- Messages
- 151
- Character Biography
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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?
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?