There is a place in the darkest corner of the world which no one ever talks about. It is a foul place, filled with misery and death. It is where criminals, the likes of murderers and rapists, are sent to carry out their punishments. It is where slaves, captured as spoils of war while never having done anything wrong, go to please their masters and live out the rest of their cursed lives. It is a place where almost no one escapes. But amongst the vile misfortune that occurs in this abyss, chance of glory and greatness is still present.
Welcome to The Pit.
An arena, built underground, absent of light and mercy, where the most cruel and terrible people go to gain fame and glory for themselves, or the people for whom they fight. Insane murderers, caring for only the scent of blood, go to prolong their worthless lives, less they be slain like rabid dogs. Slaves, taken against their will, go to gain coin and good fortune for their masters, who see to it that none of the earnings go to the ones who participate. Others foolishly volunteer themselves to gain reputation as a great warrior. What they do not know, however, is that nobody ever leaves.
The Pit is a dark hole. Once you are thrown into it, you have only one option. Fight to the death, or die. There is nothing in the Pit but worthless scraps of material and rotten bones. You are given no weapon to defend yourself with, but one is hardly needed. You see, your greatest weapon is your mind. Harness your cleverness and gather material to construct deadly weapons out of disposed garbage. It is your only chance of survival. If you hesitate, your opponent will surely best you. They will keep your head and fall alseep happily to the image of your contorted face propped up on a spike.
This is the place where people go to die. But if you are great enough - if you are truly blessed by the Gods - good fortune will come your way. Slay enough men and rise through the ranks. Go from a lowly slave, thrown into the Pit to die, to a revered fighter who everyone fears and prays to not fight against. Please your master with enough coin and you may yet have a chance of freedom. But do not get your hopes up. Freedom seldom comes to the fighters of the Pit, for most die before they can even dream of such things. If you are truly blessed, however, your good services might just free you from the clenches of the bastard who seeks to use you for profit, and nothing more.
"Get up, you worthless shits! You weren't brought here to lay on your asses and sleep!"
You awaken. Looking around at your surroundings, you find yourself laying in a small cell with four other men. You notice an armed man, wearing the armor of the Great Empire, banging at the cell wall with his sword. The ground beneath you is wet, and the air reeks of piss. The men around you are badly wounded; many have open gashes on their chests and arms. You look down at yourself. Bruises cover your entire body, and there is a dirty rag tied sloppily around your waist. Unraveling the rag, you discover a deep cut on your hip. The wound has festered, and you will surely be striken with fever if it continues to go unattended to.
A man to your left begins to cough uncontrollably. Blood begins to spurt from his mouth. You look around and see three guards not five feet from your cell, but none pay attention to the suffering man who is choking on his own blood. Only seconds pass by, and the man has stopped coughing, as well as moving altogether.
"Poor bastard," you hear the man across from you say.
"Poor? I'd say he's luckier than the rest of us, tied up here like livestock, ready to be sent to slaughter," the man beside him replies.
"It is not my fate to die in this wretched place," the first man says.
"Not your fate? And what got that idea into your stupid head?" the other says.
"I have forseen it. In a dream. The Gods came to me in the night and told me that I was destined for things outside of this place."
"The Gods? Ha! You are a fool to still put your faith in them. The Gods have forsaken us. They do not care for us anymore than a butcher cares for the pig whose throat he is preparing to cut."
"Will you two idiots shut up?" the man to your right says, finally waking up from his unconscious state.
"What else would you have us do in this place?" the man directly across from you says. "Are we to stare at each other all day and night without ever whispering a word? I am Sekovax, the victor of Balish! I led my people to victory over the savages that pillaged my lands and raped my women, and now here I am, tied to the wall like a dog."
"Forget your past, Sekovax, victor of Balish," the man beside him says, "For I have already forgotten mine. I used to be Calthor, the greatest blacksmith in Rupidia, but none of that matters anymore. We are no longer who we once were. Now, we are slaves."
Calthor turns to the man to your right. "And what was your name, slave?"
"I am Petris, and I shall always be. No Imperial shithole is going to take that away from me."
Calthor laughs at the reponse given by the stubborn man. You know he is right. Your past means nothing now. You are a slave, and nothing more. He turns to face you.
"And you? What is your name?"
STRENGTH: 1
AGILITY: 1
CUNNING: 5
Post has been edited 2 time(s), last time on Mar 30 2013, 3:01 am by Dem0n.