Crimson Menagerie

[Aristoi]

Opening Act

~A day, or night, like any other~ he considered as he lay, seemingly asleep, motionless except for faint breathing as his body did it's work. He lay where he had been tossed, the bruises and cuts of the combat mending as his supernatural constitution worked its magic knitting him whole once again. Oh certainly he'd have scars, he had plently already, they would add to his personal trophies.

He'd been dragged back here, feigning unconsciousness (not really hard when you've just barely survived personal combat with an ogre) and after a brief visit from the Healer, thrown to the cell floor.

His cell, like the others in their quad, was exactly large enough to survive in. Two paces on a side with an open front that opened out onto the viewing area where Bloodtwist and those he wished to impress could view his "collection".

"Hmp," he snorted near-silently to himself, a "menagerie" would be more accurate. Nearly forty-score creatures were held in similar enclosures here in the mountain beneath Shiftspire, on the side of one of the volcanos of the Thaymount plateau. It was common knowledge none of the zulkir would allow him to have his Spire anywhere near the rest of "Thay Proper" and yet, one could see several cities and towns from the upper chambers, he was sure.

It was typical of human arrogance to assume superiority over anyone or anything else that wasn't themselves. True, Bloodtwist's Slavers had managed to capture him when he was much younger. But they paid for it dearly, he had killed three of them before them managed to enspell him and take him down. The branding had ensured docility while they beat him near to death for his strength and then praised themselves for his capture.

His contempt for them made his lips twitch as only the discipline of his will help them relaxed.

It had taken the placing of the ring in his nose-bone to quell his murderous gaze though, his spirit had never been crushed. The Githyanki had not been able to do it, the denizens of two Realms had not been able to do it, even Time had not been able to slay his people; who was he to be less? Even in the filth of his own unwashed body and the enclosure in which he and his wastes were confined, still he resisted with the last shred of his being.

His large pointed ears twitched slightly, as if in the sleep he pretended to lay in, listening to the others that shared the quad. Movement from across from him, and the slightly larger enclosure, indicated Kilmore was awake after his own struggles. Shuffling steps immediately following bringing a reluctant body into the quad said that S'lanneneth had returned and the smell on the air, of blood, sweat and other things told that he had just been returned from the Master. He'd be covered in small wounds, bites and scratches, his shapeshifting body struggling to undo the damage of whatever Bloodtwist had done prior to, during and following.

For the thousandth time he thanked the Powers of Balance he was too ugly for any of the Handlers of for Bloodtwist to find him 'interesting' that way. Too bad for Adama too. He started to sit up to see the damage and to offer what condolences he could when he heard more steps and recognized the pattern.

Their Handlers.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 1

S'lanneneth dragged his feet, resisting the enchantments that held all of them fast in obedience and allowed them to do whatever they wanted. He sighed slightly, not even able to sigh heavily for the enchantment kept him from being disrespectful even by himself.

His body hurt, oh how it hurt. As it had hurt hundreds of times prior and would hurt every time following until their Master tired of him. His voice, his forms, his skills had kept him from that fate already for he was such a weak creature, the Pits had proven no entertainment at all. Certainly not for him and definitely not for Bloodtwist and his guests.

He stumbled slightly as he entered the quad, feeling weakness tugging at him, He needed to eat and even "The Sludge" was better than nothing and would nourish him, if not pleasantly. ~It is almost time~ he thought, knowing how his body reacted and what it's little twinges said to him. He'd been here all of his life and known nothing else, though he had heard or and sensed the thoughts of others who had seen and felt "grass" and "wind". Here is the dim corridors and hateful enclosures, he had never seen "outside" even once.

Maybe, just maybe if the Master had been pleased this time, there might be a treat in his trough. He nearly tumbled through the opening of his enclosure, returning as he had been ordered. The compulsions kept him from disobeying and he always knew, intuitively, how to get back to the smelly den that was where he spent most of his time. He collapsed a moment after he bent to make it inside, falling to his knees at the trough, waiting. A moment later the trough filled with a thin gruel, gray and tasteless. Except for the roaches in it, which the Master had added as a reward for his performance this time. Eagerly he started to scoop up the wriggling crunchies, sucking down the tangy bitterness of their insides as the shells crunched between his sharp teeth. In his fervor to eat as much as he could and get the treats down his infernal nature began to assert itself and the features of the think elvish boy darkened and flowed, his bat-wings emerging from the flesh of his scarred back, his horns emerging through the skin of his scalp, his hair whitening from the roots and losing their curl.

Until he heard the coarse laughter and the footsteps.

He froze and turned like lightning, back pressed against the trough and his tail whpping around his legs defensively, his body flashing back to the vulnerable boy-shape he wore most of the time.

Thuzzar and his cronies were coming down the corridor.

That meant one of two things and the Master couldn't want him now, so soon after his efforts. He looked at the wall to his right sympathetically, knowing Adama had heard and knowing what was coming. If he had been free to he would have wept for his fellow victim and instead swallowed hard, fighting the bile that rose in his throat.

Just within sight of his opening a peg hung the remains of a shredded and tattered purple tabard; that of a Squire-Knight of Cormyr. It was much covered in stains of blood and other less savory things. It had been torn, rent, clawed and nigh-shredded and yet one could just make out the dragon-rampant.

Movement at the corridor caught his attention and his eyes fixed on it, like a prey-animal sensing a predator and freezing, trapped.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 1

Kilmor sat where he had sat for the last day. He had been placed against three ogres and had won, killing the others. But it had come at a cost. They'd been armed and he had not. They had managed to tag him a few times before they fell.

He smiled and flicked his ears slightly. He didn't need weapons with his huge hands and the training he had; his discipline. The ring in his nose itched and he shook his head slightly, his scraped down horns scudding along the ceiling of his enclosure noisily and making his skull ache lightly.

He looked across the quad and stared at the form of Elim, lying on the floor stretched out and yet slightly curled in on himself, sleeping.

Or so it seemed.

His senses were still sharp, having been brought here only a few years before and he had learned that there was nothing here that was what it seemed. And some things were all to real.

He watched the small-one stumble in after enduring yet more tortures from the Master, either having been in the Chambers of the Master or the Torturers below, he could not tell easily. He was damaged and there was blood yet it merely seemed to cross old wounds gained in previous years.

Rage simmered deep in his large heart. How they would all pay...

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 1

Adama moved through the postures of war, practicing with an imaginary sword only he could see, his awkward legs bent to give him space and to keep them strong. This work kept him focussed, kept him strong, it gave him purpose so one day- oh yes, one day....

Dimly he was aware that S'lanneneth had returned, hours after he had left and several cycles through the battle practice Adama had run through. He was wounded, as he had been expected to be and on some dim level Adama felt for him. But the rest of his mind, that which raged and screamed in madness and fury, remained desperately focussed on his posture and balance and the imaginary longsword in his hand.

The one his father had given him. The one the mage had broken when... when...

He stopped, his mind blanking in the grips of a terrible rage, a gibbering madness that had nearly broken him entirely and had made his mind retreat to a safe place. Oh he obeyed the enchantments on him, he followed the orders and he did as he was expected and he even fought when ordered but he never forgot and never gave up.

He could not forget. He wasn't allowed to.

Without being aware he had done so, he found he had turned and was staring at the tabard hanging upon the peg outside his tiny prison. His eyes saw it as he stared blankly, remembering when he had gotten it, the pride his parents and siblings had. He himself had been near to bursting with it and yet, he had scampered off to attend the banquet in the honor of the Squires.

Dimly, he remembered the Court and the Plots and those who he had been brought into the confidences of. And of their mistake in believing he would support a plot against the Queen.

Their vengeance against him was not so clear, only awakening under the hand of the Slavers and finding his body a parody of his former self. What had been done, how it had been done; he couldn't even guess. But it had been powerful magics indeed to wreak such a change on him.

He had been lost in his reverie for a moment, just a monent only, when he heard the coarse laughter and the steps of the Handlers. And in a moment he felt the enchantments take over, sinking to a kneeling position, a position of supplication, of vulnerability.

His world shrank away as his mind shut down, screaming.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 1

Thuzzar, Donnil and Gurnar strode down the corridor laughing, discussing the sport they were about to have. The Gnolls laughter, a hyena's counterpointing cries, echoed through the long corridor as the token-stone the Master had given him led them to their intended quarry. It had been such a pleasure for the Master to give Adama to him, such a spirit to break. He'd been a Squire-Knight once before, so serving others had been trained into him. One would think he would come to do his duty with more grace.

Perhaps it was his new body that betrayed him. He was no longer a man, though male certainly. Thuzzar had asked and been denied several times, the permission to truly break the beast that was now Adama. Surely, like other animals, the spirit would be broken when the rut was taken from him?

But then, the game still had not ended and Adama remained yet alive. And so, the sport would continue.

They strode into the quad as if they owned it, the faint screams and uncertain rumblings of the other inmates within the Crimson Menagerie giving a brooding background to the two men and the Gnoll as they strode in.

Thuzzar wore his leather armor, stained dark in the blood of hundreds of slayings. His magic hand-axe and the short-sword 'Striker' rode on either hip. His cloak and tabard were stained with food and wine, snot and spittle for like the beasts he watched he was not one to be clean.

Though for himself it was more of choice than they who were imprisoned here.

Donnil, the man-at-arms who strode next to him, was never without his armor and weapons. He carried his longsword, a trophy taken from a man he had murdered long ago, the chainmail and shield also taken from those he had murdered. His sword and armor were magic and his shield was well-made though unlike Thuzzar, his had no names of their own. Secretly he covetted the short-sword though he felt it was too small and even in his hands, for he was a short human, it would keep his stature low.

In truth, he was rather conscious of his stature and lack of strength.

Gurnar strode behind them, the least-senior of them and the weakest in a fight. He had proven to be clever though and had won a she-Gnoll earlier than most, defeating his chieftain through guile and craft.

In short, he had poisoned him and issued challenge while he was weakened.

He had claimed everything his chieftain had and then in the night had fled to this region. Unfortunately, his pack had followed and chased his to the Spire where he had been discovered by Thuzzar. There had been some intial... 'unpleasantness'... before Thuzzar would take him in but becoming a member of this small pack brought him security.

And sport.

As they rounded the corner and came into the quad, their eyes all few on Adama who was already assuming "the position". Gurnar started to laugh, licking his snout obscenely before a sound brought him up short- it sounded like thunder.

They all looked up at the ceiling, a tiny amount of dust shifted down between the stones. They were hundreds of feet below the surface and the tower proper. What was going on up there?

Nobody noticed that the sounds in the Menagerie had ceased and dead silence reined.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 1

Adama looked up at the sound, feeling something strange wash over him. Or rather, he felt like a heavy weight had been lifted.

**********

S'lanneneth crouched and began to hum to himself quietly, understanding immediately that something strange had happened to the magic binding them. He assumed he had been released to heal himself and did so, humming the music necessary to summon up the life-giving positive energy.

**********

Elim coiled upon himself like a serpent and sat up silently, his body bonelessly slithering upright, a soft blue aura appearing at his skin and slowly pushing off from him as his natural psychic protections activated.

**********

Kilmor watched Elim and smiled to himself, his eyes turning from sloe brown to reddish orange in anger. His mind felt itself become free and he began to focus himself, pulling at the weak magical energy he could tap to protect himself. Something had definitely happened and he intended to die fighting or escape.

**********

Adama leapt from a kneeling position and rammed his head into Thuzzar's face, breaking his nose and spurting his blood all over the place as his horns and fortified forehead did their work. He stomped with one foot onto the ranger's booted foot and reached with his right hand, snatching the sheathed shortsword from where it rode. In a moment he was armed and though without armor, he had his rage to fuel him.

His fantasy for years had at least come true- he was free to act against his tormentor and was armed. Vengeance was nigh!

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 1

Donnil realized something was amiss as he heard Thuzzar react to the attack from Adama and yet, he was uanble to move. Things were happening too fast, they were under attack by the beasts. And that meant-

**********

Elim crept around the corner of his enclosure and stepped up to Donni, snatching the crossbow from where it hung on his belt and leaping away to try to fire at the heavily armed human. He was fast, so much moreso than the weakling human and yet, his senses had been dulled in this place. He failed to detect the catch on the trigger that prevented accidental injury.

**********

Adama moved, screaming an echoing stuttered cry of rage, his tongue sticking out of his split-lipped mouth as he reared back and gave voice to his madness. With blind fury he stepped to Thuzzar and stabbed at his face and torso, slashing left and right, adding his maddened strength behind his slashes and licking the blood off of his face as it splashed there.

**********

Kilmor stepped behind the Gnoll, for once allowed to stand upright, the horned giant towered over the Gnoll who had not yet been able to react to the changing situation. He lashed out with a blurring flurry of fists and landed several telling strikes, smashing into the hyena-creature with all of his strength.

Blood flew from the Gnoll's broken muzzle as Kilmor's last strike backhanded him off-balance.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 1

Elim danced back from Donni and tried to fire the corssbow, the telling 'click' of the safety sounding loud to him. Donni, on the other hand, had heard it over the din and turned to attack. The slashing attacks with his sword found not a scratch on the humanoid, for his psychic defenses had done as they should and turned aside the swinging steel.

**********

S'lanneneth cast another spell, seeing the combat happening outside fo his safe little hole. He dared to hope in a bare moment and cast to bring to himself the dagger riding on Thuzzar's belt. He missed, seeing the weak magic grasp at the belt itself but having not the strength to be effective. He looked for straps, for anything he might be able to undo or make mischief with and despite the surfiet of them, realized nothing he could do that way would be of any consequence.

Frustrated he considered what else he might do with the little magic at his disposal.

**********

Thuzzar, finally freed of the shock that had kept him immobile as Adama bleated and slashed at him, snatched up his own hand-axe and took it against the beast-boy. He hacked and hacked again, miraculously only striking once though it was a telling blow. He felt the blood splashing him from the Gnoll who's shocked cries were even now echoing down the corridor.

**********

Donni was occupied with Elim but turned and hacked at the giant bull standing within reach, taking a tiny clip and making a slash in the creatures flank. It was desperate fight now but he knew that some of these creatures weren't as impressive as they seemed. He was better than that dog Gurnar and he'd not be smashed flat.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 1

Ignoring the scratch for now, he still marked the human and kept a wary eye on the sword. Still, the Gnoll was standing which was in itself rather remarkable.

He had to do something about that.

Against he launched into a blinding series of blows, dropping the Gnoll with the first and aborting the second to step up to Donni and level an amazing punch against his shield. The *spang* from the impact was loud and momentarily paused the others.

***********

The loud impact from the shield staggered Donni and gave Elim the opening he needed, now that he ahd figured out that clever catch on the crossbow's stock. With a flick of his thumb and a quick movement he shot the human, burying a crossbow quarrel into his shoulder at a point between sheets of chainmail.

He smiled with satisfaction as the human cried out, though the sight of the fight between Adama and Thuzzar caught his attention.

Adama was in danger.
**********

Adama made several passes at Thuzzar even as the human ranger slashed at him, taking his own toll in blood. The human was armored and wore a buckler and with his free hand he used it well enough.

But Adama, cursed with a shape not his own, had new strength as well. Summoning up a fierce series of blows he slashed and slashed, spilling Thuzzar's guts onto the stones before stepping over the body and hacking at the man's face, as if to erase him completely from reality where he could not from his own memory.

Even S'lanneneth saw the pure madness in his eyes then and dared not move, though he began to hum anyway, a romping song he had picked from one of the minion's mind years before.

 

[Aristoi]

Crimson Menagerie: Act 1

Kilmor and Elim heard the humming song not consciously but their limbs felt renewed and their hearts gladdened, though they knew not why. Elim drew up and turned his head to that his white pupiless eyes stared straight into Donni's, speaking with his most horrible voice. He towered over the human of already short stature, his otherworldly countenance lending a fiendish quality to him that would cause even a knight's legs to turn to jelly.

"You are meat."

**********

Donni heard the words and finally understood, seeking Gurnar lying beside him unmoving and Thuzzar being hacked apart by the crazed curse-boy, he knew he had a slim chance.

He turned and dashed for the corridor and the possible-freedom beyond, dodging past Elim who in turn seemed willing to allow him to go and seemingly past Kilmor who seemed to be turning to slowly to catch him.

At least, until he felt the hands close around his shoulders from behind.

**********

Kilmor reached out and grabbed the little human in the glittery metal armor even as he tried to dart away, closing both massive hands on his little shoulders and pulling him tightly against his chest. Donnil uttered a panicked cry of fright that ended in a gurgle as Kilmor began to crush the life from him.

A moment later the big bull turned away from the others so they would not have to see, as with a sound of much cracking wood and spatterings of wetness Donni's arms and legs began to flail wildly around the body of the horned giant and fluids rained upon the thirsty stones at his feet.

A moment passed and a sodden mass of red gore and shiny metal dropped, the human who had worn the armor was now packed with it, crushed into paste. His sword and shield, though both spattered, lay as mute testament to their usefulness against their opponent. Kilmor turned, covered in gore from chin to groin, his long fur plastered to him in obscene testament to his skills.

**********

The four turned and stared at one another, at that moment free and facing creatures from each other's nightmares. And to a certain extent, each was armed and at least partially covered in gore.

<ends this Act>