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[Razkar]

26th Day of Spring
Blood Pits
20th Bell

They had to make things interesting, of course. After watching the Scalper shear through four seasoned gladiators and taking only a handful of blows himself, Pitbull knew to up the ante when the Myrian walked back in jut before Synaset, repeating the same words as he had the night before.

"I want to fight in the pit."

Pitbull wasn't about to turn him down. A nice chunk of the people there that night swelling the crowd had been told about "The Scalper", the mysterious and brutal Myrian who'd thumbed his nose at the Dragoons and was now thumbing it at the much-feared Blood Pits.

Well, Pitbull thought with a sneer as he set up the roster for that night, let's see how he likes these two.

He paused his quill over the paper, wondering, calculating. He was far from a scholar, but the hulking and undefeated pit fighter knew how to predict combat like few others. He scratched the underside of the boulder he had for a head and shrugged.

Better to be safe than sorry.

He made it three-against-one.

++++++++++

Well, I suppose I should have seen this coming.

Which wasn't inaccurate. He knew they'd increase the odds against him. Razkar may have been the hero of the Blood Pits, the latest buzz on the circuit encompassing every place where men and women beat each other to death, but what was it the man said? The people love to see a hero fall, as well as watch him rise.

That big bastard Pitbull would push him and push, and the crowd would love it. Then, when it got too much and he was killed, they'd forget him.

The Myrian spat on the sand as the portcullis slammed shut behind him. He took in the three figures before him and unsheathed his gladii, flourishing them briefly to ensure they settled in his grasp.

Two Akalaks like trees with brown skin stood on the other side of the Arena, flanking an Eypharian with four arms, each tipped with a dagger, but no two were the same. The crowd howled and pounded their feet into the stands in jubilation. The exotic never failed to arouse them. Savages from all across the world, here just to die for them...

Razkar ignored them, and concentrated on the task at hand.

One on the left: lakans, short range, but he'll know them well. On the right: shield and mace. Goddess, another sodding shield.

"Blessed Myri, look upon my deeds this even with favor," he muttered as he began to walk to the center of the arena, his three opponents spreading out, twin Akalaks probably seeking to flank him while the Eypharian kept him busy, "Guide my hands... and Dira, my blades."

The crowd bellowed and a thousand fists pumped the air as Razkar screamed like a dying tiger, throwing himself-

-at his side, towards the Akalak with the lakan, slashing high at him with Edreina's blade in his left, knowing he'd block it-

-lakan jerking up and away, but his right was moving too-

-and the Akalak's other lakan slid smoothly into his past, as easy and precise as Eranis would have, his old Akalak comrade from the voyage to Syliras-

But fortunately, Razkar had come far since then-

-and kicked out with his left leg at the back of the Akalak's right knee. The hulking humanoid's body was twisted to his left to block both of Razkar's strikes from that direction, leaving him open for the lightning strike-

-making him wobble on his feet, balance suddenly uncertain as he went down to one knee, lashing out in a hasty backhand with his right hand's lakan at Razkar's chest-

-the Myrian swaying out of the way, torso screaming in protest as he pulled it back to such a painful angle, but avoiding the blow as it swung back his eyes, the Akalak's arm extended-

-right gladius swinging sideways in a vertical arc, Myri's Blessing lending it speed to match the honed edge-

The Akalak screamed. The crowd roared. A brown forearm with a lakan still gripped tight fell onto the crimson sand, ribbons of blood falling around it like a final blessing, shrieking and crippled gladiator reeling back in shock.

Ticks had passed since first their blades clashed, but Razkar knew it was time enough-

-for the other two to close in and hit him like charging Tskanna, and he spun away to face them-

-just as that fucking mace slammed into his ribs and took him off his feet. Now he was the one shrieking, cracked ribs oozing agony through his side, sewn wound on his chest threatening to split open anew.

He fell. He rolled. He went with the momentum until his was back on his feet, and they were already on him.

[Buras]

Buras was up in the crowds, waiting for the Scalper to come. Might as well make a few extra coins to pay him with. Looking around, he was amazed at all the people gathered to watch people kill each other. Then again, riots don't break out if people are happy. Staring at the ring, he sees the Scalper enter the ring. "Hey, Put 10 gold on the Scalper." "But sir, you don't even know what the odds are yet. the bet taker said. Don't care, I would rather have a safe bet than a stupid bet. And handed the man ten gold to the man. "And I expect to see everyone I win." Hope he isn't dead, he still has to teach me. But he can be battered a little bit. Maybe then he won't beat the crap out of me to teach me. That is when he saw the Scalper and his opponents enter the ring. He saw the Scalper take down the first one with apparent ease. Then he turned, and got slammed in the side by the mace wielding Myrian. Buras cringed at the hit. I may lose ten gold and a teacher to this. Hope not. OOC-10 gold to betting

[Razkar]

Don't... stand... still-!

No time to recover his breath. No time to feel sorry for himself or dwell on the agony that made even breathing a chore. The Myrian forced it down like a bad oyster and let Myri's Blessing lend him additional strength, blades still gripped tight, looking up sharply-

-as a vast shadow fell across him, towering Akalak rearing up for another blow-

-hitting nothing but air as Razkar slid to his right, the Akalak's shield side, swinging his ax in a long, powerful arc into the barrier-

-but as brutal as the Malediction-aided weapon was to a human opponent, the sheer force of it enough to bruise and stagger, to another Akalak? The gladiator grunted and swung out again, forcing the Myrian back, opening him up to-

-the shrieking Eypharian who darted in from the other side, foursome of daggers thrusting one after another, his gladius a blur as he parried them, ax doing the same, then chopping towards him-

Rudimentary style, but... so much of it. He's never really had to fight any enemy that could match his speed. Impressive, but... his skill? Simple. Predictable.

Not that he could do much about it in that breath, backing up and up away from the questing blades from the wiry knife fighter and the colossal Akalak behind him, growling down at his "partner" but flickering glances at his brother, still oozing blood onto the sand, snarling in rage as he gripped the stump where his arm used to be...

Gods, he actually trying to get back up.

Not acceptable.

Whatever Mace growled to the Eypharian, the multi-armed barbarian was having none of it. He threw himself at the Myrian again, determined to take the glory all for himself, two of his daggers thrusting out, two held back-

-Razkar's gladius knocking away one aimed at his stomach, another at his chest-

-another two shooting out as they got closer-

Fuck, no way to avoid this-

-and his ax swung down and inward to knock one of them away, but the last sunk deep into his side, shock of the impact like an icepick and a flaming arrow all at once. Warmth pooled around the wound, then heat, flames, agony-

-and the Eypharian grinned at him bare inches from his face, taking his time to gloat as he opened his mouth-

-and Razkar did the same-

-letting him see the twin rows of teeth sharpened to needles-

Perhaps Kamen had some inkling of what Razkar was going to do, right before it happened. Razkar liked to think so; something like shock passed through his brown eyes right before the Myrian's head snapped forward-

-mouth wide, teeth burying into Kamen's throat, feeling his jugular pulse against his gums-

-then he bit down hard, teeth tearing through fresh, oasis of blood blossoming in his mouth before his jaws began to ache in protest and he jerked his head back-

-spitting out a hefty chunk of ruined, bloody meat-

-and staggering away with the knife still inside him-

-letting Kamen do the same... but for far less distance. His flawless bronze torso was soon painted red within ticks, two hands desperately clasped to the wound, knives dropped and forgotten, but no hands, no size, none could close the vicious, gaping maw Razkar had created.

Kamen toppled back... and Mace stepped right over him.

"Ah, shyke..."

[Buras]

Come on, kill them now. Buras shouted, he wore a mask of savage glee. Eyes suddenly going wide, Buras sat down hard. I let go. Have to keep a check on my emotions. His eyes were glued on the scene playing out in front of him though. The Eypharian going after the Scalper. Poor move mate. You will die for that. He saw the Eypharian strike at the Scalper with amazing speed. Amazing but ultimately futile. He was able to land a knife in the Scalper's side. Even though he was far away from the fight, he saw the Eypharian smile, and the Scalper smile in return. He is either mad, happy to die, or up to something. Buras couldn't help thinking. At that moment, the Scalper lunged for the man's throat, tearing a huge chunk out. I think he is a blend of mad and clever. Buras had to think about the Scalper. He had a grudging respect for him, he was still sore from the last fight. Now, there is only one. Getting up from his seat, Buras headed to where he would meet the Scalper, at this point he had no doubts about whether he would win. Telling the bet collectors where he would be, Buras picked up the bandages and left the blood thirsty audience.

[Razkar]

Back up. Get some space. Regain yourself and then come at him anew.

Put that way, it sounded like a viable and sensible strategy. To everyone watching from the stands, however, it looked like the Myrian had turned coward and was fleeing from his larger, fresher enemy. Howling fans suddenly became booing critics, screaming abuse, throwing wrappered and empty bottles into the Arena as Razkar staggered away, keeping his feet as he gripped the dagger and-

Get it over with.

-ripped it free from his side with a gasp, feeling blood pour down his side. Nothing important punctured, though. Enough time for him to-

-slide to his side as that mace came swinging down at him, forcing him to the Akalak's right-

-as the huge man backhanded at him with his broad shield, forcing him even further back, swaying-

-chest brushed by steel edge of his as it whooshed by him, deeper bass sound as opposed to the quick flick of the mace-

-and Razkar backed up even more, agony in his side starting to spread and he knew-

Enough time, boy. You know how he moves, you know what he'll try. He thinks you're ready for the chop.

Show him otherwise.

He knew he wouldn't get a second chance. He felt his gnosis flow down his boy from his neck like a waterfall. Saw the Akalak stomp towards him, naked rage bright in his eyes, image of his crippled twin still fresh and driving sense from him, but lending him strength in his fury.

The Myrian assumed a defensive stance, exaggerating the tremble in his arms, his weapons wobbling, eyes half-closed.

C'mon, c'mon... fresh meat, right here.

And with a roar the Akalak swung sideways with his mace, looking to knock the savage bastard clear off his feet-

-and Razkar lunged into the blow, gladius flashing upward to parry the blow away, raising the Akalak's arm high-

-and straight-

-ax moving with speed the gladiator simply wasn't expecting, assuming his enemy was beaten, exhausted-

-then he joined his brother in agony as the ax cleaved through his forearm and tore his hand and the mace it held clean from it in one liquid spurt of pain and the sound of bone crunched through-

Don't stop now.

Razkar dropped low, to one knee, grunt of pain becoming a yell of fury as he expelled the wound in his side through the noise in his mouth, skilled hands reversing his grip on the gladius even as he moved-

-blade pointed down, stabbing hold-

-straight through the Akalak's foot.

The crowd, as they say, went wild. They loved it. The reversal of fortunes, the blood, the amputated limbs flying around and their underdog becoming top dog once again. The Akalak staggered and went down to his knee, staring and roaring at the hand he would never use again-

-and swung hard with his shield in one final burst of defiance-

-that Razkar's weapons were simply not prepared for. He crossed them before him, grip tight-

-but the broad, heavy shield was too large, too wide, knocked him on his back and every wriggle on the red sand only made the sucking, red-blinking wound in his side vomit more of it up-

The Akalak limped up, barely even using his right foot, raising hi shield high, edge of it leveled like a guillotine at Razkar's throat-

-then it hurtled down-

-and Razkar screamed back at him, ax swinging upward from groin to over his head, above his prostate form, knocking the shield from it's mark on his throat to crashing into the ground above his head, Akalak stumbling again-

-the perfect moment for Razkar to stab his gladius clean through his crotch.

Every male in the Blood Pit winced and hissed in horror, many of them checking their own sac just to be sure... phew, yeah, still OK. Still there and not bleeding like a bag of wet fruit pierced by an arrow, piercing getting wider as the Myrian twisted the blade, Akalak now so far beyond just "pain" it was unreal-

-and Razkar ripped it free and smashed the hilt into that brown temple, knocking the Akalak over onto his back, groaning in a voice far too high to be his own, Razkar rolling over to him, halfway over his chest-

-stabbing down in a frenzy, over and over, all form and style forgotten, just the burning, spit-spewing desire to end this creature once and for all... and he did. The struggling and whining stopped. The Akalak was still, thick red blood oozing from his mouth, and... painfully... slowly...

The Scalper rose to thunderous applause.

Fucking peons.

He ignored them; unfinished business came first. There was still movement in that Pit. The first Akalak, still trying to get up and... Goddess, he was actually up to one knee. Razkar took his time as he walked over, trying to give his body some precious ticks to numb his wound... fuck, it wasn't working.

Get it done quick and get back to your kit, for Myri's sake.

The one-footed gladiator tried to put on a show, but the ground around him for yards was a sticky, ugly mess of blood-soaked sand. He'd lost so much he'd gone from brown to nearly-gray, and his lakan trembled as he could barely lift them.

Razkar's eyes flared for a moment in pity. He hated this work. Executions were not his forte, by nature. Especially a warrior, but...

This is not Falyndar. It is Sunberth.

He lunged low and to the Akalak's left, slashing sideways with his ax, forcing the kneeling figure to sway back and away, lakan slashing wildly, not connecting-

-gladius flicking up with surgical, masterful precision, drawing a deep red line up the Akalak's left arm, robbing it of both feeling and lakan-

-and the brave man tried one more time to rise, right arm swinging-

-gladius blocking it with a clash of steel as Razkar whirled with the blow-

-ax slamming backhanded into the Akalak's neck while their blades still ground together-

The crowd hushed for a tick as a mane of black hair fell from atop that stout, muscle-bound torso... with the head attached. They waited until the lifeless trunk fell (fittingly) like a tree, and then exploded anew.

Razkar ignored them. He was getting used to it, and he enjoyed it. He sheathed his weapons and limped to the portcullis... and flowers fell instead of trash and scorn. Cheers and people giving him the "thumbs up" of approval, even females baring their breasts to him.

The Scalper spat at them, a vicious spray of saliva that conveyed his contempt in a way words never would... and he vanished into the darkness.

[Buras]

Buras heard the cries of the crowd, quieter now that he was in the pits. He heard the booing and hissing, wondering slightly what it was all about. He also heard the collective "oooo" given by the crowd in sympathy of some injury or another. But eventually, a bet collector (not the one he originally gave his money to) came running into the pits. The odds where 2 to 1. Your coin. Handing a bag that was ten gold heavier over to Buras, the collector promptly turned around and ran out of the pits, only to glad to leave in case he was mistaken for a gladiator. Putting the bag on his belt Buras thought, Not much longer now. And he was not disappointed. He saw the Scalper walking through the tunnel, the one cut in his stomach oozing blood, and the rest of him covered in bruises of varying size, the biggest one was obviously the one on his side. "Glad to see your alive. I got your gold, now you hold up your end of the bargain. Doubting that the bandages he brought were meant for him, or if they would help at all, Buras didn't try to assist the Scalper. Instead, he followed him to where he was going and sat down next to an apparent medicine kit, waiting for him to patch himself up. And then, it would be time to learn.

[Razkar]

If he was asked, he might have said it was his Myrian stature and endurance that was holding him upright when most others would have been crawling or simply curled up and hoping to pass out. He could have said that, but it would have been a lie.

Razkar was just too fucking stubborn to stop himself. Each footfall seemed like trial, test and torture mingle together, but with every one accomplished, he celebrated a tiny victory.

Celebrate when that fucking hole is closed, he snarled at himself, supporting himself on the wall of the tunnel, navigating by touch and ear almost as much as sight. Find a slave, a servant, someone to hold the-

Some shadow scampered by him and his free arm shot out, slathered with sweat and desperation-

"You?!"

"S-Sir?!"

Fortunately Naric was still awed enough by the show The Scalper had put on to be easily swayed: he probably thought the Myrian was just playing things up. Fevered eyes glared at him and hoped that was the case, words bitten off like gristle from bone.

"Need... your help... boy."

"S-Sir, I have chores, with Master P-Pitbu-"

"I can pay! I just-"

"Glad to see your alive. I got your gold, now you hold up your end of the bargain."

Slave and gladiator turned as one to see the stocky figure waltzing towards them, filled with his own self-importance and barely even noticing the face his instructor was half-dead. But both human and Myrian heard the... well, golden word and the chink-chink-chink from the purse drew Razkar's eye-

"Shut up, barbarian."

-hand flicking from slave shoulder to free man's belt like a mantis' claw, snagging the clinking money purse and jerking it back to his ear in one swift movement. Razkar cocked an eyebrow and held it out to the suddenly very-interested Naric.

"Sounds like... twenty, maybe more. A... healer's wages. Which is what... what you'll be doing. D-Deal?"

Naric licked his lips like a hungry dog but he'd not survived so long in Sunberth by doing everything blindly. The savage looked close to death but he'd looked the same in the arena and, well, ask the twins how that went. But he was wounded, and if he died, that might help him more...

But how do you know he won't have one more death in him? Like... yours?

"What, ah... what exactly would I, ah, be do-"

"Whatever I say!" Razkar snapped, then winced as a fresh wave of paralysis threatened to numb his legs entirely. Fighting it down between short, snorting breaths, he growled out: "Yes or no?!"

"D-Deal!"

Razkar tottered across the tunnel and into his alcove, ignoring the human who'd come to train. He'd get to the man in due time: for the moment, his concern was not bleeding to death underneath this shithole of an urban center.

"F-Find... a poker," he muttered as he ripped open and then through his healing kit, fumbling fingers rifling through bottles and packs, "Like... like for fires."

"You mean a straight bit of metal?"

"Yes." Razkar said with a wince, uncorking a bottle of alcohol and pointing to the bleeding hole in his stomach. "That wide."

Naric knew where this was heading; Sunberth boy, like I said. He scurried off and arrived mere ticks later, dirty but serviceable length of lead in his hand, seeing the Myrian about to put a knife in his mouth.

"... what? It's either this or scream my guts out. Get that glowing, boy..."

It wasn't the first time Naric had done this drill. When cousin Jerno got into debt with the Slag Boyz he'd ended up with extra holes; Naric had only been at his place to crash in the dining room and suddenly he was a sodding assistant nurse. He'd done the same thing, too, once he'd seen the leaking maw in his cousin's chest.

Razkar splashed the stinging, scalding shit around and into the wound, biting down hard-

-wincing and cursing in muffled Myrian that would have gotten his arse tanned back with his clan. He checked the bandages were ready next to him, enough for his torso... then nodded to Naric.

"Alright," he said, gripping the bottom of the bed in the alcove, arms stiff, fingernails already biting into the straw and wooden slats, "Strike true, boy..."

He closed his eyes, felt that flush of heat close to his skin, then on it, in it, the sizzling, burning, smell of his on flesh cooking and-

-something between the sound of castration and the mental fear of it leaked out the corners of his mouth, made his eyes bulge and tears ran down his face. His arms strained to be let loose and throttle the grimacing, green-faced slave but he beat back the urge.

Who else would help? The barbarian?

Black waves were lapping just under his eyes. His mind seemed... heavy, like his eyelids. Just a little sleep. A few chimes, and-

-the edge of the knife bit into his lips and the stinging pain brought him back. It was so odd, so stupid, he didn't even realize... and now was grateful for it.

'G... Good man." He panted as he let the knife fall and patted the bandages, looking far paler than a Myrian had any right too, made even worse by the low light of the alcove. "Now... needle and thread..."

Naric nodded, wiping his face with his sleeve and then the Myrian swung his head towards Buras, cocking an eyebrow.

"So sorry if I'm ruining your fucking schedule, but I'm not going to be much good for tonight. But I can teach you, still, if you want."

[Buras]

"...But I can still teach you, if you want." "No, you are not ruining my schedule, this was the only thing on it. And to the second thing, you already took my money, so yes. But only what you can, you can always teach me other things at a later date." Buras tried not to let his sympathy show, this man might take offense to it. "Sorry I couldn't do much. I don't have much experience in sowing a man back together." An idea came to Buras. Perhaps he can teach me how to fight and sow myself up later. Deciding to voice his idea, Buras says "How about you teach me how to sow a wound shut. And you did take all of my gold. So I think that is another lesson, fighting. But, it is up to you. You are the one that set the price, so you should be the one to decide what you teach me."

[Razkar]

The Myrian all but ignored the first couple of sentences, gold or not. The chasm in his side was more important-

Oh, it isn't that bad; stop being a baby.

-and he was focused instead on Naric threading a needle like he'd done it before, dipping it in rubbing alcohol and glancing up at that savage face.

"Ready?"

"Get it over with."

Then the human mentioned something else. Helping? Ah, no: learning how to help... and even then, only himself. Every fighter worth his salt - from barroom brawlers to mighty warriors - should know how to patch themselves after a fight. Buras was far from the archetypal brawler, but Razkar appreciated a man who could think more than one skirmish at a time.

Yes, because you're such a great example, aren't you?

But before he could answer, Naric made his first slice into him. Wound still smoking but the bleeding stopped and risk of infection burned away, now came the stinging, tedious pain of sewing. Razkar looked down and gritted his teeth, feeling the needle worm its wat through one side of the wound... then the perverse feeling of penetration as the thread slid through the wound...

The warrior nodded his approval. The slave knew how much to leave, too. Not too little so you couldn't tie it off, not so much you just wasted thread.

Then the needle repeated its trick, and Naric pulled it tight, skin at one end of the stab wound closing for a second... until he had to let go and keep sewing.

"Not tonight," Razkar bit out his words between piercings, at least until he numbed up enough or... ah, the hells with it. He took a swig from the alcohol and nearly gagged at the pure, oily, fiery taste of it. "I am... kff... recuperating, and need someone who knows what he's doing. Like him."

"Thank you, sir."

"Don't call me "sir", boy," Razkar growled, warning jarring with the compliment just a tick before, "I'm not your master. Keep doing as you are and there'll be more gold in it for you, though."

Didn't that just motivate him? Slave and impromptu healer busy and his own mind swimming from pain and hundred proof alcohol, Razkar turned back to his other problem... who was actually a customer.

Well, a service is a service, and his gold did secure the healer. So, if you can't be up and about, might as well start with... what did Herliz call it... theory?

"Tell me... what do you think I will teach you?"

The Myrian grunted again, teeth bared and faint, flickering torchlight making him look like a daemon, but he bore it... and when the pain subsided for a moment, those black coals were still leveled at Buras and waiting for an answer.

[Buras]

A bit disturbed by how the man looked, Buras says, "Well, I was thinking that you would teach me how to fight. After all, we did make an agreement, and you did tell me to bring these bandages." Buras says lifting the bandages "What else could they be for? Unless you wanted them for after your fight, but I can see that you didn't. Standing up, Buras folds his hands behind his back. This was about as ready as he could get. He wasn't prepared to fight though, the Scalper certainly couldn't fight with that wound. What he was prepared for was to listen, and learn. But you never know, he might make me fight the man that's sowing him up right now. "Teach away, Scalper." Buras was getting tired of calling him Scalper, or The Scalper, he wanted to know his name. "But before we start, can I know your name. And don't tell me your the Scalper. I doubt that is your real name."