Open Chronicles A Town Called Senn

[Rob Yew]

The streets of an Anirian border town bustled with traffic as carts and merchants rolled along the muddy pathway that passed for a road.

Og sat in the back of a caged cart pulled by a team of oxen and glared at those below him. Little ant people. He would crush them and eat them.

“Are you thinking about eating people again, Og?” The clear voice of his master, ringing in his mind as much as his ears.

The ogre let out a harrumph.

The master clucked his tongue and turned around in his seat at the front of the cart to look through the bars at Og.

“You’re a fighter from the Pits of Cane. These people are only here to see you, you know that? This town, Senn, it’s normally just a shithole. No life. No commerce. One thing attracts people here every year, you know what that is?”

“The pit,” grunted Og.

“Yes, yes exactly my champion. Their fighting pit brings watchers from leagues away. All to see you.”

“Me,” repeated the green colossus.

An entourage of armored knights suddenly rode up alongside them, visors up. One of the knights was large, for a man. Og’s lip curled.

“Dreadlords,” breathed his master with a note of trepidation.

Og barked a laugh, then hacked up a wad of spit and blew it onto the breastplate of the big knight.

“I break you.”

 

[Jana]

Rarely did any of her business this close to the border, it was always either in the very heart of Vel Anir or weeks worth of travel outside of Anirian lands. Not too surprising altogether. Not many things worth the attention of a Dreadlord happened in outskirts like these. Some scum trying to get out, some scum trying to get in, a job for lower ranks. Sometimes larger conflicts caught a spark and started a fire, and then more of them would be deployed to crush them, rip them out with their very roots.
This time, however, she was here to accompany a member of one of the younger houses related to the House Sirl. It was a kind gesture from her house, but not an entirely altruistic. Jana had been sitting in one place for a while, and she was growing uneasy, loosing her focus and composure. At the same time, House Sirl had a lack of fresh news about the situation at the border.
It all just came together as best as it could have.

She wasn't the only of the Dreadlords here, along with some guardsmen. It was mostly masters bringing their apprentices, letting them out on a playground that was full with lower beings worth killing, but not as bustling with resistance.
These pits were a good business, one that some of the younger houses looked into quite often. But it was also important to keep them in check. With an Anirian iron fist.

She sensed the thing before she heard the men call out to hurry up. Jana didn't follow their haste to catch up with a potential prey, staying behind, patting the neck of her horse, something resembling a smile tugging at her lips.
Jana didn't see the thing spitting at the other Dreadlord, but she did hear the words, and they amused her even more, finally making her catch up with the rest of the group.

She stopped her horse right next to the bigger man, looking tiny next to him, her blind eyes staring off into distance. "Oh look at this, it knows how to talk," Jana mocked, getting a few laughs from the group. Some of them were afraid, uneasy, she could feel it clearly. Weaklings.
Jana felt only a faint sense of anticipation. The scum had to be put in its place.

 

[Rob Yew]

Enormous fingers wrapped around the bars of his cage. The bars groaned as Og shook at them.

“Yes. I talk. I talk better than you fight.” The behemoth smiled, “I will pick my teeth with your bones, puny human.”

His master’s attention turned to focus on the Dreadlords and the pit trainer spoke, “Ah I see you’re making new friends. My dear Dreadlords, what about a friendly wager. One of you against my champion here in the pit. He’s supposed to fight Zam the Shrieker but I think this would be more entertaining don’t you?”

 

[Jana]

Jana's face barely changed its expression as the beast or its petty master spoke, but there was a gleeful sort of twist deep, deep down her stomach, underneath the thick layer of ice coating all of it. Oh, he wanted a fight? He would get one.
"Well, why not," she nodded briefly, "But don't complain if there's not much left of your champion afterwards," her words were still coated with mocking here, but underlined with intention. Fighting a Dreadlord wasn't a task many beings came out alive, unless they were very skilled or extremely lucky.

"So who would it be," Jana finally let her head turn, unseeing eyes peering at the fellow Dreadlords surrounding her. Not that she could't sense them well enough just so, but gestures like these brought many emotions to surface, making them more apparent for her. Some leaked fear. Some hope. Some pure bloothirst. She made sure to store it all in her memory, before turning back to the man, a small and almost petite girl surrounded by men in heavy armour, "Well, why don't I take," a sneer, "The honor."

The thing had been bold in its words, in a dumb animal kind of way, as one could expect from it. Jana always found pleasure in putting out the life in those not deserving it, but there was an extreme satisfaction in silencing those that saw themselves as powerful, until someone came to push them to their knees. It was part of her ultimate mission as a Dreadlord of House Sirl after all, to show the might of Vel Anir, of humankind and of their way of life, the only one that allowed to eradicate weakness and sickness in nature, by sword and flame.
The battle was neverending. And her arrogant attitude and everything that came with it were just a few moves in a little portion of it. If she made her enemy furious now, if she made herself seem overly sure, if she kept her true power hidden until the end, then it would become the fang and the poison for her to strike like a viper.

 

[Rob Yew]

“Excellent!” said the Master, “To the Pit then, we shall see you soon.”

* * *

The Pit proved to be a circle with high palisade walls and a large observation platform, all of wood. People jostled for each other at the top of the palisade for a good view of the pit below.

Og stood down there, stripped to the waist and wearing nothing but a kilt. The floor of the pit was dirt, not sand. And already muddy with the blood of the previous day’s fights. They hadn’t even taken the bodies out of the pit, but left them where they lay. Og counted three, which was well. He could not count much higher.

Behind him, the great oak doors of the pit opened to admit his foe.

He balled his meaty hands into fists and let out a defiant bellow. The crowd above him responded with excited screams. They began to stamp their feet and chant.

“OG!”

“OG!”

“OG!”

 

[Jana]

Jana had made sure to finish off all the urgent business she had here, making a few quick arrangements with the other Dreadlords of the House Sirl here. Arrangements for what they were to do while she went into the pit. Arrangements for what they were to do if she didn't come out.
Obviously, she had very little doubt of her own victory, but it was better to give her companions some peace, so that they wouldn't do anything stupid. There were too few of them she trusted after all.

And there it was, finally, in all it's glory she would fortunately never see, but could smell and feel well enough in the touch of the damp, blood-filled air. Jana sensed the countless lives around, gathered here for the pleasure that was even lower that the carnal one. Watching how one little bug beat the other, imagining in that moment that you weren't as weak yourself. Pathetic.
They, however, made a simple background noise. The true flame burning bright in her skull was the beast who had talked so bluntly not long ago.
Would his breaking bones make a sound just as sweet?

As Jana stepped out, boots making wet sound on the unsteady footing, staff in one hand, sword on her side, there was a shift in the crowd. Indeed, how to respond to a Dreadlord in the pit? They lusted for her blood, she knew it, but they were also eager to see one of the finest and deadliest soldiers of Vel Anir in play.
In moments like these, Jana lived to serve the people of her country.

"Shall we dance then?"

 

[Rob Yew]

The ogre's eyes burned with a terrible green light that spoke of violent delights. He could already envision peeling her arms from her sockets and slow roasting them over a spit until the juices dribbled down into a pan below, ready for supping.

These humans. They did not understand his kind. They did not understand what it meant to be ogre, to be of giant's blood. They had locked him up. Sold him. Had him fight for them while they ate and drank and watched. Well, Og wanted to eat and drink too. And he had a hunger for man flesh and a skull full of blood.

He slapped his bare chest with his hands and let out another animalistic roar that set the crowd alight. They fed off his frenzy, just as he fed off theirs. They loved him. They said so. No one ever told him they loved him. No one but the crowds. And they always loved him, because he gave them what they wanted. What he wanted.

Blood.

Og charged straight for her, big feet squelching in the muck, big arms spread wide to wrap her up in an embrace.

 

[Jana]

Jana's eye's didn't follow the creature's movements, nor did she even tilt her head as he charged, there would have been no point. She was still as blind as ever, but it didn't mean that she was slow. Or less cunning than ever.
As the beast made his quick way towards her, the Dreadlord let her mind slip into the state of being in the present on the same level as she was in the many possible futures, dozens of outcomes that the crowd here could expect to witness.

At last, as the creature had almost reached her, she made a step forwards, but her momentum didn't go into a hit, instead Jana fell to her knees, and allowed the rather prominent lack of friction carry her forwards, as she leaned her upped body backwards, sliding between the legs of the ogre with certain grace.
In the same time, two silvery, almost transparent arms appeared from her shoulders, eerily similar to those of her own, and, while she was close enough, they clawed at the beast's legs. No apparent physical harm would come from them, as always, what she did try to pull at was the very flow of life in her opponent's body. To freeze it, to cease the blood-flow, senses, the force that moved its muscles.
If he were a simple human, she could have rendered his legs useless with this short touch. Yet the glow of life was strong in this one, admirably even, and Jana could guess that it wouldn't be as easy.

Still, she was curious to see how much harm her first test would manage to do.

When she wasn't under the ogre anymore, the Dreadlord twisted on the spot, leaping to her feet lightly, and pushing off from the ground in a way that would make her go away from her opponent, keeping some distance between them.
As she landed, one of her boots hit a part of one of the corpses littering the dirty floor. She didn't care much, only adjusting her mental image of the pit in order to not lose her balance in this spot next time.

 

[Rob Yew]

Og grabbed at her, but he caught only air as the woman slid beneath his legs with a squelch in the muck. Something happened in a flash of silver and Og felt a touch against his calves like ice and... and some of the fight just leaked out of him, like a punctured waterskin.

The ogre's eyes widened and he whirled with surprising speed, snatching up a corpse from the ground, he whipped it toward the woman by the leg like a bloated flail in a splattering of congealed blood and mud.

 

[Jana]

Jana could feel that her attack had had some sort of effect, yet it didn't seem like it was enough to stop the best. On the contrary, he turned around and the next thing she knew was a corpse hitting her, Jana having understood what is happening only a split second before the impact. It was too late to void, so she raised her hands and staff, to block some of the impact.
Still, it send her flying back, hitting the wall of the pit and falling down. Still on her feet. It had been a nasty hit, but Jana wasn't a simple girl after all. She was a Dreadlord.

And now she was starting to get irritated.

She charged forwards, her heavy staff ready for attack. It was a rather straightforward one, even if enhanced by her inhuman strength.
That is, it was straightforward until the last moment, when she was already almost in the reach to get the ogre. In that moment there was suddenly two of her, the physical Jana and her astral projection, each mirroring the other, running at the beast from two slightly different angles.
One would crush the spirit, other — the flesh.