A Bloody Start

[BubbaCornbread]

I was twelve years old when I killed my first man.

I had always been large for my age and lean with well toned muscle. I was also gifted with incredible speed and fists that always gave more pain than received.

They started calling me Knuckles when I was fourteen. That was when I had killed my second man in the pit.

The pit brings back memories, some good and some rather nasty. The brutes I met, the brutes I pummeled, and the brutes that gave as good as they got are all imbedded in the scars on each knuckle and the scars on my face. I would not do anything different if given the chance!

When I was fifteen, I fought a thug named Kong. He was a Half-Orc from some refuse pile, all green teeth, red eyes, and rancid breath. He was also the biggest bastard I had ever seen. One thing he wasn't, quick. I used my speed and hardened fists to carve a few pounds of fat from his bulging belly and then I began on his chin. It was then that a lucky punch crunched against my head, flinging me back and onto the blood sodden sand. I can't remember much else of that damn fight, it is all a blur of screaming faces, grunts, and the gut wrenching pain of an impressive beating. It was then that I began to drink.

I lasted four more years in the pit, pummeling all comers, since I had learned a right damn honest lesson, don't get cocky.

[BubbaCornbread]

I was nineteen years old and at the height of my power and prestige. The women loved me and every night it was as if I lived in a dream. Wine and women were my new mantra, that and my daily workouts.

The heavy bag, the light bag, the sit-ups, and weighted stones. Then the grueling five mile run, all to keep me tight and lethal.

Then it all came crashing down, the instrument of my fall a creature from nightmare, or at least my part of hell.

I entered the pit, its bare stone walls covered in old, dried blood, the floor covered in a new coating of sand. Above, the crowd cheered my entrance, since I had become a local favorite. Some even tossed a few coins, which I quickly scooped and placed within my loincloth. It was then I saw the bastard, all muscle and scalp, his beady eyes boring into me, causing my gut to react like none other had caused before. The beast, for even to this day that is all I can call him, was ten feet tall if an inch, with broad shoulders, a slim waist, and massive arms and legs. He was the largest Half-Orc I had ever seen, and I had fought a few in the arena. The creature snarled at me, its tusks protruding and feral eyes watching me intently.

I knew I was doomed as soon as the bout began, for the beast was huge and quick as a panther, twisting from my attempts to crush his knee or smash his foot. He danced and twisted, staying out of my reach, snarling and cursing in some bastard language only he understood. It was when I tried a foot sweep in an attempt to surprise him and bring him to the sandy floor when he struck, quick as lightning, with his left fist. It went badly for me after that.

All I can remember from that point on was his knuckles cracking against my skull, my chest, my ribs, and my kidneys, which I swore had burst from one of his punishing strikes. They say I hung on grimly, throwing a punch here, a kick there, but it was useless in the end. His last punch came up under my chin, his thick legs propelling his fist up and through my jaw, launching me a good ten feet, my now unconscious body bouncing off the far wall of the pit.

I was shattered and cast away, as would a child's toy after it had been broken one too many times. My body was thrown upon a dung heap and left for the stray dogs and rats that infested the cities meaner streets. I know not how long I lay there, bleeding internally, my belly distended from my leaking organs.

I awoke from a fog, my body aching, my head pounding, my mouth as dry as the sandy floor of the pit. I gasped in pain as the cart I was riding within jounced over some pothole, seemingly big enough to swallow the wheel whole. I tried to look about, but my vision was blurred and partially covered with a bandage that had been carefully wrapped about my head. I tried to lift my right hand to push the bandage away, that is when I lost consciousness.

I was in and out of life for at least two weeks, my days were filled with agony and my nights were caught within fever dreams, my sweat drenched sheets clinging to my tortured body. During my more lucid moments, I tried to remember who I was, what I had been, what my damn name was, but nothing emerged, nothing but the haunting feeling of invisible fists pummeling my body, my psyche, my soul.

It was two months before I took my first steps, as would a baby walk from table to chair and back again, needing the support of familiar items to alleviate a bad fall. It was all I could do to make it once across the small room which I called home. The room was about ten feet by seven and unadorned. The old, weathered wood of the walls and ceiling were almost gray in appearance, the life essence at last bleached from the once vibrant tree. There was a cot made of a wood bracing and straps of old leather and a moth eaten blanket that only made the cold worse, not better.

It was four months before I could walk, run, and talk without losing my train of thought. It was then that the old man started to talk of Tempus and certain fighting orders that sought combat for combat's sake. It was then that he brought me from the brink, giving me nourishment not only for my wounded body, but my eviscerated soul. It was this tiny man and a commitment to Tempus that put me on solid ground and gave me back my identity, my life, something to live and strive for.

I have now been in Sundren for almost a year. I joined the Blackwood because I thought it gave me the flexibility to seek combat and test my metal once again. I also knew they would be able to use my skills, for they did not only end with bare knuckle brawling, but with stealth and other abilities that the old man had instilled. No, I knew that my skills would come in handy, especially the way the winds whispered...of war.

Ah, war and all that it brings............hail Tempus!

[BubbaCornbread]

Lania, hands gripped tight on her warbow, shot another arrow at the stinking lizard, the arrow barely missing my head as I charged into the group of bastards trying to keep us from the temple doors. I cut left and then brought my foot around, cracking one lizard skull and my right fist pummeled another. The fight was short and brutal; we won.

It was like this, quick and dirty work, moving through the labyrinth that was the lizard temple at Ixis. Each turn of a corner brought more lizards driving onto us. If it hadn't been for that damn good shot Lania, we would have been brought low many times over.

Over an hour later, our blood soaked bandages wearing thin and our endurance stretched to the breaking point, we made it to the inner sanctum, where the holy items and their relic rested. This is what the Blackwood had asked for, to bring forth an item from the lizards that would bring them low, make them weak, force them to bargain or at the least, stop their depredations on Ixis.

One punch, a kick, and a flickering arrow and it was over. I walked over the dead and dying. I turned to Lania, a grin spreading about my face, and grasped the torn and tattered flag, the symbol of might within the temple. She beamed back and then we made our laborious way back out of the dim lighted damnable place.

[BubbaCornbread]

It was getting dark and the stench of death was all about me. I started to curse my ill luck, since I didn't want to be out in the cold, dark night, seeking the walking dead. But what choice did I have. I had been picked from a crowd by a damn nobleman and this was the price I had to pay. It was prove my worthiness to the Blackwood, the city, and to this noble, so that I could continue to serve without my name placed in that damnable black book.

Just then, a figure loomed from the dark night and the smell increased. "Damn smelly business," I thought, as I dodged the spear point that was aimed for my breast and brought my foot around. A jolt, the sickening sound of ripe fruit being crushed, and the spear wavered and then dropped along with the gore encrusted body that had wielded it.

I looked around and saw ten of the bastards, all stumbling towards me, their open mouths letting forth a mind numbing moan, a sound that had absolutely no affect on me. When one such as me has walked to shadowy corridors of death and come out breathing and stronger than before, the moan of some half-corrupted soulless being was nothing. I turned and ran towards the closest group, my fists striking out in a familiar rhythm. One, two, and then three of the bastards were down and still, their trampled bodies exuding an even more pungent scent than before.

I was but a matter of seconds before the last creature was dispatched, its rotting carcass melting into the desiccated earth. One last trial awaited; the desecrated temple. That had been my mission, to destroy the filth that had taken up residence within the temple and bring back proof of my success. Well, I hoped for success or maybe my lifeless corps would be roaming about, mucking up the hopes and aspirations of adventurers coming to complete my current mission.

I walked into the temple, melting into the shadows, watching the damnable demon haunted villagers mill about in aimless circles. I moved from darkness to shadow, always keeping well away from the creatures, waiting for an opportunity to take them by surprise and have them down and dead before they knew what had happened. Suddenly, a break in the circular motion appeared and I leapt from my hiding place, my feet taking out two villagers before they could react. It was but moments and they were all on the ground, dead or dying....I did not rightly care.

It was the same as I made my way through the shadowy temple. The Succubus were the most difficult, the bitches using magic and their wiles to tempt me...their magic melted off me and their wiles, well, I was a man, but not that stupid! I looked back at the carnage and marveled that this part of my mission had been so successful. Then I felt it, a powerful tug, some bastard was conjuring a more powerful spell, an aura that was hurled against me, staggering my mind and body. I braced my legs and stood tall within the maelstrom, peering into the soulless eyes of a demon from the hells! It looked at me and a grin began to spread about its gray pebbled face, that was until I smiled back and straightened my back, the spell dissipating about me, the shreds of magic falling harmlessly to the ground.

"Now its my turn ya bastard," I snarled as I leapt up and around, my foot connecting solidly with the demons chin.

This battle took a bit longer and I had a bit of blood spotted about my torso and arms. But the demon was no more, its body shriveling, its essence most likely winging its way back to some hell I could only imagine. And there, standing before me, was an old tattered pennant, some long forgotten token of the people that used to worship in the God forsaken place.

My task was complete.

[BubbaCornbread]

The farmer looked at me as if I was daft, which I probably am, but that is besides the point. I paid him good coin for the ten butchered cows and his thoughts concerning my bloody mind meant nothing.

"Put the bloody meat over there," I said, pointing to a nearby tree.

A tree that had a damn nice heavy branch hanging high enough for me to loop a rope and place an iron hook on one end. I turned to watch the farmer and his son unload the newly butchered carcasses, their already blood stained shirts acquiring a bit more color for the trip back to their farm. With one backward glance and a shake of his head, the farmer clucked to his team of two horses and was off down the beaten path.

Ignoring the dead meat, I sat some ten feet away and drew in breath, just like my mentor had taught me, the old man who had never divulged his name.

"Breath out, then in.....breath out, then in," I thought, as my mind wavered and then went blank. I sat thus for at least an hour, letting the surrounding sounds penetrate but never register, the only sound within my soul the strong beat of Tempus.

Quick as lightning, I stood and strode over to the carcasses, hoisting one into the air with little effort. The hook was soon inserted and then I stood back, taking a stance that was so familiar. Jab, hook, duck, kick, dodge, punch, kick. I looked and the cow had been shattered, the meat barely hanging from the hook by a tendril of broken cartilage.

Hoist another carcass and repeat, the moves speeding up, the motions more fluid, quicker, lethal.

I was now down to three carcasses and my senses were inflamed, my whole being relishing in the dance of Tempus. My fists were bloody, my feet stained crimson, meat and shattered bones littered the leaf strewn hill. A coldness radiated from my inner core, a calm that could never be broken, a calm that provided me the powers of Tempus, the powers of the fighter, the brawler, the eternal champion. I was now ready....

I hefted another carcass, letting the heavy meat dangle from the iron spike. I focused my will and then drove my fist through flesh and bone, my entire arm coming out the opposite side. I extracted my fist and then kicked the decaying meat from the hook. Two more to go.

I was on the last carcass, my will intensified by the exertion, the power of Tempus flowing through my veins, giving me powers never before imagined. I focused my will and gave a great shout, driving my fist into the putrid flesh, stopping just before hitting the rib cage. And as my fist stopped its forward momentum, a pulse radiated from my fist, moving forward from my palm, shattering the entire ribcage and blowing the carcass completely from the hook.

I took a deep breath and looked down at the carcass, examining the damage I had just then inflicted. "Damn," I thought. "I guess the old man was right, I can kill with a single punch."

[BubbaCornbread]

I sat atop the old weather beaten oaken stump, my mind focused on the one blade of grass with the slight yellow coloring. The air was cool and fresh, smelling like lilac and the damp after a heavy rain. The sky was at last clear, the sun shining down, casting its life giving rays upon the small forest glade.

My mind began to wonder, going back along my route these many years. The pit, my fall from grace, my redemption, and then the old man and Tempus. Tempus, a pulse that I could always feel, a feeling in the back of my mind, the power of the warrior.

"Focus," I thought, instantly snapping my attention and my mind upon the single blade of grass, the one with the slight yellow coloring. I then widened my perception, feeling all the living creatures within the forest glade, the insects, birds, and small woodland animals burrowing and scurrying about.

This small area was so alive, vibrant in life and death. I began to dig deeper and felt the decay about the glade. The now lifeless creatures that fed the vibrantly green grass carpeting the area. Yes, it was the cycle of life, the ever present pulse of power and then silence, the long sleep, the body decaying, providing life from death.

It was then that my body became translucent. I could feel my skin stretch and then grow pale, so pale that I thought any person passing by this sun drenched patch of grass would be able to see my very organs, my very essence. I focused more fully and felt my body go dim, as if a wizard had cast some enchantment, giving me the ability to appear insubstantial.

I had come to this at last, I was able to empty my body of all but the sinew that bound my bones together. I could become nigh transparent, making it much more difficult for opponents to grapple, punch, or strike.

I focused one last time on the blade of grass, embedding the delicate nature of existence upon my soul. And with a sigh, I quickly rose and stretched. I bowed to the ancient glade and then made my way back to the city, content with my progress.