Vetting Threats

The Colosseum, Morning

"Coach, come on, I can't hit you!" a short lucht woman with a rapier in hand stamps her foot on the ground, sending a small puff of sand into the air.

A heavily scarred mul'neissa woman shakes her head, then gestures slowly, "It's not about hitting me. It's the intent behind it." <Handspeech>

The two were encircled by a dozen or so other gladiators. Some grizzled, others green. The grey, cloudy day casts everything in a muted blanket. Perfect for vetting on the Colosseum grounds. The group is near the stands, several people killing time watching on curiously.

The Lucht fencer huffs, brining up the thin blade once more. She adopts a stance, stills, then lances forth-

The coach simply sidesteps. The fencer sails past, and their advance is arrested by two hands clapping their shoulders. She points to a spot in the circle.

The participant huffs, ducking their head and joining the group. Some kind of sorting system is going on right now.

Aryia scans around before her gaze lands on a far-too-young-for-this human boy of perhaps sixteen. She stares. Squints. And beckons him forth.

A great deal of advertisement and announcement recently circulate concerning a coach seeking students to grow her team of trainees. This could well explain Verna's arrival to the Colosseum. That or she wishes to observe some spectacle? It is a mostly foregone conclusion that she is NOT present to participate in pugilism.

Physical talent aside, she is certainly not attired for such activities: a layered winter dress with long sleeves and predominantly pink panels.

The teen grins as he steps forward, him bouncing on the balls of his feet with his fists raised. "I've been waiting for so long to do this!" he enthuses before he charges forth, fist raised for a wild haymaker.

Aryia flatly stares. Subtly leans to the side as the fist sails past her, and sticks her foot out. The teen tumbles to the floor, sliding to a stop in the sand.

Aryia assesses the group before making a 'T' shape with her hands. "Time out. Come back in ten minutes." <Handspeech>

There's some grumbling before the fighters break, the teen still face down on the ground. Aryia scans the stands before perking at the sight of the pink paneled Mourner. She gives a wave, a smile, and picks up the boy by the scruff of the collar.

Verna notes the greeting and approaches as the combatants, or most of them depart. "Good day to you," she greets Aryia once within conversational distance. The lifted student is given a glance before she opines, "Enthusiasm is respectable, yet without discipline is rarely successful on its own. Is there a need for restorative or funerary services?"

The mute bobs her head. "Take a break and try again, the Mourner is right," she gestures to him. <Handspeech/Tongues>

The teen looks crossed between crying and lashing out, his face red and puffy from embarrassment. "S-Screw you!" he yells at the both of them, voice cracking as he bats the hand off of him and runs off into the many side entrances of the arena.

Aryia watches him go, shrugs, then turns back to Verna. "He's been watching in the stands for months. If he comes back I'll give him another chance. I had double the participants today, but half gave up. Not looking for skill, I want persistence," she explains for stepping closer. "Good to see you, Verna. I'm surprised you're here. Want to audition?" she jokes, grinning. <Handspeech>

Verna watches the youth's bravado and subsequent departure, though does not respond to his expletive. "I presume that he merely vented ire and did not make a genuine proposition nor declaration of intent." She then focuses upon Aryia. "It is a pleasure to see you, as well. You appear to have a thorough plan for your selection process... yet, no, I do not intend to audition. I am well aware of my limitations in martial combat."

Aryia just snorts at that, resting on her back foot with her hands on her hips, flaring her shoulder robed jacket out. She wobbles a hand. "Sort of. Some people here are just wanting to punch me in the face. Which I get it. They are welcome to try. But most... honestly, I just want them to /try/. I want them to get discouraged, discard that feeling, and keep trying. That Lucht woman, Claria, I know she can do it."

"Who knows, maybe you're actually really good at it!" Aryia teases, before she looks the Mourner over. "Good choice of color. How's Auranar?" she inquires. <Handspeech>

"Dedication and commitment to effort are required," Verna concurs. "A lack of these make for wasted effort for both student and instructor. Wizardy is instructed quite similarly. Those who seek a quick and easy solution or rapidly grow disinterested need not apply. All else can be taught and learned."

At mention of fisticuffs and fashion, Verna's expression softens. "I am grateful for the comment, given your clothing expertise. Auranar is well, if busy. We both are, as we prepare to venture to Am'shere; a first for myself. I regret that it is not under better circumstances."

Aryia bobs her head, agreeing completely. "Exactly. I don't need a big team, I need a dedicated team. I doin't want to waste time, and considering some adventuring shit takes me out of the city for weeks, I need them to commit when I'm not there."

The coach tilts her head to the side. "What's going on there? Last I heard, there was some Charn bullshit happening, but from what I've learned, it's been taken care of?" <Handspeech>

The softnes leaves Verna's countenance as she frowns. "The Charneth machinations continue. I was only recently given specific details, all of which are quite concerning. There is a call to gather and aid, to which we shall respond."

Aryia scowls. "If /you're/ worried about it, then that means the situation is fucked." Her boot scuffs the sand, hands on her hips. "You need a hand? Just say the word and I'll get packing. Tournaments can wait." <Handspeech>

"The people of Am'shere could use your aid, if you wish," Verna clarifies. "We do not yet know the full context nor scope of this threat, but I believe it is to be taken with the utmost concern. I was able to identify the Charneth house, and therefor indivual, responsible. She is shrewd in planning, patient, and determined."

"You will have it," Aryia sharply nods. "The People have already had enough shit done to them, I know."

White brows furrow. "You do? Who? I don't exactly remember many houses now since having left that shit a long time ago, but I know enough." <Handspeech>

Verna dips her head in a deep nod. "Indeed. You are most welcome. We depart soon for Ketsalkuetspaltahtepetl, known as Great Dragonfather Mountain. That is were many gather." She is genuinely grateful, though it is not enough to fully remove her frown.

Which now becomes an outright scowl. "Lady Varyssa, of house Calana'el. My... mother." The last words is uttered only after a delay as other, perhaps more appropriate, terms are considered.

Aryia blinks at the location given, face twisting in confusion as she pulls out a journal, attempting to write that down in Draconic, her mouth moving to try and match it. "That's a fucking mouth full. But I'll head that way. Hopefully they don't try and smite me just walking in." A mul going into sacred makari lands may be grounds to get the Father's light down upon her.

She raises her attention towards the Mourner. Blinks once. Twice. Thrice. "I have no idea who that is, but your mother sounds like a massive bitch for doing all this," the pugilist bluntly relays. "Sorry she's the center of all this. Unless you don't care about her, then fuck her." <Handspeech>

"I had not visited Am'shere prior for similar concerns of bias," Verna notes. "Yet I expect there are many who can and would vouch for you, myself included." She considers the last comment a moment before responding. "I care no more for her than she for myself. She is a woman of business, first and foremost. She seeks to expand her power, her wealth, and her dominion, just as Taara would encourage. Matters of conscience, morality, family are all secondary or no concern at all. Her trade is in slaves and she seems ever interested in more advanced ...product. The Makari people may now have her full focus."

Aryia's jaw clenches as Verna further elaborates. A cutting scowl given to the information. "I'm in. I'll be there. Point me at what needs their spine snapped. Worship of Taara is one thing. I draw the fucking line at slaves."

She cracks her knuckles, nostrils flared. "They will fall. Thanks for telling me."

Behind her, some only eight fighters remain. The lucht fencer and the teen boy among them. They cautiously approach, picking up on the coach's tense frame. Aryia glances behind before closing her eyes and slowly exhaling. Forcing herself to calm down. "Feel free to stay and watch. But I understand if you have other business to attend to in preparation for this development." <Handspeech>

Verna dips her head to Aryia, acknowledging her assurance and gratitude. They both have varying measure of personal stake in the matter, direct or otherwise. "If you wish to travel with us, you are welcome to. If not, I expect there are, and shall be, many caravans travelling to the portal."

She then notes the returned and waiting students. "I do have further preparations to make, and you your students to tend. I would not trouble you further. We can speak further another time, here or in Am'shere."

"I'll catch up. Let you guys get more information sorted and be there soon," Aryia affirms before resting a hand on Verna's shoulder. "I'll talk with you later, Verna." She attempts a smile, but it's hard to mask the frustration at this news. <Handspeech>

The shoulder gets a pat-pat before the pugilist returns back to the prospective students. Scans again. Then points to a Arvek Nar holding a large club. He rips forward, holding the weapon up high and yelling a fierce cry. The others get startled from the sudden violence, but Aryia just stares.

A club goes flying into the air as the Nar is clotheslined.

"Next." <Handspeech>

-End Scene-