The new GLADIATOR 2 will be some nonsense about the nephew of Commodus and whatnot, and not the script where Maximus becomes this immortal warrior dude who ends up being sent by the gods to stop Christianity (spoiler warning: he does not). No, really. This script really does exist, and everything. And I suspect it will end up sounding a lot better than whatever they’re going to come up with.
Razor-Claw’s eyes snapped open. He’d always been a light sleeper, and decades of being a raider, a raider boss, and finally rebel scum had honed that knack until he could cut throats with it. Shrugging off a weak Dominion daze spell that couldn’t bite him properly was nothing. Neither was popping loose the shackles that bound him to a circular frame at wrists, ankles, throat, and middle. Firebrand had told him they’d unlock as soon as he pulled at them, and the motherfucker hadn’t lied about that, at least.
He knew he didn’t have long to work, so he took a quick look around the tent. It was full of frames like his, stacked close together, and every single one of them had a twitching, unconscious captive on it. He recognized about half of them; men and a few women from his own last band of fighters, a couple of rat bastards from the other side, and one guy who just looked different. Too well-fed to be one of his, and he had on the remains of a uniform Razor-Claw didn’t recognize.
That’s the one in June; apparently there were scheduling conflicts that they couldn’t resolve. This is a shame. The staff’s pretty friendly and I was making the table fee back, no worries*. Now I gotta find an alternate venue for the summer of 2023…
PS: …Huh. That puts Awesome Con back on the table. $350 is a lot of money, though. Then again, it’s a really big convention.
*Generally, if I make the table fee back, I usually see an overall profit from people going and getting my other books online. Besides, it builds my readership.
I need to get back to the orc and the reporter, soon. These two are horrible.
“Beef ribs it is, then,” Firebrand said, as a servant wheeled in a cart. Seeing Razor-Claw’s eyes linger on her tense form, the mage smirked. “Business and lunch before pleasure, I think. We have a schedule.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure.” Razor-Claw dragged his eyes away from the girl, who promptly left the room. “You gonna start with a name?”
“Better than that.” The Warmage summoned an image ball, showing the image of an graying, bitter-looking woman. “This is Senior Warmage Festering Lacewing of the First Usurpation. My second-in-command, but you knew that already.”
“The Town-burner? Oh, yeah, I know her. She’d burn anybody who looked at her funny. Slowly. So why the Hell do you want her dead? She was a big reason why you kicked our asses.”
“That’s the problem.” Firebrand held out his hand, and a drink drifted into it. “Lacewing’s perfect for clearing land for settlement, but we’re starting a different campaign soon. One where I want to keep too many towns from being burned down.”
“Because squeezing them to death instead is more profitable,” Firebrand grinned. “More fun that way, too.”