Knave
07-31-10, 01:53 PM
This fight takes place in the dark matter of the Citadel where all living things are kept. Each combatant is given a Master Key to use at their discretion.
He was here to impress, to honor the crowd and perform a show. He dressed appropriately in flames.
Ace stood before the citadel, the currents of society — the waves of people coming, going, passing, and fighting — battering him from all sides. There was something in their nature, which urged them to urge him to go inside or go home. They in passing occupied every facet of the human condition, young, old, kind and cruel exchanging glances, elbows, and smiles. He looked at the people around him, he saw people, he saw precious souls, and today they were here to see him. It was his day to fight.
Excitement seized him; he smiled with every pearly tooth and fought against the crowd. As he went curses went up, people were knocked over, he gave them reasons to cheer in the upcoming battles, he inspired them to feel, and it if was in their character, to hate. Once out of the throng, he ran along the citadels walls, a black and red silhouette in the early morning dusk. The sun itself was getting later, and Fall was falling as evidenced by the leaves he broke underfoot as he made the two mile run from one entrance to another. The distance was essential.
Ace soon made his way from the spectator’s entrance to the attraction’s gate, a gaping hole in the Citadel’s wall in which all manner of things entered, everything beyond paying customers. Gold could make even the bloodthirsty innocent. Golden furred and husky strong dogs — unlike any canine seen so far as the number of their teeth or their ability to hunt — were tethered to carts harboring the elements, and cages harboring much more violent beasts. Atop each strong dog, were two people, one to guide the animal they harnessed, and the other to watch the cages. Some of these creatures were wily.
The caravan stretched from this gate, through parted forest, and bridges across the seas into the horizon. There was always a demand for fantastic combat, and the citadel always had a demand for the resources that sorcery and druidic power could not provide in any commercial sense.
From the fading darkness swam enormous fish and eels through the air. Their expressions were far from hapless, their jaws massive, the shape of their mouths quite severe illuminated at all times by lights bobbing in the air. The lights inspired curiosity and attraction, something the rest of the creature killed. Ahead of them, the hypnotic seasonings of Deadman’s Bait lured them to their new home with visible trails of tantalizing stench.
In chains, criminals made slaves, slaves made gladiators, penned tightly together made the journey alongside animals. Their heads were bald. On their tongues, symbols burned scar tissue symbolized their crimes. Through shame and agony, the court had ruled that they should never speak again. These people pressed and crushed each other against the walls, gazing out at the new land they were entering into. They could taste freedom, and watched the world outside with such a hungry intensity. The elderly, who had served life, died standing for want of breath, but died happy at seeing the sun. Through the wooden bars of their crate, raised to the open-air hands and fists turned to the sky.
A circus of sadness and rage, born by greed, had swept up nearly everything imaginable to feed the druids joint lust for knowledge and gold. Beside the caravan, free men and women lined up; their battles and battlefields scheduled for this very day, and Ace soon joined them. The robes he wore looked far too large, the red fire embroidery ending just an inch below his fingertips and the sash synched high on waist. He flowed into the line, casting glances at the fish as they passed mere feet away.
This crowd of people was no less strange. Warriors with every kind of weapon. Fiends poorly disguised as human beings, hollow eyed, frothing at the mouth. Dwarves specially equipped with hooked gelding blades mounted on poles, sinister smiles shared between them through their beards. Dominatrices armed with the spikes and leather whips that clothed them. Giants of every proportion, characteristic and race.
There was no distinction, they were all heroes and villains, but they were contestants for the prize of money and fame.
The line thinned, Ace came forward toward the attendant’s kiosk, stating his name, “Ace Mandelo,” and flashing his papers and the sort of battle he had ordered, “I’m here for the Prisoner’s Suite.”
“Very interesting…” The beard said, as the druid looked through the papers and verified that it was authentic through the watermark runes inscribed upon its surface. Over the glowing blue lights of his magic, the druid looked up, his ancient face framed in the darkness of his hood. “You’re clearly insane. Try not to break down as you go.” He smiled as he stood and went to the back of his office, and returned with a jar containing a fairy of the pixy variety. It was smaller than six inches, and dressed in the barest of conservative fashions in hemp. All wild hair and green luminescence, its face was hard to see, but the explosive rune collar around its neck ensured that it was a loyal tool of the Citadel.
With a pop of the bottles top, he freed the fairy to the open and told it, “Take him to where the wild things are.” The fairy fluttered on still unfurling wings, and took off alongside the caravan of animals in a direction none of the previous gladiators had traveled before. It paused, beckoned, and waited; glad to stretch its wings, terrified to loose its life. Ace soon followed after being handed a Master‘s Key. He soon found where he would do battle. The animal pens, stalls and cages.
They surrounded him on every side; the baleful looks of creatures and people, the stench of the unwashed, but obviously fed by the feculent tinge in the air. Ace’s foot set down in murky waters, the filth stirring. Numerous torches lighted the halls, and will o ’wisps, ghastly pale flames watched, broadcasting. A green light shot across the narrow field of vision the cells offered, and a human figure flew past after it. As Ace moved through the underground, the roar and clamber of those he had awakened followed him, a great din of banging doors, curses, blessings, and cheers.
The corridor opened, and the magnitude of this prison was clear on a spiral shaft between heaven hells, the druids had gathered every creature imaginable, at least ten of every species, and the sheer dimensions of it all made it perfectly clear that the Citadel was larger inside than anyone had ever imagined. Along the spiraling drive, carts and drivers transported their cargo to the places they belonged, using large doors that should have opened to sheer rock to enter alternative arena.
Ace, never one to wait, walked on, his fairy guide silently resenting his freedom to go where he pleased, forced as she was to follow. They both crept toward the edge, and looked over the railing. Try as they might, they could not see the end.
He was here to impress, to honor the crowd and perform a show. He dressed appropriately in flames.
Ace stood before the citadel, the currents of society — the waves of people coming, going, passing, and fighting — battering him from all sides. There was something in their nature, which urged them to urge him to go inside or go home. They in passing occupied every facet of the human condition, young, old, kind and cruel exchanging glances, elbows, and smiles. He looked at the people around him, he saw people, he saw precious souls, and today they were here to see him. It was his day to fight.
Excitement seized him; he smiled with every pearly tooth and fought against the crowd. As he went curses went up, people were knocked over, he gave them reasons to cheer in the upcoming battles, he inspired them to feel, and it if was in their character, to hate. Once out of the throng, he ran along the citadels walls, a black and red silhouette in the early morning dusk. The sun itself was getting later, and Fall was falling as evidenced by the leaves he broke underfoot as he made the two mile run from one entrance to another. The distance was essential.
Ace soon made his way from the spectator’s entrance to the attraction’s gate, a gaping hole in the Citadel’s wall in which all manner of things entered, everything beyond paying customers. Gold could make even the bloodthirsty innocent. Golden furred and husky strong dogs — unlike any canine seen so far as the number of their teeth or their ability to hunt — were tethered to carts harboring the elements, and cages harboring much more violent beasts. Atop each strong dog, were two people, one to guide the animal they harnessed, and the other to watch the cages. Some of these creatures were wily.
The caravan stretched from this gate, through parted forest, and bridges across the seas into the horizon. There was always a demand for fantastic combat, and the citadel always had a demand for the resources that sorcery and druidic power could not provide in any commercial sense.
From the fading darkness swam enormous fish and eels through the air. Their expressions were far from hapless, their jaws massive, the shape of their mouths quite severe illuminated at all times by lights bobbing in the air. The lights inspired curiosity and attraction, something the rest of the creature killed. Ahead of them, the hypnotic seasonings of Deadman’s Bait lured them to their new home with visible trails of tantalizing stench.
In chains, criminals made slaves, slaves made gladiators, penned tightly together made the journey alongside animals. Their heads were bald. On their tongues, symbols burned scar tissue symbolized their crimes. Through shame and agony, the court had ruled that they should never speak again. These people pressed and crushed each other against the walls, gazing out at the new land they were entering into. They could taste freedom, and watched the world outside with such a hungry intensity. The elderly, who had served life, died standing for want of breath, but died happy at seeing the sun. Through the wooden bars of their crate, raised to the open-air hands and fists turned to the sky.
A circus of sadness and rage, born by greed, had swept up nearly everything imaginable to feed the druids joint lust for knowledge and gold. Beside the caravan, free men and women lined up; their battles and battlefields scheduled for this very day, and Ace soon joined them. The robes he wore looked far too large, the red fire embroidery ending just an inch below his fingertips and the sash synched high on waist. He flowed into the line, casting glances at the fish as they passed mere feet away.
This crowd of people was no less strange. Warriors with every kind of weapon. Fiends poorly disguised as human beings, hollow eyed, frothing at the mouth. Dwarves specially equipped with hooked gelding blades mounted on poles, sinister smiles shared between them through their beards. Dominatrices armed with the spikes and leather whips that clothed them. Giants of every proportion, characteristic and race.
There was no distinction, they were all heroes and villains, but they were contestants for the prize of money and fame.
The line thinned, Ace came forward toward the attendant’s kiosk, stating his name, “Ace Mandelo,” and flashing his papers and the sort of battle he had ordered, “I’m here for the Prisoner’s Suite.”
“Very interesting…” The beard said, as the druid looked through the papers and verified that it was authentic through the watermark runes inscribed upon its surface. Over the glowing blue lights of his magic, the druid looked up, his ancient face framed in the darkness of his hood. “You’re clearly insane. Try not to break down as you go.” He smiled as he stood and went to the back of his office, and returned with a jar containing a fairy of the pixy variety. It was smaller than six inches, and dressed in the barest of conservative fashions in hemp. All wild hair and green luminescence, its face was hard to see, but the explosive rune collar around its neck ensured that it was a loyal tool of the Citadel.
With a pop of the bottles top, he freed the fairy to the open and told it, “Take him to where the wild things are.” The fairy fluttered on still unfurling wings, and took off alongside the caravan of animals in a direction none of the previous gladiators had traveled before. It paused, beckoned, and waited; glad to stretch its wings, terrified to loose its life. Ace soon followed after being handed a Master‘s Key. He soon found where he would do battle. The animal pens, stalls and cages.
They surrounded him on every side; the baleful looks of creatures and people, the stench of the unwashed, but obviously fed by the feculent tinge in the air. Ace’s foot set down in murky waters, the filth stirring. Numerous torches lighted the halls, and will o ’wisps, ghastly pale flames watched, broadcasting. A green light shot across the narrow field of vision the cells offered, and a human figure flew past after it. As Ace moved through the underground, the roar and clamber of those he had awakened followed him, a great din of banging doors, curses, blessings, and cheers.
The corridor opened, and the magnitude of this prison was clear on a spiral shaft between heaven hells, the druids had gathered every creature imaginable, at least ten of every species, and the sheer dimensions of it all made it perfectly clear that the Citadel was larger inside than anyone had ever imagined. Along the spiraling drive, carts and drivers transported their cargo to the places they belonged, using large doors that should have opened to sheer rock to enter alternative arena.
Ace, never one to wait, walked on, his fairy guide silently resenting his freedom to go where he pleased, forced as she was to follow. They both crept toward the edge, and looked over the railing. Try as they might, they could not see the end.