:: HERO of KORRIBAN ::
Dathomir
Crucible
Gladiator Pits
The arena was full. Spectators from all clans were in the stands. An arena which used the be the object of dark arts and make enslavement now served as the home for gladiatorial games of all kinds, even those to the death if the sponsors demanded it. Why were the stands full, because of one man. Yes, there were those who wanted to see the other games, but it was the main event which drew the crowd. Draven was the name many chanted as he had done for so long what had not happened in a long time. The male Dathomiri would challenge the gauntlet and gain his freedom.
While slavery was outlawed, Draven had been bread for this. His father owed a debt which could not be paid, and a son was demanded of him. Strength was a bonus for the young Jai. His mother had been a nightsister, or so he was told. She died in childbirth, though, as the stroy went, he was claimed by the clan and raised by all. He hunted for them at a young age, but this was where he was destined to be. Today he would earn his freedom, or die trying.
"You're foolish you know that, Draven," a sultry voice crooned from behind him. "Very few ever live past the third wave."
Draven did not turn. His blue eyes stayed fixed ahead, focusing on the rusty, red, stone which made the wall in front of him.
"Foolish? That will be determined. History is always told from the perspective of the victor," he responded plainly.
The woman took a sharp look of displeasure at the comment. Her distaste for the way he treated her evident to any who looked on. For a moment the thought crossed her mind to slap him hard, but the claws which were worn on her fingers would have drawn blood, and she could not have her prize warrior damaged. His features were appealing to the women of Dathomir after all, and that fact alone put wealth in her pockets.
"You had best hope you die in that arena today, Draven. Your betrayal to us is one which will not be forgiven, or so easily forgotten. A fate much worse than death awaits you should you actually accomplish the impossible. To think we wasted so much time with you, took you through our rights of passage. The ink imbedded into your skin will always serve as a reminder to where you came from and whom you truly belong to."
She spat on the ground as she left. Draven smirked. Eyes finally closed as his mind was solely focused on the task at hand. He would dress in his armor soon enough, but for now there were several events to see. Draven would watch none of them. Instead, he would simply sit where he was. Freedom was his only aim today, and he would have it.
Crucible
Gladiator Pits
The arena was full. Spectators from all clans were in the stands. An arena which used the be the object of dark arts and make enslavement now served as the home for gladiatorial games of all kinds, even those to the death if the sponsors demanded it. Why were the stands full, because of one man. Yes, there were those who wanted to see the other games, but it was the main event which drew the crowd. Draven was the name many chanted as he had done for so long what had not happened in a long time. The male Dathomiri would challenge the gauntlet and gain his freedom.
While slavery was outlawed, Draven had been bread for this. His father owed a debt which could not be paid, and a son was demanded of him. Strength was a bonus for the young Jai. His mother had been a nightsister, or so he was told. She died in childbirth, though, as the stroy went, he was claimed by the clan and raised by all. He hunted for them at a young age, but this was where he was destined to be. Today he would earn his freedom, or die trying.
"You're foolish you know that, Draven," a sultry voice crooned from behind him. "Very few ever live past the third wave."
Draven did not turn. His blue eyes stayed fixed ahead, focusing on the rusty, red, stone which made the wall in front of him.
"Foolish? That will be determined. History is always told from the perspective of the victor," he responded plainly.
The woman took a sharp look of displeasure at the comment. Her distaste for the way he treated her evident to any who looked on. For a moment the thought crossed her mind to slap him hard, but the claws which were worn on her fingers would have drawn blood, and she could not have her prize warrior damaged. His features were appealing to the women of Dathomir after all, and that fact alone put wealth in her pockets.
"You had best hope you die in that arena today, Draven. Your betrayal to us is one which will not be forgiven, or so easily forgotten. A fate much worse than death awaits you should you actually accomplish the impossible. To think we wasted so much time with you, took you through our rights of passage. The ink imbedded into your skin will always serve as a reminder to where you came from and whom you truly belong to."
She spat on the ground as she left. Draven smirked. Eyes finally closed as his mind was solely focused on the task at hand. He would dress in his armor soon enough, but for now there were several events to see. Draven would watch none of them. Instead, he would simply sit where he was. Freedom was his only aim today, and he would have it.