Tales of Runeterra: The Colosseum

 Tales of Runeterra

Chapter 20:

The Colosseum

Riven sighed, before running the whetstone along the standard-issue blade she was given. It was old, and rusty, and something that she wouldn’t have been caught dead using out in the field. There were more chips and scars along the blade than she had in her own body, and she was sure that if she swung it just a little too hard, it would break on her.

                Still, it was all she was given. She would have to make do with it.

                She ran it along the sharpened edge one more time, taking pleasure in the dull, scraping sound it made. Despite everything, that was one thing that she couldn’t let go of. There was an intense kind of calm that settled over her whenever she sharpened a blade. It reminded her of the days, back with her old warband, where she would sharpen… well…

                “You sharpen that thing any more and you’ll be able to cut air.”

                Riven looked up. There was an old soldier sitting not too far from her, waiting on being admitted to the Colosseum as well. It was a barbaric sport, started up after she had already left for expeditions. She was told it was run by the younger brother of General Darius. For some reason that did not surprise her.

                “You can never be too ready,” was all she said. At some point her voice was strong and capable. Able to command an entire warband and frighten enemies with a single shout. Now, it was dry and dead. Coming out monotone and listless. “They don’t bother giving us anything good. Doesn’t mean we have to stick with anything bad.”

                The man chuckled. She was under the impression that he was a soldier as well from the way that he carried himself, but she could never be certain. “If you make that into anything worthwhile it’d be taken away from you. You remember why we’re here, correct?”

                Riven grimaced. Of course she did. They were traitors. Prisoners of the Noxian empire to be had for their crimes. She would have accepted the execution. That’s what she expected when she surrendered herself back in Ionia. But it appeared that Noxus still had some use for her.

                She fought the urge to spit.

                Instead of responding to the old soldier she rose, letting the mass of fettered clothing she was provided fall off her lap and drag off her. She looked like she was wearing a curtain, but it was better than nothing. She offered the old soldier her whetstone, but he shook his head.

                “I don’t see the point. They’re not going to let us out of here. Draven makes sure that everyone dies in that arena.”

                Riven smirked. “I think I can handle a couple of gladiators.”

                The man looked at her. Whatever he was appraising he found. “I’ve no doubt of that. But even should you survive the onslaught, he’ll come down himself to take care of you. He’s a braggart and a baby most days, but when he fights you can see the family resemblance between him and the General.”

                Riven stopped. She had started her walk towards the podium that the caretakers would eventually chain her to. There was a large column in the middle of it, and after chaining her there it would rise into the arena where hundreds of her fellow Noxians would cheer as she died. She had done it several times already since arriving here. It was a good enough bloodsport, she supposed.

                “He comes down himself?” she asked, turning back to the soldier. He was a grizzled old thing, sporting more scars than even she was and even missing an arm. He saw her looking at it and laughed.

                “Yeah. He does. Do too well, survive too often, and the little bastard comes down himself.  Takes his stupid spinning axes and hypes up the crowd himself. The jailers say it’s because no one’s ever supposed to leave. I think it’s cause he hates it whenever someone gets more attention than him.”

                “Must be tired of living in his brother’s shadow, huh? Can’t wait to see what he thinks of that.”

                “If he’s smart, nothing. I’ve seen the General bisect a grown man in armor with one swing of that ridiculous cleaver. Be happy he’s not down here.”

                The two shared a quick laugh at that. Then the rattling of chains and the grunts of guards alerted them that time was up. Riven spared the man one last look before making her way to the gallows.

                “Hey,” the older soldier called. “If he comes down today, make sure you give one good black eye for me, alright?”

                Riven chuckled, then held her hands out. As usual, the jailers clapped the irons on her way too tight. If she made it out of this one she’d be sporting the bruises around her wrists for days.

XxX

                “Shame about the sword.”

                Riven looked up from her broken blade. She had broken it parrying a nasty overhead swing from a brute with more muscles than sense. She was successful, and she took that opportunity to headbutt the man, knocking him unconscious and winning her the most recent bout. Still, it was at the cost of a pretty fine blade. One that they refused to replace for her.

“Things break all the time. Can’t get caught up over every blade that gets broken.”

                The old soldier chuckled. It was a sound that brought relief. The old man made it a habit to do so all the time, even if things weren’t too funny. It was annoying at first, but now Riven didn’t think she could bear this place without it.

                “The way you managed it one would think that the Grand General Swain gave it to you himself.”

                Riven grimaced. Not that blade. And not that general. But close enough.

                “I just think that all weapons should be taken care of, is all.”

                The old soldier nodded, deciding to leave it at that. He nodded, going back to the gruel that the jailers were kind enough to give them to eat. Though why they kept calling the stuff food was beyond her.

                “I see you won your last fight?”

                The old soldier looked up again, and a smile stretched his face. “Yeah. I lost the last couple few. Let an arm get taken. I feel like I’ve earned a few wins.”

                “I don’t see why you people are so afraid of this man.”

                The old soldier shook his spoon at her. The gruel fell off the spoon, landing in a wet splat back in his bowl.

                “That’s because you’ve never seen the man at work. He ain’t the best fighter you ever seen, but he ain’t really need to be.”

XxX

                Riven collapsed on a bench. That was her eight win in a row, and you could start to tell how annoyed Draven was with her streak. She had to fight ten gladiators in a row, some of them at the same time, and she wasn’t allowed any breaks. She was still chained, her wrists bound by heavy iron manacles to a thick, unyielding stone pillar. They had yet to replace her weapons, either, so she was forced to steal what she could use, and they were always taken away from her before she could leave the arena.

                It wouldn’t be long now before she would be able to fight that insufferable man. And then the old soldier and the rest of the gladiators wouldn’t have to worry about him anymore.

                “Hey. Old man. Did you see me out there today?”

                There wasn’t an answer. That was… odd. Usually the old man was sitting there waiting for her. There weren’t that many people worth good conversation anymore. Especially given the nature of their station. She tried again.

                “Old man?” she called. She lifted herself from where she was laying and looked around. Most of the other gladiators were tending to their injuries or, if they were successful in their bouts, catching their breaths. Riven looked on in disdain at the few that were allowed to keep their weapons. Though, in their defense, they were also sporting some impressive injuries. “Hey,” she called. “Has anyone seen the old—”

                The roar of the crowd interrupted her. She rose from the seat at last, running to one of the small barred windows that lined the top of their waiting room. It fed out into one of the windows that lined the bottom of the arena, underneath the viewer stands. She looked out, only to see something that didn’t make sense.

                It was the old soldier. He was out there chained as she was, along with a few other gladiators around his age. Except… it didn’t make much sense. The old man hadn’t won nearly as many rounds as she did—she remembered his streak was around two—so he hadn’t deserved such a restriction placed on him. On top of that, he had already fought the day before, and even though he won he still sported some injuries.

                He should have been given some time to rest. He should have…

                Riven’s eyes widened as, despite his fatigue and handicap, the old soldier still proved that he had earned his keep. He brought his arm up, twisting it as he did so, batting the flat side of a sword away and disarming a gladiator much bigger than himself. It didn't take long for him to snatch the discarded blade off the ground and wield it before him, pointing it at his opponent. Riven had never seen that man around, so he was likely one of the plants that Draven put in to make things more interesting. She had fought a few of them herself, but that made sense. She was trying to provoke the man.

                Why were they being sent out against these people?

                The old soldier stabbed forward, missing the vital point he was aiming for but landing a debilitating blow in the gladiator’s shoulder. The bigger man shied away, clutching at his shoulder in pain, and Riven smiled as she thought of the scowl on Draven’s face. The old man shared her smile, then turned to the two other gladiators advancing on him. The two other old soldiers chained with him were doing more or less the same, though the gap in skill between the three were obvious. They were panting, and sporting more than a few scars from their battles despite being having fought fewer enemies and their number of arms being greater. Despite this thhey had, the three of them, dispatched quite a few enemies.

                But there were still five left. And things were not looking good for any of them.

                Once again, the gladiators poured in from all sides. Five against a confident but tired three. They swung large, well-tended swords, axes and polearms, and the old men tried to respond in kind, but there was a difference in not only physique, but age. Days of unending fighting, as well as their previous bouts, had worn down the three chained men. Their movements were slow, clumsy and imperfect. The old soldier she knew was doing an admirable job keeping up, but the other two? At this rate, it wouldn’t be long before—

                A scream rang out. One Riven wasn’t surprised to hear. Her head turned, only to see one of the chained gladiators fall to the ground. Blood spurted from his neck as a victorious man in a barbarian’s garb held his bloody blade above his head.

                Riven cursed, her teeth grinding together painfully. She turned from the carnage, storming her way towards the door.

                “Settle down there, traitor,” one of the guards said. He levelled a blade at her. Riven stared at it with cold, gray eyes. In the span between moments she could liberate it from the man’s hands, before storming her way onto the field and slaughtering all the men there. She was tired from her last bout, but not too tired. It wouldn’t be beyond her capabilities. “I know that look in your eyes. You wouldn’t be accomplishing anything other than getting all of you killed. Go back to watching.”

                Riven barely heard the man’s words, still staring at the blade in the man’s hands. How long would it take her to dispatch the guards in this room? A minute? Maybe more? Most of them were preoccupied with guarding both the arena and Draven, so even if reinforcements were to come, it wouldn’t be nearly enough to keep her down. Though, it would be enough to stall for more time. A few minutes more, tops, but that might be all that the men needed to cut down the old soldier. And then she would have wasted all that time and effort. Still, if it meant that she had a chance to save the old soldier, then…

                The roar of the crowd increased again and Riven felt her heart drop. Had she lost her opportunity in the time it took for her to deliberate on her plans? She shook her head as she rushed back to the window. Her hands gripped the bars as she stared, horrified, out on the arena floor.

                It turned out that her fears were unfounded. The two old soldiers had lost even more in the numbers advantage, but where they lost a comrade they gained room to move. Already there was a man on the floor near the podium they were chained to, and neither of the chained soldiers regarded it much besides another obstacle for their footing. They stood back to back, parrying swipes and getting in their own where it counted. The two had known each other, or at least were skilled enough to work with one another, and were quite competent at it. In one fluid motion that she doubted she could emulate on her best day, the old soldier stepped into a stab, parrying it off his blade. Letting the momentum flow, he led the man along his thrust, before using his foot to hook the man’s leg and send him tumbling forward.

                The other old man, recently done fending off his own attacks, didn’t spare more than a glance at the man now face-down at his feet. He lifted his sword and drove it into the ground, straight through the man’s neck.

                The crowd cheered again, and this time Riven couldn’t help but cheer with them. Despite everything, they seemed to be doing alright!

                “Oh, this isn’t good,” a gladiator next to her said. She turned to the man—bald and slightly taller than herself with more scar tissue than actual skin—Draven isn’t going to like that.”

                And suddenly that uneasy feeling was back in her gut. She grabbed the man by the collar and brought him down to her eye level. He sputtered at first, already reaching to grab at her, but one look at her enraged face had him freezing in place. He knew her. He knew of her reputation. She would tear him to pieces if he so much as breathed incorrectly.

                “What do you mean?” she asked. Her voice was even and calm. Far calmer than she felt.

                The man didn’t answer at first. His eyes darted to the guards, only to see them pointedly ignoring them. He turned back to her, noticing how her grip only grew tighter, before swallowing his apprehension. “D-Draven. He isn’t going to like that.”

                “Like what?” she asked. “His gladiators winning? The crowd is going wild. I thought that’s what he wanted.”

                “He wants the crowd going wild for him. Not anyone else.” The man tilted his head towards the arena. The people in it were screaming, and she could feel the stamping of the feet above her head. “He hates it whenever a gladiator gets too much fame. Overshadows him. Doesn’t matter how many games you win or lose.”

                Riven released the man, the pit in her stomach growing heavier by the moment. She peeked back out into the arena, only to see the old soldier fell his last opponent. The man he was standing with was nowhere to be seen, likely buried underneath the two new bodies that littered the ground. He had died fighting, it seemed. Gave his life to see another live on.

                Riven stared at her friend. There were no more enemies in the arena, and yet the man’s stance did not falter. His eyes kept roaming between the still cheering crowd and a spot just above her head—a spot she knew belonged only to the arena’s bloodthirsty owner.

                It appeared that even he could see the writing on the wall.

                For a while nothing happened. Somewhere in the hopeful part of Riven’s heart she supposed that nothing would happen. That the podium that held her friend would start to lower without ceremony, and she would be able to run to the room that held him and drag him away from the arena. She had no idea for how long, but another day with someone to talk to in this dreary place was comforting.

                But then, like the knoll of a bell, a heavy thud shook the stadium floor. Dust kicked up as the crowd’s cheers grew impossibly louder. An event, one that Riven never had the opportunity to see herself but desperately wanted to, was about to begin.

                “Alright, alright!” came the gruff voice of the colosseum’s master. His chuckles, which she had never heard before, rose her hackles in a way that the taunts of the enemy in the field never could. “Looks like we got ourselves someone actually interesting!”

                He continued to laugh as his sword-axes spun on that their weird little wheels. He stalked towards the old soldier like a predator might towards their wounded prey, and though his back was turned to her, Riven could somehow see the wide smile splitting the man’s face and stretching his disgusting facial hair. Her friend readied himself, holding his sword out as if to deter the man, but they both knew it wouldn’t. The old soldier was tired, and she could see the way his sword arm tilted towards the ground.

                It was in that moment that Riven made up her mind.

                There was no indication of her decision. One second, she was standing at the window, looking out at the arena in horror. Her body was ramrod straight, flush against the wall with her face nearly pushing through the bars. The very next second she was sprinting, top speed, through the surprised gladiators gathered around her. Her eyes zeroed in on the two guards nearest to her. They would be the easiest to dispatch. She would deal with the rest later.

                The two guards in question raised their spears, though she could tell by the look in their eyes that they knew they couldn’t stop her. She raised her bandage-wrapped fists and prepared to neutralize them. The chains shackling her to the wall would inevitably snap with from her momentum, and she would be free to go save her comrade. Seconds passed in moments, and she had closed the distance between them in just that long. She reached out her hand, ready to grapple the first one she saw--

                Her face was smashed into the stone tiles before she could reach them. She growled into the floor, then forced her gaze to the side. Holding her there were two gladiators, one restraining her arms and one actively keeping her pinned.

                “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled. “Let me go!”

                “And why would we do that?” the man keeping her hands bound asked. “So that you can run off and do something you’ll regret?”

                Riven continued to struggle against her captors. They were strong, but she could feel their hold on her strain. They had been exposed to an endless amount of fighting in this hellhole, but it was all controlled. It was nothing like the tribulations she endured while in the Ionian wilds.

                “I’m not going to regret anything,” she growled. She bucked, and she felt the way that the woman pinning her nearly lost her balance. That was interesting.

                “You’re a crazy one, lassie?” the woman said. Riven couldn’t place her accent. “And what was your glorious plan, eh? You were gunna run right out there? Kill e’ry guard you see and then Draven? What else? You gunna run through the entire Noxian command as well? Take a right swing at Darius after you axe his entire Trifarian Legion?”

                Riven growled. The woman was making sense. Of course she was. That was the entire reason why she hadn’t broken out of here already. As strong as she believed she was, and she was definitely strong, she wasn’t strong enough to oppose the might of an entire militaristic nation. Still, despite the logic, she struggled. Once again she managed to dislodge the people restraining her for but a second before they managed to bind her once again.

                “I thought we were in this together! You’re supposed to be helping me! Not them!”

                “That’s what we’re trying to do!” the man yelled. “You can’t believe that going out there will bring you any good!”

                Outside, the din of the crowd became overpowering once more. Something was happening in the arena. Something that excited the crowd. It hurt Riven to think of the possibilities.

                “Let me go!” she roared, and this time she was successful. A surge of energy coursed through her, and she broke from the two restraining her. She advanced on the guards once more but, this time, three gladiators fell on her.

                “Stop, lass!” they yelled. They were all, all of them, ‘traitors’ of the Noxian army. And, in some way, she knew that they were looking out for her.

                It didn’t make the resulting situation any nicer for her.

                “Let me go!” she roared, and she would have thrown off even the three of them, if not for the whirring that she knew to belong to the podium that usually lifted them into the arena. She broke from them once more, racing past the guards she was about to assault, only to see the sight she was trying so hard to prevent.

                Laying there, face down against the stone, was the old soldier. A pool of blood had already started to form around him, growing larger as time went on.

                Riven fell to her knees, eyes wide and transfixed. Her arms sat limply, lifelessly at her sides.

                She had failed once again.

XxX

                Riven fixed her bandages, making sure that the fabric was tight against her skin. She couldn’t have it coming loose during the fight. Today was special. It was to be her twentieth win in a row—a feat that no other gladiator had managed since one called Xin Zhao. A horn blew, and she turned her head towards it, only to see the wary guards as they stared her down.

                “It’s time for your match,” the one nearest to her said. He was a nondescript type. Red clothing and some armor. A shoddy spear that wouldn’t last a day in the field. Her thoughts turned towards how she could relieve the man of his duty, and maybe his head, but she stamped down the intrusive thoughts for today.

                Today would be the day. She was sure of it.

                “Remember, keep yer shoulders straight, and yer feet apart.”

                Riven chuckled. It had been a several months since she lost the old soldier, whose name she later found out was Piedro. She had mourned his death for quite a while, and it was only with this gladiator’s help that she managed to pull herself out of the place she was in.

                Coincidentally, it was the same girl who had helped pin her.

                “I know how to fight, Ringu,” she said. “Or were my last nineteen wins a fluke?”

                Ringu shook her head, a small smile on her face. She walked up to Riven, before placing a hand on her cheek. “I’m sure they were. Don’t die out there, 'kay? I know I’m askin' the impossible, but…”

                Riven chuckled as well and cupped her hand to her new friend’s. She felt the soft comfort of human skin that wasn’t trying to kill her and reveled in the experience. Then she stood, softly peeling the woman’s hand away.

                “I’ll see you soon,” she said. She smeared some dust into her cheeks, if for no other reason than to be more intimidating, before making her way to the podium.

                As the guards nervously attached the chains to her wrists, she smiled. Today would be the day. She just knew it. The day that she would finally avenge Piedro, as well as all of the other gladiators who were forced to fight and die here. The day she would finally free herself of these chains. The day she would finally bring peace to her fellow gladiators.

                As the podium rose, shining sunlight from a bright, cloudless sky, Riven smirked. The sounds of the crowd was as usual—loud and deafening—but for once Riven didn’t mind it. The intensity of their screams were a balm to her. It meant she was on the right track. As the podium finally reached the top, Riven couldn’t help but smile.

                The crowd cheered even louder when they realized who she was, and though she couldn’t see his face beyond the glare of the sunlight, she could tell how much it annoyed Draven.

                Yes, today would be the day.

                The day she finally felled Draven.