Chains

[Qhorin Solas]

--In which two force adepts escape from a Vong worldship.

_______​

The smell hit me first. It was rotting corpses and emptied bowels all in one, sharp and pungent. The pulsing walls of the living ship were stained with the blood of a hundred different species, painted in blotches of red and black and blue and green. Bits of skin and flesh were plastered here and there, gnarled fingers and broken limbs laying haphazardly across the corridor.

I heard a steady roar from beyond the thick bio mechanical doors. Black Dread's mob, my mind supplied. The Vong overlord of this ship was a monster, as cunning and devious as he was brutal and vicious. His weekly games had sent a countless number of my fellow enslaved to the realm of the dead. Besides myself, only four others had managed to survive as long. Surviving hell... Sometimes I wondered if life was worth it. Worth this. Every day dawned blacker than the last, bleaker, until everything was overshadowed by bitter rage and hate.

I reached for the Force, but as always, I grasped nothing. The Force was somehow blocked on this ship, completely and utterly. If only I could but touch it...

Another roar echoed through the doors, a great, rumbling growl that made my hair stand on end. The men behind me trembled. Some of them. Enough of them. An acrid scent reached my nose, and I scowled. I could feel their terror even without the Force. Fear served nothing and no one, in the arena. Neither did bravery. Caution will see me live another day.

I gripped my great sword tighter, steeling myself for what was to come. With a wet hiss, the doors crept open...

 

[Qhorin Solas]

The arena floor was a sprawl of jagged rock formations and bubbling pits of green acid. And standing at the crest of the tallest rock, with four thick, rippling arms beating against its chest, was a giant, white simian-like creature with armored scales curving up from its shoulders, elbows, and forehead. It's eyes were thin slits hidden behind lumps of ridged flesh. It's incisors were more like tusks, long and curved with a wicked point. Two massive round nostrils dominated its lumpy face, sniffing deeply.

And then a second creature joined the first. It was taller, wider, stouter, with fangs as long as swords and a face swollen with scar tissue. Scars littered its body, long gashes that curved across its chest, shoulders, stomach and legs. Everywhere.

Slowly, we spilled out into the arena, a rag tag group of thirty three slaves, armed with archaic weapons: swords, spears, axes, shields, and the like. Three more enterprising of our number had fashioned a ballista out of a palisade, bows, and wooden shields. They wheeled it out behind the main group, one bolt already prepped.

Then the beast's head snapped in our direction, and chaos erupted. The crowds behind the mirrored dome that surrounded the arena went mad, roaring with bloodlust. The creatures burst into motion, tearing off down the cliff side with frightening speed. Fifteen men formed a wall in front of the ballista, spears splayed, and the seven bowmen moved to flank them. We were a diverse group, and had distributed weapons to make use of the different species' natural advantages.

I moved to flank the beast, three men moving to join me. The remaining five moved to the opposite flank. We were the skirmishers. The madmen. And women, I amended, watching the fierce woman called Morrigan leading the other skirmishers. Just as we reached our positions, the biggest beast launched itself into the shield wall with a great roar that shook the ground.

The men scattered, forming up on either side of the beast, as the archers unleashed wave after wave of arrows. And then--

THWOOM!

The massive arrow nocked in the ballista shot forth with a rush of air. It was a clean shot, ripping through the air with tremendous velocity. At the last moment, the creature twisted away, sprinting forward to smash the ballista to pieces. It's hide was peppered with arrows, but they seemed to be doing nothing. It started to tear into the three operators, ripping them limb from limb. The spearman formed up and charged it's back--

And then the second beast was among us, and I could spare the others no further attention.

I attacked.

 

[Qhorin Solas]

A massive paw tipped with jagged claws swiped at my face. I ducked beneath the swing, bringing my sword up to slice deep into the flesh beneath the arm. I twisted my wrists and brought the sword down again, carving into its side. With a mighty roar, the creature smacked me away, a heavy backhand that sent me sprawling. The others of my group pressed in with crushing hammers and deep cutting axes. By the time I found my feet, just moments later, one of them lay writhing on the ground, arm a mangled mess, everything below his bicep missing.

My veins were pumping super heated plasma. The battle field was a cacophony of screams of terror and yells of exertion, of energy expelled in the endless struggle of life and death. My sword felt light in my hands, and thick purplish ichor ran in rivulets down the blade. I was dimly aware of blood dripping down my face, staining my patchwork armor.

My group numbered three now, including myself. The spearmen were down to nine, backed by just four archers. Kara's group numbered three as well. Nineteen out of thirty three still drew breath. Fourteen men dead, and for what? The beasts still lived, still hunted us, no matter how many arrows they'd been shot with. The largest beast had a collection of barbed spear points lodged in its chest and back. Dozens of leaking cuts and gashes marred both of the beasts' flesh.

And still they came.

I pressed the attack again, advancing in tandem with the second skirmisher squad. I came overhand, swinging down and down and down again, weaving between its claws and elbows to press my advantage. On its opposite flank, Morrigan's group launched their assault, even as the larger beast continued to pick off the third group of spearmen and bowmen. We tried to separate it, surround it with steel, but here and there, men were faltering. Wavering. Weakening.

"Hold your positions!" I yelled, speaking for the first time since we'd been roused for the games. They couldn't break now. We were close to victory. So close...

 

[Kára Morrigan]

[SIZE=20pt]M[/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]en were screaming. Yelling. Dying. An arm sailed past my head, the flesh at the shoulder hanging ragged from where it had been ripped off. Something rolled into my foot. I looked down.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]It was a head. The skin tone was different than the arm. This one had scales. I scoffed. Another warrior, gone. Two dead in as many seconds. How many more would fall before I was free of this place? Once upon a time, I might have relished their deaths, but now? They were but wastes. Their deaths served nothing.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The ape-creatures roared in tandem, banging their lower arms against the ground, their higher arms against rippling chests. Blood dropped from their tusks, leaked from dozens upon dozens of cuts and wounds. The bigger one had half a dozen spear tips broken off in its muscled flesh. If I’d been able to touch the Force, I could have showed the beasts true pain, true misery.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]But I couldn’t touch the Force. The Dread Lord’s shipped was lined with Ysalamiri; there wasn’t a single space in the entire worldship free from their influence. In a place where the dark side should have reigned supreme, there was nothing, neither a wisp nor a whisper. And I? I craved its touch, needed it, longed for it, and for every day I remained outside its reach, the flames of my hatred and rage stoked all the hotter. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Cronos rallied the men, the skirmishers and the spearmen and the bowmen, and I sneered. He had been an Inquisitor once upon a time, but he ignored the darkness inside of him, using it as a tool only when absolutely necessary. I didn’t need the Force to see that. He was limiting himself. Weakening himself.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]I hated him.[/SIZE]

 

[Kára Morrigan]

[SIZE=12pt]Still, he had a mind for battle tactics and strategy, and his skill with a blade was second to none amongst the slaves. I couldn’t hope to match him, not in a fair fight, but I was Sith, the Lady of the Dark, and fairness did not flow in my veins. Soon, I thought, I might not be amongst the slaves at all, and then, I could finally be rid of the coward. The Vong and I shared a love of pain that would see me elevated above these rabble. I could feel it in my bones.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]One of the beasts darted towards my group, whittled down from five to three, including myself. Cronos’ men wheeled around and stabbed at the beast as it roared past, halberds and spears cutting deep. The few remaining archers had climbed to the top of the nearest ridge to rain arrows down from above, but they might as well have been throwing pebbles.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Only a handful of spearmen were left, and two of Cronos’ group were wielding halberds, now, hoping that the range of the weapon would help keep them alive. I carried a cat-o-nine tails, and one of my men, a Gamorrean brute, carried a mace and shield combo that had seen him survive over a dozen battles in this decrepit arena. This was a battle of attrition, between us and them. Who would give first? Who would succumb to their wounds?[/SIZE]


[SIZE=12pt]The ape swiped out with two arms, the thick limbs like great bludgeons, and sent a man flying with a wet crunch. He was dead before he hit the ground. The beast’s lower arm grabbed hold of a spear, yanked, and as its wielder came flying towards the beast, it plucked him out the air with its upper arms, and tore him in too. Viscera dripped from the corpse and pooled on the ground. The smell was awful.[/SIZE]

I screamed my fury into the air, brandished my axe, and charged. Across from me, Cronos and his men did the same.