Authors' corner: Thank you Daryun, for taking your time to review such an early work. Made my day

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-F'yn -

I am F’yn, a slave. I’ve been a slave for 41 cycles last winter. I was told that this is an achievement of some kind, they expect me to be proud… to be happy to have survived so long, it goes without saying that I hate my existence. I faced death many times; sometimes it feels like all I need to do is stop. Stop resisting, stop driving myself forward, it seems so inviting. All I have to do is take its hand… But alas I cannot, the lives I’ve taken push me forward. I feel that if I take my life I would condemn those who could have been here, in my stead, if that makes any sense.

Thus I'm stuck in this cycle of torment… can’t kill myself because of the people I’ve killed, cant let myself die without resistance, kill other people. Repeat.

I guess I could blame my younger self for being too proud, back then I had hope of freedom. I had a drive, I wanted to live. So I killed, killed every man or woman I’ve faced, honing my skills in the process. I was good before, but cycles of death and violence just made me better. They made me the best. I once feared death, heck, I still do; just not in the same manner. I saw many men scream and cry at the embrace of the father, their terror left its imprint on me. I didn’t want to go like that, I still had hope for a future, for a family of my own saying their farewells as I lie in my bed; letting the father guide the way in silence.

Now I just long for the end, there is no future for me here, I'm just an instrument of entertainment for the foreign masses. How did I end up here you ask? It’s rather simple really… I was just beaten half to death in my sleep and enslaved. I felt great injustice dealt to me, but to my surprise this was a fairly common occurrence in these lands. Apparently Tunges were fairly rare to these parts, and were greatly sought after for their greater strength and stamina, mostly for mining. After I was caught I was swiftly ‘labeled’, in other words I was branded. And just like that, my life ended overnight.

Lately I’ve started having these monologues in my mind; I think it’s an early sign of insanity. A last struggle of my mind to keep me focused. You see, I had my tongue cut out for speaking in a ‘dull language’…

… a thrown spear whispers in my ear as it passes blissfully close to my head, pulling me back to the match at hand…

This is why I hate free for all’s, they’re mostly composed of many ‘kids’, as I’ve taken to calling the newly acquired slaves. They reek of fear and piss. Their freedom doesn’t seem lost to them yet, beneath the fear there is hope. This annoys me more than it should, I take a moment to regain my calm as one of the kids runs at me, intent to kill clearly visible on his face.

He has a sword in one hand, a buckler in the other. Seeing as I wield a spear he must be stupid. The kid tries to lunge at me, but is stopped by a spear piercing his left thigh; not too deep though, wouldn’t want it getting stuck. He falls to the ground, seemingly losing consciousness from the sudden pain. Lucky kid, gets to die a painless death in his sleep. I pierce his throat and watch as life fades from his eyes.

A battle cry pulls my attention away from the kid. I turn just in time to watch a mountain of a man behead another, impressive to say the least. Not many can behead a man cleanly, takes practice. His deep laughter sounds menacing to those around him, and amusing to the audience, who roar in approval. His gaze sweeps the arena when it is met by my own, his laughter stops. His stance turns defensive, and he slowly makes his way to the weapon wall, as if sudden movements would provoke me. Amusing…

He picks up a tower shield and a couple of javelins, holding them in his shield arm. He also exchanges his broadsword for a battle axe. All the while I just stand there, watching.

After a silent moment our eyes meet once more. He slowly starts making his way to me, his steps firm, his breath steady. I smile thankfully; it’s been seven cycles’ now… seven cycles of no real danger. For seven cycles all my opponents were greenhorns sent to slaughter. With this one I have a chance… my smile broadens as I take to a low guard stance, the tip of my spear pointing downwards. A tower shield can be problematic to deal with if the opponent is balanced, so the trick is to either take it away, or unbalance them.

The man stops, a fair distance away; probably 20 meters. As he starts sticking the javelins into the ground I take this moment to look around. I notice the audience, they enjoy this ‘game’, never in all my time in this arena has it been less than half-full. I start dreaming of my possible release, how grand will it be I wonder… I am awoken with a javelin sticking out of the ground, close to my feet.

I smile at the man and nod in recognition, he answers with a nod of his own and greets me with yet another thrown javelin, this one aimed to my chest. The weapon flows through the air at incredible speed, but alas it does not find its target. A stationary opponent has too much freedom of movement, a much better option is to throw a spear at a moving target... harder to avoid. Another javelin reaches for my life, only to end up in a surprised kid’s back; he didn’t even realize what happened.

Realizing the futility of his plan he abandons the javelins, taking up his axe and shield and closing the distance, ever so slowly. I take this time to think of a strategy… he probably plans to use the axe as a hook of sorts, pulling the spear as it slides to the side of his shield after an attempted attack. This could potentially break the shaft of the spear and leave me vulnerable… what I need to do is take away his mobility…

I notice that he’s about five meters away now; I step forward to meet him. I make the first move, aiming my strike at the bottom of the shield. This surprises the man, he probably thought I would go for the legs first, and he would be right. Under my guidance the spear glides along the bottom of the shield with the flat side of the blade, the man notices this and tries to pull back his leg. This just causes him to lose balance; it serves little to save him from my blade. The spear was true to its aim and reached its target perfectly, it being the man’s calf.

Letting out a furious roar the man doesn’t give me any time to follow through, he overlooks the obvious pain that’s clearly visible on his twisted face, with full intent to use this moment of opportunity. He pushes his injured leg forward, keeping me from retrieving my spear. He then uses the bottom of his shield to break the shaft with downward impact, leaving me with little more than a broken stick in my hands.

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I notice an upward swing of his axe, clearly aimed at my fingers; which were still holding onto the broken spear. Changing my hold to a half-staff guard, I position the shaft in place to intercept the axe head by its hook. As soon as the axe reaches the shaft I pull inwards, making him put more pressure on his injured leg; which still has the broken spear head embedded inside. Thus disturbing his balance yet again and pulling him a step towards me.

He knows what I intend to do, I can see it in his eyes. Anxiety, a telltale sign of fear has taken root. The instant he took that one step I was already moving again. Releasing one hand from the broken shaft I pull it away from the hook of the axe, stepping forward to position myself on his weak side; the side with no shield to cover it. I stab at his unprotected abdomen; just beneath the ribcage, aiming for his liver.

At this single moment he is exposed before me. He can do nothing and the realization dawned on him at the moment his axe made contact with the broken spear shaft. At this single moment he was at my mercy, and mercy he shall have. I twist the shaft to the left as I move out of his zone, now leaving the rest of my weapon imbedded in his flesh.

He let go of his axe and shield, eagerly trying to pull back the blood that just doesn’t seem content with its container any longer. Dropping to his knees in shock, petrified at the thought of death embracing him. His eyes again meet my own, only this time there is no subtle confidence, no determination, only fear remains in his eyes.

His face, frozen with terror and pain is shaken; a pleading stutter is let out “P,Plea-se… hel-p… me” I nod at his words. There is a subtle change in his eyes; they now contain a tiny speck of hope in them. I bend down and reach for his dropped axe, picking it up I walk to stand behind the man. The sound of a muffled sob makes its way to my ears, I give the man some time for closure; a final moment to make peace with himself. As soon as the sob stops the axe makes its way to sever the spine of the man; swiftly ending his life.

My actions draw an insane roar from the crowd, yet I am deaf to their cries. My gaze still solidly locked at the now dead body lying at my feet. My lips are moving to form a soundless farewell “May the father welcome you with open arms, friend.”

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I lie in a cold box made of stone which I’ve taken to calling home along the cycles. Today’s battle made me feel alive; I haven’t felt that way for a long time. My thoughts drift away from the present and pull me back to the past. To a time of curiosity, a time of youth and freedom.

… Being raised in the great city of Lutom I was beseeched by thoughts of ‘what lies beyond’, just as every young Tunge. I often found myself daydreaming of the outside, of running beneath the sky, of bathing in the sun’s rays. Although art such as paintings and literature of the outside world were fairly common in our city, I was assured that firsthand experience had a much heavier impact.

My father once told me that when I was born, the first thing I reached for was a hammer. And after I decided to apprentice at the local blacksmith, or metalsmith as he would often correct. The old Forgemaster was a friend of my fathers, a kind woman; she had this air about her… she felt warm, just as the fires she worked with. She worked the metal as if weaving and guiding it to shape, often I found myself baffled by her displays. Her words were ‘don’t try to change the metal, just show it the way. It will shape itself’, these words fell on deaf ears as all I could manage was beat the metal to a rough form. I could never manage to do what she did; she was a true master of her trade.

I then began to wonder if I could become as good as her if I applied my whole life to the trade. So I asked my father what made a master, well a master. He then smiled knowingly and laughed at my troubles, as if he wore my shoes before I could walk, and he did. He explained to me that one has to be taught a trade, but mastering it is a solitary struggle. It cannot be taught it must be achieved.

For cycles I tried bending the metals to my will, trying to show them the way while still guiding them along my pattern. For a time progress was made, then as if agitated at me, the metal just stopped complying. If I strike it; it bends, plain and fragile. I didn’t know what changed, what had I done to make the metal displeased at me? Then my mentor enlightened me… we, the Tunge people, were given greater strength by our patron god. Some have it since birth, while others develop to their potential with time.

After my little realization my whole path to being a ‘Master of metal’ was shattered; my strength being incompatible to the smiting technique of the old Forgemaster. I was assured that I could just try another technique, that no loss is too big, that I had great potential. But I wanted to master the ‘weaving’ style, and if I couldn’t, then I’d rather master none at all.

Thus I abandoned my passion for metal, and decided to take up arms, train to be a soldier; a fighter and protector. The standard weapon being the spear, we would often spar with only the poles, striking and blocking, lunging and deflecting. Fun times… I liked the spear; It made me think of the old Forgemaster. Weaving the opponent to my design, to my pattern, I was both happy that I found a different area to apply my passion, and regretful that it couldn’t be in my masters’ trade.

Cycles later I decided that a boring life of guard duty isn’t the life for me, and made my way to explore the outside, fulfilling a childhood dream. I traveled far and wide, it was a bittersweet experience… while at first I was awed at the wonderful sights, I eventually found out that people aren’t as friendly as they seem. I was robbed a few times, the cause being ignorance and trust. Once I almost died protecting my belongings, I quickly turned tail and ran as I just couldn’t best the offenders.

In our little quarrel I may have killed or severely injured one of the three that attacked me, this caused them to chase me down, we played a game of cat and mouse for a few days. When I thought they had finally lost my trail and calmed down I was caught. They broke into my room at ‘Merry Mug’ inn, still remember the name of that damned place… I digress; after they broke in they started a severe beating session. Then sold me to slavery, wasn’t even much, only a few drinks worth of coin…

That’s the story of how I ended up here, in the arena. A sad little tale of ignorance and curiosity, all of this could have been avoided…