Flashback A Violent Creation

Spring 488 - Winter 498

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While Sylira is by far the most civilized region of Mizahar, countless surprises and encounters await the traveler in its rural wilderness. Called the Wildlands, Syliran's wilderness is comprised of gradual rolling hills in the south that become deep wilderness in the north. Ruins abound throughout the wildlands, and only the well-marked roads are safe.

A Violent Creation

Postby Reyals on July 16th, 2014, 9:23 pm

Spring , 488

The sky was clear and blue, the sun warmed everything it touched. It was a beautiful day for sure. He sat upon the large rock that lived at the begining of the fields. His father was busy seeding the many rows of soil. Someday the seeds would become harvestable crops. Unknown to the family they would never see that day. His mother sat beside him drawing numbers and signs into the dirt teaching him of mathematics. This had always kept him interested, learning how the mechanics of the adults world worked. Everything seemed to be ran from numbers and letters. He knew his letters but numbers were different. You could make an infinite amount of them simply by rearranging their order. And because of this they were his favorite.

They continued the little lesson for another half hour before the man in the field returned he wiped his brow of beading sweat. The seed sacks were mostly empty "Looks like we have left over seed again. It seems we're starting to finally get ahead." His voice was slick and cool, he was a handsome man. Tall, straw colored hair, light blue eyes. Refined features. At some point he had been a squire and failed to become a knight. Afterwards he only Took his money and his bride to be and fled sylarus and became a farmer.

His mother had been some sort of teacher or master of numbers and letters. Imiker was never sure. She didn't talk much of her past. She had long chocolate hair, and grey eyes an unusual feature. She had gained some weight that gave her curves. She was considered beautiful by many men.

"Maybe someday we can get Imiker into a school, so he can lead a different life" she would say when ever their situation was brought up. This always put the man in a bad mood and he'd grumble about how they were doing just fine raising him. The day wore on and in the evening His father came in from the farm.Thhey picked up the wooden sticks and began to practice sword technique. Swing, Swing, Side step, parry, swing, block, and jab. His body movements were smooth now. The exercises had become boring. He'd done them so many times he could do every one of the 59 excersies his father show him in his sleep.

The night wore on and he was put to bed, his room was a small closet, with room for only a small bed. His feet touched the wall while his head could rest on the back board. He had a small shelf with a candle that had long ago melted past its worth. He layed in bed thinking of numbers and letters wishing he could practice more.

The sounds woke him, the rhythmic thumps and whines of horses and the voices of many men. A very loud bang, probably the door being kicked off its hinges, followed by the sound of steel clashing with steel. A sword fight maybe? He curled into a ball trying to hide. His door was ripped open and he was pulled from his bed. His mother lay next to his father blood trickling down her for head his father, lay in a pool of blood his eyes unfocused. There was another man too who stared distantly at the ceiling. These men were dead. His mother was scooped up and they were taken outside. Imiker was carried away his legs flailing his arms beating the man but it seemed to do nothing.

He never saw where his mother went. She was gone from his life.

Month One
It took several days to grasp what happend. He was in a camp of unfamiler men. He was kicked, beat and pushed around on a daily basis. His job was do do what they said and in a timely manor. But no matter how well he did they called him names and spit on him. The first two weeks were the hardest. Then the numbness set in and he became automated. Soon more children arrived. They would go out and come back sometimes with kids, other times women. It didn't matter the kids were kept seperatly. Living in small cages. One day they were all taken out and lined up. Their captors began to pair them off. With one standing order. Fight, winner gets fed.

He Was paired up with a small boy. The boy looked fragile. He wasn't sure of his age, but he kept shaking. When it was their turn Imiker immediately pushed him down and waited for him to get up and make the next move. But he didn't. He just layed there shaking with tears running from his eyes. A rock was pelted from the audience of men. ( about ten men )
It struck Imiker's head causing him to curl over, holding the small cut that had been issued to him. They laughed "Can't win if your both crying!" The next would belt out "Finish him! He's already on he ground!" They continued to insult him, but their voices faded to the background. He straighted himself out and advanced upon the boy. His body shaking with anger he kneeled on top of him and began bring his fists down. Rage filled his being, every fiber of body filled with the hate of these people, the weakness of the kid benethe him. At some point he had started yelling the blood from his head blurng his vision. A strong hand pushed him off, he threw his arms wildly trying to get back into the beating but was held down. The other childs face was unrecognizable. His chest barely moved, he probably wouldn't live to see another day. And in fact he wasn't seen again.

He got to eat that night. The next time it wasn't so easy. They grapled and he was thrown to the ground he couldn't stop the following beating and promptly lost. When he woke it was the morning. The next fight he won. And the one after that. He slowly began to see the patterns to fighting. how to deflect an attack. Or when to strike It was like using a sword but your hands were the weapons.

He didn't lose another fight for many days and soon his first grueling month had finished. His only purpose was to fight, they held matches for him and the other kids, weekly
Reyals
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A Violent Creation

Postby Reyals on July 17th, 2014, 11:22 am

Fall 489

A year later.

The air seemed still, his hands clenched into fists. The youth across from him had a similar stance. If not a bit more sloppy. The yelling of the audience but a dull rumble. They were the main match of the night. Both having twice as many victories as any other young gladiator that lived with them.

The boy was taller had a better reach but not as much muscle as Imiker had developed in the last year. He had talked to him once several months ago in their first match. His name was Roiker. And he been beaten by him, a lucky punch that clipped his temple in the eleventh minute of the match.

They face each other again. Their feet slowly moving as they circled, he kept across the gap between them, Roiker swung, but swung to wide missing Imiker, he got beneath his guard delivering a devastating blow to his gullet, the hit knocked him off balance, he stepped forward and rammed his shoulder into the other child, he crashed to the earth but rolled out of his reach quickly, he had recovered. This time he came head on, using his arms to deflect the blows to his head Imiker too the savage beating waiting for him to tire out. It seemed like hours but was really only seconds. It happens quickly he went in for a haymaker swinging wide to end the fight quickly, two quick jabs to Roikers face had hi nose gushing blood. He rocked backwards on his feet then spring forwards knocking him to the ground. He began to rain blows down upon the other youth. Roiker kept his face guarded but the occasional blow made it through. Using his hips he knocked Imiker off.

It continued like this for five note minutes both boys bloodied and tired they circled, Roiker leapt and caught Imiker ribs with a kick, but he held tight to the foot and pushed him over. Imiker began to savagely kick the boy in his ribs causing him to curls up. At this he kicked him in the mouth knocking out a tooth. The fight was over Imiker kept delivering the punishment until the captor pulled him away. He had won. It was a good feeling to get revenge, but it left him sore and bleeding. He was tossed into his cage, where he rested playing the fight over in his head. His lip had been busted open, and it hurt. Sleep took its sweet time and when it came it fave him relief. He never had dreams anymore. Not like when he was home.

He woke up, his body drained from the fight, his cage door open he weakly got to his elbows. Dried blood caked his face. A man came into view and drug him out by his foot. "Its time to eat, after you've got to train. I'll be your trainer, you're now my possession and your going to make me a lot of money. If not... I'll kill you.

The next couple weeks were some of the hardest in his life. He was pushed past his physical limits his body could hardly move and yet he had to keep going. In his fights he was barely coming out on top. The physical punishment his new master " Johns" put him through wasnt helping him in anyway. But at the end of the third week he was moving faster and hitting harder than most of the boys. Johns was an expert in hand to hand combat. After a couple months he began to introduce weapons, which made Imiker suspicious. "Master how come you are training me with these weapons? Shouldn't we go over wrestling or boxing first?" He laughed but never answered. Instead he was beaten to a pulp by a wooden sword. He picked up the sword training quickly because of his former life. He used a gladius which was exactly like a short sword. It became clear why he was being trained with weapons. The matches had become fights to the death. They were given rusted and nicked weapons to fight with. The population of slaves had gotten to large.

In his first fight Imiker faced a girl who looked a little younger than him. She was quick. Much quicker than him. She used a sharp needle like weapon which was use primarily for thrusting. The battle lasted only three minutes. After dodging a thrust narrowly he kicked sand into her eyes, and removed her dominant hand, she screamed and collapsed, he refused to kill the girl, and a guard did it himself. After that he was severely beaten . so bad he couldn't fight for two weeks. He never made the mistake of hesitating again.
Reyals
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A Violent Creation

Postby Reyals on July 20th, 2014, 9:58 am

Spring, 492

Time seemed to move at a crawl, he was mid spin, bringing his sword across the belly of another gladiator, the blade sliced cleanly through his soft flesh. The boy curled over clutching his belly, blood flowing through his fingers, he stumbled forwards and lay dying in the dirt. A spear was lunged towards him, he hit the side of the spear with his blade narrowly avoiding being impaled, his left hand jammed the knife he was carrying into the kids bare chest. He pivoted and raised his sword with both hands but was too slow, the axe bounced off of his own weapon and slashed his upper arm. He side stepped, over and swung at the attacker, his sword parried by the others.

Here he was locked in single combat, yet he was not alone. He still had three people left on his team while the other gladiators had five. Tonights match was a team battle two teams of ten would fight to the death. Over the past two years, the sport had grown greatly in the black market communities, the bandits had almost all together stopped robbing and plundering innocent peoples possessions. The bandits or "Promoters" As they called themselves now would drag around the small army of children to staged arenas. There were several in the wildlands, small structures where cages could be fitted just out side the arena, that allowed the children to enter the area. In these walled off structures which he calls home, he has spilled more blood than thought possible. After three years of the Gladiator games, his kill count has reached thirty four total. Imiker blames most of it on luck and his Master Johns, a very proficient man, very knowledgeable about fighting.

He snapped back to reality and dropped to the balls of his toes, the axe's blade swung a little high and missed him completely. As he was recovering the his opponent swung down, Imiker stood up, using his wounded hand he caught the handle of the axe, and drove his own blade home, it easily sliced through his skin and penetrated his most vital of organs. When he fell, imiker grabbed his axe and rushed to the aid of his team, they were losing badly. The boy fought two opponents at once, and they were scoring hits on him. It amazed imiker how the human body could keep pushing even pasts its limits. The girl was doing alright. As imiker arrived across the arena, he gave the girls enemy a shove with his shoulder pushing him onto the ground, he moved onto help the boy. At this time he had fallen to a knee and was trying to feebley block the attackers. He thrust his sword out catching the blade of another, he swung his free hand catching the boy in the jaw, it knocked him backwards. He pounced upon the opening and split him from groin to neck, he turned his head to see the other advancing upon him. He reached behind his head blocking the boys sword then spun and brought the axe into the male's center mass, splitting his ribs. He turned back to the girl who now had her foot on the mans chest, waiting for the bandit lord to make a decision. He always gave the same one. Death.

At the end of the bought, they were walked tiredly into their waiting area, imiker assisted the boy back in, he was in a bad way. The healers they had on staff were top notch, they gained much medical experience fixing and repairing broken bodies. It was probably due to the fact that the Lord Bandit was also a healer, a very skilled one. At some point in his life he had soured and taken to murder and slaving which led to imiker being captured. The healers made quick work of the cut on his upper arm, it wasn't too deep, the applied slaves then stitched it close, the boy though was going to have to struggle, his wounds were many and they were deep. If he made it through the night, he would have a long road to recovery. If he was allowed. The girl was fine. She was maybe a couple years younger than him. It was her third time in a fight, she had participated in only team evolutions, and was visibly shaken by her lack of skill in single combat.

He moved out of the tent, the guard promptly escorted him back to the cages, his clothes raggedy and worn. He crawled in and layed down as there wasn't much room to to any more. This was how they lived in terribly small cages until they trained or fought. They were even fed in the cages. He sighed and ate his bit of bread, his fingers picking at the bindings that held his cage together. They were still made of sticks, and bound together by rope, if it rained they were rained on. In the winter months they were moved into a tent, but often times the boys would kill one another in an attempt to thin out the talent. OR they would simply freeze to death.
Reyals
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