Myths do not just appear from the aether; they develop over time. Mortals from the diverse Worlds of Marea lead lives that are daring and fraught with challenges. These mortals strive to shape their destinies through wit, strength, and determination, yet luck and the whims of fate play just as great a role. With the weight of the heavens upon them, it is truly remarkable when a mortal's life becomes a tale worthy of passing through the ages. These tales grow into legends of those who defied fate and the gods themselves. Those enduring legends become myths, serving as warnings, fables, and as celebrations of those who triumph against all odds. No matter the story, be it tale, legend, or myth, it always begins the same, with a drink.
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Urlug
The city of Manakith has gained a notorious reputation for being a glorified hub of mercenaries and criminals. The local guards are well-known for paying no heed to crime as long as it does not disrupt the more civilized parts of the city. However, when valuable bounties are up for grabs, the city's law enforcement shows its true colors as nothing more than mercenaries under the thumb of the nobles. Manakith’s high society's only actual duty is to pay tribute to sate Lord Khalaghana and his greed. This vicious cycle of extortion eventually became a fact of life. After all, it is in a mortal’s nature to struggle, to live, and to attempt to maintain said life. Yet few mortals dare to break this cycle, for those who try gain the ire of the Lord. His displeasure at this is so great, their capture and extermination are the only tribute they must pay to his highness. Lord Khalaghana makes his will known to his subjects with wanted posters to portray these unfortunate souls as fugitives of his high law.
One such flier caught Urlug's attention. He was curious about the number of posters this particular mortal had rather than about the reward. There were flyers all around the city mentioning different criminals, but none were as numerous as this Johnny Stone. Urlug grabbed the flier with a dark green muscle-bound hand and scratched at his full black beard with the other. Urlug grinned and felt his tusks pull at his lips. He came to Manakith because of its reputation; no better place to recruit hardened killers than in a den of murders and scoundrels. If this Johnny Stone was more infamous than other criminals, Urlug saw a good start. Walking around the slums, he inquired about Johnny Stone's whereabouts with the locals. After convincing a handful of locals the best way he and his fists knew, Urlug pieced together a predictable quirk of Johnny’s. If you had any amount of alcohol in your establishment, Johnny Stone was sure to be there to drink as much as possible and swindle you for every copper your worth.
It took Urlug some time, but he finally found a tavern with no sign of damage in a bad part of Manakith, which was remarkable in and of itself. Stomping towards the tavern, Urlug slammed the door open. He saw the Human bouncers on both sides of the doorway, and gave an involuntary chuckle. Urlug continued on his one-Orcbai warpath, unbothered. The gigantic Humans that crowded the doorway looked up and stared at this even more massive green creature. They put on a good show, but their beads of sweat told the truth.
Urlug waved them aside, “Just here for a drink.”
One of the bouncers narrowed his eyes. “Five copper to get in, you can have it back once you're done.”
Urlug glared back. After a brief staring contest, the bouncer on the left side of the doorway coughed, “Sejun, he looks good for it. Let him through.”
Sejun snorted but pushed open the doors so Urlug could walk through. Urlug nodded his head in thanks towards the rightward guard and stepped inside.
Urlug was disappointed in what he saw. First, he saw a wizard bent over a book, some Dwarves drinking and gambling over dice, and then a couple of Baimons sitting silently with mugs in their trunks and their large heads lowered. Nothing of the sort he wanted for his warband. Urlug swiveled his gaze to find that the only bartender was a Dwarf staring into space while polishing a glass that never seemed to get cleaner. Urlug walked towards the bar, the patrons gazing at the Orcbai cautiously. The only one who paid him no mind was a passed-out Human at the bartop. The drunk had laid his heavy head down on the counter, alongside a pool intermixed with drool, vomit, and beer. Urlug’s already dower demeanor sunk deeper into disgust.
Urlug stared down at the Human—dark-skinned yes, but this one sported facial hair. Johnny was said to not have a hair on his head. The drunk Human’s snores were replaced with sputtering as Urlug pulled the drunk down from his chair and onto the stone floor. Urlug sat upon his new throne, wiping the mixture away from him and unto the newly awoken slob. Urlug let out a low, guttural bark, “A pint of ale,” Urlug then looked down at his bracer, “and a cloth, please.”
The barkeep stared at Urlug and grunted, “Six copper for a pint.”
Urlug grabbed his money pouch and pulled out the fee for his alcohol and tossed it on the table. The bartender snatched the pile and waddled off to pour the drink. Urlug glanced over the bar to see the Dwarf filling his pint from some barrel with more leaks than planks. Getting bored of waiting for his beer, he swiped the rest of the goop onto the drunkard. After filling the mug, the bartender slammed the drink onto the counter. Urlug questioned, “The cloth please?”
The Dwarf handed over his polishing rag from before. Urlug nodded and cleaned his bracer. The drunk Human groaned loudly, so Urlug wrung the rag over him. Handing the dirty rag back to the bartender, Urlug pawed the pint. Greedily slurping it, the flakes of foam and beer ran down and around his tusks, leaving more on his beard than in his gullet. Licking his facial hair and letting out a satisfied sigh, Urlug slammed the mug back down onto the counter. He stared at the barkeep for a moment. The bartender began to squirm uncomfortably and asked, “Can- can I help you with something?”
Urlug asked back, “Any available mercenaries here?”
The Dwarf relaxed slightly and raised an eyebrow, “Everyone is mercenary for enough coin.”
Shrugging, Urlug said, “Fair enough.”
He turned to the rest of the tavern and raised his empty mug. “Anyone here wants to join my clan to find adventure and glory?”
Everyone there gave Urlug a hard stare before returning to what brought them to the tavern.
Urlug shrugged, “Figures. Bunch of weaklings and cowards. Another, please,” as he put down a copper.
The barkeep raised an eyebrow and replied, “It’s six copper, can’t you count?”
Urlug shook his head, “No. I mean, no that the beer ain’t worth that. This piss water is barely worth a copper . Now, I am being generous and paying for another one even though you cheated me out of 5 copper. If you’re gonna serve me that, it's worth a copper.”
The Dwarf glared at Urlug with every fiber of his being. Before he could defend his honor over the choice of Dwarven ale, the drunk stood up. “X-cooose youz!” the Human burped, placing his little hand on Urlug’s forearm.
Urlug swiftly grabbed the Human’s own forearm, pulled the drunk forward and bashed him on the temple. As the drunk’s eyes rolled back, Urlug grabbed the man by the back of the skull and slammed the Human back into the pile of vomit. The loud thud accompanied by a sharp crunch, silenced the already quiet room. Urlug turned around to see the Dwarf in a state of shock. Urlug smiled and politely asked, “So, one copper, right?”
The Dwarf started and quickly filled another mug, put down the new beer, and stepped back several paces. Urlug put down his copper coin and rested his hand on the mug, allowing each of his fingers to wrap themselves around one by one. Slowly, he brought it up to his lips and, even slower, drank every drop. Savoring the drink for all its worth, satisfied that he had put another weakling in its rightful place, Urlug heard the doors slam open behind him and the familiar voice of guard on the right, “Hey, green asshole,”
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Johnny
The two bouncers that Johnny had been observing heard a commotion inside of their bar and rushed in quickly—the perfect opportunity for Johnny to slip in. Skulking through the doors, Johnny saw tonight’s entertainment. The two large Humans crept up to the even bigger Orc with cudgels in hand. The bouncers seemed to be pushing their luck while questioning the oaf, but surprisingly, the greenskin seemed to be cooperating. Johnny quickly sat down at one of the lonely stools while the Orcish mortal pointed to the Human lying on the floor. Johnny overheard something along the lines of ‘he started it.’ Johnny couldn’t quite make out the exact wording with the amount of growling going on from both sides.
The poor drunk on the floor was face down barely breathing. Johnny finally put the pieces together and smirked when he saw the bouncers approach closer to the Orc with their clubs clutched even tighter. He might not have to pay for anything today. The beast returned to the bar, sat down, and raised his hand for another drink. One of the bouncers shouted, “Listen here, shithead! That’s one of our regulars! Dhruv is a dickhead, but he pays good ‘nough!”
The Dwarf bartender went towards the back of the bar and did his job while the bouncers did theirs. Johnny kept his distance, skirting the edges of the room and remaining out of sight. He chuckled softly at the attempts to rouse a fight out of the Orc. All of the Human’s bluster faded when the Orc stood back up and walked toward them, standing no more than a foot away. The bouncers looked up to see that the beast was more than a head taller than them. However, Johnny knew that there was something far more interesting than a fight on the bar counter.
“Bojard Ale,” Johnny whispered to himself. He watched the shine of the beer. The foam did not dominate the mug but was present enough to give the glass a gentle head. The few rays of the afternoon sun that pierced the windows mirrored and complimented the body of the beer, causing the drink to shine like the stars that the gods reside in. Johnny watched the mug get jostled by the brutish paw of the Orc, and his heart dropped as he saw the precious liquid spill. Johnny could smell the crisp yet bitter aromas of gruit and a grain, possibly wheat, filling his nostrils. The aroma pierced his icy heart and brought it to life briefly. He quickly switched seats to be closer to the ale, while the Orc and the bouncers stared at each other. One grabbed the other and said, “Nirmal, come on. We’re grabbing your brothers.”
Johnny felt that sensation in his bones, an air of trouble brewing at this bar. But for once, he was not the problem. He might as well enjoy himself before that changed. Johnny raised his hand and promptly barked, “One for me as well, barkeep.”
The Dwarf jumped and spun towards Johnny. “When did…? Nevermind. Six…,two copper.”
The bartender looked at the Orc when he said the last price. Johnny laid ten copper before him and said, “Keep them coming,” before anyone could say anything else and delay his beers.
Two copper was cheap for Bonjard ale, but it seemed that the Orc had already haggled the price down—you would hear no complaints from Johnny. As Johnny waited for the drink, he looked up at the Orc, who also seemed to be studying him. After gulping more brew, the Orc put it down and wiped his mouth clean of beer foam. He questioned, “You alright little man?”
Johnny peered up to the beast. He sighed, “No, at least not yet.”
The Orc stared back with a deeper eyebrow raised and said, “Why? Are you ill?
“Uh, no, I just haven’t gotten a drink yet, ya know?’
“Ah! Yes, a hardy drink indeed. Careful, little man, it might kill you. I heard stories of Dwarven ales that kill anyone without a strong enough stomach!”
Johnny smirked, but his face turned to stone as he saw the bartender go to slam down the mug. He quickly grabbed the mug before it hit the counter; not a drop of foam fell onto the wood. He and the bartender exchanged glances. “Please be careful with this. Bojard Ale is a favorite of mine,” Johnny told the bartender.
The Orc snorted, “This piss water?”
Johnny sneered at the Orc, “Yes. This ‘piss water’ is something only a mortal with a refined palate can appreciate.”
“Was that in your monk teachings?” The Orc asked.
It was Johnny’s turn to snort, “No. My teachings guide me in most everything I do. But enjoying life, not one of them.”
Johnny bowed his head in gratitude to the Dwarf and began to sip on the ale. He kept the barkeep in the corner of his eye while asking the Orc, “Well, what brings ya to this fine city? Ya seem like…uh…”
“Like to cause trouble?” The Orc finished.
“It’s not a race thing, I swear,” Johnny meekly protested, “But the numerous stripes you sport may give folks the wrong idea.”
“Stripes?” The Orc asked. “I am not a tiger or a Rakshasa, I don’t have stripes.”
Johnny furrowed his brow, “I meant yer scars. I’m sorry, but are ya a bit dense?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
The Orc leaned closer, “I don’t like being told off like that.”
Johnny’s eyes sparkled, “Sorry big guy! I thought someone like ya would be strong enough not to get their ‘fee-fees’ hurt.”
Johnny batted his eyelashes innocently. The Orc kept glaring but eventually let out a hearty laugh. “I like you Johnny, you got balls.”
Johnny’s grin vanished and he began to sweat, “I didn’t say my damn name, and what gave away that I’m a monk. How do you know that I am one anyways?”
The Orc stated, “Your poster says a lot about you. By the way, what’s that bag do anyways? The one you carry on your back?”
Before Johnny could call on any of his Humors, one of the bouncers, Nirmal, if Johnny remembered correctly, came in sprinting and shouted in a panic, “Sanakhne! Royal guards are here!”
A loud thud emanated from the hallway, followed by studded boots rhythmically stamping against the floor. Four Dwarves followed behind the second bouncer with halberds taller than a Human. They turned the corner and marched directly into the room. Their well-groomed beards and shining armor contrasted with the downtrodden look of the patrons of the bar. The city guards parted to reveal another Dwarf with even more decoration and polish on his armor strode into the filthy space. The shiniest guard boomed, “Everyone in this building except for the tavern owner and security, heed this order! Against the walls in an orderly fashion! Make no sudden movements and everything will go smoothly. No one will be shaken down for wealth or possessions. We are simply searching this tavern for fugitives. Keep your face uncovered and your hands in the air and remain against the wall.”
The Baimons and Dwarves immediately shuffled over, used to the Lord’s orders. The wizard grabbed his book, shoved it into his coat, and did so too. The guard captain gazed towards Johnny and the Orc, “You two, at the bartop, move!”
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Urlug
Urlug looked over at Johnny, wondering why he kept his head down. The captain walked towards the duo, keeping one hand on his sword hilt.. The rest of the guards drew crossbows off their backs and started loading bolts. Urlug tilted his head when he saw that this “leader’s” attention was not on him but on Johnny. It felt wrong. The shiny twit kept his voice even when he barked again, “Johnny Stone! By orders of the great and mighty Lord Khalaghana, I order that you come with us immediately. Whether you have all your bones intact or not is beyond my concern!”
Tension filled the bar, the patrons squirming further into the wall to stay out of the way. The Dwarves slowly aimed their crossbows, focusing their sights on Johnny. Urlug looked at the situation with a mixture of curiosity and spite. Seeing these well-armed mortals be so cautious of an unarmed pipsqueak piqued his interest. He could see how this would play out and understand what this Johnny Stone could do, but this bar has really pissed Urlug off. The bouncers irked him with their accusations of starting a fight with the drunk, the guards not seeing him as the clearly superior threat that he was, Johnny insulting his intelligence, and, most importantly, the drinks here sucked.
As the two nearest guards stalked towards Johnny, Urlug sprung forward and threw barstools at their formation. The leader yelped and ducked low. The others ducked to the side, but one was too late to react. One of the stools splinted on contact, driving the top-heavy Dwarf to the floor, screaming from the chunks of wood embedded in his face. The other guards whirled to Urlug, firing their crossbows. They found their mark but the bolts caught in his corded muscle and barely made it past his dark green skin.
Johnny turned around and did not hesitate. He stood on his seat and quickly uppercutted the air. A part of the stony floor jutted up, knocking one of the guards straight upwards. The Dwarf waved his limbs in a panic and slammed back onto the rock formation with a loud ringing of metal on stone. While the groaning guard rolled onto the floor, Johnny leapt from his stool and seemed to float in the air. Effortlessly, he sailed over the captain and onto the newly formed rock pillar. Johnny crouched, pointed his hands next to his feet, and then, with his two fingers on the sides of his heels, two jets of fire erupted behind him. Johnny rocketed past the guards and out the doors of the tavern, lighting the chunks of wood in the face of the hapless guard.
“Stop hi-!”The captain began to shout, but was interrupted when Urlug slammed into him.
The captain was flung to the other side of the bar, crashing past tables and stools and into the wizard. Both guards who could still fight fired their crossbows again at Urlug and found their marks once more. The Dwarves quickly grinned and just as quickly lost it when Urlug stared down at them with a smile of his own. He redoubled his charge and barreled through the guards before they could drop their crossbows and bring their halberds up to bear. The half-pints flew into the wall, embedded ass first as if they were trophies from a hunt.
Urlug looked all around the bar. He saw no sign of Johnny after his magical stunt. The bouncers stood rigid in their professionalism, if stoney and clammy. Sejan finally stuttered, “S-s-stop….. You’re….” but before he could finish, Urlug charged through the wall and smashed through the other side into the corridor leading out.
The stuck Dwarves fell and were crumpled beneath the masonry of the collapsing tavern. Urlug paid no mind as he barrelled through the streets, leaving behind a broken bar and without any clue as to where Johnny scurried.
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Days passed after the brawl, and Urlug had already found posters of someone who might be him. WANTED. Orcbai. Large, muscular build. Tusks intact. Darker green skin. Carries a giant ax on his back and two small axes on hips. REWARD. 200 gold coins alive. 75 gold coins dead. He snorted, looking at the poster. “Didn’t give me a beard,” he scoffed as he rubbed proud facial hair.
Most would be grateful for the missing detail, but Urlug found it insulting. He was the only one who injured the guards during the escape; all Johnny did was flee from the scene with fancy flame magic. Urlug glanced to the left to find a better-detailed poster.
WANTED. Human. Brown pigmentation. Normally wears rags. Hiding monk clothing from the House of the Humors. Does not wear shoes. No visible weapons but carries throwing knives. Carries a large sack with many tubes sticking out of it. Eye color-brown. Hair color-bald. WARNING. Was a monk of the House of the Humors. Knows how to call upon the Four Humors and will use them effectively and aggressively when pushed. Bind hands if possible to prevent many of the magics from being used. REWARD. 5,000 gold coins alive. 1,000 gold coins dead.
Still stroking his beard, Urlug felt jealous. Here he was, in Manakith, trying to make a name for himself and bring in hardened mortals for his tribe, yet he stood there comparing the worth of his bounty to another’s. Urlug debated going back up to the higher levels of the mountain city to stir up trouble for more important people. That’s how he assumed cities worked, at least. The nobles and rich lived up higher to look down on the peasants. That’s what he would do if he were a noble.
Urlug growled. Breaking bars and harassing merchants would not pull in the right kind of mortals and not nearly enough of them. He needed to gain notoriety and find those who he could at least train into capable warriors. If Urlug wanted to find those with violence and aggressiveness akin to his own, he had to find more familiar stomping grounds than bars. A grin crept across his face. If Manakith was known for being a cesspool of mortals, there had to be a place where they gathered for the basest kind of entertainment.
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With teeth and blood flying into the crowd, the Dwarf slammed down onto the crimson-painted earth. The Baimon trumpeted a booming bellow of victory, and the crowd cheered for the spectacle. The slosh of ale and the shine of coins flew in the air to bring a cheap, violent, yet horrifyingly beautiful display of the universal pastime. You could call it brawling, fighting, or sparring. You could even refer to it as dueling or a clashing of steel and will. None of those descriptions gives an accurate description of the combat that was on display. What lay before Urlug was pit fighting.
It felt joyous to him, no. It felt holy. He felt complete here. Mortals use their entire arsenal of strength, instincts, guile, and skill against one another to prove who has earned the right to leave the pit alive. The Baimon climbed back up the stairs while the crowd gave him full bottles of liquor and hard slaps on the back. The Dwarf was dragged up another set of stairs and was greeted by boos and spit, even if he was not present in mind to receive them.
Urlug chuckled and turned his attention to the arena again. A chunk of earth fell downwards revealing a perfectly circular hole. Out of this maw rose a Dwarf with more rings in his beard than on his hands. After wiggling his fingers in an arcane sigil, angry, red runes glowed at the base of the pillar of earth on which he stood. He bellowed at the crowd, “Are you ready for the next match, you bitches and bastards?”
The mob responded with half-serious boos, jeers, drunken slurs and curses. The ringmaster chuckled and responded, “Very well! Let the next fight BEGIN!”
A roar of furious excitement took hold of the mortals in attendance. The earth rose slightly higher to elevate the Dwarf ringmaster. He pointed to the right side of the ring and announced, “Then allow me to introduce the first contestant! From the Southern Jungles, a runaway slave turned to the only profession he knew: killing! His blade is sharp, but his claws are sharper! I give unto you, Bagaagh, the Rakshasa enslaved to combat!”
A Rakshasa strutted out of the darkness of his entrance. He twirled an oversized scimitar, catching any strands of light and throwing them back as glints and sparkles. His feline teeth gleamed just as brightly as he gave a wicked smile to the crowd and waved his clawed hands to the gathered scum. Dragging his tail across the floor, he flung up dirt and grime to give more drama to his entrance.
Urlug began to study him, gathering anything he might know about this one. His only distinguishing feature was the broken chains around his wrists. “A reminder,” he murmured, but not what he sought. Urlug could not find any scripts or runes on the iron. They were plain shackles. He was strong, but not only were the shackles still attached, but they also lacked any burnt-away sigils of magic damping. So, unlike the stories he heard, this Rakshasa had no magical potential. “No wonder he was a slave,” he scoffed and earned a couple of side glances.
Urlug turned to meet their gazes, bared his teeth, and growled. The naysayers found they lacked a reason to continue naysaying and returned their attention to the pit.
“And for Bagaagh’s foe for this evening, he comes from across the sands. The sands that separate our Eastern World from the Middle that have been holding him back from us. Now, he has traversed the dunes to find exotic opponents unheard of by him! Whores and whoresons, I give unto you, Sassan, the Human of the Shifting Sands!”
Urlug was even more bored by this. A Human draped in a head cloth and carrying a spear of some design unknown to Urlug. His demeanor was much more stern and severe than the gleeful sadism that radiated off of Bagaagh. Urlug was still determining how Humans worked; Johnny was the first Human to show some actual prowess that Urlug met, but Johnny was slippery with magic. This Sassan could be quick with his stick, making him more valuable than the former slave.
The ringmaster slowly hushed the crowd. He looked back at the audience, their excitement and nervousness beginning to bleed into the air. Once the weight was palpable, he boomed, “As before, as it is, and as it shall be, this is a fight in its purest form. Unrelenting!” The crowd repeats the word back in a roar.
“Violent!” Again repeated.
“Honest!” Once more repeated, each word steadily growing louder and more ferocious
“And most importantly,” the Dwarf paused.
The crowd is again silent in anticipation, most knowing what will come next. Urlug was feeling anxious and knew it came not from within. Some sort of magic began to take hold of him and the mob, building within and starting to gnaw at his marrow. Urlug looked at the runes, seeing them beginning to shine brighter. The red crept along the arena's walls and seemed to grasp the mortals in tendrils. He felt restless and looked around to find others even more so. Urlug grinned ear to ear, his tusks ripping across his lips. Then, the ringmaster belted what everyone wanted, no needed, to hear, even if they had not heard it before. “Bloody!”
A roar of over excitement and carnal rage leapt from the crowd's jaws. Urlug himself got into it as well, yelling at the top of his lungs for the battle to start.
The Dwarf began to descend towards the underground. As he began to disappear, he whispered, “Now let the carnage.”
Then, with a wave of his hands, the earth closed above him. His voice boomed across the pit. Viciousness and bloodlust dripping from every syllable “BEGIN!”
Sassan tightened up, readying his spear for an onslaught that Bagaagh gladly delivered. Bagaagh sprung into the range of Sassan’s spear, dodging and weaving the tip of the blade. In an overextension of his weapon, Sassan found himself pulled forward as Bagaagh gripped the spear shaft and yanked towards him. While keeping his right hand on his spear, the Human grabbed his hidden sidearm and plunged the dagger toward Bagaagh’s face. Leaning slightly, Bagaagh opened his jaws and clenched down on the blade as hard as he could.
A bellow of approval erupted from the mob. Sassan tried to wiggle the blade to slice at the cheeks or tongue, but Bagaagh’a’s bite was absolute. Not waiting for his strength to give out, Bagaagh tightened his grip on the spear and slammed his elbow down, breaking off the blade. Surprised, Sassan went to use the remains as a makeshift club. Bagaagh dropped the spear point and his paw caught the attack.
Bagaagh used his free hand to slip his scimitar off his hip in a fluid motion to slice at Sassan. The attack was greatly telegraphed, but Sassan knew his only option was to disengage. The curved steel blade came crashing down onto an empty space of earth as Sassan tumbled away in a feat of acrobatics. Bagaagh spat out the dagger, charged, and wrapped his meaty paw around Sassan’s throat as the Human was flipping.
Urlug was shouting along with the mob to have this fight end in a spectacularly brutal fashion. Cheers for death and for blood reverberated across the arena, the mob was in a frenzy. Bagaagh held his blade high above his head, ready to bring it down. But Sassan flicked his free hand to have a sphere fall out of his sleeve. He crushed it in his hand and threw the contents at the Rakshasa’s nose and eyes. Glass and sand dug their way into those sensitive areas, and Bagaagh reeled back in agony, dropping Sassan and his scimitar on the floor. As he fell, Sassan drew another dagger and charged the oversized feline. A couple of twitches of the ears indicated that Bagaagh was still in the fight. Bagaagh’s tail whipped around Sassan’s ankle as the Human drew closer. Sassan was pulled to the side and slammed down to the earth.
Every time Sassan made any twitch to free himself, whether with his blade or trying to free with his hands, Bagaagh’s tail would tug and pull at the ankle and yank him across the arena as he cleared the debris from his face. Sassan began to focus, watching the patterns of Bagaagh’s tail twitched. Then, with a patient strike, he stabbed the tail, the blade going all the way down to the hilt and into the sand below. Bagaagh’s eyes reopened, and he let out an undignified yowl. ‘Oohs,’ curses, and a little bit of laughter echoed in the pit.
As soon as that tide turned, it turned again. Before Sassan could crawl away to reposition, Bagaagh lashed out blindly and grabbed Sassan’s arm. The Rakshasa drove him and the Human to the floor. The push forced Sassan to let go of his dagger, clattering in the sands. Bagaagh opened his claws and started to tear and claw. Most of the strikes found dirt and sand, but eventually one would find its mark. The first successful claw sliced open Sassan’s nose, spurting blood all over Bagaagh’s white chest fur, adding red spots to his black stripes. The next ripped at the man’s cheek, exposing the human’s teeth to air. The crowd urged the Rakshas to continue, screaming in ecstasy after each successful blow.
A full minute went by until Bagaagh stopped the butchery. Bagaagh looked down, watching Sassan’s slow and painful breaths, the cloth face covering now mixed with blood and the flesh of Sassan’s sun-kissed face. Bagaagh gazed towards the crowd and waited for a response.
Would the Human survive the day? Did this foreigner earn enough respect? Maybe pity and disgust would keep him from death? Or was the crowd so enthralled by their bloodlust that death was needed to save them from themselves?
Bagaagh grinned a toothy smile and ripped off the head of Sassan to the approval of the crowd. Bagaagh raised it aloft, showing his new prize to the frenzied mob before him. Urlug let out a roar as well, caught up in the ritual display of violence. He pushed past the rest of the mob and leapt over the guard rails.. Urlug slammed onto the earth with such force that a ring of sand encircled him. Bagaagh glared back and with his thick, feline, jungle folk accent asked, “What do you think you are doing, foreigner?”
Urlug pulled out a purple vial, tossing it at Bagaagh, and said, “Pull out the knife first, then drink. You won’t heal fully if that knife is still stuck in you.”
Bagaagh caught it with ease. He knew this potion and felt insulted beyond belief that a stinking pig like this dared lecture him on its use. Still, it was a blessing to have one. Even a victory here would not guarantee enough money for a decent vial, and a quick response would be what he needed to put the pig in its place. Bagaagh grabbed the broken polearm of Sassan and clamped down on it. He yanked the dagger quickly. The pain was still so potent that the chunk of wood he bit down on broke into two more pieces. He caught his breath briefly before hastily uncorking the vial and downing it.
Bagaagh felt a familiar tug and pull of the magics. The feeling of tendrils of power finding the broken muscles, ligaments, and bones was always unsettling. But compared to the pain of them so quickly being knitted back together, most were unsettled,but the beautiful sensation of relief was priceless. No matter how hard he had tried before, smiling and purring always accompanied the bliss, so he stopped trying to hide it. After the sensation wore off, Bagaagh turned to the Orc creature that interrupted his glory. He began to growl, but Urlug cut him off and spoke, “You are great, Rakshasa. I’ve never seen one of your kind be so strong. Let alone without your kinds magics”
Bagaagh shut his mouth. That was unexpectedly kind. Urlug, while slowly limbering up, said, “Come. Let us fight. I need a strong mortal like you to help quench my thirst.”
Bagaagh was shocked, but only for a brief moment. It was not unheard of for mob members to jump into the pit to fight one of the combatants. The shock was the formal declaration. Bagaagh grinned with all of his teeth, “Very well, Orc. Let us duel, then. I haven’t had the opportunity to taste your kind’s blood in a long while!”
Grabbing his giant scimitar off the ground with his tail, he spun it around him, kicking up dirt and forming an almost ethereal cloud around him. When Bagaagh stopped, his blade was back behind his shoulders as if he were a desert scorpion, the cloud of dust slowly settled down to the roar of the crowd. Urlug then declared, “I am Urlug. I come from the Endless Plains and am here to raise a force for glory and war. But for now, I am here to enjoy myself.”
A little boom echoed from the impact as he slammed one of his fists into his other hand. Bagaagh's blade, claws, and teeth shone in anticipation. Killing this Orc on top of the Human would bring him heaps of treasure and admiration. However, the gold and recognition was secondary to the real treasure. Blood.