Old School Fantasy RP IC 1

Sitting alone in a damp cell, he bitterly accepted the short time he had to sleep.
Clad in only a crude pair of mud encrusted moccasins and a pair of tattered slacks a size too small for his large six and a half foot frame, he did not shiver nor shake. His home in the Mohran mountains was always cold, and even then he did not wear much more than a pair of trousers, boots and a blacksmiths apron. Nor did he fear his captors enough to shake, as cruel as they were.
He would break out, but despite his size he was still only one man, and a tired, sore man at that. If only he could get his hands on some sort of club he might stand a chance, but the jailers kept all weapons and items that could become weapons well out of his reach.

He drifted off into a light sleep that brought back memories of his home, his father and the beauty of the stone.
Sovryn Mohran was the son of Guhl Mohran, High Lord of the Mohran mountains, great-great-great grandson of the mountain ranges namesake. He was born and raised in the town of Gamund, which was a large settlement that stretched from the innards of the mountain, out onto the mountainside.
By the age of seventeen (Sorengar still count on the same calendar as men due to their presence both in and out of the mountains), Sovryn was already a competent warrior, and stood above many men twice his age, and his skill with the hammer and anvil was great indeed.
So when Guhl Mohran's home was brought under threat of attack and plagued by skirmishes by the allied forces of the Grey Dwarves, Goblins and Orcs, the task was handed to Sovryn to seek aid from the surrounding lands, which were held in good standing with Gamund due to healthy trade relations established.

While on the road, Sovryn and his small band were beset upon by bandits, bandits too well armed for the common brigands and cut-throats that robbed peasant wagons. They had magical weapons and, struck down Sovryn's men with arrows of poison, leaving only Sovryn and two others alive.
They were eventually sold to the gladiator pits in the Capital, where both men were eventually killed in the bloodsport. One man was sliced open at the throat by a maniac while the other was savaged by a gryphon.
Sovryn so far had refused to fight, and was still alive. It made him something of a villain to the crowds, but also a spectacle to be seen.
None of them seemed to know who he was, though he caught bits and pieces from both the jailers and the harsh crowds, that he was being advertised as an aberration, a coupling of whore and Orc.
Nothing offended him more.

With the heavy click-clack of his cell door being unlocked he jolted awake, his eyes focusing quickly as two burly jailers approached.
"You're up, you filth. Time for the pit, and you better bloody fight this time or I'll have you lashed and branded until the sun comes up and then some more!"
The jailers yanked Sovryn's chains, pulling him momentarily to his feet before he lost his balanced and tumbled to the muddy floor. It was a position of great indignity and he struggled to swallow his anger.
Instead he got to his feet and fixed the jailer with a cold leer.
"How about you get in the pit with me, and the crowd can watch me tear your head off," he said in his strange accent. Most people who met Sorengar often mistook them for otherwise grossly large men imitating dwarves, though their accents were very similar.
The quip was met with a sharp blow to the gut by the jailers club and Sovryn was dragged out of his cell to be prepared to fight.

The crowd was loud and enthusiastic, hundreds of voices resounding, twisting heavenward as their owners anxiously waited for the ‘games’ to start. Excitement gleamed in the eyes of the spectators, anticipation so thick it was nearly palpable. The stands were overflown, several couples sharing their seat. The stadium in which the fighters fought in dominated the area and drew the eye, a pit in which spectators could look into with ease. It smelled of blood, of fear and anger and desperation. Aerith felt contempt writhing inside; a cold snake slithering, oily coils sickening and tight. Were they Man or were they beast? Pinning prisoners against one another in a death match for survival was repulsive. The blood and death and screams… it was disgusting.

“It’s invigorating.”

The thought came unbidden, as they always did when they derived from that faction of her nature. The part of her that reveled in blood shed, in the splitting of flesh and bone, the taste of blood and the smell of terror. The part of Aerith that loved the games and the sheer animalistic brutality of them, the excitement that shamed her deeply. Kill or be killed, live or fall down to a predator made stronger than you. Life in motion.

No.

She stood beside the human who had hired her for the past two months. Unlike the swell of humanity that surrounded him, Lucius Black sat serenely with an expression verging on boredom. Aerith could detect the dark malice that lite his eyes, however. He would feign boredom now, but one of his concubines would feel the effect of the man's excitement tonight. As she gathered, they usually did not enjoy it. "Aerith? A question, if you will." Lucius spoke, his voice civil and refined. He was a hard man - a man who would take full advantage of Aerith’s power, had he known the extent of it. The half-demon took care to see that he – and the rest of the world – did not discover she was anything less than human. A small illusion spell concealed her black horns, the same spell also infusing her eyes with a flood of green. Assuredly a rather strange human, true, but still a human by all appearances. Tilting her head she peered at her employer. "Of course, my lord." She replied in a cool tone. "You pay for the service."

"If I were to order you into the pits, would you comply?" His expression was untouched, but his eyes flashed menacingly. Strangely, she felt the first stirrings of unease at that. His cruelty was always reserved for his concubines; Aerith was a hiring, not a slave. She could refuse service whenever she felt it was necessary, although so far she has felt no driving need to. Her job for Lucius was in the capacity as a bodyguard, though rarely did it require she fight. Most of Lucius enemies preferred to stay hidden.

"Unlikely, my lord." She replied, casting her gaze away from the man. She heard the disappointment in his voice. "What a shame."

Rinn-Zeela-Tae was slowly being led through a narrow pathway by two burly looking guards who each had a hand on the iron collar wrapped around his neck. "Stupid lizard thinks he can be part of our society. Nothing but savages!" One guard said to the other. "All these different races trying to prove they are better makes me sick." The other guard replied. Rinn was smart enough to just stay quiet otherwise he may get yet another beating before getting tossed someplace like a useless dog. Both guards yanking the chain back and forth in a manner that would break a humans neck until they reached a large wooden gate that lifted slowly revealing a rather large arena. Damp dirt and cold mud littered with occasional rock or two encased within a large fence made from redwood logs. It would actually be a nice place to look at if the floor wasn't littered with blood stains and shards of broken weapons and armor.

"You toss Rinn-Zeela into a ring of death for eating a chicken?" He said to his captors. "A civil person of society would know that taking shelter in a farmers chicken hut and eating their livestock is against the law!" The guard replied with a swift kick to Rinn's midsection. Pushing him into the ring and closing the gate behind him. "Now pay what you owe in blood or just simply die lizard!" The guard shouted once more. Rinn pushed himself out of the cold mud and stood up. The iron band around his neck was cumbersome, and the first chance he could get he would try and wiggle out of it, but for now, he needed to see what was in store for him.

The Capitol. Judas's search had brought him this far, for an answer. How to bring about Black Dawn? He'd told Kira to stay behind at the fort and hold the place down in case somebody found it, unlikely though it would have been. Since he was in the capitol, however, Judas decided to take a bit of time for leisure. The arena was something he'd always wanted to see himself. Two prisoners - or a prisoner and one or several beasts - thrown together into a ring of death to see who would emerge victorious. The poetry of life and death was portrayed perfectly here in the most savage of ways. Judas eagerly anticipated the fight. If he himself were ever captured and brought into this arena, he was at least handy with a blade, and most certainly knew his way around the dark arts. He would have been able to kill whatever foe was thrown his way and make a very nice effort at escaping from captivity. If Kira were captured and brought here, she'd probably lose herself to the chaos of true battle and kill everything. Such outbursts of absolute mayhem were a big reason Judas often kept her in the fort, isolated from the world.

The combatants present, however, seemed to make for an interesting fight. One was a lizard man, not particularly bulky looking by any means, but surely agile since he was a lizard. The other was a giant of a man, surely with plenty of strength to spare. The strongest warrior wasn't necessarily the one that won in combat, but Judas would be willing to put money on the big guy this time. Surely the kind of muscle forged in the mountains, with ice and hammers. Judas could use such a person. Perhaps if he walked out of the arena alive, Judas would attempt to purchase him from the arena. Were the giant of a man (or any arena combatant for that matter) not for sale, Plan B consisted of killing anybod who tried to get in his way. He hated ending things that way, but if the means justify the end...

For now, though, the best thing Judas could do was watch the fight.

A cradle for the fleshlings, a place where they gather to feel safe and secure in the knowledge that the walls and guards of the city will protect them. However, in doing so they turn their refuge into a prison cell and like all prisons this one was rotten to the core. In the outside world survival was the key, the way of living and guiding one another to live another day, but within these walls only two things truly mattered; coin and entertainment. This was a whole new world compared to the one he had left behind so long ago, when these beings were still in their baby days, though there was much growing to do.

Slowly Orin's large frame rose from the steps leading up from the arena entrance and into the stands, his size making him stick out from all the cheering fans though the fleshlings had long since grown custom to seeing constructs within the arena that tended to their needs. On his back Orin had a large blue clothe to cover up the pieces of iron he used as weapons; he had collected it from a market stands roof, though he left a piece of rare rock to compensate the owner for the trouble. "This place seems fitting" He spoke to himself as he made his way down to the edge of the arena, ignoring all the fleshlings trying to ask him for something called a big gulp.

This was the place where blood was spilled for entertainment, and from what he heard it was not all criminals but also innocent animals and fleshlings of all differing races, and from looking in the pit it was clear that these two were not totally blood thirsty killers. However, here he would find the ones that would help him to reach the Makers... But the fighting was less than desirable his stone rumbled and twisted as he settled down on the marble steps. Stone was heavy and tiring. Though he was more interested in the combatants at first his attention was taken by the strange white haired maiden and her rather 'unique' features.

After being dragged through the bowels of the arena's cells, Sovryn was handed a short sword (which looked like a dagger clenched in his large, calloused fist) and attempted to don a crude cuirass, but when it was deemed ill-fitting enough, the jailers carelessly threw it aside and lead him out into the arena.
The glare of the sun stung his eyes, and the overwhelming din of the voracious crowd caused a momentary sensory overload. For a few seconds he was both blind and deaf, and he panicked. He swung the sword wildly to fend off any blows, nearly slicing off the ear of one of the jailers before the other one knocked him down to size with a sharp blow of his club to the back of Sovryn's knee.
The crowd roared in abject approval, sated on the violence like piglets suckling from the mothers teat.
"So you got some fight in you, dog." The jailer sneered in Sovryn's ear before kicking him down onto his belly, a cloud of dust billowing up from the dirty arena floor.

The jailers unclasped the chains from his collar and retreated back behind the heavy gate.
Sovryn arose and stood at his full height, absorbing the malice of the crowd with quiet contempt. He took a deep breath, turned his eyes on his opponent. He was the size of a man, though that was where the similarities ended.
Sovryn had met very, very few of these creatures, but the Sorengar and Reptillians had never had any cause for conflict. It was rare for a Sorengar to travel to the arid regions of the Reptillians just as Reptillians would not venture into the chill of the Sorengars mountain homes.

"You," Sovryn called out, "You're a Reptillian, are you not?"
He had to shout above the crowd, screaming for blood, Sovryn would have loved to give into his rage and destroy his opponent, or even scale the walls of the arena and crack a few skulls, but that was not the man Guhl Mohran had raised him to be, and Sovryn was here to secure aid for Gamund.
How long has it been since I was sent on this pilgrimage? My father would believe me dead. I cannot fail my people, though I fear I already have.
"You have done me no wrong, I will not fight you," Sovryn decreed, and he dropped his sword to the ground.
This was met with fury from the crowd, before slowly descending into a silence, eerie in the midday light.

Rinn watched closely as the large man came out from the opposite side of the gate. Dropping his sword. It must be a trick! There was no human that was nice to his kind, that is why they stayed away. Rinn was an exception, an Exile, a "Tae". He lost his home because of his curiosity. The cat was lucky enough to die instead of being tossed away like a bad omen. "Man can fight just as well with hands than blade human. How do I know this is not Fay-ka, a trick?" Rinn stepped back and stayed low in case it was a trick. There's no telling what these humans are capable of. "I am not Reptillian, I am Zeela-tae, if you do not wish to fight than neither does Rinn."

He watched the humans movements, he seemed stable and strong, but not threatening. His stance was neutral, not offensive, but his odor was. "If you give me your Tes-vow, your blood word, I will not fight a fellow chicken eater. That, Rinn-zeela-tae will promise!" Rinn took his claw and cut a small slit on his stomach. Just enough to draw blood. This was a show of promise. To give show ones weakest spot and give wound was an oath of kinship. If both of kin perform this, they are bound friends and can never fight.

The iron-door opened, and out came a lizard-man, a collar bound around his neck. The shackles they place on their play toys; better to give them a clean death then to pit them against one another like animals. Of course, they used animals, as well. Aerith half-suspected that they only did that when one of the prisoners lasted too long, or if they ran out of sentient combatants. Which begged the question: was this creature -this fighter thrusted forth into a pit of blood and death- even capable of recognizing it's situation? Did it even know what it's human captors demanded of it? What the crowd, redoubled in cries as it's appearance overthrew anticipation and reservations, demanded of it? They wanted his blood. All of them.

Aerith was not often moved to pity, but now she began to feel the stirrings of righteous outrage and indignation on the lizard-man's behalf.

An itch, that grew to a crawling sensation started in between her shoulder blades. The half-demon turned her head, searching for the source of her discomfort. She searched the crowd as covertly as possible, first one way, then the other, and found herself caught in the regard of an ancient automaton. She felt a sliver of unease - why should it show an interest? Perhaps it was just looking around for patrons; after all, were they not the vendors for the arena? Yes, she recalled seeing several serving the humans. Strange, but not at all unusual.

She dismissed the feeling, instead refocusing on the arena. The second gate was swigging open.

"Aerith."

"Yes, my lord?"

"A flagon of wine, if you will."

The mercenary looked down on her employer, who's undivided attention was riveted on the arena. Servitude of this nature was not what he paid her for. She was nearly tempted to voice as much, but realized she actually didn't care enough to. He paid her, and if the lord wanted her to fetch a flagon of wine, she would do as such. The task also presented a viable excuse to not have to watch the violent exchange of the fighters, and an opportunity to gauge the large construct more closely. She bowed her head to Lucius, turned on her heel and left the lord. Navigating through the seats she was nearly deafened by the sudden roar as the collected human blood lust manifested into screams. She grimaced and approached the automaton.

"Wine. The most expensive vintage you have." She said, gazing up at the construct.

If the old construct had any ability to in its current form it would have let out a small smile at the sight of the small human dropping his sword in defiance of the other fleshlings wishes that there be blood in their name. Though the man was large he was still small in comparison to the constructs of old, but that was the reason he thought of the word small instead of tiny.

"Wine. The most expensive vintage you have."

Despite him ignoring the others around him asking for the same service something caused the construct to look back towards the women. Maybe it was her eyes or the sound of her voice that commanded a little more than the baying crowd around the old stone construct. As his form turned fro its sitting place the old stone that made up its body rumbled a little from the action, along with some dried up vines breaking off. Unlike the others within the arena this construct was not made up of marble and was much larger, that much was clear being so up close now.

"Though your blood is old you seem to lack the wisdom of your peers."

Placing its hands down onto the steps it forced itself up from them, its upper body still remained facing the women as its legs soon followed suit.

"I have not got anything to sell. I am not like the hollow stone you see walking around, I do not process what you are looking for"

Quote:

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Originally Posted by Rinn

Rinn watched closely as the large man came out from the opposite side of the gate. Dropping his sword. It must be a trick! There was no human that was nice to his kind, that is why they stayed away. Rinn was an exception, an Exile, a "Tae". He lost his home because of his curiosity. The cat was lucky enough to die instead of being tossed away like a bad omen. "Man can fight just as well with hands than blade human. How do I know this is not Fay-ka, a trick?" Rinn stepped back and stayed low in case it was a trick. There's no telling what these humans are capable of. "I am not Reptillian, I am Zeela-tae, if you do not wish to fight than neither does Rinn." He watched the humans movements, he seemed stable and strong, but not threatening. His stance was neutral, not offensive, but his odor was. "If you give me your Tes-vow, your blood word, I will not fight a fellow chicken eater. That, Rinn-zeela-tae will promise!" Rinn took his claw and cut a small slit on his stomach. Just enough to draw blood. This was a show of promise. To give show ones weakest spot and give wound was an oath of kinship. If both of kin perform this, they are bound friends and can never fight.

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Sovryn nodded, a small smile crossed his hard face. It wasn't much to call hope, but it was more than he had been given for a long time. "You are the first creature I've come across in such an agreeable manner. You are unlike the filth that fills these seats and for that you have my...blood word. I assure you, it is no trick." Sovryn was careful to repeat it back like the Reptillian had said it to him. He was unfamiliar with the creatures customs, but he did his best to understand. Or Zeela-tae as the creature had corrected him. "My people await my return, though I will come back empty-handed. I don't know how long it has been since I was taken, I cannot waste any more time. If you've any idea of how we can escape this mess, I'm listening." His jaw clenched imperceptibly, his patience was down to a rope end and his deepest dread called out to him like a hideous banshee wail, playing on every fear he had of returning home and finding Gamund an empty and decayed shell, ransacked by the Grey Dwarves and their Orckind allies, or the fear that he may never escape to know either way.