A massive arena stood in the center of the city of Krall. It was packed wall to wall with people waiting to watch the spectacle they were promised. The drums' beat joined with the cacophony roar of the crowd that chanted the name of their champion in unison. A gate opened from below and a figure dressed in a deep forest green cloak rushed to the center of the arena and he was greeted with the boos and catcalls of a crowd rallied against him.
A single high-pitched voice pierced through all the noise and reached the man's ears, "Hey northerner, you're so ugly I bet when you were born your mother tried to give you to a pack of dogs, but they wouldn’t take you." The voice belonged to a small man that was part of a race known as halflings dressed in dark tan leggings and a bright blue shirt.
The man retaliated, "When I am through with this I will see that you, Nib, and every other lousy halfling is…"
His words were interrupted by the yell of the crowd as another portcullis gate opened and a man stepped through. He wore no armor only deep black pants and well-tanned skin that glistened and muscles that bulged as his hand tightened around a massive battle-ax that he was somehow able to hold in only one hand. The crowd chanted his name as if it was a religious hymn and the halfling joined in with, "Tormal. Tormal. Tormal."
The man let out a roar that echoed off of the walls of the arena and the crowd grew silent.
Kneeling down, the man whispered a prayer to himself. He then rose and tightened his grip on his ax until his knuckles turned white. Rising from his kneeled position, he glared with eyes that once a deep blue flashed blood red. His long deep black hair whipped around his face and occasionally lingered in front of his eyes. Then the crowd's roar returned. Their chants echoed through his very body. He raised his ax high above his head in a sort of salute and called to the man in green robes with a deep and powerful voice, "I hope you will last."
The man in the green threw off his cloak, revealing his leather armor that had rivets of metal that gleamed in the noon sun. He drew his long sword and spoke in a voice with an unfamiliar accent, "I will."
Tormal just smiled as an orator dressed in lavish silver robes began the introductions and the crowd roared. The orator spoke, "In the name of the Arena of Krall, I welcome you. You will not be disappointed today. First, we have the challenger from the lands to the north, Jirid the Green," at this point, a boo sprung from the crowd and Jirid spat in a sign contempt. The man continued, "and your champion… Tormal!" A cheer erupted from the crowd that drowned out the possibility of a further introduction. The man in silver robes now spoke to the fighters, "Begin!"
The two men circled each other, weapons raised. Tormal made the first move and swung his ax in a vicious arc towards the man from the north, but the man deftly sidestepped inches from the reach of Tormal's ax. Jirid took his opportunity to lunge his weapon towards Tormal, but Tormal let his ax's downward arc carry him down to a roll away from Jirid. He popped back up and smashed the butt of his ax into Jirid, sending him reeling. Jirid then glared at the champion and made a quick downward slash, which Tormal blocked with the haft of his ax. They stood there grappling in that position for several moments, but then Jirid gripped Tormal's ax and slid his sword away and stabbed his blade deep into Tormal's leg.
Tormal yelled in pain and winced as he stooped and made a swift, but trained, movement that caught the blade of his ax on Jirid's leg and sent the northern man to the ground. The crowd screamed. Tormal stood over him and laughed, "You told me you would last."
Jirid answered with a deep slash into Tormal's leg that dropped Tormal to his knees as he spat out, "Don't worry, I will."
As Tormal fell his ax flew from his grip as his hands reached towards his new wound that cut to the bone. Then the crowd hushed.
Jirid stood and laughed at Tormal and raised his sword to his throat.
Tormal glared at him and Jirid glared back. They stood looking at each other while Jirid was gloating something that Tormal didn't hear. No sound reached him, as he looked his adversary in the eyes.
Then in one agile movement he reached his left hand to Jirid's sword and tore it from him, the blade cutting deeply into his own hand. His right hand grasped Jirid's ankle and knocked the man in leather armor to the ground. In an instant Tormal was standing above his enemy bathing in the cheers of the crowd as he brought the longsword down, slicing the man's throat and making it impossible for him to breathe.
The crowd's roar was deafening.
Tormal staggered away, dropped the sword, felt the warmth of his own blood flowing from his body, and knelt to pray for the man he had just killed.
* * * *
*
"Tormal, Tormal! Wake up!" a voice rang inside the gladiator's head, bouncing back and forth endlessly.
"Shut up," Tormal grumbled to the halfling that stood above him, reaching feebly towards the small being with dark tan leggings and a bright blue shirt. The mighty fighter winced as he opened his eyes and the light from the window pierced his eyes. He looked at his room. Stared at the mess that was strewn about in a path that led from his heavily bolted door to his slovenly kept bed. He became painfully aware of how much he had drunk last night.
"You need to get up and have some breakfast," the voice persisted.
"I need some sleep," Tormal retorted.
"Come on," the halfling attempted to shake the large fighter.
Tormal moaned as he suddenly felt very queasy.
"Where were you last night?"
"I was invited to spend the evening with a lady of quite high status," Tormal spoke haughtily.
"With her father's permission?" the halfling asked skeptically.
"Of course," the gladiator smiled wryly, "What kind of man do you think I am, Nib?"
"Come on, you promised me you would take me to see the lions today."
Tormal groaned again. He could never understand why his halfling friend was so interested in the lions. Every day his friend, Niberus Defthand, would constantly beg to go see the lions and every day the small halfling whittled Tormal down into promising he would take him. Tormal was not a man to break his promises. So he pulled himself to a seated position and pulled on one of his voluminous white shirts.
The halfling giggled with glee. The lions always fascinated him. He would hold out pieces of meat just out of their reach and they would growl at him and pierce through him with their eyes, but not their teeth. He was well aware that the massive creatures would have no problem ripping him to bits. As he was thinking about this he began to think about that he began to wonder what it would feel like to be ripped to pieces.
Tormal pulled on his boots and slowly stood up. As soon as he stood up, he had to sit down as a feeling of nausea washed over him. He peered at the halfling and then to another man that lay huddled in a giant mass of blankets. He called to the sleeping man, "Tian, wake up."
The mass of blankets shifted suddenly and a gigantic man sat up out of the heap. Muscles bulged and the remaining sheets fell. His skin had a yellowish hue and his ears were pointed. His face was a horrific mix of beauty and repulsiveness. He was a rarity on Rexum, a man half-ogre, half-elf. He spoke with an accent that hinted at his elven homeland, "What?"
"Could you take Nib to see the lions?" Tormal spoke as his hand reached to his head to keep it from spinning.
Tian stood up and wrapped a thick brown cloak around him that completely covered his entire body and face. He had been raised by elves and had been given one of their names, Tianolasius Kaianalthalasia. He eyed the halfling even though Nib couldn’t see it. "Fine, I will take him, but you owe me a favor," grabbing his coin sack that had slipped into Nib's fingers, "a big favor."
The large solemn man and the small jovial halfling skulked and skipped their way out of the room.
Tormal let out a sigh of relief as the door closed and he realized he was finally alone and he began to think that the throbbing in his head would go away when he heard a merciless pounding on the door. He moaned, "Who is it?"
A faint feminine voice spoke, "Someone with a proposition?"
Tormal was on his feet in a moment and in another he was regretting it.
A stronger, definitely not feminine voice boomed through the door and into Tormal's head, "Open up!"
The gladiator lifted the bolt from the lock on his door and opened it cautiously. As he peered through the haze in his eyes, he saw a halo around a beautiful woman and fell in love. She was dressed in soft leather pants and a blood-red shirt and had long black hair that fell to shoulder length curls. His perfect scene was interrupted when a man, who stood very protectively over his new love, came into focus.
Losing focus of everything, Tormal struggling to regain focus on the woman. "What kind of proposal?"
"My name is Miria Deepshadow," the beautiful woman extended her hand for a simple handshake, but Tormal kissed it instead. The woman with black curls just blushed and gestured towards the man that stood over her, "and this is my brother Strangro Deepshadow."
Strangro simply glared at Tormal.
"My name is Tormal," the gladiator responded, extended his hand towards the large man that stood before him and Strangro reluctantly shook his hand.
Miria spoke softly, coaxing Tormal to listen carefully, "I saw your performance in the arena yesterday and was quite impressed. I was wondering if you would be interested in helping me."
"For you, anything," Tormal smirked.
Miria smiled in a way that only made her more captivating, "I need to retrieve some items from a lord of this town and was wondering if you might help."
Tormal suddenly roused himself from his daydreams, "What kind of items?"
"Magical ones."
"Sorry, but the one thing I don’t mess with is magic."
Miria ran her fingers through her hair and made Tormal fall even deeper into her spell of beauty and whispered to Tormal, "Please."
Tormal thought it over in his head and spoke, "Of course, I would need some compensation for my help."
Miria laughed and smiled as she drew out a small coin purse and said, "Don't worry about that," throwing the purse at Tormal, "this half you can have now, the second half will be given to you after."
Tormal, looking through the bag, counted about 200 golden coins. It was enough, he finally decided. "That will do. Whose house are we going to visit," he said as he grinned cynically.
Miria responded, "The Archigus estate."
Tormal glanced at her with disbelief, "You must be crazy, the Archiguses are the most powerful family in this city."
Miria asked, "Do you know why?"
He said matter-of-factly, "Yes, Lord Archigus is the most powerful mage in Krall."
"Do know how he became so powerful?"
This had Tormal stumped. He knew nothing about magic and liked to keep it that way.
"Because he has a staff of incredible power, the staff of Mebolus. Crafted by an ancient order of mages countless years ago. It grants its wielder immense power."
"And you expect to be able to just walk right in and take it."
"Not exactly."
"Then what's your plan?"
"My brother and I will sneak in and slowly work our way through the estate until we find the staff."
"You mean to tell me that you don’t even know where this staff thingy is?"
"Well I have an idea."
Tormal sighed, "So what's my job?"
"We need you just in case we run into any guards."
Tormal gestured towards Strangro, "Couldn’t he handle that?"
Miria glared at him, "The guards in the estate are far from anything my brother could handle. He is a good fighter, but not good enough to fight them."
"Who exactly are they?"
Miria paused, "It's not who, but what. I've heard tales."
"What kind of tales?"
"The kind that give you nightmares. The kind of demons that patrol the halls and devour any who trespass."
Tormal laughed, "You're frightened by children's stories."
"Maybe. Maybe not. I would just like to have someone there to fight off the guards."
Tormal chuckled, "Don’t worry, I will protect you from all manner of demons and campfire shadows that cross your path."
"Be wary, Tormal, if anyone could create such beasts it would be Lord Archigus."
Tormal suddenly spoke sarcastically, "I may need the help of a couple of friends to fight off the big bad beasties."
Miria glared at him. "Very well, but their payment shall come from yours."
Tormal, glancing into the sack of money again, nodded.
Miria spoke as she and her bother left Tormal's messy room, "Then I shall come for you tonight at sunset."
Tormal waved goodbye and smiled as he wondered why the pretty ones were always so stupid.
* * * * *
"We have to do what?" came the reverberating voice of Tian. His anger was, to his chagrin, undercut by his halfling friend's gleeful bantering.
Nib practically jumped up and down as he asked his barrage of questions. "Who came? What did she look like? When do we get to leave? Do you think we will meet any of his demon guards? I've never met a demon guard before."
Tormal spoke over the halfling, "We will leave tonight and sneak in." He reached into his new sack of coins and grinned as he spoke, "It's easy money."
Tian glared harshly at him, "Mages are not something we want to deal with, Tormal. Your ax will do you no good when you are turned into a pig."
At this point, Nib's eyes flashed open. "A pig, wow, I've never been a pig before. That must be great, swimming in mud, being fed by farmers..."
Tormal ignored the halfling. "We won't encounter any problems. It's easy, we just let the two siblings slip in and find whatever they're looking for. Then we walk away that much richer."
"I don’t want to deal with mages," Tian's voice grew much more stern.
"Don’t worry. If anyone deals with the mages it will be the Deepshadows," Tormal smiled, trying to coax his friend onto his side.
Tian glowered at him and reluctantly agreed.
The slapdash group was clad in heavy black cloaks and slunk their way through night in the wealthy district of Krall. Leaping into the shadows whenever a guard passed by. They moved as quietly as they could, but Tormal was not exactly as precise in his movements as his fellow thieves. He was constantly making small sounds that could throw their cover of darkness, but after what seemed like and eternity and countless shushings towards the lumbering Tormal, they arrived at their destination, the Archigus estate.
A wrought gate was their first obstacle, but Miria, along with her set of picks, made short work of that. After that they passed through the gate that seemed to creak louder than a dragon's roar and entered a large garden that was littered with ancient oaks. Walking out from underneath their cover, they saw the spiraling amethyst towers of the Archigus home. Upon reaching the building's daunting double doors, Miria once again worked her craft and made quick work of its locks. The door creaked with a sound that shattering the eerie quiet that they had been forcing upon themselves.
Inside the doors, there was a marble floor that was etched with mystical runes. Glistening mountains of expertly crafted marble acted as pillars that supported the highly arched ceiling. The troupe creeped into the room and was startled by the thundering of their own footfalls as they echoed endlessly through the empty chamber.
Tormal whispered as quietly as he could to Miria who stood beside him, "Did we have to go in through the front door? There could be any number of wardings in this house."
Her only response was a simple nodding of her head that didn’t seem to alleviate any of Tormal's fears and the whispered statement of "That's your job and your problem."
They proceeded through the ever-winding halls and Miria suddenly came to a halt. She whispered so quietly that Tormal, who was right next to her had to strain to hear her, "There is something following us."
Tormal drew his ax from its sling on his back and stood ready for whatever awaited him and he could hear his companions following suit. He could hear the draw of Tian's sword, the swish of Strangro drawing his rapier, the whispered hush of Nib as he drew his shortsword, and to his surprise he could hear Miria speak mysterious words of some serpentine language that he realized was magic.
They formed a circle and collectively tried to peer through the darkness for whatever shadow that had been following them. Then a burst of light exploded from Miria's fingertips and lingered so that the room remained lit. Before them stood a massive being of steel, formed in a humanoid shape that stood nearly twelve feet tall. The whole group was held aghast by the being's size and its glistening spear it held that seemed to be coated black with dried blood.
Tormal raised his ax and gripped it until his knuckles turned white and began to give him pain. This pain only upset him more as it confirmed that he was indeed not dreaming and that this was real. He held his ax high in the air and it gleamed in the unnatural light that Miria had conjured. He rushed forward with Tian and Nib at his side.
The mass of steel looked at them with red eyes that appeared as fiery orbs and a face that never changed as if it was chiseled in the steel that was his body and held an expression of a hideous smile.
Paths
