Apoca1ypse
08-17-2011, 11:08 PM
Story for a little bit of fun to alleviate boredom :)
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Rage.
It was all he knew.
He would rage at the stars and at the passing of seasons. He would rage at the people of the great realm and those that enslaved him. He would rage at the crowds of the arena and at his opponents.
But mostly, he just raged.
Kharn had never known peace. He had always been caught up in bloodshed, be it in the pits or the unrest of his homeland. He did not remember the latter though. Infact, all that remained from that time was the burning hatred and anger that had been instilled on him as an adolescent.
Now, as a slave in the pits of the Great Realm, he vented his anger on those that came too close, or more frequently, his opponents in the arena. After the dust would settle, there was always still the burning rage within his soul that could never be quenched, no matter how many opponents he left broken in his wake.
His rage would only ever increase, usually because it was his turn to go to the temple for treatment. His only respite was when he was sent to the eternal rest by opponents who took advantage of his wanton distruction. But he was a slave after all, and one that made money, so "eternal" never lasted long. It was when he was revived that his mood blackened the most. That all changed one day however.
After a particularly bloody, but unvictorious bout, karn went to the calm embrace of darkness, and this time when he was brought back, it felt different. There was still the rage in his core, but this time he felt only partially awake. The surrounds felt different, and certainly had a different odor in the air. He also noticed that he was not chained to the restraints that normally prevented him from dismembering the priests that brought him back. His mind felt drugged, as if something was altering his thought processes, until he slowly realised that his mind had a void. His rage was not completely consuming him, and that allowed him to think, albeit slowly, for the first time.
As he rose off the stone slab, he realised that it wasnt a slab at all. He found himself on the floor of a shrine to some forgotten gods. The air was heavy, but not acrid like that of the temples he had reawoken in every other time. It was instead pleasant, devoid of any of the unwashed, rotting stench that filled the air of the great cities of The Great Realm. He breathed it in deeply.
As he looked at his surrounds, he saw wooden sculptures and the simple, yet expertly executed craftmanship that went into crafting them. He looked at the walls, which were made of dark timber and then his eyes tried to traverse a gap where a door would normally be. He felt his eyes were bombarded with blue and green light that made him squint and shield his face. When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw a clear sky and rolling grassy hills that lead up to the mountain range that separrated the two. He had never seen anything like it before, atleast that was what he believed untill he remembered his home land. Anger welled inside him as suppressed memories flooded back, but with them came sorrow, an all consuming, crushing sorrow.
And then he wept.
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Rage.
It was all he knew.
He would rage at the stars and at the passing of seasons. He would rage at the people of the great realm and those that enslaved him. He would rage at the crowds of the arena and at his opponents.
But mostly, he just raged.
Kharn had never known peace. He had always been caught up in bloodshed, be it in the pits or the unrest of his homeland. He did not remember the latter though. Infact, all that remained from that time was the burning hatred and anger that had been instilled on him as an adolescent.
Now, as a slave in the pits of the Great Realm, he vented his anger on those that came too close, or more frequently, his opponents in the arena. After the dust would settle, there was always still the burning rage within his soul that could never be quenched, no matter how many opponents he left broken in his wake.
His rage would only ever increase, usually because it was his turn to go to the temple for treatment. His only respite was when he was sent to the eternal rest by opponents who took advantage of his wanton distruction. But he was a slave after all, and one that made money, so "eternal" never lasted long. It was when he was revived that his mood blackened the most. That all changed one day however.
After a particularly bloody, but unvictorious bout, karn went to the calm embrace of darkness, and this time when he was brought back, it felt different. There was still the rage in his core, but this time he felt only partially awake. The surrounds felt different, and certainly had a different odor in the air. He also noticed that he was not chained to the restraints that normally prevented him from dismembering the priests that brought him back. His mind felt drugged, as if something was altering his thought processes, until he slowly realised that his mind had a void. His rage was not completely consuming him, and that allowed him to think, albeit slowly, for the first time.
As he rose off the stone slab, he realised that it wasnt a slab at all. He found himself on the floor of a shrine to some forgotten gods. The air was heavy, but not acrid like that of the temples he had reawoken in every other time. It was instead pleasant, devoid of any of the unwashed, rotting stench that filled the air of the great cities of The Great Realm. He breathed it in deeply.
As he looked at his surrounds, he saw wooden sculptures and the simple, yet expertly executed craftmanship that went into crafting them. He looked at the walls, which were made of dark timber and then his eyes tried to traverse a gap where a door would normally be. He felt his eyes were bombarded with blue and green light that made him squint and shield his face. When his eyes finally adjusted, he saw a clear sky and rolling grassy hills that lead up to the mountain range that separrated the two. He had never seen anything like it before, atleast that was what he believed untill he remembered his home land. Anger welled inside him as suppressed memories flooded back, but with them came sorrow, an all consuming, crushing sorrow.
And then he wept.