Private Tales A Bloodied Griffin

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer

Amalric Urahil

The Noble
Member
Messages
151
Character Biography
Link
A pox upon every denizen of Cerak At'Thul. If the earth opened up and swallowed every last stone of this wretched slave town, Amalric Urahil would shed no tears.

The Anirian knight hung from chains in a cell, deep within the bowels of the fortress. The air stank, the ceiling leaked, and the screams of tortured souls startled him awake more often than not.

Footsteps, the jailor came hither.

"What now, prithee, oaf?" hissed the chained noble, blond hair bedraggled but somehow he managed an august condescension despite all they'd done to him.

"Its to the pit with you."

Amalric closed his eyes. At last, a fighting chance in the blood pit. If he just had a sword, perhaps he could fight his way free.

In chains and blindfolded, the jailor led him along corridor after corridor until they stopped. Above, Amalric could hear a raucous chanting. The jailor took off his blindfold and chains. Amalric rubbed his wrists, raw after so long locked up.

"There's your gear." The jailor pointed.

Amalric looked and saw armor laid out. His armor. He let out a chuckle of disbelief, then started grinning like a madman as he buckled on the pieces of plate and chain.

Some minutes later, Amalric stood in the pit, girded head to toe in his enchanted plate mail, with a sword in hand. He could hear his own breath, loud within the helm. But it felt comfortingly familiar to be in a helm again. Lining the pit, the ilk of Cerak stood. He could see through the slit in his visor their money changing hands.

Who was he to fight? A lion? A tiger? Some pirate?
 
Ahhh, I’m thirsty.

Nicomo was tossed around between that sadistic treasurer and the one with a princess attitude. Where did somebody get off on being the queen or king of a trash heap? They are just the petty rulers of a little island. Did they have any idea about how large the world was or what kind of demons existed outside of their little kingdom?

Did they think they could keep one chained up in the dark?

The crowd demanded blood. Ravenous, desperate and profane shouts spat from above the pit. Bets are made. As his opponent waits, Nicomo makes his way out from the opposite tunnel. There's a final call for any wagers.

All bets are closed.

Only a few present in the crowd witnessed Nico’s brief display of power at the auction. Rumors of the events were exaggerated and quickly circulated like a wildfire, and the drunkard’s antics during the Duck Hunt only fanned those flames.

He staggers out into the pit not drunkenly but tiredly to ringing chants of his name. Funny. He is no pit-fighting champion. But they expect a lot from him and the dregs of society were hungry to see some shiny, pretty noble being pulled down into the mud.

Nicomo is unarmed and dressed in old, sweat and blood-stained rags.

The pit is a graveyard of fallen slaves, prisoners, and beasts. Discarded, forgotten weapons buried in the mud mark the resting place of all the slain as headstones. Nicomo drops to a knee and draws a chipped, rusted blade from the soft black earth. It’s about six hands in length. A bit short for his liking, but it would do. He takes a readying breath and shakily stands back up.

Say,” Nicomo finally looks across the pit to the knight, “Are you strong?
 
  • Yay
Reactions: Amalric Urahil
"Pardon, is this a joke?"

Amalric stared with rank disgust at the ragged beggarman standing opposite him. He looked unwashed and besotted with alcohol. Amalric was sure if he took off his helm he would catch the reek of urine and whatever swill the drunkard consumed this morning.

The knight looked up at the crowd lining the pit, searching for a source of authority in this anarchic nonsense.

"I won't cut down an unarmed man," Amalric stated plainly, which was met with prolific boos from the crowd.

Someone shouted, "Well he got one now, don't he?"

Amalric looked back at the beggar and saw that the fool had clawed something from the muck of the arena. His lips twisted with disdain.

"This is absurd."

He hoped he wouldn't have to butcher this backwater hayseed for the enjoyment of this filth.

Gripping his sword in two hands, the knight clanked toward Nicomo.
 
  • Spoon Cry
Reactions: Nicomo