A Bit of Writing [graphic]

[LillyanaKabal]

This kind of has to do with the game, but I didn't know what section this bit of writing could go into, so I just put it off topic. It's going to have some kind of graphic parts in it as well, so the easily offended should not read it. With that out of the way, here we go.


A few months ago, a man entered Admag, and bought up every mercenary that was willing to get out and find some action. Even taking a hornless coward when she offered services for free. Among these, was a Shek called Rane the Giant. True to his name, he was a monster, towering over the other races, and even many of his own brothers and sisters. Rane thought they were in desperate need for manpower to accept someone like that, but then it turned out to be less than desperate, as he told every man hired that his town was about five days north, giving them an exact map reference, and then smiled. He said that if anyone was not up to the challenge, they could take their wage and leave with no hard feelings, and nobody would think any less of them. And then before anyone could rip him apart for such an insult, took off like the wind, some mechanical contraption covering his body lent him great speed, such that nobody could hope to catch him. And so it was, they took off at a run, to this place in the north.

Their recruiter forgot to mention that the Holy Nation patrolled the main road in force, and he still had the scar from the run in with the Inquisitor. Despite his belief that the Hornless would simply cut and run at the first sign of trouble, she was not the one laying bleeding on the ground at the end of the fight. That one was a relatively young and fiery Shek who took a blade to the neck in a fashion that he would not be getting up from. Eventually, after crushing the patrol and fending off the Inquisitor, who turned tail and ran rather than die at the hands of true warriors, the group arrived at the town. It was quite the sight. High walls, with manned turrets and a thick gate greeted them, and then when the gate was opened, the saw a second gate, and another turret. Four double-barreled harpoons in total, enough to carve a chunk out of any horde before it smashed down the first gate.

Once through the gates, a woman appeared, with a broad smile and a cute face, and she patched up their wounds with practised efficiency. And then they were led to a series of beds to recover from their wounds. Lead through the town - which was a fallacy, it was more of a large outpost than a town, really - Rane liked the sounds he was hearing. Large mines churned up great deals of iron from the ground, which was refined into steel, and then hammered into shape. Everyone had their job, and did it well, and when they got inside, this was shown even further, by the loom workers and the armourers. Nobody begrudged the weakling job of making fabric, or working the farm, for it was all necessary for the perfection of their society. Then they got to the second floor, and the beds were empty and waiting for them, sleep came easily, despite the constant noise of the outpost. Blood loss had a way of tiring a man, after all.

Awakening later, they were treated to food - nothing spectacular, but then nothing was ever spectacular here, and so he settled for edible - and then told what they were wanted for. The Test, to get here, was to see if they could do what was needed. It seemed this place was the legendary Cannibal Plains - and not Cannonball, as one twat said before being sharply corrected - and it was crawling with man-eating monsters. The group here, nearly thirty men in all, needed some scouts to map out the surrounding area, where the camps of the enemy were, and how many were in each. They had sent out scouts of their own, but they had never returned, so now they sort out scouts of a different nature, ones with might and mettle that could handle themselves in a fight. That was the Shek down to a t, but it didn't impress them yet. No, instead Rane and his surviving brothers - and sister, much to his surprise - were set about a several day training course, half to see what they were really capable of, half to sharpen what they already knew. The Shek crushed most requirements, but one that took a while, was the training of finesse, of flexibility and of precision. Why they needed that, Rane did not know, and it angered him. Eventually he got to a point where he let out a roar of vexation, and demanded that he met the leader of this bunch, for he wished to smash the man's face in for making him go through such a pointless and offensive chore.

Expecting someone of great stature and strength, Rane was surprised when the girl who had patched them up appeared, citing that she was the leader. She was over a foot smaller than he was, and totted a name he had never heard before, nor was confident he could pronounce. This 'Mirja Eeola' asked him what his problem was, and his honour clashed with his fury. He would have no problem knocking the teeth out of a large man, but this girl had helped them when they were wounded, bleeding, and half conscious. Plus she was so small he worried that she would break if he hit her. So he merely voiced his vexation, to which she nodded and led him to a pit, away from the rest of the encampment, but still enclosed by the walls. Climbing into the pit, she took off her top and looked towards Rane with the same soft smile that she had given while patching them up. Rane followed suit, taking off his jacket, but was stopped by a man before getting in. This man suggested that he wear some stupid thick leather vest, as if there was any man here that could hurt him. He rejected the vest hotly, and jumped into the pit. The girl, Mirja, explained the rules. Two men with a grudge, or a need to vent steam without the risk of becoming dinner, would come here and fight with their fists until one man was unconscious, or gave up. Rane scoffed, looming over the woman as they moved to the centre, gathering quite the crowd around the edge as they touched fists, knuckle-to-knuckle, and then began the fight.

Feeling that he had been grossly underestimated, he was going to make an example of the woman, and quickly lashed out with a powerful kick, fit to knock a grown man on his ass with it's monstrous connection. But the girl abruptly ducked, faster than anything he had ever seen, and her hand connected with his side, specifically the area of the rib-cage. The grotesque sound of bone snapping filled the arena, more than the normal human due to the Shek's biology of having some external bone-plates. Rane could only collapse in shock and pain, breathless and light-headed from the sudden blow. It was like she had thunder in her fists, and each connection was a clap of catastrophe, Never would he have thought that he would lose this fight, let alone be crippled with a single punch from a small, slender woman. The natural armour that all Shek possessed went a long way to absorb impact and soften blows, allowing them to fight longer and harder, but it availed him nothing as the tiny woman put a foot on his throat, and gave him the same soft smile as she always had. Polite and soft, she asked him to yield. Normally, Rane would never do such a thing, but this woman was no human. She could not be stood against, nor endured. So he did what no Shek warrior would under normal circumstances, and he yielded. These, were not normal circumstances.

His Shek companions looked at him with a strange look, almost wanting to judge him for surrendering, but knowing they would have done the same without a doubt. His rib cage and external plates were seen to by Mirja, and then he was prescribed bed rest until he had recovered. It was a humiliation unlike any he had felt in his entire life, but he was going to learn from it. His ego got him into a position where he could have easily died, was that the lesson of this? His days of recovery were spent in contemplation, and when he was finally ready to return to being active, he took to all the training he was given with the confidence and pride of a Shek warrior, and without a word of complaint.

When it was over, Rane felt better than he had in a long time. They may have been small people to his eyes, but they seemed to really know how to train a man to his peak. He was then brought a suit of heavy plate armour. It was strapped up onto a strange contraction, and he was given a pair of leather gloves, glazed with a thin layer of steel, before being invited to punch the armour as hard as he could muster. Feeling his muscles raging with energy and power, he thrust his fist forward with a loud clang as metal hit metal. The chest buckled inwards, but only in a way that would be decidedly uncomfortable for the wearer, it would not crush anything, and all in all could be considered a very well made piece of armour. The smith didn't think so however, as he shook his head and took it down, vanishing for a day and leaving the Shek to do as they willed. Rane decided to practice humility, and so spent the day helping a couple of men cart raw iron from the mine to the processor. It was boring, tedious work, but he found a degree of satisfaction that, at the end of the day, the lumps of iron he had carried, were now gleaming blades from the smithy.

The following morning, the Shek were given some money, and asked to provide protection to a small group of people heading to the nearby city. To this purpose, they were given large, intimidating blades that he recognized as the colloquially named 'Suicide Blades'. Thirty one kilos of sword, each one with an edge unlike any he had seen in the blades he had come across. Their swordsmith was a genius at his craft, as well he should be, as he was told he had been working fanatically for a month, passing out nearly a thousand blades in his pursuit of perfection. It got to such a point the surrounding markets were saturated with swords and they could no longer sell them off, so simply threw them into a furnace and melted them back down to the raw materials. But for a blade like this, such effort was worth the time spent. The need for the training in manual dexterity came painfully obvious, as this was no sword to be wielded simply by strength alone. While The Plank, and the Fragment Axe could be swung like a brute, this was a weapon that demanded greatness, and without it, you were more liable to slice yourself to pieces than the enemy. Accepting the blade, him and his comrades set out, fortunately not running into anything that could be considered trouble.

While in the town of World's End, they were allowed to go to the bar while the small convoy shopped, and they took this opportunity with gusto. While the food was edible and plentiful, the outpost he now lived in did not spare any space for the production of grog, sake, or rum. And so today, he was going to indulge. Keeping in mind that he had to get back, so he was not going to get too drunk. Just enough to make up for all the time he had lost while in the outpost.