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Post by moralhazard on Mar 8, 2019 2:11:55 GMT
It was hard to tell what was in Zenobo’s eyes as Arioch’s sword pierced through his chin. Was he a monster, ready to use his breath attack to incinerate Arioch to a crisp? Would he have swung his sword again, knowing full well that it was an attack Arioch would likely survive? Thanks to Arioch’s, the veteran had no time to make the choice. Perhaps it was peace in his eyes; perhaps it was fury. Either way, his lifeless body dropped to the arena floor like all the rest.
The crowd roared, cheering as Arioch made his way from the arena.
Pip was screaming again, jumping up and down in front of her chair. Thea just sat, slowly, bending forward to rest her face in her hands, shaking, her hair waving gently around her head. She took a deep breath, then another, feeling a tight, miserable ache in her chest, horrified and grateful and afraid, all at once.
“Will he fight again?” Pip was grinning, brightly, taking her seat again as the noise died down, ignoring the medics on the arena floor cleaning up Zenobo’s body, and the announcer chattering on about how spectacular the fight had been and how Zenobo would be missed and how he expected Arioch to be celebrated at the arena for a long time to come.
“I hope not,” Thea sat up, taking a deep breath, and grinned at Pip. “Seems like enough for one night, don’t you think?”
“I bet he could do it!” Pip cheered, looking back at the arena. “Let’s wait and see!”
The same sensible looking dwarf medic squinted at Arioch as he returned. “Nasty,” he remarked. “Armor off.” He would wait again, guiding Arioch down to a seat. Taking no chances, he would climb onto a step stool, equipment in hand to peer into Arioch’s eye and ear. “Eye’s fine, although I'd expect that burn to scar.” the dwarf remarked, evidently satisfied. “Shouldn't be too bad with a bit of treatment and rest. I assume you can hear me?"
At the slightest hint of a positive response, the dwarf would nod, knowingly. “It should recover fully in time the rest of the way in time. Sounds more like exhaustion to me than anything. None of the rest of the burns are too serious, but all together... let's put it this way, kid. You’ll have time to rest. You’re done for the night.”
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Arioch
Approved
Level 6 — Barbarian
Posts: 333
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Post by Arioch on Mar 21, 2019 19:38:08 GMT
Arioch protested immediately getting to his feet only for one of the wounds to open up and start sprinkling blood over the floor and the dwarf, to which he painfully sat down again. This was the second time he had felt cheated out of the glory that awaited the champion, two times already he had managed to just barely taste that golden victory before his hand grasped the feeling of it escaping just barely out of his reach. And in those two ocassions he had been just about to lose his life in the fighting as well, it always coming down to that duel of the wills, to the smallest of details that made the greatest difference when everything else was measured and came down to the line. The first time had been absolutely terrifying and nerve wracking. And this time when he knew it was the big leagues it had been even worse but right then he felt... longing, frustration even through the pain and the numbness. It felt like a diservice, like a waste, like an insult to the lives of those fallen by his blade.
He thought back and saw the last expression in their eyes, watched their fire go out only to fan his own flame, and now could clearly began to see the shady, hazy forms of their ghosts began to form just beyond the edges of his mind, watching, a memory seared in fire. Was he any braver by it? He didn't feel like he was, but it felt like it, it was a thing that would gradually begin to ascertain itself. To grow over time. He had walked into that arena sure that it could as well have been his last day alive. He had made his peace. Settled his affairs. Put everything in order. And put his life on the line, trial by fire, Tempus as his witness. Tempus and Thea, and it would be lying if he said that didn't bring a shred of warmth to the situation, even if it was a little bittersweet to having meeting her only to then go into the arena. It was something that needed to be done.
Arioch rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes, his breathing remaining a little ragged but steady during the process. And like a charm, he fell asleep without realising it. He was sure it would only be a few seconds but that was how such traps worked. The roar of the arena and the sounds in the backgrounds became a distant lullaby, and he found himself being dragged towards a cold and dark place, not unlike the arena he was in except the sand was not sand, and snow covered the fields around him. It was a familiar place, how could he ever forget? And whenever he was there he was a child once again, he looked at his hands again and found them bloody. His stomach was sick, twisting, his heart was beating fast. He felt like puking, his whole body was as light as air and just as weak, and he was cold, really really cold, shivering, even though it wasn't a cold day by their standards.
In front of him the ragged body of another child lay face up on the ground with frozen tears falling down from his opened eyes, purple lips in a frightened expression with threads of blood running out of the corner of his mouth. A dagger plunged deep into his chest, a small pool of dark blood freezing to the side of his body. Arioch was shaking. He tried to remain strong but his breathing kept going faster, he could feel the tears coming up, he was choking. He pressed his mouth, tried to clench his jaw to prevent himself from doing it but his eyes were already glinting with their prelude.
"I didn't..."
He thought, but what was he going to say? I didn't mean to? He did mean, and he did it.
"I've... Just... Another way..."
He thought then, and quickly looked around him. Shadow figures like dark ghosts stood in a big circle around the now white arena, and even though they had been close to him and he had seen them every day now they were all but forgotten to him. But among those specters of the past there were a few whom he remembered well. The face of his father watching, stern, just besides his half brothers. He could feel his disapproval at the tears he was about to shed, the general atmosphere of rejection. It didn't feel like he had just gained anything, it didn't feel like anyone had either wanted or expected him to win. He could also see clearly the face of the mother of the child he had just killed. The tears on her face too.
Was it worth it? This was the price to be a man. This was the price to be a warrior. This was the price to live. But it didn't feel like it was a thing to be proud of. He looked down again, distraught and saw the crystal clear expression in the child's eyes. Khalum. Why had it been him of all people he should fight? It felt like it was happening to someone else, like he was watching the whole scene from above. And, in a way, he was. When the tears came and he apologized to the dead body, he could both see himself doing it and the faces in the crowd. Their disapproval like a smell in the air, like a wave of feelings washing over him. Maybe he could bring him back, now, yes, definitely in Waterdeep there were ways he could go on about that surely. A magical artifact to bring him back!
So he ran, the mist around the arena transformed into buildings when he crossed and he was in a maze of houses and shops. And he ran through. He looked for Thea, but Thea was nowhere to be found. Merchants of all types wanted to sell him different things as he entered different places and asked around for a way to bring the dead back to life. He found a smithing workshop that turned into a brothel just as soon as he walked through one of the doors, and two of the girls started tending to him as he explained that he couldn't, that he had to hurry, that the magic could work if he hurried, if he just found what he needed.
And so he found his way through the brothel now turned maze, lost now in the city, endless. And the sun was rising. And he ran, despair beginning to take hold further on him. If he didn't hurry, Khalum's body would be eaten by the beasts, it would freeze and fall appart. He could make things right now, he could fix things. Yes. But the days were creeping up behind him, and the only thing he managed to find was the arena. He thought of his sponsor and he ran inside looking for him, asking around, but the place wasn't the arena he knew it was something else; a place with a darkness that slithered across the ground and across the walls, that no fire managed to light.
He approached the only figure that remained in the arena, standing just in the middle of it. It was his father, who turned back and looked at him. And Arioch was once again a child.
"Why did you run?"
"I have, I can- I can save Khalum he doesn't have to die." He wanted to make things alright again, a child wrecked by guilt.
"You can't, and you musn't."
"It is possible, there is magic there- there has to be a way" Things would be different now, he could change things there were... possibilities in waterdeep.
"Will you disgrace him that much, and bring more shame to yourself even?"
"What?"
"To talk about bringing someone back to life like that... It cheapens life. Do you know why sacrifice is hard?"
His father asked, and then continued at his silence
"Because if it were easy everyone could do it."
He frowned and kept going
"His life only has value because there is death, and his soul no longer is bound to his flesh. He has fallen, and will never return. Because this wasn't his sacrifice, it was yours. If you want to spend the rest of your life knitting in the caves do me a favor and jump over the cliffs right now, feed yourself to the frostwolves and stop burdening our clan with your contemptable weakness. To be a man you have to take responsibility, and this is it. Look at it. Look a it!"
He yelled, and when he pointed down Khalum's face was frozen in place just like he had been before, his corpse now laid before him... Except now he was eaten by beasts, his flesh torn asunder, one of his eyes missing and ice-crawlers eating him away from the inside. When he turned away his father grabbed his head and forced him to face the body.
"This, is life"
He said, and he was pressing his face so hard it hurt.
"To do anything in life you must be strong, and to be strong is to be able to do hard things and to bear that responsibility upon yourself. The only thing that defines you as a person is how strong you are, everything else is a lie, a lie born out of whether you were or not strong enough. Excuses. Pathethic lies that allow you to live with your own weakness. You killed Khalum, and bringing him back just to appease your guilt is an insult, coward, live with what you have done! If you can't, then take your own life. After all you've already chosen the life of a coward. Go ahead, dishonor his death, look at him and tell him you killed him for nothing because you were too weak to live with it. To weak to be worth anything."
The pain in his face was crushing, he tried to speak but he couldn't and the sharp pain and blood of broken teeth began to fill his mouth and drench his tongue. He twisted and tried to break free but he was too weak and the grip was too strong, his body jerked in place and when the pain was unbereable he woke up again covered in a soft layer of sweat in the darkness of the arena, the echoes of the crowd still ringing. Everything felt a little bit out of place, the passion from before was gone, he was dizzy. He sat straight again and closed his eyes trying to center himself and got up, looking for a bowl with water to clean his face. He found one resting upon a stone pillar as if it had been something that used to be another thing but had been cut down, wide enough to be immovable, but not so large that it was too tall to reach. The first thing he noticed was how sore it was, the moment he touched it his first reaction was to pull his own hands away from the searing pain that shot out of his skin. The burnt was serious, and would probably leave a mark. His left hand wasn't in much better shape either but the constant pain was not totally unbereable.
Instead, he grabbed the edges of the pillar, and watched his own reflection as droplets of both water and sweat disturbed the surface.
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