I was born, I suffer, and I will die.
His early years were spent toiling as a slave in the household of the Tharchion of Eltabbar. Once he became sufficient age to work (about 6 years of age), Marcus was sold by the Tharchion and given the duty to serve under the cruel hand of Kabran Valack known as “The Coordinator”.
Kabran was an evil, heartless man who was responsible for the traveling gladiatorial groups that perform battles that throughout the 12 major cities of Thay. His caravan traveled from city to city, bringing games of death and destruction to all who would pay to see such things -and pay they do. Tharchion, noblemen and Thayvian citizens revel in the games. They crowded into the Pits to see all manner of enslaved warriors and beasts both magical and mundane battle to bloody death.
Although he was still very young he was assigned to a “chamber”, where the slave-gladiators were herded before and after their battles. His first duties were to clean up the weapons and equipment for the gladiators after they fought in a battle and aid the overseers in the care of the wounded survivors.
Too soon he learned of the gruesome effects of the weapons they used in their deadly trade.
Too soon the wails of wounded or dying men filled his ears.
Too soon for a child, too soon for anyone, Marcus learned about death.
The next eight years of his life was a blur of blood and suffering. Beatings and abuse at the hands of Kabran and his overseers became routine. Broken bones and lacerations from the sandaled feet of the overseers were his only rewards. Over the years the beatings and hardship increased but somehow he not only survived the beatings that would bring him to the brink of death, he flourished. As Marcus matured and grew – the abuse hardened him. Rigorous physical labor built his muscles and bone, the whip and the back of the overseer’s hands built his reflexes and speed – and hatred for his masters. By his sixteenth year Marcus had grown to almost 61/2 feet tall and was a muscular and agile.
Many of the boys brought up in the arena chambers, had died, been killed or were broken husks living only to serve their masters wishes. There was no life in their eyes anymore. Their masters had extinguished that long ago.
Marcus was unlike any of them. To this day Marcus is unsure where the strength came to resist the fate of the other slaves. Luck? Divine Intervention? Fate? Marcus placed little faith in those nebulous suggestions. Marcus indicates his survival and growth is attributed to the many outsiders who had been forced into servitude and slavery by his Thayvian masters. In serving their wounds and weapons, he gained their trust and loyalty, something unheard of in the chambers. First and perhaps most importantly, the outsiders who surrounded him provided him with the single most important asset…knowledge. Knowledge of the outside world, knowledge of cultures and people he would never experience. In pursuit of that goal Marcus learned everything he could from the men, beasts and equipment he cared for. He picked up languages and cultural knowledge from around the world, from brutal Gnollish, to songlike Elven. He heard tales of the Dwarven Kingdoms and the eastern realms of Kara-Tur. He learned their different fighting styles and concepts and watched them applied in the horror of the arena. He listened to them reflect on their old lives before their capture by Thayvian slavers. Marcus continued to learn whatever he could, as much as he could from whomever he could. Some of his mentors died before they could complete their instruction, other suddenly stopped their lessons, no longer caring enough about their life to recount it to him or perhaps afraid one day they would have to face him armed with the tools they themselves had provided. Nevertheless, Marcus listened, learned and as time progressed he began to become proficient in languages, cultures, combat and weaponry from the world over.
The second thing conveyed to him by the outsiders was simply a concept. A term and idea unknown to him, a simple word – Freedom.
No matter what the language or culture the word felt the same. To forge ones own life, the freedom to succeed or fail on your own merits, the freedom to live life by your own choices. Freedom is what he wanted. Freedom is what he would get.
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Marcus’s life changed on morning while carrying heavy load of armor and weapons and inadvertently stepped upon the foot of one of the overseers. Instantly the overseer’s whip lashed out and struck Marcus, causing him to drop the armor. Not in pain but in anger. Seeing the look of defiance on Marcus’s face, the Overseer drew back and lashed out again…
Marcus caught the whip in his hand.
Normally such insolence would have been punished instantly by death without question. But it was not so. Kabran had seen the entire incident and simply stated.
“You are ready.”
The next day Marcus found himself a member of the afternoon melee. He was handed a pair of forward-curving short sword with a heavy axe-like weight to it, known to him as Khukri. They would become his signature weapons.
It was very different standing behind the heavy gate of the arena entrance as a participant rather than attendant. Marcus’s stomach churned, his legs trembled and he wanted to run –run and never stop running.
But certainly there was no running now.
He looked around, judging his companions seemed to be feeling the same thing, many he did not know, a few dwarves from one of the other chambers armed with shortswords, a female elf with a heavy spear, three sword armed humans he had never seen before, one shaking so much he had dropped his short sword several times, the others blank faced and pale from the terror. Four Gnolls sent here as punishment by their former master equipped with mixed weaponry, mostly axes or heavy bladed swords. The group numbered 12 including Marcus.
Looking up at the ceiling of the entrance hall Marcus spoke aloud, “We are going to die this day”
The others looked at him, shifting nervously but no one said a word. They knew the outcome of this as well.
At some unseen signal the heavy doors of the arena opened, and the Overseers whip cracked
“To your deaths, entertain the people of Thay with you lives!” he slavered.
Marcus looked over his shoulder, staring at the overseer. It was the one whose whip he had caught in mid stroke.
“When I come back, I am going to kill you.” Marcus declared
The whip lashed again; tearing open the flesh on Marcus’s scarred back.
Marcus ignored the lash, and turned to face the arena. Strangely he remembered words taught to him by one of the outsiders from Kara-Tur.
“You must act as if you are already dead. The love of life causes people to hesitate in their actions. Hesitation in the arena is death. Discard your attachment to life and you will be victorious.”
Marcus shakily stepped onto the sandy floor of the arena; one foot first, then the other. He noticed the others had formed up around him and were moving as well. They entered the floor of the arena to the roaring sound of the crowd. Marcus looked about the arena, taking in all in, the roar of the crowd, the magically amplified voice of Kabran announcing them to the thousands in attendance, the red silk banners, the sandstone walls and seats. The blood soaked sand.
Kabran’s voiced boomed over the crowd again.
“You see before you appetizers for our Champion, fine specimens from foreign lands, captured and brought here for your entertainment”
The crowed roared with delight, people jeered and booed at the motley crew of slave gladiators.
Suddenly from the far side of the arena, Marcus heard a savage, bestial growl. Deep and resonant – the challenging roar of their opponent.
Kabran gestured and the doors on the opposite side of the arena slowly opened – apparently too slowly for the Champion within. Someone, no something was ramming into the 12-foot high gates and causing them to shudder with the force of the blow.
BOOM!! The doors shuddered and another roar erupted from the beast within. The bloodthirsty crowd answered it with a roar of their own.
MINOS!
BOOM! The doors shuddered again, another roar but the doors continued their slow opening, seemingly damaged
Kabran looked annoyingly at the gates, and with a nonchalant gesture the gates were thrown open forcibly by an unseen magical force. Emerging from the shadowy chamber beyond the gates and slowly making its way to the center of the arena was the terrible hybrid of man and beast. Humanoid in appearance but towering some 10 feet tall, brown furred, cloven –foot, with the head of a fanged bull and the body layered in muscle and armor. Massive horns framed its horrible visage, the horns themselves adorned with blades, razor sharp rings and reinforced with metal. In his massive armored hands he held a huge 4 Bladed Axe, almost twice the size of even Marcus’s large frame. Again, a blood-chilling roar issued forth from its bovine lips.
The chant from the crowd began with greater fervor.
MINOS!
MINOS!
MINOS!
MINOS!
The chant began to build in both in volume and intensity as the Marcus and his companions began to move into the center of the ring.
One of the humans ran back towards the closing gates screaming for his life. He clambered on the gates and tried to jump up on the walls. Suddenly, his body was magically assaulted from all sides of the arena by gleaming arrows, blue star-like projectiles and a variety of other attack spells that issued forth from various mage spectators. His body was burned, blasted and vaporized in an instant. Cheers rang throughout the crowd
Kabran’s voiced laughed, “Please my brothers, save some for the champion.”
Marcus eyes went back to his motley crew of companions, trying to measure them up. The other human stood relatively still, fear in his eyes. From his peripheral vision Marcus saw the Dwarves drawing themselves up, readying their weapons and preparing to fight. These three he could count on perhaps. His eyes met theirs and he saw the grim determination the Dwarven race was known for. Yes, they would be there. Redbeard, Blackbead and one with his blonde beard neatly braided. It was a pity he did not know their names. The Gnolls barked nervously, calling out to each other. They may fight if we somehow gain the advantage. The third human had finally gotten a grip on his shortsword and his eyes fixed on his foe ahead. He would fight; he had no choice. Finally his eyes fell upon the elf; she had not yet spoken and seemed to be praying quietly. She maintained her concentration on the opponent, her lips moving almost imperceptibly as the crowd continued its chant.
MINOS!
MINOS!
The massive beast strode forward each hoof pounding into the arena floor, His axe held in one hand, his other hand clenching and unclenching, anticipating the fight.
Marcus shifted into a combat stance, his weight evenly distributed on both feet, his body angled to present the smallest target he could. The two human’s moved forward, looking at each other, reading the doom in each others eyes.
“Hold your ground” one of the dwarves muttered in Thayvian
“Yes, we have to fight as a group or we are all dead” Marcus whispered.
The humans acted as if they did not hear, and proceeded forward towards Minos, their weapons held at the ready.
Minos snorted almost derisively and moved forward, his weapon not raised or readied.
The two humans closed to within charge range quickly and with howling screams hurled themselves at Minos, their weapons held high.
Minos stood his ground, bringing his massive axe around in powerful horizontal arc; his swing timed to meet the humans as they charged. The weapon smashed into one human who was blasted into pieces, a fine red mist visible for an instant all around the Minotaur champion. The other human had moved slightly faster, got within the arc of the Montour’s swing somehow evading it. The shortsword lashed out and caught the Minotaur just above the hip but glanced off of the champion’s armor. Almost instantly the champions left arm released the axe, and lashed out with a massive spiked gauntlet against the human’s torso. The impact hurled him almost 15 feet. He hit the ground twisted and broken and moaning.
The crowed roared their approval.
Minos looked upon the group and strode toward the human he had battered with his spiked gauntlet, standing over him triumphantly. He raised a massive cloven hoof and slammed his entire weight onto the fallen mans head. The human’s skull splintered like glass, blood and brain matter splashing over the iron shod hooves of the champion.
MINOS!
MINOS!
“He does not respect us, the black bearded dwarf muttered, had he timed better he could have taken both humans with his one swing.”
“His overconfidence is what will kill him” Marcus whispered breathlessly. “If we get him to commit to an attack and the others dart in perhaps we can land some effective blows. If we can wound him enough on one side we can better anticipate his movement.”
“Agreed, but watch the arms, he guards against any openings left by his axe swings.” the red bearded dwarf added, his voice tense with anticipation.
Marcus looked at the Gnolls, who were feverishly barking and whining as they watched Minos in action. Snarling in Thayvian “Flank him like the dogs you are. Herd him and get him to commit to an attack.”
The Gnolls looked quizzically at Marcus, questioning his command.
“Do it or be my next meal” Marcus grunted in the guttural tongue of the Gnoll tribes using one of their own often used threats.
They suddenly decided he was smarter than they. In two pairs, they moved to the left and right flanks of the group, putting some distance between themselves and the champion.
Minos moved forward towards the group in the center, his armored head moving to the right and left watching the Gnolls move into position.
Minos bellowed his challenge again. It sounded like a horrible laugh.
Marcus and the three dwarves moved forward, forming a small triangle with Marcus in the middle. The Gnolls moved forward, their barking directed at the champion. The elf stayed to the rear, gliding left and right trying to distract the champion.
Unfazed the champion moved forward toward the central group, intent it seemed on smashing into the center of the line.
Suddenly Minos shifted his weight and charged the Gnolls to the right, his great axe held horizontally; his body crouched, head lowered and his horns thrust forward.
Apparently the Gnolls were unprepared for this. One stood dumbfounded and the other, trying to change direction too quickly slipped backwards and fell on his back.
Minos caught them both. The first Gnoll received the full force of the champion’s charge. The champion’s armored heard and bladed horns smashed slammed into the Gnoll shattering his ribcage and spine with and audible crack, Minos shifted his weight rising to his full height and with a great heave, hurled the shattered body high into the air. Minos thrust down again, impaling the prone Gnoll who had fallen on his back. Twisting and turning, Minos gored the Gnoll with his horns driving him into and across floor, finally crushing him against the wall of the arena. The original Gnoll landed some 20 feet behind him, his body sprawled out like some horrid rag doll.
Marcus was stunned, this was going very bad and their numbers had been whittled down very quickly.
“Milana Asha Shol Naur e’ Angu”
Marcus heard words of power unlike those of the Thayvian mages emanating from the elf behind him. He glanced behind him to see the elf concentrating on the champion and her lips moving with a spell. He had only caught a few words. Spirit and Fire?Forest?What the..
Okay..the elf has lost it. He thought to himself
He noticed the other two Gnolls had charged forward, no doubt taking advantage of the fact their dead brethren were the focus of the champion. The attacked with earnest each slashing with their weapons at the champions flank. One landed a blow on the champions left side but was turned aside by his armor, the other Gnoll slashed into the left leg with his axe, rewarded with a warm spray of blood as his blow struck home.
Minos raised his head and roared in rage, his horns displaying pieces of flesh, blood running down his armored head and ichor dripping from his fanged muzzle. He spun to his left lashing out in a two-handed swing at the Gnolls.
But the Gnolls were keen to avoid the fate of the others had already jumped away just outside of the arc. The power of the attack spun the champion around, his axe smashing into the arena wall, knocking huge chunks of sandstone from it but exposing his right side.
Marcus and the dwarfs rushed forward as one.
The Dwarves, used to fighting larger opponents, quickly moved inside the champions attack arc and hacked away at his right side. Two blows glanced off of the armor but the black bearded dwarf’s blade sunk deeply into the Minotaur’s leg. The dwarf twisted the blade viciously and ripped it free.
Minos snarled in pain.
Marcus surged forward, attacking with his Khurki. The blade struck but was deflected by the champion’s armor. However his impetus of his charge carried him forward and Marcus slammed into the Minotaur’s right side. He felt the strength of the beast, the bovine stench, and the odor of fresh blood.
Minos released the axe with his right arm and attacked with his spiked fist at the attackers on his flank. His huge arm whipped diagonally toward the ground in a sweeping attack meant to catch anyone on his flank.
Marcus dropped straight down, the attack just missing his head.
The black bearded dwarf spun in a display of great skill and rolled almost easily around the back of the champion’s leg evading the attack.
The braided dwarf caught the spiked gauntlet right in the temple, the blow killing him instantly, and throwing his body into red beard. They went to the ground in a tumble of arms and legs.
Minos pivoted to place his back against the wall forcing Marcus to scramble to avoid the iron shod hooves. He raised his great axe for an overhand strike at Marcus, his massive arms raised up above his head, his legs braced for the power attack that would cleave and smash Marcus into pieces.
Marcus stood straight up, driving with all the power his legs, arms and hips could muster. The Khurki flashed in one concentrated, focused arc. Marcus remembered an old Dwarf mentor saying “you can nick away at a giant all day, but one GOOD cleave in the right spot…”
Marcus felt the Khukri slash through the chain mail above him, heard the smack of steel parting flesh and felt the spray of the warm blood.
Minos roared in pain, but the roar sounded different, it started with a low rumble and rose to the blood curling screech of an animal that had been hurt.
Hurt Bad.
Marcus could have sworn he heard someone in the crowd stammer “Did you see where he hit him?”
The great axe came down hard, but not with any control on the part of Minos. The haft of the weapon smashed into Marcus’s left shoulder forcing him to one knee and breaking his collarbone with a sickening crunch, the blade slashing into the ground just behind him. Minos was hurt and staggered slightly, his axe only loosely gripped, almost leaning upon it. Dark red blood flowed from beneath the chain mail and onto the sandy floor of the arena. Marcus dove to the right, pain lancing through his side. He combat rolled to his feet putting some distance between he and the champion.
Marcus’s eyes locked with the champions. “Too late to respect us now” he whispered.
The two Gnolls and Redbeard attacked. The first Gnoll swung his heavy sword at the Minotaur’s arm, glancing off his armor but knocking the Minotaur’s left hand free of his weapon. The second Gnoll hacked at the champions huge armored head but missed it completely. Redbeard jumped forward in a diving cross body block against the Minotaur’s arms, hoping to dislodge the axe. Smashing shoulder first into Minos’s wrist, the dwarf knocked the weapon free of the Minotaur’s hands and hit the ground roughly, the spikes of the champions armor drawing long gashes on the unarmored dwarven warrior. Blackbeard gave ground, shouting and waving as he moved to the Minotaur’s left flank, hoping to distract him from the others rushing forward.
The problem with wounded animals is that they are unpredictable and dangerous.
Minos was far from finished, roaring with fury, he slashed out with his bladed horns and gauntleted fists at the opponents who had assaulted and disarmed him. The horns slashed to the right and just hooked the corner of Redbeard’s shoulder, snatching him back and throwing him to the ground. Minos heaved himself forward onto his left knee and pinned Redbeard to the ground. In an animalistic fury Minos drove his spiked gauntlets repeatedly into Redbeard’s skull. His head slammed to left, his bladed horns catching one of the Gnolls like a heavy spear, impaling him. With a violent jerk and a twist of his massive armored head Minos stood to his full height and shook the Gnoll off his horn.
The second Gnoll jumped back just out of range of the berserk champion’s furious attacks.
Marcus knew two things; first his shoulder was broken and his left arm was useless, one of his weapons lost as he scrambled to avoid the iron shod hooves of Minos. Each movement sent a crash of pain through his body, almost knocking him unconscious. It also suddenly occurred to Marcus that something smelled strange; out of place. The scent reminded him strangely of the foundries he worked around as a chamber attendant.
The smell of hot metal. He smelled such a scent many times working in the chambers. One of the horrific duties of an attendant is to collect the armor and weapons of the fallen after the games. Gore covered everything, dismembered hands still grasped weapons, body parts have pieces of metal embedded in them. Rent and torn armor littered the battleground. Kabran in a horrific example of thriftiness had all the weapons and armor of the fallen repaired or melted down for new forgings. The smell of the furnaces heating up was something Marcus had experienced as he brought piles of these items to the forges.
As Marcus slid backwards, further towards the center of the arena, he caught the sight of a dull almost imperceptible red glow emanating from portions of the Champions Armor; his breastplate, his left greave, his armored head. Was he hallucinating? He reached up and touched his shoulder with his right arm. He felt fractured bone piercing the skin.
“Milana Asha Shol Naur e’ Angu”
He heard it again. This time clearly. Forest Spirits Awaken Fire in Iron? Something like that? He glanced to his rear and saw the female elf clenching her spear, looking terrified but speaking words of power under her breath.
Apparently Minos noticed it too. He stopped, his head cocked slightly as if listening to something. He reached up and touched his armor covered head and felt the heat emanating from it. The pain of the heated metal was beginning to penetrate the fog of his fury.
Marcus glanced at the elf; she was shifting back further away, putting distance between her and the champion.
To me!! Marcus cried to the Dwarf and remaining Gnoll while moving back.
They didn’t hesitate scrambling to his side.
Still not understanding what was happening; Minos reached down grabbing his axe and limped towards the 4 remaining combatants. His steps were laborious now, multiple wounds to his legs and right side bled freely. The wound from Marcus flowed deep and dark.
The four stayed in a semi circle, moving to the right and left maintaining their distance. To the crowd it appeared they were stalling- They booed and hissed their disapproval.
Minos kept pressing forward forcing them towards a corner all the while touching his parts of his armor, shaking his head in anger, and increasing pain.
Marcus checked his position, realizing they had nowhere to maneuver to. He braced up for the charge that was sure to come, glancing at his companions, who stood ready beside him, Blackbeard with his Shortsword, the Gnoll with his axe and the Elf, her spear braced and set against the charge.
Minos roared and charged, his axe held high.
Then he staggered and stopped.
Minos roared in pain.
Marcus saw the realization in Minos’s eyes when the heated metal suddenly began to sear his entire body. He realized he was burning, burning everywhere. The metal on his body, breastplate, gauntlet, greaves and helm, including the metallic blades that had been affixed to his horns and the decorative jewelry that pierced his flesh had been building in the last few moments. What started as a mild discomfort had built into flesh burning heat. The quartet could hear the sizzle of flesh against the armor. Minos dropped his axe, and shook off his his steaming gauntlets grabbing at his red hot helm in an attempt to get it off. Unfortunately for him, the helm is mounted on by his attendants and the clamps could not easily be removed. Flesh sizzled and popped, small streams of smoke rose from all over his armored body.
Marcus could see the flesh burning, see the exposed rings or flesh around Minos eyes swell and blister from the heat, he watched as he grabbed at his armor, trying to yank it off but burning his hands further in the process. Minos fell to one knee, his massive head writhing side to side in pain.The smell reached him and wafted into the crowd.
Screams of protests filled the arena. Many spectators realizing something was very wrong.
Cheaters! Steel Only!! Cried a fat Red Robed mage
No Magic!! Cried a talisman tattooed female
Kabran seemed unaffected, he watched seemingly amused.
CHARGE! Marcus screamed.
The four charged, driving forward with all their might and striking Minos as one. The spear hit Minos squarely in the chest, its point piercing the heat-softened metal easily and sliding between the ribs and into his bovine heart. The Dwarf‘s shortsword impacted with uppercut thrust driving under Minos chin and up through his the top of his fanged muzzle. The Gnolls axe swung in a powerful overhand arc, splitting mail and cleaving into the champions thick neck. Marcus, ignoring the pain lancing through his body held his Khukri in a reverse grip, the blade braced spine along his forearm. He slammed it into the throat of the champion with all of his anger and fury. He felt the chain mail surrender to the force of the blow, saw the satisfying spray of the Minotaur’s blood and felt his blade rip through from front to the back of the champions neck.
The combined blows of the four decapitated the champions head and sent it flying to the arenas floor.
Marcus crumbled to the ground surrendering to unconsciousness, as his vision went black, he saw the Dwarf simply standing there, his weapon lost - still lodged in the Minotaur’s muzzle. The Gnoll, barked and howled in victory, and the Elf, went to her knees, and wept her shoulders heaving with grief.
-----------------------------------I have more let me know what you think bad and good
His early years were spent toiling as a slave in the household of the Tharchion of Eltabbar. Once he became sufficient age to work (about 6 years of age), Marcus was sold by the Tharchion and given the duty to serve under the cruel hand of Kabran Valack known as “The Coordinator”.
Kabran was an evil, heartless man who was responsible for the traveling gladiatorial groups that perform battles that throughout the 12 major cities of Thay. His caravan traveled from city to city, bringing games of death and destruction to all who would pay to see such things -and pay they do. Tharchion, noblemen and Thayvian citizens revel in the games. They crowded into the Pits to see all manner of enslaved warriors and beasts both magical and mundane battle to bloody death.
Although he was still very young he was assigned to a “chamber”, where the slave-gladiators were herded before and after their battles. His first duties were to clean up the weapons and equipment for the gladiators after they fought in a battle and aid the overseers in the care of the wounded survivors.
Too soon he learned of the gruesome effects of the weapons they used in their deadly trade.
Too soon the wails of wounded or dying men filled his ears.
Too soon for a child, too soon for anyone, Marcus learned about death.
The next eight years of his life was a blur of blood and suffering. Beatings and abuse at the hands of Kabran and his overseers became routine. Broken bones and lacerations from the sandaled feet of the overseers were his only rewards. Over the years the beatings and hardship increased but somehow he not only survived the beatings that would bring him to the brink of death, he flourished. As Marcus matured and grew – the abuse hardened him. Rigorous physical labor built his muscles and bone, the whip and the back of the overseer’s hands built his reflexes and speed – and hatred for his masters. By his sixteenth year Marcus had grown to almost 61/2 feet tall and was a muscular and agile.
Many of the boys brought up in the arena chambers, had died, been killed or were broken husks living only to serve their masters wishes. There was no life in their eyes anymore. Their masters had extinguished that long ago.
Marcus was unlike any of them. To this day Marcus is unsure where the strength came to resist the fate of the other slaves. Luck? Divine Intervention? Fate? Marcus placed little faith in those nebulous suggestions. Marcus indicates his survival and growth is attributed to the many outsiders who had been forced into servitude and slavery by his Thayvian masters. In serving their wounds and weapons, he gained their trust and loyalty, something unheard of in the chambers. First and perhaps most importantly, the outsiders who surrounded him provided him with the single most important asset…knowledge. Knowledge of the outside world, knowledge of cultures and people he would never experience. In pursuit of that goal Marcus learned everything he could from the men, beasts and equipment he cared for. He picked up languages and cultural knowledge from around the world, from brutal Gnollish, to songlike Elven. He heard tales of the Dwarven Kingdoms and the eastern realms of Kara-Tur. He learned their different fighting styles and concepts and watched them applied in the horror of the arena. He listened to them reflect on their old lives before their capture by Thayvian slavers. Marcus continued to learn whatever he could, as much as he could from whomever he could. Some of his mentors died before they could complete their instruction, other suddenly stopped their lessons, no longer caring enough about their life to recount it to him or perhaps afraid one day they would have to face him armed with the tools they themselves had provided. Nevertheless, Marcus listened, learned and as time progressed he began to become proficient in languages, cultures, combat and weaponry from the world over.
The second thing conveyed to him by the outsiders was simply a concept. A term and idea unknown to him, a simple word – Freedom.
No matter what the language or culture the word felt the same. To forge ones own life, the freedom to succeed or fail on your own merits, the freedom to live life by your own choices. Freedom is what he wanted. Freedom is what he would get.
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Marcus’s life changed on morning while carrying heavy load of armor and weapons and inadvertently stepped upon the foot of one of the overseers. Instantly the overseer’s whip lashed out and struck Marcus, causing him to drop the armor. Not in pain but in anger. Seeing the look of defiance on Marcus’s face, the Overseer drew back and lashed out again…
Marcus caught the whip in his hand.
Normally such insolence would have been punished instantly by death without question. But it was not so. Kabran had seen the entire incident and simply stated.
“You are ready.”
The next day Marcus found himself a member of the afternoon melee. He was handed a pair of forward-curving short sword with a heavy axe-like weight to it, known to him as Khukri. They would become his signature weapons.
It was very different standing behind the heavy gate of the arena entrance as a participant rather than attendant. Marcus’s stomach churned, his legs trembled and he wanted to run –run and never stop running.
But certainly there was no running now.
He looked around, judging his companions seemed to be feeling the same thing, many he did not know, a few dwarves from one of the other chambers armed with shortswords, a female elf with a heavy spear, three sword armed humans he had never seen before, one shaking so much he had dropped his short sword several times, the others blank faced and pale from the terror. Four Gnolls sent here as punishment by their former master equipped with mixed weaponry, mostly axes or heavy bladed swords. The group numbered 12 including Marcus.
Looking up at the ceiling of the entrance hall Marcus spoke aloud, “We are going to die this day”
The others looked at him, shifting nervously but no one said a word. They knew the outcome of this as well.
At some unseen signal the heavy doors of the arena opened, and the Overseers whip cracked
“To your deaths, entertain the people of Thay with you lives!” he slavered.
Marcus looked over his shoulder, staring at the overseer. It was the one whose whip he had caught in mid stroke.
“When I come back, I am going to kill you.” Marcus declared
The whip lashed again; tearing open the flesh on Marcus’s scarred back.
Marcus ignored the lash, and turned to face the arena. Strangely he remembered words taught to him by one of the outsiders from Kara-Tur.
“You must act as if you are already dead. The love of life causes people to hesitate in their actions. Hesitation in the arena is death. Discard your attachment to life and you will be victorious.”
Marcus shakily stepped onto the sandy floor of the arena; one foot first, then the other. He noticed the others had formed up around him and were moving as well. They entered the floor of the arena to the roaring sound of the crowd. Marcus looked about the arena, taking in all in, the roar of the crowd, the magically amplified voice of Kabran announcing them to the thousands in attendance, the red silk banners, the sandstone walls and seats. The blood soaked sand.
Kabran’s voiced boomed over the crowd again.
“You see before you appetizers for our Champion, fine specimens from foreign lands, captured and brought here for your entertainment”
The crowed roared with delight, people jeered and booed at the motley crew of slave gladiators.
Suddenly from the far side of the arena, Marcus heard a savage, bestial growl. Deep and resonant – the challenging roar of their opponent.
Kabran gestured and the doors on the opposite side of the arena slowly opened – apparently too slowly for the Champion within. Someone, no something was ramming into the 12-foot high gates and causing them to shudder with the force of the blow.
BOOM!! The doors shuddered and another roar erupted from the beast within. The bloodthirsty crowd answered it with a roar of their own.
MINOS!
BOOM! The doors shuddered again, another roar but the doors continued their slow opening, seemingly damaged
Kabran looked annoyingly at the gates, and with a nonchalant gesture the gates were thrown open forcibly by an unseen magical force. Emerging from the shadowy chamber beyond the gates and slowly making its way to the center of the arena was the terrible hybrid of man and beast. Humanoid in appearance but towering some 10 feet tall, brown furred, cloven –foot, with the head of a fanged bull and the body layered in muscle and armor. Massive horns framed its horrible visage, the horns themselves adorned with blades, razor sharp rings and reinforced with metal. In his massive armored hands he held a huge 4 Bladed Axe, almost twice the size of even Marcus’s large frame. Again, a blood-chilling roar issued forth from its bovine lips.
The chant from the crowd began with greater fervor.
MINOS!
MINOS!
MINOS!
MINOS!
The chant began to build in both in volume and intensity as the Marcus and his companions began to move into the center of the ring.
One of the humans ran back towards the closing gates screaming for his life. He clambered on the gates and tried to jump up on the walls. Suddenly, his body was magically assaulted from all sides of the arena by gleaming arrows, blue star-like projectiles and a variety of other attack spells that issued forth from various mage spectators. His body was burned, blasted and vaporized in an instant. Cheers rang throughout the crowd
Kabran’s voiced laughed, “Please my brothers, save some for the champion.”
Marcus eyes went back to his motley crew of companions, trying to measure them up. The other human stood relatively still, fear in his eyes. From his peripheral vision Marcus saw the Dwarves drawing themselves up, readying their weapons and preparing to fight. These three he could count on perhaps. His eyes met theirs and he saw the grim determination the Dwarven race was known for. Yes, they would be there. Redbeard, Blackbead and one with his blonde beard neatly braided. It was a pity he did not know their names. The Gnolls barked nervously, calling out to each other. They may fight if we somehow gain the advantage. The third human had finally gotten a grip on his shortsword and his eyes fixed on his foe ahead. He would fight; he had no choice. Finally his eyes fell upon the elf; she had not yet spoken and seemed to be praying quietly. She maintained her concentration on the opponent, her lips moving almost imperceptibly as the crowd continued its chant.
MINOS!
MINOS!
The massive beast strode forward each hoof pounding into the arena floor, His axe held in one hand, his other hand clenching and unclenching, anticipating the fight.
Marcus shifted into a combat stance, his weight evenly distributed on both feet, his body angled to present the smallest target he could. The two human’s moved forward, looking at each other, reading the doom in each others eyes.
“Hold your ground” one of the dwarves muttered in Thayvian
“Yes, we have to fight as a group or we are all dead” Marcus whispered.
The humans acted as if they did not hear, and proceeded forward towards Minos, their weapons held at the ready.
Minos snorted almost derisively and moved forward, his weapon not raised or readied.
The two humans closed to within charge range quickly and with howling screams hurled themselves at Minos, their weapons held high.
Minos stood his ground, bringing his massive axe around in powerful horizontal arc; his swing timed to meet the humans as they charged. The weapon smashed into one human who was blasted into pieces, a fine red mist visible for an instant all around the Minotaur champion. The other human had moved slightly faster, got within the arc of the Montour’s swing somehow evading it. The shortsword lashed out and caught the Minotaur just above the hip but glanced off of the champion’s armor. Almost instantly the champions left arm released the axe, and lashed out with a massive spiked gauntlet against the human’s torso. The impact hurled him almost 15 feet. He hit the ground twisted and broken and moaning.
The crowed roared their approval.
Minos looked upon the group and strode toward the human he had battered with his spiked gauntlet, standing over him triumphantly. He raised a massive cloven hoof and slammed his entire weight onto the fallen mans head. The human’s skull splintered like glass, blood and brain matter splashing over the iron shod hooves of the champion.
MINOS!
MINOS!
“He does not respect us, the black bearded dwarf muttered, had he timed better he could have taken both humans with his one swing.”
“His overconfidence is what will kill him” Marcus whispered breathlessly. “If we get him to commit to an attack and the others dart in perhaps we can land some effective blows. If we can wound him enough on one side we can better anticipate his movement.”
“Agreed, but watch the arms, he guards against any openings left by his axe swings.” the red bearded dwarf added, his voice tense with anticipation.
Marcus looked at the Gnolls, who were feverishly barking and whining as they watched Minos in action. Snarling in Thayvian “Flank him like the dogs you are. Herd him and get him to commit to an attack.”
The Gnolls looked quizzically at Marcus, questioning his command.
“Do it or be my next meal” Marcus grunted in the guttural tongue of the Gnoll tribes using one of their own often used threats.
They suddenly decided he was smarter than they. In two pairs, they moved to the left and right flanks of the group, putting some distance between themselves and the champion.
Minos moved forward towards the group in the center, his armored head moving to the right and left watching the Gnolls move into position.
Minos bellowed his challenge again. It sounded like a horrible laugh.
Marcus and the three dwarves moved forward, forming a small triangle with Marcus in the middle. The Gnolls moved forward, their barking directed at the champion. The elf stayed to the rear, gliding left and right trying to distract the champion.
Unfazed the champion moved forward toward the central group, intent it seemed on smashing into the center of the line.
Suddenly Minos shifted his weight and charged the Gnolls to the right, his great axe held horizontally; his body crouched, head lowered and his horns thrust forward.
Apparently the Gnolls were unprepared for this. One stood dumbfounded and the other, trying to change direction too quickly slipped backwards and fell on his back.
Minos caught them both. The first Gnoll received the full force of the champion’s charge. The champion’s armored heard and bladed horns smashed slammed into the Gnoll shattering his ribcage and spine with and audible crack, Minos shifted his weight rising to his full height and with a great heave, hurled the shattered body high into the air. Minos thrust down again, impaling the prone Gnoll who had fallen on his back. Twisting and turning, Minos gored the Gnoll with his horns driving him into and across floor, finally crushing him against the wall of the arena. The original Gnoll landed some 20 feet behind him, his body sprawled out like some horrid rag doll.
Marcus was stunned, this was going very bad and their numbers had been whittled down very quickly.
“Milana Asha Shol Naur e’ Angu”
Marcus heard words of power unlike those of the Thayvian mages emanating from the elf behind him. He glanced behind him to see the elf concentrating on the champion and her lips moving with a spell. He had only caught a few words. Spirit and Fire?Forest?What the..
Okay..the elf has lost it. He thought to himself
He noticed the other two Gnolls had charged forward, no doubt taking advantage of the fact their dead brethren were the focus of the champion. The attacked with earnest each slashing with their weapons at the champions flank. One landed a blow on the champions left side but was turned aside by his armor, the other Gnoll slashed into the left leg with his axe, rewarded with a warm spray of blood as his blow struck home.
Minos raised his head and roared in rage, his horns displaying pieces of flesh, blood running down his armored head and ichor dripping from his fanged muzzle. He spun to his left lashing out in a two-handed swing at the Gnolls.
But the Gnolls were keen to avoid the fate of the others had already jumped away just outside of the arc. The power of the attack spun the champion around, his axe smashing into the arena wall, knocking huge chunks of sandstone from it but exposing his right side.
Marcus and the dwarfs rushed forward as one.
The Dwarves, used to fighting larger opponents, quickly moved inside the champions attack arc and hacked away at his right side. Two blows glanced off of the armor but the black bearded dwarf’s blade sunk deeply into the Minotaur’s leg. The dwarf twisted the blade viciously and ripped it free.
Minos snarled in pain.
Marcus surged forward, attacking with his Khurki. The blade struck but was deflected by the champion’s armor. However his impetus of his charge carried him forward and Marcus slammed into the Minotaur’s right side. He felt the strength of the beast, the bovine stench, and the odor of fresh blood.
Minos released the axe with his right arm and attacked with his spiked fist at the attackers on his flank. His huge arm whipped diagonally toward the ground in a sweeping attack meant to catch anyone on his flank.
Marcus dropped straight down, the attack just missing his head.
The black bearded dwarf spun in a display of great skill and rolled almost easily around the back of the champion’s leg evading the attack.
The braided dwarf caught the spiked gauntlet right in the temple, the blow killing him instantly, and throwing his body into red beard. They went to the ground in a tumble of arms and legs.
Minos pivoted to place his back against the wall forcing Marcus to scramble to avoid the iron shod hooves. He raised his great axe for an overhand strike at Marcus, his massive arms raised up above his head, his legs braced for the power attack that would cleave and smash Marcus into pieces.
Marcus stood straight up, driving with all the power his legs, arms and hips could muster. The Khurki flashed in one concentrated, focused arc. Marcus remembered an old Dwarf mentor saying “you can nick away at a giant all day, but one GOOD cleave in the right spot…”
Marcus felt the Khukri slash through the chain mail above him, heard the smack of steel parting flesh and felt the spray of the warm blood.
Minos roared in pain, but the roar sounded different, it started with a low rumble and rose to the blood curling screech of an animal that had been hurt.
Hurt Bad.
Marcus could have sworn he heard someone in the crowd stammer “Did you see where he hit him?”
The great axe came down hard, but not with any control on the part of Minos. The haft of the weapon smashed into Marcus’s left shoulder forcing him to one knee and breaking his collarbone with a sickening crunch, the blade slashing into the ground just behind him. Minos was hurt and staggered slightly, his axe only loosely gripped, almost leaning upon it. Dark red blood flowed from beneath the chain mail and onto the sandy floor of the arena. Marcus dove to the right, pain lancing through his side. He combat rolled to his feet putting some distance between he and the champion.
Marcus’s eyes locked with the champions. “Too late to respect us now” he whispered.
The two Gnolls and Redbeard attacked. The first Gnoll swung his heavy sword at the Minotaur’s arm, glancing off his armor but knocking the Minotaur’s left hand free of his weapon. The second Gnoll hacked at the champions huge armored head but missed it completely. Redbeard jumped forward in a diving cross body block against the Minotaur’s arms, hoping to dislodge the axe. Smashing shoulder first into Minos’s wrist, the dwarf knocked the weapon free of the Minotaur’s hands and hit the ground roughly, the spikes of the champions armor drawing long gashes on the unarmored dwarven warrior. Blackbeard gave ground, shouting and waving as he moved to the Minotaur’s left flank, hoping to distract him from the others rushing forward.
The problem with wounded animals is that they are unpredictable and dangerous.
Minos was far from finished, roaring with fury, he slashed out with his bladed horns and gauntleted fists at the opponents who had assaulted and disarmed him. The horns slashed to the right and just hooked the corner of Redbeard’s shoulder, snatching him back and throwing him to the ground. Minos heaved himself forward onto his left knee and pinned Redbeard to the ground. In an animalistic fury Minos drove his spiked gauntlets repeatedly into Redbeard’s skull. His head slammed to left, his bladed horns catching one of the Gnolls like a heavy spear, impaling him. With a violent jerk and a twist of his massive armored head Minos stood to his full height and shook the Gnoll off his horn.
The second Gnoll jumped back just out of range of the berserk champion’s furious attacks.
Marcus knew two things; first his shoulder was broken and his left arm was useless, one of his weapons lost as he scrambled to avoid the iron shod hooves of Minos. Each movement sent a crash of pain through his body, almost knocking him unconscious. It also suddenly occurred to Marcus that something smelled strange; out of place. The scent reminded him strangely of the foundries he worked around as a chamber attendant.
The smell of hot metal. He smelled such a scent many times working in the chambers. One of the horrific duties of an attendant is to collect the armor and weapons of the fallen after the games. Gore covered everything, dismembered hands still grasped weapons, body parts have pieces of metal embedded in them. Rent and torn armor littered the battleground. Kabran in a horrific example of thriftiness had all the weapons and armor of the fallen repaired or melted down for new forgings. The smell of the furnaces heating up was something Marcus had experienced as he brought piles of these items to the forges.
As Marcus slid backwards, further towards the center of the arena, he caught the sight of a dull almost imperceptible red glow emanating from portions of the Champions Armor; his breastplate, his left greave, his armored head. Was he hallucinating? He reached up and touched his shoulder with his right arm. He felt fractured bone piercing the skin.
“Milana Asha Shol Naur e’ Angu”
He heard it again. This time clearly. Forest Spirits Awaken Fire in Iron? Something like that? He glanced to his rear and saw the female elf clenching her spear, looking terrified but speaking words of power under her breath.
Apparently Minos noticed it too. He stopped, his head cocked slightly as if listening to something. He reached up and touched his armor covered head and felt the heat emanating from it. The pain of the heated metal was beginning to penetrate the fog of his fury.
Marcus glanced at the elf; she was shifting back further away, putting distance between her and the champion.
To me!! Marcus cried to the Dwarf and remaining Gnoll while moving back.
They didn’t hesitate scrambling to his side.
Still not understanding what was happening; Minos reached down grabbing his axe and limped towards the 4 remaining combatants. His steps were laborious now, multiple wounds to his legs and right side bled freely. The wound from Marcus flowed deep and dark.
The four stayed in a semi circle, moving to the right and left maintaining their distance. To the crowd it appeared they were stalling- They booed and hissed their disapproval.
Minos kept pressing forward forcing them towards a corner all the while touching his parts of his armor, shaking his head in anger, and increasing pain.
Marcus checked his position, realizing they had nowhere to maneuver to. He braced up for the charge that was sure to come, glancing at his companions, who stood ready beside him, Blackbeard with his Shortsword, the Gnoll with his axe and the Elf, her spear braced and set against the charge.
Minos roared and charged, his axe held high.
Then he staggered and stopped.
Minos roared in pain.
Marcus saw the realization in Minos’s eyes when the heated metal suddenly began to sear his entire body. He realized he was burning, burning everywhere. The metal on his body, breastplate, gauntlet, greaves and helm, including the metallic blades that had been affixed to his horns and the decorative jewelry that pierced his flesh had been building in the last few moments. What started as a mild discomfort had built into flesh burning heat. The quartet could hear the sizzle of flesh against the armor. Minos dropped his axe, and shook off his his steaming gauntlets grabbing at his red hot helm in an attempt to get it off. Unfortunately for him, the helm is mounted on by his attendants and the clamps could not easily be removed. Flesh sizzled and popped, small streams of smoke rose from all over his armored body.
Marcus could see the flesh burning, see the exposed rings or flesh around Minos eyes swell and blister from the heat, he watched as he grabbed at his armor, trying to yank it off but burning his hands further in the process. Minos fell to one knee, his massive head writhing side to side in pain.The smell reached him and wafted into the crowd.
Screams of protests filled the arena. Many spectators realizing something was very wrong.
Cheaters! Steel Only!! Cried a fat Red Robed mage
No Magic!! Cried a talisman tattooed female
Kabran seemed unaffected, he watched seemingly amused.
CHARGE! Marcus screamed.
The four charged, driving forward with all their might and striking Minos as one. The spear hit Minos squarely in the chest, its point piercing the heat-softened metal easily and sliding between the ribs and into his bovine heart. The Dwarf‘s shortsword impacted with uppercut thrust driving under Minos chin and up through his the top of his fanged muzzle. The Gnolls axe swung in a powerful overhand arc, splitting mail and cleaving into the champions thick neck. Marcus, ignoring the pain lancing through his body held his Khukri in a reverse grip, the blade braced spine along his forearm. He slammed it into the throat of the champion with all of his anger and fury. He felt the chain mail surrender to the force of the blow, saw the satisfying spray of the Minotaur’s blood and felt his blade rip through from front to the back of the champions neck.
The combined blows of the four decapitated the champions head and sent it flying to the arenas floor.
Marcus crumbled to the ground surrendering to unconsciousness, as his vision went black, he saw the Dwarf simply standing there, his weapon lost - still lodged in the Minotaur’s muzzle. The Gnoll, barked and howled in victory, and the Elf, went to her knees, and wept her shoulders heaving with grief.
-----------------------------------I have more let me know what you think bad and good
