Murder is such a strange experience, at least for Oliver, murder wasn't a crime of passion, but a necessary premeditated crime. He knew that and kept repeating it to himself to stave off the panic that seemed to be trying to creep in, barely contained beneath a fragile veil of calm that protected him from full-on hyperventilation.
'I just murdered someone ' he numbly thought to himself as he walked after the butler
The butler was dealing with a similar shock, albeit more controlled and incredulous than emotional. 'He just fucking strangled the kid' was the thought that kept circling within.
Harold had been certain the boy would falter, he could feel it in the boys' body language, his facial expressions, he wasn't a killer. Yet, the boy did the unthinkable, willing to commit what many consider a cardinal sin simply because survival demanded it. Now more than ever the middle-aged recruiter was certain the boy would go far in the Colosseum, and beyond.
Caught in their thoughts, the pair quickly but silently made their way towards the shops that ringed half the Colosseum structure. Accessible to spectators like a market, as well as the Gladiators as a place to get the gear they needed for the games.
As they entered the vast market, Oliver couldn't help but be roused from his rapidly souring mood to gape in awe at his surroundings.
The hall was long and curved, disappearing around the bend far in the distance, but a medium village could easily fit just in the space that Oliver could see. Shoulder to shoulder people shopped for what appeared to Oliver to be anything and everything he or they could ever imagine, such was the variety of goods available.
In addition to the variety of goods, a vast array of different cultures and styles were present as well, both in goods and in patrons. The people milling about were so varied it was overwhelming to see just how much Oliver didn't know. In addition to the regular patrons, Gladiators milled about, shoulder to shoulder with the normal folk. The Gladiators we're also quite diverse. Some of them wore simple rags and poorly made weaponry, while others had expensive-looking armor or silk robes covered in arcane symbols. Others had neither, but instead barely wore anything, choosing mobility, or perhaps aesthetic instead of being fully covered.
Oliver knew from their reputation that the many styles were because of the various kinds of fans. Some Gladiators were focused on combat and raw physical prowess and as such appealed to the fans that enjoyed the combat aspect, either for the brutality of war or the skill of arms.
The robed figures were powerful magical combatants who used their tomes to unleash devastating energy attacks and perform complex magical feats, as such they appealed to magic lovers of all sorts, from those enraptured by the stunning visuals of a TomeMage destroying their opponents with a wave of their hands, or studious magical adept who watch for the awe of their art being used in such a way.
While there were other smaller categories, each with their own style and focus, one other was such a major part of the Colosseum culture that it was worth mentioning. The Gladiators who's role it was to woo the fans with stunning feats and pretty crowd work. They wore very little to show off their designer muscles. These fighters had a style of combat that was flashy, full of flourish and charm. They appealed to a great many men and women who sought to indulge in fantasy, seeing noble adventure or dirty subtext in every move of their idols perfectly formed bodies.
Of course, if anybody was ever able to appeal to all 3 groups of fans they would be an unstoppable force and out-earn all other gladiators, it would be easier said than done to say the least.
Harold led Oliver through throngs of people toward a reputable page crafter. He knew many a page crafter, but this one was a merchant that he had sponsored many years ago for them to be an official vendor at the Colosseum. Since then he always receives a twenty-five percent commission on the sales there, which translates to a discount of the same amount on purchases he makes from her.
Winding through the crowd of colorful people, they make it to the small shop that Harold was leading them to. Oliver's eyes scan the makeshift stall, it wasn't very big, medium-sized at best, and its walls were made of stretched canvas, while a tapestry lay over the doorway. The sign, which hung on the wooden frame of the structure, was bold but clearly done by hand, and it read "Paige's Pages".
Harold stepped forward and opened the door for Oliver, motioning him through. Upon entering, Oliver immediately felt both amazed and comfortable. It was a rugged antique shop, cluttered and overfilled with old wooden bookshelves, aging mahogany tables, and glass cases formed with old oak frames. The floor was covered with ancient-looking rugs that were threadbare but beautiful and unique. A warm fire in a pit sat smack in the middle, filling the space with a homey warmth he had rarely felt before. Next to the fire, sitting cross-legged on the ground was an elderly woman dressed in a cotton peasant gown and she wore a wool house coat over her shoulders. The old woman's hands were busy in a vat of red-colored sludge which she mixed and splashed with her bare hands, the entire mixture was steaming with unnatural heat, but she did not stop.
Oliver looked over at Harold with a worried expression, but the butler only nodded calmly and motioned for Oliver to be patient. It was difficult for Oliver to sit and do nothing. He knew that if he let himself think he would have a breakdown and he couldn't afford that happening right now.
For several minutes Oliver walked around her shop examining the vast array of Colorful pages strewn about like a tornado went off, reading titles in languages he had never even seen. Although Oliver was well-read, having stolen countless books from the library, this knowledge extended mostly towards basics, reading, writing, language, arithmetic, and science. Before Oliver could fully explore the books, a voice stopped him from progressing.
"If you are done lusting after my books young man, then come here." the old woman says gruffly "Welcome to my shop Paiges' Pages, my name is Gertrude, what do you want?...