Trial and Madness

Wanderer could hardly believe what they were seeing, the blatant cruelty astounding them, the torture far beyond what they had thought even the slavers would commit.

Three rings of trials surrounded the central tower, each more horrific than the last.

The first and largest, was occupied by around one hundred slaves, forcing them to hang by their unprotected hands on a barbed wire, spurred on by the bed of burning coals beneath them.

A thick sheen of sweat coated each and every one of their scarcely clothed forms, water within their bodies quickly being sapped by the incredible heat, muscles loosening with every passing second.

It didn't take long before the first of the contestants fell, a young woman screaming in fear, then agony as she dropped into the burning pit below.

Heavily protected assistants rushed out from the sides of the ring and pulled the woman out before her demise, yet the damage was done, their flesh was red and angry, blisters already appearing on burns she would carry for the rest of their life.

The Golem looked away, unable to watch any longer.

Yet as another scream of pain resounded across the cacophony of the festival, the Vessel was forced to look back, unable to tear their vision away from the torture.

The cry came from the second ring of trials, from a young man who was now lying on the floor, unmoving.

There were perhaps eighty contestants in this ring, split into groups of four, each group in their own individual area.

Upon each of the slave’s backs was tied a peculiar oval of black glass, shining under the fires light and in each of their hands was a hammer, almost as large as the contestants were tall.

The goal of the contest seemed to be that each person must smash the glass orb of those around them with their hammer.

At first, Wanderer thought this punishment far less severe than that of the larger layer, yet that idea was shattered as soon as they witnessed the first hit.

Their thought was that the fragile glass would shatter easily and leave little harm, yet the glass was nowhere near as weak as they thought.

One of the fighters scored a solid hit onto the orb of another, yet not even a crack formed in the target.

The victim fell to the ground, winded, as their hammer flung out of reach.

Their assailant kicked them onto their back, as the true cruelty of the trial became apparent, to break the glass, a contestant's full strength was needed.

The first strike came down, yet too much restraint was shown by the attacker, and the orb did not break, the same could not be said of the victim’s spine.

Before Wanderer could even process the barbarity of what was unfolding before their eyes, the second strike came, this time without mercy, and the dark glass shattered.

Thick, razor-sharp shards split in every direction under the force, some falling into the sand in the ring, some leaving cuts on the victor’s unprotected legs, most digging deep into the flesh of the mutilated man on the floor.

He would be lucky if he survived, even luckier if he ever walked again.

As assistants on the sides of the ring carried the unconscious human out of the area, Wanderer turned their sight away once again, once again sickened to the core by the brutality.

“Why is no one stopping this”, the Vessel thought, how could something so abhorrent be allowed to go on, let alone be encouraged?

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

Their Spirit, who had been watching as well, answered with their greatest theory.

The Orshraka did all this and likely suffered through slavery as well because they lived under the command of a selfish god.

The guide had worked out that the god who ruled over this land, and in turn governed its people, was a god that gained power from the pain and hardship of those within it.

As such, in an act of selfish lust for greater power, they had built a society with the intention to maximise the struggle of those within it and make their every moment a fight, for one reason or another.

Indeed, as shown by the fight in the dining hall, even their fun and entertainment were based upon inflicting and bearing through pain.

Everything Wanderer had seen of Orshraka society up until now made sense, of course, a slave would not turn from their controller if they had been commanded to stay there by a god they had spent their whole life worshipping.

“Its cruel tha-”, the Golem was not able to finish their thought, as their gaze was drawn back to the trials and a final instance of incredible brutality.

The third and final of the rings of trials involved perhaps twenty slaves, each one paired with another, then forced to compete.

The final contest was simple compared to the other two, yet devious in its savagery.

It placed the pairs in angled pits, each one leading into the other to create a triangle in shape.

At the apex of this triangle, rested a smooth rock boulder, perfectly spherical and polished to a shine.

Each of the contestants pushed against the boulder with all their might, trying desperately to unbalance it onto their rival's side, instead of their own.

As if by premonition, Wanderer could already tell what would happen, could see the red gore and crushed bone that would inevitably follow in their mind's eye, as clear as if it had already happened.

They couldn't wait for their expectations to become reality, with little care for anything else, the Golem vaulted over the balcony and sprinted.

The world of colours and celebration that would have once captivated Wanderer with every possible moment rushed by in a blur, the crowd they were once so hesitant of, mere obstacles in their path as Wanderer progressed with Golemic speed.

No matter how fast the Vessel seemed to irritate pedestrians, They still weren't fast enough.

Before, when they had ran at their full speed, they had done so with a relatively straight path, undisturbed by obstacles and barriers.

Yet now they were in an unfamiliar city, surrounded by people and blocked by walls and buildings, every turn making them more and more lost and only the towering spire prevented their complete confusion.

Too Wanderer, their sprint felt like a crawl, one that made obvious to the Golem just how large the city was.

They had seen it, of course, known its sprawling layout, but the eye made everything seem smaller, closer together, it was only by walking amongst the land that could one get a true sense of its scale.

As Wanderer inched closer and closer to their target, the pit of dread in their soul grew, as the certainty gradually rose that they were already too late, too slow.

Indeed, the Vessel realised, what chance had they at even hoping to stop the events, each trial was surrounded by guards and stirred on by thousands of onlookers, what could they do that had any chance of stopping the festivities, let alone guaranteeing the contestants survival.

But despite the hopelessness, the Golem pressed on, the last vestiges of wishfulness burning bright in their soul.

In the back of their mind, Wanderer could sense their Spirit’s indecision about what to do, and Emio’s growing irritation at the fast-paced travel, yet none of this mattered, they had to keep going.

The closer the Vessel got to their location, the thicker the crowds got and the slower they moved, until, after half of an hour, Wanderer reached the centre.

Climbing onto a nearby balcony to see above the crowds, the bitter dread in the Golem’s stomach reached a crescendo, as they realised their failure.

They were late, so late that not even a single contestant still remained in their trial, every one of them having lost or reigned victorious.

Even now they were taking down the sharp wire and dousing the burning coals of the first trial, while others tended to the wounds of those who had survived the second, and disposing of those who didn't.

In the third, however, there was no one to help, the victor walking away unharmed, while what was left of the loser was currently being cleaned up.

“A whole life, reduced to a stain on a rock”, Wanderer lamented.

It just didn't make sense, why would anyone go through this, why was it encouraged, why did no one fight against the demands of their god?

They demanded an answer from their Spirit, yet the guide none to give.

Already the massive yard where thousands watched people be tortured was begging to fill with vendors and merchants, caring little for the carnage that had just taken place as they extracted money from the crowd.

It didn't make sense, nothing made sense, Wanderer just didn't understand, it was all madness.

And so they turned and ran, leaving as fast as they came.

They needed some time to think.