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I was there. I was a hero. I was on my way to be a legend. Yet, something happened. I know it wasn’t natural. I know, deep in the very core of my beating heart and soul, it wasn’t supposed to be like that.
I had companions; they were true friends, and for months fought side by side with me. Our mission started slow, but quickly escalated and became a path to save the world. To save Golarion.
We had our gods and faiths with us, we had our weapons, and each day we would get closer to that final moment; that cataclysmic instant where we fight the ultimate challenge and convert ourselves to living legends. We were on the middle of the road, but things were aligning at each passing second. We were subtracted of such event.
That night was as many, many others; challenge after challenge our resources were being consumed, and we heroically pushed ourselves to our limits. We were fighting when it happened. A fight as many before, surrounded by enemies, but our synergy working better than ever. Until it didn’t anymore.
“Guys, are you there?” – I heard. “… Some sort of antimagic field…?”, then. “I can’t hear Iomedae anymore!” – one by one, out of pure confusion, I heard my companions questioning themselves. We couldn’t see each other, even feel each other’s presence nearby; the voices started fading.
As much as I could hear them, I don’t think they could hear me. Their confusion escalated quickly to despair, and the screams became of terror and hatred. A requiem to the interrupted legends, to the preposterous saviors of the world.
As my mind slowly regained cohesion, the first thing I saw was myself, dead on the ground, profusely bleeding. Yet, more disconcerting, as I look around I saw myself again – several versions of myself – fighting and killing, overwhelming the encounter we once were dealing with, but also overwhelming and slaughtering my own companions.
I didn’t keep my hold for long; I almost immediately tried to engage these new… Enemies… Who were surrounding us. And in fact I was able to interact with them. But the situation was beyond lost – my... Other versions… Would never stop spawning, and we were still seeing ourselves disconnected from our magic, gods and abilities. Worse, even my friends didn’t know how to differ me, the real me, from the other ones – and the last thing I saw, before dropping to the ground surrounded by dozens of dead versions of myself, was that I had completely lost their trust. I lost consciousness at that moment.
“Is… Is it death?”, I asked.
Silence. Deep, deafening silence, hurting every fiber of me.
“Am I dead?”, I asked again. Maybe rhetorically. Silence followed again.
I was now on a fully metallic-like room. Even floor and ceiling, and I saw a door there. I was naked – deprived of my equipment and companions, but also somehow deprived of my own mind and abilities. Even the natural ones, the simple skills you learn as tools of your trade, I now felt incapable of performing, as if the entire trauma made me forget something which was the very meaning of being me.
“This… This is it. The end of the road. I didn’t save my friends, I didn’t save my people, I didn’t save Golarion. I didn’t even save myself. This, right here, is death!” – now, I had simply thought it, and was still on the floor, fetal position, when I heard a voice.
“This isn’t death. It’s worse.”
I had never heard that deep, alien-like voice before. It came from outside the room, as I saw a metallic plate and bottle being pushed from a small window on the bottom of the metallic door – which immediately shut. Some sort of sand-colored goo was on the plate, and I heard the sound of liquid on the bottle. They were feeding me. I was… A prisoner?
Confusing as my situation was, it never improved. I don’t know for how long I stayed on that cubicle, or how many times I tried to talk to someone. Maybe from a nearby cell? No luck. That was the last time I heard any voice.
The terrible food and drink wouldn’t come every day. They would let me starve, so when it came, I would get to it with all my strength. I thought about simply trying to not consume it and let myself die, but… I knew I couldn’t. Too much still depended on me, if I wasn’t dead. Besides, I knew my captors would probably just find another way to keep my alive and suffering.
I didn’t showered or took any care of myself. My bare skin started to smell and somewhat rot, naked against the metallic floor and walls – that perversely reflected that strange spectrum of me. I felt cold and hunger, but it wasn’t ever enough to kill me.
Today it changed. The door opened. Some sand-like rags were thrown to me, and the door stayed opened. No one said anything, though, and all I could see was a strong light coming from there. My eyes were sensible and hurting, so I felt a little blind. Yet, there were those rags, and an open door.
Tekumsah fought, at first. He fought tooth and nail against his copies, thrashing them with fist and foot, driving them to the ground in a pulp of muscle and bone. His style was more focused toward single combat than facing groups, but he could fix this, if only he struck down each foe in turn. But there were too many, every image of himself was replaced by more, and when his own allies lashed out at him in confusion, he knew deep down that he wouldn't win. He fought on, unwilling to lay down and die, but when he finally collapsed, there was no surprise.
He fought after awaking. Death this may be, but Tekumsah would be no more quiet in the afterlife than he was to begin with. Naked and alone, he slammed his fists against the metal floor, broke his knuckles and knees across the walls, the door. When he fell to his knees, exhausted, he spat the question that had formed in his mind. "Is this death?"
When the answer came, the alien voice, it was met with a metallic slam before it had even finished. Pressed against the door was a full-grown nagaji. Tekumsah hadn't been aware of that last reserve of energy, but the first contact provoked yet more fight from him. "Who are you?" But the only reply was a plate and bottle, quickly slid through the the window at the door's bottom, and when Tekumsah felt his forearm splinter with one more punch against the sealed metal portal, he dropped to the floor and began to eat.
So it was for the time that came after. The food was tasteless, neither ocld nor hot, and it barely gave him energy, but it kept him alive. The drink didn't taste like water, but it quenched his killing thirst. They didn't come every day, but when he was at the edge of death, they arrived. He pushed himself there, day after day, expending his energy in katas and exercise, hardening his bones with fractures against his prison. His meditations were contemplations of rage, of inner power seeking release. Maybe he would never escape this place, but Tekumsah La'Awethikah would not give in.
And then, today came. And the door opens, as Tekumsah lies on the floor, nearly devoid of energy from his daily work. His skin is crawling, his striking points raw and bloodied, his eyes narrow and hateful. He hisses at the light, and snatches at the rags thrown him. When it becomes clear the door will remain open, though, he rises to a kneel, then pushes to his feet. He looks down at the rags in his hands and tears them into strips, ties them about his waist for what modesty is demanded, and steps out into whatever lies beyond.
He had no idea what was going on anymore. And neither did he care. A bullet whizzed by and all his thoughts went with it. He couldn't make heads or tails of the situation so why bother. He was trying to kill himself. Well he'd see about that. The fight was deafening and dangerous. Bullets, bombs, and spells flew everywhere. He weaved through it to the best of his considerable abilities, guns swapping hands repeatedly. Bombs being mixed in one hand flew toward close targets. He blew his brains and guts out more times than he could count. He managed to stay ahead of himself for what felt like a long time. But when he fell, many more of him still fought.
Darkness.
Light. When Flint woke up in the weird metal room, he immediately got up and walked to the "door". No dice. It wouldn't budge. He banged on it. Nothing. Nothing for a long time. And for a long time he paced the room, thinking, talking. One happy thought he had was that it was really difficult to fight himself. He'd never faced off against another gunslinger before. Kind of exciting for the little time it lasted. But that ending. Was it real? He had contemplated whether this was death but it seemed too real for that. But after hours, he could see no other recourse.
"This is death," he finally voiced.
Then a voice answered. And answered with food no less. Flint let out a whoop of joy and scarfed down the food. From then on it was a challenge. Who could last longer? Him or his captors. They didn't leave the door open for long to slide in the food so he couldn't talk to them then. But he guessed they could see or here him somehow. So he talked. Talked about nothing. He sang. Sometimes good, sometimes very very bad. Then he just goofed off. Shooting at imaginary targets, wielding imaginary swords, going through whole adventures.
He thought he lasted pretty long. Longer than the average person at least. But no one came. The lack of energy from inconsistent food delivery began to take its tole. He moved less as his energy faded. His voice quit working a few days in and water became scarce. He feared to open his mouth in case it turn to ash. Eventually he stopped everything and just sat, waiting on the food. They won. A very small part of him continued to remind him not to give up. But it grew quieter by the day.
Just before it stopped speaking all together, the door opened. And stayed open. Flint would have stayed on the floor pondering this for a long time if clothes hadn't smacked him in the face. He looked down at them. He lifted the shirt and noticed only two holes for arms. An old joke popped into his head and made it all the way to his lips. "I demand to see a tailor." It came out very weak and raspy. Still, he giggled. Then he guffawed. Then he laughed. He went from light amusement to hysteria over the course of a minute. But with each laugh, he felt more and more like his old self. Still the door stayed open.
Pain stopped him from getting too out of control. His throat still hurt and his muscles weren't used to that kind of work. He put on the pants but carried the shirt with him, ranting. "I been for how long and you can't even make me a decent shirt? Well that is the last stray. No stars. Not even a half. Who do I have to talk to to get some decent service in this s!~#ty inn? Huh?"
Kit was glad he had fur.
It was an inane thought, yes, but he'd found the stupid thoughts were the ones that lasted. Clever thoughts took too much effort after... however long it had been. At some point he'd quit trying to keep track.
Another thought that made its weary way through his head yet again was that this was beyond ridiculous. Deprivation of this sort he could understand as a temporary measure--it was probably amusing to the sick sorts that kept crazy prisons like this, at the least. But for this long? Any enjoyment it might have given his mysterious captor at first had surely long since worn off. The idea that someone would want to do something like this to him, or anyone else for that matter, was just so beyond outrageous that it became laughable.
He'd stopped laughing a long time ago, but that thought still had a memory of black humor to it, so he held onto it for a while whenever it came by.
The kitsune was on his feet and wary as soon as the door had opened. The long, slow torture of imprisonment had dulled his edge, but wariness and speed were so deeply engrained in him that some remnant of them pushed him to react even as his thoughts struggled to catch up with the sudden break in the monotony of existence. Warily he considered the rags, decided they were something, at least, and so he did the best to cover himself that he could.
The door was still open, which meant Kit might finally be able to find out what madness was behind all of this. More likely for someone who could... what had that been? It was as if they'd fractured fate itself... whatever the case, he had little hope, but his stubborn core refused to just sit around.
After a moment's consideration, however, he decided he'd rather face whatever was next as a fox, rather than an embarrassingly-clad kitsune. And so he reached for his innate magic to change forms before leaving the little cell.
Misriel the Swallow had faced many challenges in life, conquering many adversities and fears.
Being alone was not one of those conquered challenges.
Always, there had been someone else to look out for her. Her friends, her sister, her other sister.. There was always someone with her. But now.. Nothing, no one, for a time longer than she could imagine. There seemed to be someone out there, some intention behind all this, but she couldn't fathom it any more than she could put a person behind the rising and setting of the sun.
Failure. Said the little voice floating in her head. Misriel imagined it to be some imp or fairy or fairy imp prancing about her hair. Lost Lost Lost as all the others.
And Misriel could not disagree.
Her doubts kept her company in the dark. Would have devoting herself more to Abadar have averted this? The gods seemed as voiceless as herself in this place. Perhaps greater martial skill? Perhaps it would have just made her copies all the greater.
Failure. Jeered the voice, lurking behind every thought. Thinky Thinky Thinky but it doesn't change a thing."
And Misriel could not disagree.
One day, the door was opened, and the light shined forth. Was it too much to hope? Would it only make the truth sting more. "Ra..Ramerel?" Her dry, hesitant, hoarse voice whispered out to the harsh light. From her knees, she leaned forward and reached for the rags, to clutch them tight over herself like a blanket as she waited for a response. Some sign to let her know it was safe to stand tall again and strive forward once more.
Failure. The voice leered from the path she was too frightened to venture out into. Scared Scared Scared without the cat.
And Misriel could not disagree.
It was quick, for the Kitsune, to notice he still wasn't able to switch forms. Something was tempering with his abilities.
As the four left their cages, slowly their eyes adapted to the bright light outside. The lights weren't natural; they were emanating for floating devices, over 40 feet above the floor. These devices were like very shiny metallic spheres, and the light was fairly blinding. Yet, they could notice that beyond these devices the skies were dark even if starred. The weather was cold, very cold, and dry.
Outside the caves they saw themselves in a dense and sandy desert-like scenario. They couldn't see mountains, other than sand formations on the horizon. Their four cages were together, and they could see far on all directions hundreds of other blocks of four cages each (forming squares). Entire lines of the most varied types of humanoids and other figures could be seen moving, slowly and somewhat organizedly, towards a single direction. The distance, combined with the temporary light sensitivy, made very hard to identify any species.
Near their cages, however, another humanoid was waving to them. The grey-like figure was around seven-feet tall but curved and absurdly skinny. He had a longer than average neck holding a bald head with no ears and two big black eyes, and his torso had four arms - the two below were holding itself against its own shaking body, probably trying to warm against the cold. He had what looked like an atrophied pair of giant insect wings on its back. His head was down, and yet he kept waving towards the four to approach him.
Kit notes his inability to change forms with no real surprise. He hadn't really expected that to change--he wasn't free, just being used differently, now.
The sight outside shocks him, however.
"So many..." he whispers to himself involuntarily. Bad enough that he had been tortured so, but that so many others had been, too... who could do such a thing? And why would they? Was it truly possible for any being to be so... unfathomably evil, so amused by suffering that it would do such a thing?
Well... yes, apparently.
The kitsune shakes his head slightly. There had to be... something he could do... some way to change this... and that meant keeping his wits about him. Learning about what was going on. Watching. Waiting.
There were three others here with him, and he thought he'd heard some of them speak. He'd been so wrapped up in the horrible spectacle before him that he hadn't really listened, though.
So Kit turns to his fellow-prisoners, and gestures at the four-armed figure. He tries to speak, but it takes him a moment to clear his throat after so long with only himself to talk to.
"It doesn't seem like we have many other choices, does it?" He at last manages to say, nodding at the insectoid man, then turning to go to him.
Flint's rant petered out quick when he realized no one of importance was around to here. That and where the hell was he? Back home he was pretty odd with four arms but here he seemed to be just another prisoner. Ape men, bug people, among the usual dwarves and elves. In his own block was a man with a fox tail and a lizard man. There appeared to be a human female too but was she really? Feeling a little bit humbled, he put the shirt on, noticing there was at least slits in the side for his extra appendages.
"It doesn't seem like we have many other choices, does it?" He at last manages to say, nodding at the insectoid man, then turning to go to him.
Flint turns at the sound of someone else speaking then follows his gaze to a...
Kasatha? Never seen one with wings before? Well it had four arms so that was something they had in common. He walks towards the not-Kasatha. "You from Numeria or the home plane? They pullin prisoners from that far?" He wasn't sure who they were yet. Never saw them. Maybe the bug dude could answer a few questions.
Tekumsah staggers out of the cage and immediately regrets tearing the rags into their new form--it's cold out here, and he has to steel his mind against shivering. Glancing around, he takes in the strange spectacle: the cages, the desert, the lines. None of it looks familiar, not the location, not even most of the creatures around him. The kitsune was recognizable, at least, but the humans were clearly not from his lands, and he'd never seen one with four arms. As for the gray-skinned creature...
The others begin speaking, and Tekumsah forces himself to his full height and steps up to join them. As the four-armed man asks a question of the gray-skinned being, Tekumsah turns to Kit, speaking in accented but workable Common. "No, it does not. Does any of you know why we are here?"
"It doesn't seem like we have many other choices, does it?"
Not many other choices indeed. The sheer lack of other options other than staying in that dismal hole eventually gave her the "courage" to continue on.
"Why all this? Anyone with the power to do this would be far beyond needing us for anything." She said in unintentional answer to Tekumsah. She had been going to say it anyway, but it gave a "no" on her end to his question.
As some of the group moved towards the strange creature, she began following, to simply not be alone. They were maybe comrades in the future? She could only hope, seeing they were in the same predicament.
The humanoid shook silently, in a combination of cold and what you could divise as fear, but didn't emit any sounds or answered. He looked down, avoiding the gaze of any of the four prisoners, and started moving towards the same direction, leading the group.
It was fairly obvious he was much faster than any of the four, but he was controlling his steps and slowing down so they could keep up. Every couple steps he'd look behind to make sure they were still coming. His expression was one of someone submissive, dying to say something to them, but controlling himself out of fear.
They walked for at least thirty minutes until finally started climbing up a not to steep, although tall, sand mount. The other groups were now much easier to spot, and the absolutely majority of them were made by creatures of species none of the four ever dreamed of seeing before. The other groups seem to have much more people, too - most of them to the dozens. And definitely there were more of those four-armed insect-like humanoids with wings walking around everywhere, most of them also seeing fairly submissive.
Towards the top of the hill, the "guide" made a turn to the left. The group noticed the other groups were each of them now taking a slightly different direction. On the other side of the mount, now visible, was an immense, several miles long metallic construction, much bigger than any castle or keep they have seen before. It was larger even than cities like Absalom and Katapesh.
The impressive construction had a poligonal shape slightly oval when looking from the top, but clearly made of immense walls with subtle angles between them. It was open, from above, like a city guarded by big walls would be; however, it seemed like on the inside the walls were composed of chains of seats, all of them occupied by cheering creatures. It was like a giant coliseum.
Mirror-like rectangles were hanging on the outside of the walls. They were big - really, really big - and seemed to work as some sort of scrying mechanism, behaving like a crystal ball of sorts, since it kept showing different images of what looked like warriors moving across a jungle-like terrain, some of them fighting beasts.
"Yeah, I'm kind of a 'blaze my own path' kinda guy. Following the crowd seems foolish." Flint was prepared to hold his ground but a loud rumble from his stomach told him that wasn't an option. He wasn't sure when he was last fed but it was far too long apparently. So he walked, using aching legs that hadn't been used in a while. As he did he felt mildly annoyed. Not because he was walking, but because strange seemed to be common place here. Part of the reason he grew two more arms was to stand out. He was no different from anyone else at this point.
Dread was also building with each step up the sand slope. And it peaked the same time the sand mount did. He whistled in awe of the wall in front of him. He'd never seen or even dreamed of a metal city so large. "Wait. Is that one building?" Indeed it was one enormous construction. Like many others that had crested the hill, he starred in wonder. His eyes immediately locked onto the giant, moving picture and what he could only assume was what was happening inside.
"Aw s#!%." He knew what this was. Had seen a similar place in Cheliax. But none could compare in scope. He turned to look back out over the desert and wondered if it was possible to survive out there. Doubtful. And he'd rather go out fighting than starve. So, coliseum it was.
Tekumsah moves in a group with the others, similarly controlling his speed to remain even with them. He glances to Flint as he comments on following crowds, but remains in silence until they reach the sand mount, and he stares down at the building in confusion. It's entirely unlike anything he's seen, and he doesn't fully understand until the images show a warrior attacked by a beast, fighting back and stabbing it with his spear before succumbing to its claws. Most of the tournaments and fights in Tian Xia were more organized, had procedures of honor and were about skill, but entertainment was a factor, and the familiar scene and setup finally click for the nagaji as he looks on.
"I think," he says, turning to Misriel, "we find for what they need us. To watch." Tekumsah shrugs his shoulders and cracks his raw knuckles, rolling his neck and shaking out his full body. Am I glad? At the least it is familiar.
Kit bares his teeth just slightly. "Or to fight. Though why the ridiculous privation beforehand was necessary for either option, I don't know. Maybe that's part of the entertainment," he says, bitterly.
Misriel remained silent, her thoughts dwelling on the slave markets of her homeland. She had avoided them there, but it seemed like now, perhaps she was just a slave on an even more exotic market.
Still a desert though, so at least that was nice and familiar. Cold as the night back home in armor.
"Turnover," Flint says reaching for a pipe that wasn't there. He really wanted a smoke right now. He watches the screen for a few moments and recognizes at least one of the beasts. But like most of the races here, he had no idea what most of them were. "The stands aren't for people like us. We're fodder for them," he says pointing at the screen with a particularly nasty creature. "Just waitin for our turn in those cells." Flint walks towards the bug guy that lead them here, going into a full sprint to catch him if he starts moving away. He grabs him by the wing and pulls him towards the ground. "Talk bug boy. You lead us and all these other people here. What's going on?" If he doesn't answer or understand Flint yells to the whole crowd, "Anyone know this guys language?"
Tekumsah makes a thin, soft hissing sound, running his tongue along his teeth, in response to Kit's reply. "My apologies--to watch us fight, I was meaning. My skill in the western tongue is not as good as yours, it would seem." He looks on as Flint begins to make a spectacle and question the winged humanoid, and subtly shifts his feet in preparation to defend himself, should trouble break out.
Kit watches warily. He suspects that Flint's actions will win no information, only pain, but he does not intervene.
Flint catches up and manages to hold on the creature's left wing. The human quickly notices, however, that is as if the creature let himself be held, and pretended to almost trip.
Stop it, small one! - he whispers in Common, rispidly - You don't want to catch attention over us! Pretend you're just helping me stand again, quick!
His accent is thick, foreign, and he seems to be referring to the entire group on his last phrase.
We will have some privacy soon, even if blend and fast. Just come, for now! - he complements, pointing out what looks like a lock far away on one of the walls of the big construction - right on the direction he was taking you.
Flint also notices that the creature quickly flipped and moved his wing inner side away from his hand - not only because the wing looked somehow hurt, but also because it seemed absurdly sharp. The others notice its sharpness as well.
Misriel is confused by what's going on in front of her, and doesn't figure anything out, and just looks around instead.
Kit's ear's prick up, and he jogs forward and offers the creature a hand.
"We're all slaves here," he murmurs, looking at Flint. "And lashing out at fellow slaves is, let's see... pointless, stupid, and cruel, yes?"
Flint pauses with a confused look. "What?" It must not have known Common that long because the words sounded all jumbled. "Over who? Blend?" He's still trying to figure out what it said when Kit comes over and helps it up.
"We're all slaves here," he murmurs, looking at Flint. "And lashing out at fellow slaves is, let's see... pointless, stupid, and cruel, yes?"
He folds his arms and looks at the creature suspiciously. "Is it though? It lead us here. Looks like the others of its kind are doing the same thing too." Though he had his suspicions, but he continues to follow. It had a valid point about the dangers here. That was some weird s#%! when he was pulled into this world. Whoever ran this place could probably kill him with a thought or spell. He looks around as if expecting to see a floating eye or something.
Tekumsah has trouble parsing meaning from the creature's words--two new speakers from different languages doesn't usually lead to clear communication--but he steps forward, understanding the general idea. He also knows enough about potential injuries to realize the luck involved in Flint keeping his fingers. "Sharp wings. Not for touching, yes?" The reptilian man moves to join the tall creature in walking toward the wall. "Maybe we fight not until we know what goes on here?"
Flint didn't see any floating eyes , but the entire group was quick to notice their guide now was moving quite faster towards the door. It was clear he was still holding on his speed - it seems as his normal movement was natural fast, maybe due to some sort of gliding his wings would provide between one step and another.
Anyway, at a certain point the group reached the door, and he was quick to open it. He stayed outside and signed for the four prisoners to enter, before entering himself behind them and closing the door.
The room inside was methalic, as well, but with white marks resembling runes painted across the walls. It wasn't a small or tight room - almost thirty by thirty feet - yet, there were no other entrances or exits, and they were the only ones there. On the wall in front of the door, another four of those big "crystal ball"-like mirrors, each one showing a different combat scene, could be seen.
More noticeable, however, was a fifth "mirror" above them, slightly bigger. This one kept showing the stands of the coliseum, from inside, where creatures just like their guide could be seen cheering. From time to time - especially when one of the four combatants get hurt - the noise and shaking would be such that it was noticeable even from within the closed room the five were.
You were brought here to fight. - the creature finally said on his thick accent - You fight, you eat, you rest, you fight another day. You refuse to fight, you're hurt, you're tortured, you're more hurt, then you're brought to fight again.
He moved his hands while speaking, gesturing with the four arms at the same time. His voice still trembled as if he was very afraid of something, but at least, now, he was talking... Even if very fast!
Behind him, on the "mirrors", one of the combatants was trespassed by the spikes on the tail of a large creature resembling an armless dinosaur. This combatant was apparently the only female of the four - the other three are big males, still alive, although very hurt. They all navigate in some sort of jungle. They all have small anthenae on their foreheads.
"Yeah I got that mu..." Flint begins after the bug man explains their purpose here. He is distracted by the big mirror above. It was starting to sink in how out matched they were. The magic or technology here was far above anything he'd seen. Enough to cross the cosmos. Those were Lashunta fighting right now. They weren't even from his home planet. Then he saw the crowd. More of the same race as their "guide". Was he one of them? Was he part of the reason they were here as slaves? He reigned in his anger. "Alright. So now what?"
"And all of that," Kit waved at the door, "Was, of course, entirely necessary to ensure we understand the pointlessness of the second option."
He managed to keep the acid out of his voice. Somehow.
Kit had kept an eye on the mirror-things while speaking... and a dark thought occurred to him.
"We'll fight each other." It was a statement, not a question. It fit too well with the horror and degradation of this place. "That's part of the show, isn't it?"
Misriel felt Kit said most of everything she had wanted to say. Albeit, she did not know Kit's name. But she had one more.
"Will you bring the losers back to life?" Misriel didn't know whether that would be a blessing or a curse, which answer she wanted to hear.
"What makes you to think the losers would die?" Tekumsah turns to regard Misriel with a curious expression. He's so far seemed to take everything in stride here, having started to more fully understand things once he knew it was a coliseum. "Would it be not to blood, or to the yield, or to one proves superi... they are best?" He folds his arms and looks to the guide. "It would be a waste if the loser were dead, no? Waste of money and of time."
"I was never trained to leave my target alive, or put on a show. Why pick me if it was not to the death?
Kit points at the mirror with the female impaled by dinosaur spikes. "That looked rather lethal, wouldn't you say?"
Oh, the losers die. Most of them. Most definitely. - says the creature, still with its strange accent - But most of them are somehow brought back alive. And brought back to fight another day. Many of them lose and win constantly.
He sits on the floor, crossing the legs.
It doesn't work with all of them. Maybe one in each four simply doesn't come back. It's the way it is. More than simply for dying, though, you don't want to lose.
He's now back on gesturing with the four arms. Apparently he's getting more comfortable with the four prisoners, and signs with his back arms for them to sit around.
My name is Kabuusah. And yes, you fight each other, yes. At least on the beginning. Keep losing you keep here forever, or until you die. You win, better. Three wins give you a shot on the champion. - he pointed to the "mirror" on the top, which was now filming what looked like superior cabins within the coliseum.
An immense figure was visible there. He was clearly from the same species as the "guide", Kabuusah, but much taller - maybe twice as tall, and muscular. His wings were also folded on the back, but they didn't seem as if they were "hurt", like Kabuusah's. He had very big tusks coming out of his mouth, and was dressed in what looked like golden plated armor.
He's the current champion. He's Perylis, the "Statue of Stone". - the alias sounded strange, but it was probably an issue with translation - Perylis won his matches and fought the previous champion. Perylis was granted one wish.
His head bounced down.
The "Statue of Stone" could have saved us, but instead he preferred glory. Fame. He owns many males and females now that he uses to mate. My people cheer him but is truly full of hatred. We could have been free from the Tyrant, but instead Perylis kneeled for him and we became worse than peons for these godforsaken games.
Kit narrowed his eyes. "Who's this 'Tyrant' fellow?" he asks. "I'd guess he runs the games, at least?"
Flint was rather confused for most of the dialogue. How could they die and be revived over and over here? He was supposed to have four arms too. He'd grown them several years ago and they were gone. How was any of this possible. But then the conversation took a turn for the familiar. "I see where this is going. You're hoping one of us can unseat this Perylis and free everyone else right? Well that's going to be a little hard. That," he says pointing at the screen with Perylis on it, "thing has a lot going for him and I don't even have my guns. Or my arms for that matter. How is that even possible." He flails his two arms about as an exaggerated fashion.
"And I don't have my sister, or her sword." And so Misriel set herself up for "your sister is a cat?" jokes in the future.
The Tyrant! Yes... - he looks around, as if suddenly more worried about being overheard... As if what he said so far wouldn't be bad enough.
The Tyrant, she runs the games. She runs the land. She runs everything. - he said, almost too fast to be understood - She isn't from here. She isn't like my people. We don't know where she's from, but when she first came, she was received as a goddess. And, should the ancient gods forgive me, she did have the power of a goddess, and didn't take long until we were all under her command.
He interrupted the story.
Irrelevant. Irrelevant. It's not like we can have a true champion emerge, anymore. Hope is gone. As for your trinkets, pets and abilities... They change when you're pulled to the arena. They come back. We don't know how the Tyrant does it. You change.
He pointed at another of the "mirrors", which was now showing the female who got trespassed by the dinosaur tail. She's apparently on the center of the "arena", as Kabuusah referred to that place. She's standing up from the ground - cured from her apparent death, coughing, and not holding any of the equipment she had while fighting. In fact, just back to prisoner rags, but coughing as if feeling a lot of internal pain.
You should watch and rest. You will all be pulled soon.
Hope is gone? Kit thinks to himself as he listens. Yes... perhaps that is what all of that before was meant to accomplish... well, I'm afraid I'm a bit more stubborn than that.
He glances at the others in the room. "Which means we'll have to fight, then? I suppose if we all put on a good show, we've a better chance of coming back if we die?"
Guess that was that. The little bugger seemed to only say what he wanted to say and that was that. No point trying to probe further. So he watched, trying to find some order, or means of winning.
On the mirrors, another of the "gladiators" die a bloody death, when ambushed by an invisible "gladiator". Although the latter is boo'ed, he doesn't seem to care much and continues moving across the jungle, as stealthly as possible. Only two warriors remain now - this sneaky one, and another one that resembles some sort of scholar and that moves around afraid, shaking a spear.
Hmpf.... - he grunts - ... Watchers don't like much the invisibility thing. It feels like cheating. Besides, for the audience, they can't see what's really happening on these cases, so it's a little boring. The Tyrant finds it boring too.
Kabuusah goes to the door they entered, preparing to leave the four prisoners behind.
It's usually good idea to make crowd happy. But we never know. I won't wish any of you luck, but be ready. Be prepared. You weren't chosen randomly, and I imagine each of you can be quite dangerous to the others.
He opens the door and, if not interrupted, leaves, closing it behind and leaving the four prisoners alone.
Flint continues to watch. Best not to get too chummy with anyone here if he was just going to be forced to fight them. "Hey," he calls before the creature can walk away. "Where did all the others go? And where are we staying until the fights? Do we go back to the cells for food?"
Tekumsah is content to watch on as the fight in the mirrors unfolds, although he also looks at each of the others. He's moving into the fighting state of mind, the competitive thought process that fills him before any tournament. That this one goes to the death is intriguing, different, but that only means he won't have to hold back once the foe is unconscious, or that he won't have to hold back at all; his training was very much fit for lethal combat as well as tournament fighting, as he'd proven in his short adventuring career.
While the others start asking questions, he starts his pre-fight ritual of "meditation" and readying his psyche and body for what's to come. It doesn't look much like meditation, more a slow build-up to a frenzy: he begins to clench and unclench his muscles, breathing deeply in and out in bursts that grow more and more powerful as time goes by. "I assume we cannot form some truce to not fight, the one the other?" It's his only question as the creature starts to leave, asked on the exhalations of his exercise.
Already at the door, about to leave, Kabuusah first replies to Tekumsah.
Well, nothing prevents you from doing that. It'll mean just a loss for both sides if it's found out, though.
The creature turns then to Flint, when he calls "Hey".
All the others? You mean the rest of the people walking towards the arena? Everybody will fight, of course, but in different moments. Now, as for where you're staying...
He couldn't finish his sentence. Each one of the four prisoners, suddenly and at the same time, disappeared.
As a movie quickly passing through their eyes, they see all of the four prisoners life achievements and adventures. They also see they demonstrating everything they're capable of, and they can't help but being impressed by the other three.
Finally, though, the scene ends. Each one is now alone in a room perfectly illuminated, with metallic walls, floor and ceiling. They have, again, all their equipment and abilities - everything is perfect exactly as it was when the abductions occurred.
One of the walls has a clock in it. As soon as it's noticed, it starts counting down - apparently, they have 18 seconds to do something.
Oh to be armed. And in more ways then one. It came as a shock, getting all those extra sensations back. His arms, his guns, his armor, his gear, his bombs and extracts. Then he noticed the clock. Oh s$*@, he thinks. In a flurry of motion he down his mutagen, loads his guns and activates his mask. Everything else was situational.
In spite of expecting it, Kit still jumped a bit as his surroundings suddenly changed. He watched carefully once he realized what was going on--all of their well-beings might well depend on putting on a good show, which meant fighting his hardest... and his flashiest.
He guessed what the clock meant, but having no magic other than his innate Kitsune powers, had nothing he particularly wanted to do with the time. Instead he quickly went through a few of his old attacks and parries, getting himself reacquainted with Nip.
The sudden transportation throws Tekumsah off for a moment, but when he sees the clock it makes sense. Preparation. There isn't that much the monk needs to do: he twists his feet and stamps, dropping his pose and focusing his spirit to improve his capabilities, both offensive and defensive.
Ramerel feels very confused. It can barely speak for a moment, trying to realize what's happening. It feels as you two were just there at that moment you were abducted, and then suddenly here. It doesn't even remember going unconscious - it's like life "blinked" and you're both here now.
For the style, you'll have to wait to be actually engaged (per the rules of engagement). Everything else is fine!
The walls disappear for each one of you, after you feel your brains being "probed" somehow.
Misriel sees herself at a bog-like environment. She has water up to her knees, and there's a strong smell overall - maybe plants, maybe even some sort of poisonous gas. It's fairly dark here, and both her and her cat are surrounded by dense vegetation. It's some sort of swamp, she figures, and she can hear noises of animal life surrounding her from every direction.
Flint looks around and is confused by finding himself at the bottom of what looks like a big spider web, over a hundred feet wide, filling a square room. Through the web, he can see the bottom of the room - almost 60 feet under the web - is filled with some sort of black goo. There's no ceiling on the room - the web is sticking from around 40 feet up, and that's all he can see. It's clearly night, as Flint can see a starred sky.
Kit sees himself at the entrance of some sort of cave. He's inside, and behind him immense rocks block the passage to exit. It's clearly night outside, as everything seems dark - but, worse, he hears the sounds of warcries on the other side of the "rock wall", as something - maybe several creatures - chirp on high volume in some language he can't immediately identify. The cave continues to the other side, though, apparently going down in a slightly steep right curve. He has the impression of seeing fire coming from one of the few holes on the rock wall.
Walls - stone walls - is all the Nagaji sees. The environment surrounding the adventurer is that of a 30x30 room filled with beds. They're medium sized and seem to not have been used in a long time, yet they're all filled with linen cloths and trash (as if the people who were sleeping here have abandoned it in a hurry). A single wooden door is seen on a wall on the opposite side Tekumsah is. Five barrels, around 3 feet each, can be seen on a further corner. The room has no illumination, but light of torches seem to come from outside, visible underneath the door.
Kit is instantly on guard. Warily he takes in his surroundings.
Tekumsah blinks several times after he focuses his energy to provide protection, and glances around the room. The first thing he does is knock over the barrels, trying to see if there's anything of use or note inside, and then he walks over to the door and slams it open with a powerful kick. Might as well give them a show, let them know who they have here.
When the scene changes, Flint points both barrels in opposite directions and keeps his head on a swivel. When no threat immediately presents itself, he takes a better look around. It was not a good situation. Smack in the middle of a spiderweb hovering over a pit of black goo. Great. He tests the floor of webbing, seeing if he is stuck and looks around for the thing that made it.
If he sees nothing he starts making his way towards one of the walls.