The Arena is a demiplane, and as such, has no actual outside. Gateways to the Arena exist throughout the multiverse and time, meaning links exist to everywhere, including every point in Earthâ,¬,,¢s history, any published setting, and any setting here, though if your character comes from a setting on this board, make sure you talk to the owner and get their permission. Gates only allow someone to enter the Arena or return to their own plane and timeframe. Also, any items not native to their world cannot be brought through a gate. The plane is actually huge, and the Arena where people fight is only a small portion of the plane.
The demiplane is divided into districts, including the slave pens, the beastâ,¬,,¢s pens, vendor areas, training areas, and even a rather extensive residential district. In addition, there is a section of the Arena dedicated to Dojos. Side pits also exist for smaller fights, sparring, and other, less major battles.
Walking through the corridors, people will find a variety of vendors, selling all manner of goods, from simple foods and beverages to illegal drugs. .Noncombot items can be bought here as well, though Xathan strictly forbids the sale of items that can be used for combat, including potions.
[spoiler=Xathan, God of Combat]
Stats: (Xathan doesnâ,¬,,¢t have class levels. Instead, he is a Solar Angel with the half-farspawn template applied, except all the spell like abilities of that template lower than 7th level are usable at will. He also can manifest invocations and an eldritch blast as a 20th level warlock, and initiate martial maneuvers as a 20th level swordsage. He replaces the Solar ability to cast spells as a 20th level cleric with an ability to cast spells as a 20th level sorcerer. He looses the extraplanar subtype and good subtype, and gains the evil subtype. His damage reduction changes to 15/cold iron and good, and only a cold iron, good aligned weapon can overcome his regeneration.)
Xathan, the self styled God of Combat, is not actually a god, but rather a fallen celestial granted with extraordinary powers. Although he cannot grant spells, he still does have a small cult of followers who live in and run the Arena, some who gain spells out of devotion to him, but not from him actually granting spells. Xathan was once a Solar general in the army of a good aligned goddess of war, but rebelled against her. His punishment confined him a remote demiplane. Seeing an opportunity, Xathan converted the demiplane into the Arena.[/spoiler]
The Vermilion Clan is new to the Arena, and is eager to show it's prowess. Any who wish to prove their worth against these fighters are welcome.
[ooc= ... ] Those in the Level 12 and Level 20 categories are especially welcomed, as Yamitz (12) and Isikan (Gestalt 16...which would be the Level 20 category) are both tuned and outfitted already.
The Vermilion Clan roster is available in the roster thread.[/ooc]
Very disappointed by his loss, and slightly confused as to why his teammates would have him resurrected after such a defeat, Orbis wanders the many streets of the Arena, thinking hard and occasionally talking quietly to himself.
"This is not my home," he mutters again, for probably the hundredth time that hour, "Dwarves are not the masters here, and everyone is allowed to use magic." He could almost fit his head around the first part, since he was constantly reassured by one of his teammates, a Dwarf named Dwight, but the second part he just couldn't grasp. He was so used to only seeing magic used by the High Masters, and only on rare occasions. When he arrived here, and saw magic abounding everywhere, he nearly fainted. His leader, who called himself The Warden, was very skilled in the art of magic, and he was a Human just like Orbis. But he just couldn't see himself using magic.
"Still," he thought, "I was quickly defeated by my first opponent because he was using magical items and I was not." Thinking back to that match, he admitted to himself that he had lost again after the Dwarf warrior made his rock creatures let Orbis go, and had in fact magically restored him to better, though not perfect, health. Orbis had only made a few strikes against the man before he felt the swift slice of an axe across his ribs, it having come up straight under his armor. Then, apparently, he had died. He didn't know what was happening to him, he seemed to be floating chaotically through time and space, when he heard the call of The Warden, beckoning him back. It was only then that he had realized that he was dead.
In fact, Orbis had almost not come back at all. He had died with honor, against a worthy foe. What more could he ask for? But The Warden's voice called to him again, as though reading his thoughts, reminding him that to die with honor was fine, but wasn't it better to live with honor? Orbis found this logic hard to argue against, and returned to his, now fully restored, body.
After his revival, he sat and spoke with The Warden for nearly an hour, before deciding that it would be best to leave for a while, and think things through for himself.
As these many thoughts whirled through his mind, Orbis found himself standing in front of some sort of stand. Whatever it was must surely be amazing, for the entire thing was covered in bright decorations and smelled of sweet breads and wines. He walked closer to the stand, looking for the source of the smells, and hoping to perhaps get something to eat.
"Excuse me there sir!" a smooth voice came from his right. He looked over, but saw nothing, and went back to examining the stand. "Sir," the voice said again, "down here my good man." Orbis looked by his waist and saw a well-dresses gentleman standing there, barely coming up past his belt. "Ah, yes," the small man continued, "my name is Earnest P. Warrel, and this is my associate, Vern."
The man, Earnest, pointed behind Orbis, and he turned around to see nothing. "I'm sorry," Orbis began, "I don't-"
"Don't see anyone?" Mr. Warrel finished his sentence for him. "And well you shouldn't. Mr. Vern here is invisible, constantly. No one has ever seen him, except myself, once, when we first met. Not even the greatest mages here in the Arena have ever been able to see him. His invisibility my partner possesses is a rare gift. Not magical, not psionic, not any form of power known to magekind. However," Earnest continued, "I'm sure you didn't make your way to my stall simply to discuss the enigma that is Vern, did you sir?"
"Well no," Orbis began, "I was just walking by when-"
"When my stand attracted your attention. Correct?" He continued, not allowing Orbis a chance to respond. "Of course it did sir, of course it did. You are the observant type, I can see for myself. How could you fail to notice the bright colors that adorn my stand and the delicious aromas that emanate from within? You couldn't, no right-minded man would walk by here without noticing the sights or smells my stand has. That's what makes me unique."
The small man, who Orbis now recognized as a Gnome, took a deep breath, and continued. "You might ask yourself, 'What could this man be selling that could create such wonderful smells? Pies? Wines?'. I'll tell you right now Mr., I didn't catch your name sir?"
"Orbis," he said, cut off again as the Gnome took up his lost thread.
"Mr. Orbis, I'll tell you right now, that not only does my product create those delicious smells, but it is also responsible for the unbelievable decorations that cover my stand. And," he reached behind the stand, pulling out what appeared to be a bland, everyday biscuit. "And it can make this bland, everyday biscuit taste like the sweetest meat you've ever tasted. Do you believe me?"
"Well, I suppose-"
"Let me give you a demonstration, Mr. Orbis, of what my product can do." He swept a stool out from behind the stall, and sat Orbis down on it. "Take a bite of this biscuit sir," Mr. P. Warrel held the biscuit up to Orbis' mouth, he took a bite. It tasted exactly how it looked, bland.
"That is a bland biscuit, correct?"
"Yes," Orbis swallowed the rest of it, curious to find out what it was Earnest was selling.
"Indeed sir, I'd hate to have to eat those all day, everyday. No flavor whatsoever. But," he produced a brightly colored stick from behind the stall, "this can solve the problem." He tapped the biscuit with the stick and said, "Slow-roasted chicken. Now, sir," he offered the biscuit back up to Orbis, "try it again."
Reluctantly, Orbis took the biscuit, and bit into it again. Only this time, his mouth was bombarded by the taste of slow, fire-roasted chicken. The best he'd ever tasted. "This is amazing," he took another bite.
"You finish off that biscuit and I'll tell you what else this bad boy can do."
He proceeded to explain that the product, which Mr. Warrel called the Presto Stick, could alter the smell, taste, and color of any food. "Not only that," he added, "but it can clean the dishes up afterwards!" He further explained that the Presto Stick was responsible for changing the boring, brown banners he used to have, into bright, beautiful banners, which attracted customers for miles, he claimed.
"And this little beauty can be yours, sir, for the low price of 1000 gold pieces!" He held out the Presto Stick, a huge grin on his face. "Actually," he paused, looking thoughtfully at Orbis, "I like you sir. So for you, and you only, I am going to slash the price to a mere 500 peices! Imagine, for only 500 gold peices you can eat like a king, every day! You can turn that tired, tattered tunic you've got at home into a snappy, sportive shirt!"
"Really?" Orbis gasped, having fallen for the pitch hook, line, and sinker, "that sounds great! Thank you Mr. Warrel!" He reached down to his belt, and pulled out his pouch, counting out 50 platinum peices for the Gnome salesman.
"Please," the Gnome gazed at the money Orbis was pouring into his outstretched hands, "call me Earnest."
Orbis walked back to the Batcave, busy looking over, and testing out, his new Presto Stick, having temporarily forgotten about his troubles. He didn't even realize that, without thinking about it, he had just gotten over his qualms about using magic.
Curious about the stranger that doesn't use magic, Tharamir follows the stranger down to the market. He watches the exchange between Orbis and the crafty Gnome. How did he ever get higher than me? He chuckles to himself, and then goes to find something to eat.
Tharamir slams his way outside, pushing his younger brother off to the side. How did he beat me?, How did he see me? He lets out a scream and sends an eldritch blast at an unsuspecting bush. I need some air, he lifts off the ground and flys for awhile.
Walking down the streets, clad in his recently returned armor, is Orbis.
After The Warden explained to him that magic was to be used by everyone, and after he purchased his Presto Stick, he was finally convinced to see if magic could help him in his fights. The Warden suggested that his first step should be to magically enhance his weapons and armor, and that maybe later he might think about other uses for magic.
So, here he was, headed to his next match, wearing his newly enchanted armor & shield, and carrying his weapons, also magically enhanced. "Well," he thought, "I guess The Warden was right. The Arena is vastly different from home, here, I can use magic if I want to. So, it's time to see if all of these enchantments can help me win my next fight."