The Arena

The general's face remained impassive, even as his guest's demeanor drastically shifted. He narrowed his crimson eyes further. "No. Next week. A showcase. A gladiatorial match to rival The Fleshing for the presentation of my recent acquisition. I want you to commentate. I want you to publicize it properly. You can call it," he paused a moment, perhaps for effect. "The Butchering."

Swain shifted in his seat, leant back against the crimson cushions, folded his hands over his breastplate. The foul raven at his shoulder gave a chilling caw. "It is necessary that this.. debut, of sorts, be received with appropriate fanfare." His red eyes locked with Draven's, flashed with sinister purpose, "Do I make myself clear?"

Darius was mid-way through topping a second glass for Draven, when Swain gave a sort of audible warning against frivolity - maybe he was following the General's orders, or maybe in some sort of disdain for not being known as the executioner himself, he downed the remaining half glass of his own and held onto the second; he shot Draven a look that seemed to say "not now" and stifled a chuckle as his brother resembled something of a whipped dog.

He took another massive gulp, assuming on some part that this - like most outwardly fun activities would be something else for him to simply stand and watch, so his own sobriety was moot. "Lemme..." his eyes rolled "take that white haired wretch in." His face went boyishly lumpy as he began to mock Riven "oh peace! Fluffiness and happy rainbows everywhere!" he jabbed a finger to the sky "and a pony for every little girl!" had his second glass not been nearly bare he would have undoubtedly sloshed beer to the ground - but in stead he proceeded to fill the mug again.

A look of utter annoyance darkened the Grand General's features. He scoffed. "If we needed her dead now, she would be." His crimson eyes bored into those of the flamboyant exhibitionist. Scathingly, he added, "You are an entertainer, Draven, not a strategist. Stick to what you know." The dull roar of the departing crowd could be heard through heavily curtained windows; outside, the horses brayed and stomped.

"The keynote has already been designed: my champion, pitted against five hundred slave-gladiators--all of whom will be granted their freedom, should they manage to fell the beast." A wicked grin twisted the general's already sinister features, a sadistic expression that implied there would be little chance of this. "The preceding events, I leave you to devise. They need only serve to excite the crowd, lead up to the main feature. I trust you will arrange something appropriate." The fiendish raven at Swain's shoulder matched her master's stare, eyes blood-red, blazing with intensity. His air seemed to complete the thought with an unspoken, Or else.

"Saturday the second," Swain growled. "I trust this is enough time for you to generate adequate publicity and develop a suitable program." The bird at his shoulder cawed again, ruffled her feathers, repositioned herself on the perch at his shoulder. He drummed his fingers impatiently over his golden breastplate in quick staccato.

"Good." Swain eyed the executioner up and down. The man's mustache quivered with excitement. A subtle smirk spread behind the general's shroud. "Now get out." He motioned towards the carriage door. "You've just become a very busy man."

Swain lifted his chin. His final word of instruction was issued with cold resolve: a warning, "Do not disappoint me."

((Just RPing this cuz I was asked. =3))

A crowd was gathered in the arena, cheering uproariously as a man adorned in clothing made of defeated animals yanked hard on a chain leading into a darkened corridor. A growling hiss came from it as more men gripped the chain and pulled, hard, slowly gaining ground on whatever was at the other end.

This would be a fine test for the gladiators-in-training, even if not all of them would survive...

With a final yank, the small crowd of men managed to pull the creature into the light. The chain was fastened around the right ankle of the beast, and fastened to a heavy supporting block of steel to guarantee it would not break free with the great strength from the drake's huge wings.

The men quickly ran for cover, diving under a thick gate that closed off the entrance to the arena, however, one was too slow. With speed that was truly frightening for such a massive creature, the beast's neck snapped around and caught him. The maw of the drake easily crossed the man's torso and viciously whipped him side to side, a blood-curdling scream echoing across the arena as bits of him fell to the sand and gravel below.

As the Rift Drake finished its meal, it looked at its surroundings and let out a mighty screeching roar that shook the arena floor, its bestial yellow eyes and slitted pupils looking around for its next meal ticket...

The drake's eyes locked onto the fodder, and immediately, it was off. The sheer size of the creature shook the ground as it tore toward them. Man, woman, armor, no armor, none of that mattered as the thick hide of the creature, covered in spikes, charged down their pitiful formation like a ball striking bowling pins.

With catlike flexibility, the creature spun around in the center of the ranks. Its club-like tail struck hard, colliding with terrible force. The spikes impaled the fighters and sent them to the ground and across the arena, blood staining the gravel. The fans cheered as the first blood was spilled. But one young man had jumped over the tail as his comrades fell.

He landed on the ground, amazed his instincts had paid off. As the tail swung back at him, he raised his blade and ducked, the cutting edge striking against the scales of the Drake...only for it to glance off, leaving a thin mark across the reptile's hide, but doing no meaningful damage. The drake roared in fury and its serpentine neck snapped around, biting the young man's side, causing him to cry out in pain.

Those that could pulled themselves to their feet and charged the beast, slashing at anything they could reach with their weapons, some even clinging to spikes. However, with a few mighty wing-beats, the beast threw itself into the air, combined with a powerful jump. It rolled and spun in the air, clinging warriors losing their grip or being impaled on the very spiky hide they attempted to use to keep their grip.

With a crash, the drake would land, kicking up dust, sand, and dirt as bodies littered the ground. Only the young man remained in the creature's mouth. He let out a battle-cry and raised is blade, bringing it down upon the creature's bony eyebrow ridge, striking bone, and drawing a faint trickle of blood. In response, the Rift Drake roared and snapped its neck outward, hurling the crippled young man to the floor, and against the arena wall.

He crumpled, but still managed to pull himself to his feet, blood pouring from multiple wounds. However, he looked to the crowd, filled his punctured lungs with air, and shouted.

"BLOOD FOR NOXUS!!"

The young man charged, grabbing a spear from one of his fallen comrades as he closed the gap between him and the drake. The drake seemed to be put off by the brazen charge from its prey, coiling its neck back and folding its wings. The young man's boots dug into the ground beneath him, and carried him forward as the crowd cheered. Such spirit!

And then, he screamed, and the crowd cried out in horror as his body melted away. The drake's neck shot forward, hurling a ball of green wispy substance through the air, that detonated when it hit the ground, throwing up a stinking, corrosive spread of acidic gas which melted the flesh from the young man's bones and liquefied his lungs.

The remainder of the man fell to the ground, the crowd speaking in hushed tones as the Rift Drake roared with another ground-shaking cry, surrounded by the slain bodies of its prey. It then turned its attention toward the women in the corner of the arena, sectioned off, and growled with a hiss and a snarl, its fore-claws pawing at the dirt, as if challenging them itself...