[4e] Fallen - Prologue: The Crucible (Full)

[Kobold Stew]

PIRX

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.

 

[Kobold Stew]

<double post>

 

[CaBaNa]

"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.

*i happy, i happy, i happy...*

 

[Shayuri]

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.

 

[Sparky]

((This space reserved for the Destiny Roll for CC I. Roll will happen after all votes are in.

DESTINY ROLL: Run, Pirx, Caged, Rodeh get +1 Roll



The challenge this week is a twofer! ))

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)

))

 

[CaBaNa]

((OOC: Crucible Challenge II; A fond Memory.))

*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

 

[CaBaNa]

((OOC: Crucible Challenge III; Favorite Tale))



*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*

 

[eblue562]

Crucible Challenge II

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."

 

[eblue562]

Crucible Challenge III

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."

 

[hafrogman]

Atrius - Crucible Challenge II

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.