Post by Hector Olith on Oct 23, 2013 23:20:51 GMT -5
Chapter One- The Pit
Ninety-three. That's how many men this one man had slain in one month. He fought tirelessly, sustaining wounds and then seemingly having none the next day. He was a curiosity, especially considering that he had entered The Pit willingly, striking a bargain with Tarmgraf himself. Tarmgraf couldn't believe that this man had lasted so long without leaving, let alone surviving. The deal was one hundred corpses for the audience's enjoyment for three thousand gold pieces- the amount of gold Tarmgraf usually accumulates over a two week time frame in any normal period of time.
But this man's fame had grown and he has sold out nearly every day for the last three weeks, lining his pockets with more coin than he gets in half a year. Everybody came in hopes that they would see the Masked Cageman. He always wore a mask and heavy armor, completely hiding his appearance. Maybe it was all part of his appeal, Tarmgraf didn't really care as long as he kept the gold flowing in. But alas, all things come to an end.
This man had no idea that today would be his last in one way or another. Tarmgraf had matched him against seven of his ten personal guards as opponents. These men were trained in a land renowned for its one on one fighters, so they should be more than capable of killing one man. Tarmgraf expected to lose quite a few of his guards anyways in the battle, however, already sending payment for four more to their home country. The Masked Cageman was brutal in his fights, showing off superhuman strength and still somehow maintaining an above average speed in all that armor. It never scratched, his weapon never broke, and he apparently never got wounded. Many call him the God of War, but such sacrilege couldn't be true.
"Sir, it is starting." His highest ranked bodyguard informed him. He had kept his best three, each as skilled as three fighters in their own right, for his own protection. Maybe he was just a little paranoid, but he honestly didn't care. Whatever kept him alive was fine with him.
"Very well. Let them enter onto the sands." Tarmgraf said. If this man did win, Tarmgraf had a backup plan. He would have his three guards detain the man and capture him for future games. It was risky, but Tarmgraf also had no intention of paying the man either and wouldn't want to have a man like him after his life. Tarmgraf stood, his old bones creaking from the sound. He figured soon enough that he would sell this place anyways. Eighty really isn't a good age for this type of thing, but oh well. He grabbed his staff and followed his guard out of the room. They walked for a couple minutes, a second guard taking a left along the way to inform the competitors that they would be killing each other soon.
Tarmgraf entered onto the overarching balcony, causing the huge crowd to scream in excitement. It was deafening! Tarmgraf held a hand up to silence the crowd, his two guards standing next to him. He turned to them both and gave a wink, signaling for them both to go wait with his third guard. They bowed, turned, and left as the crowd was dying down. It didn't die much at first. The door closed behind him and Tarmgraf locked it with a little flick of his hand. He didn't have much magic left in him, but just enough to do simple things. He kept urging the crowd to hush, and they eventually obliged after a couple minutes.
"Men, women, children, elves, dwarves, orcs; all of you are here for a show! Well, I can assure you that you will be entertained on this day!" He called out, amplifying his voice with a small amount of magic. It carried over the arena, reaching everybody's ears. They started up a little with excited murmurs. Tarmgraf waved his hand to his left, where one of two gates were shut. "To my left, I give you seven men capable of killing anybody who gets in their way! Men ruthless in their fights, trained to kill for no reason other than they were commanded! I give you, the Seven Stethri!" With that, the gate opened and his seven other guards marched out in single file, then split apart and formed a semi circle around half of the arena. Each of them were in full plate armor, it being easier to move in than the chain mail so many men were fond of.
Each had a spear and kite shield along with two daggers, three javelins, and one hand-and-a-half sword. They were intimidating in every sense of the word, a full on deterrent to any who would dare challenge them even if it was in name alone. The crowd cheered at these newcomers, apparently believing the same thing as Tarmgraf did in terms of their appearance. Tarmgraf waved his hand to his right, causing another burst of excited screams from the crowd. "And to my right, a man who has killed ninety-three men before this day! A man seemingly immortal and immune to every injury known to this arena! A man with no face, a man incapable of fear! I give you the Masked Cagefighter!" As soon as he spoke those last two words, the crowd screamed and cheered louder than Tarmgraf had ever heard them scream and cheer before. Tarmgraf smiled, knowing that he had raked in the money with the crowd today.
The gate opened, and the Masked Cagefighter walked calmly out onto the field, mask on and ax in hand. The mask was skintight leather with holes for his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. A very simple mask, but effective nonetheless. His armor gleamed blue with a very nice trim. Tarmgraf had never been close enough to the man to actually see the color, but it seemed nice. He raised his ax in silence, causing even more cheers. Another part of his character: he never made a sound. Every hard knock, every swing, he never made a sound or spoke a word by all accounts.
After a couple minutes of cheering, Tarmgraf finally got them to settle long enough for him to announce one last thing. "This will be his final match! A testament to how well he was done for you all! Maybe, sometime in the future, he will return and bless us all with his martial prowess again! Begin!" He screamed without pausing for breath. He sat, hearing a knock at the door. He unlocked it and found that one of his slave girls was there holding a goblet of wine for him. She was clad just like all his other female slaves; threadbare dress made of the cloth the make potato sacks with. It was brown, rough, signifying their status. Each slave was no older than eighteen, as that's when they got a little too mature for Tarmgraf. When the hit that age, he gave her to his guards to do with what they please as long as they kill her afterwards. They appreciated the gesture immensely.
This one was... fifteen, if he remembered correctly. "Come here, girl!" he ordered her. She came closer, head down to show acceptance of her status. Tarmgraf reached up her dress and felt her female parts, then moved to her breasts. They were large for her age, pleasing Tarmgraf. They were soft as well, pleasing him greater. He fondled them and then squeezed hard, causing the girl to squint her eyes in pain. Tarmgraf pulled her down by the breast and smacked her. "Never show displeasure to what I do! You are a slave, enjoy my touch!" He ordered, spittle smacking her in the face. He let go, dismissing her. She left, crying Tarmgraf assumed, and then he locked the door again. The crowd went wild, causing Tarmgraf to pay closer attention to the fight at hand. The masked man had his ax buried in the skull of one of his guards and was in the process of taking his spear and a javelin. One of his other men had a hand missing and the other five were organizing a group assault it seemed. The man took the javelin and hurled it faster than should be possible at the wounded man, causing the javelin to go through his heart and pinning him against the wall. He died quickly, thankfully.
The man turned just in time to see the five man assault against him. He jumped higher than should be possible and stomped on one of the spears of the five men. It forced the man down and snapped the spear in half. The man hit the ground and the masked man landed on top of his back. He stomped on the back of his helmet, crushing it and the man's skull he assumed. The spear he had in his hand quickly found its way into one of the other four's back, again through the heart. He quickly ducked and rolled off of the man under him and jumped back up. He had the broken half of the man's spear with the head on it. He hurled it at another man. It found its mark in his right shoulder, making the man drop his spear. The other two men stood close together, thinking that maybe they'd be fine if they stayed close. The masked man walked calmly over to the wounded man, who had dropped his shield in favor of breaking off the spear's remaining shaft so that it didn't impede his movement.
The masked man grabbed his left hand with his left hand and pulled. The guard lurched forward, helpless, as the masked man brought his right hand up and snapped the guard's elbow through the armor. The crowd was going nuts by this point, some of the women had started stripping in adrenaline fueled ecstasy and a few couples were openly having sex in front of other people. It was amazing what happened when people were entertained in one of the most carnal ways possible. The masked man kicked the guard in the knee, causing it to bend inwards at an awkward angle. Broken, easily, just like the guard's neck once the masked man was done with him. He calmly walked over and wrenched his ax out of the first guard's skull. It was dripping with blood and brains, staining even more of the sand red with the various puddles that had accumulated so far.
He walked calmly over to the two men, one of which tried to quickly jab at the masked man with his spear. The man grabbed it, like it was moving slow. It was ridiculous! He broke the spear with an upward motion and then threw the tip into the man's right leg. He collapsed, and the masked man walked over to him calmly. The javelin skimmed over his face, causing a spurt of blood to blow out from his face. The masked man reeled, the unexpected attack catching him completely off guard. Then, he made a sound. He screamed, but it didn't sound like pain. No, it sounded like enjoyment. A scream of ecstasy that echoed through the stands. The crowd was quiet, all obscene acts halted for the time being. The man ripped off the mask, revealing a head of blue hair. It was really a shock, especially to Tarmgraf. He had never seen anything like it! This man was truly unique. The guard who threw the javelin prepped another one and threw it. The blue headed man swatted it out of the air and started marching directly at the second man. The cut on his face, no the gash on his face, was bleeding badly. It had cut directly across the bridge of his nose, covering all but his eyes in blood.
The second guard had the third javelin ready to go, but he had it ready too late. The blue haired man grabbed the javelin and broke off the tip as the second guard brought his shield up to bash the blue haired man. He blocked it and stabbed the man through his armor between his neck and shoulder. The guard stood for a second, before dropping to his knees. Blood spurted out from the wound and had started leaking from the breathing spaces in his visor. The blue haired man turned and grabbed the second guard's spear from the ground. He walked calmly to the only guard left, and impaled him through the gut with the spear. As soon as this happened, the suspense broke and the crowd roared again, blocking out any other sound one could hear. The sex and nudity continued in full force, and the blue haired man held his bloody ax into the air again.
Just as he turned away from the gate the guards came out of, the final and best three guards ran out. They were lightly armed and armored for maximum speed. The blue haired man turned quickly, switching his ax to his left hand and drawing his sword in his right. He jumped at the three men, much unexpected by them. Quickly, brutally, the man cut one man completely in half with his ax and ran his sword through the chest of another. The third guard stopped in his tracks, stunned by this sudden burst of skill. The blue haired man withdrew his sword and approached the last guard. He quickly abandoned his weapons and ran back through the gate. The crowd was still cheering incessantly, but now Tarmgraf was worried. This man would expect payment now. Reluctantly, he stood and walked out the door as the blue haired man took off into the arena through the gate.
Tarmgraf fiddled through his coin purse, seeing how much gold he had on hand. He found it was a little over one-thousand coins. He ran one though his fingers, noting how it wasn't much larger than his fingernail. So small, yet so much value. Tarmgraf walked slowly with his staff towards where the blue haired man would be coming. He sighed, ready to part with his coin. To Tarmgraf's surprise, he found all twenty of his female slaves awaiting him in the hallway. He frowned. "All of you go away, or so help me I'll-" he started. One of the women laughed.
"Or you'll what, old man? All your guards are dead or too scared to stand straight. Time for some revenge, you fucker." she said. With that, the women parted and the blue haired man walked through them. Tarmgraf raised his brow.
"You, I'll pay you double to kill these women right now." he offered. The blue haired man had wiped off the blood from his face and Tarmgraf noticed that the gash had actually started to heal. It wasn't bleeding anymore, which seemed impossible. Yet, here the evidence was.
"I'll pass. In fact, I'm the one who told them of their new found freedom." the blue haired man said. Tarmgraf gave a scowl.
"Then you can kiss you payment goodbye, you bastard!" he screamed. The man laughed, then sprinted directly towards Tarmgraf. His speed was incredible in that armor! Before Tarmgraf could even react, the man had his hand around Tarmgraf's throat and had him lifted into the air.
"I don't like it when people abuse their slaves. They'd be much better free in this land than under your rule. I don't want your damn payment, I want your life." the man said. Tarmgraf's eyes grew wide in terror, knowing deep down this man meant it. "But every man should know his killer. I am Hector Olith. Goodbye." With a quick flick of the wrist, Tarmgraf's vision instantly faded to black and he knew no more...
Ninety-three. That's how many men this one man had slain in one month. He fought tirelessly, sustaining wounds and then seemingly having none the next day. He was a curiosity, especially considering that he had entered The Pit willingly, striking a bargain with Tarmgraf himself. Tarmgraf couldn't believe that this man had lasted so long without leaving, let alone surviving. The deal was one hundred corpses for the audience's enjoyment for three thousand gold pieces- the amount of gold Tarmgraf usually accumulates over a two week time frame in any normal period of time.
But this man's fame had grown and he has sold out nearly every day for the last three weeks, lining his pockets with more coin than he gets in half a year. Everybody came in hopes that they would see the Masked Cageman. He always wore a mask and heavy armor, completely hiding his appearance. Maybe it was all part of his appeal, Tarmgraf didn't really care as long as he kept the gold flowing in. But alas, all things come to an end.
This man had no idea that today would be his last in one way or another. Tarmgraf had matched him against seven of his ten personal guards as opponents. These men were trained in a land renowned for its one on one fighters, so they should be more than capable of killing one man. Tarmgraf expected to lose quite a few of his guards anyways in the battle, however, already sending payment for four more to their home country. The Masked Cageman was brutal in his fights, showing off superhuman strength and still somehow maintaining an above average speed in all that armor. It never scratched, his weapon never broke, and he apparently never got wounded. Many call him the God of War, but such sacrilege couldn't be true.
"Sir, it is starting." His highest ranked bodyguard informed him. He had kept his best three, each as skilled as three fighters in their own right, for his own protection. Maybe he was just a little paranoid, but he honestly didn't care. Whatever kept him alive was fine with him.
"Very well. Let them enter onto the sands." Tarmgraf said. If this man did win, Tarmgraf had a backup plan. He would have his three guards detain the man and capture him for future games. It was risky, but Tarmgraf also had no intention of paying the man either and wouldn't want to have a man like him after his life. Tarmgraf stood, his old bones creaking from the sound. He figured soon enough that he would sell this place anyways. Eighty really isn't a good age for this type of thing, but oh well. He grabbed his staff and followed his guard out of the room. They walked for a couple minutes, a second guard taking a left along the way to inform the competitors that they would be killing each other soon.
Tarmgraf entered onto the overarching balcony, causing the huge crowd to scream in excitement. It was deafening! Tarmgraf held a hand up to silence the crowd, his two guards standing next to him. He turned to them both and gave a wink, signaling for them both to go wait with his third guard. They bowed, turned, and left as the crowd was dying down. It didn't die much at first. The door closed behind him and Tarmgraf locked it with a little flick of his hand. He didn't have much magic left in him, but just enough to do simple things. He kept urging the crowd to hush, and they eventually obliged after a couple minutes.
"Men, women, children, elves, dwarves, orcs; all of you are here for a show! Well, I can assure you that you will be entertained on this day!" He called out, amplifying his voice with a small amount of magic. It carried over the arena, reaching everybody's ears. They started up a little with excited murmurs. Tarmgraf waved his hand to his left, where one of two gates were shut. "To my left, I give you seven men capable of killing anybody who gets in their way! Men ruthless in their fights, trained to kill for no reason other than they were commanded! I give you, the Seven Stethri!" With that, the gate opened and his seven other guards marched out in single file, then split apart and formed a semi circle around half of the arena. Each of them were in full plate armor, it being easier to move in than the chain mail so many men were fond of.
Each had a spear and kite shield along with two daggers, three javelins, and one hand-and-a-half sword. They were intimidating in every sense of the word, a full on deterrent to any who would dare challenge them even if it was in name alone. The crowd cheered at these newcomers, apparently believing the same thing as Tarmgraf did in terms of their appearance. Tarmgraf waved his hand to his right, causing another burst of excited screams from the crowd. "And to my right, a man who has killed ninety-three men before this day! A man seemingly immortal and immune to every injury known to this arena! A man with no face, a man incapable of fear! I give you the Masked Cagefighter!" As soon as he spoke those last two words, the crowd screamed and cheered louder than Tarmgraf had ever heard them scream and cheer before. Tarmgraf smiled, knowing that he had raked in the money with the crowd today.
The gate opened, and the Masked Cagefighter walked calmly out onto the field, mask on and ax in hand. The mask was skintight leather with holes for his eyes, ears, nose, and mouth. A very simple mask, but effective nonetheless. His armor gleamed blue with a very nice trim. Tarmgraf had never been close enough to the man to actually see the color, but it seemed nice. He raised his ax in silence, causing even more cheers. Another part of his character: he never made a sound. Every hard knock, every swing, he never made a sound or spoke a word by all accounts.
After a couple minutes of cheering, Tarmgraf finally got them to settle long enough for him to announce one last thing. "This will be his final match! A testament to how well he was done for you all! Maybe, sometime in the future, he will return and bless us all with his martial prowess again! Begin!" He screamed without pausing for breath. He sat, hearing a knock at the door. He unlocked it and found that one of his slave girls was there holding a goblet of wine for him. She was clad just like all his other female slaves; threadbare dress made of the cloth the make potato sacks with. It was brown, rough, signifying their status. Each slave was no older than eighteen, as that's when they got a little too mature for Tarmgraf. When the hit that age, he gave her to his guards to do with what they please as long as they kill her afterwards. They appreciated the gesture immensely.
This one was... fifteen, if he remembered correctly. "Come here, girl!" he ordered her. She came closer, head down to show acceptance of her status. Tarmgraf reached up her dress and felt her female parts, then moved to her breasts. They were large for her age, pleasing Tarmgraf. They were soft as well, pleasing him greater. He fondled them and then squeezed hard, causing the girl to squint her eyes in pain. Tarmgraf pulled her down by the breast and smacked her. "Never show displeasure to what I do! You are a slave, enjoy my touch!" He ordered, spittle smacking her in the face. He let go, dismissing her. She left, crying Tarmgraf assumed, and then he locked the door again. The crowd went wild, causing Tarmgraf to pay closer attention to the fight at hand. The masked man had his ax buried in the skull of one of his guards and was in the process of taking his spear and a javelin. One of his other men had a hand missing and the other five were organizing a group assault it seemed. The man took the javelin and hurled it faster than should be possible at the wounded man, causing the javelin to go through his heart and pinning him against the wall. He died quickly, thankfully.
The man turned just in time to see the five man assault against him. He jumped higher than should be possible and stomped on one of the spears of the five men. It forced the man down and snapped the spear in half. The man hit the ground and the masked man landed on top of his back. He stomped on the back of his helmet, crushing it and the man's skull he assumed. The spear he had in his hand quickly found its way into one of the other four's back, again through the heart. He quickly ducked and rolled off of the man under him and jumped back up. He had the broken half of the man's spear with the head on it. He hurled it at another man. It found its mark in his right shoulder, making the man drop his spear. The other two men stood close together, thinking that maybe they'd be fine if they stayed close. The masked man walked calmly over to the wounded man, who had dropped his shield in favor of breaking off the spear's remaining shaft so that it didn't impede his movement.
The masked man grabbed his left hand with his left hand and pulled. The guard lurched forward, helpless, as the masked man brought his right hand up and snapped the guard's elbow through the armor. The crowd was going nuts by this point, some of the women had started stripping in adrenaline fueled ecstasy and a few couples were openly having sex in front of other people. It was amazing what happened when people were entertained in one of the most carnal ways possible. The masked man kicked the guard in the knee, causing it to bend inwards at an awkward angle. Broken, easily, just like the guard's neck once the masked man was done with him. He calmly walked over and wrenched his ax out of the first guard's skull. It was dripping with blood and brains, staining even more of the sand red with the various puddles that had accumulated so far.
He walked calmly over to the two men, one of which tried to quickly jab at the masked man with his spear. The man grabbed it, like it was moving slow. It was ridiculous! He broke the spear with an upward motion and then threw the tip into the man's right leg. He collapsed, and the masked man walked over to him calmly. The javelin skimmed over his face, causing a spurt of blood to blow out from his face. The masked man reeled, the unexpected attack catching him completely off guard. Then, he made a sound. He screamed, but it didn't sound like pain. No, it sounded like enjoyment. A scream of ecstasy that echoed through the stands. The crowd was quiet, all obscene acts halted for the time being. The man ripped off the mask, revealing a head of blue hair. It was really a shock, especially to Tarmgraf. He had never seen anything like it! This man was truly unique. The guard who threw the javelin prepped another one and threw it. The blue headed man swatted it out of the air and started marching directly at the second man. The cut on his face, no the gash on his face, was bleeding badly. It had cut directly across the bridge of his nose, covering all but his eyes in blood.
The second guard had the third javelin ready to go, but he had it ready too late. The blue haired man grabbed the javelin and broke off the tip as the second guard brought his shield up to bash the blue haired man. He blocked it and stabbed the man through his armor between his neck and shoulder. The guard stood for a second, before dropping to his knees. Blood spurted out from the wound and had started leaking from the breathing spaces in his visor. The blue haired man turned and grabbed the second guard's spear from the ground. He walked calmly to the only guard left, and impaled him through the gut with the spear. As soon as this happened, the suspense broke and the crowd roared again, blocking out any other sound one could hear. The sex and nudity continued in full force, and the blue haired man held his bloody ax into the air again.
Just as he turned away from the gate the guards came out of, the final and best three guards ran out. They were lightly armed and armored for maximum speed. The blue haired man turned quickly, switching his ax to his left hand and drawing his sword in his right. He jumped at the three men, much unexpected by them. Quickly, brutally, the man cut one man completely in half with his ax and ran his sword through the chest of another. The third guard stopped in his tracks, stunned by this sudden burst of skill. The blue haired man withdrew his sword and approached the last guard. He quickly abandoned his weapons and ran back through the gate. The crowd was still cheering incessantly, but now Tarmgraf was worried. This man would expect payment now. Reluctantly, he stood and walked out the door as the blue haired man took off into the arena through the gate.
Tarmgraf fiddled through his coin purse, seeing how much gold he had on hand. He found it was a little over one-thousand coins. He ran one though his fingers, noting how it wasn't much larger than his fingernail. So small, yet so much value. Tarmgraf walked slowly with his staff towards where the blue haired man would be coming. He sighed, ready to part with his coin. To Tarmgraf's surprise, he found all twenty of his female slaves awaiting him in the hallway. He frowned. "All of you go away, or so help me I'll-" he started. One of the women laughed.
"Or you'll what, old man? All your guards are dead or too scared to stand straight. Time for some revenge, you fucker." she said. With that, the women parted and the blue haired man walked through them. Tarmgraf raised his brow.
"You, I'll pay you double to kill these women right now." he offered. The blue haired man had wiped off the blood from his face and Tarmgraf noticed that the gash had actually started to heal. It wasn't bleeding anymore, which seemed impossible. Yet, here the evidence was.
"I'll pass. In fact, I'm the one who told them of their new found freedom." the blue haired man said. Tarmgraf gave a scowl.
"Then you can kiss you payment goodbye, you bastard!" he screamed. The man laughed, then sprinted directly towards Tarmgraf. His speed was incredible in that armor! Before Tarmgraf could even react, the man had his hand around Tarmgraf's throat and had him lifted into the air.
"I don't like it when people abuse their slaves. They'd be much better free in this land than under your rule. I don't want your damn payment, I want your life." the man said. Tarmgraf's eyes grew wide in terror, knowing deep down this man meant it. "But every man should know his killer. I am Hector Olith. Goodbye." With a quick flick of the wrist, Tarmgraf's vision instantly faded to black and he knew no more...
