Copied from the old site - he hit the character max limit and bounced.
Entry 14: Warrior reborn
After the time spent at the manor, my return to the slave pits was like the first time a shock to my system. The stink, the dirt, the mass of bodies. But I remembered, I was still a slave, and the night passed easier, the dawn would bring other things, besides warmth.
I had passed the place many times on the way to the market, I knew it to me the arena, most of the time they held horse races, but on other days they held fights. Lions vs. men, men vs. bear, man vs. man, gladiators. This slave pit was lined with cells and one could tell the difference between those in the cells and the rest. The more popular fighters had their own little cells. Even as dark and dank the dungeons may have been a single cell was a perk. The more fit combatants resided grouped in several cells, two to four in a cage. And then there was the fodder, those to be fed to the animals, or slaughtered by the other warriors, huddled together in one large cell, that is where I was. I think because I had severed as a manservant, and also the merchant's hand, I was placed in this group. If only they knew, I am a weapon, I was taught to handle anything, any situation, I was born to battle. Even with these thoughts came the thought that I had long since had a blade in my hand other than that of a knife, and I hadn't practiced. "A warrior can lose his edge with time" Words my father had once told me, I prayed that this not be the case. As the day grew on cells were opened and the better fighters were released. There must be a fight going on, I could barely hear, we must be in a deep dungeon.
The first day of my new imprisonment I was not called into battle. A handful of "fodder" were taken but I was lucky (unlucky?) enough not to be among them. When the day ended the skilled fighters returned. They were covered in sweat and blood, cuts and scars, but they had the smell of victory. A scent I hadn't forgotten. A fight won, a foe slain. Such glory. But I knew what would await me tomorrow; I would face the same fate as those in my cage. My cage, I then took note of my companions. They kept to themselves, 12 souls to await a death to be enjoyed by thousands. It made me angry, but it was only because I might be joining them.
The night passed, they fed us, a strange soup like mixture. Not very filling, but enough. I was served in a large trough and we ate like pigs. Was this to further break us? Or just a small amusement of the guards? I ate as much as I could, and tried to sleep, in my mind I went through the battle motions. I recalled all my lessons, I relived all the sessions of practice. But it was only a dream. I awoke to a gruesome reality; it was our turn to brave the arena.
The guards had us bound by our feet and taken up a long series of passages, no doubt to a maze to keep slaves from escaping. It was then I heard the roar of the crowd, I had a flashback of my fight with Larse. We emerged from the dark tunnel into the bright light of day, above and around us were row upon row of seats, and each filled wit ha screaming fans. He stood in the covered region, of the gated doors. The gate rose. We had entered from one side on the other stood an armored man. A fair fight indeed. I think I'd seen this one before. We, the 'fodder' were to be hurled at the warrior. We were lined up, and the first man in line was quickly given a small buckler and short sword. The steel armored brute stood waiting, his sword shone brightly in the sun as did his shield. The unfortunate slave was pushed into the arena floor proper the sandy ground, he stumbled kicking up dust. He tried to retreat but the gate closed and he walked forward into the arena. The crowd shouted with glee. The little slave charged the giant of a man, he swung with all the strength he could muster, and he was better off throwing the sword. It hit the armor and flew back. The man unused to a blade was taken with the momentum, and fell to the ground. Rather than kill him straight off, the knight kicked him over. The slave struggled to his feet. The knight swung his sword the little sword rose to block it. I flinched. The blades hit and the little man lost his grip on the sword. The crowd loved it, why? By now the slave held onto his shield as the knight went on the offensive. Swing after swing broke the wood, and soon the slave was unarmed. He fell to his knees, probably begging for mercy, the knight took his head. The next slave was no luckier, the knight cut off his arm as he tried to swing. The fourth was called, and the knight was traded for a man with a spear with three heads, a trident it's called I think. Even with no shield he warded the blows of the slave with ease. At one point he took the butt end and swept the slave off his feet. Once he was on the ground he stabbed him with the trident and picked him off the ground. The impaled body dangled in the air for a moment, then went limp. The crowd was overjoyed! I was next. Gods, anyone help me!
I took the sword and shield and stepped into the arena. I studied my opponent. He was a rather large fellow, taller and wider than I. He was very much built as his muscle glistened in the afternoon sun. His face was hid by a beard of black coal hair, sill I could see the grin on it. On his arm was a sleeve of chain mail. I did a practice swing of the sword, it was okay. I didn't charge, I waited, and I wanted to see if the spearman would make the move. He did. He spun his trident, like a staff, the bladed head was lost to me. He struck, it was the flat end, I tried to brace myself, but failed I took the hit and was knocked over. Damn! I rolled to my feet quickly, my sword still in hand. The crowd roared, he lunged with the spear, I raised my shield slightly. They were only feints, he was toying with me. My heart started to race, my blood pumping, I felt energized, and I knew it wouldn't last. I couldn't call upon my rages so this would have to do. As he feinted I charged, he wasn't surprised, the feint turned to a lunge, and I raised my shield and took the full force of the blow. I was amazed I didn't fall over from it, but my shield was shattered, and the heads of the trident were stuck in my arm. I don't remember screaming, maybe I did, but he pulled out the weapon and I dropped the shield, my arm now limp at my side. Now I faced a big problem, he had reach, power, and I had only a sword, and one arm to us it. Not good, but then I smiled. Of course the answer was so simple! I waited, I had but one shot and I had to make it count, mentally I prepared myself, I concentrated. The spearman was smiling even more, I was wounded, a wounded animal, and he would put me out of my misery. He spun the trident once again over his head. I was ready; I waited, as the crowd cheered him on.
He struck, the spinning stopped only for half a second and he thrust the three heads at me. With everything I could muster I sidestepped, he hesitated, I took advantage. The trident hung in the air to my right now; I raised the sword and brought it down hard on the trident. As I lowered the blade, he face was covered in shock. Although the head of the trident was metal, the pole was wood! In one motion I cut the head off the spear, still I don't stop, I move in and thrust my own blade into the brute. And we stay like that for what seems like an eternity. The warrior holding the broken pole, and I with my blade buried in his gut, the crowd is silent. The warrior coughs up blood, he saying something " Ud lok mi frayen" I thought it a curse, but it was otherwise, "Good luck, my friend" he grunted and then fell over. The crowd roared once more and tow guard came up and ushered me from the arena. Maybe it was a curse, the life I would now, no doubt live would be one of death. "Good luck" indeed
Entry 15: Of Revolutions and men.
Once more I was a slave. This time it wouldn't be so a nymph of a woman, but the roar of the crowd. Which is worse? A slave is still a slave.
"Luck!" "Did you see....!?" There were the words I heard as I was ushered to the "Owner's" booth. I was shackled again, they were no needed I had used much of my strength in battle; at this point a newborn babe could slay me. I was literally tossed to the floor of the booth. "Hso Vinai Ciualm " I looked up there was a fat little man, dressed in fine garments staring down at me. On each of his side were men similar to the one I had slain in the arena, but these men seemed healthier, in their hands swords, the naked blades reflected light on the walls. The Fat man gestured and the men that brought me in left. The man spoke again a strange look in his eyes, one of his guards grunts and picked me up and slapped me across the face. Saying it stung would have been and understatement, I was more week then I thought the blow nearly broke me in two; I shook from head to foot from it. I cursed at him in the tongue I had learned while living here. The fat man laughed "Is this better?" I was shocked; it would seem that he knew the tongue as well. "Yes." was all I could manage in between breaths. I was being held from my neck by the guard, my feet danged inches from the floor. The Owner said something; I paid attention, "Poila, wenl azrt!" Was this brute's name 'Poila?' I stared into his eyes, he looked down upon me. Why? Was he not a slave too? I had thought the guards were slaves that had proven their loyalty. But if not then it was just a job to him? A slave of the coin. I nearly wanted to laugh, but feared that it may make 'Poila' angrier. If it were any other day in the past I would taken his life so easily. The Owner was still talking; Poila let me drop to the floor. "....I was hopping to sell the one you killed to a client; I had told him of his skill. Now I cannot get anything from that corpse!! “His voice rose to shrill yell, I wasn't afraid of him, he didn't inspire fear in me. I looked behind him; it was the guards that did that, a common ploy of the weak surrounding themselves with the strong. The Owner calmed down, maybe too calm, that scared me. "I will not kill you. I don't like to lose and I lost money today." He turned back to his chair that stood at the window to the arena, "You will earn the money I lost betting on him. You will earn me the amount or you will lose your life. If you do this maybe you will also win your freedom." A lie, slaves never won their freedom. Men and women are born as slaves and stay as slaves. He gestures and Poila takes me outside to the other guards waiting there. I am taken back to the cells.
I rejoined my fellow cellmates, or at least that which was left of them. Most had fared much worse than I had, in the other cells I heard talking, some in my newly acquired tongue some not "Slayed....warrior....a lamb did." "Really?" "....I......him." "Mine"
And so began my time in the arena. When called for my second match the next day, I could feel the eyes of the Owner on me; did I really want to live? The crowd roared as I entered, it didn't help, across in the field was cage, in it a lion paced. I was armed with a buckler the size of my head and a long dagger. Those bastards!! This WAS only a game to them!! A cord was pulled from a safe distance and the great cat leapt forth. Out of the cage seemed larger, or what that only because I had only a slim blade to kill it? It was then I heard something over my shoulder I looked to see that I wasn't alone after all. So caught up I didn't notice the 4 others. We stood as the now free lion paced. It looked right at us, I moved away from the group on pure instinct, the others did the same, it was common sense. One warrior had a spear, another a net, and finally large shield. I guess together we were to slay the beast. The man with the net stayed back, a wise choice. The net was for stunning the beast. The man with the spear pushes the shield man forward. These men were not as new to this as I. The sheildman would protect the rest taking the creature's attention. The spear could do the same, but what of the knife? My face must have gone pale, I was the killing blow! I was to slash the thing's throat!! In theory I was to wait until the net and spear were at work, I would duck under the lion and cut its neck. I would be unharmed. Of course this was in theory, I'm sure in reality it wouldn't be so simple. As I thought about the task the others went to work. I thanked whatever gods could hear me for their assistance. Shield, as I now called him, jogged around the lion, getting his attention, he was nimble, ready to jump as soon as the lion did. Spear circled from the other side the lion tried to keep both in view, Spear poked the beast when it turned too far. Spear jabbed again this time the lion roared in pain and lunged Spear jumped to the side and Shield slapped the animal's rump! They were playing, and the crowd loved it.
It was a show wasn't it? A show of skill and grace anyone can kill, but to do it with such flare? They worked the beast into a frenzy; it lunged as the two ran about it tapping its back and tail. Soon the joking stopped and they began to really work on the animal again this, Net stepped forward, it was time to kill the beast. Spear looked at me in between his thrusts; I was to do it now. I was shaky, I took a step forward as I did Net threw his net from behind the lion and pulled standing the creature up on it's hind legs. This might be easy after all. Someone heard me. I had already lunged forward when the nets snapped and the lion came down on me. Damn! Shield rushed in, ramming the beast but it still fell on me. Spear jabbed but the speed and weight snapped his weapon. I was under it now, and panic set in, it started to scratch my body, I felt as the claws raked my skin. I tried to cover my head and face with the shield while I stabbed blindly at the body above, most of the time I hit air, the great furred creature was tearing me apart, I screamed and the crowd screamed, suddenly the beast stopped I could feel as it's life slowly faded. But now its weight was crushing me, the body was pushed off, and I was helped to my feet. From my one good eye, I gazed upon the lion with the broken spear handle through its neck. Blood started to cloud my vision; I could feel my other cuts doing the same. I would bleed to death, and above it all the crowd cheered.
I woke again this time in a cot, and not amid the sweating smelling bodies of my cell. I was in room filled with shelves and other tables with others men on them. I tried to move my arms to find that they along with my legs were strapped down to the cot. A man in a white robe came forward and touched my chest, it was then I noted all the scars covering my body, I looked like a tiger with the long scratches, I laughed then watched as the white robed man went t about his work. He was a healer, that was simple enough to see, I saw the others wearing white robes tending to the other men.
I stayed in the room for 2 days, no man spoke, well I spoke, but I was unsure if any heard me, or understood. After the 2 days, I returned to the cells, and it began again.
I was sent out to the ring, this time a short sword and buckler shield, another man accompanied me, he would be my opponent, and he was given the same armaments. He eyes me, I return the look. We entered the ring, the crowd roared, and the fight began. He was a descent fighter, I was better, but I knew better than to just slay him, they wanted a show. In minutes I had repeated slashes at the mans body, I suffered a cut as well. I wonder if I did that on purpose or it had been chance. It made little difference, I still won, and it was easy, too easy. The matches that followed were a blur, all the same, I would toy with my opponent they slay them, with each death I lived another day. Don't get me wrong, I was appalled to be doing such a thing, but I knew that they would do the same to me. I gained in rank.
Why didn't I escape? Why not fight my way out? I don't know maybe it was the thrill of battle, the warrior within me, the warrior in us all, that held me. What other time was man allowed to kill his fellow man and not be punished? Did I actually like this? Even as I questioned my motives for staying I learned of plot by others to escape. It had been months and once more I had learned another language, although it was hard to put a sentence together, I could understand what was spoken. One of the warriors was unhappy, and understatement, they all were unhappy. They all knew that they would die, sooner or later; few friends were made for fear of having the grim task of fighting them. A revolution was afoot. From what I could hear was that one of the older combatants had started to unite the higher ranked fighters.
The Mad King
