Of Monsters & Men

Chapter 7.3: Oagard

Titanfall. The tall sandstone walls of the city rose high above the slaver's caravan as they crossed the gates into the bloody slaughterhouse where Oagard and Ton would most likely meet their fate. It looked the same as Akbar on the outside, but much grittier than Tarsh by a long shot. The arena where gladiators fought and died, from which Titanfall received its name, towered above all the other structures like the shadow of death itself and screams of pain and glory could be heard on the other side of the walls as two fighter's most likely fought for their lives to the amusement of nobles and commoners alike.

Despite the vast economic differences between the social classes of Kyros, the poorest pauper and the richest noble both enjoyed bloodshed the same, and this made the fighting pits and the famous Titanfall arena a necessity in the country both to entertain the rich, and keep the poor from revolting. Of course, most of the fighting was done by slaves, the economic backbone of the country, but every so often a Kyrosi noble either indebted to one of his own or some outlander seeking the fame and glory only found in the life of a gladiator, would risk it all in the sands of the arena to discover his place in the sands of destiny.

Besides the arena, Titanfall was a lively city, a place bustling with the poor and noble alike. Considered the slaving capital of Kyros and fully endorsed by Irisi, the young Kyrosi queen, Titanfall was the one city in all of Neuhalfen where slaves where more common than stones; and more expendable as well. 

Oagard could see that Omar was glowing more than the day he bought them from the dungeon master in Tarsh; the slaver breathed in the city air as if he had truly missed it and greeted everyone he saw on the streets. Tonkawa, for the first time since Oagard met him, hung his head down in defeat as if he was the only one who truly comprehended what awaited them.

How Oagard wished he were anywhere else in the world. 

He loathed himself for not having been able to escape when they were camping in the shadow of Akbar and he hated knowing that he would be forced to spend the rest of his life fighting to the death for scraps of bread. Everything was so different from his life back in Astaroth and, to top off his dire situation, it pained him to remember that Namir, his beloved brother, wished for nothing more than to have his head on a pike, still believing him to have been the murderer of their father. 

'Welcome to your new home friends.' Said Omar with a smile as he opened a backdoor into the large arena. 

As they walked inside, iron bars permitted Oagard and Ton to see the fight that was happening on the inside. A centaur, the first Oagard had seen in his life, was fighting off two fauns who fought like a single unit using twin swords that he maneuvered with ease. The twin warriors circled him, but the horse-man's blades danced around his large body and sliced one of the goat-men's arms clean off; the crowd roared in approval.

The other faun, in an attempt to avenge his partner, threw a barbed net over the centaur's body which he dodged with ease. Turning to face his attacker, the centaur traded blows with the faun at incredible speed, but was caught off guard by the maimed faun who stabbed a spear into his side, causing him to scream in pain. 

Desperate to see what would happen next and not knowing who to feel pity for, Oagard was shoved by Omar who ordered him to move. 

Obeying the slaver, the elf could hear the crowd roaring upstairs. The whole structure started to tremble from the noise and small pieces of lime plaster fell from the ceiling like hail. He never discovered who won, and wasn't sure he ever wanted to know. 

A labyrinth of winding halls connected the underparts of the arena, but Omar maneuvered them with ease. Body parts could be seen on carts that were wheeled out as normally as if they were filled with cabbages and warriors and beasts were chained in individual cells, awaiting their turn to kill or be killed.

Finally, they reached the back of the construction and walked past a final hall that opened into a large rectangular courtyard surrounded by rooms and chambers that were an extension of the edifice. Guards resembling mercenaries supervised the warriors who trained with wooden weapons in the clearing while some nobles, most likely the owners of the fighting slaves, watched from a balcony with hand fans, wine and citric fruits. 

Most of the warriors who trained in the courtyard wore leather armor with shoulder guards and they fought more fiercely than any other fighter Oagard had seen in his life, even Ton. Most of them were fauns, but among them were also Kyrosis, some Argeans and a dwarf. All of them had numerous scars and sweat poured down their chiseled bodies, frames cut and polished to perfection by the fires of battle; true gods of the arena.

'Take a good look boys. These will be your brothers from now on, and most likely the bastards who will kill you.' Omar said with a laugh. 

Motioning for one of the guards to let him through, he led the two of them to one of the rooms and took off their shackles, certain that they wouldn't dare try to take his life and smug that he knew the very thought was crossing their minds. 

'You belong to me now.' Said the slaver with his thick Kyrosi accent. 'Your bodies, your minds, your very souls are mine, and you want to know why? I bought them with my money.'

As Oagard listened, he killed Omar in his mind repeatedly in a hundred different ways, and switching glances with Ton, he knew his friend was doing the same.

Leaning against one of the walls, the bearded man continued in a casual tone.

'Usually, I sell my slaves to the highest bidder, but you two are different. I see in your eyes how much you want to survive. I see the fire that burns in your spirits and I know that you will fight to the very last breath for at least another day in this miserable world. What I offer you is a chance at true glory, for I know who you are; or at least who you once were.'

Oagard's heart tightened, afraid that Omar had somehow discovered his identity.

'You, a mercenary hated by those you once fought for.' Said the slaver, motioning to Ton. 

'And you,' He paused to look at Oagard. 'A deserter from the Astarite army. The dungeon master at Tarsh spared no details in telling me all about you.'

The elven prince felt a wave of relief wash over him and couldn't help but feel thankful for the dungeon master's sleazy and lying nature. 

'You will train from sunup until sundown and you will live and die by the sword. The amount of food you receive will be directly proportionate to your victories in the arena, as will your lashings, if necessary. Serve me well and we may even be friends someday. Serve me badly and I will piss on your graves. Forget your old lives, forget your families, forget everything that has ever happened in your worthless lives up until this very moment. From now on, you are gladiators of the Titanfall arena in service to the formidable queen Irisi, long may she reign, and nothing more. From this day forward, nothing is more important than the coin you will put in my pockets and you will do well to remember that. Your first fight will be in a moon from now; take advantage of this time to sharpen your blades and hone your skills, and may goddess Elizandra favor your pitiful souls.' 

Slapping their faces in a mockingly friendly way, he then turned and walked out from where he had come, speaking a word to the overseer who supervised and trained the other gladiators in the courtyard. Oagard had just sat down to rest his legs when he heard the voice of his new master.

'Get over here you sons of dogs!' Shouted the overseer, his whip cracking against the dirt floor.

Looking at Ton one more time, Oagard accepted his new life. To his surprise, the sorrow that had kept him from breathing the past few moons melted along with the sweat on his brow, replaced by a newfound fury. All his indignation boiled up and he didn't care anymore that the world was cruel to him. Gripping his wooden sword for the first time, he decided that from now on, he would force the world to be the way he wanted it to be; even at the price of blood and death. 

Or he would die trying.