Post by Wixspartan on Jan 19, 2021 11:21:20 GMT
CW: slavery and violence
It's been 2 months since he was free. He still remembers it though.
Fighting for nothing but the gain of others and the promise of freedom. Oh yes people certainly knew his name in the dingy taverns and grand arenas he was forced to brawl in. The crowd would chant his name as he beat his foes to the ground, pummeling them not out of a feeling of glorious battle but because he had to, he couldn't lose, not now that he was so close. Thinking back on it he could hardly remember who they were, just other poor sods the crowd was more than happy to watch him pulverize. He remembered a few however, hard not to really.
There was the first of all, some kid from a halfling family, back in the days where his only marketing feature was his size. It was meant as a joke, "come watch the giant and the midget" but to him it was nothing more than a fight. It helped back then, separating what he was doing from himself. They hadn't given him his axes back yet, he didn't need them though. It was 4 minutes until she was dead, her crumpled body on the floor of the warehouse the illegal fight had been staged in. One down and nine hundred and ninety nine to go.
There was the first time he was given back his axes. That was a good day. What was he saying? That was an awful day. The bear had been trapped in the cage for over a month, fed nothing but scraps to keep it hungry. This was not the noble beast he had bested as a younger goliath, it was a desperate animal, hungry for anything that moved. Back in the future he drew his fingers across the three scars along his bicep. Most warriors are proud of their scars, Leaper was not. Symbols of his violent murder for those who owned him.
It was towards his five-hundredth match he began to make a name for himself. Crowds were no longer showing up to watch the fights but to watch him. To revel in the blood as he did. To see the life drain out of his enemies eyes. To them he was unkillable, and unphasable. Almost 8 feet of bone and muscle with no other purpose but to kill. He must have been, he never lost a fight. It didn't ever occur to him that his owners knew this is how people saw him, knew they wanted to see more of the big man destroying what was in his way. Not that day though, the day he lost. It was an arena, he can't remember the city, they all blended together. The sky was above him, a rare occurrence those days. He steeled himself as the troll in front of him lumbered towards him. It took a cleric to bring him back after that. 50 matches added.
Then there was that last one. That final day. That beautiful day. His final match. It had been four years of fighting, four years of captivity, four years of holding on to the tales his tribe used to sing in the mountains, singing them each night in fear of losing the last history his tribe had. This one was not like the others, no grand arenas, no backalley fighting pits, no warehouse. It was an open field the slaving caravan had stopped in, nothing more, nothing less. The caravan master stood in front of him, a vicious woman known as the Lady of Chains. She brandished her chain whip as the two squared off. If he won this he was free, free of the slavers, free of the fighting, free of the cities and cages, he could return to his mountains again. He was excited for the first time in those four long years as he swelled with the fury of the wind. Leaping towards her with axes readied and a smile on his face.
That was a couple of months ago now. No one tried to stop him when he left, how could they? They promised him freedom if he won and the Lady of Chains wouldn't be complaining for a while...
He rolled over in his small bed, not designed for his frame, before looking at his left arm. His marking trailed up it, twisting and turning with is fate. The same markings that had killed his tribe and forced him into a life of slavery. He looked at his scars, some reminders of glorious battles but others nothing but reminders of his old life as a slave and a murderer. He remembered something about a tattoo parlor opening up, perhaps he should pay it a visit....
It's been 2 months since he was free. He still remembers it though.
Fighting for nothing but the gain of others and the promise of freedom. Oh yes people certainly knew his name in the dingy taverns and grand arenas he was forced to brawl in. The crowd would chant his name as he beat his foes to the ground, pummeling them not out of a feeling of glorious battle but because he had to, he couldn't lose, not now that he was so close. Thinking back on it he could hardly remember who they were, just other poor sods the crowd was more than happy to watch him pulverize. He remembered a few however, hard not to really.
There was the first of all, some kid from a halfling family, back in the days where his only marketing feature was his size. It was meant as a joke, "come watch the giant and the midget" but to him it was nothing more than a fight. It helped back then, separating what he was doing from himself. They hadn't given him his axes back yet, he didn't need them though. It was 4 minutes until she was dead, her crumpled body on the floor of the warehouse the illegal fight had been staged in. One down and nine hundred and ninety nine to go.
There was the first time he was given back his axes. That was a good day. What was he saying? That was an awful day. The bear had been trapped in the cage for over a month, fed nothing but scraps to keep it hungry. This was not the noble beast he had bested as a younger goliath, it was a desperate animal, hungry for anything that moved. Back in the future he drew his fingers across the three scars along his bicep. Most warriors are proud of their scars, Leaper was not. Symbols of his violent murder for those who owned him.
It was towards his five-hundredth match he began to make a name for himself. Crowds were no longer showing up to watch the fights but to watch him. To revel in the blood as he did. To see the life drain out of his enemies eyes. To them he was unkillable, and unphasable. Almost 8 feet of bone and muscle with no other purpose but to kill. He must have been, he never lost a fight. It didn't ever occur to him that his owners knew this is how people saw him, knew they wanted to see more of the big man destroying what was in his way. Not that day though, the day he lost. It was an arena, he can't remember the city, they all blended together. The sky was above him, a rare occurrence those days. He steeled himself as the troll in front of him lumbered towards him. It took a cleric to bring him back after that. 50 matches added.
Then there was that last one. That final day. That beautiful day. His final match. It had been four years of fighting, four years of captivity, four years of holding on to the tales his tribe used to sing in the mountains, singing them each night in fear of losing the last history his tribe had. This one was not like the others, no grand arenas, no backalley fighting pits, no warehouse. It was an open field the slaving caravan had stopped in, nothing more, nothing less. The caravan master stood in front of him, a vicious woman known as the Lady of Chains. She brandished her chain whip as the two squared off. If he won this he was free, free of the slavers, free of the fighting, free of the cities and cages, he could return to his mountains again. He was excited for the first time in those four long years as he swelled with the fury of the wind. Leaping towards her with axes readied and a smile on his face.
That was a couple of months ago now. No one tried to stop him when he left, how could they? They promised him freedom if he won and the Lady of Chains wouldn't be complaining for a while...
He rolled over in his small bed, not designed for his frame, before looking at his left arm. His marking trailed up it, twisting and turning with is fate. The same markings that had killed his tribe and forced him into a life of slavery. He looked at his scars, some reminders of glorious battles but others nothing but reminders of his old life as a slave and a murderer. He remembered something about a tattoo parlor opening up, perhaps he should pay it a visit....