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[4e] Fallen - Prologue: The Crucible (Full)
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<blockquote data-quote="Shayuri" data-source="post: 4942929" data-attributes="member: 4936"><p>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.</p><p></p><p>Or so his captor must think. That brought grin to the scholar’s concealed face. Did they think he’d been born yesterday?</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>Three, he thought. No, four. One at each of his ‘corners.’ </p><p></p><p>So that’s it then.</p><p></p><p>A deep, throaty voice spoke from ahead of him.</p><p></p><p>“I suppose you’re wondering who I am, and what you’re doing here.”</p><p></p><p>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?”</p><p></p><p>Armor shuffled. Good, they were off balance.</p><p></p><p>“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.</p><p></p><p>The scholar's face brightened. “General! Good gods, it really is you, isn't it?”</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p>“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.”</p><p></p><p>The scholar lolled his head forward and shrugged. “At the very least I didn't think you wouldn't be holding a grudge.”</p><p></p><p>Now a clawed finger pointed at him, and Gadruk maanaged a pretty passable roar for such an aged old lizard's lungs.</p><p></p><p>“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!”</p><p></p><p>“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!”</p><p></p><p>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.”</p><p></p><p>“That doesn't have to be! There's still peace, there's still a chance your nations can...”</p><p></p><p>“Bah! How can something as old as you be naïve?! You know nothing of war!”</p><p></p><p>The scholar's face grew still and grim as he stared down the dragonborn general.</p><p></p><p>“I know entirely too much of war,” he said sternly. “That's why I stopped it.”</p><p></p><p>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.”</p><p></p><p>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!”</p><p></p><p>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?”</p><p></p><p>The Scholar was silent.</p><p>“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.”</p><p></p><p>“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...”</p><p></p><p>“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.”</p><p></p><p>He gestured at the door. “Start the first match!”</p><p></p><p>------------------------------------------</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p><em>Orc...orc...right, tattoo on the right shoulder, ritual disfigurement along the cheeks...left tusk is clipped...</em> Memories from past lives swirled as he looked for a middle way...to win without killing. Or dying.</p><p></p><p>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!"</p><p></p><p>This brought the orc up short. He paused and squinted, tilting his head, then replied, "Uh?"</p><p></p><p>The Scholar grinned and spread his arms. "Torgok! Did your master teach you nothing of your proud heritage?!"</p><p></p><p>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..."</p><p></p><p>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."</p><p></p><p>Now the orc narrowed its eyes suspiciously. "What?"</p><p></p><p>"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?"</p><p></p><p>The towering orc dervish realized by now what the Scholar was implying and sneered. "You knew him? Do you think I'm stupid?!"</p><p></p><p>"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."</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>"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."</p><p></p><p>Thand stiffened. It couldn't be true. Could it? Blue skin...glowing blue eyes...</p><p></p><p>The Scholar judged it was time to seal the deal. "Here's one you've never seen or heard."</p><p></p><p>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."</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>"It is you," Thand said. "How can it be?"</p><p></p><p>"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."</p><p></p><p>"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."</p><p></p><p>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."</p><p></p><p>Thand leaned forward eagerly. "Tell me, Blue Fox!"</p><p></p><p>"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..."</p><p></p><p>The great orc barbarian got to his feet. "I understand."</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>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!</p><p></p><p>...only to have it cut a deep slice into the packed earth of the arena floor, and stay there, half-buried.</p><p></p><p>"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!"</p><p></p><p>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.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Shayuri, post: 4942929, member: 4936"] 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. [i]Orc...orc...right, tattoo on the right shoulder, ritual disfigurement along the cheeks...left tusk is clipped...[/i] 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. [/QUOTE]
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