Will of the Dominus

1 Day After the Spring Games Celebrations

House Thal'kyr Ludus Gladiatorius

Two months had passed since the novicii had been put through the first phase of training. Now, Lord Marcellus wished to inspect his investment's progress and gauge their worth.

Normally, it took one to two years of training before an initiate would be set before their dominus, to demonstrate what they've learned in the ludus. The batch that came with Angronius were held with much scrutiny compared to those that came before them, due in no small part to the troublesome slave's rebellious nature. Owing to his refusal to submit to those who fancied themselves his betters, Angronius would often antagonize the ascendente whenever it gave him cause, regardless of how some of them were born of petty reasons.

The fights between them would usually end with Angronius limping back to his cell, all bloodied but still hot with fury. As of late, he started to fare better and it showed in his training as well. He rarely made the same mistake twice, a fact that even the stern Oenomaus could commend him with. And the ascended gladiators who brawled with him, though physically enhanced, found the aspiring slave to be a challenge in the practice yard. The strength that he possessed, and more, turned him from pup to bristling hound.

News of this reached the ears of Lord Marcellus, and he made effort to find what it was exactly that made the boy special.

And so, one afternoon as he and his family dined from the comfortable vantage of the palace hanging gardens, the patriarch had Oenomaus bring the best of the novicii for a demonstration. The best included Angronius, much to Polgara's dismay.

"Ugh." She grimaced upon hearing his name escape the lips of her father.

Lord Marcellus found his daughter's discomfort amusing, "Steady there, my darling. Tis but a name."

"Whose idea was it to give him such a name?" Polgara complained, "Angronius. Angronius. It's a name fit for a disease, more like."

"It was Oenomaus'." The patriarch said with a shrug, "I, for one, find it to be quite fitting. The slave, as I've heard from his reports, is quite the animal in the ludus."

"And I, for another..." Lady Poledra countered as she settled down on her lounge chair. "...find the prospect of a savage within our walls a tad disconcerting."

"We will find his worth soon enough." Marcellus declared, putting an end to the discussion with a raised hand. "Now, let us turn our eyes to the novicii that we might at last see whether our doubts would be laid to rest, or confirmed."

Before the test, Marcellus had a small stage erected upon the sands of the stadium, to serve as pale imitation of the Colosseum Magnus. Here, the slaves would fight against each other, one on one. The fights in the demonstration were not to the death, although risk of it as well as injury were still present. The entire purpose of the test was to only give the novicii a taste of the arena, to give them insights on what they would face when they at last became gladiators.

For the slaves who had little else to aspire to, it was a great honor. For some, like Angronius, it was just another blood sport to please their decadent masters.

The child of the mountain, when he emerged from the shadows of the ludus to be revealed in the light of the test, showed that he had grown rather quickly in both strength and stature.

He was taller than anyone of the initiates, and what used to be a scrawny body had now transformed into a form rippling with steely muscle. The fact that he possessed such impressive traits before even entering ascension was equal parts amazing and unsettling. Marcellus and Poledra couldn't believe it when Oenomaus told them of his apparent change, but seeing it for themselves for the first time in months drew their attentions even closer to Angronius.

"The boy is full of surprises." Lady Poledra remarked.

"I don't think we can call him 'boy' anymore, judging from what I see." Marcellus observed.

Angronius' opponent was another slave armed with the spear and shield. Wielding twin axes like a dimachaerus, he was naturally paired with his class' rival- the hoplomachus. When they ascended the stage, Polgara made note of his unique style.

"First time I've ever seen someone use two axes."

"It is a rare thing." Marcellus replied, "But not new."

Oenomaus gave the command for the initiates to moment Angronius made his first swing, his opponent regretted having to face him. His first blow smashed the hoplomachus' shield, leaving a sizeable dent where it struck. Falling back to recover, the slave made a desperate thrust with his spear, only to have Angronius catch it between the heels of his axeblades.

The spear shaft broke with a loud snap, leaving the slave with only his gladius to defend himself. Defeat was sure, but the hoplomachus did not wish to concede just yet. He studied his stronger opponent with wary eyes, and slowly reached for his sword.

"Go on." Angronius said quietly.

The slave offered him a small smile of thanks. They both knew that to make a poor showing before the dominus would only result in severe punishment. Angronius, in his own way, was generous enough to let him escape that fate. Even in defeat, if he performed adequately, he would remain a novicii.

He raised his sword and ruined shield in the stance Oenomaus had taught him, then waited for Angronius to finish him off.

The child of the mountain spun around and sent the slave flying off the stage and into the sands below. The axes hit his shield so hard that when it braced up against his arm, his bones shattered. He remained alive and free of punishment, but was left in intense pain upon the ground.

Angronius felt no guilt in the matter, for he knew that the slave would be able to fight again. The medicus would see to his injuries, even the worst of them.

Lord Marcellus applauded the spectacle with a wide smile on his face. The clap of his hands sounded like a dozen agoniser whips snapping at once, "Yes! That is what I like to see! Well done!"

Even Doctore Oenomaus smirked, showing a hint of approval for Angronius' display. He bid some of the attending slaves to carry the injured fighter to the medicus, then motioned for the next pair to come up front and do their part in the demonstration.

"Curious." Lady Poledra murmured, leaning forward to have her wardens fetch and bring Angronius to the hanging gardens, that she might inspect him more closely.

When Angronius was brought before them, understandably chained with star-metal shackles, the three nobles marveled at the sight of a true titan before them. While they were yet to see him perform in the Colosseum Magnus, the sight of him standing before them was enough to bring visions of future glories and progression towards their house's fortunes.

"You fight with the strength of a hundred men, Angronius!" Marcellus commended him, "Your performance this day has pleased us all!"

Angronius threw Polgara a sidewards glance, noticing her pouting lips and burning glare upon him. Clearly, she was the exception to her father's statement. "I am happy to be of service."

"That is good." Poledra rose up and approached the slave, not even in the least bit afraid of the young man as he towered above her. "I will have the medicus analyze you within the palace laboratories. Do try and behave while you're there."

It was another test, to see if Angronius had learned to maintain a servile attitude. The slave knew it, for he possessed a sharp mind. And although he chafed at the prospect of having to remain the obedient dog, he knew better than to reveal his true feelings then and there. Using what he learned from Oenomaus, Angronius endeavored to rein in his passionate desire for a quick exit from the palace grounds, and upheld patience as his most cherished of virtues.

"Yes, domina."

The wardens escorted him away, leaving the family alone to share discussion of their judgements of the slave. Unbeknownst to them, however, Angronius was quick to seize upon opportunity of his own. On the way up to the hanging gardens, and on the way down to the medicus chambers within the Palace Praxica, he memorized the route taken with but a single glance.

He counted the guards present, noted their positions and their patrol routes. His keen eye gauged the walls, their defenses and their weaknesses. The latter were few, but within reach of exploiting should he make the effort.

"You remain unconvinced, dear girl?" Marcellus said to Polgara.

"I find the slave abhorrent, Papa." She confessed, "Of reasons I cannot quite comprehend. Being around him sets my to stomach to unease, and my hairs to stand on end."

"I cannot blame you for feeling that way." The patriarch reassured her, "Your days of running about the ludus as a child are all behind you. Tis only natural that you would quiver at the sight of a gladiator up close."

"He is not even a gladiator yet." With a heavy sigh, Polgara got up to leave. "I shall retire to the comforts of a rose petal bath now. This heat has proven torturous for my skin."

"She has a point, but Angronius' ascension comes near." Marcellus peered over the edge of the wall and watched the slave as he was led inside. "Perhaps, he may have already ascended well in advance of our physicians' aid."

The patriarch's assumptions were correct in that regard. For when Angronius was placed within the confines of an examination table, to be poked and prodded by the palace physicians, the evidences of his transhuman nature were slowly unveiled with each sample extracted from him.

A few drops of blood, a strand of hair, some scrapings of skin. The work of a divine's hand was written in every inch of his body.

"Where did you procure such a fine specimen?" Dr. Vyassa, the head physician, inquired of Zaziq.

"Out of a place of ill repute." The herald answered, glancing over his shoulder at Angronius, who was at the end of his patience while remaining shackled to the table. "The Proving Grounds. He and another slave were the only survivors of the pits, and I saw worth in both."

"Then the gods have blessed you with the eyes of Diana herself." Vyass analyzed the results of his samples, "This slave holds the secrets of a genetic-modification technology far beyond that of my knowledge. And I dare say, even that of all Nuceria."

"A bold claim." Zaziq said, "Perhaps he is a mutant, and he is afflicted with flaws outside of your expertise?"

"No." Vyassa insisted, standing by his findings. "Mutations are born of accidents. His is of careful design. We can spend years, perhaps decades, analyzing him and but scratch the surface of his true potential."

"Hmm." The herald mused, "I shall have word with Lord Marcellus."

"No." The doctor stopped him, "Not yet."

Zaziq looked at him with incredulity, but he understood what Vyassa meant with the delay of the news. Lord Marcellus was a businessman, aside from being a politician. He had little concern for matters of science and discovery. If word reached him that Angronius was truly beyond that of a simple slave, he would press to squeeze every bit of profit from him.

He would mine gold from his flesh and bones, so to speak.

"I will have the slave remain a little bit longer." Vyassa said, "When I have finished, I will make the report myself."

"As you wish." Zaziq shrugged and left the medicus' chambers, washing his hands from the matter entirely.

House Ashtura, Palace Imryyr

Within the inner sanctum of Lord Meslim home, hidden from prying eyes and errant ears, stood five men of the Perfidium Guild.

Assassins known only to the most ambitious and most vile of Nuceria's nobility, masters of their craft and agents of fearsome repute, they were hired by the lord of the palace at great expense to enact a brutal reply for the stinging wound inflicted upon him at the conclusion of the spring games.

Lord Meslim strode to the front of them, and gave a quick glance towards their trappings. All were adorned in black shrouds, in tight but firm bodysuits fashioned from materials plucked from the Empyrean. The assassins were shadows made flesh, their bodies transformed through unspeakably horrifying rituals known only to the Guild itself. It was a fortunate thing that whatever base need they had left was for the want of coin, otherwise they would stand as abominations in the world of man.

"You are all clear to your purpose?"

Their leader, peering through the narrow slits of his mask, gazed into Meslim's eyes with unholy red orbs that blazed with murderous intent. His voice was nasty, serpent-like hiss as he repeated his employer's words. "Yes. We are to dispatch only the girl and make bloody spectacle of her remains."

"Go then, and set forth to path." Meslim commanded, "I would have you within the Palace Praxica's grounds before nightfall."

The assassins faded into mists, disappearing from the man's sight with the wind. He crossed his arms and leaned back, envisioning his triumph at bringing sorrow to the house of his rival.

The sharp clack of stilettos upon the marble floor reached Meslim's ears. His smile grew even wider as his lover emerged from the shadows of the nearby corridor and slipped a gentle hand across his belly. "I have you to thank for mentioning the Guild."

Secilia was not of noble blood, nor was she a slave. The woman was a connoisseur of suffering, a child born from the blackest pits of Nucerian society. Her body, transformed through extensive cybernetic surgeries, was as much her arsenal as Meslim's plaything. Long taloned and segmented appendages sprung from her lower back like those of a spider's legs, beneath her fingers hid claws as sharp as razors, and fixed within her jaws were twin pairs of fangs bearing the most painful of toxins known to Nuceria.

Called to service two decades before House Ashtura's rise to prominence, Secilia worked as Meslim's spymaster and procurer of secrets.

A hasty tongue would call her a glorified torturer, and would be subsequently severed. Secilia was no butcher, but an artist. Her talons were her brushes, and the bodies of her enemies the canvas.

Their blood, the paint.

Now, she served him both in his bedchamber as well as the palace flensing chamber. Her work resulted in many a cruel masterpiece, carved upon the bodies of slaves to be displayed in her bloodstained galleries for all time.

"It is Lord Fowl you must thank." Selicia's silky voice caressed his ear, "His schemes rival that of Dolos. If I am to make any suggestions, I would ask that you keep him close to you. Having him as an ally would benefit your house greatly."

"I would consider it." Meslim replied, "But let's solve one problem at a time. I must make preparations for consoling House Thal'kyr with regards to such a painful loss suffered through the death of their only child."

"You are a cruel man." Selicia chuckled.

"Yes." Meslim nodded, "I am the worst."

House Thal'kyr Ludus Gladiatorius

As soon as the sun set, Angronius was sent back to the gladiator school. His examination pleased the head physician so much that Dr. Vyassa instructed Oenomaus to have him fed double the portion a novicii was given during meals. The slave did not take this news as well as he should have, for thoughts of escape were heavy on his mind.

Darkness had fallen, and with the rise of the new moon came his opportunity.

Once all had gone to sleep and the ludus fallen silent, Angronius made his move. His kennel door was made of the finest star-metal, nigh impenetrable to mortal hands. But this time, he barely strained himself with pulling them apart and lifting the door free to gain himself his exit.

Angronius passed by Rissio's cell, and he took a moment to peer through its bars.

His friend was sound asleep upon his mat, having worked himself to all exhaustion with Oenomaus' drills in the practice yard. He wanted to tear off the door for him, bring him along on his escape, but many things stayed his hand. Rissio, in his current condition, would slow him down. And the holplomachus gave no voice to his desire for leaving the school. Ambition had sprung from mere flickering embers to roaring inferno, fanned to flame by the illusions granted by their teacher and his stories of freedom.

Reluctantly, the slave made off without him and pressed close to the shadows while he retraced his steps towards the wall of the hanging gardens. It was higher than he thought, standing over 75 feet of smooth and straight solid Nucerian stone. There would be nothing to aid him in his escape, no tools nor rope for scaling the heights of the hanging gardens.

No tools, save for his hands alone.

Angronius glanced at them for a moment, brow arching with the sprouting of new ideas. He willed them to be as stiff as iron and used them as climbing hooks, digging them deep into the stone as he scaled the walls. His fingers screamed in protest, bleeding with each painful grip into the stubborn face of the walls.

Slowly, and so painfully, Angronius gained the heights of the gardens and rolled over the edge to settle safely within the concealed brush of the palms and olive saplings.

He carefully surveyed the area around him and plotted the next course of his actions. The guards had not seen him move from the ludus grounds yet, but they would find his cell door broken and left ajar soon enough. He had to hurry, and so he did.

Curiously, there were almost no wardens in sight when he left the gardens. Angronius started to think that they had grown careless in their rounds, until his nose caught the scent of fresh blood in the air. Following the rusty smell, he found an ugly splatter and smeared trail leading away from the wall. Peering into the darkness, Angronius could see some carefully concealed gilded bodies lying in the ground below.

He couldn't fathom the events that transpired in tandem with his escape, but he counted the deaths of the wardens as somewhat to his benefit.

"Hmph."

With that grunt, Angronius beat a hasty retreat into the shadows once more as the sound of marching wardens reached his ears. He left the walls that connected the gardens to the courtyard and entered the grounds of the Palace Praxica. Using his knowledge procured before hand when guided into the physician's chambers, the slave made his way up to the dim lights flickering through the open windows of the upper floors.

Quiet as he could, Angronius hoisted himself up and slipped into the unknown without being seen. He took in the unfamiliar sight of waxed floors and hand painted tiles stretching from one long corridor to the next. Trophies and marble statues lined the halls from end to end, with massive paintings depicting the history of House Thal'kyr so beautifully displayed among the artifacts.

A noise from within one of the rooms further down the hall spurred Angronius to hug the nearby wall. A slave, still dripping wet from his duties assisting his masters, exited the gilded doors to fetch something that would aid in his tasks. When he passed Angronius, he slid across the wall like a skittering scarab and entered the room the attending slave left moments before.

He thought it best to hide somewhere where the wardens were to least likely patrol, one of them being one of the rooms of their employers. However, he was unprepared for the sight that would greet him once he entered those doors.

A woman was bathing in a wide steaming tub, its waters filled with the gentle pink petals of roses and smelling sweet with the scent of the flowers. Her hair cascaded about her shoulders as she lowered herself into the pool, then slipped in among the wet petals as she laid her head down gently upon the edge of the tub so she might bask in the warmth of its steam.

"Sethus, I would have you rub my shoulders." She commanded, thinking that the slave who was present was the one she had dispatched to fetch the scented oil.

Angronius stood there, frozen in place as his eyes beheld the woman in all her naked splendor. All the plans he had for his escape were chased away by base desires. In that moment, he forgot what he was truly there for.

"Come now, I grow impatient." The woman growled, leaning her head back with her eyes closed.

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Angronius approached the tub and loomed over the maiden. He did not recognize her immediately, but when he did, his lips twitched into a mischievous grin.

It was Lady Polgara Eanna Thal'kyr.

Freed from her flowing robes, assorted accoutrements and jewelry, the simplicity of it all proved to be the most satisfying of sights. Angronius reached for her shoulders and gently squeezed the flesh beneath his hands. Her skin was soft, smooth like waxed marble. Bronze skin stretched tightly over lean muscle, gleaming ever so brightly in the light of the candles burning all around them. Polgara was not one to grow fat with luxury, although to the eyes of her slaves she seemed to have never worked a day in her life.

Left to gaze upon her without fear of punishment, Angronius' eyes lingered on her breasts. The maiden was still young, and yet possessed the fine assets of a woman that would rival any other. They looked so soft, plump and tempting to the touch.

Polgara felt a slave's hand on her, easily mistaking it for Sethus' touch. She did, however, have the suspicion that he was not who he seemed. His hands were too rough, calloused with the labor of his tasks. She had grown to know Sethus to have a gentlier touch, with hands as smooth as her own skin.

And yet, the way he worked his fingers into her, chasing away the tensions building up within the muscles...

"Mmm..." Polgara purred, "That feels...glorious."

Another noise caused Angronius to turn his head sharply over his shoulder, and Polgara to open her eyes to glance up at the slave tending to her needs. Both bore witness to the shadows manifesting themselves into men clad in dark cloaks and sharpened daggers.

Polgara uttered a shrill cry of alarm, while Angronius uttered a roar of fury. The maiden started to climb out of the tub and slipped back in her haste, while the slave fended off their assailants with his bare hands.

The titan snarled as the assassins slashed at his arms, shoulders and sides. Their choice of weapons required them to come close, and this proved to be a great disadvantage on their part. Angronius fared best in close quarters, and he showed them just how well he fought when he was inches away from their faces.

His fists brained a man, splattering the walls with the contents of his head. Seizing another, he hoisted him high up over his shoulders and brought him down hard upon his knee, shattering his spine into two. Clutching another by the throat, Angronius ripped his head right off his shoulders, then proceeded to bludgeon the other with his makeshift weapon to death.

The last one made an attempt on Polgara while the slave dealt with his comrades. He grabbed her by the hair and pushed her face deep within the waters to drown her. Polgara struggled fiercely, but was overpowered within seconds.

She was saved by Angronius, who plucked the assassin from behind and dug his fingers into his mouth. With a savage pull, he tore the man's lower jaw from his face, then proceeded to ram it back into his head.

Gasping and sputtering after nearly drowning, Polgara grabbed a towel to cover herself and shrank back into the nearby wall.

The noise of the struggle was not lost on the wardens, and as misfortune would have it, Angronius found himself surrounded by the gilded warriors. They beheld the slaughter with surprise, saw the badly shaken sorceress cowering in the corner, and gazed upon the bloodied form of the slave standing triumphant over the corpses.

Realizing his chance at escape had long passed, Angronius begrudgingly surrendered, spurred on to accept his fate by the upraised guns of the wardens.

"Y-You saved me." Polgara said in disbelief.

Angronius threw her an annoyed glance, which quickly dissipated, giving way to another humorous smirk.

Once again finding himself in shackles, the slave was brought before his master to await his judgement. Lord Marcellus was not in the best of moods when he received the news. Not only had he been so rudely awakened from his precious hour of sleep, but now he received both the news of a would-be runaway slave and the endangering of his daughter's life.

In matters concerning his family, Marcellus was often impulsive and prone to both the most brutal and hastiest of decisions. Surprisingly, it was Lady Poledra who stayed his hand from lashing out against Angronius.

"You protect the disloyal dog?" He said, arguing against her within the safety of their chambers. "That's a first!"

"Calm yourself, dear husband." Poledra replied coolly, "I merely produce fact. If it weren't for Angronius, our cherished daughter would have been murdered this night, and come the morn you would be holding a funeral service."

Marcellus heard the words and stilled his rage, considering carefully his wife's counsel. He glanced at Polgara, who sat quietly at his study.

"True. Regardless, he attempted escape and must be punished accordingly."

Polgara heard him speak of punishment, and realized the intended sentence on her father's mind. Attempts at escape could only be answered according to Nucerian law, and that was crucifixion. Something changed in her that night when the slave that she so loathed proved to be her protector when she needed aid. Such goodwill moved her compassionate heart to forgive his rebellious nature, and she spoke up on his behalf.

"Papa, I beg of you!" She pleaded, "Spare him! I would be dead if not for him!"

Marcellus chuckled at the irony of the situation. How quickly had the three of them changed their perspective on Angronius. And yet, he could not deny the fact that the slave earned himself a reason for his master to take pause and consider a less harsher sentence.

"Yes...yes you would be." The patriarch mused, "But I cannot ignore his trespass against this house. Punishment must still be meted out."

Polgara's face fell at his verdict.

"According to the physician, Angronius is of the special kind. Perhaps in his punishment, we would gain proof of that as well. I would have him crucified for a period of seven days. If he survives, then I shall have him rise as a gladiator. If he dies, then justice would still be served."

It wasn't any better than the fate Polgara was trying to keep the slave from suffering, but her father's word was law. He would not be swayed from it, no matter how much she tried.

"Come, my dear." Poledra beckoned, "Sleep in my bedchambers tonight. We will chase away your fears together."

Left alone, Marcellus turned his attention towards the hand that dispatched the assassins to his home. None were left alive to see interrogation, the errant slave saw to it. The patriarch was not without other means, however, and would not rest until he found the vipers who sought to do him harm.