increased by 7
Mutiny Chance decreased by 12
Trait earned: The Grace of Mars
Trait earned: A Soldier's Voice
___________
The hot, dusty air of the market clings to your throat as you breathe it in. Above, the sweltering Roman sun beats down on your simple lime-green toga. The smell of sweat hangs in the arid air, permeating everything and rivaling the omnipresent grime for the attention of your nostrils. Before you, Mallius, the trader, offers you another yellow-toothed smile. You think it is supposed to resemble something apologetic.
"These are all we have.", he repeats insistently, in a voice he must no doubt think the very picture of regretful innocence. His crooked grin spins a different tale altogether, and you suddenly become acutely aware of the weight of the cloth bag at your hip.
You take a final look at the emaciated, weakened men on the benches before you. They are a sorry collection, young boys and old men left over from a crop picked clean by those who came before you. The strongest of them looks unfit for field work--much less the rigors of the arena.
You grit your teeth and reach into the small pouch by your side, drawing out a handful of silver denarii and pressing them into Mallius' browned palm. The slaver shoots you another crooked grin before ushering you into a small, cool room on the side of the market. It is slightly less grimy than the rest of this place, and there are signs that someone once made a somewhat decent effort to sweep the dirt of the floor. A cracked amphora of wine stands on a rickety wooden table in the middle of the room.
You suppose this is Mallius' idea of hospitality. The merchant himself vanishes for a long moment, then reappears through a nearby doorway, followed by several men, all bound in fetters. He makes a curt report of the name, place of origin--and of course--the price of each one before taking a seat in the corner of the room.
You calculate the prices in your head. Taking Mallius' gratuitous 'finder's fee' into account, you have enough coin for one, perhaps two if must be. Your brother was forced to sell off all of your father's gladiators in order to simply keep the ludus, and the twelve talents awarded to you upon your father's death are all the coin you have in the world. It is no small weight on your mind that the choices you make now may well determine the very future of the name Cadus.
Pick one. Remember, discussion and rationale are both liked and rewarded, even if it's just a sentence or two.
The African [] Salincar, the Carthaginian. A young man with skin the color of cocoa and deep, proud eyes. He was a mercenary and a marauder in Egypt until his band was hired to aid in a failed uprising against Rome. Their forces were crushed, and those fighters who lived were taken as thralls. His muscles are large and powerful, though you have your doubts as to his speed in the arena. You know well the tenacity of Carthage's sons, however--you have lost many brothers to uprisings against the legions.
The Barbarian [] Vercil, the Gaul. His long, unbound hair runs like a mane to his shoulders, bringing to mind a lion. His eyes glitter with a spark of dangerous intelligence, and Mallius tells you he was once a warrior of the tribe of the Helvetii in barbarian Gaul beyond the Alps. Though average in stature, he is powerfully built, with the lean muscles of a sprinter or runner. The stubbornness of the Gauls is legend, yet when tamed, makes for an equally legendary gladiator.
The Deserter [] Macula, the Roman. Disgust rises in your throat as you look at the man. Once an officer in the Twelfth Legion, cousin of a prestigious senator, his courage broke and wilted against the Greeks, and he fled the front line. He was hunted by his former brothers for weeks, and dragged back to mother Rome in chains. A cursory look tells you he is by far the best fighter in the room, and yet, his defeated slump show's little of the legion's might. He is a man broken, and to send him to the sands might mean certain death--both for him, and for your gladiatorial efforts. Yet the people of Rome love a good story, and a tale of redemption in the sands might win you their fickle love.
The Titan [] Tius, from lands beyond the Rhine. His is a guttural and barbarian tongue, and Mallius stresses the lengths he went to in order to teach him a civilized tongue--lengths that no doubt garner an extra price. Yet Tius might well be worth the fleecing. He is a giant of a man, taller than you by several hands. His hair cut short, and his massive beard falls to his waist. You can well see why no other lanistas have chosen him. His massive arms could snap rope like twine, and you can easily see his trunk-like arms crushing the few guards you have hired for the ludus. Yet if he were to be trained and honed, he could well be a god of the arena.
The Fallen [] Lanidaeus, the Wolf. Once, his name was cheered by thousands in the arena. Once, he won legend and glory on the sands. Once, he was a living legend. That was nearly twenty years ago. His hair is greying, and his eyes, once proud, are now dull. His is the saddest fate of a legend--not great enough to win freedom, too popular to be freed, he has burnt out, losing the will to fight as his once-great skill seeps from his body with age. Traded from ludus to ludus on the basis of his name alone, he has been discarded in favor of the coin his former status earns by master after master. Yet old gladiators, your father once said, are the deadliest of all--whether they know it or not.
The Barbarian [] Vercil, the Gaul. His long, unbound hair runs like a mane to his shoulders, bringing to mind a lion. His eyes glitter with a spark of dangerous intelligence, and Mallius tells you he was once a warrior of the tribe of the Helvetii in barbarian Gaul beyond the Alps. Though average in stature, he is powerfully built, with the lean muscles of a sprinter or runner. The stubbornness of the Gauls is legend, yet when tamed, makes for an equally legendary gladiator.
The Deserter [] Macula, the Roman. Disgust rises in your throat as you look at the man. Once an officer in the Twelfth Legion, cousin of a prestigious senator, his courage broke and wilted against the Greeks, and he fled the front line. He was hunted by his former brothers for weeks, and dragged back to mother Rome in chains. A cursory look tells you he is by far the best fighter in the room, and yet, his defeated slump show's little of the legion's might. He is a man broken, and to send him to the sands might mean certain death--both for him, and for your gladiatorial efforts. Yet the people of Rome love a good story, and a tale of redemption in the sands might win you their fickle love.
The Titan [] Tius, from lands beyond the Rhine. His is a guttural and barbarian tongue, and Mallius stresses the lengths he went to in order to teach him a civilized tongue--lengths that no doubt garner an extra price. Yet Tius might well be worth the fleecing. He is a giant of a man, taller than you by several hands. His hair cut short, and his massive beard falls to his waist. You can well see why no other lanistas have chosen him. His massive arms could snap rope like twine, and you can easily see his trunk-like arms crushing the few guards you have hired for the ludus. Yet if he were to be trained and honed, he could well be a god of the arena.
The Fallen [] Lanidaeus, the Wolf. Once, his name was cheered by thousands in the arena. Once, he won legend and glory on the sands. Once, he was a living legend. That was nearly twenty years ago. His hair is greying, and his eyes, once proud, are now dull. His is the saddest fate of a legend--not great enough to win freedom, too popular to be freed, he has burnt out, losing the will to fight as his once-great skill seeps from his body with age. Traded from ludus to ludus on the basis of his name alone, he has been discarded in favor of the coin his former status earns by master after master. Yet old gladiators, your father once said, are the deadliest of all--whether they know it or not.
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0.2: To Forge A Man
- Location
- Texas
Gladiator gained:
Tius: A titan among men, a living giant out of the very pages of legend. He hails from the barbarous and strange lands to the north of the world, beyond the Rhine and the reach of Rome. To civilized Romans, he seems more beast than man, with a massive forest of a beard and wild, fierce eyes.
Starting Traits:
-Untamed: Those men who are born free do not bend easily. (-6 to all training rolls, -15 to all obedience rolls)
-Mighty: This gladiator was born with a strength to shake the roots of the world. (+5 to all combat rolls)
-Towering: Some men are born above all others. Literally. (+3 to all intimidation rolls)
-Beastial (-12 Charisma, -10 Crowd Favour, -2 to all Combat Rolls)
-(Special Trait) The German: It is said that those born beyond the Rhine are a wild and savage race, feared even by the barbarian Gaul. (+4 to Last Chance rolls, +4 to all unarmed combat rolls, +6 intimidation against Gauls, -4 to all servitude/obedience rolls)
___________
You watch as the massive man is loaded off the cart. Ropes thicker than your wrist wrap around his hands, and the guards watch him warily as he steps onto the matted earth of your ludus. Several of them look ready to throw down their arms, and you make a mental note to find replacements for these sub-par thugs soon.
Your doctore, or gladiator trainer, stands by you to watch the newest arrival. A tall, lanky man with sinewy arms, his bone-white hair is cut in a stark military style. Though old, he was training gladiators when you were a babe in crib, and you know none better. You have heard it told that in your father's own youth, he was a champion of your house, his name cheered on the sands, who won his freedom through blood and found employment with his former masters. In time, however, his name and legend has faded with his youth, and you know him now only as Doctore. He casts his eyes over Tius for a long moment before letting a rush of air blow past his lips as a grin twists his greying face.
"Gods be good, you've brought me a fucking giant."
He looks at you and lets out a wry chuckle. "I'll tell you this. You've got your grandfather's blood in you. He could never settle for one of the easy ones. If I didn't break three ribs teaching the bastard, he wasn't worthy of the sand."
You grin lightly. No employee of yours could, or should speak to you in that manner, but Doctore is partically a part of the estate, if not the family.
"How long will it take to train him?"
"To train him? Depends on what you want. I can make sure he's ready to fight in a few days, maybe trim that monster of a beard, but he'll only be fit for the pits. No lanista worthy of the name could throw him onto the sands in this state. He's all brute strength, I can see it from here. To actually train him..." Doctore snorts.
"Weeks?', you venture.
Another snort.
"Months, more like. Taming him's the matter. I can probably get him willing to swing a sword like I tell him to, out of self-fuckin-interest at least. But his kind...his kind were born wild. If he's anything like the Gauls, make him loyal and he'll die for you. But that'll take time, lots of it. Course..." Doctore pats the long, serrated whip at his waist. "...there's always the old fashioned way."
You nod with silent understanding. Doctores are always rough--it comes with the trade. No gladiator is made without a few lashings. But for the most stubborn, there are special punishments. Nights without food. Grueling menial tasks, backbreaking labor not fit for the lowliest of slaves. Break them and rebuild them. Your father considered it beneath a Roman to resort to such brutal means, and simply sold off those too proud to bend.
Of course, however, you are not your father.
___________
Trial By Fire: [] Throw him into the pits, the brutal underground fighting rings. Absent of any law or decorum, the fights within are little more than crude deathmatches which devolve into brutal, uncontrolled bloodbaths, far removed from the glory of the Arena. Debtors and failing lanistas often try their luck in here, in the hopes of winning enough purses to claw their way up to more prestigious arenas. While you have not fallen so low, you could, as Doctore suggests, send Tius into the pits to test his mettle and force him to learn the ways of a fighter. You will lose esteem in the eyes of the city's elite, but perhaps you might forge a great gladiator in the crucible of the slums.
To Tame A Giant: [] Initiate a basic training regimen, complete with exercises and weapons training. Doctore will struggle to find what motivates Tius, and use it to grip him. This is how many of the greatest have been tamed--the promise of riches, freedom, and women draws men to the arena above all other pursuits. This process would instill him with loyalty, both to you and your ludus, or at least the promise of freedom by your hand if glory is won in the arena. Gladiators are often bonded to one another during the training period, and form bonds of loyalty thus, but absent any others you will have to find other ways to make him willing to bleed in your name.
--(Subvote) Ave Imperator: [] You served with the legions, and commanded men to bleed and die and kill, all in your name, and the name of Rome, and did so in your own turn for those above you. Better than most, you understand the drive that pulls men to battle, the rush that fills your heart in the heat of the moment, and the terrifying power of men loyal to another. This is not the legion, and this man is no soldier of Rome, but you could try to apply the same strategies, modified for the ludus, to bond his loyalties to your house. This would require personal involvement, a thing nigh unheard of for a lanista, but for a single gladiator, for this man on whom the hopes and dreams of your very bloodline rest--perhaps it may be worth it.
By The Lash And Rod: [] Even the proudest of men must obey when Rome demands. To break a giant like Tius will require effort--terrible effort. Yet it can be done. The lash alone will not suffice. This will require many excesses and cruelties, looked down upon by other Lanistas and Romans in general. Doctore has been sparse about the details, and he makes it clear that it will not be an easy or quick process, but in the end, will result in an obedient fighter--or a dead one.
--(Subvote) The Fist of the Legion: [] In the service of Rome, you were forced to do many things. Some, more unpleasant than others. Rome is uncaring. Rome is callous. Rome is mighty. And you were but the fist of Rome. You call on those experiences, on the blood that stains your hands, to forge a gladiator.
Write-In: []
You sit at your desk of carved mahogany, gazing at the parchment before you. Your house must continue, this is a fact made plain. Your father sat this chair, and his father before him. There will be another after you--that, you swear. Your brother died a wine-sodden drunk, and though he likely sired many sons on the women who frequented his estate, you will lend the name Cadus to no bastard. As well, a well-situated marriage could further improve on your status in society. There are several eligible women within the city limits, and you have decided to begin the process of marrying one by writing to her father to express an interest.
___________
Beauty and Coin: [] You seek Anthea of Pamplona, the daughter of a well-off merchant from the moderately famous House of Domilius by the name of Lucius. A woman of no small beauty, she has been sought after by many suitors for both her hand and her father's wealth, yet none have been able to win her father's fickle favor. You are well aware that Lucius is a great fan of the games, and this could perhaps be leveraged to your advantage. If your gladiator does well in the arena, he may take a liking to you.
The Power of a Name: [] You have taken after Justinia Pedius, daughter of the once-powerful Titus Pedius, a senator. His is an esteemed and powerful familia, yet have fallen on hard times of late--low enough that he might consider allowing a mere lanista to court his daughter. You would, of course, need to rise higher in society and show him the possible benefits of being attached to your house. Yet with time, glory in the arena, and the favor of fickle fortune, you might stand worthy of her hand--which, of course, would further your standing even more.
The Bond of the Sword: [] You ask after Laurentia Valerius, daughter of Marcus Merius Valerius, the man you once held as brother. You and he served side-by-side in the Legion, and in time, you became good friends. He retired from the legion and established his own business in Rome proper, becoming mildly wealthy. Though life has taken you both to different paths, you and he still remain close friends. Close enough, perhaps, to bond your houses. You have heard his daughter is a beauty, and a woman of no small intelligence.
Love Thought Past: [] Before your time in the legion, you loved a girl, as most men do. Her name was Oriana, and though she came from the family of a competing lanista, you whiled away idle summers with her. Though it was a mad fling of youth, a part of you cares for her still, and the memories you have of her are the fondest remaining from before your family's fall. Perhaps she feels the same, perhaps she does not, yet your heart will never be still if you do not know. You write to her instead of her father, who still bears great enmity for the name Cadus, though it may yet be a hate that has waned with time.
Tius: A titan among men, a living giant out of the very pages of legend. He hails from the barbarous and strange lands to the north of the world, beyond the Rhine and the reach of Rome. To civilized Romans, he seems more beast than man, with a massive forest of a beard and wild, fierce eyes.
Starting Traits:
-Untamed: Those men who are born free do not bend easily. (-6 to all training rolls, -15 to all obedience rolls)
-Mighty: This gladiator was born with a strength to shake the roots of the world. (+5 to all combat rolls)
-Towering: Some men are born above all others. Literally. (+3 to all intimidation rolls)
-Beastial (-12 Charisma, -10 Crowd Favour, -2 to all Combat Rolls)
-(Special Trait) The German: It is said that those born beyond the Rhine are a wild and savage race, feared even by the barbarian Gaul. (+4 to Last Chance rolls, +4 to all unarmed combat rolls, +6 intimidation against Gauls, -4 to all servitude/obedience rolls)
___________
You watch as the massive man is loaded off the cart. Ropes thicker than your wrist wrap around his hands, and the guards watch him warily as he steps onto the matted earth of your ludus. Several of them look ready to throw down their arms, and you make a mental note to find replacements for these sub-par thugs soon.
Your doctore, or gladiator trainer, stands by you to watch the newest arrival. A tall, lanky man with sinewy arms, his bone-white hair is cut in a stark military style. Though old, he was training gladiators when you were a babe in crib, and you know none better. You have heard it told that in your father's own youth, he was a champion of your house, his name cheered on the sands, who won his freedom through blood and found employment with his former masters. In time, however, his name and legend has faded with his youth, and you know him now only as Doctore. He casts his eyes over Tius for a long moment before letting a rush of air blow past his lips as a grin twists his greying face.
"Gods be good, you've brought me a fucking giant."
He looks at you and lets out a wry chuckle. "I'll tell you this. You've got your grandfather's blood in you. He could never settle for one of the easy ones. If I didn't break three ribs teaching the bastard, he wasn't worthy of the sand."
You grin lightly. No employee of yours could, or should speak to you in that manner, but Doctore is partically a part of the estate, if not the family.
"How long will it take to train him?"
"To train him? Depends on what you want. I can make sure he's ready to fight in a few days, maybe trim that monster of a beard, but he'll only be fit for the pits. No lanista worthy of the name could throw him onto the sands in this state. He's all brute strength, I can see it from here. To actually train him..." Doctore snorts.
"Weeks?', you venture.
Another snort.
"Months, more like. Taming him's the matter. I can probably get him willing to swing a sword like I tell him to, out of self-fuckin-interest at least. But his kind...his kind were born wild. If he's anything like the Gauls, make him loyal and he'll die for you. But that'll take time, lots of it. Course..." Doctore pats the long, serrated whip at his waist. "...there's always the old fashioned way."
You nod with silent understanding. Doctores are always rough--it comes with the trade. No gladiator is made without a few lashings. But for the most stubborn, there are special punishments. Nights without food. Grueling menial tasks, backbreaking labor not fit for the lowliest of slaves. Break them and rebuild them. Your father considered it beneath a Roman to resort to such brutal means, and simply sold off those too proud to bend.
Of course, however, you are not your father.
___________
Trial By Fire: [] Throw him into the pits, the brutal underground fighting rings. Absent of any law or decorum, the fights within are little more than crude deathmatches which devolve into brutal, uncontrolled bloodbaths, far removed from the glory of the Arena. Debtors and failing lanistas often try their luck in here, in the hopes of winning enough purses to claw their way up to more prestigious arenas. While you have not fallen so low, you could, as Doctore suggests, send Tius into the pits to test his mettle and force him to learn the ways of a fighter. You will lose esteem in the eyes of the city's elite, but perhaps you might forge a great gladiator in the crucible of the slums.
To Tame A Giant: [] Initiate a basic training regimen, complete with exercises and weapons training. Doctore will struggle to find what motivates Tius, and use it to grip him. This is how many of the greatest have been tamed--the promise of riches, freedom, and women draws men to the arena above all other pursuits. This process would instill him with loyalty, both to you and your ludus, or at least the promise of freedom by your hand if glory is won in the arena. Gladiators are often bonded to one another during the training period, and form bonds of loyalty thus, but absent any others you will have to find other ways to make him willing to bleed in your name.
--(Subvote) Ave Imperator: [] You served with the legions, and commanded men to bleed and die and kill, all in your name, and the name of Rome, and did so in your own turn for those above you. Better than most, you understand the drive that pulls men to battle, the rush that fills your heart in the heat of the moment, and the terrifying power of men loyal to another. This is not the legion, and this man is no soldier of Rome, but you could try to apply the same strategies, modified for the ludus, to bond his loyalties to your house. This would require personal involvement, a thing nigh unheard of for a lanista, but for a single gladiator, for this man on whom the hopes and dreams of your very bloodline rest--perhaps it may be worth it.
By The Lash And Rod: [] Even the proudest of men must obey when Rome demands. To break a giant like Tius will require effort--terrible effort. Yet it can be done. The lash alone will not suffice. This will require many excesses and cruelties, looked down upon by other Lanistas and Romans in general. Doctore has been sparse about the details, and he makes it clear that it will not be an easy or quick process, but in the end, will result in an obedient fighter--or a dead one.
--(Subvote) The Fist of the Legion: [] In the service of Rome, you were forced to do many things. Some, more unpleasant than others. Rome is uncaring. Rome is callous. Rome is mighty. And you were but the fist of Rome. You call on those experiences, on the blood that stains your hands, to forge a gladiator.
Write-In: []
You sit at your desk of carved mahogany, gazing at the parchment before you. Your house must continue, this is a fact made plain. Your father sat this chair, and his father before him. There will be another after you--that, you swear. Your brother died a wine-sodden drunk, and though he likely sired many sons on the women who frequented his estate, you will lend the name Cadus to no bastard. As well, a well-situated marriage could further improve on your status in society. There are several eligible women within the city limits, and you have decided to begin the process of marrying one by writing to her father to express an interest.
___________
Beauty and Coin: [] You seek Anthea of Pamplona, the daughter of a well-off merchant from the moderately famous House of Domilius by the name of Lucius. A woman of no small beauty, she has been sought after by many suitors for both her hand and her father's wealth, yet none have been able to win her father's fickle favor. You are well aware that Lucius is a great fan of the games, and this could perhaps be leveraged to your advantage. If your gladiator does well in the arena, he may take a liking to you.
The Power of a Name: [] You have taken after Justinia Pedius, daughter of the once-powerful Titus Pedius, a senator. His is an esteemed and powerful familia, yet have fallen on hard times of late--low enough that he might consider allowing a mere lanista to court his daughter. You would, of course, need to rise higher in society and show him the possible benefits of being attached to your house. Yet with time, glory in the arena, and the favor of fickle fortune, you might stand worthy of her hand--which, of course, would further your standing even more.
The Bond of the Sword: [] You ask after Laurentia Valerius, daughter of Marcus Merius Valerius, the man you once held as brother. You and he served side-by-side in the Legion, and in time, you became good friends. He retired from the legion and established his own business in Rome proper, becoming mildly wealthy. Though life has taken you both to different paths, you and he still remain close friends. Close enough, perhaps, to bond your houses. You have heard his daughter is a beauty, and a woman of no small intelligence.
Love Thought Past: [] Before your time in the legion, you loved a girl, as most men do. Her name was Oriana, and though she came from the family of a competing lanista, you whiled away idle summers with her. Though it was a mad fling of youth, a part of you cares for her still, and the memories you have of her are the fondest remaining from before your family's fall. Perhaps she feels the same, perhaps she does not, yet your heart will never be still if you do not know. You write to her instead of her father, who still bears great enmity for the name Cadus, though it may yet be a hate that has waned with time.
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0.3: A Common Loyalty
- Location
- Texas
[X] To Tame A Giant
-[X] Ave Imperator
[X] The Bond of the Sword
Tius moves, his large body moving with a speed that seems unnatural, and smashes his fist into the slave's solar plexus. As the smaller man stumbles back, choking, he twists and brings the haft of his sword smashing into the face of the slave behind him, a blow that is punctuated by a spray of blood. As both men reel away from him, Tius takes his chance and moves into a leg sweep that brings both of them crashing to the sands of the ludus. With a roar of triumph, he casts his weighted practice sword to the ground and looks up at the balcony where you stand watching him.
Your eyes meet for a long moment, and though the hate that once filled them is gone, there is no love lost between the two of you. Yet he will obey, as the legionnare obeys his captain. The large barbarian you bought two months ago is gone. His massive beard has been trimmed to a manageable scruff, and Doctore has introduced him to that greatest of Roman concepts--the bath. The man you now lock eyes with is a warrior of no small skill, by no means a master, but one whom you would be proud to see enter the Arena in your name. He is a gladiator.
His training has gone well enough, with Doctore managing to impress on him the idea that he need only to win many fights to be free. Once that seed was planted, he took to his training with a zeal near unmatched by most you have seen. Favoring speed and intelligence, surprisingly, over using his vast strength, he has excelled under Doctore's tutelage, developing a fighting style that blends his crushing barbarian attacks with precise, quick gladiatorial moves. Now, at last, Doctore has deemed him ready for his first-ever games.
Coin lost: Three gold talents
Respect increased by 3
Gladiator Trained: Tius
--Skill Trait Gained--
Indomitable: This Gladiator can take immense amounts of pain before breaking. (+6 Hit Points)
--Trait Gained--
Tamed: This gladiator, born in wild lands beyond the reach of Rome, has gained some measure of civilization. (-2 to all Training Rolls, -5 to all obedience rolls)
--Trait Lost--
Untamed: Those men who are born free do not bend easily. (-6 to all training rolls, -15 to all obedience rolls)
___________________________________
You stand before Ollanius, a tall, weedy man with dark eyes and stringy hair. He regards you with an air of condescension that is infuriatingly snide, and it is all you can do not to shatter his hand as he passes you the sheaf of papers you have just paid him an inexcusably large amount of coin for. As you flip through them, you grow more annoyed with each page. After a quick perusal of all the documents, you look up at the thin man again.
"What is this? Half of these are filled, and those that aren't are worthless!"
Ollanius smiles a thin, sharp smile.
"I contact Lanistas with information about the most profitable up-and-coming games in advance. If you aren't...noteworthy enough to make it onto my list, that's not my concern, now is it?"
You bite down a snarl as you glance through the sheaf of papers, mentally picking out the handful of games which are worthy of even attending, much less sending Tius to participate in. None of them will net you much coin, but helping Tius make a name for himself will benefit you far more in the long run...if he survives.
[] A merchant of no small wealth is throwing a games for the coming-of-age of his son, a fan of the arena. Though it is a rather large affair, it happens to occur on the same day as the far larger and more important games in celebration of the birth of the daughter of a local senator. Only those not wealthy or influential enough to be in the greater games have registered for this one, and no gladiator who fights will win much glory, but it is as good a place as any to start.
[] The wedding of the politician Gaius Daecius Flavianus is being celebrated with a grand celebration lasting several days, far beyond his current monetary means. The final day of the celebration is to be capped with an honorary gladiatoral fight. While Flavianus is famous for being a large spender, many are concerned that this ostentatious display of wealth could be the death knell for his already-labored finances, meaning any lanista who entered into his employ could run the chance of being paid very little--or nothing at all. However, many of the town's social elite will be attending the wedding, and it might serve as a way to climb your way up the sociopolitical ladder.
[] A regularly-scheduled one-on-one fight in a few weeks. The only other gladiator trainer who has signed up is the equally down-on-his-luck Nadius, a Greek whose ludus was once the best in Capua. A series of financial mistakes has left Nadius deep in debt, and his only hope is the arena. A loss here would only set you back significantly, but would cripple Nadius' failing ludus, forcing him to sell his ludus and his remaining gladiators at a steep discount--allowing you to swoop in and reap the profits, while taking out a competitor. Yet Nadius was once a friend of the family, and a part of you wonders if you can really go through with a plan that would see him forced onto the streets.
[] The execution games. Captured slaves, deserters, and criminals sentenced to death have been sent in droves to die for the entertainment of the Roman people. It is dirty work, but a trained gladiator cutting down untrained cutthroats makes for a better sight in the arena than lowlifes savaging one another. Tius could potentially gain some name among the common people, and the survivors and victors among the damned are sold off at a low price to participating lanistas. Foremost among this game's damned is a Thracian of some small skill who once served as a Roman auxilary before deserting his post.
-[X] Ave Imperator
[X] The Bond of the Sword
Tius moves, his large body moving with a speed that seems unnatural, and smashes his fist into the slave's solar plexus. As the smaller man stumbles back, choking, he twists and brings the haft of his sword smashing into the face of the slave behind him, a blow that is punctuated by a spray of blood. As both men reel away from him, Tius takes his chance and moves into a leg sweep that brings both of them crashing to the sands of the ludus. With a roar of triumph, he casts his weighted practice sword to the ground and looks up at the balcony where you stand watching him.
Your eyes meet for a long moment, and though the hate that once filled them is gone, there is no love lost between the two of you. Yet he will obey, as the legionnare obeys his captain. The large barbarian you bought two months ago is gone. His massive beard has been trimmed to a manageable scruff, and Doctore has introduced him to that greatest of Roman concepts--the bath. The man you now lock eyes with is a warrior of no small skill, by no means a master, but one whom you would be proud to see enter the Arena in your name. He is a gladiator.
His training has gone well enough, with Doctore managing to impress on him the idea that he need only to win many fights to be free. Once that seed was planted, he took to his training with a zeal near unmatched by most you have seen. Favoring speed and intelligence, surprisingly, over using his vast strength, he has excelled under Doctore's tutelage, developing a fighting style that blends his crushing barbarian attacks with precise, quick gladiatorial moves. Now, at last, Doctore has deemed him ready for his first-ever games.
Coin lost: Three gold talents
Respect increased by 3
Gladiator Trained: Tius
--Skill Trait Gained--
Indomitable: This Gladiator can take immense amounts of pain before breaking. (+6 Hit Points)
--Trait Gained--
Tamed: This gladiator, born in wild lands beyond the reach of Rome, has gained some measure of civilization. (-2 to all Training Rolls, -5 to all obedience rolls)
--Trait Lost--
Untamed: Those men who are born free do not bend easily. (-6 to all training rolls, -15 to all obedience rolls)
___________________________________
You stand before Ollanius, a tall, weedy man with dark eyes and stringy hair. He regards you with an air of condescension that is infuriatingly snide, and it is all you can do not to shatter his hand as he passes you the sheaf of papers you have just paid him an inexcusably large amount of coin for. As you flip through them, you grow more annoyed with each page. After a quick perusal of all the documents, you look up at the thin man again.
"What is this? Half of these are filled, and those that aren't are worthless!"
Ollanius smiles a thin, sharp smile.
"I contact Lanistas with information about the most profitable up-and-coming games in advance. If you aren't...noteworthy enough to make it onto my list, that's not my concern, now is it?"
You bite down a snarl as you glance through the sheaf of papers, mentally picking out the handful of games which are worthy of even attending, much less sending Tius to participate in. None of them will net you much coin, but helping Tius make a name for himself will benefit you far more in the long run...if he survives.
[] A merchant of no small wealth is throwing a games for the coming-of-age of his son, a fan of the arena. Though it is a rather large affair, it happens to occur on the same day as the far larger and more important games in celebration of the birth of the daughter of a local senator. Only those not wealthy or influential enough to be in the greater games have registered for this one, and no gladiator who fights will win much glory, but it is as good a place as any to start.
[] The wedding of the politician Gaius Daecius Flavianus is being celebrated with a grand celebration lasting several days, far beyond his current monetary means. The final day of the celebration is to be capped with an honorary gladiatoral fight. While Flavianus is famous for being a large spender, many are concerned that this ostentatious display of wealth could be the death knell for his already-labored finances, meaning any lanista who entered into his employ could run the chance of being paid very little--or nothing at all. However, many of the town's social elite will be attending the wedding, and it might serve as a way to climb your way up the sociopolitical ladder.
[] A regularly-scheduled one-on-one fight in a few weeks. The only other gladiator trainer who has signed up is the equally down-on-his-luck Nadius, a Greek whose ludus was once the best in Capua. A series of financial mistakes has left Nadius deep in debt, and his only hope is the arena. A loss here would only set you back significantly, but would cripple Nadius' failing ludus, forcing him to sell his ludus and his remaining gladiators at a steep discount--allowing you to swoop in and reap the profits, while taking out a competitor. Yet Nadius was once a friend of the family, and a part of you wonders if you can really go through with a plan that would see him forced onto the streets.
[] The execution games. Captured slaves, deserters, and criminals sentenced to death have been sent in droves to die for the entertainment of the Roman people. It is dirty work, but a trained gladiator cutting down untrained cutthroats makes for a better sight in the arena than lowlifes savaging one another. Tius could potentially gain some name among the common people, and the survivors and victors among the damned are sold off at a low price to participating lanistas. Foremost among this game's damned is a Thracian of some small skill who once served as a Roman auxilary before deserting his post.
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0.4: The Mereber Games
- Location
- Texas
Games Entered: {The Natalis of Quintus Claudius Mereber}
The roar of the crowd is deafening, so loud that the wooden stadium seems to shake as they pulse with the mad fury of bloodlust. In the arena before you, two men dance around one another, their blades flashing. The taller, a Gaul, is the crowd's favorite, wild tattoos gleaming on exposed biceps as he spins, his blades whirling streaks of steel. The smaller gladiator falls back before his onslaught, barely fending off each heavy blow.
As the crowd cheers with each strike, you cast a sidelong glance at the seat next to you. As a lanista, you have the honor of sitting in the rows beside the throne of honor, where Quintus, a boy with pale green eyes, watches raptly as men fight in his name. However, you have gone a step ahead, and been granted a seat beside the gilded throne itself. Only the most important or noble can sit here, and it is a sign of the high regard in which you are held by some that you are allowed to do so. It is in these podiums where alliances are made and deals forged, fortunes made and ruined. You sat beside...
The Father [] Quintus Claudius Mereber, the Elder. The son of a failing lanista, it is said he clawed himself up from nothing through a skill with coin alone, becoming one of Capua's wealthier merchants, great enough to hold a full round of gladiatorial games for his son. Yet it is said by many that his coin is stained with blood, a rumor given credence by the untimely demise of several of his rivals. A man of great pride, wealth, and incalculable danger, he could be a great investor and benefactor--if you could win his favor.
The Son [] Quintus Claudius Mereber, the Younger. A boy of almost fifteen, he looks more an awkward man, with arms and legs too long for his body and pale green eyes the size of saucers. He will inherit his father's vast wealth when Quintus the Elder dies, and thus the podium around you is full of preening men and women who have only praise for a the boy. A pampered young man, he is the apple of his father's eye, yet seems to possess none of the ruthlessness of his sire.
The Lover [] Laurentina Valerius, your betrothed. You have brought her here a scant few weeks before you are to be wed, in order to both get to know her and show her the skill of your ludus. She is a beautiful woman, with dark black hair and azure eyes, but as you watch, she regards the games below with a look of barely suppressed distaste.
The Fleshmongers [] Your rivals in these games, the lanistas Vadian and Crullius. Men far richer than you, they have gladiator stables numbering several dozens, and though Vadian regards you with scorn for the relatively minor part you will be playing in these games compared to the two of them, Crullius has shown you no small measure of kindness, even betting a full talent on Tius' upcoming fight. While making connections with lanistas is certainly valuable, it will further cement your current social status as one of them.
The roar of the crowd is deafening, so loud that the wooden stadium seems to shake as they pulse with the mad fury of bloodlust. In the arena before you, two men dance around one another, their blades flashing. The taller, a Gaul, is the crowd's favorite, wild tattoos gleaming on exposed biceps as he spins, his blades whirling streaks of steel. The smaller gladiator falls back before his onslaught, barely fending off each heavy blow.
As the crowd cheers with each strike, you cast a sidelong glance at the seat next to you. As a lanista, you have the honor of sitting in the rows beside the throne of honor, where Quintus, a boy with pale green eyes, watches raptly as men fight in his name. However, you have gone a step ahead, and been granted a seat beside the gilded throne itself. Only the most important or noble can sit here, and it is a sign of the high regard in which you are held by some that you are allowed to do so. It is in these podiums where alliances are made and deals forged, fortunes made and ruined. You sat beside...
The Father [] Quintus Claudius Mereber, the Elder. The son of a failing lanista, it is said he clawed himself up from nothing through a skill with coin alone, becoming one of Capua's wealthier merchants, great enough to hold a full round of gladiatorial games for his son. Yet it is said by many that his coin is stained with blood, a rumor given credence by the untimely demise of several of his rivals. A man of great pride, wealth, and incalculable danger, he could be a great investor and benefactor--if you could win his favor.
The Son [] Quintus Claudius Mereber, the Younger. A boy of almost fifteen, he looks more an awkward man, with arms and legs too long for his body and pale green eyes the size of saucers. He will inherit his father's vast wealth when Quintus the Elder dies, and thus the podium around you is full of preening men and women who have only praise for a the boy. A pampered young man, he is the apple of his father's eye, yet seems to possess none of the ruthlessness of his sire.
The Lover [] Laurentina Valerius, your betrothed. You have brought her here a scant few weeks before you are to be wed, in order to both get to know her and show her the skill of your ludus. She is a beautiful woman, with dark black hair and azure eyes, but as you watch, she regards the games below with a look of barely suppressed distaste.
The Fleshmongers [] Your rivals in these games, the lanistas Vadian and Crullius. Men far richer than you, they have gladiator stables numbering several dozens, and though Vadian regards you with scorn for the relatively minor part you will be playing in these games compared to the two of them, Crullius has shown you no small measure of kindness, even betting a full talent on Tius' upcoming fight. While making connections with lanistas is certainly valuable, it will further cement your current social status as one of them.