Thirsting Sand

""Altheor's Honor Arena"" 


 * This open-roofed coliseum is tiered with sandstone benches, dissected here and there by aisles that lead down toward the combatants arena, which includes an ovular competition ring and a wrought iron battle cage.


 * Demarian underclassers move among the observers, selling flagons of wine and charred bumbler on a stick.


 * Stairs lead up to the reserved Senate loft balcony, from which the true nobles of Gleaming Star may watch the proceedings below.

Grayback stands in the center of the arena, dressed in a white tank-style undershirt, and sweat pants. He's wrapped his hands with tape, and has his arms crossed. His face is stern and set as he watches the entrance to the arena, his eyes alight with fire.

Stumppaw makes his way up toward the balcony specifically set aside for nobility, followed by his underclasser.

""Senate Balcony"" 


 * This rather spacious chamber forms a semicircle around the south arc of the arena. In stark contrast to the rather blank and uncomfortable tiers of stone benches provided for the commoners below, the Senate balcony is lavishly appointed with long sofas upholstered in rich blue velvet, thickly cushioned chairs, and a raised dais for performing musicians to entertain the nobles between events.

Stumppaw works his way toward one of the long sofas and settles onto it, getting an excellent view of the arena below.

The underclasser places the silver tray on a table next to Stumppaw's sofa and pours ale from the pitcher into the golden goblet.

With no economy of movement, Firebrand rallies her troops into the arena. "A lovely day for a good contest, don't you think?" she asks Streaksnout in passing, the long tendrils of her mane blown by the speed of her pace.

Streaksnout plods his way up the stairs, his neatly brushed tailtip swaying back and forth as he ambles higher, taking his time as he looks about, climbing slowly. "Yes -indeed-, Lady, -indeed- it is. Couldn't think of a finer day to see that whelp get his comeuppance. Indeed."

While Stumppaw watches, the underclasser pours another small amount of ale into a sample cup of smooth stone, then lifts the cup and sips from it. The elder Sandwalker's whiskers twitch as he waits for the underclasser to fall writhing on the floor.

Shadowstripe steps into the building on quiet paws and makes her way to the common area. It isn't everyday that she hears of a challenge, and this feline is rather curious as to how this one will turn out.

Shiningcoat enters the arena with Darktail at her side, each holding the paw of the other. The noble looks around for a few moments before turning to whisper something to her companion. She starts to lead Darktail towards the stairs that lead up to the balcony.

The underclasser doesn't die, so Stumppaw bobs his snout, picks up the goblet and drinks from it. Setting the goblet down, he glances toward the newcomers and grunts a greeting.

Darktail, without a word of complaint of any sort, simply follows where he's led by Shiningcoat, obsidian tail lashing softly behind his snow-licked frame as he curiously looks upon the Area, and his surroundings.

Feymask enters the arena a little after the others, the underclasser who is always with him trailing to the right. He halts there for a long moment, slowly setting a long look about.

D'Tossk enters the arena warily, his eyes shifting back and forth. Clacking his jaws together, he lashes his tail from left to right and searches for proper seating.

"Sandwalker, you old conniver, you're going to lose more underclassers that way." Streaksnout lowers himself onto a couch with a grunt. "Fine day for a challenge, indeed." He looks to the mildly attentive underclasser, then grumbles, "Wine, boy, and lots of it." The servant makes his quick way off, to the noble's call of, "And a platter of that bumbler kebab, too! NOT THE HONEY SAUCE!"

Grayback strides over towards the Nobles' box seats and stands next to the railing, looking at Stumppaw. "The incompetent fool demonstrates his cowardice by failing to meet his destiny face to face. If the whelp even decides to show, I shall enjoy even more arranging him in several pieces in the sand of this arena."

Shadowstripe spots a familiar figure coming in through the doorway. She raises a paw when she hopes D'Tossk is looking in her area. "Over here, sir," she calls out in a voice that will, ideally, carry over to the Nall.

Stumppaw wrinkles his snout, looking the brash Demarian up and down and then harumphing. "Honey sauce was good enough for Altheor," and then he nods toward Grayback. "I would be most surprised if he *did* show to fight you, Lord Nimblefoot. He is a pretender to nobility and always has been."

Grayback nods. "His cowardice makes me sick. If he refuses to fight, then I shall banish him in absentia."

Feymask looks over his shoulder to whisper something to his servant, then turns and makes his way out. The underclasser follows, making notes in a datapadd as commanded.

Shiningcoat enters the balcony with her Promised in tow. The girl sniffs at the air for a few moments before moving in the direction of Stumppaw. "Good evening, grandfather." She says in greeting.

D'Tossk pauses and turns to the direction of the call. "Ah, Ssshadowssstripe." he hisses once his yellow eyes fall across the female. With quick strides he reaches her side and bows his hide just a fraction. "Come to watch the battle I ssssee. It ssshould be quite interessting."

Streaksnout snorts as he reclines in the softness of the couch, combing his greying beard with his claws. "Altheor most likely had cooks that knew how to prepare it. Ahh, for the old days." He lets out a hissing sigh, and looks to Greyback. "I do hope the whelp shows, this promised to be entertaining, at the very least."

Stumppaw swings his snout toward Shiningcoat. "Granddaughter." He nods, then his ears twitch and he regards Darktail with gnashed fangs. "Are you lost?"

Silvereye strides into the arena, seeking passage through crowds of commoners and Nobles to the commoner seating/standing area.

Moonshadow strolls into the arena, poofy tail swishing behind her as she makes her way to the stairs for the balcony.

Darktail's ear fold back as Stumppaw regards him, the tone of the voice instantly having the desired effect upon the Snowcat. Sighing a little, he headtilts to the left, whiskers drooping a little. "I'm here with Shiningcoat, if you'll allow me the gracious pleasure of sitting among you, and besides your beautiful granddaughter, Lord Stumppaw..."

Shadowstripe bows to D'Tossk and crouches to reduce the height difference between the two of them. "Good day to you, D'Tossk," the female returns. "I've been drawn here as well. It isn't everyday that these sort of challenges are issued."

Moonshadow steps off the stairs and makes her way to the area reserved for the Stealthfoot clan; reaching it she sits down and gets comfortable. Her tail swirls up to lay across her lap and out of the way of possible treading on.

Stumppaw hrmphs, his whiskers flattening against his snout. "I will not offend the good nobles who share this balcony by making such a choice unilaterally." He takes another sip of his ale, then looks toward Streaksnout. "What say you? Let the offworlder stay and grope my granddaughter here in the shadows?"

Silvereye makes his way through the crowds, ending up near D'tossk and Stripe. He turns to the other Demarian bobbing his snout to her. "This..Uh...Area taken?"

"I assure you, grandfather, that yourself and Darktail think more alike than you may believe. Especially when it comes to Redtail Quicksilver." Shiningcoat says to Stumppaw with a brief tilt of her head. Her tail lashes about slowly behind her as she speaks.

"It isss not." D'Tossk comments. "I have yet to have the honor of witnesssing a Demarian honor duel. Quicksssilver being a friend of mine, thiss one iss mussst ideal to witnesss." The Nall shifts his weight, creating quite a clatter as his weaponry clangs against his armor. "Have you given further thought asss to your employment?"

Streaksnout flattens his nostrils, and his whiskers, "Kits these days...Sandwalker, she's yours, but were she my grand-daughter, I'd put her and this..." A look to Darktail, and a gravelly snort, "somewhere I could see them. Might want the opportunity to shave the whelp, if he can't watch his paws."

Stumppaw grunts, then bobs his snout. "Very well, then. Well argued," he growls to Streaksnout. He pats the sofa space next to him. "Sit, granddaughter." He points a clawed finger at Darktail. "And keep your paws where I can see them at all times."

Moonshadow nods to the others in the balcony as she settles into the sofa, making sure that Stumppaw gets a bow and more attention then the rest.

Fastfeet quickly strides towards the balcony, looking around him as he goes

"I have. I am sorry to say that I must turn down your gracious offer, D'Tossk. I have accepted employment with another," Shadowstripe replies. "But should you need supplies, I could look into acquiring some for you, sir." She glances up towards Silvereye. "No, this area is still available. Make yourself comfortable."

Darktail raises his paws up to around his shoulder level to keep them in good view of Stumppaws gaze, allowing them to remain there while he follows Shiningcoat to the seats pointed out to her. Tail swaying just a little, he doesn't look /as/ terrified of the Sandwalker Elder anymore, but still obviously intimidated. And who wouldn't be?

Streaksnout chuckles roughly, as his servant returns, laden under a platter of wine and bumbler kebabs; dribgib sauce. He grins, sniffing deeply at the air. "Ah, there you are, scurillious boy! Bring it here." The servant does so, setting the platter within the old Demarian's easy reach. Taking a cup from his tunic, the underclasser takes a sample first of the wine. Streaksnout waits, still chuckling to himself.

Grayback begins to pace back and forth along the railing next to the Noble's box seats, growling.

Silvereye bobs his snout gratefully to Shadowstripe. "Thank you. I'm Silvereye, in case you want to make some remark about the fight, strangers won't be around to laugh at you." This somewhat confusing statement is followed by a good natured wink and grin.

D'Tossk nictates his eye membranes and nods, grunting softly. "It isss your desssisssion of coursse." Flicking his tail against the ground, he shrugs his shoulders. "I hope that you have found an employer worthy of your ssskill. Might I assk who it isss that you are working for now?"

"Why thank you, grandfather." Shiningcoat says with a brief dip of her head. The noble girl moves over next to Stumppaw and sits, smoothing out her dress as she lowers herself. She looks to the space next to her, then to Darktail and motions him to sit with a graceful movement of her paw.

Fastfeet nods to the fellow nobles as he stalks in, not making eye contact with anyone he looks around and then take a seat on the sofa next to Moonshadow.

Moonshadow lounges on the sofa in the area reserved for the Stealthfoots. Her tail tip flicks lazily where it lays across her lap.

Swinging his gaze toward the arena, Stumppaw's whiskers flare. "He will not show." He then takes a small, curved-bladed knife from a sheath at his side and glances at two scabby spots on the fur of his stumped right arm. He quickly draws the glinting blade across the scabs once, twice, and they glisten wetly. His ears flatten and he hisses, but then goes back to glowering at the arena.

Streaksnout's servant not collapsing and dying yet, he pours a flagon of the wine for the noble, then takes a sample of the bumbler kebab, chewing idly as he awaits death, or continued servitude. And, once again, nothing happens in the most spectacular manner. Taking his place to one side, getting a cloth from a pouch at his side, he gets out of Streaksnout's way.

Darktail, not wanting to put a paw out of place today, sits only when Shiningcoat tells him to. A quiet sit that is, too. Finally, his ears semi-peek back up again, whiskers beginning to perk a little back to life.

Moonshadow nods to Fastfeet as he seats himself beside her. She then turns her blue-green gaze towards the arena, intent on the activity to take place below.

Shadowstripe offers a paw to Silvereye. "Shadowstripe Gemseeker," the striped Demarian says. "Nice to meet you, Silvereye." The felinoid turns to look at D'Tossk again. "I have accepted employment with Darktail Farstalker, sir."

"The coward." Shiningcoat says distastefully, absently placing a paw on Darktail's leg. Her ears angle around and she takes a few sniffs at the air. "Banishment is not enough, but any further punishment would be difficult considering his position."

D'Tossk presses his tongue between two fangs and turns away from the Demarian long enough to spit out a chunk of meat. Bringing his gaze back to her, he nods once again. "Good luck to you then. Sssshould you find yourssself in need of employment onssse again feel free to contact me. Additional merchantss are alwaysss welcome."

Stumppaw licks his own blood off the blade of the knife, then slides it back into the sheath and takes another sip of ale.

Fastfeet turns to the arena, gazing down his ears twitch slighlty and he taps the sofa lightly with his claws.

Into the kebabs Streaksnout tears, enthusiastic but precise, washing the first snoutful down with a long drink of wine. "Recall the whelp, then banish him. Take him out of that precious station of his. You want to hurt someone, hit their pride." Another snort, and the servant wipes at his muzzle. "Proud of being off-world, though, I -don't- know why. Concordance -indeed-."

Silvereye takes the paw, idly eavesdropping on Stripe's conversation with the lizard. He quirks an ear and cocks his head to one side as the conversation progresses. "I'm sorry to butt in, but, this Darktail, he a white Demarian, black tail, generally good-natured bordering on goofy, and is promised to some Noble?"

Moonshadow leans back on the sofa, one arm rests on the sofa's arm The other furred hand lays over her lap full of tail, keeping it under control as the tip tries to free itself. Her gaze remains on the arena as she doesn't seem to be very social at the moment.

Stumppaw sighs, then shakes his head. "Law enforcement is a dangerous line of work - assuming one actually removes one's posterior from the chair in one's office, or so I am told. Redtail Quicksilver has long been one to do what he must to protect that flabby backside of his. Altheor's teeth, even his *tail* has atrophied from lack of use. His sense of honor is as flaccid as his...well, suffice it to say that the his holdings in Gleaming Star will be forfeit."

Shadowstripe arches an eyebrow at Silvereye. "I haven't poked my nose into his personal matters," 'Stripe replies to Silvereye. "But he is taller than I am by about half a head and Demarian." She turns back towards D'Tossk, adding, "Thank you, sir. I will not forget your offer either."

Grayback continues to pace, the fire in his eyes burning brighter, his growl deeper. "The coward...he shall suffer for this if he even chooses to show..."

D'Tossk rakes the tip of his snout with three onyx claws. Despite the heavy load of equipment, he manages to hop onto a bench with ease. Craning his neck, he peers down at the arena. "Quicksssilver hasss ssstill not arrived... thiss isss mosst unussual."

Stumppaw stands, goblet in hand and calls out: "Grayback, if he does not show, his properties are yours, free and clear."

"I do still hope that he shows." Shiningcoat adds after Stumppaw's comment. "It'd be nice for him to be seriously wounded before he's driven from the city."

Moonshadow purrchuckles as Quicksilver arrives in the neck of time.

Fastfeet leans back on the sofa a bit more, stretching his legs out and letting his claws creep out, he turns his head to Moonshadow, smiling slightly, "Hello Lady Moonshadow, i have not seen you for a while, how are things?" he then turns his attention to Quicksilver.

Grayback hears footsteps and turns around. Upon locking his eyes upon Quicksilver, he chuffs. "So coward, you show at last. There was almost a betting pool beginning on if you'd even show up." He steps forward into the center of the arena, dressed in a tank-style undershirt and sweat pants. His hands are taped. "Step forward, whelp, and let the fight begin.

Streaksnout snorts, swallowing a morsel of bumbler, as the other challenger arrives, peering out at Quicksilver. "Well, about damned time."

Stumppaw twitches his whiskers as his eyes are drawn to the arriving Windracer noble. "Well," he bellows, "Redtail Quicksilver has not forgotten the route to his erstwhile home city. What an amusing surprise." He gestures with his goblet toward the arena, where Grayback waits. "We await the showing of your...prowess."

Silvereye watches the arena, looking around worriedly for any sign of Quicksilver. As the said Demarian arrives, the look is not lifted, merely focused upon the Arena.

Moonshadow glances towards Fastfeet, returning the smile of her clanmate, "I've been very busy at the shipyards." she purrs soflty, "Since the OS drives went offline we're getting a ton of orders. I hardly have time for even this diversion." she purrs, then she too turns her attention back to the area.

Quicksilver makes his way into the Arena, tail twitching behind him in an erratic pace. Emerald eyes shift to Grayback, and then up to the balcony at Stumppaw's declaration. A snort, and he replies to Grayback with a politeness that doesn't extend to his body language. "I do hope I didn't cause anyone to lose any funds in the betting pool. Perhaps you could rehearse the terms of the match while I set aside my equipment, Noble Grayback." He sets his own course towards the side of the arena, where he can leave his armor and weapons.

Shadowstripe shrugs a shoulder, tail flicking the air behind her. "Perhaps he had other business to attend to," she offers, "Or he was detained. But I do believe that it is moot point now since he is here."

Stumppaw chortles. "Ah, yes, the wagering. We had not yet begun to wager on the actual fight, but I do believe there may have been an exchange of sandtooths regarding the strength of your spine." He settles back onto the sofa with a grunt.

Grayback says, "The terms are simple. Hand to hand, claw to claw. The one still standing at the end is declared the winner. Think you can handle that, you pencil-pushing, yellow-tailed excuse for a Demarian?"

D'Tossk snorts softly as the various comments relating to Quicksilver reach his ear holes. Slipping a hand under his chest plate, he scratches his scaly flesh and shifts his attention first from the Director and then to Grayback. "I do hope Quickssssilver makesss that whelp of a creature pay for ssssuch a remark." he grunts under his breath.

Streaksnout takes another long drink of his wine, wiping his snout with the back of a paw before his servant can pat the droplets away - much to the boy's chagrin. "Well, this ought to be amusing. A bumbler says the off-worlder doesn't get a swat in."

Stumppaw claw-scratches the side of his snout, then looks at Quicksilver. "Betting *against* that pitious thing seems far too easy." He bobs his snout, then says, "We will wager on how long he will remain standing. Takers?"

Silvereye visibly slumps as remarks are traded back and forth, scathing and degrading words seem to be the order of the day. "Well I think it's obvious who is expected to lose." Silvereye snorts.

Quicksilver places his weaponry and armor in a neat pile upon a bench at the edge of the ring, ignoring Grayback's words for the duration of the exercise, until he finally turns and approaches the center. "Redtailed, Elder, Redtailed. It comes with the name, you know." A faint dismissive flick of said appendage, and he begins to stretch his limbs in preparation, using full measure of his height and reach for the task. "I believe those terms would be acceptable, yes."

Shiningcoat offers a little glance over towards Darktail, a brief smile, then looks over towards the arena once more. She adjusts her position briefly, curling her tail around onto her lap. The girl simply watches in silence.

Streaksnout smiles, chortling, "Of course, Sandwalker, I'll bet on that." He eyes the combatants, and scratches under his chin, idly picking his teeth with the tip of a cleaned skewer. "Three minutes."

Stumppaw grunts. "Three minutes? He has stood the Sand Mother Desert. But desk life has made him soft. I give him ten."

Grayback looks at the weaponry and armor. "You will not be needing those. This is a contest of pure physical strength and ability. No hiding behind armor and weapons. Sinew vs sinew, muscle vs muscle. Step forward, and meet your destiny."

Moonshadow waves her furred hand in a lazy manner, "I'll take that wager, Lord Stumppaw." she purrs, keeping her eyes on the combatants. "I'll say... 5 minutes."

Stumppaw bows his snout to Moonshadow. "Five minutes, you say. Very well. And how much do we wager? A bumbler? Or actual money?"

Moonshadow turns to grace Stumppaw with a sweet smile and purr, "Actual money if you wish, sir... I'm in no need of more bumblers."

Fastfeet just watches the arena, stretching his arms out and then placing them onto the back of the sofa, not seeming to be interested, he gazes back to his feet and then to the arena once more.

Quicksilver gnashes his fangs slightly, and waves a vague paw over his shoulder at the discarded items. "The tools of my trade, Elder. I will need them when this is through, all the same." A glance up into the stands, a snort, and he offers. "Put me down for 500 sandtooths, that I'll be the last standing. If anyone cares to bet against me. If I lose, I shan't miss 500 sandtooths, and if I win it's a tidy sum on odds."

"Bah," mutters Streaksnout good naturedly, "A bumbler is the finest currency! Mobile, edible, and it makes more of it's own!" Another long sip, and he adds, "Granted, you don't have to muck out a sandtooth stable."

"So be it," Stumppaw grunts at Moonshadow and Streaksnout. "One thousand sandtooths to the one who is closest without going under." He gnashes his fangs, then looks toward Darktail. "You will enter into this wager as well."

D'Tossk snaps his jaws shut and fixes Grayback with a calculating stare. He flexes the talons of his feet and buries them in the wooden bench; his tail waves furiously behind him.

Streaksnout lifts his snout the air, then rumbles, "Brakir's bitter tears, do I smell a -Nall-?" A shake of his head, as he turns back to his kebabs, "What is this world coming to..."

Shiningcoat simply turns her gaze from Stumppaw to Darktail as she awaits his response. An ear stays tilted towards Quicksilver and Grayback.

Stumppaw stands, then moves toward the rail of the balcony. "Battleclaw!" His snout swings toward Quicksilver. "Offworlder," he growls. "Make ready. When the wagering is closed, you will enter into honorable combat." He then turns toward Darktail. "Your wager, Farstalker."

Grayback steps into the light shining down at the center of the light, and assumes a posture that is light on the feet, his muscles springing for a first strike.

Moonshadow leans on the arm of her sofa, towards Stumppaw as she continues to purr, "I'll accept that wager, Lord Stumppaw." She then turns her attention to the arena.

Quicksilver steps forward as well, tail lashing warily, and gives one last great stretch before relaxing into a combative stance, whiskers flattened but ears perked towards his opponent.

Shadowstripe turns her head slightly towards the Nall. "Sparring isn't necessarily restricted to physical combat, D'Tossk. Please don't get too angered over this," she comments with a short sigh. "Especially when this is their turf."

A low, throaty growl is D'Tossk's response to 'Stripe's words. His attention devoted entirely on the two combatants in the center of the ring. His tail does slow its pace, gradually coming to a stop and thumping against the bench.

"I'll bet..." The Snowcat muses, looking between Quicksilver and Grayback while they're out there on the Arena floow, whiskers twitching with some degree of consideration. "One thousand sandtooth that he'll last ten minutes." The Snowcat shrugs a little, a light smile caressing his snowy visage, "I'll give his skills some credit..."

Stumppaw grunts. "*I* wagered 10 minutes, Farstalker."

"Well, I'll wager fifteen then." Darktail quickly ammends, meekly. Poor Snowcat. If he was relaxed, he'd probably had been paying attention.

Stumppaw bobs his snout, then turns toward the combatants, bellowing: "Before the eyes of Altheor, let your claws flash. Show us the sand in your veins!" He raises his goblet, then sips from it.

Shiningcoat's paw pats Darktail's leg and gives it a little squeeze. The girl, however, says nothing and remains mostly motionless. She watches the fight closely.

Streaksnout sets the skewer aside, cradling his wine in a paw to watch.

Darktail allows a breath he wasn't aware he was holding to go, then flops back into his seat in a slightly more relaxed manner, ears flopping down against his head. Whiskers shivering, he casts a glance over to Shiningcoat, smiles a little, then watches the battle begin. The physical arena is one thing, but the social one is far more tiring.

Stumppaw returns to his seat on the sofa, then watches as the battle commences.

Grayback lets out a battle roar worthy of the ancient warriors of Demaria, and springs forward into the air, whipping out a leg and spins the foot towards Quicksilver's head. "Your face shall meet the sand, whelp!"

Shadowstripe cants an ear towards her Nall companion. "Might I interest you in a beverage, D'Tossk?"

Grayback sails past, but with a quick twist corrects the spin and lands on his feet, braced for the next attack. His breathing is paced, but furious, and the fire in his eyes diminishes none.

D'Tossk shakes his head, hardly more than a twitch. "No." he grunts absent mindedly. Eyes locked on the two Demarians as they now begin their battle. His tail slowly works its way up into the air again and returns to its swaying.

Quicksilver is caught off guard by the first attack, or perhaps it is the roar disconcerting him. But a quick flex of his felinoid spine draws him out of the reach of the sailing foot, which passes just in front of him. The large silver-furred Demarian snarls, stepping back a pace to gain room, and eyes the Elder warily before darting in to lash a clawed swipe at the Elder's forehead right above the eyes.

Grayback does a short side step to avoid the flailing claws, and balls both his hands into fists as he uses that momentum to his advantage. Pushing off his rear foor, he claps them together, and thrusts forward, aimed at Quicksilver's gut, again a roar of rage permeating the arena....

Moonshadow leans forward now that the battle has begun, blue-green gaze locked on the combatants. A soft growling purr issues from her throat as the first attack takes place.

Fastfeet moves toward the edge of the sofa now, bending over his knees over so slightly and resting his paws upon them, watching anxiously.

Shadowstripe's tail curls up and down behind her as she watches the match from her location.

An explosion of air whooshes out of the great silver chest as the Elder contacts, Quicksilver's fangs gnashing as the impact knocks his balance off. Rather than try to right himself, he uses the fall to carry him backwards, both hindlegs lashing out towards Grayback's middle with fully deployed footclaws.

D'Tossk bares his his fangs and hisses, his pink tongue flickering in and out vehemently. "Fool Demarian doessss not even ussse hisss clawsss like a true warrior, rather he fightsss in the manner of sssneaky sssoftsskinsss." The words are tinged with a growing rage, though spoken lowly. A hand darts towards the hilt of his sword and he draws the blade up an inch. His grip tightening until his entire arm quivers with the force of it.

Stumppaw stands, goblet in hand to observe.

Grayback springs backward in a flip, lands on his hands, then pushes off with a twist of his body to land on his feet facing Quicksilver. A deep growl in his throat, he sizes up his opportunity. Taking several strides forward, he pushes off and draws one leg up under him and the other straight out, knee locked, the foot aimed at Quicksilver's neck...

Shadowstripe fully faces the Nall, a growl rumbling in her throat. "Don't be a fool, D'Tossk. You want to suffer the possible consequences of drawing a blade while in this arena?"

Quicksilver tries to roll his way up to his feet as the foot swings, but is struck and struck hard in the neck, a howl turning into coughs as he's rolled over and over in the dirt from the impact. Breath coming in quick gasps, he rolls his way to his feet, backing away from the center to gain recovery room, sacrificing initiative for better preparedness at the next strike.

Rising to his feet with a snarl of approval, Streaksnout grins, "Not a scratch on the Battleclaw yet!"

Stumppaw bobs his snout, then looks at the chronometer on the wall. "And we have exceeded three minutes."

Grayback allows himself a feral smirk at the strike, and draws himself into an attack posture. "When I am done with you, Yellowtail Slowpewter, I will sample your bitter blood before I toss you beyond the GATES!" With that, he lurches forward, claws bared, ready to slash them across Quicksilver's chest.

D'Tossk flares his nostrils and snorts loudly at the female; he turns to glare at her and misses the blow to Quicksilver's throat. Swiveling his head back to the combatants, he snarls. His claws leave six deep gashes in the wood now and his tail lashes so quickly it is difficult to keep ones eyes on it.

Shadowstripe sighs, her whiskers dropping a bit. "Look, I understand that it is very hard to sit by the wayside and watch this. But we don't have a choice, unless you wanted to wait outside of Altheor's arena," the striped female says quietly. "It's all we can do until this match is declared over."

Quicksilver's uniform shirt is torn by the slash of Grayback's claws, a sample of red blood staining them as they come away. Taking the blow with a battle roar of his own, Quicksilver uses his great reach to slash a return strike at the Elder's neck.

Streaksnout flicks a glance to the chronometer as well, and snorts rough laughter, "So we have, so we have, a thousand for the pot!" He lifts his flagon to drink, but doesn't as Grayback lands another hit. "Blood!"

Silvereye visibly droops everytime Quicksilver is struck, each time having a piece of hope sundered. He slowly shakes his head, tail and whiskers drooping. "Yes. Good of you to put declared in that sentence."

Grayback steps back and whips up an arm to blow the blow with a roar. His fangs bear, and he uses this opportunity to throw a punch at Quicksilver's exposed jaw. "My honor WILL be satisfied!!" he says with a roar...

D'Tossk ignores his companion entirely. His jaw dropping once he realizes Quicksilver is still in the fight. Blood slowly begins to ooze down the hilt of his sword as his claws are driven into his palm. The Nall continues to tighten his death grip on the weapon, not at all phased by the pain.

Quicksilver spins away from the blow as his tail lashes the air, raking his claws at the arm as it sails through the space he previously occupied, snarling. "I'm not defeated yet, Nimbelfoot!"

"I expected the coward to flee more and fight less..." Shiningcoat states simply, watching the fight with a passive look. "I am surprised by his offensive style... but not by his failure." She adds.

Grayback whips his arm out of the way just in time. "So you say now, fool.." With that, he raises a leg to sweep under Quicksilver, with the intend to knock him clear off of his feet. "The fight is not yet over!!"

"See, this is why I didn't want to face off against your Grandfather in here that time." Darktail softly comments to Shiningcoat, giving her a curious little look as she does the NobleSpeak thing. Pulling his tail around his legs, he gestures to it, then at one of the far walls. "My tail, that wall, two minutes flat." he softly muses, giving Stumppaw a great deal of credit too, it seems.

Stumppaw hrmphs. "He has lasted better than five minutes." He takes another sip of ale.

Moonshadow snorts with a flare of whiskers, but doesn't turn away from the arena, "Noted, Lord Stumppaw." she purrs.

Quicksilver strikes the leg aside with his own leg anticlimatically, aiming a swipe of his claws at the elder's shoulder as he dances to one side. "I quite agree, it isn't over yet."

Streaksnout now takes a drink, and deep one it is, wiping his muzzle once more, eyes riveted on the combat.

Grayback roars with pain as the claws slice into his shoulder, instinctively he grabs for the hurt area. He shakes the pain off, and snaps into offensive mode with a leap forward from his feet, whipping his legs up to bring a leg towards Quicksilver's jaw, letting out a blood-curdling roar...

Streaksnout snarls himself, at Quicksilver's success, lips peeling back from his snout.

D'Tossk roars in excitement as Quicksilver's slash connects with its target. He lets the sword slide back into its place and raises his fist triumphantly. Bits of spittle and droplets of blood from his hand spray onto the ground before him.

Quicksilver is completely unprepared for the return blow, which snaps his head around with a severe crack of bone as his jawbones snap, drawing forth a tortured howl. The howl lapses into silence as the wounded felinoid dribbles from a jaw that won't quite close, stepping in to aim a slash of his claws at the Elder's stomach, trying to take away his room for such kicks.

Grayback bends like a reed in a thunderstorm, and snaps forward, unleashing a punch at Quicksilver's already wounded jaw. "I shall finish what I started. You will feel the pain your dishonor has brought upon your family, whelp! And you will reap the penalties!" He finishes with another roar of rage...

Quicksilver howls again as his injured jaw takes yet another strike from the Elder, and catapults backwards towards the ground, landing with a great thump and a weak mewl. A weak motion of his tail is the only response to Grayback, before the silver-furred one slumps into motionlessness, emerald eyes closed. Only faint motion of his chest testifies to any presence of life.

Stumppaw gnashes his fangs and nods, checking the chronometer. "Ten minutes." He chortles.

D'Tossk's jaw drops and he stares dumbfounded at the fallen Director. His mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Unsure of what to do, he hops down from the bench and moves to the very edge of the arena, tail ceasing its motion yet again.

Shiningcoat chuckles softly and turns to look at Stumppaw. "Remarkable, grandfather. Makes me wonder whether you and the Battleclaw had this arranged ahead of time." She says with a brief smile.

Streaksnout laughs, and then howls, his tail lashing as he lift his flagon again. "Well done, Battleclaw, well done -indeed-!"

Several Demarian guards eyeball the Nall and draw their own blades.

Shadowstripe winces, shaking her head from side to side as she stands to her full height. "I do believe this is going to be the end of the match," she murmurs to the others as she follows D'Tossk, whether they hear her or not.

Grayback pauses for a few moments, his ragged breathing his only sound. Then, he strides forward to the unconscious form of Quicksilver, and grabs his shirt, lifting him off the ground. He then turns towards the spectator stands, more specifically that where the rest of the Nobles are seated. He shouts, in measured statements, "My fellow Nobles of Gleaming Star! You have seen this dishonored wretch fall at my hands. Now, I put it to you for his final fate. You have seen his acts. You have seen the dishonor he has sown not only for me and for my family, but for all the Nobles of this city! I put it to you now, which fate you would have befall him. Life......or death. Call your choice....and it shall be done, by my hands, at this moment of fate!"

Silvereye stands, but does not move forward. He keeps his gaze on Quicksilver, waiting for Grayback to pass whatever judgement he has in store.

Stumppaw takes his goblet and extends it over the rail. He tips it, pouring the ale onto the sand below, signifying death.

D'Tossk takes no notice of the guards or their weapons. He merely watches in stunned silence, tail limp against the dirty floor. His jaw now lolling from left to right.

Firebrand likewise lifts a heavy chalice and empties its rose-colored contents onto the sand below.

Streaksnout extends his arm, to pour the dark wine from his flagon, spattering on the arena floor.

Shadowstripe stops just behind D'Tossk and narrows her eyes at the fallen Demarian. Tailtip twitching and chest moving... he's alive at least.

Stumppaw glances toward Shiningcoat. "Granddaughter? Your wish?"

Shiningcoat slowly turns her attention to Stumppaw. The girl tilts her head to the side slightly. "I am sorry, grandfather," she begins, "but I shall have to disagree. The life of such a pitiful whelp is not worth the offense this cause with the people of Sanctuary. I would let him live."

Stumppaw fehs at his granddaughter, then looks around at the other nobles gathered.

Feymask enters the arena, and moves directly toward the balcony, servant at his heels.

Streaksnout peers at Shiningcoat growling incredulously, "The opinion of alien barbarians matters more to you than the honor of your own people?"

"No, Lord. The opinion of many alien barbarians matters more than the life of one pitiful wretch." Shiningcoat replies as her attention turns to Streaksnout.

More Demarians seem disinclined to waste their ale on the wretch on the arena floor. Stumppaw hrmphs and then turns toward Grayback: "Battleclaw, he lives this day, but he is *never* to return, or his life will be forfeit. His properties in Gleaming Star are forfeit. His name is never to be spoken, and those who speak it do so at the risk of their very tongues. He is dead to us. Dispose of him appropriately."

Feymask enters the balcony and halts to take in the scene, saying nothing yet but listening with care.

Darktail shivers a little, causing his whiskers to stand on end. In the moment of a flashback, he can almost picture himself laying there on that arena floor. Of course, he's much cuter, and better dressed. It's this thought in mind that makes him smile a little.

Grayback nods solemnly, "So it has been decided, so it shall be." He grabs Quicksilver's limp body and slings it over his shoulder. "Now if you will excuse me, fellow Nobles, I must dispose of the trash."

Stumppaw shakes his snout. "No, Grayback, you have done enough this day. Give him to his friends."

"It has friends?" snorts Streaksnout, shaking his head before reclaiming a kabob, chewing noisily.

Quicksilver flaps limply against Grayback's shoulder, and dribbles blood and spittle on him.

D'Tossk grunts loudly. "Bring him to me. I ssshall ssssee that he isss taken off of thissss planet." the Nall shouts loudly.

Grayback nods, and looks towards the Nall. Walking in that direction, he drops, none too lightly, the body of Quicksilver at his feet. "You make take this miserable excuse for a leader out of our city, never to return. May Altheor have mercy on your soul for choosing THIS to follow."

Stumppaw nods, gesturing with his stump toward the reptiloid. "That...Nall." The word oozes out of his mouth.

Feymask's gaze falls on the fallen Demarian in the arena, and a whisker twitches once, though he makes no other hint of his opinion at this time. He leans back and whispers something confidentialy to the servant nearby, who rushes out of the Balcony.

Streaksnout peers over that D'Tossk, then laughs heartily, "Irony in plenty Altheor has for us, that such a thing would be carried away by a Nall..."

D'Tossk narrows his eyes at the Battleclaw but decides to keep his jaw shut, instead turning to study his wounded friend. "Could either of you assissst me in brining him to my vessssel?" he asks of the two Demarians near him.

Stumppaw gnashes his fangs and swishes his tail back and forth as he sips his ale. Then, lowering the goblet, he says, "I believe I am owed certain winnings..."

Moonshadow finally stirs from the sofa, rising slowly and quietly as she turns her gaze from the fallen Demarian, "I'll have an underclasser bring you 1000 sandtooths, Lord Stumppaw." she purrs softly and bows her head to the Elder.

Another slight crack comes from Quicksilver's broken jaw as he's dropped, but unconsciousness is merciful to the defeated, unfeeling and unhearing as he drools on the floor beneath him.

Shadowstripe narrows her eyes at the derision she hears from the nobles' section, but she doesn't glance towards them. Instead, the striped female bends down to whisper near the Nall's ear hole, "I will help you. Shall we depart with him, then?"

Stumppaw bows his snout to Moonshadow, chortling as he returns his attention to the arena, observing the exchange of baggage, from Grayback to D'Tossk.

Silvereye comes forward to D'tossk and Shadowstripe now, looking over their shoulders. "Where are you taking him?" The Demarian inquires, not looking at either but at Quicksilver.

Fastfeet raises from the sofa nodding slightly at Moonshadow and then briefly nodding at the other nobles, clasping his hands tightly, straight face, "Good day" he says and then striding downstairs and straight outside.

Feymask's servant rushes out of the arena and disappears.

"I'll take my leave now, Lord Stumppaw." Moonshadow purrs, "Good day, sir." She turns to make her way down the stairs.

D'Tossk hastily bobs his snout to the pair. "Bring him to the landing pad, and be careful of hissss jaw. I ssshall retrieve hisss equipment and meet you there." Turning he jogs quickly toward the pile of weapons and armor left behind by Quicksilver.

Feymask seats himself now, in a very leasurely manner. He continues to watch the goings-on silently.

Streaksnout laughs again, a quieter rumble this time. "That you are, Elder Sandwalker. It shall be delivered this day, and gladly so."

Moonshadow walks by the others quickly, ignoring the exchange now that the fight is over.

Shadowstripe crouches at Quicksilver's head and gently rolls him to his back. "Did you want to get his legs? I'll get his upper body if you can," she murmurs to her fellow Demarian.

Darktail silently reaches into his dusty blue jacket, searching the wrong pocket first (Like always, it seems), before finding what he's looking for. A smile, and a flick of his ink-tipped ears, and a small chip is produced. This in paw, the Snowcat proceeds to stand, and hold the 'chip out to Stumppaw, tail flicking a little as it hangs behind him. "Bet in paw, Lord Stumppaw." Wow, that sounded odd. "In paw, and in Credits. But, it works out to a thousand Sandtooth, as is owed."

Silvereye nods to Shadowstripe, moving to the bottom end of Quicksilver and likewise kneeling. "Landing Pads, then?"

Shiningcoat glances over towards Darktail and gives him a little smile. "Good fight." She comments simply, adding, "We really should have a talk with the guards about letting that Nall in here... It's terribly inappropriate."

D'Tossk slips the Director's assault rifle over his shoulder. Making sure that the other weapons and equipment are secured to their various holsters on the combat armor, he proceeds to drag the entire clump of equipment with him toward the exit. His claws dig into the ground in his effort to gain leverage and pull the heavy load along.

Turning toward the Snowcat, the elder Sandwalker bobs his snout and accepts the payment. "Had the sand run deeper in his veins, perhaps that *thing* would have lasted a few minutes more." He holds his empty goblet out to the underclasser, a wordless command, and it is refilled.

Shadowstripe nods as she slowly moves Quicksilver's head to be supported against her shoulder, leaving it tipped back slightly to (hopefully) prevent aggravating his jaw anymore. "On the count of three," she murmurs, tensing her muscles. "One... two..."

Then Feymask's servant returns as quickly as she left, hurrying up to the balcony, then offering a goblet to the young Sandwalker with a bowed head.

Grayback unconsciously places a hand on his wounded shoulder, and walks over towards his bench. Grabbing his coat and his hat, he puts them on.

Silvereye lifts, grunting as his arms are encumbered with the dead weight. He begins to pace forward, in step with Shadowstripe towards the exit.

Quicksilver doesn't assist in his lifting, merely draping between the two New Alhirans as they carry him out.

D'Tossk is not far behind the small group of Demarians. His muscles knot beneath his armor from the strain.

"Shame, the thing would have made good eel food." Feymask comments as he takes the full goblet and drinks.

Streaksnout chuckles, drinking deeply after his flagon is refilled. "Would have, but let the aliens take out their offal."

Shadowstripe breathes through her nose slowly as she clenches her jaws together, stepping backward with an even pace to match Silvereye's. Soon enough they reach the entrance.

Shiningcoat slowly turns her head to Feymask at his comment. She smiles, tips of her teeth showing, as she recognizes the other feline. "Good evening, Feymask." The noble girl says.

Stumppaw takes his refilled goblet, then makes his way toward the stairs. "It is time to toast the victor."

Streaksnout nods, and levers himself away from the railing, eyeing the remaining kebabs, the servant boy trailing him. "Come -on-, boy, step lively!"

Feymask returns a bit of a smile felinely toward Shiningcoat, nodding slightly. "And to you Shiningcoat, it has been too long."

Altheor's Honor Arena 

This open-roofed coliseum is tiered with sandstone benches, dissected here and there by aisles that lead down toward the combatants arena, which includes an ovular competition ring and a wrought iron battle cage.

Demarian underclassers move among the observers, selling flagons of wine and charred bumbler on a stick.

Stairs lead up to the reserved Senate loft balcony, from which the true nobles of Gleaming Star may watch the proceedings below.

Streaksnout lifts his flagon to Grayback, with a cheery, "Well fought, Battleclaw, I say."

Stumppaw works his way down the steps, followed by his underclasser. He carries his goblet in hand, a feral grin of gnashed fangs gleaming from his snout before he bellows, ears twitching, "A most auspicious show of finesse, Battleclaw!" He raises his goblet in salute.

Darktail's amber gaze follows the departing Stumppaw; From where he was sitting, to where he is now on the level below. It's when the Noble Elder reaches said lower level does Darktail let out a sigh of relief, all the tension flowing away quickly, tail beginning to sway in a more natural manner.

"Yes, it has been." Shiningcoat says as she stands, reaching a paw out to Darktail. "Darktail, I'd like you to meet my Littermate, Faymask Sandwalker." She says, motioning to the other Demarian with her free paw. "Feymask, this is my Promised, Darktail Farstalker."

An underclasser attendant runs out to Grayback with a filled goblet, which he takes and raises abouve his arm in acknowledgement of the salute. "I drink, in celebration of the return of my family's honor, the disgrace fading with the garbage that has been whisked away from this arena." He takes it down, and takes a long draw from it.

Stumppaw bobs his snout. "And what of his estate?"

Feymask's attention draws toward Darktail, expression unchanging. "I have heard little, a pleasure." He says, standing slowly and nodding slightly.

Darktail's ear flicks towards Shiningcoat as his name is spoken, amber gaze soon to shift and follow as the Snowcat regards Feymask. "Likewise." He soft comments, offering a little smile and a bob of his snout in turn, whiskers bobbing right along with it.

Grayback says, "His estate will be reclaimed, and used for far better purposes than housing outcasts and offworlder rabble. And as for that excuse for a rental dwelling he built in cahoots with that miserable Fastfeet, I intend to knock it down and build a garden retreat."

Streaksnout drains his wine, thirstily, then sighs just as loud. "A good showing, most assuredly, Windracer." He flicks his ragged ear, smiling broadly. The servant whispers to him, and he growls, "Boy, how many times - the calving? Altheor's -ears-, you whelp, why didn't you -say- so?!" The cuff he delivers is a casual swat, with enough strength behind it to rock the underclasser's head - and from the long-suffering expression on his face, it's about normal. "Elders, I must take my leave, the bumblers cannot wait, an experienced paw is needed to supervise these things." And off he ambles, grumbling at the boy. "Faster, now, keep it up!"

Feymask glances toward the arena, then toward the two. "If you will excuse me, I must attend to buisness." He centers his attention on 'coat. "We should speak soon." Then he turns and makes for the stairs, the same underclasser following obediently.

Stumppaw chortles, tail lashing back and forth. His eyes settle then on his right arm. The two cuts there have begun scabbing once more. Ears twitching, the elder Sandwalker sighs and settles himself on the bench next to Grayback. He places his goblet on the bench, then draws the small knife from its sheath and once more draws it across the wounds, reopening them so they bleed anew.

"Farewell, Feymask." Shiningcoat sends in parting, dipping her head to the other feline. Her paw moves over to find Darktail's in the most discrete way possible.

Feymask makes his way down the stairs and halts, rising his wine container slightly and nodding respectfully. "Hail to the most honorable victor."

Grayback nods in response to Feymask.

Darktail takes the sneaked paw with his own, gives it a reassuring squeeze, then lets go again. "Well, it's nice to see I can still call the winning side... even if I lost out on the time, thing." A shiver of his whiskers is offered to his promised, tail swishing a little more, "Anyhow, how about if you go spend some time with your Grandfather while I go sort some stuff out before my welcome runs out?" A smile.

Stumppaw sheathes the knife, satisfied with the glistening wounds, and then he picks up his goblet and takes another sip. He rises and walks to the spot in the arena where Quicksilver fell. His whiskers flare and his nostrils widen as he huffs over the sweat and blood still caked there.

Grayback looks at the blood caked on his claws, and casually licks it off, washing it down with another sip of his wine.

Feymask turns, and makes his way out, pushing his goblet into the underclasser's paws. His expression is the picture of coolness.

"Do so, my Promised. I will not be far behind." Shiningcoat says with a gentle smile, squeezing Darktail's paw as she starts towards the stairs.

Darktail follows Shiningcoat's step, though a paw pace behind her to let her take lead; because, after all, she's a Noble, and he hasn't a clue how to get out of this place without her leading the way. Yeesh, large.

Shiningcoat wishes Darktail well before the two Demarians part ways. The noble girl then folds her hands behind her back and starts to trot down towards the two elders.

Stumppaw takes another sip of ale, then opens his mouth so that the liquid spills avidly onto the thirsty sand, mingling with the blood and the sweat. Grunting, he turns and approaches the bench, the twin cuts on his right arm matting his fur with blood.

Grayback finishes off his goblet of wine, and sets it on the bench.

"Congratulations on your victory, Battleclaw." Shiningcoat says to Grayback as she approaches, bowing her head for a few moments. "You fought with the grace of a hunter and the courage of a soldier."

Grayback nods. "Your praise is appreciated. My days as a Vanguard soldier serve me well, and will continue to do so."

Stumppaw bobs his snout, taking another gulp of ale. Lowering the goblet, he looks toward Shiningcoat. "Your promised gave a good accounting for himself in the balcony. I am not dissatisfied with his behavior."

"Yes, he did behave well... if somewhat daft." Shiningcoat replies as her eyes shift back over towards Stumppaw. "But that's to be expected. You make his nervous, grandfather."

Whiskers flaring and ears twitching, Stumppaw gnashes his fangs. "Good."

Shiningcoat simply glances upwards for a moment before looking to her grandfather once again. "What plans are there for the future, grandfather?" She asks after a moment, "Has the failure of the otherspace drives greatly altered our plans to find our ancestors?"

Stumppaw hrmphs, poking at the slashes on his right arm with a claw of his left hand. "One could say that." He shakes his head, grumbling. "The expedition must wait."

"I am saddened to hear that." Shiningcoat replies with a slow nod of her head. She waits only a few moments before inquiring: "Darktail and I are free to plan our Bonding, then?"

"Yes," the elder Sandwalker replies with an ear twitch. "Proceed."

The tips of Shiningcoat's fangs show as she smiles. "We shall then, grandfather. Be well this evening." She says, turning towards Grayback. "And you as well, Battleclaw."

Grayback nods silently in response.

Stumppaw bobs his snout. "Good evening."

Shiningcoat nods her head once more before turning and walking out of the arena.