The windows high on the wall of the Hall were closed and shuttered, though sunlight struck down in slanting beams from cracks in the stout shutters to relieve, somewhat, the stuffy darkness. Dozens of dim forms shifted in their seats, the wooden benches descending in arcs from the back of the room to the front focused around a podium at the lowest level of the room.
A figure hunched over the podium. A man. Dressed in scholarly garb, he studied the sheaf of parchment before him, his weathered face lit by the steady sway of a candle at the podium's edge.
He sorted the papers a moment longer, listening to the shuffle and murmur of the students gathered in the lecture hall. He considered them over the metal rims of his spectacles for a moment and then cleared his throat. The dim room fell into silence.
The weathered scholar straightened and addressed the assemblage in carrying voice, "Good afternoon. I hope you all completed the assigned readings because today we will travel back several centuries to the event that precipitated the turning point of the Great War. Does anyone care to put a theory forward before we begin?" He paused, surveying them in the dim light, "Yes, you there, Hangromm."
The red-haired young man screwed up his face, "The failed trade agreement between Ygrimn and Bael Surth?"
"Is that a question, Hangromm?" the Professor inquired sharply.
"Uh, no, Professor." The young man ducked his head and then began again with more certainty, "The failed trade agreement between Sachor and Bael Surth, sir."
"A good suggestion," the Professor paused weighing it and then spotted another hand raised, "Yes... Stalwart 788."
A construct with dimly glowing eyes lowered its arm. Its voice rendered the harsh tones of draconic strangely to the ears of those with subtler tongues. "Consul Hirtius' loss at Burning Wind."
"You are partially correct, but ahead of yourself," the old man squinted down at the papers before him, willing inspiration to strike.
A voice sounded from the back without waiting to be called. It was a deep voice that was, despite it's richness, flat and emotionless, "The unseasonably early winter that delayed the arrival of Septimus Sarcus' Legions at Burning Wind."
"You're getting closer." The Professor gestured and the illusion of a miniature floating Arkhosian citadel flickered into view over his hand. He peered at it closely and spoke it's name.
"Andrius."
The students relaxed, the Professor's tone had shifted and the lecture would now begin, "Today we will discuss Andrius, the events that preceeded the appointment of Septimus Sarcus as Consul over the Legio VII Carica, and a tiny event that set off a devastating chain reaction."
The Professor paused dramatically. "It began in the famed Arena of Andrius. The Arena was the site of all manner of brutality that one man could visit on another..."
Last edited by Sparky; 25th September 2009 at 08:26 PM..
It is dark in the tunnel. You are standing right up against the portcullis. The iron is cold and has a metallic tang that smells like blood. Beyond the portcullis, the gate that opens onto the sands of the Arena.
The others are behind you, sweating, cursing, crying, a polyglot melange of raw, brimming emotion.
The portcullis rises with a shrieking shudder as the gate creaks open. The tunnel is flooded with blinding light...
((Part I of the Crucible - describe your first fight in the Arena!
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Last edited by Sparky; 22nd September 2009 at 10:33 PM..
Reason: The Crucible - Event 1 - Your First Fight
Caged Fury's first fight in the areana, some time ago
Under the roar of the crowd, Caged Fury entered the arena. He had the dubitious luck to be paired against the arena favourite: ‘Hammer’, a hulking Goliath with the biggest hammer he had ever seen. He had himself not be announced with some ‘exciting’ stage name, thought to be only some fresh blood that will be splattered to jam in mere seconds. Both stand there, waiting to be given the signal to start fighting. The earthy and sweaty smell of his opponent caused Caged’s nose to wrinkle. All he knew was that he had to kill and survive in a way that would please the crowd. He’d never learned how to be an open fighter, nor had he ever cared to. He’d never addressed a crowd of more than a handful of people. Now he was about to kill or be killed for an audience’s amusement.
"Fight!"
Fury kept his eyes at the giant and tried to come up with some kind of strategy that would keep him from harm and help him win. I have to act first One blow from this hammer and I will be finished.. He crouched low rolled toward his opponent and planted his right foot in his crotch. The Goliath toppled slightly over but maintained his grip on the weapon. Surprised that that had actually worked, He followed up with a left-handed punch with his cestus that laid the larger fighter out with a huge dent in his helmet’s faceplate.
The sun warmed his face as the crowd's applause warmed his heart, and he knew that he could survive this as long as he kept fighting and making the crowd happy.
He kept tumbling, nearly dancing around his much stronger opponent, placing a fist, knee or elbow here and there.
Suddenly Hammer straightened up, grinned and whispered in a low voice at Fury: "Nice show, boy, I will let you live, this time." Then, with a bone chilling howl he jumped forward, moving faster that Fury had thought it would be possible for such a heavy man. He dodged the first few blows, was forced to parry one with his arms and loosed balance. He barely felt the hit… regaining suddenly his consciousness, he heard the cheering of the crowd. They deemed him worthy to live…
Experience in the arena got to be earned in the hard way…
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Rodeh looked down at his sword and shield held in his arms, forcibly strapped and magically binded in placed. The smell of blood was old on the bars in front of the portcullis, but fresh on his hands and on the shield now held firmly in place. Sweat poured down his forehead as he willed the leather armor into place, and even that smelled of fresh blood. It was a blisteringly hot day in the Arena, perfect for making two warriors fight to the death. Rodeh would normally have enjoyed a small scuffle before lunch. This time, however, he hated it, although a cruel smile pursed his lips.
They may make me fight in 'dis blasted Arena eventually, but not before I bloody a few noises and take a few fingers off. The battle to get the armor on him had not lasted long, but it was all the time Rodeh needed. Then, that blasted warlock came to him. How he hated 'ol what-his-stupid-face. The eladrin warlock had grinned slyly at him.
"Your Gods are dead now, and should you fail in the arena, I will ensure your family will be too." The eladrin said in perfect Dwarven. He laughed as Rodeh looked at him dumbstruck, but the stout Minehelm growled and smoothed out his long, black beard. Rodeh spat on the ground,
"May your mother screw the rotten carcases of beheaded drow!" The dwarf responded back, ready for a fight, red rage boiling inside of him like the lava in the furnaces of his homeland. The warlock merely laughed and turned away, waving his hand. Then, he was face to face with the portcullis. Rodeh swore then he would kill the largely frail and girly-looking eladrin before his time in the Arena was done. And then probably defacate on his dead body. A few times.
The portcullis swung open, and Rodeh half-closed his eyes as the blinding light shot through the doorway. Standing there dumbfounded for a few moments, the dwarf was forcibly pushed into the arena. Stumbling forward, he landed square on his face as is only standard for dwarven finesse and grace. Grunting as he stood, Rodeh was greeted by loud jeers and laughters from the arena audience. Glancing upward, the dwarf saw his companion, whom he vaguely heard being introduced as "The Zipper." It might have also been "Ripper," but Rodeh was still fuming from the warlock's promise and couldn't hear over the roar of the crowd. In unison, the crowd shouted "Fight!" and the battle was on.
Not wasting a second, the human standing in front of him charged with blinding speed straight toward the dwarf, scimitar blazing in the ever-sweltering sun. But Rodeh was ready this time, and the red blood flowing through his veins was still hot with anger. Setting his feet strongly into the ground, Rodeh assumed a wide stance and focused his energy into his arms. Muscles rippling, "The Zipper" immediately knew what it felt like to slam face first into a wall of bricks.
And these bricks were very sturdy, and carried a big sword.
The human impacted Rodeh's shield as he brought the scimitar down, and the sheer force of his own impact allowed Rodeh to channel the energy and push it forward. With a primal yell and a large grunt, Rodeh pushed forward hard as the impact came, sending the Zipper flying back in the direction he came nearly 20 feet. The human landed hard on his back and rolled. While the human was getting up slowly, Rodeh grunted again.
"It's going to take more than that to move me, Zipper," Rodeh said and banged his shield with his sword, "Pull your pants up, little man, and TRY TO MOVE ME!" The human came at him again, but this time with a little surprise. As he charged (a little slower this time, Rodeh notices), two daggers come from his side and directly at Rodeh. Raising his shield to deflect the two knives, the Zipper launched himself up and attempts to get over the dwarf.
"Mistake number two," Rodeh says as he swings his sword up, broad end first. The sword explodes with force outward and impacts the human square in the chest, rolling him over and landing him hard on his stomach next to Rodeh, "son of a hairless orc."
Without missing a beat, however, another knife comes lunging at the dwarf a split-second before the human hits the dirt and buries itself squarely in his left arm. Feeling his grip on his sword loosen, Rodeh quickly drops the weapon and it lodges itself point first into the sand. With a quick yelp and a growl, Rodeh ignores the pain and forces adrenaline through his body as he moves forward and drops his entire weight on the human. The Ripper yells in pain and spews blood as the dwarf feels ribs snap underneath his immense strength. The crowd roars as it sees red for the first time this battle, both from the dwarf and the human.
"In a different world, human," Rodeh whispers as he brings his shield up. Before slamming it down on the head of the human to end the fight, he swears that he could see the man smiling.
*****
"Why do I suddenly feel cold." Rodeh thinks to himself, standing up victorious, waves of applause and cheering from the audience filling his ears and drowning out most of his other thoughts. He walks over to the sword and examines it. He breath leaves him and the arena feels very quiet as he sees the runes dancing over the longsword, even admist all the screaming. Its appearance is very similar to his family heirloom, the ancient sword Amma.
"Then that shall be your name, weapon." The Warden says, a grim smile coming over his lips. Though he escaped with his life that day, he somehow felt as though the real victor was lying in a pool of his own blood.
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The darkness in the slave pens was opressive. I could see the dirty flicker of torches from the guard station, casting just enough light for me to make out my surroundings. It didn't help. The sound of heavy footsteps heralded the arrival of a guard to escort some of us to the arena. A scaled hand reached down and dragged me to my feet.
"You'll do, Pinky."
I was thrown in a room with my gear and two other gladiators, a dragonborn and a human. The door was closed and locked behind us, and the only other exit was a long corridor, with the faint glimmer of daylight. I could hear the faint sounds of the arena echoing down the hall. My fellow gladiators glared at me as I stood there, and I hurriedly donned my armor, grabbed my sword, and followed them down the hall. We stood at the portcullis, watching as a dwarf delivered a killing blow to his opponent. The dwarf retreated through another portcullis, and slaves quickly dragged the body of his late foe away. The steel bars in front of us began to raise, and my companions pushed me out onto the sands as we watched to see who we would be facing.
I stood on the sands flanked by the other gladiators, and watched as a large gate opposite us slowly opened. The roar that issued forth was my first clue that this would not be quite as I expected. Three gladiators against three gladiators would have been different from my days as a Gladia Prima, but still fundamentally the same. A match of warrior against warrior, for the show, for the glory. A large hulking creature was prodded into the light and the gates slammed shut behind us. This was no warrior, this was a beast of the wilds, angry, hungry and vicious. It swung its shaggy head around sniffing at the air, and then focused on us. My companions were already spreading out, and the human identified our foe for us.
"It's a cave bear. The gods! It's huge."
I gripped my sword tightly, and watched as the bear reared up, roaring a challenge. Then it dropped to all fours and charged at me. This was no contest, this was my life. I barely ducked out of the way of the huge paw that swiped at my head, and I tried to duck away to one side, but the beast turned faster than I expected and swiped at me again, sending me sprawling. While I had it distracted one of the other gladiators screamed and launched an attack at it's back. The dragonborn's axe seemed to just glance off the creature's body, but the bear roared and turned away from me. I scrambled to my feat, and added my own swing to the assault, as the human joined is as well. The three of us tried to hack at the bear and keep out of reach of it's claws and teeth. No matter how many blows scored its hide, the thing wouldn't die, and we were rapidly tiring. The bear spun around quickly, swiping at all of us, roaring in protest. The human and I were knocked to the sands, but the dragonborn hit the wall and fell unconcious in front of the bear. It's jaws latched on to the scaled one and ripped off a limb, spraying blood onto the sands. Horrified, I turned away and glanced at my remaining ally, he had taken wounds of his own, and was struggling to his feet.
I hurried to him, and helped him to stand.
"Stand firm, man. If we are to survive, we must stand firm!"
He nodded and straightened up as the bear turned from his downed foe and refocused his attention on the two of us. We both charged at the beast, striking it again and again. It, too, was beginning to slow, it's blood slowly staining the sand beneath it, but it was still stronger than either of us. I dodged the wrong direction and took a nasty swipe across my chest, falling to the sands. Undeterred by the blows the human still rained down on it's back, the bear lunged at me, and I stared into the very literal jaws of death. I suddenly felt the fey magic in my blood flare up as it had not done since my youth, and the world flashed green around me. The bear suddenly halted, gave a pained snort and swung it's head around, as if looking for something. I took my chance and swung my sword as hard as I could at it's head as the human stabbed once more into it's side. Everything we had was in those strikes, and our foe finally succumbed to his wounds.
The other gladiator and I looked at the corpse of a once noble creature, the bloodied remains of our fallen ally and our own broken bodies. This was not what the arena was supposed to be. The crowds cheered their blood lust, but it rung hollow to my ears, as I made my way back to the slave pens, to await the next day.
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The first thing Q'ynn Daelrith notices, once the portcullis lifts, is a cold, strong breeze against his face. A persistent wind whips around the bowl of the arena, causing Q'ynn's tattered tabard, the one featuring the Daelrith family crest, to flap incessantly in response. Daelrith steps onto the dirt arena floor to see tonight's opponent, the Half-Orc Barbarian known as Shaylor Umblereck.
Daelrith, not sure how he'll fare against this beast, knows only quick thinking and perhaps some luck will enable him to win tonight's match. Shaylor, full of vitriolic intensity, charges forward, brandishing a greataxe caked with the blood of forty past opponents, most of whom didn't survive.
Q'ynn Daelrith realizes he needs to slow this big, burly monster. Damaging or disorienting the Barbarian would be a side benefit to consider. Not wanting to be pinned against the arena walls, Q'ynn slides slightly away from Shaylor's trajectory and unleashes Kord's malediction against the opponent: "Kord grant me bane against this unworthy heathen!" Golden sheaves of light spray the area around the incoming Barbarian, annoying him if nothing more. Q'ynn thrusts his magic staff at the Half-Orc. As he does this, the Barbarian begins to see visions of his own demise.
Shaylor, under the assault of Kord's might, shakes it off and charges forward, easily tracking down Q'ynn Daelrith. The Barbarian flies into a rage, swinging wildly his greataxe. Kord's malediction, however, throws the Barbarian's attack wide. The crowd begins to come alive with the Barbarian's attack, only to see it miss by quite a bit. Q'ynn Daelrith, emboldened by the knowledge that Kord's malediction interfered with Shaylor's strike, calls again upon his deity's power: "Brace me, my Lord, and bring Ruin to this battered fool!" With a strike from Kord himself, the Barbarian is dazed, allowing Q'ynn to escape from Shaylor's reach.
Q'ynn, himself fatigued from the use of his divine abilities, isn't able to get that far away. Fortunately, Shaylor was slowed enough that the Barbarian was unable to close into melee range. "This combat is close to an end, graceless barbarian scum," Q'ynn says to his opponent. "Kord, lord of strength and of war, I call upon your might to finish the Half-Orc I see before me!" A shaft of light, seemingly from the heavens itself, shines down on Shaylor, enveloping him in radiance. The Barbarian cries out, not in fear, but in the pain of Kord's might. Shaylor drops to one knee, trying to surge forward, swinging his greataxe, but unable to close in on Q'ynn.
Choryl Velt, arena master for the night, stamps his giant staff-pennant against a large, flat stone amidst the second tier of the arena stands. "It is done," Velt announces. "Q'ynn Daelrith is the victor!" A battle horn sounds.
Daelrith turns to face Velt and the crowd. He raises his magic staff in victory, awash in the feeling of defeating an opponent for the very first time. Shaylor Umblereck, unwilling to accept defeat, snarls. "I will not submit!" The Barbarian gets to his feet and, his fangs bared, charges forward, knocking Q'ynn to the dirt floor. Q'ynn barely had time to roll over to see Umblereck swinging his nasty greataxe down towards the Invoker's head. Q'ynn dodges, but not enough, as the axe digs into Daelrith's shoulder, drawing first blood.
Umblereck stands, facing Velt. "I am the victor," the Barbarian claims. "I have drawn first blood! Give to me the spoils."
"No, Shaylor!" Choryl Velt replies forcefully. "I have decreed Q'ynn Daelrith the victor. The horn has sounded!" An assistant approaches Velt and whispers in his ear.
Meanwhile, Q'ynn Daelrith rolls over and gets up, still bleeding rather profusely from the axe wound in his shoulder. The Invoker glares at Shaylor, the Half-Orc. Daelrith realizes, however, that the Half-Orc may be in the right, at least in his addled brain. Daelrith is still in mortal danger. The Half-Orc could turn, at any moment, and finish Daelrith before any of the guards could intervene. Q'ynn considers running into the tunnel, but also wants to stand his ground. Daelrith was declared the victor, after all. How would it look to run now?
"Shaylor Umblereck," Choryl Velt says. "Under a strict reading of the arena rules, your claim is correct."
Q'ynn Daelrith sighs. He knows where this is going. At least he thinks he does.
"However, the horn has sounded and I have made the victor declaration," the arena master adds. "This leaves us at an impasse. Unfortunately, that means I must declare a draw." A wave of cries and boos emanates from the crowd. "All bets... all bets will be returned. Please, form one line to the banker's window."
Q'ynn looks over at the Half-Orc, who barely understands what's going on. Regardless, the simple Barbarian realizes that he's been robbed, at least in his mind. Daelrith, seeing a slight change in Shaylor's body languages, runs into the tunnel. The portcullis is still down. "Open this thing," he demands. "Hurry!"
A slave smiles at the Invoker, slowly cranking a wheel to raise the portcullis. Bearing down on Q'ynn is the Half-Orc, bringing his greataxe along for the ride. Just as Q'ynn ducks under the gate, Shaylor brings the axe blade down on the space Daelrith had occupied, barely missing. As Umblereck prepares to attack again, a robed figure in the hall, waiting for his own turn in the arena, uses his wand to shoot a thin, blue ray at the Barbarian, freezing Shaylor Umblereck in his tracks.
"Thanks much, friend," Q'ynn says to the unknown Wizard.
"You'd do the same for me, wouldn't you?" the Wizard replies with a smile.
__________________ He knows the score... he gets the women... and he kills the bad guy. If you hire him to kill the bad guy... better make damn sure the bad guy isn't you! EN World Community Supporter
Currently running "In the Shadow of Giants" [OOC] | [IC] | [RG]
Last edited by Insight; 22nd September 2009 at 10:53 PM..
__________________ He knows the score... he gets the women... and he kills the bad guy. If you hire him to kill the bad guy... better make damn sure the bad guy isn't you! EN World Community Supporter
Currently running "In the Shadow of Giants" [OOC] | [IC] | [RG]
Kadaj sat below the sands of the arena with his daggers in his hands, the human assassin always waited in quiet before one of his matches began. Others would try and get their blood pumping with all manner of activities, the barbarians would smack themselves with their fists, chanting to their dead ancestors, or cut themselves, that part always mystified Kadaj. He always sought to find that inner calm that he had tapped whenever he began his "assignments" back home. Being overzealous got you in trouble, better to take your time, relax and approach the situation with a clear head.
The crowd was roaring up above, chanting for "KILL, KILL, KILL", which meant the previous match was nearing completion and his time was nigh. Kadaj began ritualistically checking his gear, the daggers were placed back into their holders on his belt, within easy reach. He pulled them in and out a few times to make sure. He checked the clasp of his black cloak, the cloak that had saved his life on more than one occasion. Kadaj called his enchanted leather armor to him to ensure nothing had been tampered with. "You can't be too careful with the bribes that flow through here" he thought as he adjusted the straps and sent it back to the extradimensional home.
The guard looked at him with a questioning glare and said "You're up, have fun" as he began laughing, pushing Kadaj up the ramp and nearly sending him to the ground. The assassin turned back over his shoulder, staring daggers at Helmut, the former gladiator who'd managed to somewhat win his freedom, although he was indentured to the Septimus Sarcus and required to serve here in the Arena of Andrius. The brute had taken to his role with relish, routinely metting out punishment on the gladiators as he saw fit and the man had taken a special interest in Kadaj, to the assassin's misfortune.
The doors were opened and Kadaj continued down that familiar hall, "How many times have I come down this hall? How many have I killed in this last year? More importantly how much would've I been paid for this back home?" the thoughts went through his head at lightning speed as he began falling into his calm state. His muscles twitched with anticipation as he stepping onto the sand of the arena, the floor comfortably giving way to Kadaj's foot. "Like a mother's embrace" he thought involuntarily as he absorbed the warmth of the sun. His black garb provided little benefit in the arena, the crowd's didn't enjoy someone hiding on them so there was little for Kadaj to use as cover. It didn't matter, he'd adapted, he changed the way he stalked his prey, no longer relying totally on sneaking in the dark to kill. If anything, Kadaj had become much more lethal during his time in "the Pit", as he called the Arena.
Kadaj looked around for a moment, his eyes now adjusted to the sudden brightness of the sun, and looked for his foe, expecting one of the regulars, perhaps Hammer, or Zipper, maybe even his longtime sparring partner, Atrius.
The master of the arena stood up, and in a magically enhanced voice, said "Welcome one and all, today we have a special treat for you, the master of the dagger, Kadaj, will be pitted against a creature that does not call our land home. This creature was provided by a special supporter of the Arena and brought here across the Planes for your enjoyment. May I present Bloodclaw!", with a grand flourish, he points to the other tunnel and a large creature comes striding out, flanked on both sides by the elite guards of the Arena. The creature was ape-like, but the size of a giant, blood-red fur body and dagger-like teeth protruded from its mouth. At the sight of Kadaj, the creature began salvering and its beady red eyes glowed brightly as it eyed the assassin hungrily.
It launched itself at him with a fury, not waiting for the match to begin properly. Kadaj barely had time to call his armour and draw his weapons to turn aside the ferocious first strike from the demon. It stank of brimstone this close and the acrid smell stung Kadaj's nostrils. Kadaj knew he couldn't let this thing hit him or else he'd be in big trouble. The assassin stabbed at the creatures eyes, using an old trick he knew and drew a minor wound above its eye, at least it appeared minor, but it continued to bleed a blackish ickor that ran into the demon's eyes.
Kadaj danced away as the creature flailed helplessly for him, throwing his blackened off-hand dagger at it, with a flourish. The blade landed on the creatures arm and stuck for a moment, the colour leaving it and the wound grew black as the stored energy from the blade went into his foe. The creature shook off the blinding effect of the initial strike and charged at Kadaj, who wasn't so fortunate this time. A claw tore a long slash in his arm, nearing jarring the off hand dagger out of his grasp. He held on with all his strength and returned the attack with one of his own. The twin daggers stabbed in and out quickly, the weapons becoming a blur of motion, as they found the flesh of the beast.
It reared back and howled a deep, resonating noise that shook Kadaj to the bone and tore at him with both claws, their razor-sharp nails catching the assassin in the chest and tearing open large gaping wounds in him. Focusing on the enchantment of his cloak, Kadaj disappeared in a puff of smoke, reappearing behind the demon and stabbing it twice in quick succession, the rolling away before it could react. The creatures blackened blood was dotting the sand of the arena's floor, more than the red dripping from Kadaj's wounds, but it didn't seem affected. It charged again, but this time he was ready for it, the beast was simple, it was strong, but easily countered. Kadaj parried away the attack and danced around the foe, plunging his dagger up to the hilt into the neck of the beast, twisting the blade for extra effect. He stepped away and then jammed his other dagger up into the demon's brain from under his jaw. The creature fell over and dissappated into black mist. Kadaj stumbled over to where his weapons now lied, the adrenaline of the fight leaving him and he fell to one knee. The perspiration on his brow fell to the sand and was absorbed, but the red pool forming around him was disturbing to Kadaj. He looked up and the crowd was chanting "LIVE, LIVE, LIVE, and the assassin smiled. He looked to the guest box and saw a familiar face, Erstad! I will get out of here and find you!" Kadaj thought to himself as the healers came out, staunching his wounds and helping him stand. He pushed them off and resolutely walked back on his own, heavily favouring his right leg. Before retreating from the heat of the sun to go lick his wounds he turned to the crowd and gave a deep bow.
Kadaj turned, and walked back down the hallway, head held high and wondered when the chance for escape would present itself. He had survived another day and that was all he could do, for now...
Following slammed the door behind him as he stormed out of the priests office returning to his cell. The rumors of the giants had been growing now for months, along with the growing impatience, while he was forced to fight in the arena bettering himself for his unknown task.
Looking out the window at the darknwss of the sky outside, following felt his thoughts drifting back, almost five years.
The roaring of the crowd seemed to swell with the anticipation of blood being spilt as Following, chained to his partner, entered the arena. The half-elf, a small time criminal who had been caught stealing from the temple stumbled nervously, a growing wet patch staining his pants, leaving a small trail of mud in the dust. Ignoring the whimpering of the convict, following studied thier opponents, a halfling and a halforc, the halforc while large and muscular moved slowly, whereas the halfling looked more dangrous, to those who were trained to watch thier opponents.
Watchting the halflings movements, Following took note of the shadows surrounding him, subtly changing thier movements and flow to guide his blade to a vital spot when the time came.
The noise from the crowd stilled as the pairs gladiators circled one another, looking for the opening. Follow kept an eye on the unlikely pair waiting for the moment to strike. There. The orcblooded one is becoming impatient.
"Is it true you once tried to jump a pig, but it ran away due toy ou being to ugly?" Following called out to the brute, smiling slightly at the panic in the halflings eyes as his companion grunted in rage and charged. Waiting till the last moment, following yanked on the chain connecting him to the halfelf pulling him into the charging halforc's path and dissapeared from site, riding the shadows to appear behind the halfling. As he appeared he let the flow of shadows guide his blade deep into the unfortunate creatures body, piercing the heart. Putting his mouth near the shocked face of the halfling his whispered into his ear "Shadows speed you to the court of the Raven Queen"
Feeling the shadows dissapate around the halfling the Revenant backed away looking at the halforc tearing messily into his fighting companion. He backed away calling out to the raging creature "Hey ugly this way". The halforc stopped, and finaly seemed to notice the corpse of the halfling he was attached to and pointed to at Following "Youze killed Agraad, Duruk will teach you pain you for that." Following smiled, channled the shadows and slashed at the Brute with them. Duruk squealed in pain as a cut opened across his chest. Then another, and another. In desperation he charged Following hoping to stop the phantom assault and gasped in surprise as the revenant dissapeared, assuming a ghostlike shape to avoid the strike, then reappeared behind him, his sword having changed into a executioners style axe, which came down on the halforc's neck ending the match.
Ignoring the roars of the crowd, Following walked back to the tunnel, hoping the next fight would be a better test of his skills.
A banging on the door of his cell broke his meditation "Following rise, time to prepare for your next fight". Following rose, moving towards the arena and his next kill, but his mind was elsewhere, focussed on the giants and his unknown task...
Back on the steppes, the morning would sometimes find part of our caribou herd slaughtered. Nights we would hunt, but only a few of us needed to ride, and some of the herd would be left to graze, or to sleep, or rest for the next expedition. But when we’d come back and one had been killed (most often by one of the carnivores from further uphill… the speaking races didn’t make it to our altitude often) there would be cleaning up to do. Scraping the flesh and blood from the vegetation in a way that couldn’t betray our presence here, a few feet below in our hidden wardens. The Daywatchers themselves wouldn’t be assigned such a task, of course, but I wasn’t always a Daywatcher.
There is a smell that fills your nostrils, of blood drained and pus matted on fur, beginning to cake. The meat would be saved, and used. The bones turned to clubs for the grunts. The caribou’s rack carved, and sold downhill on the Manager’s monthly visit for what we couldn't manage ourselves. The smell was overpowering not just because in the crisp mountain air the wind would carry it further than you’d imagine. It was the smell of a loss: part of our brood was gone, one of our resources. And we were impoverished. It was the smell of failure.
I longed for that smell, now. Because this was so much worse. The display had begun only a few minutes ago, and with the shades pulled over the arena to cool the crowd, the orange and red light streaming down looked like the sun was setting, and we goblins could run free, as we had done back home. A dozen of us were released, and as our eyes got used to the flickering light (we now saw the sun’s beams overhead, shining through the coloured sails), we saw the surrounding walls, higher than any of us could jump or toss ourselves. We saw the Praetor in his chair, surrounded by his family out to enjoy a day of sport, distracted by a Tribune who was keen to have his ear during one of the intervals from the gladiators. And we saw the fighters – two of them, beginners, armored and armed, while we had nothing. Nothing. This was to be target practice, nothing more. The gob in front of me was hit with a warlock’s blast before he even made it out of the pit. One down. I scrambled and ran.
The noise of the crowd roared, filling my ears (I have good ears; they don’t miss much), and as I tried to increase the distance, I saw someone in chainmail swing his hammer, and let it fly. It smashed into Pugsley’s head a few feet from me, and showed me the colour of his brain. Two down… no, there. Three and Four. Don’t know who got them. I stood there, waving my arms above my head and screaming, like I had heard the Manager once describe the shrieking monkeys he had once seen in the Lepardi Forest, back before it was reoccupied. And then it hit me, in the head. A dark blast of light from the warlock, only now I couldn’t see. I staggered, and I heard one of them boast, but it was in a language I hadn’t yet learned. I heard another whack of a hammer, and another scream. Five, I made a mental note. Maybe six.
I couldn’t see anything, and the sounds from the crowds were disorienting. I ran to where I am now. This wasn’t the main attraction, and it was clear that the gladiators are just showing off for the crowd. Going for range, or going for two with a single blow.
This wasn’t a sport, and it wasn’t a contest. We gobs were cheaper than pigs, and we made better noises when hit. That's it. Tripping over him, I found another of us, on the ground. Seven? I’m losing count. Grey shapes now, as I try to shake the eyebite’s effect away. The one with the hammer is at the perimeter, I hear him banging along the wall to draw the cheers from the crowd, and get them to respond. Also to get survivors away from the perimeter. More fun if we run.
And then the smell hit me, as my eyes regained focus and I saw Pugsley’s corpse below me – only six, then? – and I smelled him. His bowels had evacuated, and were mixing in the white sand with his blood and his fear and he was my broodmate before we had been captured and there was another scream seven like it matters now anyway and what’s that guy doing with that gob’s leg? is it really better than a hammer? of course not.
I breathed in the smell of failure, and defeat, and death.
But not my death. Not today. I pulled Pugsley or what had been Pugsley on top of me, and shook his corpse every few seconds. Each time, another beam from the warlock, who seemed to think this was a fun game. Not bright enough to wonder why this goblin never went down, but shot after shot from where he stood, into Pugsley’s body as I moved it above me on that hot day in the light of the setting sun but the heat of midday on the sand. Pugsley dripped onto my face, and my chest, and into my memory.
The horn sounded, twin long metal tubes blown by a human slave. In the few minutes these amateurs had managed only to get nine of us, I was to discover. We survivors were herded back into the pit, reprieved for the next time.
That night, I dreamt of the caribou.
__________________ DIASPORA: hard science fiction role-playing with fate
"Thank you's! i's so happy survive to 15." Run'and'Hide continued to rock back and forth in his corner, talking to himself as he drew in the dirt, i happy, i happy, i happy, i happy
The anniversary of his arrival brought the memory of his first encounter in the arena to the misformed human.
Cold bars pressed against warm leather, the portcullis felt like the jail. *is another jail, food, dry, i happy.* The comfort of ensured survival and safety was palpable, having been transferred twice, he felt confident his position had improved.
Then the portcullis raised and the match was announced, the guard explained that it should be funny, but the human raised by goblin had no understanding of what the guard referred to. The entryway open, Run'and'Hide was shoved out into the sunlight. *Recreation time!*
Announcing the Goblin Boy, playing the role of David, and Uopat playing the role of Goliath!
*Oh play time!* Opposite the arena was an obese goliath, standing huge and round. The crowd roared Kill the goblin! Kill it! and any number of other like comments.
The realization ran like electric shock through the little plague victim, his human legs flew, and he was scrambling up the wall. His short stature worked against him, and he slid down the sheer face of the high walls. He wailed aloud iEEEE, DON'Tkillthegoblin! No NO! blue flames caress the ground as Run'and'Hide sprints, and vaults over barrels and crates, the crowd immediately begins hissing and booing at the ugly little thing. Spectators called out his position and "Goliath" began to close.
Rolling in the dirt after landing so hard behind the cover, his face was covered in blood mixed sand, a dark brown hiding his scarring. Then "Goliath" grabbed him, and mercilessly beat his face, until Run'and'Hide jabbed the giant in the eye.
The blood pouring down his nose was a bright red frown, on a dark brown face. The crowd was delighted by the unbridled violence and comic face paint. Run'and'Hide was terrified... His twelve year old fingers picked up a handful of sand, and blinded the goliath, then he jumped on the giants face and stabbed until he was dragged off by arena staff.
The crowd sat in a stunned silence, moments passed, an eternity, A raucous cacophony erupted, Run'and'Hide was declared the victor, and led back to his pen.
The scholar was bound hand and foot, and hooded so that he couldn’t see. He didn’t know where he was. He wasn’t sure who’d taken him…though he had some ideas. Any possession he’d had that had even a scrap of power had been taken. He was helpless.
Or so his captor must think. That brought grin to the scholar’s concealed face. Did they think he’d been born yesterday?
Well, all right, not far off that, but only in a certain sense. In other ways it was as far off as it was possible to be.
The wood planking under his feet had straw on it now. Even through the sack over his head he could smell unwholesome tins. Sweat and blood and tears. Excrement. Grease. Fear. Fury.
From all around were noises. Creaking gears. Periodically he could hear a great crowd of people from above cheering or booing. More dimly, there was the clanking of metal and grunts of exertion and effort. People around him, close, were breathing. He could hear the fastenings of their armor flexing; the faint sound of plates scraping together.
Three, he thought. No, four. One at each of his ‘corners.’
So that’s it then.
A deep, throaty voice spoke from ahead of him.
“I suppose you’re wondering who I am, and what you’re doing here.”
The scholar shrugged. “Well….I know you’re Arcosian military…and you’ve led men into battle before. You’re by the book, no-nonsense, and have brought me here for some kind of vengeance. How’s that for starters?”
Armor shuffled. Good, they were off balance.
“Take his hood off and unbind him,” the voice said, and the scholar blinked as the heavy, coarse-woven sack was plucked from his head. Even though it was dark in the room he found himself in, it was still bright to his eyes now. He didn't waste any time though, quickly glancing at each of his captors and measuring their insignia. The four boxing him were Sergeant Captains of the Arcosian fifteenth infantry battalion; the highest non-officer rank one could attain. The fifth one, standing in front of him...was old. Old and familiar.
The scholar's face brightened. “General! Good gods, it really is you, isn't it?”
General Gadruk's weathered draconic face stretched into a grin that had been quite toothy seventy years prior. Now his scales were dull and his teeth worn blunt and small...but the same strength and pride shone in his eyes as had all those years ago. The grin was not a friendly greeting, sadly. It showed teeth.
“You didn't expect me to be alive, I take it. That would explain why you used the same name this time. It made finding you a good deal easier than I expected.”
The scholar lolled his head forward and shrugged. “At the very least I didn't think you wouldn't be holding a grudge.”
Now a clawed finger pointed at him, and Gadruk maanaged a pretty passable roar for such an aged old lizard's lungs.
“YOU COST ME MY HONOR! This is not a grudge! I have had nothing in life since you betrayed me but my plan for revenge!”
“I stopped a war!” the scholar retorted, and the blue light that glowed in his eyes flared briefly. “If you had any true honor you'd put the welfare of your people ahead of your own ambitions!”
The general laughed bitterly. “Arcosia would have been better off if we had gone to war then, don't you see? All you've done is postpone the inevitable, and now it will happen when the tieflings are ready, rather than decisively at the outset.”
“That doesn't have to be! There's still peace, there's still a chance your nations can...”
“Bah! How can something as old as you be naïve?! You know nothing of war!”
The scholar's face grew still and grim as he stared down the dragonborn general.
“I know entirely too much of war,” he said sternly. “That's why I stopped it.”
Something in the deva's sky-blue face took the general aback for a moment, then he snorted and gestured at the large doorway across the room. “You'll learn more before you're done here. You've been found guilty of treason, and sentenced to death by trials. This is the arena. You will stay here until you die.”
The deva looked around, then back at Gadruk. “You tracked me down right after I was reborn...for this? This is your big revenge? What's to stop me from just walking out there and letting the other one cut me down? I'll come back!”
Gadruk grinned. “True. You could do that. But...you spent so long making this life, this body. You must have wanted so much to live again by the time it was finally ready. And even now, you can still hear the last echoes of the song of creation that made you. You see...hear...feel...so clearly now. Are you really ready to give it all up so soon?”
The Scholar was silent.
“But if you don't,” Gadruk continued, “doesn't that mean you're choosing to kill other beings for the sole purpose of eking out a bit more life for yourself? What a conundrum.”
“Gadruk,” the scholar said, a hint of strain in his voice now. “You don't have to do this. I can get your reputation back, I can get back what you lost...”
“ENOUGH! If that was ever an option, it's long past now, 'Scholar,'” the dragonborn sneered. “And if you escape, know that I will be snapping at your heels to put you back here. I won't kill you, no! I will make you choose...and you will face the consequences of that choice.”
He gestured at the door. “Start the first match!”
------------------------------------------
The Scholar stepped out into the sunlight with the arena stretching up over his head all around. Seats of people of all races cheered and jeered as he headed towards the center, mind racing. The other door had opened as well, revealing a massive orc dressed largely in leather straps with spikes, and a loincloth.
Orc...orc...right, tattoo on the right shoulder, ritual disfigurement along the cheeks...left tusk is clipped... Memories from past lives swirled as he looked for a middle way...to win without killing. Or dying.
As the orc purposefully raised a hideously large axe, the Scholar called out in the ancient tongue of the giants, imitating the gruff accent that orcs spoke it with, "I see a High Raider of the Cracked Skull Clan before me! Follower of Torgok the Elf-skinner!"
This brought the orc up short. He paused and squinted, tilting his head, then replied, "Uh?"
The Scholar grinned and spread his arms. "Torgok! Did your master teach you nothing of your proud heritage?!"
The orc frowned even deeper, getting angry. "Of course I know Torgok! I am of his line! His blood and honor flow in my veins! That is why..."
Knowing what came next, the Scholar swiftly interjected, "You? You're of his line? That's brilliant! I always told him he'd go far."
Now the orc narrowed its eyes suspiciously. "What?"
"I told him he'd go far," the Scholar repeated brightly. "Sometimes he came to me for counsel he couldn't get from the tribal elders. The Horned Helm was heavy on his head. Do you know what he'd do to unwind?"
The towering orc dervish realized by now what the Scholar was implying and sneered. "You knew him? Do you think I'm stupid?!"
"He'd compose poetry," the Scholar continued. "He couldn't actually write it down, though I understand he had prisoners do that for him later for some. But the ones he really loved, he never had written. He always said it took a little of the soul away."
Thand, of the line of Torgok, was brought up short now. On the one hand, he seemed so sincere and he was certainly knowledgeable...on the other, it was impossible! Torgak had waged his campaigns of unification over a thousand years before. And any man or elf might research the history of the orcs, though he'd be shocked to find one had bothered. And this slight, frail looking man with blue skin before him didn't look like a man or elf.
The Scholar watched the orc's face; watched uncertainty war, and finally lose to skepticism. He quickly spoke again, derailing the barbarian's thoughts before he could solidify his doubts.
"If you're familiar with some of the writings, you may know of me too. He called me 'Skoh-larr,' and also 'the Blue Fox,' which is one I'm particularly fond of."
Thand stiffened. It couldn't be true. Could it? Blue skin...glowing blue eyes...
The Scholar judged it was time to seal the deal. "Here's one you've never seen or heard."
He began to recite a poem in the classic staccato style that was made famous by the so-called 'first orc Emperor,' Torgak. It lost something in translation from Giant, but it went something along the lines of: "I led my army to a waterhole town. We attacked it and captured it. We were victorious, but I still felt a little sad. They had honor here I'm not sure I share."
It lost something in translation. By the end of the Scholar's recitation, Thand was sitting with his axe in his lap, nearly in tears, so moved was he.
"It is you," Thand said. "How can it be?"
"I live, and die, and live again," the Scholar replied. "But each time it's me. Thand, you're going to have to kill me. I won't raise my hand to one of Torgak's line."
"No!" Thand roared, and the crowd quieted for a moment. This was a promising development...or so they thought, since few could understand the language they were speaking. "Torgak once commanded none of our tribe should do you harm...and no one ever took that command away."
It was a flimsy excuse, but the Scholar understood. "They won't let us out until one of us wins," he said. "But I think I know a way out."
Thand leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me, Blue Fox!"
"Remember the verse just before the final verse, where Torgak wonders what else he could have done. He thinks about the other path. How hard it is to think about, but perhaps it is the right thing to do. Honor, he says, comes from heart and is done with the hands. Sometimes there is a greater honor..."
The great orc barbarian got to his feet. "I understand."
The Scholar waited. There was still risk in this, but the die was cast. A mix of real memories and shrewed extrapolation had paid off, he hoped.
There was a whistling noise as Thand raised his axe two-handed over his head, and the audience cheered wildly. He swung it down with all his might just a moment later!
...only to have it cut a deep slice into the packed earth of the arena floor, and stay there, half-buried.
"I choose the honor of my line, and my people over the honor of battle!" Thand howled at the audience. "Cowardly dogs! I surrender to Skoh-larr! The fight is over!"
The Scholar scanned the audience and caught a glimpse of the general forcing his way out through a screaming, enraged crowd. He smiled to himself, then started walking briskly back towards the arena door with a jaunty whistle, even as guards started coming out to escort he and Thand to the pens below.
Last edited by Shayuri; 25th September 2009 at 07:25 AM..
Crucible Challenge II: A Fond Memory
A mother's touch, an unexpected kindness, a beautiful kill. In this moment, whatever it was, you were whole. Who is this person, what is this thing, where is this place...?
Crucible Challenge III: Favorite Tale
The stories we tell each other help us make sense of our lives. They touch us, they teach us, they sustain and entertain us. What tale stands out amongst all others? And why?
(( Crucible Challenge II & III !!
-- One post per Challenge -- Deadline for Posts - Midnight Thursday the 1st -- PM your 4 favorite posts to me from EACH Challenge -- Deadline for Voting - Midnight Sunday the 4th -- All times GMT -8 (PST)
))
Last edited by Sparky; 29th September 2009 at 10:58 PM..
*i happy, i happy, i happy, * the little human kept a running reel of good moments, there weren't many, so it repeated often during the course of a day.
Again the sun shone down on the Arena floor, not many memories before the Arena... Except those that involve his *mother, and raiding caravans*... The memory reel is jerked back to happy moments....
The arena floor is warm and sandy, this was the first bout of the day, which meant Run'and'Hide was likely to die... The other portcullis raised, and out came 20 kittens, the round was declared begun! *CUTE! i must play! no can kill kitty... but i hungry...* running toward his opponent the goblin-like human tackled the first kitten he came into contact with.
The crowd erupted boo, hiss! as he was rolling over top of the little ball of fur, and cradling it in his arms. Then he stood and pet the small creature. Why doesn't he eat them daddy? came the question from a youngling dragonborn girl, closer to the wall than she should have been for a day of slaughter...
Run'and'Hide judged the distance, and the heft of the kitten... It would work! Instead of killing his opponent, Run'and'Hide had done something that had escaped him until this moment, he ejected his opponent from the arena! Setting his crossbow down, and removing the sling, he loaded the kitty in the catch.
Whipping the bundle once around and releasing, the kitten flew, legs kicking, body twirling, until it landed with a soft thud, feet first, in the girls lap. OH DADDY! CAN I KEEP IT?!? The Arena laughed, the whole of it, and not at Run'and'Hide, but with him!
i good, i happy, his little feet pumped so hard that sand kicked up with blue flame, catching kitten after kitten, and tossing them to children in the crowd. The kittens one and all had been removed from the arena, and no opponent was left. Run'and'Hide was given a standing ovation, as everyone had expected the goblin coward boy to eat the kittens... in fact he was hungry, and they had looked tasty... But...
But the feel of the crowd being on his side, this once, was beautiful! Upon reaching his Pen the crowd was still heard, and warm fresh food was waiting, With CLEAN water!!! *i hero! i hero! Feast, and clapping!*
i happy, i happy, i happy
Last edited by CaBaNa; 27th September 2009 at 03:24 AM..
*one day, i hero like great Pirx!* The whispered tales of an invincible goblin had been of particular interest to the meek Run'and'Hide. The human-raised-by-goblins repeated the story of Pirx, as his memory reel was once again exhausted...
The great banners of sunset were raised, showing the proud majesty of someplace Run'and'Hide wanted to visit, *The Steps!* visions of goblins living happily were too much, and Run'and'Hide wept again...
After ceasing the flow of tears, he resumed his story... The great banners of sunset raised, and the crepuscular goblins strode boldly into the arena, ignoring their blindness at the sudden change in lighting.
Pirx called out to his comrades, and they circled up into battle formation. They were the first match of the day... and Pirx wouldn't lose any more of his brood! Across from them in the Arena stood ten foot tall tieflings! With the finest magical armor, and arms.
Run'and'Hide imagined the tieflings as having four extra magic arms, each with a different power. And Pirx led his crew to a side wall, and used his own magic to protect them!
But the Opponents cheated, *CHEAT, CHEAT!!* using the hammer of a god to defeat Pirx's protection over his comrades! Thus killing the close friend of he who was invincible...
But Pirx grew to human size! and he raised his arms and wailed a death rattle that killed the wielder of god-hammer! Then the other goblins sat behind him, and were safe, because he took all the magic stuff from the other foe! Into his eyes, all dark magic rested in his eyes! *No scared was Pirx, NO, him happy to protect brood!*
He stood ten feet tall, and screamed with arms over head, like a gorilla! Breaking the spell on his eyes, and then the tiefling shot spell after magic into Pirx, but he was invincible, and did not falter!
The match had to be ended, because even the Praetor could not injure the god-goblin that was Pirx. Then instead of leaving, he went back to the pit, to protect all his goblin brood, because all goblin in Pirx brood. Only one goblin fell that day, and Pirx wept for him...
*i goblin, i in Pirx brood! i happy, i happy, i happy*
Last edited by CaBaNa; 27th September 2009 at 03:26 AM..
Sweat poured down Rodeh's face, but he knew he could not relent. The hot sun beat down upon every exposed part of his body, but in his mind he could not cave. His attacker approached him again, mercilessly, but the sturdy dwarf would never give in. He would not let his challenger past, not as long as he still stood on two legs.
Which is what the attacker was trying to prevent. With a grand sweep as he approached, strong and powerful legs shot forth with great strength. Instead of moving as he had been taught previously, Rodeh set his wits about him and planted his feet firmly in the ground. Both sets of legs impacted each other with violent force.
"Ooff." His muscles tensed and quickly relaxed as his opponent withdrew the attack, but moved closer. Rodeh's gaze lifted to meet his dwarven counterpart. With a lunge, Rodeh's opponent shifted carefully just to the right as he moved. Not expecting this, Rodeh thrust his hands straight toward him, where his opponent's eager hands were waiting.
Feeling the great strength of force attempting to move him, Rodeh did what he always knew how to do; he sturdied his legs once again and drew upon his inner heritage. Rather than get thrown forward as his opponent expected, Rodeh held his ground and pulled inward, forcing his airborne opponent to wrap around him instead. In the moment that his enemies feet moved entirely around the dwarf, Rodeh pushed down hard and forward, letting to of the hands simultaneously. Caught completely off-guard, the other dwarf yelped in surprise and was flung backwards, tumbling head over heels. With a satisfied grunt, he got up and brushed his beard off. Rodeh's scowl turned to a smile.
"How did I do, Father? Rodeh called out to his dad, still brushing leaves and grass off his beard. Rodeh's father, Calltin Minehelm, shrugged in reply.
"Ye don't listen to a damned word I say, yer stance is all wrong, and ya rely too much on yer strength," he began to say in a scolding tone, but then smiled and changed his attitude, "But I'll be a damned dead horse if I can't get past ye." Both of the dwarves shared a laugh. They had snuck out past curfew time to train, as they always had three days a week for the past 10 years. Calltin had tried with all of his might to get Rodeh to listen to some basic training, but Rodeh had been as stubborn as a mule on its wedding night. The boy showed talent in standing his ground, and making sure that enemies did the same. His tough, primal instincts came from their mountainside home, to be sure.
"Ye'll make a damned fine Warden some day, provided you can listen and get orders through that thick skull of yours," Calltin continued, his voice drifting off as he looked back over to the Giant city. They had been in captivity for some time now, and a day didn't go past that both Calltin and his son had dreamed of going home. "Soon, we'll have that chance," the elder dwarf thought to himself, and walked over to where his son will still smiling, savoring the victory.
"Remember what victory tastes like son, and crave it," he cautioned as they returned to their slave pens, "Some days, that might be all ye have to keep ya going."
__________________ The Blue Phoenix, Home to my thoughts, world creations. and characters. Please come visit and post comments!
Current D&D 4e Games
Player
Rodeh Minehelm - Fallen OOC IC PDF Status - Active
Rodeh sat with Shifftae, his newfound friend and arena ally. Spitting blood from his mouth, the dwarf looked at his dragonborn companion with one good eye. The other had been bloodied by a mace which was intended for her instead of him. He tried to speak again, but she silenced him.
"Hush, you stubborn fool," she said, clearly not amused by his antics from the arena battle just moments before, "you could have easily gotten killed." Rodeh had finally found the culprit and spit out the tooth that had been knocked from his skull. He smiled as blood dribbled down his mouth.
I'm still a'live ain't I, lass?" Rodeh said through slightly clenched teeth, "Which is more than I can say fer yoo if you had gotten that mace on yer noggin' instead." Shifftae sighed handed Rodeh a bandage that she had soaked in anti-septic. With a nod, he placed it on his mouth and watched the blood begin to soak up in it.
"You are testing the limits of my druidic magic almost every battle we fight, not to mention the small alchemy skills I possess," she teased, half-smiling at him. She noticed a change in his demenor then, and before she could ask him what was wrong, he startled her by asking a question;
"What is it like to be free, Shifftae?" She leaned away, taken aback by the sudden change in tone. Shaking her head gently, she wondered why he would ask her something like this. She had been in captivity too, although had joined some time after Rodeh was forced into combat.
"I'll tell you a story my mother once told me, Rodeh Minehelm," she said, her eyes gazing off to another world. "It was long before Nerath's star was rising, or before it even fell the previous time, she said. It was then that she met a traveler on the road. A human, near a tribe of Dragonborn! He was either incredibly stupid or incredibly dangerous. Being he looked healthy, my mother ventured that he was the latter. But he approached her almost as if he had been looking for her specifically on the road. He was tall, and handsome as much as a human could be. Wearing light plate armor and carrying no weapon at all, my mother thought he must be some sort of monk or warrior-priest.
He asked her in fluent draconic where he might find the beginning of Nerath's star. My mother was terribly confused about his question and replied that she didn't know that Nerath's star had a beginning. He just smiled and said "All things must have a beginning, just as all things must have an end. I'm afraid my end might come soon, so I am looking for a beginning to everything." Then, without another word, he walked off into the distance once more.
Several days later, she heard word from a scouting party that they had come across a human laying dead in the desert, clutching a small pendant. Inside of it was a piece or red rock that shone as brightly as Nerath's star. The soldier's said that there was a small note that said she should be the owner of the pendant, and gave it to her." Shifftae pulled out a small red pendant from under her armor and placed it in Rodeh's hand.
"For saving my life," she whispered softly, "You should keep a piece of Nerath's Beginning, because freedom is the chance to search not just for your own end and beginning, but for others' as well."
__________________ The Blue Phoenix, Home to my thoughts, world creations. and characters. Please come visit and post comments!
Current D&D 4e Games
Player
Rodeh Minehelm - Fallen OOC IC PDF Status - Active
We didn't often go to the hunting lodge when the master traveled there. House slaves like my mother would stay behind to mind the City estate while he was away, and to prepare things for his return. But the Master's sister was visiting, and had chosen a few of the servants to accompany her personal retinue for the trip. I was still too young to be assigned regular duties, so I was to accompany my mother.
I had finished helping my mother with some light work, and another boy, Tobias, and I were set loose for the day, with our only instructions being to not bother the master and his family, and not to get in the way. It was a bright, clear day towards the end of summer. The lodge was high in the mountains, clear of the summer heat that still pervaded the city. Tobias and I eagerly went out, exploring the grounds around the lodge, running and playing as boys do.
Only a few weeks had passed since the minstrel's last visit, and we regaled each other with our favorite parts as we wandered through the woods. Even though we both remembered the tales perfectly well, we still listened with contentment at the superfluous retellings. We recreated our favorite scenes weilding sticks as weapons and chasing each other around trees and rocks in our epic duels. I found myself standing ontop of a rocky outcropping, looking out over the lands below, catching my breath in the cool mountain air as I stood victorious over my "slain" companion. I helped him to his feet and we both stared out at the view for a while, with the sun setting behind us, and then we returned to the lodge.
The next day found us both busy until well after night fell, and then it came time for my return to the city. But that one day of shared glory, both imagined and real, still hangs in my memory.
__________________
SOUL: Secret Organization for Underground Levity
You can't stop the laughter!
THE HIVE: One Mind, No Purpose. Public Member of the Secret Fraternal Order of the Hive.
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