We all have those times, the times when you laugh so hard you think you might pee yourself and sometimes actually do. The times when you laugh so hard your stomach feels like John Ceina just used it as a punching bag, but it’s a good kind of pain. And the times when you laugh so hard your eyes flood with tears, happy tears, and stream down your face. In my life this happens all the time. I swear that if a camera man followed me around all day and broadcasted to the world what he filmed, my friends and I would become famous, I know that for a fact. And here’s just one example of why I think that.
It was a regular day in Hancock, Maine. Slightly overcast, crows on the side of the road pecking at a dead animal, dew on the grass, smell of pine, people just waking up. Me on the other hand, I was on a bus to school with all my other classmates, some looking out the window, some listening to music and some (myself), talking and gossiping as girls normally do. I have this one friend though, named Lindsey, and once you meet her she’s hard to ignore. She’s blonde, average height, has perfect teeth but not the smartest tool in the shed, if you know what I mean. My friends and I constantly play pranks on her and hide her stuff, just good natured kind of jokes. Like empty her gatorade bottles, or hide her math book so the teacher yells at her, oh and write fake love letters to guys and sign her name at the bottom, even give her lunch away to other kids at our school. They do seem mean, but she knows that it’s just our way of saying we love her, cause we really do. We also believe that she might have a speech impediment because she can’t say breakfast right or caramel frappe, cinnamon or funeral, and sometimes she even says Netflix wrong. Anyways, she was on the bus with me and so were some of my other pals, like Scarlett, Kaley and Joshua. And yes, of course, we were fooling around, trying to make Lindsey believe she was in a dream however she didn’t exactly believe us. We kept saying, “Lindsey! You have to wake up, you’re gunna be late for school!” And she would say, “No, I’m not in a dream, you guys are just being stupid and trying to trick me like always.”
We replied back, “We’re being serious right now, you have to slap yourself on the face to wake up, that’s the only way. If you don’t you’ll be late to school and your mom is going to be so mad.”
She paused for a second, looked at us and picked up her hand and slapped herself across the face. We all exchanged looks and couldn’t believe she actually did it, but we did all we could to hold in our laughs and smiles. After she slapped herself she said doubtfully, “It didn’t work, maybe I should try it again.” And with that Joshua buts in and shouts, “Lindsey, you’re just doing it wrong, you have to really mean it! Use those muscles of your’s like this.” And then he slaps himself and Lindsey goes, “Oh.” And does the same,but this time harder. It was one of the most hilarious moments of my life. Scarlett, Kaley and I couldn’t fake it anymore and just cracked up laughing. The healthy, loud, laugh when you almost can’t breath and choke on the air that you manage to inhale. In the meantime, Lindsey is just looking around acting like, ‘what is going on here?’ She looks dumbfounded and completely clueless that we have been joking around with her, which makes it even more funny. These are the times that I love though, the times when friends make your day so much better. I love the moments in life that make a memory.
Friday, April 6, 2012
Narrative Writing, Hailey
Charlotte's Nightmare
I tried not to fall asleep, for Madame Leery’s voice was so wearisome. My eye lids tended to droop, blurring my vision. My muscles relaxed, forming themselves into lenient rubber bands. Slowly, softly, Madame Leery unknowingly caressed me into sweet slumber, until her ruler snapped down on my desk.
“Miss Charlotte, what ever will I do with you! How can you expect to rule a kingdom you know not a thing about it?” She exclaimed. I responded by groggily slumping down with my forehead on the table, letting out an exasperated sigh at her reference. Me, Queen? Bah! I’d rather be a common girl! Also, being Queen meant Marriage. How dreadful! A fine, independent girl like me doesn’t need a Man in her life! Soon, I realized that Madame Leery must’ve known what I was thinking, for she made a disgruntled noise and scuttled back to her desk.
Madame Leery was a very noticeable character in the kingdom. Her gray hair was always in a tight, painful looking bun on the crown of her head, which topped off her seemingly invisible neck. She was quite corpulent, and her cheeks and nose always made it seemed like she was embarrassed. Her overall appearance was that of a plump tomato! She always smelt like stale bread, which I have no explanation for. She had the eyes and nose of a bird, quite a homely little bird at that. Her voice though, oh dear! How awfully raucous it was! It’s as if she swallowed gravel!
“Madame Leery, no need to growl at me.” I said sourly, using my best so-called ‘proper’ dialect. “It’s not that I don’t want to learn about the kingdom, just that I would much rather prefer to be a peasant girl in common rags than to have to sit in a class as tiresome and lengthly as this one.” I paused for a second, for dramatic effect, then slowly, almost too innocently, said, “Maybe if I had a better tutor.” Madame Leery just growled again, and turned to me, her tomato pigmentation more distinct now.
“With all due respect, Miss Charlotte, you’re being a...a...” her face was the color of blood, and her gravely voice was turning even more hoarse. “A royal twit!” At that, she threw down her lesson book, and stormed out the door. That was the third time this week...new high score for me!
Completely unbothered by her overdramatic exit, I picked myself up, brushed off my skirts, and walked to the garden. It’s where I usually go after the tutors have their fits, because when father comes to scold me, what looks more innocent than a Princess sitting in a forest of flowers? After he said my name, I would put on the waterworks, and tell him of my horrific turmoil with Madame Leery, how she yelled at me and stampeded out like a wild animal. I would then collapse myself into his chest and sob, until he finally said he would speak to Madame Leery. I could only do this three times until the tutors finally gave up on me. I should see Madame Leery leaving with her bags packed, not looking back, by sundown today.
Sure enough, father came out into the garden and sat beside me. He didn’t have his crown on, for he claims it gives him hair loss. He was still in his velvet robes, though. He was wearing the purple ones, or so called ‘casuals’.
“Charlotte...” he started to say. His eyes were pointed towards the ground, his back slumped, as though he was tired. I interrupted as usual.
“Oh, father, you’ll never believe what Madame Leery did this time!” I proclaimed. “I almost fell asleep during class, so she smacked her ruler in front of me, and stormed out when I told her how rude it was. She even called me a twit! Oh, father, I just can’t bear all of these teachings much longer!” At that, I started to sob, and collapsed into his chest, my brunette ringlets cascading down my back like a waterfall. I expected him to rub my head, as he always did, but this time he was still as stone.
“Charlotte, stop crying now.” He said, cold as steel. Appalled, I stopped, and lifted my head to look at him. I would imagine my ivory skin was now red tinted, as it always was when I was upset. It didn’t catch him off guard one bit. “Madame Leery has already left the castle. She said she couldn’t stand how spoiled you were.” I was shocked.
“You let her say that? How could she! Oh, daddy, why don’t any of the tutors like me?” I started to sob again.
“Charlotte, stop that this instant!” He snapped. I stopped. “I agree with Madame Leery. You are spoiled, spoiled rotten. Your mother also agrees. So, we have made a decision.” At that, he took a deep breath and softened his voice to a loud whisper. “We have enrolled you to go to Mistress Mary’s boarding school for girls in the next kingdom over.”
I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed. My jaw hung open, and I felt as though the world had been put onto my shoulders.
“Isn’t that a, a, a public school? Filthy peasant girls go there!” I could hardly breath. I felt as though my world has been turned upside down.
“Please have your bags packed by dinner. We will arrange for a carriage to drop you off in the morning.” With that, he sighed, stood, and walked backed to the castle as though nothing had happened.
I somehow found the strength to stand, and slowly walked to my room. Once there, there was no longer a reason to keep myself from coming apart at the seams. I burst into tears. I cried and cried, until it seemed I could cry no more.
Only then did I realize the pool of water forming around my ankles. Water! In my room! Impossible! It turned from an arctic temperature to scorching hot within seconds, and somehow my body withstood it. The room spun, and the lights flickered incoherently. Vines started to grow all around me, and I could’ve sworn I saw a snake wrap it’s way around my bed post.
I swam to the door, knowing if I could open it, I would be safe. It was locked. My door was never locked! Surely someone was doing this to me! I swam to the windows next, which were also locked. I banged on them, knowing how fragile their glass was, but they didn’t shatter. The glass felt so strong, it could’ve been three inches thick!
“Help!” I tried to scream, but no sound came from my mouth. It was like somebody took a jar of honey a poured it down my throat, making it so thick I couldn’t speak. My eyes started to burn as the now acidic feeling water reached my shoulders...then my neck...then my chin...
Then, dry on my bed, eyes watering, my voice suddenly strong...I woke.
“What a relief!” I told myself. “Boarding school would’ve been so dreadful!” After that was said, I stood up, straightened my skirts, and walked to my morning lesson with Madame Leery. Might as well go. She’ll most likely be leaving by sundown.
I tried not to fall asleep, for Madame Leery’s voice was so wearisome. My eye lids tended to droop, blurring my vision. My muscles relaxed, forming themselves into lenient rubber bands. Slowly, softly, Madame Leery unknowingly caressed me into sweet slumber, until her ruler snapped down on my desk.
“Miss Charlotte, what ever will I do with you! How can you expect to rule a kingdom you know not a thing about it?” She exclaimed. I responded by groggily slumping down with my forehead on the table, letting out an exasperated sigh at her reference. Me, Queen? Bah! I’d rather be a common girl! Also, being Queen meant Marriage. How dreadful! A fine, independent girl like me doesn’t need a Man in her life! Soon, I realized that Madame Leery must’ve known what I was thinking, for she made a disgruntled noise and scuttled back to her desk.
Madame Leery was a very noticeable character in the kingdom. Her gray hair was always in a tight, painful looking bun on the crown of her head, which topped off her seemingly invisible neck. She was quite corpulent, and her cheeks and nose always made it seemed like she was embarrassed. Her overall appearance was that of a plump tomato! She always smelt like stale bread, which I have no explanation for. She had the eyes and nose of a bird, quite a homely little bird at that. Her voice though, oh dear! How awfully raucous it was! It’s as if she swallowed gravel!
“Madame Leery, no need to growl at me.” I said sourly, using my best so-called ‘proper’ dialect. “It’s not that I don’t want to learn about the kingdom, just that I would much rather prefer to be a peasant girl in common rags than to have to sit in a class as tiresome and lengthly as this one.” I paused for a second, for dramatic effect, then slowly, almost too innocently, said, “Maybe if I had a better tutor.” Madame Leery just growled again, and turned to me, her tomato pigmentation more distinct now.
“With all due respect, Miss Charlotte, you’re being a...a...” her face was the color of blood, and her gravely voice was turning even more hoarse. “A royal twit!” At that, she threw down her lesson book, and stormed out the door. That was the third time this week...new high score for me!
Completely unbothered by her overdramatic exit, I picked myself up, brushed off my skirts, and walked to the garden. It’s where I usually go after the tutors have their fits, because when father comes to scold me, what looks more innocent than a Princess sitting in a forest of flowers? After he said my name, I would put on the waterworks, and tell him of my horrific turmoil with Madame Leery, how she yelled at me and stampeded out like a wild animal. I would then collapse myself into his chest and sob, until he finally said he would speak to Madame Leery. I could only do this three times until the tutors finally gave up on me. I should see Madame Leery leaving with her bags packed, not looking back, by sundown today.
Sure enough, father came out into the garden and sat beside me. He didn’t have his crown on, for he claims it gives him hair loss. He was still in his velvet robes, though. He was wearing the purple ones, or so called ‘casuals’.
“Charlotte...” he started to say. His eyes were pointed towards the ground, his back slumped, as though he was tired. I interrupted as usual.
“Oh, father, you’ll never believe what Madame Leery did this time!” I proclaimed. “I almost fell asleep during class, so she smacked her ruler in front of me, and stormed out when I told her how rude it was. She even called me a twit! Oh, father, I just can’t bear all of these teachings much longer!” At that, I started to sob, and collapsed into his chest, my brunette ringlets cascading down my back like a waterfall. I expected him to rub my head, as he always did, but this time he was still as stone.
“Charlotte, stop crying now.” He said, cold as steel. Appalled, I stopped, and lifted my head to look at him. I would imagine my ivory skin was now red tinted, as it always was when I was upset. It didn’t catch him off guard one bit. “Madame Leery has already left the castle. She said she couldn’t stand how spoiled you were.” I was shocked.
“You let her say that? How could she! Oh, daddy, why don’t any of the tutors like me?” I started to sob again.
“Charlotte, stop that this instant!” He snapped. I stopped. “I agree with Madame Leery. You are spoiled, spoiled rotten. Your mother also agrees. So, we have made a decision.” At that, he took a deep breath and softened his voice to a loud whisper. “We have enrolled you to go to Mistress Mary’s boarding school for girls in the next kingdom over.”
I couldn’t move. I was paralyzed. My jaw hung open, and I felt as though the world had been put onto my shoulders.
“Isn’t that a, a, a public school? Filthy peasant girls go there!” I could hardly breath. I felt as though my world has been turned upside down.
“Please have your bags packed by dinner. We will arrange for a carriage to drop you off in the morning.” With that, he sighed, stood, and walked backed to the castle as though nothing had happened.
I somehow found the strength to stand, and slowly walked to my room. Once there, there was no longer a reason to keep myself from coming apart at the seams. I burst into tears. I cried and cried, until it seemed I could cry no more.
Only then did I realize the pool of water forming around my ankles. Water! In my room! Impossible! It turned from an arctic temperature to scorching hot within seconds, and somehow my body withstood it. The room spun, and the lights flickered incoherently. Vines started to grow all around me, and I could’ve sworn I saw a snake wrap it’s way around my bed post.
I swam to the door, knowing if I could open it, I would be safe. It was locked. My door was never locked! Surely someone was doing this to me! I swam to the windows next, which were also locked. I banged on them, knowing how fragile their glass was, but they didn’t shatter. The glass felt so strong, it could’ve been three inches thick!
“Help!” I tried to scream, but no sound came from my mouth. It was like somebody took a jar of honey a poured it down my throat, making it so thick I couldn’t speak. My eyes started to burn as the now acidic feeling water reached my shoulders...then my neck...then my chin...
Then, dry on my bed, eyes watering, my voice suddenly strong...I woke.
“What a relief!” I told myself. “Boarding school would’ve been so dreadful!” After that was said, I stood up, straightened my skirts, and walked to my morning lesson with Madame Leery. Might as well go. She’ll most likely be leaving by sundown.
Narrative Writing- Chapter 1&2, Homeless People: Spies in Disguise
Chapter One: “Sorry”
It was an early autumn morning when Gabriel awoke on a bench in Central Park. He slowly lifted his torso off of the self-warmed metallic surface. He opened his eyes revealing a landscape of trees, everyone different and fields of lush green grass swerving around them. Gabriel, in one fluid motion, got up off of the bench while yawning, his arms stretched over his head. It was at least seven o’clock, maybe even eight o’clock, Gabriel didn’t care. He walked around the side of his imitation of a bed and let his face be captured by the sun light. Gabriel listened. He waited. Then, he heard it. The familiar tune of “Pumped Up Kicks” being whistled off into the distance only this time, it sounded frantic. He heard it every morning when he woke up...and he knew who was doing it too. A tall, muscular man rounded the corner. He wore a plain gray suit that matched his plain gray pants which matched his plain gray tie. He was a walking gray blob. That blob had a name. It’s name...I mean, his name was Leon, Leon James King III.
Leon was approaching Gabriel at a surprising pace with his face in a worried expression. He walked like there was something behind him, chasing him. Gabriel took the liberty of checking behind the man but he couldn’t see anyone that looked like they were chasing him. Leon didn’t even stop to talk to Gabriel as he always did. Every morning, Leon would walk through the park on his way to work and sit with Gabriel and just talk. The subjects of the conversations were always different. They would talk about the different breeds of dogs one day and then maybe talk about why Brittany Spears shaved her head the next. There were really no patterns to their sessions.
Before Gabriel could say anything to the gray, running man, he was already thirty feet past him. Gabriel checked his surroundings one more time, noting if there was anything suspicious. He noted none. Gabriel thought that Leon must have been late for a meeting or something. Even at fifty-two, Leon was the CEO of Environments of America, which was a company dedicated to protect, restore, and create new habitats across the country. He was almost positive that Leon, also known as Mr. King in the corporate world, was late for a meeting. But Gabriel will find out later that he was wrong. Way wrong.
Gabriel had been homeless since he was about twelve. When he was eight, his mother died due to a drug overdose and he left his father, Christopher, when he was twelve because he was an alcoholic. You know how people say that your either a happy drunk or an angry drunk? Well, Christopher was an extremely abusive, couldn’t care less, left in the middle of the night to party drunk. One day, which was Gabriel’s twelfth birthday, his father wanted him to know how to use a gun. Christopher, after having a few bottles of scotch, unsteadily brought out a stainless Colt Python .357 Magnum for Gabriel to try out. Gabriel refused to touch it. He didn’t want anything to do with guns. Never did, and never will...so he thought.
Christopher began to force the gun upon Gabriel, consistently nudging the side of the gun into his stomach. Gabriel still didn’t take it. That ticked his father off. Christopher began to ram the gun into his son’s stomach hitting harder and harder. Gabriel still didn’t take his father’s gun. His father had enough. He wasn’t going to have a son that didn’t know how to use a gun and lived in New York. Christopher punched his son’s left eye and then nose, finishing with a knee to the stomach. Gabriel cried out in pain as he collapsed to the floor. Gabriel checked his nose, seeing if it was broken, and sure enough, it was. Blood was pouring out of his fractured nose and trickled down across his lips, neck, and shirt. His father threw the Colt on the floor next to Gabriel’s head. Gabriel looked to the side of him with his right eye, his only working eye, noticing that the barrel of the gun was pointed directly at him. Luckily, the gun didn’t go off.
Gabriel imagined what would happen if it went off. He thought that the bullet would go straight through his head, entering through the eye and exiting out the back of his head. Gabriel got chills. Just thinking about himself dying due to his father’s carelessness and abuse got to him. He wasn’t going to let this happen again. He wasn’t going to let his father abuse him like this anymore. Never again. Gabriel slowly picked up the Colt, making sure not to make any noise. His father had already turned his attention to the refrigerator and opened it to get a beer. Gabriel took aim at his father’s leg, making sure not to aim at his Femoral Artery. His father slowly turned. His eyes widened.
“Finally, I thought I was going to need to beat you some more for you to touch the gu...” BANG!
Gabriel shot his father between his tibia and fibula. Christopher crumpled to the ground like a marionette, it’s strings being released by the puppet master. Christopher fell to the floor with tremendous force, breaking his beer bottle and spilling the left over contents on the floor of their shabby, little apartment. Christopher screamed. Well, sort of. He was trying to scream but sound would only sometimes come out. Gabriel thought that it was because he was so drunk.
Gabriel dropped the gun and bolted to the door. He turned around and looked at his father one last time. He was trying to crawl to the phone clutching his right leg. Blood could be seen on his pants but Gabriel knew he hadn’t hit his father’s major artery (a couple days before, Gabriel’s seventh grade class learned about the circulatory system). Gabriel only said one word to his father before he left, left forever, and that was, “Sorry.”
Chapter Two: “Surprise”
Gabriel hid behind the wide, pale brown tree hoping not to raise his notoriety. If he was caught by Leon, he would be promptly shooed away and lose him. Gabriel peeked around the broad oak making sure that, from neck down, his ragged blue jeans and torn plaid over-shirt were concealed. Leon had already made it to the crosswalk. All he had to do is cross the street and go through the revolving doors that were directly in front of him and then he would be at his office building, the EA building. Now was Gabriel’s chance to move closer. Leon was too busy impatiently waiting for the crosswalk light to change. Gabriel rushed over behind a mail drop-off box. He peered around the corner and stared at Leon’s left side. He analyzed him. To Gabriel, three things didn’t add up. First, Leon was never in a hurry. He always took time to talk with Gabriel, even if it was for a couple minutes. Second, Leon was never impatient. He always chatted to nearby pedestrians to pass the time. Thirdly, Leon never carried a brief case so Gabriel examined the it swiftly. It is definitely leather, black, with a brown handle and silver latches. About the size of a laptop.
Gabriel saved these observations in the back of his mind. He then heard a dog yip and promptly turned to the source. A small dog rounded the corner. It was an Italian Greyhound. Cute dog. Gabriel turned back to where Leon was standing and noticed that he was gone. He franticly looked around each side of the drop-off box. Thankfully, he caught a glance at a piece of gray before it disappeared into the massive building.
Gabriel stayed by the drop-off box for the next eight hours. He didn’t dare leave. He needed to know why Leon was acting so bizarre. Gabriel was about to abandon his post when Leon walked out. Gabriel analyzed him again. It still looked like he was worried about something. Leon, prompted to do so, speed walked across the street and went back into Central Park. Gabriel cautiously followed, this time, concealing himself behind a group of tourists making their way down the path. For five minutes, Gabriel followed Leon. But then Leon took an unexpected turn. Leon veered to the right and traveled through the trees, off the path. That’s a fourth thing that Gabriel thought was odd. Leon never ever veered off a path, not since he went hiking when he was younger and got lost for fifteen hours. He vowed to never walk off a path again. Well, today, he broke that vow.
Gabriel continued to follow. Walking off of the path made it easier for Gabriel to tail Leon due to the increase of oak trees. Gabriel continued to traverse between the trees until Leon arrived at a warehouse off the edge of the park. He stopped behind the tree closest to Leon. Gabriel had never seen the warehouse before. He’d never ventured in this direction before, until now. There were plenty of broken windows, beaten down boxes, and graffiti enveloping the ominous edifice. At least the graffiti added color to the rusty-grey structure. Leon knocked on the front door. It was the only door that was illuminated by a singular lightbulb. It had grown darker since Leon left his office. Gabriel assumed that it was close to six o’clock, the sun was about to set. The door to the warehouse inched open and out walked an overly muscular man who seemed like he was wearing a shirt two sizes too small. His freshly shaven head reflected the last minutes of sunlight. The man then proceeded to escort Leon into the dark grey building and closed the door.
Gabriel looked around. The only source of light was now the lightbulb above the door. Gabriel wearily crept forward. He must have been a hundred feet away from the front door. Gabriel continued to sneak forward until he heard a screech. The noise nearly gave Gabriel a heart attack. In fact, it made Gabriel’s heart begin to race. He wasn’t sure if the sound had come from the warehouse or somewhere in the park. Gabriel had finally made it to the door. He crouched down and walked against the wall over to the left corner of the building, his short black hair blending perfectly into the shadows. He peered around the corner, seeing nothing, and moved forward. Gabriel stopped when he reached a couple of boxes stacked on top of one another. Gabriel maneuvered on top of the boxes to get to the higher windows. He peered inside. Nothing but black. Gabriel could see something directly in front of him. It almost looks like a cat walk. It is a cat walk. Gabriel lifted one leg through a broken window and set it on the cat walk. He put some weight on it before entirely climbing through the window. Gabriel briefly had a thought. What if that was Leon’s scream? The thought quickly vanished and Gabriel swiftly climbed inside. He crouched again and found a railing, cold and metallic. He followed the railing until he found himself a flight a stairs to climb down on. When Gabriel reached the cement floor he was greeted with another scream. It definitely came from in here...what am I getting myself into? Before Gabriel had time to think, he heard, assuming, that a thug had come into the section of the warehouse that he was in. Gabriel quickly but silently hid behind some rusty empty oil drums, almost tripping into them. An out of place thought came into mind. Man, am I good at hiding today. The thug crept around the room. He seemed suspicious of something. Hestood in place for a minute and listened in the dark.
“All set Rico, all secure!” yelled the thug.
Gabriel watched as the man, responding to the name Rico, enter the room the same way the thug did, although, he wasn’t alone. Five or six figures, including the extremely muscular man entered with him (Gabriel could smell the cigarette smoke on the men). Oh. My. God. Rico traveled against the wall until he found what he was looking for. All of a sudden, the lights came on. The bright, white lights blinded Gabriel for a few moments, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark environment. When Gabriel regained his sight, he looked over the oil drum and saw a massive room full of chains suspended from the ceiling, even the cat walk was held up with chains. Gabriel reacted to the scene with shivers. He then saw movement in the center of the warehouse. Leon! Rico, the muscular man, and the thugs had suspended Leon into the air with the chains so that his back was towards Gabriel. He looked unconscious but then he saw Leon twitch a little. Gabriel was shocked. He saw blood dripping off of his stained-grey clothing and onto the cement. Gabriel’s stomach tied itself in a knot. Clearly, Leon was in trouble. I have to get help. Have to help save him. Gabriel analyzed the room for another way out. The cat walk was out of the question. They would clearly be able to see him. Gabriel glanced to his right and saw a small hole in the wall under the protection of the stairs. He was sure that his small, thin body could fit through it. Gabriel scanned the room again, but something was wrong. He couldn’t place it but something looked different. Without warning, a black sack was brought over his head, his heart stopped. The muscular man had seen Gabriel and crept up behind him without raising his notoriety. Before the man took Gabriel’s consciousness away by slamming his head on the eroded oil drum, he slowly but faintly whispered one word into Gabriel’s ear, “Surprise.”
It was an early autumn morning when Gabriel awoke on a bench in Central Park. He slowly lifted his torso off of the self-warmed metallic surface. He opened his eyes revealing a landscape of trees, everyone different and fields of lush green grass swerving around them. Gabriel, in one fluid motion, got up off of the bench while yawning, his arms stretched over his head. It was at least seven o’clock, maybe even eight o’clock, Gabriel didn’t care. He walked around the side of his imitation of a bed and let his face be captured by the sun light. Gabriel listened. He waited. Then, he heard it. The familiar tune of “Pumped Up Kicks” being whistled off into the distance only this time, it sounded frantic. He heard it every morning when he woke up...and he knew who was doing it too. A tall, muscular man rounded the corner. He wore a plain gray suit that matched his plain gray pants which matched his plain gray tie. He was a walking gray blob. That blob had a name. It’s name...I mean, his name was Leon, Leon James King III.
Leon was approaching Gabriel at a surprising pace with his face in a worried expression. He walked like there was something behind him, chasing him. Gabriel took the liberty of checking behind the man but he couldn’t see anyone that looked like they were chasing him. Leon didn’t even stop to talk to Gabriel as he always did. Every morning, Leon would walk through the park on his way to work and sit with Gabriel and just talk. The subjects of the conversations were always different. They would talk about the different breeds of dogs one day and then maybe talk about why Brittany Spears shaved her head the next. There were really no patterns to their sessions.
Before Gabriel could say anything to the gray, running man, he was already thirty feet past him. Gabriel checked his surroundings one more time, noting if there was anything suspicious. He noted none. Gabriel thought that Leon must have been late for a meeting or something. Even at fifty-two, Leon was the CEO of Environments of America, which was a company dedicated to protect, restore, and create new habitats across the country. He was almost positive that Leon, also known as Mr. King in the corporate world, was late for a meeting. But Gabriel will find out later that he was wrong. Way wrong.
Gabriel had been homeless since he was about twelve. When he was eight, his mother died due to a drug overdose and he left his father, Christopher, when he was twelve because he was an alcoholic. You know how people say that your either a happy drunk or an angry drunk? Well, Christopher was an extremely abusive, couldn’t care less, left in the middle of the night to party drunk. One day, which was Gabriel’s twelfth birthday, his father wanted him to know how to use a gun. Christopher, after having a few bottles of scotch, unsteadily brought out a stainless Colt Python .357 Magnum for Gabriel to try out. Gabriel refused to touch it. He didn’t want anything to do with guns. Never did, and never will...so he thought.
Christopher began to force the gun upon Gabriel, consistently nudging the side of the gun into his stomach. Gabriel still didn’t take it. That ticked his father off. Christopher began to ram the gun into his son’s stomach hitting harder and harder. Gabriel still didn’t take his father’s gun. His father had enough. He wasn’t going to have a son that didn’t know how to use a gun and lived in New York. Christopher punched his son’s left eye and then nose, finishing with a knee to the stomach. Gabriel cried out in pain as he collapsed to the floor. Gabriel checked his nose, seeing if it was broken, and sure enough, it was. Blood was pouring out of his fractured nose and trickled down across his lips, neck, and shirt. His father threw the Colt on the floor next to Gabriel’s head. Gabriel looked to the side of him with his right eye, his only working eye, noticing that the barrel of the gun was pointed directly at him. Luckily, the gun didn’t go off.
Gabriel imagined what would happen if it went off. He thought that the bullet would go straight through his head, entering through the eye and exiting out the back of his head. Gabriel got chills. Just thinking about himself dying due to his father’s carelessness and abuse got to him. He wasn’t going to let this happen again. He wasn’t going to let his father abuse him like this anymore. Never again. Gabriel slowly picked up the Colt, making sure not to make any noise. His father had already turned his attention to the refrigerator and opened it to get a beer. Gabriel took aim at his father’s leg, making sure not to aim at his Femoral Artery. His father slowly turned. His eyes widened.
“Finally, I thought I was going to need to beat you some more for you to touch the gu...” BANG!
Gabriel shot his father between his tibia and fibula. Christopher crumpled to the ground like a marionette, it’s strings being released by the puppet master. Christopher fell to the floor with tremendous force, breaking his beer bottle and spilling the left over contents on the floor of their shabby, little apartment. Christopher screamed. Well, sort of. He was trying to scream but sound would only sometimes come out. Gabriel thought that it was because he was so drunk.
Gabriel dropped the gun and bolted to the door. He turned around and looked at his father one last time. He was trying to crawl to the phone clutching his right leg. Blood could be seen on his pants but Gabriel knew he hadn’t hit his father’s major artery (a couple days before, Gabriel’s seventh grade class learned about the circulatory system). Gabriel only said one word to his father before he left, left forever, and that was, “Sorry.”
Chapter Two: “Surprise”
Gabriel hid behind the wide, pale brown tree hoping not to raise his notoriety. If he was caught by Leon, he would be promptly shooed away and lose him. Gabriel peeked around the broad oak making sure that, from neck down, his ragged blue jeans and torn plaid over-shirt were concealed. Leon had already made it to the crosswalk. All he had to do is cross the street and go through the revolving doors that were directly in front of him and then he would be at his office building, the EA building. Now was Gabriel’s chance to move closer. Leon was too busy impatiently waiting for the crosswalk light to change. Gabriel rushed over behind a mail drop-off box. He peered around the corner and stared at Leon’s left side. He analyzed him. To Gabriel, three things didn’t add up. First, Leon was never in a hurry. He always took time to talk with Gabriel, even if it was for a couple minutes. Second, Leon was never impatient. He always chatted to nearby pedestrians to pass the time. Thirdly, Leon never carried a brief case so Gabriel examined the it swiftly. It is definitely leather, black, with a brown handle and silver latches. About the size of a laptop.
Gabriel saved these observations in the back of his mind. He then heard a dog yip and promptly turned to the source. A small dog rounded the corner. It was an Italian Greyhound. Cute dog. Gabriel turned back to where Leon was standing and noticed that he was gone. He franticly looked around each side of the drop-off box. Thankfully, he caught a glance at a piece of gray before it disappeared into the massive building.
Gabriel stayed by the drop-off box for the next eight hours. He didn’t dare leave. He needed to know why Leon was acting so bizarre. Gabriel was about to abandon his post when Leon walked out. Gabriel analyzed him again. It still looked like he was worried about something. Leon, prompted to do so, speed walked across the street and went back into Central Park. Gabriel cautiously followed, this time, concealing himself behind a group of tourists making their way down the path. For five minutes, Gabriel followed Leon. But then Leon took an unexpected turn. Leon veered to the right and traveled through the trees, off the path. That’s a fourth thing that Gabriel thought was odd. Leon never ever veered off a path, not since he went hiking when he was younger and got lost for fifteen hours. He vowed to never walk off a path again. Well, today, he broke that vow.
Gabriel continued to follow. Walking off of the path made it easier for Gabriel to tail Leon due to the increase of oak trees. Gabriel continued to traverse between the trees until Leon arrived at a warehouse off the edge of the park. He stopped behind the tree closest to Leon. Gabriel had never seen the warehouse before. He’d never ventured in this direction before, until now. There were plenty of broken windows, beaten down boxes, and graffiti enveloping the ominous edifice. At least the graffiti added color to the rusty-grey structure. Leon knocked on the front door. It was the only door that was illuminated by a singular lightbulb. It had grown darker since Leon left his office. Gabriel assumed that it was close to six o’clock, the sun was about to set. The door to the warehouse inched open and out walked an overly muscular man who seemed like he was wearing a shirt two sizes too small. His freshly shaven head reflected the last minutes of sunlight. The man then proceeded to escort Leon into the dark grey building and closed the door.
Gabriel looked around. The only source of light was now the lightbulb above the door. Gabriel wearily crept forward. He must have been a hundred feet away from the front door. Gabriel continued to sneak forward until he heard a screech. The noise nearly gave Gabriel a heart attack. In fact, it made Gabriel’s heart begin to race. He wasn’t sure if the sound had come from the warehouse or somewhere in the park. Gabriel had finally made it to the door. He crouched down and walked against the wall over to the left corner of the building, his short black hair blending perfectly into the shadows. He peered around the corner, seeing nothing, and moved forward. Gabriel stopped when he reached a couple of boxes stacked on top of one another. Gabriel maneuvered on top of the boxes to get to the higher windows. He peered inside. Nothing but black. Gabriel could see something directly in front of him. It almost looks like a cat walk. It is a cat walk. Gabriel lifted one leg through a broken window and set it on the cat walk. He put some weight on it before entirely climbing through the window. Gabriel briefly had a thought. What if that was Leon’s scream? The thought quickly vanished and Gabriel swiftly climbed inside. He crouched again and found a railing, cold and metallic. He followed the railing until he found himself a flight a stairs to climb down on. When Gabriel reached the cement floor he was greeted with another scream. It definitely came from in here...what am I getting myself into? Before Gabriel had time to think, he heard, assuming, that a thug had come into the section of the warehouse that he was in. Gabriel quickly but silently hid behind some rusty empty oil drums, almost tripping into them. An out of place thought came into mind. Man, am I good at hiding today. The thug crept around the room. He seemed suspicious of something. Hestood in place for a minute and listened in the dark.
“All set Rico, all secure!” yelled the thug.
Gabriel watched as the man, responding to the name Rico, enter the room the same way the thug did, although, he wasn’t alone. Five or six figures, including the extremely muscular man entered with him (Gabriel could smell the cigarette smoke on the men). Oh. My. God. Rico traveled against the wall until he found what he was looking for. All of a sudden, the lights came on. The bright, white lights blinded Gabriel for a few moments, his eyes grew accustomed to the dark environment. When Gabriel regained his sight, he looked over the oil drum and saw a massive room full of chains suspended from the ceiling, even the cat walk was held up with chains. Gabriel reacted to the scene with shivers. He then saw movement in the center of the warehouse. Leon! Rico, the muscular man, and the thugs had suspended Leon into the air with the chains so that his back was towards Gabriel. He looked unconscious but then he saw Leon twitch a little. Gabriel was shocked. He saw blood dripping off of his stained-grey clothing and onto the cement. Gabriel’s stomach tied itself in a knot. Clearly, Leon was in trouble. I have to get help. Have to help save him. Gabriel analyzed the room for another way out. The cat walk was out of the question. They would clearly be able to see him. Gabriel glanced to his right and saw a small hole in the wall under the protection of the stairs. He was sure that his small, thin body could fit through it. Gabriel scanned the room again, but something was wrong. He couldn’t place it but something looked different. Without warning, a black sack was brought over his head, his heart stopped. The muscular man had seen Gabriel and crept up behind him without raising his notoriety. Before the man took Gabriel’s consciousness away by slamming his head on the eroded oil drum, he slowly but faintly whispered one word into Gabriel’s ear, “Surprise.”
Into the Fire
There he was. Chained to the walls, deep within the Emperor’s dungeon. He had a name once... Arcadius. Yes, that’s what it was, though it seemed an eternity since anyone had called him that. But now, he was forever imprisoned in the Imperial catacombs, left to rot. He had spent near six years here already. Oh, the punishment was cruel for such a petty crime; hunting after curfew. God knows the King does not give anyone except the Shades enough food, and only because they just consume the people he doesn’t want to deal with anymore.
Basically, the Shades were creatures from the very depths of Hades itself. They were definitely bipedal, and humanoid creatures, but that’s where the similarities stopped. They tended to veil their faces, which was all the better, for they had very grotesque faces which were made up of wrinkly, sagging, chunks of rotten flesh. Their breath smelled even worse; mounds of trash mixed with old fish and perhaps a touch of expired milk. When Emperor Archimedes called the Shades to do something, it usually meant something of high importance.
Arcadius was a well-built man, or at least he was until he had been imprisoned. He stood at five-foot, eleven-inches tall. Weighed around 200 before being thrown in the dungeon, but weighed around 130 now. Long had he dreamed of once being able to get out of here, and slay the Emperor who had unjustly thrown him in here. However, that want of revenge was fading as the days grew longer; now everyday he felt his very life, his soul, ebbing away into the void; darkness.
Besides, everyone knows those who are sent to the dungeon, never escape. At least, there had never been any record of it in the long duration of 100 years since man first set foot on this country of Thessa.
“Get your bastard-ass up and out! We’ve got a tournament to do!” A guard said as he kicks the door open, “Up you go! Come on, I ain’t got all day!” A tournament?
Arcadius struggled to stand as they released him from the chains suspending him in the air. Not to mention, the light pouring through the now open door, was blinding. As he stumbled towards the light, a guard stuck his foot out to trip him, and succeeded. He heard one of them laugh heartily as he took a mouth full of dirt.
“C’mon you lazy runt, or I’ll take your head clean off meself!” The other guard said, dragging him up.
Arcadius arrives to the large circle chamber in the middle of the dungeon, and notices that the rest of the prisoners are also here. The guard that tripped him pushes him out of the way to get to the center of bodies.
“Alright, quiet down scum!” The guard yelled, “The Emperor has a very generous offer for all of you! He ordered me to let the winners of this here challenge go, with 1000 gold to all of ya!”
“What’s the challenge?” A prisoner asked.
“Well, its funny you should ask because-” With that the guard took an arrow from his quiver, notched the arrow, and sent it flying. It hit the prisoner in the dead center of the neck, killing him instantly, “-you won’t get to find out. As for the rest of you, you will be paired up, given a small blade, and will fight to the death. The winners will get the reward, there are no alternatives.”
Arcadius felt bile rising, rising, nope, stopped it. A fight to the death with small rusty knives, what was the point of this, cleaning out the dungeon? Surely the Emperor must be mad, giving the winners gold just for killing each other. But, come to think of it, he imagined how sweet it would be to once again be able to see the sky, the sun, life. Oh, that was an opportunity and a half. He wanted it, bad. Not to mention, the chance to take down the Emperor, once and for all.
A guard interrupted his thoughts however by coming over and kicking the back of his knee, forcing him to collapse.
“You stupid bastard! I’m talking to you! You’re fighting him!” The guard yelled, pointing at an old, frail looking man. “Now get your ass up and fight, or die here, your choice!”
With that, the guard handed him the rusty blade. So now we fight to the death with three inches of rust, very enjoyable.
“C’mon you ill-minded fool, get your lazy ass up, or I’ll cut off your damn leg, beat you with it, and feed the rest of you to the Shades!” The angry guard yelled.
With a new feeling of fear, Arcadius quickly rose to his feet, completely ignoring his throbbing leg. For now, the old man began to advance onto him. Arcadius had no worries, even with a slight ailment. Surely this old man could not be a threat.
Suddenly, the old man lunged, not just any lunge, a 15-foot, half-the-distance-of-the-arena lunge. The old man quickly thrust at his ribs, Arcadius parried the blow, and spun off into an overhead strike towards the man’s right shoulder. The man rolled away, but this proved to make things easier for Arcadius. Since the man was old, it took him that extra second to get on his feet, had his opponent been any younger, it wouldn’t have happened, but it was not the case. Arcadius recovered from the miss, and lunged at the man while he was still just getting to his knees. He stuck his knife through the man’s armpit, and down, towards the vital organs. The old man stuttered, bright red blood bubbling out of his mouth, then he fell, still convulsing lightly on the dirt.
“Congratulations, prisoner. You have earned your freedom from these reeking dungeons, and as promised, here is 1000 gold pieces.” The guard said, leading him towards the set of hallways slightly tilting upwards, and handing him a small bag full of gold.
Arcadius couldn’t believe it, he had just killed a man. A man that, for every right, deserved the same freedom as Arcadius. Perhaps that man had a family. Maybe he was wrongfully convicted. Either way, Arcadius thought it wasn’t fair that he had been able to live, and go on, yet the man hadn’t.
Either way, the guard led him up and out; daylight. Glorious, beautiful daylight. It was simply stunning, the first time Arcadius had felt joy, however small it may be, in ages. And he savored every moment of it.
“You may want to head over there.” The guard said, pointing towards the blacksmith forge.
“Why?” Arcadius asked.
“Well, the only real thing you can do now that your outside again is to get a job. You haven’t seen the nation recently, but I can assure you the economy is the equivalent to the ass end of a beggar.” The guard replied.
So this is why the Emperor had made this tournament: gladiators. Of course, it was so simple. A clean, well not so much clean as it was simple, way of not only getting rid of the overcrowded dungeon, but stimulating the economy by pushing an x number of fresh meat into the Arena, it made for more weapons and armor to be bought, and more people might head to the Arena in hopes of a good battle. Unfortunately for Emperor Archimedes, he was to soon meet his downfall.
“Well, I wish you luck in your future.” And with that, the guard headed back down into the tunnel that had just recently emerged from.
Arcadius decided to heed to the guards advice, and headed off towards the hammering sound that was the blacksmiths forge, for if he were to become a warrior, he would first need a suitable sword, not this dainty little knife.
“Hi ho, customer, how may I help you today?” The blacksmith yelled, he had to, for he was bashing a clump of steel with a hammer against an anvil.
“I was looking for a blade.” Arcadius answered.
“Alright. Any preference or fighting style so I can point you towards the right sword?” The blacksmith asked.
“Well, I don’t want something large, like a two-handed sword. But if the hilt could be long enough just in case, like a one and half-handed hilt?”
“Alright. Hmm.” The blacksmith stopped his work on the premature sword and headed over to a stack of crates. He opened up the first one, and dug through it thoroughly. He finally ferreted out a shiny steel blade.
“How about this falchion?” The blacksmith asked, handing the blade to Arcadius.
Arcadius at first noticed that the sword was very odd. It had the guard of a two-handed sword, large chunks of steel sticking out on both sides. But the blade itself was slightly curved.
“Well, what d’ya think?’
“Eh. I’m not comfortable with it, anything else?” Arcadius replied.
With that, the Blacksmith again trudged over to another crate, and began to dig around that. Grumbling, he moved onto the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Finally, he got to the last one.
“If we don’t find a blade to suit you in this here crate, either you’ll need to change weapon preference, or find another dealer.” The blacksmith said.
He opened the crate, dug around as he had with the others, then he pulled out a blade.
It was magnificent. Purely perfection in steel form. It had a smooth black hilt, possibly obsidian, that was bound in dark green strips of cloth. It slightly resembled the hilt of a katana. The blade was three feet long, and the sharp part of the blade looked much like the black part of the hilt, and then above it was normal steel, almost as if whoever forged it had done it in different parts. The steel had a pattern etched into it, it looked like waves were coming down from the tip, to the part where the hilt met the blade.
“Ah, this here is a very fine piece of work from the elves up in them woods to the north. The Eldarísa Forest, if I remember correctly. Anyway, this blade has been through much, so the legend tells. It’s called Tiróz, Torment in our tongue.”
Arcadius didn’t know if it was the black, always cold handle, or the unique blade, or perhaps even the fact that this blade was called Torment, which was what the last 6 years of life had been for him, that made him want this blade.
“How much?” Arcadius asked.
“Ah, 1200 gold pieces.”
“Damn. I’ve got 1000, if that works?” Arcadius never was much of the haggler, but he had to try.
“Nay. I’m sorry, but its full price or no deal.” The smith said.
“Hmm. What if I were to work off the debt?” Arcadius asked.
At this, the smith chuckled, “My boy, do you know how much time you’d need to spend to work off 200 pieces worth? That’s quite a bit nowadays you know.”
“Okay. To be honest, I’m becoming a gladiator, and so if you sell me the blade for 1000, or less so I can buy armor would be great, I’ll be sure to double the price.” Arcadius said.
“Hmm. This puts me in a tough spot, indeed. Let’s say, you die in your first match, then what?” The smith replied.
“I, Arcadius Sonofnone, swear to you that I will not be killed in my first battle. I swear to pay you triple what the original offer, if you allow me to buy this blade from you, for the cost of 750 gold pieces.” Arcadius answered, hoping that tripling the offer would secure victory.
“Ah, damn. You’ve got yourself a deal, but if I hear you died before your debt is paid off, I curse your soul to eternal damnation in Tartarus, and may you never make it to the Isles of the Blessed.” The smith said, handing Arcadius the sword.
“On a slightly happier note, do you have any armor?” Arcadius asked.
He spent the rest of the day trying on leather and steel gauntlets, bracers, greaves, helmets, shields, and breastplates. The smith said that since he was so skinny (from being imprisoned, no doubt) that it would be easier and allowed for more range of motion if he had leather armor on. However, if it needed to be, he could very well wield steel as well. Thus, Arcadius had an odd mix of steely leather armor (or perhaps leathery steel armor?) so he wouldn’t be hacked to bits by a crazed Orc with an axe his first day in the Arena.
That night, he walked to the Sleeping Giant Inn, for he figured he was to report to the Arena Master the following day for his first matchup.
“Hello, sir. How might I be of your assistance?” A brunette woman sitting behind the counter asked.
“I would like a room to rent.” Arcadius answered.
“It just so happens that we have one available, up the stairs, and third door on the right. That’ll be 25 gold pieces.” The brunette woman said.
Arcadius, having handed over the gold, headed up the stairs to his room. He opened the door, it was nothing special. Just a cot, a dresser next to the window overlooking the market, and a chest at the foot of the bed. After being chained to a wall for six years, it felt mighty fine for Arcadius to finally be able to lay down on something semi-soft. Scratchy as the quilt was, Arcadius was tremendously tired, so he hastily took off his armor and placed them in the chest. He lay down, and fell asleep within minutes of closing his eyes. The only question he had was, what lay before him tomorrow?
Arcadius awoke an hour or so after dawn. He looked out his window, already the market was half full of people buying things from various stalls. Fruit, vegetables, meat, jewelry, you name it, it was in the Market District of Argos.
He slowly put on his steel boots, leather greaves, steel gauntlets, leather breastplate (not much of a breastplate as it was a leathery robe) his steel helmet, and lastly his shield, which was made basically studded wood. He got his scabbard on his side, with Tiróz sheathed within. Being completely ready, he headed out towards the Arena.
As he walked towards it, he realized that it was almost mad that most of the city came to watch events that took place here. Did people have nothing better to do than sit, bloodthirsty, as two men/beasts tore each other apart? Well, whether they were or not didn’t matter, for Arcadius, he was now going to become one of these men, though he swore that he would never help satisfy the crowds never ending bloodlust if he could help it.
He finally got to the front gates of the Arena, where the Master, who looked like something resembling an overweight elf with the fur of a jackal, though his fur was dark blue, like a summer sky just before night decided to completely reign over.
“Welcome, stranger. I take it you wish to enter the Arena?” The elf-jackal asked.
“Yes, I would.” Arcadius replied.
“Right-o. Wait a tick.” The elf-jackal said. He began to mutter words in a language that Arcadius was pretty sure was from no where near Thessa.
“There we are. Right through here.” Elf-jackal said, pointing towards a door that Arcadius could’ve sworn was not there when he first arrived.
“Okay, thanks.” Arcadius said, though he was slightly creeped out that the Master was an elf-jackal who Hades knew what language that allows him to create doors out of thin air. He opened the door and stepped inside.
Inside was a bunch of training dummies, with many people (and creatures too) going at them with a wonderful assortment of weaponry. There was one guy who was attacking a straw-stuffed dummy with a great two-handed war axe, while something that resembled a half-lizard half-human creature practiced archery at a wooden target across the room.
He walked over to where, what he assumed was the training area, connected to another room, this one a lot smaller, but it held rack upon rack of weapons, and one man who was about the size of Atlas, nope, maybe a bit bigger.
Okay, so he wasn’t Titan-sized, but he did stand at about six-and-a-half feet tall, and looked like he weighed excess of three-hundred, but there was no fat.
“Who are you?” The oversized man asked.
“My name is Arcadius, and I am here to join the Arena.” Arcadius answered.
The man laughed, “Alright pit-dog. First things first. You are a nobody. Thus, you will answer to me, at all times. If I tell you to run into a horde of Hades’ minions, I expect you to do so until you prove yourself better, understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Arcadius answered, though he wasn’t sure why this sounded so military-like.
“Next, you will move up in rank only as I see fit. I don’t care if you kill the entire arena and its champion, if I don’t think you earned, you don’t get it. Are we clear?”
Arcadius replied with another, “Yes, sir.”
“Lastly, pit-dog, its showtime. Go out there. You’ll be facing a fellow pit-dog from the yellow side. Don’t get your face pounded in, and maybe we’ll see about putting you into some blue colors, eh? Now go out there, and show me how bad you really are.”
With those great words of encouragement ringing through Arcadius’ head, he pushed open the small door that was behind the unholy sized man.
First thing he noticed was that there was blood all over the damn place. It was a hallway-type deal that lead upwards, presumably towards the Arena grounds, and Arcadius imagined that this was the only way in and out on this side, for all the blood would be explained by maimed/dead/dying people being dragged back here. With even more happy thoughts, he trudged onwards.
He made it to the metal gate that stood between him, and the flat, sandy battleground that was the Arena. He could hear the announcer say something along the lines of two newcomers fighting each other, and to see who would run away first. Upon that, the fence was moved aside, and Arcadius charged, into the battleground.
He saw the fence on the other side open, to reveal a man looking much like himself, if not worse than him. If his opponent was another prisoner, he could not tell. He did know this however, the man had no idea what he was doing.
Arcadius got to the center point of the Arena, whilst the other man was just stepping into the Arena on his side. Arcadius didn’t slow down as he got within 20 feet...10 feet...5 feet...
Finally they collided, and the other man, surprisingly, did put up his sword in a manner of which to defend himself. Arcadius started out slow, simple little feints to the left, quick jab to the right. The man, however delusional he appeared, was actually a decent swordsman. Every time Arcadius feinted, the man did not bite on it, and actually thrust himself towards the side of which Arcadius had just faked. This went on for a couple more minutes, by which this time Arcadius was already soaked in sweat. Finally, Arcadius decided to stop doing simple things for they were going no where, he jabbed left, feinted right, and spun into an overhead strike. The man had, as expected, blocked the left jab, lunged at the right, and that left him vulnerable to the overhead. Arcadius’ blade hit the man right where his arm connects to his torso, completely severing his right arm. The man stopped and stared at his arm, which was now on the ground, while a monster pool of blood decided to commence around his feet. He dropped to his knees. Arcadius did a powerful side-swipe, beheading his opponent. Well, there goes that promise to not satisfy the crowds bloodlust.
“And your winner, from the Blue team...Arcadius!” The booming announcer said.
The crowd clapped that sounded between a mix of not being impressed and bored to tears; they had seen this kind of thing before, and they wanted something better.
Arcadius didn’t know what else to do, so he just started walking towards the door that led back to the bloody hall and the the training room. To his disgust, he himself was adding on to the bloody splatter painting of the walls, for he had the mans blood all over him.
Pushing the door open, he stepped into the training area and beyond, to where the giant-sized man was.
The man chuckled, “Aha! That’ll show them Yellow bastards whose boss! As for you, wasn’t the prettiest, nor the most entertaining battle I’ve ever witnessed, by you won, and at least you got your feet wet, eh?”
Arcadius didn’t say anything for he thought, “Wow, I’ve killed two men in two days. By the time all of this is over, I’ll have racked up a body count to make the Spartans jealous.”
“Alright pit-dog. Go ahead and train, go home, whatever. One fight a day, simple as that.” The man said.
“I have one question first.” Arcadius said, “What should I call this place, like, this specific room?”
“Ah. You can call this, the Bloodworks. But alas, go on, come back tomorrow if you think you won’t die!” The man answered.
With that Arcadius stepped out of the room, walked across the training area, and outside once again. The elf-jackal was still there, but now he had a lockbox next to him, which was presumably for people placing bets on the fights.
“Nice job, for a pit-dog.” The elf-jackal said.
“Thanks, I guess. What’s your name anyway?” Arcadius asked.
“My name is Blödtherm.” He replied.
“Does that mean something?” Arcadius asked.
“Yes. It means ‘bloodstone’ in your language.” Blödtherm answered.
“Oh. Do you come from the Eldarísa Forest?” Arcadius questioned.
“Ah, yes. The Forest. Many, many years ago I did live there.” Blödtherm said, “Wonderful place it was. The plants were lush all year-round.”
“How do you manage to do that?” Arcadius inquired.
“Well, we sing to the plants, its quiet simple really.” He answered.
“Wait, you sing, to plants?”
“Yes. We sing to plants to keep them in top shape. Then, we have our celebration once every hundred years to commemorate our ancestors for discovering Eldarísa. During this time, its almost constant singing, and everything is basically a magical blur of color.” Blödtherm said.
Sounds like being on skooma. Arcadius thought, but he said, “Uh-huh. Well, I must be going.”
“Fair well, human.”
So, Arcadius headed back to the Inn, even though it was just past midday. He was almost there, when he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, down a dark alley. Curiosity getting the best of him, he headed down the alley, hand on Tíroz’s hilt.
“Hello?” Arcadius called out, no answer.
He keep going onwards, but still there was no sign that anyone, or anything, had been here, except the oversized rats. He had finally given up pursuit, dismissing it as a play on the light, but when he turned around there was an enrobed man.
“Who are you?” Arcadius asked, though more of a yell.
“That, is not important. What is important though, is what I have to show you.” The robed man said.
“And what might this be?” Arcadius asked, a little more calmly this time, though still on edge.
“Ah, that needs to wait, Arcadius.” The cloaked man said.
“Well, what do you want then, stranger?” Arcadius asked, back to the semi-yell again.
“I was told to recite this to you,” The man said, “Thou cannot prevail, whilst thou don’t know the true hostile. Journey the path of darkness and self-pity, and only if you know thy Champion, will you ever hold happiness again.”
“Zeus help me, what does that mean?” Arcadius asked, but the cloaked man had disappeared into nothingness.
Arcadius stood in the alley for a few moments longer, half-hoping the man would return, while the other half said that he should get out of this alleyway and get back to the Inn. So, he headed off to the Sleeping Giant, still a little shaken by his recent encounter.
Entering the Inn, the Innkeeper could tell something was off. Perhaps the way Arcadius’ skin was completely pale is what did it, or perhaps how he hurried into the room, and stumbled over a chair. Regardless, something was off.
“Sir? Is something wrong?” The Innkeeper asked.
“No...no, I’m fine.” Arcadius said.
“Are you sure? Looks like you’ve just seen Cerberus itself.” She said.
“Okay, yes, something did happen.” Arcadius said.
“Oh, do you wish to tell me?” She said.
So, he told her, in a hushed tone of course, about the events of the day, especially the odd cloaked man and what he had said to Arcadius. Being interrupted more than a few times by other customers, when he finished it had been at least an hour.
“Hmm. I have not heard of a cloaked man giving out riddles of despair, even though I have heard quite the number of tales being an Innkeeper and all.” She said.
“Aye. Nor have I. The thing is, he said champion, did he mean the Arena Champion?” Arcadius asked.
“That may be something you want to look into.” She said.
“Yes, indeed I shall. But anyway, I really need to get some rest, I’ve got another battle tomorrow.” Arcadius said, and with that, he left the counter and headed up the stairs towards his room.
He shakily took off his armor tonight, the events from that afternoon still fresh in his mind, replaying the alley scene over and over, like a broken record. He finally was free from his protectors of death, and he settled down on the firm, scratchy bed.
He awoke that morning, still somewhat sore from yesterdays battle. He put his armor back on, and continued out the door, towards the Arena. The sun was hidden by a barrage of clouds, and it appeared as if it would downpour any minute.
Arcadius passed by the Market District, which was surprisingly empty today. He got to the front door of the Arena, and was greeted by Blödtherm.
“Hello, human.” Blödtherm said.
“Aye. Going to fight again, may I have access to the Bloodworks?” Arcadius asked.
“Yes.” He said, and the door appeared right behind him.
Arcadius entered through the door, which he was still not entirely sure how it was there; but not at the same time. He walked down the very quick flight of stone stairs, and was into the training area, where yet again an assortment of different creatures and humans from different backgrounds where hacking into straw-stuffed dummies.
“Pit dog, come back for more?” The giant of a man asked, his voice booming across the room.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Arcadius answered. Ready to win, again.
“Good. We have a deal with the Idalium prison, three prisoners against one of our gladiators, if they win, they’re free, if not well, they’re dead. Anyways, I’ve chosen you to fight these three.” The man said.
“Simultaneously?” Arcadius asked.
“No, one at a time, like a city guard, yes at the same time!” The man boomed.
Arcadius nodded, now he wasn’t so sure if he was going to win.
“Alright, now that our chit-chat is done, get your ass out there, and slay some rotten prisoners!”
With that, Arcadius marched out of the Bloodworks, and into the hallway, now with even more blood on the walls, leading towards the Arena. He hiked up the lazy incline, and waited behind the metal gates until they dropped; allowing him to charge onwards to his opponent. He again heard the announcer: “With the one winner from the Blue team, going on against three, yes, THREE prisoners. We are about to find out, if the prisoners will be granted freedom, or if the pit-dog will again succeed!”
The fence flew open, and Arcadius charged his trio of opponents, with Tíroz in hand.
The first thing he noticed, was that they definitely did not look like normal prisoners. They were clad in full metal armor, the one on the left wielding a mace, the middle one brandishing a two-handed sword, and the prisoner on the right was jabbing a spear masterfully into the air. Arcadius kept his distance at first, swirling Tíroz experimentally around, seeing what his opponents would do first.
He didn’t have to wait long for an answer, the one in the middle let go a blood-curdling war cry, and charged towards Arcadius. Alright big guy, let’s do this. He blocked the prisoners initial strike, an overhead swing. He knew that the man would probably be able to beat him if he let him strike at will. So, Arcadius bounced around, using his finesse style to his advantage. He was subconsciously aware of the spearman coming around his left flank, while the mace-wielder was coming around his right.
Knowing that he could very well soon be defeated, he feinted towards the two-handed prisoner; they all bit on his trap. The swordsman went to block the fake blow, leaving him to be dealt with later. He did a massive arching swing towards his left, hitting the spearman in middle of his torso. Tíroz slid about halfway in, before coming to a stop, the spine. The spearman fell to the ground, paralyzed from the neck down, not being able to do anything about his kidney which was now outside of him. Arcadius quickly turned to see that the remaining two were charging at him. One down, two to go, so let’s do this. Arcadius engaged the mace-man first, hoping to get rid of him quick and easy. I don’t think they’ll be fooled by another feint...I’ll just attack, and hopefully take them off guard. So that is what he did, he charged into the mace-man, and as he had hoped, the mace-man did not raise his weapon, thinking it’d be another feint. He thrust Tíroz unblocked into the mans chest, completely burying itself to the hilt. He yanked Tíroz free, and the prisoner slumped, holding his chest, attempting to stop the massive gush of blood. The two-handed warrior now looked a little shaken. You’ve just witnessed me kill two of your friends, you better be scared, because its your turn next! He went all out on the last prisoner. Completely unrelenting barrage of attacks and feints. The prisoner was reeling, in complete defense mode. Arcadius got Tíroz under the hand-guard of his sword. He heaved upwards, and the blade went flying away from them both. The prisoner went down on his knees, begging for mercy.
“I have a family, please... please don’t kill me... I’ve honestly done-” The prisoner started, before Arcadius cut him off:
“Citizens of Argos! What do thou say about this...creature? Yay or nay?” Arcadius asked, booming his voice towards the crowd.
The crowd erupted, “Kill him!” and “Off with his head!” were some of the common things he heard.
Upon this, he looked at the pathetic man once more... and then brought Tíroz in a complete circle, and hacked the man’s head clean off. The rest of him fell forwards, his head rolling off to the left.
“And your winner, from the Blue team, Arcadius!” The announcer shouted over the overjoyed crowd. Apparently I put on a good show.
Arcadius made his way towards the Bloodworks, looking at the havoc he had wreathed across the Arena. Blood, body parts, entrails, all covering the sand. Well, no one said being a gladiator was a clean job, or even a decent one at that.
He made his way down the bloody hallway, and bumped straight into the big man.
“Now that, was something that was at least worth watching. I’d thought for sure I’d never see you again, but I was wrong. With that out of the way, I think tomorrow you’ll-” He started, but a courier came into the room and asked to talk to the man, who’s name was apparently Perseus. Perseus came back into the room, the blood drained from his face.
“Well, there’s indeed a special fight waiting for you tomorrow. All I have to say is, good luck. You’ll need it. And rest. A lot.” He said.
“What? Who am I fighting?” Arcadius asked.
“I cannot say. You’ll merely find out tomorrow. Be here by midday, everyone will need to see this.” Perseus said.
“What?” Arcadius asked again.
“Just leave. Rest, and be here by midday.” Perseus said, and with that he gave Arcadius a little push towards the door.
He went up the stairs, and outside where Blödtherm was there waiting for him.
“Good job today. I wish the best of luck in your battle tomorrow.” Blödtherm said.
“Does every except me know who I’m going against?” Arcadius growled.
“No, actually. This will be as much a surprise to the crowd as it will be to you. I believe the only people that know about would be me, the courier who told Perseus, Perseus, and the person whom challenged you, who I cannot name.” Blödtherm said.
“Why can’t anyone tell me, or they themselves find out?” Arcadius asked.
“Because, this is what makes the Arena, the Arena. Without heavy duty twists like what will unfold tomorrow, its just a bunch of savages going at each other.” Blödtherm explained.
Arcadius pondered on this answer, then finally said, “So, this person who is challenging me, is he doing it because he wants to see how good I am, or what?”
“Ah, this I do not know, nor would I be obliged to tell you. But regardless, based on who it is, it is because he fears you.” Blödtherm said.
“Fears me?” Arcadius questioned.
“Aye. He fears you will grow even better than you are now, which is highly likely, so he is challenging you up front, tomorrow.” Blödtherm said.
Arcadius puzzled over all the people in the city that might fear him for a few seconds. The thought was absolutely ridiculous. He then said, “Well, thank you, Blödtherm, for telling me what you can. I’ll be here tomorrow, for this apparently rather significant battle. Fair well.”
“Aye, fair well, human.”
Arcadius trudged through the bustling city, towards the market. He had received a hefty amount of coin from that last battle. One person was one-hundred coins. three-hundred coins, plus the one-hundred coin bonus of decapitation, gave him four-hundred to spend.
“Sir, would you like to buy my grandest book, What Really Happened at Plataea?, describing how we could’ve gone without losing one-hundred or more soldiers had the generals not flanked the left first?” Some short looking man asked, while he had apparently passed by his booth.
“Nay, I do not have the coin.” Arcadius lied.
“Nonsense! I’ll give it to you for just 10 coins, surely a battle-born type such as yourself has 10 coins on him!” The man replied.
“I do not even have 10 coin on me. I’m just a peasant passing through town. Now, excuse me.” Arcadius lied, again.
“Sir, you can trade an armor piece, or perhaps that sword?” The man said, reaching towards Tíroz’s hilt.
Arcadius quickly unsheathed Tíroz and just barely stopped the blade before it cut the man’s neck wide open.
“Listen to me now, dealer. I do not wish to buy your book, nor trade any item of mine for it. If you ever attempt to touch my things, especially this blade, without my permission, next time I won’t stop the blade short of opening your neck. Now, get away from me!” Arcadius shouted.
The man had obviously soiled himself, and ran, or rather flew, back towards his booth. It appeared as if no one approached him for the rest of his trip towards the actual market. Better that way.
Arcadius finally made his way to where the goods of some actual value, whether it be food or genuine jewelry, this was where you didn’t have to worry about be ripped off twenty coins, or forced to buy something to stop the never ending stream of annoying salesmen.
Arcadius walked over to a black booth. One that was located towards the back of the market. He had seen this booth his first time looking through the window, and wondered what kinds of things could be found here. He had meant to check it out before, but had forgotten about it until just recently.
He knocked lightly on the black wood, waiting for service. He waited and waited, thinking that maybe it was just an old abandoned booth that no one used anymore. Suddenly, he saw something out of the corner of his eye, moving through the dark and pungent alleyway. He thought it was the booth owner, or perhaps that creepy, enrobed man he had meant earlier. Regardless, he decided to stick around for a few more moments, before turning his back, and heading back to the Inn to rest.
He awoke early that following morning. Before dawn, even. He strapped on his steel breastplate, as well as the other steel items he had. I think I might need all the protection I can get...
He tied the scabbard that held Tíroz to his leather belt, and headed outside. The Innkeeper stopped him and said, “Listen, you’ve become quite the talk around the city.”
“Really?” Arcadius asked.
“Indeed. For the last couple of nights, I’ve gotten the regulars in here, and they keep talking about ‘The Liberator’ who killed three prisoners.”
“The Liberator?” He asked, stunned. They’ve given me a nickname now!
“Yes, The Liberator. Anyway, people enjoy your feats, but I fear that today’s battle will be something monstrously difficult, just to keep your momentum rolling.”
“Actually, I had the same thought. Blödtherm told me that the Emperor himself might challenge me tomorrow, for he fears how powerful I might become.” Arcadius explained.
“Aye. That might be a possibility. Now, whoever, or whatever, you fight this afternoon, I wish you the best of luck. Personally, I think we’d be better off with a different ruler, as do most people I talk to.”
So, Arcadius walked out of the Sleeping Giant, and headed towards the Arena. The air was still, and no one bustled around the Market like they always did. As far as Arcadius knew, it was just a normal day. So why would everyone not be living it like it was? Then, a horrific realization came to him: What if the Emperor had summoned them to the Arena, to watch himself and Arcadius duel? This could be bad...very bad.
Arcadius practically sprinted to the Arena, with full armor on, that was no easy task. He ran into Blödtherm at the front gate.
“Blödtherm...what is...the main...event for today?” Arcadius gasped, out of breath.
“Well, human. It appears you are going to be facing the Emperor today...” Blödtherm said.
It was just what Arcadius expected, and even though he might finally be able to get his revenge on the man who had taken everything he had in a blink of an eye, he couldn’t help the fear that welled inside of him, like an overinflated balloon.
“Thanks...thank you.” Arcadius managed to say.
“Anytime human.” Blödtherm said.
So, Arcadius headed down to the Bloodworks, for maybe the last time, no, definitely the last time.
“Arcadius! The number one pit-dog in the entire country!” The giant man, who Arcadius simply called ‘mentor.’
“Aye. So, I’m facing the Emperor, eh?” Arcadius asked.
“Why yes, as a matter of fact. Nervous?” The mentor said.
“I...no. No, I am not. I have been waiting for this moment, for a long time. So you could say.” Arcadius replied.
“Good, good. Now, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m quite positive that everyone in Argos is here. They want a show, so go out and take down the Emperor that no one wants! Down with Archimedes!” The mentor said.
“Aye. I hope to do just that.”
With that, Arcadius now feeling rising hope, rising power, he headed towards the Arena, ignoring the unholy halls splattered with old remains. This was much more than just himself getting revenge; no, this was about the entire city, even bigger, the entire country of Thessa. No one wanted to remain under this harsh reign of tyranny anymore. They wanted justice just as much as Arcadius did. He was a people’s man, and he would be The Liberator.
The announcer was booming over the crowd; which was surprisingly silent at this point in time. Arcadius couldn’t pay attention to what the announcer was saying; his senses were screaming on edge. His body was ready to plunge into the cold depths of war, battle, and destruction. He was ready to win!
The iron fence swung open, and he saw his enemy, the Emperor, across on the other end. His enemy was wearing nice gold armor, plaid with various gems here and there. He was carrying a one-handed sword, made of gold of course, with an exquisite hilt made of gold studded with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. However, war was not about beauty, quite the opposite in fact. Battle was merely misery brought on by conflict; one of the worst things one can go through.
Arcadius and Emperor Archimedes stared at each other for a seemingly long minute. Then, finally, the Emperor set forth a challenge, “Come after me, ex-prisoner. I would rather enjoy wrecking the hopes of humanity sooner or later. Preferably not the latter.”
Thus, Arcadius charged Archimedes. The Emperor parried his initial strike, and tried to jab him in the torso. Arcadius blocked it and and swung towards his right. The Emperor blocked again; once more trying to jab him in the chest. Arcadius, for whatever reason, did not feel the need to attack aggressively. He did not want to get tired quickly, nor did he want to Emperor to realize he was attacking so aggressively and take advantage of it. The battle raged on for a few more minutes, neither competitor getting the upper hand.
“Had about enough yet, Prisoner?” The Emperor asked, with a grin.
“Nay. How about yourself?” Arcadius asked.
The Emperor chuckled, “As if I, Emperor Archimedes the Third, would ever surrender to a little peasant!”
I think he’s trying to get me to lunge in outrage or something...if so, its not working.
Arcadius feinted to the right, and spun off; feinting that overhead as well. Archimedes, however, didn’t not react to the feints, as if he knew they were coming. The Emperor tried slashing Arcadius through his waist, so Arcadius had to trail off and block him before he could finish his maneuver. Archimedes feinted right, and lunged forwards, towards Arcadius’ face. Arcadius rolled out of the way, narrowly missing the Emperor’s shiny blade. Archimedes darted around, but Arcadius was already standing.
“Why won’t you die already?” The Emperor growled.
Archimedes lunged again. This time Arcadius met him in mid-air and they had an aggressive deadlock. Arcadius knew that whoever let go first, would either be killed instantly by the forward momentum of the others blade, or be maimed to the point of dying regardless.
“Give up, boy. You cannot win now.” Archimedes said.
“Never. I’m here to win a new leadership for all these people. The glorious people of Argos, and everywhere else in Thessa!” Arcadius shouted back.
Arcadius pushed one more time, then rolled towards the Emperor. Archimedes stumbled from the lack of pushing back, and tripped over Arcadius. Arcadius had hoped this had happened. He powered his swords upwards, trying to find anything on the Emperor he could hit. His sword finally struck home, with something at the end of it. Arcadius looked up, his hilt was right up to where the sword had gone in; just above the Emperor’s navel.
The Emperor stared at Arcadius in disbelief. Then let go a grunt, and fell limp. Arcadius pulled his sword out of the newly made corpse, spewing fresh blood all over himself. Arcadius walked towards the center of the Arena; the crowd continuing to be awestruck.
Arcadius yelled. A roar of victory, revenge, satisfaction, and blissfulness. After he finished, the crowd began roaring and chanting.
The announcer’s voice came on over everyones, “Here is the winner, the People’s Champion...Arcadius!” That was followed by more chanting and roaring from the crowd.
The announcer climbed down from his high seat above the pavilion. He walked up to where Arcadius was still standing, at the center of the Arena.
“My lad, you’ve won!” The announcer said, smiling.
“Aye, I guess I did.” Arcadius said, quietly.
“Now, tell me, what are you to do now that you can become the king of Thessa?” The announcer asked.
“I...I’m not going to take the position, I can tell you that.” Arcadius said.
“Why?” The announcer boomed, hushing the crowd once and for all.
“I’m not taking the position of king, because I do not see myself as fit to rule the kingdom. In the end, I would only be another Archimedes. I refuse to make myself become one of these...these tyrants. Thus, I am leaving. I’ll leave the people to choose their leader.” Arcadius answered, walking out of the Arena.
“Wait, come back! You have to be king, the people want you!” The announcer said, trying to follow him.
It was too late. Arcadius had made up his mind, and he simply pushed the announcer to the ground once he finally caught up.
“Why...why leave us...like that?” The announcer sputtered. “Because, I’ve made up my mind. Unless you want to end up as the Emperor, excuse me, the old Emperor, I suggest you get back to the Arena.” Arcadius snapped back.
The announcer stood there, stunned. Some of the crowd had filed out of the stands and outside of the gate as well. They all gathered around, watching their champion, the man who had killed their evil ruler, walk towards the sunset. Already he appeared a tiny silhouette against the giant ball of gas. In fact, it looked as if he were walking into the fire; never to be seen again.
Basically, the Shades were creatures from the very depths of Hades itself. They were definitely bipedal, and humanoid creatures, but that’s where the similarities stopped. They tended to veil their faces, which was all the better, for they had very grotesque faces which were made up of wrinkly, sagging, chunks of rotten flesh. Their breath smelled even worse; mounds of trash mixed with old fish and perhaps a touch of expired milk. When Emperor Archimedes called the Shades to do something, it usually meant something of high importance.
Arcadius was a well-built man, or at least he was until he had been imprisoned. He stood at five-foot, eleven-inches tall. Weighed around 200 before being thrown in the dungeon, but weighed around 130 now. Long had he dreamed of once being able to get out of here, and slay the Emperor who had unjustly thrown him in here. However, that want of revenge was fading as the days grew longer; now everyday he felt his very life, his soul, ebbing away into the void; darkness.
Besides, everyone knows those who are sent to the dungeon, never escape. At least, there had never been any record of it in the long duration of 100 years since man first set foot on this country of Thessa.
“Get your bastard-ass up and out! We’ve got a tournament to do!” A guard said as he kicks the door open, “Up you go! Come on, I ain’t got all day!” A tournament?
Arcadius struggled to stand as they released him from the chains suspending him in the air. Not to mention, the light pouring through the now open door, was blinding. As he stumbled towards the light, a guard stuck his foot out to trip him, and succeeded. He heard one of them laugh heartily as he took a mouth full of dirt.
“C’mon you lazy runt, or I’ll take your head clean off meself!” The other guard said, dragging him up.
Arcadius arrives to the large circle chamber in the middle of the dungeon, and notices that the rest of the prisoners are also here. The guard that tripped him pushes him out of the way to get to the center of bodies.
“Alright, quiet down scum!” The guard yelled, “The Emperor has a very generous offer for all of you! He ordered me to let the winners of this here challenge go, with 1000 gold to all of ya!”
“What’s the challenge?” A prisoner asked.
“Well, its funny you should ask because-” With that the guard took an arrow from his quiver, notched the arrow, and sent it flying. It hit the prisoner in the dead center of the neck, killing him instantly, “-you won’t get to find out. As for the rest of you, you will be paired up, given a small blade, and will fight to the death. The winners will get the reward, there are no alternatives.”
Arcadius felt bile rising, rising, nope, stopped it. A fight to the death with small rusty knives, what was the point of this, cleaning out the dungeon? Surely the Emperor must be mad, giving the winners gold just for killing each other. But, come to think of it, he imagined how sweet it would be to once again be able to see the sky, the sun, life. Oh, that was an opportunity and a half. He wanted it, bad. Not to mention, the chance to take down the Emperor, once and for all.
A guard interrupted his thoughts however by coming over and kicking the back of his knee, forcing him to collapse.
“You stupid bastard! I’m talking to you! You’re fighting him!” The guard yelled, pointing at an old, frail looking man. “Now get your ass up and fight, or die here, your choice!”
With that, the guard handed him the rusty blade. So now we fight to the death with three inches of rust, very enjoyable.
“C’mon you ill-minded fool, get your lazy ass up, or I’ll cut off your damn leg, beat you with it, and feed the rest of you to the Shades!” The angry guard yelled.
With a new feeling of fear, Arcadius quickly rose to his feet, completely ignoring his throbbing leg. For now, the old man began to advance onto him. Arcadius had no worries, even with a slight ailment. Surely this old man could not be a threat.
Suddenly, the old man lunged, not just any lunge, a 15-foot, half-the-distance-of-the-arena lunge. The old man quickly thrust at his ribs, Arcadius parried the blow, and spun off into an overhead strike towards the man’s right shoulder. The man rolled away, but this proved to make things easier for Arcadius. Since the man was old, it took him that extra second to get on his feet, had his opponent been any younger, it wouldn’t have happened, but it was not the case. Arcadius recovered from the miss, and lunged at the man while he was still just getting to his knees. He stuck his knife through the man’s armpit, and down, towards the vital organs. The old man stuttered, bright red blood bubbling out of his mouth, then he fell, still convulsing lightly on the dirt.
“Congratulations, prisoner. You have earned your freedom from these reeking dungeons, and as promised, here is 1000 gold pieces.” The guard said, leading him towards the set of hallways slightly tilting upwards, and handing him a small bag full of gold.
Arcadius couldn’t believe it, he had just killed a man. A man that, for every right, deserved the same freedom as Arcadius. Perhaps that man had a family. Maybe he was wrongfully convicted. Either way, Arcadius thought it wasn’t fair that he had been able to live, and go on, yet the man hadn’t.
Either way, the guard led him up and out; daylight. Glorious, beautiful daylight. It was simply stunning, the first time Arcadius had felt joy, however small it may be, in ages. And he savored every moment of it.
“You may want to head over there.” The guard said, pointing towards the blacksmith forge.
“Why?” Arcadius asked.
“Well, the only real thing you can do now that your outside again is to get a job. You haven’t seen the nation recently, but I can assure you the economy is the equivalent to the ass end of a beggar.” The guard replied.
So this is why the Emperor had made this tournament: gladiators. Of course, it was so simple. A clean, well not so much clean as it was simple, way of not only getting rid of the overcrowded dungeon, but stimulating the economy by pushing an x number of fresh meat into the Arena, it made for more weapons and armor to be bought, and more people might head to the Arena in hopes of a good battle. Unfortunately for Emperor Archimedes, he was to soon meet his downfall.
“Well, I wish you luck in your future.” And with that, the guard headed back down into the tunnel that had just recently emerged from.
Arcadius decided to heed to the guards advice, and headed off towards the hammering sound that was the blacksmiths forge, for if he were to become a warrior, he would first need a suitable sword, not this dainty little knife.
“Hi ho, customer, how may I help you today?” The blacksmith yelled, he had to, for he was bashing a clump of steel with a hammer against an anvil.
“I was looking for a blade.” Arcadius answered.
“Alright. Any preference or fighting style so I can point you towards the right sword?” The blacksmith asked.
“Well, I don’t want something large, like a two-handed sword. But if the hilt could be long enough just in case, like a one and half-handed hilt?”
“Alright. Hmm.” The blacksmith stopped his work on the premature sword and headed over to a stack of crates. He opened up the first one, and dug through it thoroughly. He finally ferreted out a shiny steel blade.
“How about this falchion?” The blacksmith asked, handing the blade to Arcadius.
Arcadius at first noticed that the sword was very odd. It had the guard of a two-handed sword, large chunks of steel sticking out on both sides. But the blade itself was slightly curved.
“Well, what d’ya think?’
“Eh. I’m not comfortable with it, anything else?” Arcadius replied.
With that, the Blacksmith again trudged over to another crate, and began to dig around that. Grumbling, he moved onto the next one. And the next one. And the next one. Finally, he got to the last one.
“If we don’t find a blade to suit you in this here crate, either you’ll need to change weapon preference, or find another dealer.” The blacksmith said.
He opened the crate, dug around as he had with the others, then he pulled out a blade.
It was magnificent. Purely perfection in steel form. It had a smooth black hilt, possibly obsidian, that was bound in dark green strips of cloth. It slightly resembled the hilt of a katana. The blade was three feet long, and the sharp part of the blade looked much like the black part of the hilt, and then above it was normal steel, almost as if whoever forged it had done it in different parts. The steel had a pattern etched into it, it looked like waves were coming down from the tip, to the part where the hilt met the blade.
“Ah, this here is a very fine piece of work from the elves up in them woods to the north. The Eldarísa Forest, if I remember correctly. Anyway, this blade has been through much, so the legend tells. It’s called Tiróz, Torment in our tongue.”
Arcadius didn’t know if it was the black, always cold handle, or the unique blade, or perhaps even the fact that this blade was called Torment, which was what the last 6 years of life had been for him, that made him want this blade.
“How much?” Arcadius asked.
“Ah, 1200 gold pieces.”
“Damn. I’ve got 1000, if that works?” Arcadius never was much of the haggler, but he had to try.
“Nay. I’m sorry, but its full price or no deal.” The smith said.
“Hmm. What if I were to work off the debt?” Arcadius asked.
At this, the smith chuckled, “My boy, do you know how much time you’d need to spend to work off 200 pieces worth? That’s quite a bit nowadays you know.”
“Okay. To be honest, I’m becoming a gladiator, and so if you sell me the blade for 1000, or less so I can buy armor would be great, I’ll be sure to double the price.” Arcadius said.
“Hmm. This puts me in a tough spot, indeed. Let’s say, you die in your first match, then what?” The smith replied.
“I, Arcadius Sonofnone, swear to you that I will not be killed in my first battle. I swear to pay you triple what the original offer, if you allow me to buy this blade from you, for the cost of 750 gold pieces.” Arcadius answered, hoping that tripling the offer would secure victory.
“Ah, damn. You’ve got yourself a deal, but if I hear you died before your debt is paid off, I curse your soul to eternal damnation in Tartarus, and may you never make it to the Isles of the Blessed.” The smith said, handing Arcadius the sword.
“On a slightly happier note, do you have any armor?” Arcadius asked.
He spent the rest of the day trying on leather and steel gauntlets, bracers, greaves, helmets, shields, and breastplates. The smith said that since he was so skinny (from being imprisoned, no doubt) that it would be easier and allowed for more range of motion if he had leather armor on. However, if it needed to be, he could very well wield steel as well. Thus, Arcadius had an odd mix of steely leather armor (or perhaps leathery steel armor?) so he wouldn’t be hacked to bits by a crazed Orc with an axe his first day in the Arena.
That night, he walked to the Sleeping Giant Inn, for he figured he was to report to the Arena Master the following day for his first matchup.
“Hello, sir. How might I be of your assistance?” A brunette woman sitting behind the counter asked.
“I would like a room to rent.” Arcadius answered.
“It just so happens that we have one available, up the stairs, and third door on the right. That’ll be 25 gold pieces.” The brunette woman said.
Arcadius, having handed over the gold, headed up the stairs to his room. He opened the door, it was nothing special. Just a cot, a dresser next to the window overlooking the market, and a chest at the foot of the bed. After being chained to a wall for six years, it felt mighty fine for Arcadius to finally be able to lay down on something semi-soft. Scratchy as the quilt was, Arcadius was tremendously tired, so he hastily took off his armor and placed them in the chest. He lay down, and fell asleep within minutes of closing his eyes. The only question he had was, what lay before him tomorrow?
Arcadius awoke an hour or so after dawn. He looked out his window, already the market was half full of people buying things from various stalls. Fruit, vegetables, meat, jewelry, you name it, it was in the Market District of Argos.
He slowly put on his steel boots, leather greaves, steel gauntlets, leather breastplate (not much of a breastplate as it was a leathery robe) his steel helmet, and lastly his shield, which was made basically studded wood. He got his scabbard on his side, with Tiróz sheathed within. Being completely ready, he headed out towards the Arena.
As he walked towards it, he realized that it was almost mad that most of the city came to watch events that took place here. Did people have nothing better to do than sit, bloodthirsty, as two men/beasts tore each other apart? Well, whether they were or not didn’t matter, for Arcadius, he was now going to become one of these men, though he swore that he would never help satisfy the crowds never ending bloodlust if he could help it.
He finally got to the front gates of the Arena, where the Master, who looked like something resembling an overweight elf with the fur of a jackal, though his fur was dark blue, like a summer sky just before night decided to completely reign over.
“Welcome, stranger. I take it you wish to enter the Arena?” The elf-jackal asked.
“Yes, I would.” Arcadius replied.
“Right-o. Wait a tick.” The elf-jackal said. He began to mutter words in a language that Arcadius was pretty sure was from no where near Thessa.
“There we are. Right through here.” Elf-jackal said, pointing towards a door that Arcadius could’ve sworn was not there when he first arrived.
“Okay, thanks.” Arcadius said, though he was slightly creeped out that the Master was an elf-jackal who Hades knew what language that allows him to create doors out of thin air. He opened the door and stepped inside.
Inside was a bunch of training dummies, with many people (and creatures too) going at them with a wonderful assortment of weaponry. There was one guy who was attacking a straw-stuffed dummy with a great two-handed war axe, while something that resembled a half-lizard half-human creature practiced archery at a wooden target across the room.
He walked over to where, what he assumed was the training area, connected to another room, this one a lot smaller, but it held rack upon rack of weapons, and one man who was about the size of Atlas, nope, maybe a bit bigger.
Okay, so he wasn’t Titan-sized, but he did stand at about six-and-a-half feet tall, and looked like he weighed excess of three-hundred, but there was no fat.
“Who are you?” The oversized man asked.
“My name is Arcadius, and I am here to join the Arena.” Arcadius answered.
The man laughed, “Alright pit-dog. First things first. You are a nobody. Thus, you will answer to me, at all times. If I tell you to run into a horde of Hades’ minions, I expect you to do so until you prove yourself better, understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Arcadius answered, though he wasn’t sure why this sounded so military-like.
“Next, you will move up in rank only as I see fit. I don’t care if you kill the entire arena and its champion, if I don’t think you earned, you don’t get it. Are we clear?”
Arcadius replied with another, “Yes, sir.”
“Lastly, pit-dog, its showtime. Go out there. You’ll be facing a fellow pit-dog from the yellow side. Don’t get your face pounded in, and maybe we’ll see about putting you into some blue colors, eh? Now go out there, and show me how bad you really are.”
With those great words of encouragement ringing through Arcadius’ head, he pushed open the small door that was behind the unholy sized man.
First thing he noticed was that there was blood all over the damn place. It was a hallway-type deal that lead upwards, presumably towards the Arena grounds, and Arcadius imagined that this was the only way in and out on this side, for all the blood would be explained by maimed/dead/dying people being dragged back here. With even more happy thoughts, he trudged onwards.
He made it to the metal gate that stood between him, and the flat, sandy battleground that was the Arena. He could hear the announcer say something along the lines of two newcomers fighting each other, and to see who would run away first. Upon that, the fence was moved aside, and Arcadius charged, into the battleground.
He saw the fence on the other side open, to reveal a man looking much like himself, if not worse than him. If his opponent was another prisoner, he could not tell. He did know this however, the man had no idea what he was doing.
Arcadius got to the center point of the Arena, whilst the other man was just stepping into the Arena on his side. Arcadius didn’t slow down as he got within 20 feet...10 feet...5 feet...
Finally they collided, and the other man, surprisingly, did put up his sword in a manner of which to defend himself. Arcadius started out slow, simple little feints to the left, quick jab to the right. The man, however delusional he appeared, was actually a decent swordsman. Every time Arcadius feinted, the man did not bite on it, and actually thrust himself towards the side of which Arcadius had just faked. This went on for a couple more minutes, by which this time Arcadius was already soaked in sweat. Finally, Arcadius decided to stop doing simple things for they were going no where, he jabbed left, feinted right, and spun into an overhead strike. The man had, as expected, blocked the left jab, lunged at the right, and that left him vulnerable to the overhead. Arcadius’ blade hit the man right where his arm connects to his torso, completely severing his right arm. The man stopped and stared at his arm, which was now on the ground, while a monster pool of blood decided to commence around his feet. He dropped to his knees. Arcadius did a powerful side-swipe, beheading his opponent. Well, there goes that promise to not satisfy the crowds bloodlust.
“And your winner, from the Blue team...Arcadius!” The booming announcer said.
The crowd clapped that sounded between a mix of not being impressed and bored to tears; they had seen this kind of thing before, and they wanted something better.
Arcadius didn’t know what else to do, so he just started walking towards the door that led back to the bloody hall and the the training room. To his disgust, he himself was adding on to the bloody splatter painting of the walls, for he had the mans blood all over him.
Pushing the door open, he stepped into the training area and beyond, to where the giant-sized man was.
The man chuckled, “Aha! That’ll show them Yellow bastards whose boss! As for you, wasn’t the prettiest, nor the most entertaining battle I’ve ever witnessed, by you won, and at least you got your feet wet, eh?”
Arcadius didn’t say anything for he thought, “Wow, I’ve killed two men in two days. By the time all of this is over, I’ll have racked up a body count to make the Spartans jealous.”
“Alright pit-dog. Go ahead and train, go home, whatever. One fight a day, simple as that.” The man said.
“I have one question first.” Arcadius said, “What should I call this place, like, this specific room?”
“Ah. You can call this, the Bloodworks. But alas, go on, come back tomorrow if you think you won’t die!” The man answered.
With that Arcadius stepped out of the room, walked across the training area, and outside once again. The elf-jackal was still there, but now he had a lockbox next to him, which was presumably for people placing bets on the fights.
“Nice job, for a pit-dog.” The elf-jackal said.
“Thanks, I guess. What’s your name anyway?” Arcadius asked.
“My name is Blödtherm.” He replied.
“Does that mean something?” Arcadius asked.
“Yes. It means ‘bloodstone’ in your language.” Blödtherm answered.
“Oh. Do you come from the Eldarísa Forest?” Arcadius questioned.
“Ah, yes. The Forest. Many, many years ago I did live there.” Blödtherm said, “Wonderful place it was. The plants were lush all year-round.”
“How do you manage to do that?” Arcadius inquired.
“Well, we sing to the plants, its quiet simple really.” He answered.
“Wait, you sing, to plants?”
“Yes. We sing to plants to keep them in top shape. Then, we have our celebration once every hundred years to commemorate our ancestors for discovering Eldarísa. During this time, its almost constant singing, and everything is basically a magical blur of color.” Blödtherm said.
Sounds like being on skooma. Arcadius thought, but he said, “Uh-huh. Well, I must be going.”
“Fair well, human.”
So, Arcadius headed back to the Inn, even though it was just past midday. He was almost there, when he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye, down a dark alley. Curiosity getting the best of him, he headed down the alley, hand on Tíroz’s hilt.
“Hello?” Arcadius called out, no answer.
He keep going onwards, but still there was no sign that anyone, or anything, had been here, except the oversized rats. He had finally given up pursuit, dismissing it as a play on the light, but when he turned around there was an enrobed man.
“Who are you?” Arcadius asked, though more of a yell.
“That, is not important. What is important though, is what I have to show you.” The robed man said.
“And what might this be?” Arcadius asked, a little more calmly this time, though still on edge.
“Ah, that needs to wait, Arcadius.” The cloaked man said.
“Well, what do you want then, stranger?” Arcadius asked, back to the semi-yell again.
“I was told to recite this to you,” The man said, “Thou cannot prevail, whilst thou don’t know the true hostile. Journey the path of darkness and self-pity, and only if you know thy Champion, will you ever hold happiness again.”
“Zeus help me, what does that mean?” Arcadius asked, but the cloaked man had disappeared into nothingness.
Arcadius stood in the alley for a few moments longer, half-hoping the man would return, while the other half said that he should get out of this alleyway and get back to the Inn. So, he headed off to the Sleeping Giant, still a little shaken by his recent encounter.
Entering the Inn, the Innkeeper could tell something was off. Perhaps the way Arcadius’ skin was completely pale is what did it, or perhaps how he hurried into the room, and stumbled over a chair. Regardless, something was off.
“Sir? Is something wrong?” The Innkeeper asked.
“No...no, I’m fine.” Arcadius said.
“Are you sure? Looks like you’ve just seen Cerberus itself.” She said.
“Okay, yes, something did happen.” Arcadius said.
“Oh, do you wish to tell me?” She said.
So, he told her, in a hushed tone of course, about the events of the day, especially the odd cloaked man and what he had said to Arcadius. Being interrupted more than a few times by other customers, when he finished it had been at least an hour.
“Hmm. I have not heard of a cloaked man giving out riddles of despair, even though I have heard quite the number of tales being an Innkeeper and all.” She said.
“Aye. Nor have I. The thing is, he said champion, did he mean the Arena Champion?” Arcadius asked.
“That may be something you want to look into.” She said.
“Yes, indeed I shall. But anyway, I really need to get some rest, I’ve got another battle tomorrow.” Arcadius said, and with that, he left the counter and headed up the stairs towards his room.
He shakily took off his armor tonight, the events from that afternoon still fresh in his mind, replaying the alley scene over and over, like a broken record. He finally was free from his protectors of death, and he settled down on the firm, scratchy bed.
He awoke that morning, still somewhat sore from yesterdays battle. He put his armor back on, and continued out the door, towards the Arena. The sun was hidden by a barrage of clouds, and it appeared as if it would downpour any minute.
Arcadius passed by the Market District, which was surprisingly empty today. He got to the front door of the Arena, and was greeted by Blödtherm.
“Hello, human.” Blödtherm said.
“Aye. Going to fight again, may I have access to the Bloodworks?” Arcadius asked.
“Yes.” He said, and the door appeared right behind him.
Arcadius entered through the door, which he was still not entirely sure how it was there; but not at the same time. He walked down the very quick flight of stone stairs, and was into the training area, where yet again an assortment of different creatures and humans from different backgrounds where hacking into straw-stuffed dummies.
“Pit dog, come back for more?” The giant of a man asked, his voice booming across the room.
“Yes, as a matter of fact.” Arcadius answered. Ready to win, again.
“Good. We have a deal with the Idalium prison, three prisoners against one of our gladiators, if they win, they’re free, if not well, they’re dead. Anyways, I’ve chosen you to fight these three.” The man said.
“Simultaneously?” Arcadius asked.
“No, one at a time, like a city guard, yes at the same time!” The man boomed.
Arcadius nodded, now he wasn’t so sure if he was going to win.
“Alright, now that our chit-chat is done, get your ass out there, and slay some rotten prisoners!”
With that, Arcadius marched out of the Bloodworks, and into the hallway, now with even more blood on the walls, leading towards the Arena. He hiked up the lazy incline, and waited behind the metal gates until they dropped; allowing him to charge onwards to his opponent. He again heard the announcer: “With the one winner from the Blue team, going on against three, yes, THREE prisoners. We are about to find out, if the prisoners will be granted freedom, or if the pit-dog will again succeed!”
The fence flew open, and Arcadius charged his trio of opponents, with Tíroz in hand.
The first thing he noticed, was that they definitely did not look like normal prisoners. They were clad in full metal armor, the one on the left wielding a mace, the middle one brandishing a two-handed sword, and the prisoner on the right was jabbing a spear masterfully into the air. Arcadius kept his distance at first, swirling Tíroz experimentally around, seeing what his opponents would do first.
He didn’t have to wait long for an answer, the one in the middle let go a blood-curdling war cry, and charged towards Arcadius. Alright big guy, let’s do this. He blocked the prisoners initial strike, an overhead swing. He knew that the man would probably be able to beat him if he let him strike at will. So, Arcadius bounced around, using his finesse style to his advantage. He was subconsciously aware of the spearman coming around his left flank, while the mace-wielder was coming around his right.
Knowing that he could very well soon be defeated, he feinted towards the two-handed prisoner; they all bit on his trap. The swordsman went to block the fake blow, leaving him to be dealt with later. He did a massive arching swing towards his left, hitting the spearman in middle of his torso. Tíroz slid about halfway in, before coming to a stop, the spine. The spearman fell to the ground, paralyzed from the neck down, not being able to do anything about his kidney which was now outside of him. Arcadius quickly turned to see that the remaining two were charging at him. One down, two to go, so let’s do this. Arcadius engaged the mace-man first, hoping to get rid of him quick and easy. I don’t think they’ll be fooled by another feint...I’ll just attack, and hopefully take them off guard. So that is what he did, he charged into the mace-man, and as he had hoped, the mace-man did not raise his weapon, thinking it’d be another feint. He thrust Tíroz unblocked into the mans chest, completely burying itself to the hilt. He yanked Tíroz free, and the prisoner slumped, holding his chest, attempting to stop the massive gush of blood. The two-handed warrior now looked a little shaken. You’ve just witnessed me kill two of your friends, you better be scared, because its your turn next! He went all out on the last prisoner. Completely unrelenting barrage of attacks and feints. The prisoner was reeling, in complete defense mode. Arcadius got Tíroz under the hand-guard of his sword. He heaved upwards, and the blade went flying away from them both. The prisoner went down on his knees, begging for mercy.
“I have a family, please... please don’t kill me... I’ve honestly done-” The prisoner started, before Arcadius cut him off:
“Citizens of Argos! What do thou say about this...creature? Yay or nay?” Arcadius asked, booming his voice towards the crowd.
The crowd erupted, “Kill him!” and “Off with his head!” were some of the common things he heard.
Upon this, he looked at the pathetic man once more... and then brought Tíroz in a complete circle, and hacked the man’s head clean off. The rest of him fell forwards, his head rolling off to the left.
“And your winner, from the Blue team, Arcadius!” The announcer shouted over the overjoyed crowd. Apparently I put on a good show.
Arcadius made his way towards the Bloodworks, looking at the havoc he had wreathed across the Arena. Blood, body parts, entrails, all covering the sand. Well, no one said being a gladiator was a clean job, or even a decent one at that.
He made his way down the bloody hallway, and bumped straight into the big man.
“Now that, was something that was at least worth watching. I’d thought for sure I’d never see you again, but I was wrong. With that out of the way, I think tomorrow you’ll-” He started, but a courier came into the room and asked to talk to the man, who’s name was apparently Perseus. Perseus came back into the room, the blood drained from his face.
“Well, there’s indeed a special fight waiting for you tomorrow. All I have to say is, good luck. You’ll need it. And rest. A lot.” He said.
“What? Who am I fighting?” Arcadius asked.
“I cannot say. You’ll merely find out tomorrow. Be here by midday, everyone will need to see this.” Perseus said.
“What?” Arcadius asked again.
“Just leave. Rest, and be here by midday.” Perseus said, and with that he gave Arcadius a little push towards the door.
He went up the stairs, and outside where Blödtherm was there waiting for him.
“Good job today. I wish the best of luck in your battle tomorrow.” Blödtherm said.
“Does every except me know who I’m going against?” Arcadius growled.
“No, actually. This will be as much a surprise to the crowd as it will be to you. I believe the only people that know about would be me, the courier who told Perseus, Perseus, and the person whom challenged you, who I cannot name.” Blödtherm said.
“Why can’t anyone tell me, or they themselves find out?” Arcadius asked.
“Because, this is what makes the Arena, the Arena. Without heavy duty twists like what will unfold tomorrow, its just a bunch of savages going at each other.” Blödtherm explained.
Arcadius pondered on this answer, then finally said, “So, this person who is challenging me, is he doing it because he wants to see how good I am, or what?”
“Ah, this I do not know, nor would I be obliged to tell you. But regardless, based on who it is, it is because he fears you.” Blödtherm said.
“Fears me?” Arcadius questioned.
“Aye. He fears you will grow even better than you are now, which is highly likely, so he is challenging you up front, tomorrow.” Blödtherm said.
Arcadius puzzled over all the people in the city that might fear him for a few seconds. The thought was absolutely ridiculous. He then said, “Well, thank you, Blödtherm, for telling me what you can. I’ll be here tomorrow, for this apparently rather significant battle. Fair well.”
“Aye, fair well, human.”
Arcadius trudged through the bustling city, towards the market. He had received a hefty amount of coin from that last battle. One person was one-hundred coins. three-hundred coins, plus the one-hundred coin bonus of decapitation, gave him four-hundred to spend.
“Sir, would you like to buy my grandest book, What Really Happened at Plataea?, describing how we could’ve gone without losing one-hundred or more soldiers had the generals not flanked the left first?” Some short looking man asked, while he had apparently passed by his booth.
“Nay, I do not have the coin.” Arcadius lied.
“Nonsense! I’ll give it to you for just 10 coins, surely a battle-born type such as yourself has 10 coins on him!” The man replied.
“I do not even have 10 coin on me. I’m just a peasant passing through town. Now, excuse me.” Arcadius lied, again.
“Sir, you can trade an armor piece, or perhaps that sword?” The man said, reaching towards Tíroz’s hilt.
Arcadius quickly unsheathed Tíroz and just barely stopped the blade before it cut the man’s neck wide open.
“Listen to me now, dealer. I do not wish to buy your book, nor trade any item of mine for it. If you ever attempt to touch my things, especially this blade, without my permission, next time I won’t stop the blade short of opening your neck. Now, get away from me!” Arcadius shouted.
The man had obviously soiled himself, and ran, or rather flew, back towards his booth. It appeared as if no one approached him for the rest of his trip towards the actual market. Better that way.
Arcadius finally made his way to where the goods of some actual value, whether it be food or genuine jewelry, this was where you didn’t have to worry about be ripped off twenty coins, or forced to buy something to stop the never ending stream of annoying salesmen.
Arcadius walked over to a black booth. One that was located towards the back of the market. He had seen this booth his first time looking through the window, and wondered what kinds of things could be found here. He had meant to check it out before, but had forgotten about it until just recently.
He knocked lightly on the black wood, waiting for service. He waited and waited, thinking that maybe it was just an old abandoned booth that no one used anymore. Suddenly, he saw something out of the corner of his eye, moving through the dark and pungent alleyway. He thought it was the booth owner, or perhaps that creepy, enrobed man he had meant earlier. Regardless, he decided to stick around for a few more moments, before turning his back, and heading back to the Inn to rest.
He awoke early that following morning. Before dawn, even. He strapped on his steel breastplate, as well as the other steel items he had. I think I might need all the protection I can get...
He tied the scabbard that held Tíroz to his leather belt, and headed outside. The Innkeeper stopped him and said, “Listen, you’ve become quite the talk around the city.”
“Really?” Arcadius asked.
“Indeed. For the last couple of nights, I’ve gotten the regulars in here, and they keep talking about ‘The Liberator’ who killed three prisoners.”
“The Liberator?” He asked, stunned. They’ve given me a nickname now!
“Yes, The Liberator. Anyway, people enjoy your feats, but I fear that today’s battle will be something monstrously difficult, just to keep your momentum rolling.”
“Actually, I had the same thought. Blödtherm told me that the Emperor himself might challenge me tomorrow, for he fears how powerful I might become.” Arcadius explained.
“Aye. That might be a possibility. Now, whoever, or whatever, you fight this afternoon, I wish you the best of luck. Personally, I think we’d be better off with a different ruler, as do most people I talk to.”
So, Arcadius walked out of the Sleeping Giant, and headed towards the Arena. The air was still, and no one bustled around the Market like they always did. As far as Arcadius knew, it was just a normal day. So why would everyone not be living it like it was? Then, a horrific realization came to him: What if the Emperor had summoned them to the Arena, to watch himself and Arcadius duel? This could be bad...very bad.
Arcadius practically sprinted to the Arena, with full armor on, that was no easy task. He ran into Blödtherm at the front gate.
“Blödtherm...what is...the main...event for today?” Arcadius gasped, out of breath.
“Well, human. It appears you are going to be facing the Emperor today...” Blödtherm said.
It was just what Arcadius expected, and even though he might finally be able to get his revenge on the man who had taken everything he had in a blink of an eye, he couldn’t help the fear that welled inside of him, like an overinflated balloon.
“Thanks...thank you.” Arcadius managed to say.
“Anytime human.” Blödtherm said.
So, Arcadius headed down to the Bloodworks, for maybe the last time, no, definitely the last time.
“Arcadius! The number one pit-dog in the entire country!” The giant man, who Arcadius simply called ‘mentor.’
“Aye. So, I’m facing the Emperor, eh?” Arcadius asked.
“Why yes, as a matter of fact. Nervous?” The mentor said.
“I...no. No, I am not. I have been waiting for this moment, for a long time. So you could say.” Arcadius replied.
“Good, good. Now, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m quite positive that everyone in Argos is here. They want a show, so go out and take down the Emperor that no one wants! Down with Archimedes!” The mentor said.
“Aye. I hope to do just that.”
With that, Arcadius now feeling rising hope, rising power, he headed towards the Arena, ignoring the unholy halls splattered with old remains. This was much more than just himself getting revenge; no, this was about the entire city, even bigger, the entire country of Thessa. No one wanted to remain under this harsh reign of tyranny anymore. They wanted justice just as much as Arcadius did. He was a people’s man, and he would be The Liberator.
The announcer was booming over the crowd; which was surprisingly silent at this point in time. Arcadius couldn’t pay attention to what the announcer was saying; his senses were screaming on edge. His body was ready to plunge into the cold depths of war, battle, and destruction. He was ready to win!
The iron fence swung open, and he saw his enemy, the Emperor, across on the other end. His enemy was wearing nice gold armor, plaid with various gems here and there. He was carrying a one-handed sword, made of gold of course, with an exquisite hilt made of gold studded with rubies, emeralds, and sapphires. However, war was not about beauty, quite the opposite in fact. Battle was merely misery brought on by conflict; one of the worst things one can go through.
Arcadius and Emperor Archimedes stared at each other for a seemingly long minute. Then, finally, the Emperor set forth a challenge, “Come after me, ex-prisoner. I would rather enjoy wrecking the hopes of humanity sooner or later. Preferably not the latter.”
Thus, Arcadius charged Archimedes. The Emperor parried his initial strike, and tried to jab him in the torso. Arcadius blocked it and and swung towards his right. The Emperor blocked again; once more trying to jab him in the chest. Arcadius, for whatever reason, did not feel the need to attack aggressively. He did not want to get tired quickly, nor did he want to Emperor to realize he was attacking so aggressively and take advantage of it. The battle raged on for a few more minutes, neither competitor getting the upper hand.
“Had about enough yet, Prisoner?” The Emperor asked, with a grin.
“Nay. How about yourself?” Arcadius asked.
The Emperor chuckled, “As if I, Emperor Archimedes the Third, would ever surrender to a little peasant!”
I think he’s trying to get me to lunge in outrage or something...if so, its not working.
Arcadius feinted to the right, and spun off; feinting that overhead as well. Archimedes, however, didn’t not react to the feints, as if he knew they were coming. The Emperor tried slashing Arcadius through his waist, so Arcadius had to trail off and block him before he could finish his maneuver. Archimedes feinted right, and lunged forwards, towards Arcadius’ face. Arcadius rolled out of the way, narrowly missing the Emperor’s shiny blade. Archimedes darted around, but Arcadius was already standing.
“Why won’t you die already?” The Emperor growled.
Archimedes lunged again. This time Arcadius met him in mid-air and they had an aggressive deadlock. Arcadius knew that whoever let go first, would either be killed instantly by the forward momentum of the others blade, or be maimed to the point of dying regardless.
“Give up, boy. You cannot win now.” Archimedes said.
“Never. I’m here to win a new leadership for all these people. The glorious people of Argos, and everywhere else in Thessa!” Arcadius shouted back.
Arcadius pushed one more time, then rolled towards the Emperor. Archimedes stumbled from the lack of pushing back, and tripped over Arcadius. Arcadius had hoped this had happened. He powered his swords upwards, trying to find anything on the Emperor he could hit. His sword finally struck home, with something at the end of it. Arcadius looked up, his hilt was right up to where the sword had gone in; just above the Emperor’s navel.
The Emperor stared at Arcadius in disbelief. Then let go a grunt, and fell limp. Arcadius pulled his sword out of the newly made corpse, spewing fresh blood all over himself. Arcadius walked towards the center of the Arena; the crowd continuing to be awestruck.
Arcadius yelled. A roar of victory, revenge, satisfaction, and blissfulness. After he finished, the crowd began roaring and chanting.
The announcer’s voice came on over everyones, “Here is the winner, the People’s Champion...Arcadius!” That was followed by more chanting and roaring from the crowd.
The announcer climbed down from his high seat above the pavilion. He walked up to where Arcadius was still standing, at the center of the Arena.
“My lad, you’ve won!” The announcer said, smiling.
“Aye, I guess I did.” Arcadius said, quietly.
“Now, tell me, what are you to do now that you can become the king of Thessa?” The announcer asked.
“I...I’m not going to take the position, I can tell you that.” Arcadius said.
“Why?” The announcer boomed, hushing the crowd once and for all.
“I’m not taking the position of king, because I do not see myself as fit to rule the kingdom. In the end, I would only be another Archimedes. I refuse to make myself become one of these...these tyrants. Thus, I am leaving. I’ll leave the people to choose their leader.” Arcadius answered, walking out of the Arena.
“Wait, come back! You have to be king, the people want you!” The announcer said, trying to follow him.
It was too late. Arcadius had made up his mind, and he simply pushed the announcer to the ground once he finally caught up.
“Why...why leave us...like that?” The announcer sputtered. “Because, I’ve made up my mind. Unless you want to end up as the Emperor, excuse me, the old Emperor, I suggest you get back to the Arena.” Arcadius snapped back.
The announcer stood there, stunned. Some of the crowd had filed out of the stands and outside of the gate as well. They all gathered around, watching their champion, the man who had killed their evil ruler, walk towards the sunset. Already he appeared a tiny silhouette against the giant ball of gas. In fact, it looked as if he were walking into the fire; never to be seen again.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
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