Join Date: Feb 2006
Location: In my comfy chair
Current Game: Brotherhood
Pain seared through the back of Zionist’s head as he awoke. Not at all surprising, considering he had decided to put up the valiant fight when they were capturing him. As he sat up one would notice all over him were bruises and bloodless cuts from being kicked around after capture, for his hand in the deaths of the three of the Sovonions sent after him. Zionist got the feeling he got off easy though, since, through the energy field that blocked his cell, he saw others beaten much more profoundly though.
The cell he was in was dimly lit, no doubt by the barrier the prevented him from leaving, and was very bare. Essentially, it was the inside of a steel box. All the sides were silvery and smooth, and all the edges were rigged and straight. The barrier itself glowed with a white, transparent hue. When Zionist touched it, the feel was near identical to that of the wall save for the fact that this emitted some amount of heat.
The outside of the cell was the same in the factor of charm. Sovonions in full body armor armed to the teeth stood at watch outside each of the cells, which extended down a long hallway and had many intersecting hallways, silent and as still as statues. Or that’s how it would have been, had they not been bored. They each lazily stood at their posts, weapons slung over their shoulders, and even some light snores coming through some of the air vents on their helmets.
The one guarding Zionist’s cell, a particularly large Sovonion with a weapon that looked brutal and a reflected visor, noticed him waking up and squawked to the other guards. The others responded by jerking upright with weapons up, their shrieks coming in response. His guard let out a low hiss and some squawks, no doubt telling them to keep attention or some other form of chewing them out. They all let out hisses of their own, but stood at better attention.
The large one then turned his head to look at Zionist in his cell and, with the fluency that was no doubt the work of a translator, said “May the Great Makers shine on you.”
Zionist titled his head, puzzled, but as he was about to ask what was going on, there was a loud screech that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. All the guards immediately stood at attention, moving in front of the cells they were assigned to. The barriers fell as each guard moved into position and they immediately started ushering they out in a variety of different languages. Some fought, but it was futile as they were beaten down and dragged. Zionist himself was escorted without trouble to wherever they might be taken.
The arena was hot and dry. The scorching sun and the faint whisper of wind that sounded past reminded Sklar’lak of the days when Sovonions once battled on this arena themselves, brother against brother in an unstoppable bloodlust. He himself bore scars from when festivities would dictate that young Sovonions, not outsiders, be the ones to face in the ring against the devils and each other. Though his feathers and toga kept him relatively cool, the heat and rugged sand were still felt, making him somewhat jealous of the outsiders who would fight and lose their lives here. Sklar shook off the feeling of nostalgia and jealousy though as the large double doors on the end of the arena opened, revealing the new batch of captured outsiders being escorted by guards to where he stood at the center of the arena.
This assortment was made up mainly of the soft and bare fleshed ‘Humans’, with two or three being defined as unknown. Not the most impressive batch he’d seen from appearance, but with the trouble they’d given the Trappers with both their weapons and abilities, Sklar was told that they would suffice. When they reached him and the guards formed them into a line, he was pleased to see that most were in peak condition and not subjected to the higher aggressiveness of the Trappers.
“Welcome to the Verpax,” Sklar said spreading his arms, speaking in fluent English without the work of a translator. As he had been told from the Trappers, this entire batch spoke it. “I am Sklar’lak, your investor and practical owner. Here you will fight, and if necessary, die for all the pleasure of my fellow citizens. Not a great proposition to you, but I don’t intend to send you out there to die. In fact, I will be as necessary to your survival as the weapons that have been left on you until you either get yourself killed or secure your freedom and return to your home. To secure your freedom you have to do but two simple things: don’t get killed by the creatures you’re sent against, and be the best of the best. That is all that needs to be said, though I am open for questions before you all are put through your combat exercises. Anyone?”