Rishal
Yarmulka
[A:0]
"Death by the sword is no death, but a release of the soul" ~ Rishal
Posts: 21
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Post by Rishal on Jul 26, 2007 18:34:20 GMT -5
The scalding water struggled out of the tap as Rishal entered the shower. She let it beat against her scalp and shoulders, her eyes closed. Her back was marred with scars from blade and whip, one very fresh gash reaching from her right shoulder to the left side of her rib cage. She was a Pit Fighter, a slave forced to engage in battle in a Gladiator like arena. The fights of the day played themselves on the in side of her eyelids as the burning water trickled down her back and over her wound. Her raven black hair hung around her bowed head, the water making it stick to her back, neck and shoulders. Finally she turned off the tap, the feeble stream of water lessening into a drip as she began to dry with a thread bare towel. She cracked her neck as she wrung out her hair. She lived in a bare cell. Bare walls, small shower cubby, a pallet bed, and a small chest that housed her cloths and little else. Her weapons where kept in the armory for safety reasons. many other fighters, prisoners mostly, were allowed to keep theirs with them. She sighed pulling on her coarse pants. Her breath echoed out through the vents in her muzzle, which covered the lower half of her face, as she pulled a soft, lose, lavender undershirt on. The oil scones(sp?) sputtered as she sat down on her bed, cross legged, listening to the other fighters as the guards check the cells and cages. She closed her golden eyes again, breathing deeply and slowly through the muzzle.
She was an assassin and mercenary by trade; that is what war had made her. Now the wars were over, and her kind were not better then common thieves and criminals. Prisoners of their own making some said; prisoners of a changing world said others. They were punished for their acts, hunted and captured like wild beasts; sold to the highest bidders at the stocks and left to become no more than memory. Many had found their way into the Pits; large, round arenas designed for battler and executions. In one day any one of the Pit slaves could be executioner, martyr, murdered and set against one an other in melei battles.
This was her new world; and she despised it.
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Post by Piccylo on Aug 16, 2007 2:21:54 GMT -5
Deral reached under his battered cloth rag of a tunic and scratched his chest, thinking to himself that even after he starts to regularly bathe again, he'll continue to scratch at imaginary flea bites out of habit.
But it was about time that he did this. He'd been down and out ever since the war ended, a chucked away veteran who came back home to find that during his years of service, his land had been taken over. Since then, he tried moving to the city to start again, and found himself stuck at the bottom of the barrel for past few years. He became a sewer rat, one of the hundreds who scurried about in the dingy allies and under the foot of the law, simply trying to get by. He'd had enough of the life. Beggar's Alley was full of stories about the horrors of being imprisoned, not the least of which was in becoming a Pit Fighter. Many would be sooner executed than made a fighter. Those who would be bought as slaves would rather die in squalor than face such indignity. But Deral came to the conclusion that there's nothing honorable about dying in squalor, that being a dog would be better than being a rat, and let himself get caught stealing bread. Despite the living conditions of the past few years, he has managed to maintain at least some of his soldier physique, which quickly gained the attention of auctioneers. He had not been in jail a day before he found himself taken out to be put on the selling block.
Someone shoved some cloth into his arms. He raised a brow and inspected what was given to him. A loincloth that would likely leave little to the imagination and a small towel. Orders were barked from somewhere that all new slaves to be sold must wash up and change before going onto the block for sale. He sighed and shook his head, wondering how wise his choice was. "Well, at least I can be clean..." He muttered philosophically.
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Rishal
Yarmulka
[A:0]
"Death by the sword is no death, but a release of the soul" ~ Rishal
Posts: 21
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Post by Rishal on Aug 16, 2007 21:25:41 GMT -5
The block was very inactive, as it had been for close to a month now. Few people seemed interested in buying slaves; all the good ones had owners. For what every their purpose. After the war with all the soldiers of other nations and their own, assassins, mercenaries, and others of their kind had wound up on the slave block. The Pit had been born of these... these rejects of society; these unwanted remnants of a darker time had found a new life in the Pit. Most had any way. Many had died in the Pit; by sword, spear, pike, beast, man's own carnal nature. These were the intangible realities of the Pit.
One of the Pit guards was in the slim crowed this day, looking for fresher fighters. Many of the old warriors were now piled in their mass graves and fresh faces were always good for betting. Many people would bet their life's holdings on some poor underdog, and lose them all too.
Rishal ran a hand through her still wet hair, looking at the small bars in her wooden door. Her golden eyes gleaming in the dim, dancing light of her room. This was the world she had come to know through the bite of a Southern warrior's clawed gauntlet and more lashes from the foreman's whip then she could count. She had heard rumors that fresh fighters would be arriving soon. She had little belief that they would come from the block, but; one could never know. Her lip curled in a grin under the muzzle. Fresh meat. It has been a long time since I have been able to face off with any one new. Her eyes closed as she laid back on the pallet they called bedding. Tomorrow, if she was lucky, she would smell new blood. That idea filled her with a pleasurable tingle as she chuckled softly. The sound rasping and hollow inside her muzzle.
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Post by funwithfire on Sept 15, 2007 23:43:59 GMT -5
Eavesdropping, like he tends to when bored, Xan could hear something about new slaves and began to get excited. "Ooo, new people I wonder if any will be friendly..." he poked his head out, through his cell bars, as much as possible ".... guard, Guard let me out I wanna see the new people please. I promise I'll behave... this time.".
The guard slammed his arm against the bars and glared at Xan "The last time anyone let you out without a 'leash' we had several whining about things missing that just happened to be in your room."
"Bu-"
"NO!"
With a whimper the little blinkling went to sit in the far corner of his cell. "Fine, but if it wasn't for that seal on the door or this collar I wouldn't be stuck in here." he began grumbling to himself as he picked lint off his shirt.
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Post by Piccylo on Sept 16, 2007 21:52:21 GMT -5
Deral was now a pit fighter: cleaned, bought, and sold. He'd never seen his new owner, a large man with a bushy, short beard, before today, but it was more likely that his owner lived in a wealthy district no where near Beggar's Alley rather than being from a different city.
With a small few of other new slaves, he was brought through a series of doors, surrounded by guards, and was taken though to the slaves' quarters. The other slaves that walked with them had their heads down, not wanting to look around them, but Deral had his head up and he looked about. Many faces of those that already lived and fought here pressed against the bars. He noticed that whenever a face wasn't seen in the small window of a door, the guard would stop and shove one of the other new fighters into the vacant cell.
They must not see too many new fighters.
The guards continued, not yet at the cell they wanted to put Deral in. As they walked, he stared hard at each face that appeared. If he was going to fight these people, he'd want at least one good look at them before meeting them with weapons. As he walked, he made sure to have his eyes meet with every person he passed to judge them.
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Rishal
Yarmulka
[A:0]
"Death by the sword is no death, but a release of the soul" ~ Rishal
Posts: 21
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Post by Rishal on Sept 16, 2007 23:56:25 GMT -5
Rishal heard the commotion, not rising to watch the 'walk of the doomed'. Many of the poor bastards would not live through the next months easily. She glanced at the door as a guard smacked his pike against her door. "Up bitch, see those who join you!" he was a new recruit, and a moron; in humble Rishal's opinion. "I will see each of them soon enough," she said from her reclined position. "Each and every one as the life is ripped from their screaming throats." The guard snorted and Rishal heard the sound of the feet growing closer to her cell. She closed her eyes when the guard beat against her door again. "I am warning you, dog, do that again and I will brake down the pile of splinters you call a door and rip your arm off." Her voice was coolly serene, almost as though she were in polite conversation with the guard but the poor boy went quite at her comment.
Rishal readjusted on her straw and cloth bed, listening to the louder approach. These humans... they must make a show of every event in their lives. she thought with disdain, ignoring the sound of the escort guards.
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Post by funwithfire on Sept 18, 2007 23:27:25 GMT -5
"They're almost here, yay." poking his head out again Xan tried to see the few passing his door already. As the group passed he stuck his arm out and said, "Hi, I'm Xanferious Callestier. Who are you?"
The guard looking down at him said, "Shut up before I have to cut your tongue out!"
"I'm just trying to be friendly." he looked up at the guard with a puppy dog pout and pulled his arm back in, though he still said a friendly 'Hi' as the slaves passed.
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Rishal
Yarmulka
[A:0]
"Death by the sword is no death, but a release of the soul" ~ Rishal
Posts: 21
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Post by Rishal on Sept 22, 2007 18:03:01 GMT -5
Rishal snorted, sitting up on her elbows, bellowing. "Xan shut up! Your voice is privilege! Don't make me revoke it!" She laid back down, grumbling. "Voice like squeaky saddle and that volume equals murder."
She had fought him once or twice, hating every second of it. He was up beat and peppy. What a sickening combination in Rishal's opinion. Sadly neither match had been a Red match. Each opponent fights to the death, victor is the last one breathing.
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Post by funwithfire on Sept 24, 2007 21:45:29 GMT -5
"Well, I can't really help that my personality is one of strongest traits I from my halfling side.", he climbed down of his door and began to pace, back and forth.
Mumbling to himself,"If the seal on the door wasn't tuned to this collars magic somehow, I could just poof and be out of here.", trying his best to keep quiet he popped over to his place on the door and continued to watch and look about, tail wagging.
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Post by Piccylo on Oct 4, 2007 22:35:08 GMT -5
Deral was in a locked cell before he knew it. He was too busy contemplating the strange , joyous creature whose arm stuck out of the window of his cell. In the ensuing argument between Xan and Rishal, Deral came to understand that Xan was part (likely half) halfling. The other half... he wasn't entirely sure, but it looked like Xan had some canine attributes.
Come to think of it, Xan sort of reminded Deral of the blink dogs he'd come across during his service, when a pack had joined his troop and them through part of a long campaign through an area plagued with displacer beasts. But Deral had never heard of blinklings before, so it didn't cross his mind that it was related, and Deral could only come to the conclusion that Xan had some sort of lycanthropy.
Even though the new slaves were silent, Deral included (though he was very curious about the other fighters still, and was sure he'd like to converse with them later) the other slaves in the block seemed to have gotten riled up as a result of the new ones coming in. A few other strange whoops and shouts echoed through the halls, especially as the escort guards began to leave, and more arguments sprung up from that. The guards stationed to stay seemed, in turn, agitated, and added to the yells to tell the others to calm down. The block quickly came nearly alive with the many yells reverberating off the sides of the walls.
Deral sighed and sat down on his cot, thinking that it didn't seem as bad as when fights erupted over food in Beggar's Alley, and something about that, though should have made him feel better about his choice, depressed him about the state of Humanity in the big picture.
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Rishal
Yarmulka
[A:0]
"Death by the sword is no death, but a release of the soul" ~ Rishal
Posts: 21
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Post by Rishal on Oct 25, 2007 17:45:45 GMT -5
While the new fighters were 'settled in' the guards and nobles who presided over the Pit where piecing together the next matches. "No no, we can't put the fresh meat- I mean new fighters against any of the veterans! They wouldn't last five minutes!" "Why not a dual match? It has been awhile since we have one. One vet and a newbie against the same. Or better yet, against one of the lions from the over seas trade." The talk went on like this. By the next morning the fighters would be told their matches while fed a meager meal. Keep them hungry, keep them edgy, keep them fighting. Those were the rules of the Pit owners. The rules of the fighters, keep alive, keep quite, keep winning.
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Post by funwithfire on Nov 8, 2007 1:29:54 GMT -5
Digging under what little of a bed he had Xan pulled out three daggers that he was allowed to keep for practice. I wonder who or what I'll get to play with next fight. Bored and without much of a target he placed the blades of each on the ends of his fingers. Keeping his voice down so as to not disturb the other cells. "Well let's see how long I can keep them balanced like this." The next instant he vanished and reappeared in the other corner, the blades wobbled some but none fell.
He repeated his 'blinks' going from one spot to another until he hit, what he felt to be, his safe usage limit. "Oops." The last jump left the knives unbalanced and all fell to the floor with a few ringing clangs. Starting to feel tired he picked up his weapons and stuffed them back under his bed and fell over on top of it. "Well, if no one has any complaints I think I'll try to sleep now." Half expecting, but not really caring, to hear a response he rolled over and closed his eyes.
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