The air was stale and heavy in the cell. It reeked of moss and wet bones. He twisted his hands and felt the ropes cutting into his skin. They snaked from his wrists, around his chest, and across his back and shoulders. They were wrapped around his ankles and wound so that, when he tried to straighten his back, they constricted, tearing at his joints. He tested his bonds gingerly, and looked around. From his kneeling position he could only view the cobbled floor of his cell. The sound of water dripping tickled his ears. The dim torchlight from the corridor made seeing anything beyond the bars difficult.
He sighed and steadied his breath carefully. He let his heartbeat even out and let go a long exhale. He then breathed in sharply and flexed. The muscles of his chest and back strained against the rotten cords. They stretched and creaked, but held. He repeated his breathing and tried again. The damp ties could not stand the onslaught of force and snapped. His joints cracked and popped as he got to his feet. He took another look around his windowless cell. Molded stonework surrounded him; a sealed chamber with heavy bars shut tight. A water-logged bedroll lay in the far corner of the room, and other than that the room was largely unfurnished.
He placed his hands on the bars. Cold iron, roughly wrought, met his touch. A heavy lock held the door fast and was frozen in place with rust. He centered his feet with the door, tightened his grip and pulled. The bars groaned and bowed. The muscles of his arms and back bulged with the effort as he tried to pull the door free. Sweat beaded on his ruddy, handsome face, and dripped from his smoky gray hair which was spiked in the front in a choppy crew-cut. He blinked sweat out of his icy blue eyes. His finely tanned skin began to flush, making his many scars and tribal tattoos stand out. The scars where silvery and well healed, and criss-crossed his body like a tiger's stripes. His shoulders, upper back, and left arm were wound with ornate tattoos of stripes and tribal symbols. The rough leather pants he wore hid the stout legs above his bare feet. He clenched his teeth and pulled hard, but he was still weak. He released his hold and leaned on the bars.
It wasn't long before he heard footsteps down the tunnel. Before he knew what was happening, a trio of large dark shapes filled the hallway. Iron keys rattled as the lock was twisted open with a loud clank and the door shrieked as it swung open and he was grabbed harshly and drug from the cell.
“Make sure he can't get loose this time” he heard a gruff voice say as his hands were cuffed behind his back.
A burlap hood was pulled over his head and he twisted against the strong hands gripping him. He was drug in darkness, felt cold dirt and stone beneath his feet, and finally up a flight of stone steps and thrown down on a smooth stone floor. His head smacked hard against the rock, drawing blood.
“Gah! Dammit!” he yelled.
He rolled to his knees and shook the hood off his head so he could look around. He was in a large, open throne room. The space was made of finely shaped stonework, and simply, yet tastefully decorated. Tapestries bearing tribal shields adorned the walls. Furs and pelts accented the handcrafted furniture. A large fire pit glowed behind him with a pair of massive cooking pots suspended over them, and two large dining tables sat on ether side. He noticed that he was surrounded by large, bulky shapes. Hairy arms swollen with muscle. Broad barrel chests with scars or tattoos. Big, rolling bellies hung over fur pants and kilts with leather belts. Here and there there where a few smaller shapes. Curvy, and full figured, yet muscular. But the faces gave it all away. Piggly, buck tusked faces on small heads with long, floppy ears and beady eyes.
“Ogres,” he said to himself, “So that means....”
He looked up at the hand carved throne. On it sat a tall, lean figure. His head was more human shaped, with black hair cut in a rough mullet. His belly was not round, but flat, and rippled with finely toned abs. The grey-green skin of his upper-body was stretched tight over broad shoulders and a thick chest. His legs where long, and lean, built for agility, and his powerful arms ended in big, clawed hands that could crush rock. His face bore a properly shaped nose and eyes, but the tell-tale tusks still extended up through his lips from his lower jaw.
“Grumhold.”, he said to himself.
The big ogre gave a small chuckle. “The great Elen Galad. I must say, seeing you trapped and helpless; beaten and tossed at my feet like a dog, is a bit surprising. I expected more...fire, from you.”
Elen got to his feet and cracked his neck. “Humility is a virtue,” he said.
“Though not one of yours if I am told the truth.” Grumhold smirked as he spoke. He got up from his seat and stepped close to Elen. At six foot six, Elen was no slouch. Yet Grumhold stood a full foot and a half taller, allowing him to look down on Elen. The monster was so close Elen could smell blood and mead on his breath.
“I'm more the type for taking virtues, rather than honoring them,” he said.
“So I have heard,” said Grumhold, “Though it is not your skill of seperating souls from their virtue that I'm interested in. Rather, I find myself more concerned with your skill at separating bodies from their very souls.”
Grumhold stepped back and lifted a large tankard and began to chug from it, frothy mead trickling down from his mouth to drip from his chin. Elen tried to keep his mind of how thirsty he was.
“And here I thought you just wanted to have me over an toss back a few,” he said.
Grumhold wiped his mouth and squeezed the tankard in his hand, crushing the metal drinking vessel like it was made of paper.
“I care not for pointless words, traveler,” he growled at Elen
“Could'a fooled me. That's all that seems to come out of your mouth,” he replied.
Grumhold suddenly turned and raked the back of his hand across Elen's face. Elen's head twisted and he had to shuffle his feet to keep from falling over. “Ok,” he said, his voice like the teeth of a saw, “You have my attention.”
“Good,” Grumhold replied. “I would hate to have to hurt you. I need you at full strength for tomorrow. All these years I've heard the stories of The White Bard. Of how he cannot be killed, not by man nor demon. How he slays giants and bests dragons. How he puts entire armies to the sword, alone. How his strength is unmatched, his skill forged in fire, his will like iron. Being a ruler is the most boring thing I have ever had to endure, but worse still, there is not a soul I have come across who can offer me the challenge I so desire. None who have the strength to put my power to the test. To push me to the limit. You, however, if the stories are true, can. You will be the greatest test of my life. You and I shall meet on the field of battle, no weapons, no magic. Just your might against mine. Muscle to muscle, and only the strongest will stand. It will be a battle of the ages, to the death.”
Elen stood up and spat at Grumhold's feet. He looked his captor in the eye, not showing an ounce of fear. “You that anxious to die big boy?”
Grumhold met Elen's gaze with the same fearless pride. “I relish the possibility,” he said.
He snapped his fingers and Elen was grabbed again. He turned and went to his throne where he sat down. As he did, two of his wives came and sat in his lap, pawing him and licking his chest.
“Show our guest to his accommodations. Make sure he has everything he needs and is taken care of. If he is not ready for the contest by tomorrow, or is disturbed or neglected in any manor, I will personally deal with who ever is responsible. Go.” He waved the guards off and they led Elen out of the throne room. They took him into the castle and led him to a large, comfortable room. The furniture was the same hand crafted wood, and the bed was large and covered in fine furs. A big window looked out over the plains just outside the city walls.
The guards left Elen after removing his restraints. They locked the door from the outside and Elen looked around the room. The window was thick glass with iron work inside. It was sealed in the opening with resin and did not open. Elen knew he could easily smash his way out through it when he regained his full strength. Just as the thought entered his head, he heard a voice behind him.
“Leaving so soon? That's not a good idea.” Elen turned as a man stepped out from behind the wardrobe. He wore silver armor with flowing fabrics and sashes on it. His sword hung loosely at his side and his golden hair flowed with the skirt he wore. His wings were folded neatly behind him and he glowed so brightly Elen had to shield his eyes for a moment.
Elen sighed. “Damit Azriel. Don't you have anything better to do?” he said. The angel walked over and felt the blankets on the bed.
“Keeping an eye on you is not a hobby Elen. He knows I don't enjoy following you around.” he replied.
“So take a holiday. Isn't J.C.'s birthday coming up soon?”
“That kind of blasphemous attitude is what got you in this situation in the first place. He is already furious with you because of that last calamity you caused.”
“That a*****e deserved it”
“Elen!”
Elen sighed and looked away.
“Fine...your right. I'm sorry. So, what does he want from me this time?”
“Grumhold must die.” Azriel said.
“Big surprise there,” said Elen, “I hear he's been running over kingdoms all over the rim.”
“Thats not why he has earned his fate. He has been demanding that his people, and those he conquers, worship him as a god. He believes he is without equal on the mortal plain and that because of his strength, he deserves to be given divine dominion. He follows the ancient ogre teachings that, if he proves worthy, he will be made a god of war. He insults God's sovereignty, and defies the will of the almighty, choosing to lead his people to destruction.”
Elen looked out the window. The red sun was beginning to sink below the planet's southeastern horizon. He felt the warm light on his face. It could never compare to the precious few moments from when he glimpsed the Almighty. He could still hear the voice of God thunder in his head. He had never felt so close to anything before, and every age he spent in his earthly body, separated from that glory, tortured him.
These things weighed on him as he turned to the angel
“I'm no more than a man Azriel,” he said.
“So you continue to remind me.”
Elen looked down at the floor.
“What if I'm not up to it?” he asked.
“Then keep trying. Your stubbornness may be annoying but it's always been your greatest weapon.”
As he said this, Azriel faded away and Elen was once again left alone. He looked in the wardrobe and saw an outfit had been left for him, but it was obviously not the one Grumhold intended for him. He closed the wardrobe and he looked down at his large hands. He clenched them into rock hard fists. The muscle in his forearms flexed. His skin was thick and leathery. He looked the same as he always had, but his body was hardened and his skin clung tight to the thick muscle. He closed his eyes and silently tried his hardest to listen. He tried to feel the air around him, and the breath within him. He waited until he felt the stillness enter him. It flowed through him and he felt like a fire burning in him was quenched, it's heat leaving him. He knew at once his prayer was answered. He felt the anger in him die and he breathed easily as it was replaced by a warm light. It glowed bright, filling his body with energy, compelling him to move.
He shifted his weight as his feet slid on the smooth stone. His arms followed the motions that had been etched into his muscle over the years. His body flowed through the stances, shifting easily through every style of hand-to-hand combat ever developed by man that he had mastered. He moved through them all until the distinctions dissipated. They melded into his soul and his body moved by instinct. It reacted by nature, the attack and defense flowing from within, a completely unique form that combined the four elements into a dance of skill and strength. Earth, his body. Strength and solidity. His bones hardened and sturdy, his stance grounded and his feet set like stone. His muscle forged like iron, but moving deliberately. No wasted motion. Power, controlled and focused. Air his defense. His mind removed and his body running on reflex. Moving and shifting, everywhere and nowhere all at once. You could swing at it all you want, but he would not be there, until he was. Just as the wind flowed through the hills, he would dodge, redirect, deflect and move all around. Water, his offense. He flowed, rose, fell, ebbed and swelled. His blows rolled and hit like waves, crashing on the rocks, sending the force through and into the target. His fists would slam into flesh like a river breaking through a dam. He would use the weight of his body, his entire being, to hit with the force of a tidal wave. And finally, Fire, his spirit. It burned in his heart, put heat in his belly and gave his movements energy and purpose. It flowed through his veins, boiling his blood and adding fury to his fists and feet.
He stopped as the door to his room was unlocked and opened. A lovely young girl was pushed into the room by the big guard. “Do as your told. Make sure he's taken care of, or you'll get worse than no food for a week,” he growled. She cringed as he slammed and locked the door. She was a small, tender thing. She had long, shapely legs, flowing wheat colored hair, and her blue dress hung snugly on her curvy frame. She looked up at Elen, pure terror in her emerald eyes. She tried to remain calm, but he could tell she was loosing it. There was no telling what horrors she had endured at the hands of those animals. Elen's heart ached for her as she came a little closer.
“My lord, my name is Maria. I am your loyal and humble servant. P-please. Tell m-me what you require. B-Be gentl-” She lost control and fell to her knees as tears fell from her eyes. She tried to hide her face as she sobbed. She tried to hold back the tears and speak.
“P-please forg-give me m-m-master...” She suddenly felt a strong hand lifting gently to her feet. She looked up at Elen through tears as he helped her stand up. She tensed a bit at his touch, but she quickly relaxed. He moved deliberately, no sudden gestures. Like how her father moved so that he would not frighten birds or animals in the woods near their home. He did not shout at her, he did not hit her like she expected him to, like all her previous masters had when she made a mistake. His touch was gentle, and loving. She saw compassion in his eyes, not anger or contempt. He set her on her feet and wiped the tears from her eyes. She barely came up to his chest and his hand was so big it could go almost around her whole head. She looked and saw the scars and tattoos on him. She became afraid, slowly backing away from him. But he did not pursue her. He stayed where he was. His hands, so strong they could bend iron, stayed at his side. He didn't threaten to grab her or strike her. He simply turned from her and sat on the bed.
She stood there for a moment, then eventually went to his side and keeled. She sat there on her knees until he finally said something.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She looked up at him, fearful again. “Awaiting your command my lord,” she said, and quickly dropped her gaze, not wanting to meet his eyes.
“I don't need anything. You can relax. I won't hurt you.” His voice was deep and dark. Like thunder rolling in black clouds behind the mountains. She looked up at him again, and saw the honesty on his face. He felt her pain.
She got up quickly. “Surly my master would enjoy a bath, and some clean clothes. I'll draw water for you.” She went into the basin room and used a bucket to draw heated water from a small well that ran down into a natural hot spring beneath the castle. She made sure the water was just right and she seasoned it with herbs, and spices, and warm soap. She came back out and bowed. “Your bath is ready.”
Elen looked at her for a second, then got up and walked into the basin room. “Thanks,” he said as he passed her. She blushed and stayed still as she listened to the sound of him climbing into the water. After a while, he came back out, a fur wrapped around him. The grime and mud from the dungeon was washed from him and his body glowed slightly, his silver hair shining in the lamp light. She handed him a shirt and pants and turned away from him as he changed. He put the clothes on and went over to the bed. He pulled some of the blankets and a pillow off and set them on the floor.
“Um...what are doing, sir?” she asked.
“You can have the bed,” he told her.
“But...don't you want....you know....company?...It's what I'm here for.....”
Elen turned to her. “I don't know if that's a good idea.”
“I'm sorry, that was improper of me,” she said.
“It's alright,” said Elen, “Now if you don't mind, I need to get some sleep.” He laid down on the blankets and rested his head on the pillow. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He rolled over to see a Maria's pretty green eyes looking at him from where she sat on the side of the bed.
"What is it?" He asked in a tired voice. She nervously bit her lip and played with her hands. She looked down at him a familiar sparkle in her eye.
"My lord, isn't it a custom for earth warriors to have a woman before they go into battle? Since it is possible that they may not return." As she spoke a light flush touched her cheeks, and she had a hard time looking him in the eye.
Elen knew where this was going, and he gave the heavy sigh. He let his eyes follow this gentle curve of her body, admiring how her dress accentuated her lovely features. His mind tried to speak reason; tried to replace his boyish desires with thoughts of his duty. Yet try as he might he felt the familiar heat in the pit of his stomach, felt the familiar urge to reach for her.
"Well, I suppose I can argue with tradition," he said.
@
Elen blinked awake as the sun slipped into the window of the room. He got up and stretched his back. He looked over and saw that Maria was still asleep, so he quietly opened the wardrobe and got dressed. Azriel had left him a pair of leather pants, with thick patches on the knees, large boots that laced up to just below his knee, a tight fitting shirt with no sleeves, a black leather vest, and leather gloves with no fingers on them. He was just finishing the laces on the gloves when he heard Maria yawn. She swung her legs over the bed, and when she noticed him, she yelped.
“Oh no!” she shouted, “We have to get you to the arena, quickly!” She went to the wardrobe and threw on a clean dress before Elen could say anything. She grabbed his hand and banged on the door. As soon as it opened, she was desperately trying to pull him down the hallway and out the doors of the palace. They made their way down the streets of the stone city to a massive coliseum. Elen could hear roars and shouts coming from the structure as the sun climbed ever higher in the sky. She pulled him into an archway and led him to an iron gate that opened onto the arena floor. She ran off as the crowd suddenly quieted. A voice rang out into the stands as Elen looked through the bars to see his opponent standing in the center, wearing a long fur robe over his shoulders that covered his body. The arena was a wide oval of red, dusty dirt with a few crumbling stone walls and wood structures dotted about, apparently meant for staging battles.
“Good people!” the announcement said, “Welcome ogres and elves, humans and orcs, living creatures from all parts of the galaxy! Today you shall witness a spectacle the likes of which has never before, and never shall be seen again. A battle to the death, where the use of weapons and magic will be strictly prohibited! A test of muscle! A challenge of might, where only the strongest will survive!! Introducing first, his holy majesty, your emperor, god and sovereign ruler, Grumhold! King of the Ogres!!!”
The crowds roared, mixed cheering and jeering. Eventually, the negative sounds ether faded or where snuffed completely.
“And his opponent, from planet Earth! He is the White Bard, the Red Terror, the man who cannot be killed!! He has faced dragons, demons, and laid waist to entire kingdoms, but never has he faced an opponent such as this!! Here he is, Elen Galad!!!”
Elen stepped through the gate as it lowered. The crowds booed and jeered as he made his way to the center of the dusty arena floor. He stopped when he stood directly across from Grumhold. The ogre reached up and unclasped his robe. It fell to his feet, and he stretched his arms. He was shirtless, his hairy chest and arms rippled with rock hard muscle. He wore a fur kilt with sandals on his clawed feet. His hands where wrapped in cloth.
A rock suddenly flew out of the crowd as Elen removed his own vest and shirt. Quick as a flash, Elen's hand shot up and caught the fist sized stone. He flexed his own muscular body and his hand squeezed the rock till it crumbled into gravel. Grumhold smirked and cracked his neck and knuckles. “Ready to face my power, Elen Galad?”
“You wouldn't know real power if it came up an bit your green a**.” Elen said as he stood defiantly facing his adversary
Grumhold snarled. He began to say something but he was cut off as Elen plowed into him with a vicious drop kick. His great body bowed as he was thrown back. Elen pressed his attack, stepping in and drilling Grumhold's midsection with a combo of uppercuts, keeping the beast off balance. He brought his hands together and sent the ogre to the ground with a hammer blow. He swung his leg for a kick but Grumhold swatted it aside. Elen was blasted back by a palm strike to his chest as Grumhold rose to his feet. He dug his heels in and ground to a halt just in time to block a vicious kick sweeping for his head. He parried Grumhold's shin away and shot a punch into his gut. Grumhold let out a grunt as Elen dropped and swung his leg in a low ark, aiming to sweep the monster's feet out from under him. Instead, Grumhold hopped and drilled his heel hard into Elen's face, sending him tumbling away, churning up dirt as the crowd cheered. Elen scrambled to his feet just in time to catch Grumhold's fist in the face. Elen felt his nose break and felt warm blood spew out of his face as his teeth rattled in his skull. He shook his head and wiped blood from his dripping mouth. Grumhold gave a sadistic grin as he charged in again. He swung another heavy fist at Elen's head but Elen slipped the blow and drilled his knee into Grumhold's thigh, causing him to stumble. Elen drove Grumhold down to one knee with a blow to his ribs. He drew back and plowed his fist into the ogre's face, sending him flying. He came down with a low boom as his body demolished a wall.
Grumhold stood, shoving the rubble off of himself and looked towards Elen with a touch of surprise, which quickly turned to boiling anger. Elen simply spat a glob of gore into the dirt and set his feet into a stance.
Grumhold roared and charged. He and Elen exchanged a quick flurry of blows, blocking and punching with meaty thuds as their bones collided. Elen ducked under a kick and tackled Grunhold around the waist, plowing him to the dirt. Grumhold shoved him off as he got up but Elen slipped behind him and grabbed him around the waist again. He heaved and lifted the ogre king over his head, flipping backwards and slamming him to the ground in a suplex that shook the stands. Floating dust was swept away on the shock wave as Elen got up and jumped into a front flip, his foot slamming down into Grumhold's belly with the full weight of his body behind it. He grabbed the monster by his hair and lifted him over his head. He threw Grumhold into the post of one of the old wooden platforms. His back hit it with a thud and he bounced off of it a bit before Elen slammed into him, tackling him through the beam, snapping it in half and sending the whole structure crashing down on top of them. The crowd watched as the dust floated around the pile of wreckage. Suddenly, Elen flew out of the heap and landed on the hard dirt with a boom. Grumhold leaped into the air and came down, driving his feet into Elen's chest. Elen let out a loud groan as his body made a crater in the dirt. Grumhold lifted him by the neck and slammed him into the ground several times like a sack of wheat, then kicked him away, breaking two of Elen's ribs with the solid arch of his foot. Elen came to his feet and held his side, a large bruise spreading there. He gritted his teeth and caught Grumhold's wrist as his hand came toward him. He caught the other fist and the ground shook as they struggled there, pushing against one another. Grumhold's rage burned in his eyes as Elen matched him, push for shove. But Elen suddenly flinched as blood spurted from the bruise on his side, his broken ribs shifting under his muscle, sending a sharp spike of pain up through his body.
Grimhold saw his opening and brought his knee up into Elen's stomach. Elen doubled over and puked blood, his body shaking with ragged coughs. Grumhold backhanded him to the ground and drug him to his feet only to slam his forehead into his face. Blood streamed from Elen's nose and mouth as Grumhold threw him trough a stone wall. To Grumhold's amazement, Elen shoved rubble off himself and stood, staggering only slightly. He closed the distance and they exchanged in a savage whirlwind of fists and feet, Grumhold driven by frustration, and Elen so beaten and exhausted, his body moved on it's own.
Grumhold finaly got a fist past Elen's forearms and caught him on the jaw, sending a few teeth flying out with a splatter of blood. Elen dropped to his knee, but he still managed to catch Grumhold's foot and swat it aside, slamming into him with a counter attack of punches that made the ogre king stumble back, holding his belly and sneering with bemused anger. He shot his hand out and sent Elen to the ground again as the crowd flinched audibly from the force of the blow. Elen stirred, wallowing in the dirt, trying to find his feet. As he began to stand, Gromhold kicked him, causing him to roll onto his back. Grumhold stomped on Elen's chest, making his eyes fly open wide and he gasped as the wind was driven from his lungs and his rib cage fractured with a wet, meaty crunch.
“That's right. In the dirt where you belong,” said Grumhold. He reached down and picked Elen up by the throat, holding him off the ground with one arm. Blood ran like tiny rivers from Elen's ribs, face, and countless cuts to pool on the ground beneath him. Grumhold drew his fist back and drove it into Elen's body, causing more blood to spew from his mouth. He grabbed Elen's forearms and squeezed, grinning as the bones crunched under his grip and Elen let out a howl of pain. He dropped Elen again, watching as he crumbled to the dirt. But, when Elen began to find his feet, Grumhold's smile turned to a scowl and he stomped at Elen's leg, causing his knee to break with a loud crack. He snapped the bones in Elen's opposite leg as well, crushing his shin and ankle. Elen lay there at his feet in a broken and bloody heap as the crowd looked on with shocked silence. To everyone's amazement, Elen began to stir and tried to stand again. As he fell forward on his shattered legs, Grumhold grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him up to his eye level.
“You are beaten Galad!” he roared “Submit and die like the dog you are!”
Elen simply looked him in the eye, not a trace of fear or regret on his face. Just juvenile defiance.
“You...gonna.....talk all..day...or you...gonna..finish it?” he gasped. Having said his piece he spat a glob of blood in Grumhold's face. The Ogre King shook with livid rage and seized Elen by the throat. He squeezed and crushed Elen's neck before dropping him to the ground once more. He knelt on top of Elen and began savagely slamming his fists into his body, causing blood to fountain up in spurts and splatters with each impact. The ground around them shook with every blow and hot, sanguine liquid freckled Grumhold's face, then splashed on him until he finally brought his fists to a stop. He stood, his face, chest and hands dripping red. Elen's broken body lay at his feet, barely recognizable.
@
Not since their last champion, Orgbold Stone Bones was laid to rest had their been such a hero's funeral. Grumhold himself walked before the iron casket, it's lid riveted shut, as four pallbearers hefted it's weight behind him. Grumhold stood stoically, his ceremonial cape and kilt shifting slightly in the warm breeze of the day as the sepulcher was placed in a divot that had been cut into it's stone base, allowing it to stand at a bit of an angle inside the stone mausoleum that had been constructed for it in the Field of Fallen. There, surrounded by countless markers and crypts housing slain ogre heroes, Flowers were burned, hallucinogenic gasses were released and breathed, and ogre shamans led the people in the sacred and timeless chants of burial right. Those who were not ogres watched from afar as Elen was put to rest and recognized as a worthy and honorable warrior. Among the mourners, Maria could barely stay on her feet as the weight of her grief matched that of her slavery.
He sighed and steadied his breath carefully. He let his heartbeat even out and let go a long exhale. He then breathed in sharply and flexed. The muscles of his chest and back strained against the rotten cords. They stretched and creaked, but held. He repeated his breathing and tried again. The damp ties could not stand the onslaught of force and snapped. His joints cracked and popped as he got to his feet. He took another look around his windowless cell. Molded stonework surrounded him; a sealed chamber with heavy bars shut tight. A water-logged bedroll lay in the far corner of the room, and other than that the room was largely unfurnished.
He placed his hands on the bars. Cold iron, roughly wrought, met his touch. A heavy lock held the door fast and was frozen in place with rust. He centered his feet with the door, tightened his grip and pulled. The bars groaned and bowed. The muscles of his arms and back bulged with the effort as he tried to pull the door free. Sweat beaded on his ruddy, handsome face, and dripped from his smoky gray hair which was spiked in the front in a choppy crew-cut. He blinked sweat out of his icy blue eyes. His finely tanned skin began to flush, making his many scars and tribal tattoos stand out. The scars where silvery and well healed, and criss-crossed his body like a tiger's stripes. His shoulders, upper back, and left arm were wound with ornate tattoos of stripes and tribal symbols. The rough leather pants he wore hid the stout legs above his bare feet. He clenched his teeth and pulled hard, but he was still weak. He released his hold and leaned on the bars.
It wasn't long before he heard footsteps down the tunnel. Before he knew what was happening, a trio of large dark shapes filled the hallway. Iron keys rattled as the lock was twisted open with a loud clank and the door shrieked as it swung open and he was grabbed harshly and drug from the cell.
“Make sure he can't get loose this time” he heard a gruff voice say as his hands were cuffed behind his back.
A burlap hood was pulled over his head and he twisted against the strong hands gripping him. He was drug in darkness, felt cold dirt and stone beneath his feet, and finally up a flight of stone steps and thrown down on a smooth stone floor. His head smacked hard against the rock, drawing blood.
“Gah! Dammit!” he yelled.
He rolled to his knees and shook the hood off his head so he could look around. He was in a large, open throne room. The space was made of finely shaped stonework, and simply, yet tastefully decorated. Tapestries bearing tribal shields adorned the walls. Furs and pelts accented the handcrafted furniture. A large fire pit glowed behind him with a pair of massive cooking pots suspended over them, and two large dining tables sat on ether side. He noticed that he was surrounded by large, bulky shapes. Hairy arms swollen with muscle. Broad barrel chests with scars or tattoos. Big, rolling bellies hung over fur pants and kilts with leather belts. Here and there there where a few smaller shapes. Curvy, and full figured, yet muscular. But the faces gave it all away. Piggly, buck tusked faces on small heads with long, floppy ears and beady eyes.
“Ogres,” he said to himself, “So that means....”
He looked up at the hand carved throne. On it sat a tall, lean figure. His head was more human shaped, with black hair cut in a rough mullet. His belly was not round, but flat, and rippled with finely toned abs. The grey-green skin of his upper-body was stretched tight over broad shoulders and a thick chest. His legs where long, and lean, built for agility, and his powerful arms ended in big, clawed hands that could crush rock. His face bore a properly shaped nose and eyes, but the tell-tale tusks still extended up through his lips from his lower jaw.
“Grumhold.”, he said to himself.
The big ogre gave a small chuckle. “The great Elen Galad. I must say, seeing you trapped and helpless; beaten and tossed at my feet like a dog, is a bit surprising. I expected more...fire, from you.”
Elen got to his feet and cracked his neck. “Humility is a virtue,” he said.
“Though not one of yours if I am told the truth.” Grumhold smirked as he spoke. He got up from his seat and stepped close to Elen. At six foot six, Elen was no slouch. Yet Grumhold stood a full foot and a half taller, allowing him to look down on Elen. The monster was so close Elen could smell blood and mead on his breath.
“I'm more the type for taking virtues, rather than honoring them,” he said.
“So I have heard,” said Grumhold, “Though it is not your skill of seperating souls from their virtue that I'm interested in. Rather, I find myself more concerned with your skill at separating bodies from their very souls.”
Grumhold stepped back and lifted a large tankard and began to chug from it, frothy mead trickling down from his mouth to drip from his chin. Elen tried to keep his mind of how thirsty he was.
“And here I thought you just wanted to have me over an toss back a few,” he said.
Grumhold wiped his mouth and squeezed the tankard in his hand, crushing the metal drinking vessel like it was made of paper.
“I care not for pointless words, traveler,” he growled at Elen
“Could'a fooled me. That's all that seems to come out of your mouth,” he replied.
Grumhold suddenly turned and raked the back of his hand across Elen's face. Elen's head twisted and he had to shuffle his feet to keep from falling over. “Ok,” he said, his voice like the teeth of a saw, “You have my attention.”
“Good,” Grumhold replied. “I would hate to have to hurt you. I need you at full strength for tomorrow. All these years I've heard the stories of The White Bard. Of how he cannot be killed, not by man nor demon. How he slays giants and bests dragons. How he puts entire armies to the sword, alone. How his strength is unmatched, his skill forged in fire, his will like iron. Being a ruler is the most boring thing I have ever had to endure, but worse still, there is not a soul I have come across who can offer me the challenge I so desire. None who have the strength to put my power to the test. To push me to the limit. You, however, if the stories are true, can. You will be the greatest test of my life. You and I shall meet on the field of battle, no weapons, no magic. Just your might against mine. Muscle to muscle, and only the strongest will stand. It will be a battle of the ages, to the death.”
Elen stood up and spat at Grumhold's feet. He looked his captor in the eye, not showing an ounce of fear. “You that anxious to die big boy?”
Grumhold met Elen's gaze with the same fearless pride. “I relish the possibility,” he said.
He snapped his fingers and Elen was grabbed again. He turned and went to his throne where he sat down. As he did, two of his wives came and sat in his lap, pawing him and licking his chest.
“Show our guest to his accommodations. Make sure he has everything he needs and is taken care of. If he is not ready for the contest by tomorrow, or is disturbed or neglected in any manor, I will personally deal with who ever is responsible. Go.” He waved the guards off and they led Elen out of the throne room. They took him into the castle and led him to a large, comfortable room. The furniture was the same hand crafted wood, and the bed was large and covered in fine furs. A big window looked out over the plains just outside the city walls.
The guards left Elen after removing his restraints. They locked the door from the outside and Elen looked around the room. The window was thick glass with iron work inside. It was sealed in the opening with resin and did not open. Elen knew he could easily smash his way out through it when he regained his full strength. Just as the thought entered his head, he heard a voice behind him.
“Leaving so soon? That's not a good idea.” Elen turned as a man stepped out from behind the wardrobe. He wore silver armor with flowing fabrics and sashes on it. His sword hung loosely at his side and his golden hair flowed with the skirt he wore. His wings were folded neatly behind him and he glowed so brightly Elen had to shield his eyes for a moment.
Elen sighed. “Damit Azriel. Don't you have anything better to do?” he said. The angel walked over and felt the blankets on the bed.
“Keeping an eye on you is not a hobby Elen. He knows I don't enjoy following you around.” he replied.
“So take a holiday. Isn't J.C.'s birthday coming up soon?”
“That kind of blasphemous attitude is what got you in this situation in the first place. He is already furious with you because of that last calamity you caused.”
“That a*****e deserved it”
“Elen!”
Elen sighed and looked away.
“Fine...your right. I'm sorry. So, what does he want from me this time?”
“Grumhold must die.” Azriel said.
“Big surprise there,” said Elen, “I hear he's been running over kingdoms all over the rim.”
“Thats not why he has earned his fate. He has been demanding that his people, and those he conquers, worship him as a god. He believes he is without equal on the mortal plain and that because of his strength, he deserves to be given divine dominion. He follows the ancient ogre teachings that, if he proves worthy, he will be made a god of war. He insults God's sovereignty, and defies the will of the almighty, choosing to lead his people to destruction.”
Elen looked out the window. The red sun was beginning to sink below the planet's southeastern horizon. He felt the warm light on his face. It could never compare to the precious few moments from when he glimpsed the Almighty. He could still hear the voice of God thunder in his head. He had never felt so close to anything before, and every age he spent in his earthly body, separated from that glory, tortured him.
These things weighed on him as he turned to the angel
“I'm no more than a man Azriel,” he said.
“So you continue to remind me.”
Elen looked down at the floor.
“What if I'm not up to it?” he asked.
“Then keep trying. Your stubbornness may be annoying but it's always been your greatest weapon.”
As he said this, Azriel faded away and Elen was once again left alone. He looked in the wardrobe and saw an outfit had been left for him, but it was obviously not the one Grumhold intended for him. He closed the wardrobe and he looked down at his large hands. He clenched them into rock hard fists. The muscle in his forearms flexed. His skin was thick and leathery. He looked the same as he always had, but his body was hardened and his skin clung tight to the thick muscle. He closed his eyes and silently tried his hardest to listen. He tried to feel the air around him, and the breath within him. He waited until he felt the stillness enter him. It flowed through him and he felt like a fire burning in him was quenched, it's heat leaving him. He knew at once his prayer was answered. He felt the anger in him die and he breathed easily as it was replaced by a warm light. It glowed bright, filling his body with energy, compelling him to move.
He shifted his weight as his feet slid on the smooth stone. His arms followed the motions that had been etched into his muscle over the years. His body flowed through the stances, shifting easily through every style of hand-to-hand combat ever developed by man that he had mastered. He moved through them all until the distinctions dissipated. They melded into his soul and his body moved by instinct. It reacted by nature, the attack and defense flowing from within, a completely unique form that combined the four elements into a dance of skill and strength. Earth, his body. Strength and solidity. His bones hardened and sturdy, his stance grounded and his feet set like stone. His muscle forged like iron, but moving deliberately. No wasted motion. Power, controlled and focused. Air his defense. His mind removed and his body running on reflex. Moving and shifting, everywhere and nowhere all at once. You could swing at it all you want, but he would not be there, until he was. Just as the wind flowed through the hills, he would dodge, redirect, deflect and move all around. Water, his offense. He flowed, rose, fell, ebbed and swelled. His blows rolled and hit like waves, crashing on the rocks, sending the force through and into the target. His fists would slam into flesh like a river breaking through a dam. He would use the weight of his body, his entire being, to hit with the force of a tidal wave. And finally, Fire, his spirit. It burned in his heart, put heat in his belly and gave his movements energy and purpose. It flowed through his veins, boiling his blood and adding fury to his fists and feet.
He stopped as the door to his room was unlocked and opened. A lovely young girl was pushed into the room by the big guard. “Do as your told. Make sure he's taken care of, or you'll get worse than no food for a week,” he growled. She cringed as he slammed and locked the door. She was a small, tender thing. She had long, shapely legs, flowing wheat colored hair, and her blue dress hung snugly on her curvy frame. She looked up at Elen, pure terror in her emerald eyes. She tried to remain calm, but he could tell she was loosing it. There was no telling what horrors she had endured at the hands of those animals. Elen's heart ached for her as she came a little closer.
“My lord, my name is Maria. I am your loyal and humble servant. P-please. Tell m-me what you require. B-Be gentl-” She lost control and fell to her knees as tears fell from her eyes. She tried to hide her face as she sobbed. She tried to hold back the tears and speak.
“P-please forg-give me m-m-master...” She suddenly felt a strong hand lifting gently to her feet. She looked up at Elen through tears as he helped her stand up. She tensed a bit at his touch, but she quickly relaxed. He moved deliberately, no sudden gestures. Like how her father moved so that he would not frighten birds or animals in the woods near their home. He did not shout at her, he did not hit her like she expected him to, like all her previous masters had when she made a mistake. His touch was gentle, and loving. She saw compassion in his eyes, not anger or contempt. He set her on her feet and wiped the tears from her eyes. She barely came up to his chest and his hand was so big it could go almost around her whole head. She looked and saw the scars and tattoos on him. She became afraid, slowly backing away from him. But he did not pursue her. He stayed where he was. His hands, so strong they could bend iron, stayed at his side. He didn't threaten to grab her or strike her. He simply turned from her and sat on the bed.
She stood there for a moment, then eventually went to his side and keeled. She sat there on her knees until he finally said something.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
She looked up at him, fearful again. “Awaiting your command my lord,” she said, and quickly dropped her gaze, not wanting to meet his eyes.
“I don't need anything. You can relax. I won't hurt you.” His voice was deep and dark. Like thunder rolling in black clouds behind the mountains. She looked up at him again, and saw the honesty on his face. He felt her pain.
She got up quickly. “Surly my master would enjoy a bath, and some clean clothes. I'll draw water for you.” She went into the basin room and used a bucket to draw heated water from a small well that ran down into a natural hot spring beneath the castle. She made sure the water was just right and she seasoned it with herbs, and spices, and warm soap. She came back out and bowed. “Your bath is ready.”
Elen looked at her for a second, then got up and walked into the basin room. “Thanks,” he said as he passed her. She blushed and stayed still as she listened to the sound of him climbing into the water. After a while, he came back out, a fur wrapped around him. The grime and mud from the dungeon was washed from him and his body glowed slightly, his silver hair shining in the lamp light. She handed him a shirt and pants and turned away from him as he changed. He put the clothes on and went over to the bed. He pulled some of the blankets and a pillow off and set them on the floor.
“Um...what are doing, sir?” she asked.
“You can have the bed,” he told her.
“But...don't you want....you know....company?...It's what I'm here for.....”
Elen turned to her. “I don't know if that's a good idea.”
“I'm sorry, that was improper of me,” she said.
“It's alright,” said Elen, “Now if you don't mind, I need to get some sleep.” He laid down on the blankets and rested his head on the pillow. He felt a tap on his shoulder. He rolled over to see a Maria's pretty green eyes looking at him from where she sat on the side of the bed.
"What is it?" He asked in a tired voice. She nervously bit her lip and played with her hands. She looked down at him a familiar sparkle in her eye.
"My lord, isn't it a custom for earth warriors to have a woman before they go into battle? Since it is possible that they may not return." As she spoke a light flush touched her cheeks, and she had a hard time looking him in the eye.
Elen knew where this was going, and he gave the heavy sigh. He let his eyes follow this gentle curve of her body, admiring how her dress accentuated her lovely features. His mind tried to speak reason; tried to replace his boyish desires with thoughts of his duty. Yet try as he might he felt the familiar heat in the pit of his stomach, felt the familiar urge to reach for her.
"Well, I suppose I can argue with tradition," he said.
@
Elen blinked awake as the sun slipped into the window of the room. He got up and stretched his back. He looked over and saw that Maria was still asleep, so he quietly opened the wardrobe and got dressed. Azriel had left him a pair of leather pants, with thick patches on the knees, large boots that laced up to just below his knee, a tight fitting shirt with no sleeves, a black leather vest, and leather gloves with no fingers on them. He was just finishing the laces on the gloves when he heard Maria yawn. She swung her legs over the bed, and when she noticed him, she yelped.
“Oh no!” she shouted, “We have to get you to the arena, quickly!” She went to the wardrobe and threw on a clean dress before Elen could say anything. She grabbed his hand and banged on the door. As soon as it opened, she was desperately trying to pull him down the hallway and out the doors of the palace. They made their way down the streets of the stone city to a massive coliseum. Elen could hear roars and shouts coming from the structure as the sun climbed ever higher in the sky. She pulled him into an archway and led him to an iron gate that opened onto the arena floor. She ran off as the crowd suddenly quieted. A voice rang out into the stands as Elen looked through the bars to see his opponent standing in the center, wearing a long fur robe over his shoulders that covered his body. The arena was a wide oval of red, dusty dirt with a few crumbling stone walls and wood structures dotted about, apparently meant for staging battles.
“Good people!” the announcement said, “Welcome ogres and elves, humans and orcs, living creatures from all parts of the galaxy! Today you shall witness a spectacle the likes of which has never before, and never shall be seen again. A battle to the death, where the use of weapons and magic will be strictly prohibited! A test of muscle! A challenge of might, where only the strongest will survive!! Introducing first, his holy majesty, your emperor, god and sovereign ruler, Grumhold! King of the Ogres!!!”
The crowds roared, mixed cheering and jeering. Eventually, the negative sounds ether faded or where snuffed completely.
“And his opponent, from planet Earth! He is the White Bard, the Red Terror, the man who cannot be killed!! He has faced dragons, demons, and laid waist to entire kingdoms, but never has he faced an opponent such as this!! Here he is, Elen Galad!!!”
Elen stepped through the gate as it lowered. The crowds booed and jeered as he made his way to the center of the dusty arena floor. He stopped when he stood directly across from Grumhold. The ogre reached up and unclasped his robe. It fell to his feet, and he stretched his arms. He was shirtless, his hairy chest and arms rippled with rock hard muscle. He wore a fur kilt with sandals on his clawed feet. His hands where wrapped in cloth.
A rock suddenly flew out of the crowd as Elen removed his own vest and shirt. Quick as a flash, Elen's hand shot up and caught the fist sized stone. He flexed his own muscular body and his hand squeezed the rock till it crumbled into gravel. Grumhold smirked and cracked his neck and knuckles. “Ready to face my power, Elen Galad?”
“You wouldn't know real power if it came up an bit your green a**.” Elen said as he stood defiantly facing his adversary
Grumhold snarled. He began to say something but he was cut off as Elen plowed into him with a vicious drop kick. His great body bowed as he was thrown back. Elen pressed his attack, stepping in and drilling Grumhold's midsection with a combo of uppercuts, keeping the beast off balance. He brought his hands together and sent the ogre to the ground with a hammer blow. He swung his leg for a kick but Grumhold swatted it aside. Elen was blasted back by a palm strike to his chest as Grumhold rose to his feet. He dug his heels in and ground to a halt just in time to block a vicious kick sweeping for his head. He parried Grumhold's shin away and shot a punch into his gut. Grumhold let out a grunt as Elen dropped and swung his leg in a low ark, aiming to sweep the monster's feet out from under him. Instead, Grumhold hopped and drilled his heel hard into Elen's face, sending him tumbling away, churning up dirt as the crowd cheered. Elen scrambled to his feet just in time to catch Grumhold's fist in the face. Elen felt his nose break and felt warm blood spew out of his face as his teeth rattled in his skull. He shook his head and wiped blood from his dripping mouth. Grumhold gave a sadistic grin as he charged in again. He swung another heavy fist at Elen's head but Elen slipped the blow and drilled his knee into Grumhold's thigh, causing him to stumble. Elen drove Grumhold down to one knee with a blow to his ribs. He drew back and plowed his fist into the ogre's face, sending him flying. He came down with a low boom as his body demolished a wall.
Grumhold stood, shoving the rubble off of himself and looked towards Elen with a touch of surprise, which quickly turned to boiling anger. Elen simply spat a glob of gore into the dirt and set his feet into a stance.
Grumhold roared and charged. He and Elen exchanged a quick flurry of blows, blocking and punching with meaty thuds as their bones collided. Elen ducked under a kick and tackled Grunhold around the waist, plowing him to the dirt. Grumhold shoved him off as he got up but Elen slipped behind him and grabbed him around the waist again. He heaved and lifted the ogre king over his head, flipping backwards and slamming him to the ground in a suplex that shook the stands. Floating dust was swept away on the shock wave as Elen got up and jumped into a front flip, his foot slamming down into Grumhold's belly with the full weight of his body behind it. He grabbed the monster by his hair and lifted him over his head. He threw Grumhold into the post of one of the old wooden platforms. His back hit it with a thud and he bounced off of it a bit before Elen slammed into him, tackling him through the beam, snapping it in half and sending the whole structure crashing down on top of them. The crowd watched as the dust floated around the pile of wreckage. Suddenly, Elen flew out of the heap and landed on the hard dirt with a boom. Grumhold leaped into the air and came down, driving his feet into Elen's chest. Elen let out a loud groan as his body made a crater in the dirt. Grumhold lifted him by the neck and slammed him into the ground several times like a sack of wheat, then kicked him away, breaking two of Elen's ribs with the solid arch of his foot. Elen came to his feet and held his side, a large bruise spreading there. He gritted his teeth and caught Grumhold's wrist as his hand came toward him. He caught the other fist and the ground shook as they struggled there, pushing against one another. Grumhold's rage burned in his eyes as Elen matched him, push for shove. But Elen suddenly flinched as blood spurted from the bruise on his side, his broken ribs shifting under his muscle, sending a sharp spike of pain up through his body.
Grimhold saw his opening and brought his knee up into Elen's stomach. Elen doubled over and puked blood, his body shaking with ragged coughs. Grumhold backhanded him to the ground and drug him to his feet only to slam his forehead into his face. Blood streamed from Elen's nose and mouth as Grumhold threw him trough a stone wall. To Grumhold's amazement, Elen shoved rubble off himself and stood, staggering only slightly. He closed the distance and they exchanged in a savage whirlwind of fists and feet, Grumhold driven by frustration, and Elen so beaten and exhausted, his body moved on it's own.
Grumhold finaly got a fist past Elen's forearms and caught him on the jaw, sending a few teeth flying out with a splatter of blood. Elen dropped to his knee, but he still managed to catch Grumhold's foot and swat it aside, slamming into him with a counter attack of punches that made the ogre king stumble back, holding his belly and sneering with bemused anger. He shot his hand out and sent Elen to the ground again as the crowd flinched audibly from the force of the blow. Elen stirred, wallowing in the dirt, trying to find his feet. As he began to stand, Gromhold kicked him, causing him to roll onto his back. Grumhold stomped on Elen's chest, making his eyes fly open wide and he gasped as the wind was driven from his lungs and his rib cage fractured with a wet, meaty crunch.
“That's right. In the dirt where you belong,” said Grumhold. He reached down and picked Elen up by the throat, holding him off the ground with one arm. Blood ran like tiny rivers from Elen's ribs, face, and countless cuts to pool on the ground beneath him. Grumhold drew his fist back and drove it into Elen's body, causing more blood to spew from his mouth. He grabbed Elen's forearms and squeezed, grinning as the bones crunched under his grip and Elen let out a howl of pain. He dropped Elen again, watching as he crumbled to the dirt. But, when Elen began to find his feet, Grumhold's smile turned to a scowl and he stomped at Elen's leg, causing his knee to break with a loud crack. He snapped the bones in Elen's opposite leg as well, crushing his shin and ankle. Elen lay there at his feet in a broken and bloody heap as the crowd looked on with shocked silence. To everyone's amazement, Elen began to stir and tried to stand again. As he fell forward on his shattered legs, Grumhold grabbed him by the shoulders and lifted him up to his eye level.
“You are beaten Galad!” he roared “Submit and die like the dog you are!”
Elen simply looked him in the eye, not a trace of fear or regret on his face. Just juvenile defiance.
“You...gonna.....talk all..day...or you...gonna..finish it?” he gasped. Having said his piece he spat a glob of blood in Grumhold's face. The Ogre King shook with livid rage and seized Elen by the throat. He squeezed and crushed Elen's neck before dropping him to the ground once more. He knelt on top of Elen and began savagely slamming his fists into his body, causing blood to fountain up in spurts and splatters with each impact. The ground around them shook with every blow and hot, sanguine liquid freckled Grumhold's face, then splashed on him until he finally brought his fists to a stop. He stood, his face, chest and hands dripping red. Elen's broken body lay at his feet, barely recognizable.
@
Not since their last champion, Orgbold Stone Bones was laid to rest had their been such a hero's funeral. Grumhold himself walked before the iron casket, it's lid riveted shut, as four pallbearers hefted it's weight behind him. Grumhold stood stoically, his ceremonial cape and kilt shifting slightly in the warm breeze of the day as the sepulcher was placed in a divot that had been cut into it's stone base, allowing it to stand at a bit of an angle inside the stone mausoleum that had been constructed for it in the Field of Fallen. There, surrounded by countless markers and crypts housing slain ogre heroes, Flowers were burned, hallucinogenic gasses were released and breathed, and ogre shamans led the people in the sacred and timeless chants of burial right. Those who were not ogres watched from afar as Elen was put to rest and recognized as a worthy and honorable warrior. Among the mourners, Maria could barely stay on her feet as the weight of her grief matched that of her slavery.
