Chains: Nos Morituri te Salutamus
Blood for the Masses
A lone human sat in his cage, his black hair was cut short to keep from getting in his way during fights. He only wore a rag to cover his groin, and his feet were in simple foot wraps, doing little more than providing something that would give him better traction in the ring.
He was a slave, but a very specific kind of slave. Perhaps the most popular kind in all of Equestria.
He was a Gladiator.
He had one Master, and that was the Crowd.
His one job, to keep the crowd entertained.
He was born into this, and just last week, he was declared old enough to begin pleasing his Master.
The Crowd.
Even from his cage, deep beneath the arena, he could hear them cheering.
Calling for blood.
His blood or that of his opponent.
For the last month, his training was intensified, and his muscles still ached.
Before the trainer had left him in the cage to wait for his turn to be taken up to the arena, he told him in a hushed tone, “Show them you are worthy of a name.”
For the Gladiators, they only earned a name from the Crowd, and only after fighting several matches, and preferably winning.
The young man clenched his hands and took a deep breath, and released it.
He opened his hazel eyes when he heard the door open, and saw a pair of unicorn ponies walk in, covered in armor.
One of them unlocked his cage, “it’s time, newblood,” he said.
The human stood up and followed them towards the gladiator’s entrance, where another unicorn waited for them. He was holding an old sword in his magic.
As they got closer, the young man saw that the blade was nothing spectacular, probably an old one that’s seen a hundred matches, and the blood of hundreds of ‘newbloods’ like him.
When prompted, he took hold of the old sword, and tested the weight of it by swinging it, careful not to harm any of the ponies.
Then, the gates opened, and he stared out into the arena as both the light of day and the sounds of his new Master.
He felt himself tremble slightly.
Whether it was from fear or excitement, he didn’t know, but he took his first step into his new home.
The arena.
On the opposite side of the arena, was another Gladiator’s entrance, where his opponent was coming out from.
Another newblood, also wielding a sword.
Nameless, just like he was.
The crowd cheered for them.
The humans both looked up at the crowd, squinting through the bright sunlight.
The stands weren’t full. They never were for newbloods.
The humans then looked at each other, and then finally, they looked to the Royal Booth, where the Princess and other high ranking officials would sit.
The Princess almost never attended the gladiatorial matches, and the Council members wouldn’t waste their time to see a match for newbloods. However, the tradition was always the same.
The two combatants stood and saluted the booth, holding their swords in front of them as a sign of respect.
An announcer stood in a wooden stand nearby, and yelled out to announce them, “Today, two newbloods fight for your entertainment!” he said. “Stomp your hooves, shake the arena, and give them your attention!”
The Crowd stomped their hooves, and even though they were few in number, the sound surrounded the two fighters as they observed.
“Call out for blood! And let them give it to you!” With that the announcer waited one last time as the crowd screamed.
“Blood!” they called.
“Then Blood you shall have!” the announcer replied, looking to the two newbloods.
“Begin!”
The two fighters readied their weapons, and approached each other.
The dark haired human observed his opponent’s movements as they closed in, keeping just enough distance to be out of the way of each other’s swords as they sized each other up.
His opponent was the first to swing, lunging forward to try and catch him off guard.
The newblood jumped back to avoid it, and lunged forward himself, trying to stab his foe.
Their swords clashed and rang out.
He blocked his opponent’s counter attack from above, and kicked him away.
When his foot landed in the other young man’s stomach, the crowd cheered louder.
His opponent recollected himself and charged anew, slashing from the side.
He skillfully deflected the blow over him, and connected the pommel of his weapon to the other newblood’s chest, before pulling his arm back, and slashing him.
The cut was shallow, but drew blood, which splashed onto the dirt covered ground.
The crowd cheered and stomped.
Blood was what they wanted, and he would give it to them.
He attacked again, seeing an opening as his staggered opponent could only try and fend off his blows as they came again and again.
He knocked the sword from his opponent’s hand, and with his sword clenching fist, he backhanded him hard, causing him to fall to the ground onto his stomach.
He quickly pinned him there with his foot, holding his sword over the fallen man.
He looked to the Announcer and the crowd.
He had won, and now it was time to please his Master.
“Fillies and Gentlecolts, we have a winner!” he called out. He was answered with cheers. “He and his opponent fought bravely!” He continued. “What shall be the fate of the fallen?” he asked them.
“Death!” Declared the Crowd.
“Death it is!” he said, looking expectantly at the victorious fighter.
The triumphant newblood nodded, and knelt down, stabbing his blade through the back of his opponent’s neck, staining the dirt with more red blood as the Crowd cheered louder than before.
They were cheering for him.
He raised his blood stained blade above his head triumphantly as he let the Crowd praise him and his deeds, before his gates back under the arena opened, and he made his way back, the cheers still followed him.
His first fight, and his first victory.
His first cheers of his Master.
The young gladiator returned the sword to the guardspony, and followed the other two back to his cage, as arena workers rushed in behind him, to clean up the mess he made, to make ready for the next match.
He had survived the battle, and soon enough, ponies would recognize when he entered the arena.
He would serve his Master.
The Crowd wanted blood.
He would give them blood.
Either his own, or that of his opponent.
He was a Gladiator.
Chains: Nos Morituri te Salutamus
The Games
The Arena.
The site of many a brave warrior’s death, and the crowning of many champions and heroes.
It was almost a town unto itself.
The arena was built the shadow of a mountain opposite of the one which Canterlot was perched upon, and over time many markets and makeshift homes sprang up around it. The town had become known as Gladius, taking the name from both the Gladiators the arena was famed for, and the ancient Equish word for Sword.
Fanfare sang out through the town of Gladius, announcing an event to take place soon as the eager masses of ponies and even some of the other races of the world filed into the massive structure.
It was capable of housing thousands of spectators. From the close seats, crowded and packed with the poorer observers, who often cheered or jeered the loudest.
The higher in the arena one got, the more expensive the seats, until you reached the booths.
Extravagantly decorated, a dozen closed off booths lined the top row, and while the view wasn’t up close to the action, each of these rich viewpoints provided shade, comfortable seats, refreshments, and most importantly, privacy, to those stately enough to afford them.
And above them all, Pegasi or other flying species would hover about to get a bird’s eye view of the action, should they desire it.
Between two of the booths was a particularly larger one made to seat the Princess and the Council members, if they saw fit to attend the spectacle.
The Arena of Gladius was not the only one in Equestria, but it was by far the largest and most famous.
The dirt floor of the arena made it easy to spot blood as the combatants fought. Occasionally, it wasn’t just humans in the arena. Wild beasts or even criminals were sometimes thrown in. It was among the most humiliating methods of state execution. Death by a slave.
Within one of the smaller booths crowning the stadium, sat an old unicorn stallion, his white mane and grey coat made darker by the shade of the booth. He looked out at the sun scorched arena grounds outside. He spotted two human figures walk to the middle of the arena, and he was able to make them out.
One was a crowd favorite, nicknamed Fool for his antics, and the fact that he had never won a single match. But he entertained the crowd, and that was enough for now.
The other, his opponent, was an up and coming star, who hadn’t yet lost a match.
He was tall, and looked like he was a mountain of muscle. In his hand was a war hammer which had earned his name from the crowd.
Hammer also wore a helmet, which hid his face and was the only armor he wore.
The crowd stomped and cheered, excited to see the two popular fighters go at it, though nopony had any doubts over who was going to win.
The announcer, Loud Speaker, called out their names and hyped up the crowd, reminding them that they had power of life and death here.
It was then that the stallion heard hoofsteps enter the booth. He turned away from the spectacle and saw a young male unicorn with a jet black mane and ashy grey coat enter and calmly walk towards him, his blue eyes piercing the shade.
“You made it,” said the older stallion as he turned his attention back to the arena, where The Fool was dodging The Hammer’s mighty swings with impressive acrobatics.
“Of course, Uncle,” the younger said as he took his seat and looked out at the match as well, hearing the crowd roar with excitement. “You went through the trouble of renting this booth for my first visit to Gladius, I would be ashamed to miss the Games.”
The white maned stallion let out a bark of a laugh, “My boy, if I called you all the way to this shanty town to just have a visit I would have had us meet in a restaurant,” he told his nephew. His attention again focused on the match as Hammer landed a blow on The Fool’s arm, sending the body and weapon of the acrobatic gladiator flying away from each other.
“No Dust Hoof, I invited you here because you’re the only other pony in this family worth a damn,” he told him. A gentle tapping came at the entrance of the booth and both ponies turned their attention there as a young female human walked in with a tray of refreshments, fresh fruit and hot wine.
The elder pony looked to his nephew, who shook his head. The older of the two then looked to the timid slave and waved his hoof and shook his head gently. The girl bowed and exited quietly, and the two looked to the arena again as the match seemed to be coming to a close.
The Fool with his broken arm still managed to dodge several swings of The Hammer’s namesake, before taking a hard blow to the head and landing on his back unconscious.
When Loud Speaker asked the crowd for The Fool’s fate, they called ‘Life’ and he was spared.
The Hammer raised his fist in the air triumphantly as the arena echoed with whistles and cheers.
The old unicorn cleared his throat as preparations were made for the next match. “As I was saying, I’ve been following your education in Manehattan for the last few years, and you’re certainly capable of making something of yourself,” he told him.
Dust Hoof looked to his uncle as he spoke, “My own son left, he doesn’t have the stomach for this kind of success,” He said, his eyes narrowing. “Ran off with some fool Earth Pony mare, saying he wanted to get ‘Stinking Rich’ as he put it, without using slaves, must be his Mother’s influence,” he muttered.
Realizing he was rambling the older pony shook his head and straitened his thoughts, “His loss is your gain,” he said. “I’m going to help make you the most powerful pony in Gladius.”
Dust laughed, thinking it was a joke, “I just got into Town this morning, how do you intend to make me ANYTHING in Gladius, let alone the most powerful pony,” the younger pony continued to chuckle as the older used his magic to take an old pipe from his saddle bags which he had set aside and fill it with tobacco.
He put it to his lips and with a flash of magic from his horn he set the contents of the pipe alight and took a deep drag, and exhaled. “What do you think Gladius is?” he asked.
Dust Hoof stopped laughing when he noticed that his Uncle wasn’t. Thinking on it, he answered quickly, “It’s a town built around an arena,” he stated.
“Wrong,” was his uncle’s concise response. “Gladius IS the arena,” he went on. “There is no Town, there are no markets, there wouldn’t even be ponies living in this place if it wasn’t for the arena to bring them all here,” he said.
The nephew thought on this statement as his uncle continued. “Bits are the life blood of Gladius, and in Gladius bits come from the blood of these humans,” taking another puff of his pipe, he indicated the arena with his hoof. “Whether it’s the bets, the prize money or the merchandise those parasitic merchants outside sell, it all comes down to the blood of Gladiators.”
Understanding what his uncle was saying, Dust nodded, “So how do I make money from the blood of gladiators?” he asked. “I doubt you want me to become a ‘parasite’ or take risky bets to become rich.”
“You would only be getting half the idea if you did either one anyways,” His uncle chuckled. “No, you have to control the arena itself.”
“How in Tartarus does anypony do tha…”
“By doing it all, my boy” the Uncle said, expelling a large plume of smoke from his lungs. “Nopony can get it all in one lifetime with how the game is set up now, so we will need to change the game.”
At this, Dust was silent, once again trying to make sense of what the older stallion was saying, wondering if he had gone off the deep end.
Taking his silence as a cue to continue, the Uncle pressed on, “Some ponies buy slaves, usually from the arena, and just throw them into the fight hoping to make some bits off of their victory, that’s not much more promising than gambling and the arena custodians still provide the best trained and fed gladiators, so it’s not a challenge most of the time.”
“Now, suppose a couple of clever ponies with a purse full of bits were to buy a few slaves, and train them for gladiatorial combat outside the arena, teach them other ways to fight and provide them with equipment other than that which is provided by the custodians?” the Uncle asked.
Dust seemed to catch on and his eyes widened, “Sounds like starting a franchise,” he said, earning a grin from his Uncle.
“Exactly!” he exclaimed, taking another puff from his pipe. “We bring our own fighters to the arena, and they keep winning and we keep getting richer, they get popular and we sell banners and merchandise depicting their moments of triumph and we make even more money, before long we’ll be kings of Gladius.”
Dust Hoof smiled, but felt uneasy, “You sound awful sure of yourself, Uncle. This isn’t something that’s been done before, I doubt it would be that easy.”
“Bah, of course it won’t be easy, I never said it would be easy money,” his Uncle said, taping out the ashes of his pipe into a small bowl at the side of his seat. “And it’s true, this is something unheard of, but I came up with the idea some time ago, and if I’m right, and this idea takes root, we’ll be the pioneers of how Gladiatorial combat is conducted for years to come.”
Letting out another laugh and a shake of his head, Dust turned his attention back to the arena as the announcer called for the attention of the audience. “I wouldn’t even know where to start with a plan like that.”
Also taking a closer look at the arena, the young stallion’s Uncle gave a calm reply, “First, you need a gladiator you can mold into a champion.”
………..
A nameless raven haired Gladiator took hold of the sword he had been given as the gates to the arena opened.
He took a deep breath as the cheers washed over him and he walked out into the hot sun which shined over the fighting grounds. His sky blue eyes looked around to all the excited ponies, and he felt his heart pounding in his chest.
He was nervous, as this was his first match. He hoped it wouldn’t be his last.
He looked to his opponent who was approaching the center of the arena as well. They were armed with a spear, and the nameless man felt his heart sink at being at such a disadvantage right off the bat.
The announcer built up the crowd, and he noted that he made mention of his handicap, building up the idea that he didn’t have much of a chance to the ponies in the crowd.
He clenched his jaw and his sword, and saluted to the Royal Booth along with his opponent. And then the Announcer declared the match started.
Taking a fighting stance, he let his opponent make the first move.
The Spearman leaped forward and thrusted his weapon to strike the Swordsman in the gut.
He dodged to the side and deflected the wooden spear to the side, and charged forward catching the Spearman off guard and hitting him in the face with the pommel of his sword, leaving him dizzy.
The Swordsman retook his stance as his opponent recovered, and he thrusted again, but instead took a more cautious approach, keeping the distance between them instead of trying to leap into the fight.
The Swordsman found himself being pushed back, unable to get a good opening to approach the Spearman, the best he could do was dodge or deflect the blows, until he got caught in his sword arm’s shoulder by the spear. Fortunately for the Swordsman, it had went high and just scratched the top of muscled shoulder instead of going into it.
The crowd cheered as the luckily shallow wound drew blood, and the gladiator put his hand to the wound and pulled it back to show it was full of blood.
The Swordsman took a breath to gather himself before the Spearman continued his onslaught, but the Swordsman instead of dodging, knocked the spear head down to the ground, and snapped it under his foot, before charging dangerously at the Spearman, who now only wielded a broken staff.
The Spearman was forced onto the defensive, and blocked several blows before catching a small cut across the chest, earning more excitement from the crowd.
The Spearman rolled out of the way of a downward slash and made his way to the broken spear head. Picking it up, he wielded it like a knife, while he had the broken staff in his other hand.
The squared off, the crowd shouting for more combat.
The Swordsman was the first to charge this time, attacking from overhead with his sword, only for it to be blocked by the staff.
The Spearman slashed at him with his improvised dagger, but the Swordsman jumped back to avoid it.
The two of them struck at each other and danced around their weapons in an impressive display, before the Spearman managed to trip the Swordsman, who dropped his weapon only for it to be kicked away.
The Spearman grabbed the Swordsman by his black hair, and pulled him up to a kneeling position.
Now both victor and vanquished awaited the judgment of the crowd.
To the Swordsman, it seemed to take forever, and his heart pounded so hard in his chest he wondered if the crowd could hear it.
Then, a call came up from the ponies all around him, “Life! Life!” they cried in cheers.
His hair was released as the Spearman raised his weapon in triumph.
They would both live to fight another day.
………..
As the crowd cheered, Dust Hoof and his Uncle both looked down at the figure that had lost. The Swordsman had put up an admirable fight and, though both combatants were newbloods, it was certainly something to witness.
Dust looked to his Uncle, “That one will make for a great start.”
