From the Colosseum - "Samar, the Bloodspiller"

[Raziel]

The Blood of Wolves



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Samar whirled his blade around him before it clashed with another sword. He retracted his weapon and released another flurry of blows that were each deflected. The swordsman continued his barrage until his opponent deflected one strike and reacted with a counterattack that sent the pummel of the sword into Samar’s gut, causing him to double over. Samar’s opponent back off a couple steps.





“You have great offensive ability, Samar, but you need to work more on protecting yourself. You will not survive as a huntsman if you cannot ensure your own safety,” the older voice said with a hint of concern.





Samar was leaning forward with his hands on his knees. The desert heat was beating down on him and his father harder than a blacksmith does on his anvil. Slowly, he recovered his posture and stood up straight, his cowl shading his head. The desert was dry and the winds were absent. For Samar and his people, they would have to move out towards the northern coasts to replenish their water supply. Hopefully the shamans among them could purify the salt water so it could be fresh and clean to drink.


The warrior and his father headed back into the village – several small huts built out of wooden rods and covered in hides made up the encampment of the small tribe. They were nomadic, never staying in one place for long. This was not because they couldn’t find a place to settle down, it’s because all of their attempts have been refuted by various other factions. The last time, it was one of the centaur clans that overran the tribe and killed more than a dozen of innocents before Samar’s father led the counter attack.


As the two men walked through the camp, Samar noticed many people admiring him and his father. Even he had to admit that his father was what was keeping the tribe together. The last chief was slain by the centaurs and Samar’s father, Ysir Irryad, had been the leader until the chief’s son could come of age – which was still in another two years.


Samar and his father walked through the entry-flap of one of the tents. Inside was a large hide rug that had a map of the Deserts of Surda painted on. Samar’s father put his blade back in its sheath and rested it against one of the hut’s support pillars. Samar followed suit.





“Master Irryad!” a voice called from outside.





“Come in!” Ysir replied, looking up in curiosity. The flap swung open and lightly armored young man paused for breath. “Ah, what news?”





The scout shook his head. “North of us, just beyond the hills… a warg pack.”





“Wargs?” Samar asked in slight confusion. Wargs don’t normally travel so close to the ocean.





The scout nodded. “Almost two dozen of them. They didn’t appear to be hunting – yet.”





Ysir nodded. “Then they will be chomping at the bit by nightfall.” Normally the tribe moved at night because the desert heat would be too much for the elderly and the children to take.





“If we do nothing, then the pack will come down on us. We can’t move that fast to avoid them either. So what should we do?” the scout asked, glancing between Samar and his father.





“We’ll have to fight them off. Gather our warriors,” Ysir said. The scout departed with haste as the older man grabbed a leather canteen off of a side table and sipped from it. “Samar, remember that wargs are nothing like the timber wolves we’ve seen on the plains. These beasts are stronger, faster, and more vicious than their smaller kin.” Ysir shook his head and put down the canteen before marching outside. Samar looked on blankly. The young warrior grabbed his sheathed blade as well as his father’s sword before following him out.





The scout stood in line with about ten other young men and women who were armored in leather straps and armed with wither sabers or spears. Samar extended his father’s weapon to him. Ysir took it and gave Samar a nod of acknowledgment. “Good warriors of our tribe. A pack of wargs is moving in the north and they block our path. Tonight we cannot move on towards the coast until the wargs are either slain or if they move off of our path at a reasonably safe distance. The latter will most likely not be the case since the pack was spotted roaming and not appearing to be on the hunt.” Ysir looked over at the scout before readdressing the warriors. “We will be on guard tonight. Remember that wargs will send a couple of members to test our mettle before striking. Keep your eyes peeled… and stay alert.” The old warrior waved a hand towards the northern side of camp and warriors all hurried to their posts just beyond the encampment.





Samar had a bad feeling about this. From what his father had told him, wargs had rarely traveled this far north. The beasts wouldn’t do so for simply no reason. This is no mere warg pack, Samar thought to himself. Nightfall was fast approaching; perhaps an hour or less before it arrives.





The moon’s light was softly illuminating the desert below. Samar looked back to see the village enveloped in the night’s embrace. The young warrior glanced to his flanks to see his tribe’s small number of warriors spread every twenty yards or so. His father was to his left and the scout that had reported the wargs was to his right. Something didn’t feel right to Samar. He stood with his hand on the pommel of his sword as he turned his gaze to the hills. It was then he saw movement. At the top of the hill, a small shadow was moving eastward. Samar whistled a sharp, piercing signal that his father and the scout both caught.





Ysir unsheathed his blade and the other warriors readied themselves accordingly. Samar hesitated at first but drew his blade. As he did, a dozen more shadows appeared at the top of the hill. Once he did, another shadow appeared, slightly larger than the others. They were too far for Samar to tell what exactly was up there. But if I had to guess, that’s the alpha of the pack.





The figures didn’t move for a few moments. It wasn’t until the middle one, the larger shadow, rose in height. The moonlight hit it at a better angle and Samar could see the warg’s gold fur gleam for a moment as it howled. The other figures began to bolt down the hill, the moonlight showing their beige and gold fur tones as well. The alpha was leading them from behind.


Samar was looking at the one heading for him but something else, another warg behind it. There was another warg behind each of the original ones sighted. Samar braced himself and took his pose for combat. Knees bent, both hands on his blade as he held it back behind his head. His right shoulder was facing his opponent. He could hear the snarling of the wolf-beasts as they approached.


The wargs were barreling down on the warriors. Samar’s ears could only hear the heartbeat from his chest. His eyes focused laser-like on the warg before him. Time seemed to slow and he examined the warg. The eyes were a deep red that contrasted with the pale-gold fur. What caught Samar’s attention was what was between the warg’s eyes. A diamond shape, with three lines: two parallel on the side tips and the third starting at the center and rising up through the top point of the diamond. The seal was foreign to Samar and he immediately recognized that these were not just wild animals.


The warg snarled and leaped at Samar, lethal claws extended. Just before the warg could sink its teeth and claws into the human, Samar swung his blade in a downward arch, catching the warg in the chest and under the lower jaw. The blow knocked the warg aside and split open the beast’s chest and shattering its jaw. Samar could hear the whimper as he assumed his follow up position of slightly bent knees and blade level with his head, this time it was his left shoulder was forward.


The next warg was the same in appearance, maybe slightly smaller. The warg made a similar leap and Samar reacted appropriately, bringing his blade down in a diagonal arch and knocked the warg aside with a gash over its shoulder. The warg growled and quickly regained composure and went to bite at Samar’s legs. The warrior, however, jabbed the sword at an angle and the blade ran through the beast from the shoulder through the chest – killing it quickly. Samar noticed the same marking between its eyes. He looked up to the hills and more wargs were waiting – much more wargs.





A warg pack in the desert was generally a between a dozen and two dozen wargs. It was very rare for there to be any more than that. However Samar must have guessed that there was anywhere between thirty to fifty additional wargs atop the hills. Samar glanced over at this father who had just finished the second warg that had come at him. “Father! Look to the hills!” Samar called. Ysir Irryad looked up and horror inflated his expression.





“This was no wild warg pack!” Ysir yelled. “This was a hunting party! Everyone, brace yourselves!”





As Samar’s father gave the order, the wargs atop the hills to the north began making their charge in full force. There were fourteen defenders. Samar could not see many of them surviving – despite their skills.


The next warg that came, Samar, was quick to respond by smacking it away with the pommel of his blade. Before he could follow up to finish it off, the next warg made a dive at him. He stopped it by thrusting his sword into the beast, befalling it before impact was made. He withdrew his blade, and turned to the other warg which made a snap at his calf. He dodged the attack narrowly and descended on the warg by plunging his blade into its neck.


Samar looked up again at the hills and saw another figure standing above them. It was a humanoid - which was as much as Samar could tell. Before Samar could give it another thought, the next warg was upon him. He poised his blade before him. He tilted it to the side and put his same shoulder forwards. The blade’s edge met the warg face and torso, gashing it up a bit as he spun off the blow. He gave the beast a swift death with a quick slice of his sword.


His eyes looked to the scout that fought to his right. The scout held a spear and was holding off three wargs at bay. He had felled one, but the other three looked hungry. Before Samar could move to assist, one of the wargs leaped and caught the young scout’s arm in its jaws, bringing the young man down to the sand where the other wargs piled on for the kill. Samar backed up a step as he heard the young man’s screams of horror and pain.


Samar heard a yell of anger infused with agony. He turned and saw his father who had just been slashed on his upper left arm by one of the warg’s claws. As the other warg dove towards him, Samar watched his father spin with uneven grace, yet still gutting the beast in the process. The warg that had clawed him, jumped on his back and took a chunk off his father’s ear. Samar bolted, kicking up sand with each footstep. His father managed to shove off the warg, but just as the creature sunk both claws into Ysir’s armor, Samar’s sword made him the warg’s belly. It staggered for a moment before collapsing with a whimper of pain.





“Father, are you alright?” Samar asked, dropping to a knee and setting his sword on the moonlit sand.





Ysir batted his son’s hands away and rose up, blade in hand. “I am fine.” He adjusted his vestments and looked up to the hills. A man stood at the top. The two warriors looked around themselves and noticed eight wargs that had succeeded in their first kills and were hungry for their next victims. Their jowls and fangs were bloodied with the other warriors of their tribe, and now it looked like they were next to bat. Samar picked up his blade and the father and son combination stood back to back, swords extended in a defensive posture.





“No matter what happens here son,” Ysir said, keeping his eyes focused on the wargs, “know that I dedicated my life to ensure one day that you would be able to lead our people as the great warrior I know you are, and the legend you will become.”





Samar frowned for a moment. The legend I will become? He couldn’t spare any thought on the concept as the wargs began their assault. Samar and Ysir split from each other as their swords gleamed in the moonlight. Samar was unscathed, but as he looked back through the path of bestial corpses, he saw his father on his knees and blade stuck into the desert sand. He noticed more wargs than before that lay dead around Ysir. Beyond his father, Samar saw the other warriors had been felled. Behind him, he could hear the snarling of the remaining creatures. He knew there was nothing he could do. He stood alone surrounded by jaws hungry for flesh. He could feel his chest tighten as his father fall to the sands. As a tear ran down his cheek, Samar turned and sliced through the warg that leaped at him.





The remaining wargs fell as Samar made not a sound. He passed through the remaining beasts fluidly like water over rock. No warg was left standing, but it was to no avail. None of his comrades stood with him and coming down from the hill was a man escorted by two armored and decorated wargs with a platoon of soldiers behind him, each bearing the symbol he recognized on the wargs.





“On your knees warrior. Surrender and you and your people will live,” the man said.





The legend you will become. He could hear his father’s words. He would not have surrendered if it wasn’t for his father’s last words. Samar dropped his blade and then to his knees. He closed his eyes…

 

[Raziel]

Chapter Two ~ Blood & Dirt


Samar twirled his blade in his hand, blood flying off the saber. A human body collapsed to the ground with a soft moan as his opponent fell to the dirt with blood pouring out of several gashes on his body. The solemn swordsman turned around to face his final two opponents. The one to his left was known as “Fat Ringer.” He was a half human, half hill giant, and a hulking mass of flesh. The halfling’s weapon of choice was a massive glaive that gave him his name. The opponent to Samar’s right was Fredrick “Steelarm.” This human warrior was tall and muscular, his black hair spiked tall. His weapon was always a one & a half-handed sword while his other arm wore a massive gauntlet with broad steel plating on his upper arm that, when he curled his arm, acted as a make-shift shield.


“The Bloodspiller” is what they called him. The barbarian swordsman who’s head and shoulders were wrapped in a beige cloak was seen as a mysterious sensation in the coliseum. His hands were wrapped in leather gloves while his arms were exposed. Samar’s dark leather vest was stained with blood splatter.


The halfling stepped forwards and roared. “Fat Ringer” swung his blade in his hand before grasping it tightly. The fat half-giant began charging towards Samar. He ducked, swinging his sword horizontally and splitting Fat Ringer’s stomach wide open. As the halfling stumbling in daze, looking down at his wounded gut, Samar turned around and leaped in the air. Upon his descent, he drove his blade through Fat Ringer’s skull. As Samar’s victim fell to the ground, he jumped off and landed at the feet of his latest kill. Samar looked up at his remaining opponent, Steelarm, who jabbed his sword in the ground and knocked it over. The last living man got on one knee and raised his mobile, unarmored hand in the air in surrender to Samar.


The barbarian swordsman twirled his blade before sheathing it on his back as he turned and walked away to the other end of the stadium. The crowds cheered wildly as loud footsteps sounded off in the coliseum grounds. Samar paused as the tremendous voice of the Ring Master boomed. “Samar, the Bloodspiller, has proven victorious in this match, growing his undefeated record to fourteen victories and zero defeats. And now, with the surrender of Steelarm, he will face the consequences suitable for those who reject their fate in death!”


The crowd roared in approval as the Ring Master spoke. Samar turned around as he neared the exit of the arena. He watched as Steelarm picked up his weapon, shaking his head. The hill giant ring master, Borrak the Red, was waving to the far side of the arena, where an immense gate blocked passage into the depths of under city (where the coliseum held their gladiators, training rooms, and their beasts). That very gate began to open and a wild screech echoed from within. Samar’s brow furrowed.


“Every gladiator who surrenders in the arena, deserves to die pitifully. I now unleash a Fire Fields dire boar! Flamehoof!” Borrak stepped back as the crowd burst into life.


Samar looked on as the sound of rapid pounding echoed from out of the far side of the arena. He watched as Steelarm picked up his sword and took his defensive stance.


Flamehoof screeched again and the immense beast began charging out of the cavern. Dust clouds followed close behind the great creature. The boar’s flesh was a light red and black bone spikes protruded from its sides and it possessed four white tusks. It was probably twice as tall as Steelarm and Samar and looked as if it weighed a number of tons.


Samar shook his head and unsheathed his saber. The silver blade began to glow a subtle red. He rushed forwards towards Steelarm. The crowd was cheering, but their cheers turned into cries of confusion. He heard Barrok calling out to him in anger. “Samar! What are you doing?”


Samar’s deep brown eyes turned a deep red. Spilling blood… Ring Master. The swordsman began to gain more speed and more momentum. He watched Steelarm look back at him with a confused expression. As Samar approached him, he dived out of the way and that was when Samar stared down the dire boar.


Flamehoof seemed to possess only rage in its eyes. In a way, Samar felt pity on the creature. However, the pity was put aside quickly as the swordsman needed to act. He dropped to his knees, sliding along the dirt on his steel plating. He leaned far back and put his blade on his chest.


The dire boar’s tusks barely missed Samar as he brought his sword up. The blade cut into the flesh and split upon the boar’s belly. Flamehoof cried out, more in pain than anything. Once the boar’s body passed over him, Samar readjusted himself to turn around 180 degrees in a squatted position with his sword off in his right hand. Boar’s blood was splattered all over him.


Flamehoof began stumbling before tripping and crashing on its stomach, sliding and leaving a trail of blood and guts along the dirt. The tips of its tusks came within inches of making contact with Steelarm, who was shielding his face with his metal-plated arm.


It took a moment for the crowd to respond, but they went as wild as the boar was.


Barrok walked up to Samar with a furious scowl. “Samar! What by the gods are you doing?”


Samar sheathed his blade and looked up at the Ring Master. “Count this as two defeats for Steelarm, but he will live to fight another day. After all,” Samar said as he turned towards the exit of the arena, “the crowds love him.” The barbarian began making his way off of the coliseum ground. The crowd’s roar faded in the background as he disappeared into the depths of the Ruby Coliseum.