Voices were calling for him, calling but he could not understand a single word. For last few weeks each dream of Norok was the same, gigant snake and two-horned daemon with necklace of wooden skulls were calling to him, and followed by great pain. Every morning he woke up with the strong feeling that they are waiting for him, willing to say something important. Sometimes he felt that he is on the edge of understanding, just one more minute of dream and he will figure out, what this voices are trying to say, and this feeling caused even more pain. The feeling of itching inside his head, which he could not scratch. But this phantom pain was only a bit heavier than his actual, real pain. It all started after their pack pillaged a small village not far from Ankh Blightschwitz, Norok was heavily wounded but survived, having only large scar on his chest as the memory. Next morning he woke up with two small tumors on his head and with one more right between his eyes. Short brownish fur concealed this tumors, and different diseases were common for rat people, most of them followed by fester wounds or bulbs. To tell the truth, the higher amount of diseases there were in a single body, the higher was social status of a rat in the pack. Rat pack society was too complex to understand for an outsider, but rats lived this way for hundreds of years, and could not imagine living any other way. Those without any signs of disease were at the very bottom of rat hierarchy. With the first signs of any sickness rat can be accepted to one of many clans. Young rats were distributed among clans according to their skills and not their lineage. Norok had some fester wounds on his back and paws, and proved to be skilled fighter, which made him one of the monks, rats who were allowed to serve The Priest, high ruler of Gaz’Nezumi, in His temple and bringing His will and wrath onto His enemies, and by receiving this new tumors he hoped to get a promotion. Among the monks, there were many different clans too. Just being a monk was the greatest honour among rats, but being Alchemist monk was less prestigious than being a Warring monk, like Norok, and if you prove to be worthy, The Priest could grant you a trial of rot. The trial was simple, candidate rat received three cuts with blades covered with three different types of poison. Those who survive got promoted to the Morning monks, zealous flail-wielders, Twilight monks, armed with short spears and masters of poison, or Zenith monks, trained to lead lower-rank monks to battle. His scar began to fester heavily, which gave him promotion to the swordholder of Zenith monk leader of his pack, and he believed that after this new tumors will fester too, he will be allowed to take the rot. But shortly after this first signs of new disease appeared on him, strange voices invaded his dreams. Voices, at first quiet and distant, became louder, tempting, calling. His tumors grew bigger and were clearly visible through his fur, but most changes affected his hand. At first dozens of small tumors appeared on his right hand, growing with each day, causing great pain. Norok tried to tear them off with his little claws, but blood dripping from wounds was not his own, had strange purple colour, and tumors returned, even bigger. Soon he lost all his fur on his right hand and it became twisted and bloated to the point where he could not carry his blade in it. Even in this state he tried to participate in raids on human villages, hiding his hand under bandages made of dirty fabrick. Slowly he came to understanding, that this was not a disease, but a curse. The Law of The Rat strictly forbid any interaction with daemonic entities for every rat except The Priest, The Bearer, keeper of rat laws, blind Teller, who could see future. It was only question of time when he will be punished, and there was no doubt that he will be.
One day Norok opened his eyes after once again too short dream to understand voices, to find out that all his vermin monk brothers left the room, and only one single rat was waiting for him. Kharn the Butcher, private bodyguard and executioner of The Priest, was standing, leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed on his chest. Kharn differed from many other rat people in many ways, and not only because of his bright blue fur. He was only a low grade monk when he achieved his first victory against human Shieldbrother. After this he showed no mercy to his enemies on the field of battle, slaining even the most dangerous foes. Eventually he became a member of The Bearer’s retinue, and was accepted as The Priest's right hand after disappearance of his predecessor. There was no proof that Kharn was guilty in this event, but rats were suspicious enough to understand the truth, and smart enough to keep silent. It was not true that Norok was abandoned by his brothers, because among rats it was one of the greatest sins to leave a brother, but there was nothing they could do for him. Probably they were on their way through underground tunnels to raid one more village and, according to unspoken tradition, they will have a feast in his name to give Norok final respect.
“He is waiting”.
There was no need to specify, who exactly was waiting, for Norok already knew, what was going to happen. He put on his worn dark-green robe and followed Kharn through the maze of temple corridors. Low ceiling and dirty stone walls with moss on them made everyone feel as if they were underground, yet the temple was one of the few places in Gaz’Nezumi, located above the ground. The Priest was waiting in the dark room on his large stone throne. Many decades ago The Priest was a mighty warring monk of rat people, but this times were even before most of elder rat people were even born. Due to their acceptance of diseases, many rats died in age of forty or close, but those who could endure, received such strong immunity and regenerative abilities, that they could live for a hundred years. Now The Priest was nothing more than a memory of His mighty self. He was much bigger than any living rat, but not due His strength, but due His fat. His many chins were barely covered by His rare greenish fur, and He could not see His feet because of his huge belly, and it was highly doubted that He could see at all because there was a rumor that His eyes were infested by some kind of parasites. His body was covered by infectious wounds, scars, tumors, at some places His flesh was rotting, and He himself was more of one large rotten pile of sickness. On his left stood The Bearer, rat slightly higher than Norok himself, with bright red fur, and with the book in his paws. Book of laws was kind of relic of all rat people, created more than thousand years ago, and passed down from one Bearer to another. Kharn took his place on the right of The Priest, smiling and showing his small sharp teeth. The Priest cought, leaving pus on his paw, before talking.
“What is your name?”
“Norok, oh Great Priest”.
“The Bearer, tell Norok, why he is here”.
The Bearer put his book on the floor and opened it. It was hard to read in the dark for many species, but rat people used special writing technique to create this book, which required not eyes to read, but paws to touch pages. Looking straight into eyes of Norok, The Bearer placed his paws on the pages and declared.
“And contacts with daemons are strictly forbidden for rat people. Punishment for violation of this law is up to The Priest to decide. It is up to His choice if you face execution or exilement”.
Norok heard that human law allowed both sides to say their truth before making the decision, but rat people rejected such barbarian understanding of the law. They had High Priest, who knew better what the truth is, and it did not matter if Norok reached daemons by himself or was simply cursed for whatever reason without knowing about it before it is too late. Only The Priest could decide his fate now, and looks like the decision was made long ago.
“Norok, you’ve served me well, and I’m not a stranger to mercy. I sentence you for execution at sacred grounds. Your blood will be spilled to honour our gods. Kharn, you are to execute Norok fast, let him find his rest”.
And that was it, decision was absolute, and Norok had nothing to say and even did not wish to. Sacrifices at the sacred grounds were the only thing protecting all rat lands from southern horrors. Sacred ground of rat people was not in Gaz’Nezumi, but far from it, on the edge of scorched wasteland, where daemons came from. It was impossible to survive in the wasteland, and no living being knew what was on the other side of it, so it was declared as the end of the world. Kharn was the only one known to enter this lands. He returned week later, carrying a head of daemonic dog. And sacred ground was, in fact, an island in the middle of the swamp right on the edge of the wasteland. Those who served The Priest knew a secret stone path just under the surface of the swamp, and now Norok and Kharn used this path to reach the island. They left immediately after The Priest made his decision. Gaz’Nezumi looked like a huge hole in the middle of the forest, with spike of temple standing in the middle, it’s spire ending high above the largest trees. Temple was connected to the walls of the hole with hundreds of bridges on different levels, and inside the hole walls was the city itself. Endless mazes of tunnels, caves, pathways were connected into one complex city with marketplaces, mines, smelteries, living caverns, and all other typical city locations. After leaving one of the underground tunnels, Norok and Kharn found themselves in the forest, which extended for kilometres in any direction. It was full with predators, but they never hunted under the light of day, and especially if Kharn was nearby. Norok followed his will-be-executioner without any chains or ropes to prevent from running away. There was no point in running, for there was no place to run. To the north from Gaz’Nezumi lied rat kingdom, which was more of five large capital cities, each with their own territories, and each controlled by a different Priest. Officially, The Priest of Gaz’Nezumi was the Chief of all Priests, but in fact they all were at war with each other, and it did not matter if Norok was exiled or run away, he would be tortured and executed as an enemy, as he himself did with rat monks of other cities captured near Gaz’Nezumi. In the west there was a Realm of Men, represented by large number of villages, raided by rat people so often, the villagers were eager to hang any rat they see, and with Ankh Romani, large fortified port city, with enough hunters, Shieldbrothers, guardsmen, and slavers to make sure that Norok will not last long there too. Eastern desert was as hard to survive in, as the wasteland, with only hew nomad flying cities travelling high above white sands. On the edge of Human Realm and wasteland, there was a dead city of Ankh Traori, which was the only place on the continent with no official ruler, but legends about its’ ghosts and walking deadmen were enough to scary even greatest warriors. There was nowhere to run, and Norok was ready to accept his fate.
Voices in the head, however, had different plans for him. The closer they were to the wasteland, the louder they were. When two rats steppen on the sacred island, low voice in his head said, and Norok was able to understand it, come to us. It was calling him, and it was calling from the wasteland. You are not cursed, voice said, but blessed to be the voice of his will. This made little sense, but Norok was listening. Kharn stopped, looking at the wasteland, with short blade in his paw. He paid little attention to Norok, as if something was calling to him from the wasteland too, and he tried to figure it out. Accept us, voice continued, come to us. Norok was scared, but with the voice calling, confidence was growing in him. He needed to make it past Kharn somehow, and run into the wasteland. But looks like Kharn finished his own private conversation with voices before Norok was able to perform his plan.
“Looks like it’s the end of the line for you, little fella. They want you badly, but it’s not in my rules to let anyone live”.
More based on instinct than on purpose, Norok had thrown his right arm forward, and Kharn frozen in place, unable to move.
This one will declare of his arrival.
“This one will declare of his arrival”.
And blood will spill. And fire will start. And there will be war.
“And blood will spill. And fire will start. And there will be war”.
Norok was talking, but could not recognize his voice. He was looking at Kharn, but at the same time his vision changed, showing him what he could not see before. Bloody-red mist surrounded Kharn, with large horned daemon standing right behind him. It was well known that daemons could invade minds and take control of bodies, but this one was, to Norok’s surprise, enslaved by Kharn who, probably, had no idea about this. Norok could see shadows of future in the mist, but to understand them, he had to enter the wasteland. He went past Kharn and set foot on the first rock of underwater pass to the wasteland. Land of mirages and visions was calling to him. As far as eye could see, there was only cracked red ground, with steam and smoke of different colours rising from those crack and mixed with each other, creating ever changing flow of wild colours. Shadows of creatures unknown to Norok lurked between twisted trees, which looked more like grotesque giants in agony and turned into trees. Norok looked into the waters of the swamp he was crossing to see that tumors on his head have turned into three small twisted horns of different size. He was on the edge of the swamp, when voice reached him.
“Hey, Norok, don’t you dare dying before that war you’ve promised”.
Even before turning his head, Norok could see Kharn and his role in the future. Rat, known as Norok, smiled to himself. If Kharn could just know what awaited him. But surprises should be kept secret for now.
“Next time we meet, there will be no more Norok. Wait for that day, Kharn, and when you’ll hear the name of the Prophet, you’ll satisfy your bloodlust”.
“And what’s that name?”
“Kel’Tar, blessed by daemos”.
And so he left, leaving Kharn, swamp, and all his life behind. Thousands of rats were drinking, working, fighting, and doing other everyday thing, living in ignorance of what will come upon them. Young ambitious Norok also stayed behind, living as a memory in minds of his brothers, and Kel’Tar, accepting his destiny, continued his journey into the wasteland. In toxic mists he could see visions of glorious wars, cities burning, armies marching.The end of the world they know will come when he, Kel’Tar, will announce it. And for that he had quest of his own to uncover all secrets of the wasteland. His journey has started.
It was an eventful day for Imperial capital of Ankh Rachemann. That day was the day of final conquest of new region, and people gathered near the gates to great brave soldiers, see them marching with glory, and take a peek at loot, which soldiers alway bring from newly conquered region to present to the Emperor. First riders entered the city through the large gate, holding banners, aquilas, and lances in their hands. Cavalry was the point of the spear at each attack, and they looked in the same way: best armour and weapons Emperor could provide, and, surely, best horses bred in the south areas of the Ankh empire. After the riders, legionnaires came marching. Their light armour, large rectangle shields, and short swords reflected bright sunlight, making soldiers look as if they were shining with greatness of victory. Huge animals called yaks, relatives of bulls but much larger, dragged carts with weapons, gold, pieces of art, and other trophies looted during the war at Vallachia region. Among many open carts, there was one which looked like a cage covered with black fabric. No one could see what was in it, but people were sure that soldiers have managed to capture and bring some rare beast from distant region. Emperor loved gladiator fights, and that, probably, was a present for his Great Colosseum. Empire was full of different species, mostly from the conquered or allied regions, yet in the capital, there were only human, but not any human. This was the city of rich and glorious, and those who served them. Utopia for those in power and close to them, and it reflected in the looks of city itself. Clean streets and large private houses, each decorated in a unique way, and symbols of Emperor's power on each corner. Column of soldiers marched past statues of previous rulers, large golden two-headed eagles, and crowd of expensively dressed people, on their way to the palace.
Emperor Augustian once was a great warrior, and he still was not that bad, yet now he was more of a ruler, sitting back in the capital, bored with endless politics in socializing. He wore purple tonga and laurel wreath made of gold, and was waiting in the large hall, standing with his arms crossed on his chest, surrounded by few loyal guards and with his son by his side. Young Maximilian will be an Emperor one day, but for now he was only a thirteen years old kid, dreaming about glory of battle and admired soldiers of all kinds. Usually they were receiving presents from the best pieces of loot in the throne room, yet this time commander Marcus, chief of the Sun Legion, promised to show something they have never seen. Marcus, Augustian’s old comrade and the closest Emperor could afford to call a friend, entered the hall in front of small convoy, holding his helmet in the left hand and leash in the right. On the other end of the leash, attached to the collar, was a strange creature. It looked like a human, yet it was different in many ways. And teas one head higher than any other person present, slim, with pale skin and sharp pointy ears. Creature's eyes were, also, like human’s, but something about them was different. What amazed Maximilian the most is that the creature was not concerned with it’s status of slave at all, and did not show any fear in the presence of the Emperor himself. Instead, creature was curious and studied humans the same way they studied it.
“Marcus, what kind of dark magic made this man look like this?”
“My Emperor, I believe this is not an influence of magic, but the way he always looked. He told he is called ‘vampire’, my Emperor. We took him prisoner during Vallachian campaign”.
“I thought vallachians were human”.
“They are, my Emperor. We have never encountered this kind of creature anywhere”.
“How interesting. Vampire, do you have a name?”
“Zarathustra, my Emperor”.
Augustian laughed to this answer. Vampire talked calmly, respect could be heard in his quiet voice, with no fear. Zarathustra made it clear he understands who he is talking to and aware of his situation, and Emperor found it amusing, because no one talked to him this way for a long time.
“What were you doing among my enemies, Zarathustra?”
“Your enemies are not mine, and before your people invaded Vallachia, you were not their enemies”.
“You enjoy answering questions without giving the answer, do you?”
“To receive the answer you want, you should ask the question, my Emperor. I was an advisor, if it was what you wanted to know”.
“And now slave is going to lecture me? That’s something new”.
“I’ve being slave for the last eight days, while I’ve been advising and studying for the most part of the last century. Who knows who I’ll be in a week or a month”.
“Hah, I love this one. Are there any more of your kind, Zarathustra, and where to find them?”
“Probably, there are. I was living with people of Vallachia for too long”.
“You sound smart, but what good your advises made to the Vallachia, if it was conquered in just six month?”
“You’ve spent six month to conquer a country smaller than any imperial region, with a forty-to-one soldier advantage. Your commander Marcus was there and returned victorious, I believe it’s up to him to decide if my advices worth something”.
“So, you were in charge of enemy military?”
“No, my Emperor. I’m merely a scholar and a civilian advisor, yet my experience and wisdom proved useful when your troops invaded Vallachia”.
“Scholar and advisor, ha? Sending you to the Colosseum would be fun to see if you can handle a weapon the way you handle your tongue”.
“You’ll be disappointed, my Emperor. It’s up to you to decide, yet I believe there are other ways I can be of service”.
“Marcus, was it that hard to conquer Vallachia?”
“Indeed, it was, my Emperor. Probably, the hardest war since that last fight with northern barbarians when we still were young”.
“I’m intrigued. Zarathustra, I want you to teach your wisdom to my son. He has best teachers in the whole Empire, but I trust someone, who gave such a hard time to my best legion, can give something no other teacher can. But if you disappoint me, you lose your head”.
“As you wish, my Emperor”.
***
“And now I kill your Emperor, my prince. I’ve lost”.
“Awww… That’s just not fair. Why I always lose?”
“Maybe, because I’m much better at this game”.
“But I’ve won every game against all other teachers and generals, which makes me the best player in the whole Empire!”
“Or it just makes you Emperor Augustian’s son, and they are afraid to win against you”.
This made young Maximilian think. Three years have passed since Marcus presented Zarathustra to the Emperor, and it was decided that the vampire should become one of the prince’s teachers. At first, Maximilian though about his new mentor more of a curiosity, but kids, especially royal, tend to have difficult temper, and Zarathustra was close to execution more than once because young prince did not receive the answers or treatment he wanted. But time passed and Maximilian grew attracted to vampires way of teaching and straight attitude. Instead of just giving all information as it is, Zarathustra asked a lot of questions to make his student think, stating that in real life there are no right or wrong answers, they just depend on the situation. Eventually, Maximilian became old enough to attend important meetings with his father, he demanded that Zarathustra should be allowed to attend too as his personal advisor. And, when this new game called chess was brought from new oversea territory, Emperor tried this game, but quickly got bored. Unlike his father, Maximilian became a fan of this game and soon enough nearly everyone in the capital were playing it to show their respect to young prince, and prince was acknowledged as the best player, who always wins. Except for when playing against Zarathustra. Mentor’s suggestion would have made Maximilian mad few years ago, but now he only nodded and studied this thought.
“Looks like you are right. But one day I’ll beat you fair and you’ll call me the best”.
“Gaining one victory is not always enough to win a war. Yet, sometimes, it takes only one victory. But this game is neither. I think it was made to allow people make mistakes and lose”.
This thought was too hard for Maximilian to grasp, so he asked his mentor to explain.
“You’ve won every game against everyone you played. You’ve lost every game you played against me. Which way you’ve become a better player?”
Maximilian was confused for a second, but then understanding came to him. Young prince laughed, rubbing his nose.
“You mean that my goal should be not victory, but better understanding. And you are not talking only about chess, right?”
“I’m proud to be your mentor, young master. You really are a fast learner. I have one more question for you as part of today's lesson. Which figure is the most important on the table?”
“The Emperor, of course”.
Maximilian answered without any hesitation and Zarathustra gave him a smile.
“And why is so?”
“Because, it the the goal of the whole game. You must protect your Emperor and kill your opponent’s Emperor. This is just like the real Emperor, who rules and commands”.
“Nice point of view. Prove it”.
And with this words Zarathustra leaned forward and took all of Maximilian’s figures off the board, leaving just the Emperor.
“Can you win now?”
“No. I have nothing to play with”.
“So, Emperor on his own is useless. Which means, he is important, but you need someone else to win the game. Think about this, I would like to hear your answer when you are ready”.
Ankh Romani, once a small port town in the oversea edge of known world, now was the biggest city on this side of the sea. It’s walls were high and thick enough to protect this large city from any rat or daemon attempts. Temples of Ankh Romani were famous not only among people from local villages and towns, but even high nobles from oversea capital arrived here for a visit. And the main attraction of Ankh Romania was, in fact, the largest colosseum in the world. Every week people from all districts of this city gathered together, poor and rich sitting nearby as if they were old friends. Today was a special day, he could feel it. Colosseum always was crowded, but today noizes of the masses, combination of smells of alcohol, perfumes, sweet, shit, and all other kinds of things he did not want to think about, were just unbearable. Even other gladiators, seating near him, could feel the excitement of the crowd. His twin blades were waiting on his knees, he always enjoyed this feeling of cold metal pressing against his dark fur, and waited for bloodshed to begin. Each game at the Colosseum started with traditional chariot race. Racing was not his thing, but sometimes he was in the mood to watch and even participate in betting. He never won any bets, but he still had no much need for money, so victory or loss in the bet did not matter to him. While crowd was enjoying racers, he once more studied his fellow gladiators. Most of them were slaves, just like him, but unlike him they were human. Among other slaves there was one blue-scaled lizard man with bright orange feathers around his neck, one high creature resembling something between human and monkey, definitely from one of many islands between Ankh Romania and oversea continent, and a rat. He himself was part of rat people, but unlike most rats and this particular one, he was as high as a human, and twice as high as the usual rat. He had tried to talk with this rat, but the only thing he was able to find out is that his name is Morovi and he is one of the Morning monks. Morovi was the first rat he saw for the last few years, and one of the few he ever met, since he was a slave to human for as long as he could remember. That was not totally true, because some of rats actually lived in Ankh Romania, but they were nothing like Morovi or he himself. This rats left their kingdom and moved into Ankh Romani before it was still a new colony. After hundreds of years this city rats lost most of their fur, their skin turned pink and their faces resembled human faces. This rats knew nothing about lifestyle of those in Gaz’Nezumi, and were not warriors, but merchants, bartenders, or moneylenders. His name and title were the only things Morovi said, staying silent, and no words required to understand that this little rat hated taller rat for just living with humans. But not all gladiators were slaves, and some of the free fighters also were present today. Mostly soldiers or mercenaries from all corners of the world, they looked the same to him, and they were clearly inferior to those hunters from Ankh Blightschwitz, but today there was one unlike any usual gladiator. In the corner of the waiting room, a Shieldbrother was sitting and waiting patiently, probably even praying. Shieldbrothers were, one of the most famous warriors in Ankh Romania, holly bulwark of The Church, clapped in the hardest armour, armed with heaviest shields known to human and with swords, which were thought to be empowered with magic. This particular Shieldbrother had no armor on him, understanding that crowd wants to see blood, but his shield and sword were with him. His body was covered by blue lines of tattoos from his bald head to his toes, each line representing a vow, heroic dead, enemy defeated or years of service, and he also was studying his future enemies. It was hard to read this tattoos, but thanks to one Sister, who treated his wounds after fights, he could translate some. This Shieldbrother was at least forty years old, starting his training at the age of fifteen, and earning his sword at twenty. He was one of the few survived sudden daemonic invasion fifteen years ago and, according to his tattoos, he faced the daemonic horned rat, fearsome leader of daemonic hordes, who appeared out of nowhere during that invasion. For him it was a mystery what was such renown Shieldbrother doing amon gladiators, and clearly he was the most fearsome opponent in today's fight, and one of the most dangerous enemies ever. Dark fur successfully hid tons of old scars left on his body over two decades of fighting, so he had enough experience to judge his enemies.
Finally the race was over and the Colosseum was cleaned for next event, gladiator fight. It was their turn now, and gladiators left the waiting room one by one, only he was sitting motionlessly, waiting for his turn. For many gladiators, the Colosseum was simply a place to fight and die for their masters, some wanted to earn money or just try their luck in the fight, but for him the Colosseum was his life. People came here from all corners of the realm and even with flying caravans from the Great Desert to see him fighting, they loved him and this love and fame were all what he ever wanted. While he was a slave, it did not matter to him as long as he was here, fighting and earning even more love and fame. Loud voice on the Game Master, empowered by some magic box provided by the Artificer Guild, finished announcing all those gladiators and, finally, it was his turn.
“Lady and gentlemen, visitors from far lands and nearby territories, gusts and citizens of Ankh Romani, let me present you someone you know and love! Our fearless hero of the Colosseum, who had won over four thousand fights! Our beloved gladiator, The Champion!”
His last words, even empowered by artificers device, sunk in the uproar of the excited crowd as he went out from the waiting room into the arena. Sun was not too high in the sky, but it was hot enough already. He looked around and was surprised to find out that the Colosseum was not just full with spectators, people were sitting on the stairs and there was no free spot. In the middle of the upper level there were special places for city leaders and most renown guests. As always, His Majesty, Grand Master of Ankh Romani, was sitting there, in the shadows. On his right, the Mother, head of the Sisterhood of Church, and the Warden, commander of Shieldbrothers, were sitting, engaged in the active discussion, showing in the direction of Shieldbrother gladiator. But on his left was a woman, whom he had never seen before. Her age was a mystery for him, as she looked like she could be in her early twenties or late thirties, with her right arm clearly artificial.
“Now, when all our glorious gladiators are ready, allow me to announce what special surprize we have for you today! We have a special guest today, from far oversea city of Ankh Mojaewid, master Niora from the Artificers Guild, and she brought us all a present for our entertainment. The last standing gladiator will have honour to fight against her creation and prove once more, that man is better than any machine, or die miserably!”
Now it was clear what a Shieldbrother was doing here. The Church, whose presence in Ankh Romani was dominant, strongly opposed the Artificers Guild, forcing a lot of laws against automata usage in Ankh Romani and forbidding all citizens to study automata creation. The only automata, seen in here were flying caravan ships from nomad flying cities of the Great Desert, trade steamboats from oversea, and rare steam horses. Is this woman managed to bring an automata to the Colosseum, The Church had no other choice but to send one of their warriors to face it in a fight and defeat. By command, all gladiators split into pairs, ready to fight. He, the Champion, found himself in front of some mercenary in light leather jacket, armed with short sword. This mercenary tried to taunt and insult the Champion, but he was not the talking type, preferring silent fighting. With the signal to begin, mercenary rushed forward, making a vertical slash with his sword. It was hard to guess, what he wanted to achieve with this attack, and Champion could not care less, as he dodged swiftly, rolling on the ground past the mercenary. He was able to jump back onto his feet just in time to block horizontal cut, which mercenary has made while turning, with one of his twin blades, and stabbed the second one deep between humans ribs. That was not even fun, and clearly did not provide any satisfaction, but now Champion had one less enemy to worry about, and received precious moments to study how his other opponents fight. He turned just in time to see how a Shieldbrother blocked man-monkey’s axe with his shield as if it was nothing, then dropped onto one knee, cutting off man-monkey’s leg with a fast strike of his sword. This fight was over with one more strike, but Shieldbrother already found another enemy in the face of lizard man, who was utilizing his skills with short spear in a way Champion never saw, holding it in one hand and making hits with the open palm of free hand, and proved to be a worthy opponent for slower Shieldbrother. At the same time he himself was attacked by a smaller rat. Despite his size, Morovi carried a flail as big as he was, but the Morning monk swung it fast, using long handle to block Champion’s blades, swinging heavy spiked ball on short chain to make devastating hits, and exploiting his small size to dive and attack legs. Champion heared that rat monks provide a large threat for their human neighbours, and even Shieldbrothers had hard time fighting them off, but up until this day he had never faced a real rat monk in a fight. Morovi showed a really strange fighting style, there was no hate, anger, or any other emotion in his eyes, as if he was not thinking, in a kind of battle trans. Champion had to jump and roll to dodge, unable to land a single blow, clearly losing this fight. Crowd just loved this moments and went crazy, when their beloved Champion faced stronger opponent, and in one moment turned the flow of battle, emerging victorious. To find that moment, Champion dodged and retreated, watching and analyzing. Someone might say, that gladiator has to be strong, but the truth is that to stay alive one had to be smart. And he was smart to see his way to victory and survival over twenty years. Morovi was a worthy opponent, clearly using his strong sides to his advantage, but he, too, could be defeated. Champion tried to make one more attack with his blade, but this time it was more of a distraction. When Morovi raised handle of his flail to block, Champion moved his hand back, using his sharp teeth and strong jaw to bite the handle. Little rat and his weapon were heavy, but not heavy enough, allowing Champion to hold handle with his teeth and leaving Morovi defenceless for strike of twin blades. Crown cheered, shouted to him, showing their excitement, because their champion once more proved to be the best, but he himself did not feel as a winner. Looking into dying eyes of Morovi, onto the spreading blood under his body, Champion had a feeling that he is looking on his own dead body. That was a new, strange feeling, that could blossom into something more if it was not in the middle of a gladiator fight. Shieldbrother was fighting against that very lizard man, using his large shield to block hurricane of hits and strikes, waiting for the opening. Two more gladiators fell to Champions blades, even not worth mentioning, when loud cracking sound rolled across the Colosseum, and then it was complete silence for no one could believe what they saw.
Lizard people from flying cities of the Great Desert were known to have fighting styles using both physical and spiritual energy, but to actually see it was a different thing. Lizard stopped attacking for a moment, holding short spear in his left hand, and holding his right hand in front of his chest, palm open. When he made half-step, aiming to hit middle of the shield with his right hand, Shieldbrother made just what seemed logical, rising his shield to defend, and preparing to strike with his sword the moment there is an opening, but the moment hand touched the shield, a web of crack ran from the point of contact through all surface of heavy round shield and next moment it burst like an overripe cherry. Shieldbrother was caught by surprise and could not react in time when lizard thrust a spear deep between mans ribs. Champion had to admit, he expected Shieldbrother to his last opponent, underestimating lizard fighter.
“How they even managed to enslave you?”
He prefered not to talk during fights in the Colosseum, there were rare times when curiosity or respect, or both, motivated him enough for a small talk. Lizard gave no answer, but smiled like a predator might smile to his pray, and bowed, showing respect to the Champion. A lizard and a rat, enemies by laws of nature and by laws of the Colosseum, moved closer to each other. If bare hand was capable of shattering a Shieldbrothers shield, Champion had no wish to try it on his body. Lizard was moving more like a dancer, making high and low thrusts with his spear more to tease and try, than to hit. He was faster than Morovi, but a head higher than Champion, which made him easier to hit, block, and dodge. Champion tried to attack with one blade the moment he blocks with another, but length of the spear allowed lizard to convert his attacks into blocks in the endless flow. Dodging swift hits of bare hand made it even harder to land a blow. Twin blades left notches on the shaft of short spear, but none could reach dark scales. In the mid-turn, lizard switched from one-hand grip to the classic two-hand holding of his spear, applying his weight to the strike. Champion managed to block it, but unexpected change of power knocked him off balance, forcing to make larger step forward than planned. Lizard used inertia of movement to dive behind rats’ back, dropped onto one knee and thrusted blade of his spear through Champions’ calf. Rat howled in pain, falling onto the warm sand, while lizard just stood there, watching blood dripping from the end of the spear, hissing with his double tongues in enjoyment. It was hard to stand with pierced leg, but Champion managed to rise. He felt overpowered, he felt close to defeat, and that was such a beautiful feeling, he got overwhelmed with it, changing howl of pain to roar of happiness. He has not felt so alive for many years now, facing all those weak fighters, as he was not, when lizard warrior reminded him that death is close. Using all this newly found energy, Champion charged back in fight, but before he could do at least one swing with his blades, lizard made that half-step and hit rat just in the middle of his chest with left hand. It was just a hit, but it felt like a battering ram running into him full-speed. Before he knew it, he was lying on his back, at last few ribs broken, taste of blood in his mouth. Lizard moved closer to him, rising spear for finishing strike, and this moment a sudden though appeared in Champions’ head. Lizard aimed to kill him, not as gladiator killing gladiator, but as assassin killing his target. It’s just my job was literally written in his eyes for a moment, and then this moment passed and they were back to Champion and gladiator, fighting for glory.
“Scale-facy, surprise!”
Lizard turned just in time to see Shieldbrother swinging his sword, but without a chance to dodge. He, still tried, but sword had no trouble slicing through the spear, cutting it in half, and leaving deep wound in the lizard's’ belly. Champion gathered his last strength to get back onto his feet. Lizard switched attention to Shieldbrother, planning to use pieces of spear as daggers, paying little attention to his wound, and was sincerely surprised when twin blades were thrusted in his back by Champion, blade edges showing from his chest. Crowd went crazy with excitement when Shieldbrother cut off lizards had with one last swing. For a moment Champion and Shieldbrother were just standing in front of each other, trying to catch their breath, enduring pain from heavy wounds, when Shieldbrother expressed the thought which bothered both of them.
“How they even managed to enslave that thing?”
And the most troubling thing was that there was no answer.
They were standing in front of each other, two tired and wounded gladiators, understanding that only one can leave the arena. All who came to see the fight today were excited by the show. Rarely so many amazing fighters met in the Colosseum, with both lizard and Shieldbrother showing skills on the same level as their Champion. But spearman lizard was dead and Shieldbrother barely stood on his legs. His movement was slow, and blows were much weaker than before, and even wounded Champion was able to dodge and block. It reminded last desperate assault, with no tactics or sword mastery. Shieldbrother simply unleashed series of devastating blows onto the rat, his blade leaving serrations on dual swords. Wounded leg made it hard for the Champion to increase distance between him and enraged templeman. Both of them understood that this fight would be over soon, depending on who is to lose his stamina first. After each clash of swords Champion felt pain in chest, broken ribs pressing against guts. Probably, Shieldbrother could kill the Champion if he was able to continue attacking for at least few more minutes, but Mistress Fate was not smiling to him today. He lost too much blood to continue and fell to his knees after one last blow. His spirit was strong and willing to keep fighting, but arms refused to rise the sword. It was clear he is going to die, and rat understood it too.
“Not like this. Not from freaking bleeding”.
Champion understood what his opponent was talking about. It was a great honour for a warrior to die in battle, from the sword of a worthy opponent, but dying on his knees from bleeding was shameful. Shieldbrother earned Champion’s respect, and rate gave him honorable death by driving one of his short swords into the man’s heart. Crowd exploded with applause and excitement. With last gladiator killed, Champion once more proved to be the best fighter of Ankh Romani. Game Master reached for his magic box and empowered voice spread all around the Colosseum.
“What a fight! It was too long since our beloved Champion had such a challenge, but once more he proved that his title is earned by mastery and skill. But today we have one more challenge for him! This time his opponent is going to be not another fighter, but a ming of the Artificers Guild engineer! Flesh and blood against copper and steam. Meet the last creation of the oversee artificers! Steam lion!”
As Game Master finished his announcement, large gate has opened and artificial creature came onto the arena. It really resembled a lion, but a bizarre one. Copper carcass war covered by plates of armoring, covering but not hiding gearwheels, pipes, pistons, springs and other small constantly moving details, which made lions’ insides. Artificial creature was moving slowly, with jerks, puff of steam and quiet hum of working mechanisms, but Champion also noted sharp as razors claws and fangs. This creature might look like a bad joke, but it was deadly, and a single mistake would leave rat teared into pieces by the lion. Lion slowly approached, its’ movements were unnatural, reminding that it was but a machine, yet its’ eyes made of red gems followed the Champion as if artificial creature could comprehend basic thinking and understood that the rat is its enemy. Champion was not an expert on how automata works, but everyone knows that the pile of scrap is brought to life by the artificer by putting a daemon into it. So, basically, it was a daemon who was to fight the Champion in the shape of a lion. Even wounded, rat was faster and more agile, which provided an upper hand over automatic beast. But unlike the Champion, lion did not bleed, and waiting would not help defeating automaton. Shoulder joints were not properly armored, and Champion could easily see and target them. Using superior speed, he was able to outflank and approach the lion from the right. Automaton was not able to turn fast enough, staying open to the attack, and Champion used this opportunity to drive one of his blades straight into the gap between armour platings. The original plan was to paralyze lion’s movement by sticking one blade into the joint and break the daemon-possessed box with the second. But nothing went as planned, and too late the Champion realized it. With a speed not shown before lion rized the paw, joint and armoring easily breaking the blade, and hit rat into the chest, leaving three ragged wounds with sharp claws. Champion rolled, dodging the second strike, jumped on his feet and dashed away from the lion. Shards of the blade stuck inside the automaton, causing it to freeze when trying some movements, but otherwise the attack caused no real damage, while dizziness from blood loss was one more problem for the rat and one more step to his defeat. He dropped his second blade after the unexpected attack and now it was under the lion's paws, leaving the Champion unarmed. There were many weapons lying on the ground, left by dead gladiators, but just picking them one at a time and trying on the lion seemed like a bad idea. Champion understood that the next attack made by the lion might be the last one too, and the choice of the weapon became much more important. While walking in circles, leaving blood trails behind, rat analyzed his choice of weapons and possible outcomes. The perfect choice would be lizards’ spear, but it was broken by the Shieldbrothers’ sword. And, what is equally bad, so-called unbreakable shield was also smashed into pieces. But the sword… The sword was intact, with not a single mark on the blade, while his own tween blades, Champion notices, were left with some after their clash. Church was famous for arming their fighters with best arms possible, and that was enough for the Champion to make his choice. He picked up the sword, surprised by the fact that its’ weight was less than expected. Unlike short tween swords, this one required two-hand grip, and even though in was not as heavy as expected, Champion could not understand how the Shieldbrother was able to make so strong attack by holding in with only one hand. Lion charged the rat, making a loud noize before the jump and leaving the puffs of steam behind, forcing rat to roll and dodge. Champion made a swing back at lion, not aiming, basing this attack purely on luck, concentrated on dodging and surviving. And Lady Luck smiled to the Champion once more, as the blade hit one of the pipes connected to the lions’ head. Now the automaton was dripping oil and its movements became slow and clumsy again. This moment was perfect for an attack and the Champion used it, relying on intuition, to drive the sword deep into the artificial body. Blade went between armour platings, easily cutting insides of the lion. Hot steam knocked out from insides of the automaton, and with a loud crack something inside broke. Bright red eyes went dark and mechanical beast hung its’ head, freezing without any movement. The Champion was too tired to stand up and receive appraisal of the crowd. He just set on the ground, leaning onto the armoured body of automaton and closing his eyes. One more day of fighting and he was victorious once more, and now it was time to rest. Large steel door opened, letting Colosseum staff in. Their duty was to carry out dead bodies, used weapons, and to clean arena after the fight. They were fully covered by dirty yellow clothes, their faces hidden behind masks. Dozen of them were followed by two artificer apprentices, who went straight to the automaton lion. Among many men, there was one woman, Sister from the Church, who served as one of many Colosseum medics. Many dead bodies were of no interest to her, but the Champion was. She sent on the ground near unconscious rat, applying salve to his wounds to stop blood. Bondages covered smelly green salve, ensuring that it will remain in place until wounds are healed enough. That was all she could do at this point, her job continues once the Champion will be inside. She stood there, cleaning bottom of her light blue robes, for the moment imagining herself as one of the victorious gladiators, receiving love of the crowd and glory of victory.
“Your Holiness, should we take our Champion inside?”
With a question from the staff her vision was gone, and she was once more just a low-rank Sister standing next to her patient. Girl gave an affirmative nod, allowing two men to pick rat up and bring him inside the Colosseum, into one of many chambers, and followed them. Lower floor was used to keep animals, stables and cages were here, along with the animals fresh slaves were kept. Guards let Sister with her small convoy pass to the stairs, leading up, to the cleaner levels. Many veteran gladiators came to greet and congratulate their Champion, paying respect to the undefeated fighter and woman tending his wounds. Unlike cages used to house dozens of people inside, the Champion had a separate room, with comfortable bed, small armoury, closet, large window, and from looking at it one could not tell if a free man or slave lived here.