Another damn mideival thread.

Star of Penumbra

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Another damn midieval thread.

Kokida sat at the edge of the arena, calmly waiting. Five other men waited nearby. At the opposite end of the arena, the situation was the same.

Between the two groups, a battle was taking place. In the ring, two men fought -one, a dwarf, wielded a battleaxe, the other, an elf, favored pair of short blades. Kokida already knew who was going to win this fight; the elf relied on his speed and agility to stay in the fight, but his opponent was too skilled with his weapon, and would soon score a debilitating hit.

Just as he finished the thought, the axe wielder took advantage of a split second hole in his foes' defenses, coming in quickly with a telling blow to the ribs, cracking several and possibly collapsing a lung. The elf fell to the floor of the arena, defeated. The crowd let out a mighty cheer of appreciation.

The dwarf left the ring, cleaning the blood from his axe. Two people carried the fallen elf from the ring on a stretcher. He appeared to be dead. Kokida felt no sympathy for him; they had all known the risks when they had entered the tournament.

The magically amplified voice of the announcer rang throughout the stadium: "Second match, Kokida versus Gronz."

Both contestants named started towards the ring. Kokida watched the way his opponent moved -obviously he relied more on sheer strength than technique, and considering he was enormous, he could afford to. He was a seven foot orc, wearing leather armor reinforced with leather studs, and two thick gloves with spikes protruding from the knuckles.

They stepped into the ring, taking up the stances appropriate for their respective styles. Again the announcer’s voice sounded throughout the ring. “Begin!”

The orc moved quickly towards him, obviously hoping to end the fight quickly in a spray of blood and possibly a broken limb or two. Kokida dodged the first two blows easily, spinning past his opponent. As the orc rushed past, Kokida’s leg lashed out, striking him in the back and knocking him to the floor.

Drawing his long knife, Kokida immediately leapt onto his fallen opponent’s back, grabbing his hair with one hand. “It would be best if you yielded,” he informed his foe, pressing the blade against the vulnerable gray skin of his throat.

The orc language had no word for ‘yield’, but the message got across. The orc immediately lifted his arm, one finger extended –the sign for a forfeit.

“And the winner is Kokida!” The judge announced. The crowd roared again, impressed with the quick victory.

With no warning, a huge wall of stone shot up from the stadium floor, encompassing a third of the ring. Seconds later, another appeared, further surrounding the two fighters in the middle. Neither knowing nor caring why this was happening, Kokida leapt to his feet and dashed for the remaining available escape route, his defeated opponent immediately behind him.

Neither was fast enough to escape the ring before the third wall appeared, locking them in the ring. The ground in the enclosure cracked and began to fall apart, disappearing into some vast underground cavity. Unable to escape, both warriors fell into the darkness below.
 
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Cerriel

“Begin!” The sound of the announcer reverberated throughout the arena, magically so it seemed. Cer hated magic, although it was born of misuse and mistrust, rather than actual hate or lack of proficiency on his part. Simply, he hated magicians rather than magic. A yard-long shaft could and would kill just as swiftly as a black ink cloud of thunder and lightning would an opponent.

But Cer was not here, in the throngs of frenetic and drunk crowd, to muse over the finer points of magic. He was here for the good and charitable wishes of the spectators. He was here on business, his own business, the business of feeding his rumbling belly, and adding weight to his extremely light coin pouch. And business would not get better, or even proceed, by standing still. So the crowd, cheerfully in the bloodlust spectacle down below in the ring, were ignorant of the tall half-elf weaving in and out, hands flicking faster than the eyes could discern.

But betting people were always aware of their money, lack of it through losses, or bulging with it through winnings. That was why there were not too many pickpockets here. A shout to one of the numerous burly bouncers, sprinkled generously among the spectators would bring a swift end to any pickpocket unlucky to get caught. Unlucky in the sense that the punishment always fitted the crime, and in this case, the chopping off of both hands of the perpetrator. Protestations would fall on deaf ears, as the manager of this blood-sport was wily enough to realize that customers came here to “lose” a huge amount of money, and the only person to benefit would be him, and none other.

So Cer was careful, only targeting those that were careless, or at least, less attentive than usual to their money pouches. The spectacle and probability of death was far more interesting than a stranger. And the elf who had to be carried off in a stretcher, unmoving, aroused more interest than another human, who leaned very closely to catch a glimpse as well. That was how Cer “earned” a living. From day to day, and from the “charitable” offerings of fellow beings.

“YOU THERE! STOP!…” A shout, from a gruff voice. Cer turned, and saw that it came from a dwarf, holding a stout cudgel, pointing directly at him.

Cer did not hesitate, but moved as swiftly as he could, knocking a few spectators off the benches. The initial shout brought the attention of the other bruisers, all of whom were holding evil-looking cudgels. Cer had only his knives, hidden in the various parts of his body. The crowd was well into the next fight, and although they largely ignored the insignificant commotion, they did not part the way for an escape.

Then, an unexpected opportunity presented itself. Cer saw another one of his “kind”, operating in almost the same manner as he did. He stopped in his tracks and shouted, “THIEF! THIEF!…” and frantically pointed to the other person, who unfortunately had half of his hand in the flowing robes of a merchant.

Soon his cries were repeated and the few bruisers were distracted enough to veer from him. All hell was beginning to break loose, and this suited Cer. There was no such sight as the one of a distraught merchant crying for the blood of justice.

Then suddenly, Cer amended his prior thoughts, as another spectacle besides the fight rumbled throughout the arena. The spectacle of new mountains growing before his eyes, right in the ring itself. It was magnificent when he remembered it, although years later, he could not remember it at all, not all the fine details anyway. All he could remember was a gaping hole, where there was none before. He remembered being too close to the edge of the ring to run in the opposite direction. He remembered well enough, the scars were ever present, of him suddenly thrust upwards as the ground heaved, and him grasping for every scrape of hold.

He remembered all too well the top breaking off, and his fingernails as well, while trying to scramble. And the darkness that swallowed him up like lunch. Suffice to say that he did tried to summersault and land on his feet. He was agile for sure, but years later, he could not remember the landing.
 
Nalia huddled in her cloak watching the fight between the Orc and what looked to be a human. Something was different about him, but she couldn't place her finger on it. Just as the fight ended the ground began to shake and without warning mountains began to shoot up from the ground. Nalia attempted to fly to safety spreading her wings but a peice of stray debree caught her off gaurd and she found herself plummeting into a deep dark pit.
 
Pockets had settled in for a nice nap on the catwalk of the area. The pennents made nice hammocks. She scrabbled around her assorted rags, wrappings, and patchwork until she found a withered half eaten apple and polished it off. The roar of the crowd didn't bother her, it was like a mother's lullabye....One that ended harshly with the grateing of stone against stone.

"Wot?" She peered over the edge of the hammock/pennent. "Tha's no magic til Woldsday!"
 
Conscousness came and went. Several times he thought he was floating. He was able to make little sense of his surroundings for some time.

All at once it seemed, his mind was functioning perfectly. He was laying down somewhere completely dark. He lay still, trying to attune himself to his surroundings. After a few minutes, he became aware of a very faint residual light, though he was unable to tell where it came from.

He sat up and looked around. He was in a small room -actually a small alcove- laying on a bed made of thick moss. A short distance away were his weapons and armor.

He heard something approaching from out o his line of sight. Quickly he grabbed his blade and scrambled to his feet, taking a fighting stance appropriate for the confined space.

Something enterec the alcove. Upon seeing Kokida up and about, it immediately stopped, raising it's hands -if that's what they were- in front of itself in a gesture of nonviolence.

"Hiis-tak," the newcomer said.

"Who are you? Where am I?" He demanded, retaining his stance.

"Human... calm yourself," the being said. "I do not threaten you." There was something extremely odd about it's voice. It almost sounded like several persons speaking at once.

"Who are you?"

"I am Bok Tak-lennar. I must speak with you."

"Regarding what?" Even though the being didn't seem to have any immediately hostile intentions, he knew better than to let his guard down.

"The future of my kind. We must have your help."

"How did I get here? What do you want from me?"

"My comrades brought you here. You must hear us out."

"Comrades?"

"Boks, like myself."

"That means nothing to me."

"Please, relax. I mean you no harm. If I had, I could have done it while you slept."

Considering it's point, Kokida had to conced to logic. "Very well." He eased from his stance and sat down on the stone floor. "What do you want my help with?"

Bok Tak-lennar handed him something. "Eat. You have been asleep for quite some time."

He sniffed the object. Some sort of mushroom, he concluded.

"As I said, my people are in danger. The beings of the surface seem to be digging for some reason. If this contines, they will undoubtedly find us," Bok Tak-lennar said.

"What's wrong with that?"

"Our people posess many skills and powerful weapons that could easily be turned towards evil. Only constant vigilance of ourselves and each other has kept this in check. If even a sinlge vahnati is taken prisoner, the consequences could be devastating."

"Why?"

"Every one of my kind knows a great deal about the world before humans existed as they do now. Abuse of this knowledge could mean the end of not only our race, but everything on the planet."

"So what do you want me to do? Ask them to stop? They wouldn't listen."

Bok Tak-lennar briefly raised one hand to his head. "You see, you are very special person."

"I'll bet."

"I do not jest. You have mostly human ancestry, true, but you also have vahnati ancestors. You are one of very, very few of your kind."

"How is that possible? We're two different species."

"It was not always so. You see, once humans and vahnati were one. A single race. We lived far underground -much farther than we are now, nearly six thousand blems. We were the only intelligent species there. The savage species were constantly attacking us, forcing us to retreat further and further upwards, until finally we reached the surface. Some of us ventured there, eventually becoming humans as they are today. The rest stayed underground, building strongholds to hold back the savages and continue our traditional way of life. The two groups remained in contact for a few generations, but eventually there was a great quake that sealed off the only known opening between the two worlds."

"Okay. So I'm part... vahnati. Isn't every human?"

"In a sense, yes. However, a few generations ago, another opening appeared. Some of each species wandered through and interbred. You are decended from one of those unions."

Kokida shook his head. "Alright. What now?"

"Most of my people are readying themselves for the eminent meeting. Some ready themselves in hopes of peace, but most ready themselves for war. If you will come back to my city, we can train you in our style of fighting. We have been forced throughout our history to fight off overwhelming odds, and so we have developed skills that can make a single warrior as powerful as an army. If you take part in this training, you may be able to stop the humans with force if all other venues are exhausted."

"Why can't your people do it?"

"We cannot function in light. You lack that hindrance. You are the only way we can strike from the surface."

There was a long moment of silence. Finally, he replied "Very well. I will help you."
 
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