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Yep, another story. I was bored, so I started this. Let me know what you think. Cheers, Stryke.
THE MARTIAL LEGION
The man yelled in pain and fear as a burly guard threw him bodily through a doorway. He slammed into the damp stones at the other end and winced as his vertebrae protested. The guard chuckled and muttered something in his native language to his companion. Then the door slammed shut, somehow adding to the mustiness of the air inside the cell. The man backed up against the all, pulling his knees in close as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A low cackle ensued from the darkest corner of the cell, and gradually a shadow came into view.
“ Who are you?!” shouted the man in fear.
“ Who am I?” A low voice, powerful yet sad. “ You came into my cell, who are you?”
“ I am Ant. Who then are you?”
The figure was silent for almost a minute.
“ So, Ant, what did you do?”
“ I was caught.”
“ Caught doing what?”
“ Just… caught. That is all I will tell you until I know to whom I speak.”
Another chuckle, a mirthless one.
“ You are persistent, Ant. I shall tell you whom I am.”
He leaned forward into the dim light of the cell.
“ I am Grix.” He said simply. Ant stifled a gasp in the choking air.
“ Grix? THE Grix? General Grix Thraves, Commander of the Martial Legions?” gasped Ant.
“ You are one of the Legion?” said Grix.
“ I am. My company was sent to find you. You are the General?”
“ Not any more, lad. Grix. Just Grix.”
Ant leant back, despondent.
“ A lot has happened since you disappeared six years ago, sir. I was wondering… what happened? Why did you leave?”
“ Don’t call me sir, lad. In answer to your question, I don’t rightly know. It wasn’t all my doing. I shall start the tale, but you shall have to help me.”
**
Nine years ago…
Grix sat alone in the room, a blue length of cloth clasped in his hands. He stared down at it, sorrow in his eyes. He was but a young fighter in the tournament, yet he had made it to the final. Now he must fight his friend, one who he had trained with and grown up with, and there was the very real possibility he must kill him. He sighed, and swiftly tied the cloth round his brow. This wasn’t what he had intended. He looked through the loosely tied wood gates that separated him from the baying crowds in the tightly packed arena. He saw filtered light play across his bare torso, illuminate the still wet scars he bore. He felt the warmth relieve him of some of the tiredness that coursed through him. He braced himself as a whistle sounded, then the doors erupted outwards. Grix walked slowly outwards, tight bandages wrapped over his fists. All around the large room a rope ran, and behind it people were literally piled on top of each other, baying for blood. Grix flicked his eyes across to the man standing opposite him, a long red welt running down from his right shoulder to left hip. Grix shuddered. The man’s name was Sniper. They had trained for many months together in the shadow of the mountain. All for this. Grix shook his head in sorrow, eyes downcast. He saw the bloodstains on the rough sand of the arena…. Smelt the death of the room. He set himself, fists outstretched. Sniper nodded, in honour. Grix nodded back. Then the second whistle sounded….
**
“ Everyone knows of that fight.” Said Ant, impatiently. “ You were forced to slay your friend in exchange for your freedom. Some may call that an unfair sacrifice.”
Grix still sat in the shadows, his breathing laboured.
“ Aye, some may. Yet others call it a just one. Anyway, it is pivotal to the events that shall follow.”
**
Grix stood, blood dripping from his head, Sniper laying at his feet. Sniper’s sword was lying metres away. Grix had his in his hand, pointing straight at Sniper’s throat.
“ Do it.” Rasped Sniper. “ Only one of us can leave this arena. I would that it was you.”
Grix shook his head.
“ You have saved my life, many times. I cannot kill you.”
“ And you have saved mine. Let me save yours this one last time.”
The crowd’s roar had become muted, a background noise. The smells of the arena were suddenly unbearable, the life’s blood of many men – Men that Grix had killed. He looked straight ahead, tears flooding from his eyes. He leant forward, slowly. He felt, through the blade, the soft impact as the point drove downwards. Then the noise rose, suddenly, and Grix looked down. Blood was spreading over the sand, slowly…
**
Grix sat back, wiping blood from his wounds, his sweat stained headband laying by his side. A knock resounded, and the door opened. A man in military uniform emerged, powerfully built.
“ Grix Thraves?”
Grix didn’t move.
“ I am General Honour. Er, may I sit?”
Grix nodded slowly, at the empty chair opposite him. The general sat.
“ We have a confession to make, Mr Thraves. This tournament isn’t run by the slavers that own you. It’s run by us. The US Army. We, er, were looking for recruits. A recruit.”
Grix didn’t move.
“ This was staged. I didn’t need to kill my friend?”
“ Well…”
Grix erupted out of his chair before the general had finished, foot outstretched. But the general was faster. A flurry of blows had immobilised Grix before he had even landed a blow. General Honour grimaced.
“ Yes, you needed to kill your friend. As did last year’s winner. And the year before. I had to kill to win. You have won membership of the Martial Legion.”
Grix’s brow furrowed.
“ The what?”
“ The Martial Legion. We are few in number. We do as the government commands. The elite of the elite. Only those trained in the martial arts will pass into ournumber.”
“ And why should I join this?” asked Grix.
“ To free yourself from slavery of this rotting land. The jungle’s of Asia are no place for you.”
“ Good offer. So you use this place to train me? By winning the tournament I have proven myself trained.”
General Honour leant forward, a grin splitting his features.
“ Oh no. Your training has just begun.”
**
THE MARTIAL LEGION
The man yelled in pain and fear as a burly guard threw him bodily through a doorway. He slammed into the damp stones at the other end and winced as his vertebrae protested. The guard chuckled and muttered something in his native language to his companion. Then the door slammed shut, somehow adding to the mustiness of the air inside the cell. The man backed up against the all, pulling his knees in close as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A low cackle ensued from the darkest corner of the cell, and gradually a shadow came into view.
“ Who are you?!” shouted the man in fear.
“ Who am I?” A low voice, powerful yet sad. “ You came into my cell, who are you?”
“ I am Ant. Who then are you?”
The figure was silent for almost a minute.
“ So, Ant, what did you do?”
“ I was caught.”
“ Caught doing what?”
“ Just… caught. That is all I will tell you until I know to whom I speak.”
Another chuckle, a mirthless one.
“ You are persistent, Ant. I shall tell you whom I am.”
He leaned forward into the dim light of the cell.
“ I am Grix.” He said simply. Ant stifled a gasp in the choking air.
“ Grix? THE Grix? General Grix Thraves, Commander of the Martial Legions?” gasped Ant.
“ You are one of the Legion?” said Grix.
“ I am. My company was sent to find you. You are the General?”
“ Not any more, lad. Grix. Just Grix.”
Ant leant back, despondent.
“ A lot has happened since you disappeared six years ago, sir. I was wondering… what happened? Why did you leave?”
“ Don’t call me sir, lad. In answer to your question, I don’t rightly know. It wasn’t all my doing. I shall start the tale, but you shall have to help me.”
**
Nine years ago…
Grix sat alone in the room, a blue length of cloth clasped in his hands. He stared down at it, sorrow in his eyes. He was but a young fighter in the tournament, yet he had made it to the final. Now he must fight his friend, one who he had trained with and grown up with, and there was the very real possibility he must kill him. He sighed, and swiftly tied the cloth round his brow. This wasn’t what he had intended. He looked through the loosely tied wood gates that separated him from the baying crowds in the tightly packed arena. He saw filtered light play across his bare torso, illuminate the still wet scars he bore. He felt the warmth relieve him of some of the tiredness that coursed through him. He braced himself as a whistle sounded, then the doors erupted outwards. Grix walked slowly outwards, tight bandages wrapped over his fists. All around the large room a rope ran, and behind it people were literally piled on top of each other, baying for blood. Grix flicked his eyes across to the man standing opposite him, a long red welt running down from his right shoulder to left hip. Grix shuddered. The man’s name was Sniper. They had trained for many months together in the shadow of the mountain. All for this. Grix shook his head in sorrow, eyes downcast. He saw the bloodstains on the rough sand of the arena…. Smelt the death of the room. He set himself, fists outstretched. Sniper nodded, in honour. Grix nodded back. Then the second whistle sounded….
**
“ Everyone knows of that fight.” Said Ant, impatiently. “ You were forced to slay your friend in exchange for your freedom. Some may call that an unfair sacrifice.”
Grix still sat in the shadows, his breathing laboured.
“ Aye, some may. Yet others call it a just one. Anyway, it is pivotal to the events that shall follow.”
**
Grix stood, blood dripping from his head, Sniper laying at his feet. Sniper’s sword was lying metres away. Grix had his in his hand, pointing straight at Sniper’s throat.
“ Do it.” Rasped Sniper. “ Only one of us can leave this arena. I would that it was you.”
Grix shook his head.
“ You have saved my life, many times. I cannot kill you.”
“ And you have saved mine. Let me save yours this one last time.”
The crowd’s roar had become muted, a background noise. The smells of the arena were suddenly unbearable, the life’s blood of many men – Men that Grix had killed. He looked straight ahead, tears flooding from his eyes. He leant forward, slowly. He felt, through the blade, the soft impact as the point drove downwards. Then the noise rose, suddenly, and Grix looked down. Blood was spreading over the sand, slowly…
**
Grix sat back, wiping blood from his wounds, his sweat stained headband laying by his side. A knock resounded, and the door opened. A man in military uniform emerged, powerfully built.
“ Grix Thraves?”
Grix didn’t move.
“ I am General Honour. Er, may I sit?”
Grix nodded slowly, at the empty chair opposite him. The general sat.
“ We have a confession to make, Mr Thraves. This tournament isn’t run by the slavers that own you. It’s run by us. The US Army. We, er, were looking for recruits. A recruit.”
Grix didn’t move.
“ This was staged. I didn’t need to kill my friend?”
“ Well…”
Grix erupted out of his chair before the general had finished, foot outstretched. But the general was faster. A flurry of blows had immobilised Grix before he had even landed a blow. General Honour grimaced.
“ Yes, you needed to kill your friend. As did last year’s winner. And the year before. I had to kill to win. You have won membership of the Martial Legion.”
Grix’s brow furrowed.
“ The what?”
“ The Martial Legion. We are few in number. We do as the government commands. The elite of the elite. Only those trained in the martial arts will pass into ournumber.”
“ And why should I join this?” asked Grix.
“ To free yourself from slavery of this rotting land. The jungle’s of Asia are no place for you.”
“ Good offer. So you use this place to train me? By winning the tournament I have proven myself trained.”
General Honour leant forward, a grin splitting his features.
“ Oh no. Your training has just begun.”
**
Page:
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Yep, another story. I was bored, so I started this. Let me know what you think. Cheers, Stryke.
THE MARTIAL LEGION
The man yelled in pain and fear as a burly guard threw him bodily through a doorway. He slammed into the damp stones at the other end and winced as his vertebrae protested. The guard chuckled and muttered something in his native language to his companion. Then the door slammed shut, somehow adding to the mustiness of the air inside the cell. The man backed up against the all, pulling his knees in close as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A low cackle ensued from the darkest corner of the cell, and gradually a shadow came into view.
“ Who are you?!” shouted the man in fear.
“ Who am I?” A low voice, powerful yet sad. “ You came into my cell, who are you?”
“ I am Ant. Who then are you?”
The figure was silent for almost a minute.
“ So, Ant, what did you do?”
“ I was caught.”
“ Caught doing what?”
“ Just… caught. That is all I will tell you until I know to whom I speak.”
Another chuckle, a mirthless one.
“ You are persistent, Ant. I shall tell you whom I am.”
He leaned forward into the dim light of the cell.
“ I am Grix.” He said simply. Ant stifled a gasp in the choking air.
“ Grix? THE Grix? General Grix Thraves, Commander of the Martial Legions?” gasped Ant.
“ You are one of the Legion?” said Grix.
“ I am. My company was sent to find you. You are the General?”
“ Not any more, lad. Grix. Just Grix.”
Ant leant back, despondent.
“ A lot has happened since you disappeared six years ago, sir. I was wondering… what happened? Why did you leave?”
“ Don’t call me sir, lad. In answer to your question, I don’t rightly know. It wasn’t all my doing. I shall start the tale, but you shall have to help me.”
**
Nine years ago…
Grix sat alone in the room, a blue length of cloth clasped in his hands. He stared down at it, sorrow in his eyes. He was but a young fighter in the tournament, yet he had made it to the final. Now he must fight his friend, one who he had trained with and grown up with, and there was the very real possibility he must kill him. He sighed, and swiftly tied the cloth round his brow. This wasn’t what he had intended. He looked through the loosely tied wood gates that separated him from the baying crowds in the tightly packed arena. He saw filtered light play across his bare torso, illuminate the still wet scars he bore. He felt the warmth relieve him of some of the tiredness that coursed through him. He braced himself as a whistle sounded, then the doors erupted outwards. Grix walked slowly outwards, tight bandages wrapped over his fists. All around the large room a rope ran, and behind it people were literally piled on top of each other, baying for blood. Grix flicked his eyes across to the man standing opposite him, a long red welt running down from his right shoulder to left hip. Grix shuddered. The man’s name was Sniper. They had trained for many months together in the shadow of the mountain. All for this. Grix shook his head in sorrow, eyes downcast. He saw the bloodstains on the rough sand of the arena…. Smelt the death of the room. He set himself, fists outstretched. Sniper nodded, in honour. Grix nodded back. Then the second whistle sounded….
**
“ Everyone knows of that fight.” Said Ant, impatiently. “ You were forced to slay your friend in exchange for your freedom. Some may call that an unfair sacrifice.”
Grix still sat in the shadows, his breathing laboured.
“ Aye, some may. Yet others call it a just one. Anyway, it is pivotal to the events that shall follow.”
**
Grix stood, blood dripping from his head, Sniper laying at his feet. Sniper’s sword was lying metres away. Grix had his in his hand, pointing straight at Sniper’s throat.
“ Do it.” Rasped Sniper. “ Only one of us can leave this arena. I would that it was you.”
Grix shook his head.
“ You have saved my life, many times. I cannot kill you.”
“ And you have saved mine. Let me save yours this one last time.”
The crowd’s roar had become muted, a background noise. The smells of the arena were suddenly unbearable, the life’s blood of many men – Men that Grix had killed. He looked straight ahead, tears flooding from his eyes. He leant forward, slowly. He felt, through the blade, the soft impact as the point drove downwards. Then the noise rose, suddenly, and Grix looked down. Blood was spreading over the sand, slowly…
**
Grix sat back, wiping blood from his wounds, his sweat stained headband laying by his side. A knock resounded, and the door opened. A man in military uniform emerged, powerfully built.
“ Grix Thraves?”
Grix didn’t move.
“ I am General Honour. Er, may I sit?”
Grix nodded slowly, at the empty chair opposite him. The general sat.
“ We have a confession to make, Mr Thraves. This tournament isn’t run by the slavers that own you. It’s run by us. The US Army. We, er, were looking for recruits. A recruit.”
Grix didn’t move.
“ This was staged. I didn’t need to kill my friend?”
“ Well…”
Grix erupted out of his chair before the general had finished, foot outstretched. But the general was faster. A flurry of blows had immobilised Grix before he had even landed a blow. General Honour grimaced.
“ Yes, you needed to kill your friend. As did last year’s winner. And the year before. I had to kill to win. You have won membership of the Martial Legion.”
Grix’s brow furrowed.
“ The what?”
“ The Martial Legion. We are few in number. We do as the government commands. The elite of the elite. Only those trained in the martial arts will pass into ournumber.”
“ And why should I join this?” asked Grix.
“ To free yourself from slavery of this rotting land. The jungle’s of Asia are no place for you.”
“ Good offer. So you use this place to train me? By winning the tournament I have proven myself trained.”
General Honour leant forward, a grin splitting his features.
“ Oh no. Your training has just begun.”
**
THE MARTIAL LEGION
The man yelled in pain and fear as a burly guard threw him bodily through a doorway. He slammed into the damp stones at the other end and winced as his vertebrae protested. The guard chuckled and muttered something in his native language to his companion. Then the door slammed shut, somehow adding to the mustiness of the air inside the cell. The man backed up against the all, pulling his knees in close as he waited for his eyes to adjust to the darkness. A low cackle ensued from the darkest corner of the cell, and gradually a shadow came into view.
“ Who are you?!” shouted the man in fear.
“ Who am I?” A low voice, powerful yet sad. “ You came into my cell, who are you?”
“ I am Ant. Who then are you?”
The figure was silent for almost a minute.
“ So, Ant, what did you do?”
“ I was caught.”
“ Caught doing what?”
“ Just… caught. That is all I will tell you until I know to whom I speak.”
Another chuckle, a mirthless one.
“ You are persistent, Ant. I shall tell you whom I am.”
He leaned forward into the dim light of the cell.
“ I am Grix.” He said simply. Ant stifled a gasp in the choking air.
“ Grix? THE Grix? General Grix Thraves, Commander of the Martial Legions?” gasped Ant.
“ You are one of the Legion?” said Grix.
“ I am. My company was sent to find you. You are the General?”
“ Not any more, lad. Grix. Just Grix.”
Ant leant back, despondent.
“ A lot has happened since you disappeared six years ago, sir. I was wondering… what happened? Why did you leave?”
“ Don’t call me sir, lad. In answer to your question, I don’t rightly know. It wasn’t all my doing. I shall start the tale, but you shall have to help me.”
**
Nine years ago…
Grix sat alone in the room, a blue length of cloth clasped in his hands. He stared down at it, sorrow in his eyes. He was but a young fighter in the tournament, yet he had made it to the final. Now he must fight his friend, one who he had trained with and grown up with, and there was the very real possibility he must kill him. He sighed, and swiftly tied the cloth round his brow. This wasn’t what he had intended. He looked through the loosely tied wood gates that separated him from the baying crowds in the tightly packed arena. He saw filtered light play across his bare torso, illuminate the still wet scars he bore. He felt the warmth relieve him of some of the tiredness that coursed through him. He braced himself as a whistle sounded, then the doors erupted outwards. Grix walked slowly outwards, tight bandages wrapped over his fists. All around the large room a rope ran, and behind it people were literally piled on top of each other, baying for blood. Grix flicked his eyes across to the man standing opposite him, a long red welt running down from his right shoulder to left hip. Grix shuddered. The man’s name was Sniper. They had trained for many months together in the shadow of the mountain. All for this. Grix shook his head in sorrow, eyes downcast. He saw the bloodstains on the rough sand of the arena…. Smelt the death of the room. He set himself, fists outstretched. Sniper nodded, in honour. Grix nodded back. Then the second whistle sounded….
**
“ Everyone knows of that fight.” Said Ant, impatiently. “ You were forced to slay your friend in exchange for your freedom. Some may call that an unfair sacrifice.”
Grix still sat in the shadows, his breathing laboured.
“ Aye, some may. Yet others call it a just one. Anyway, it is pivotal to the events that shall follow.”
**
Grix stood, blood dripping from his head, Sniper laying at his feet. Sniper’s sword was lying metres away. Grix had his in his hand, pointing straight at Sniper’s throat.
“ Do it.” Rasped Sniper. “ Only one of us can leave this arena. I would that it was you.”
Grix shook his head.
“ You have saved my life, many times. I cannot kill you.”
“ And you have saved mine. Let me save yours this one last time.”
The crowd’s roar had become muted, a background noise. The smells of the arena were suddenly unbearable, the life’s blood of many men – Men that Grix had killed. He looked straight ahead, tears flooding from his eyes. He leant forward, slowly. He felt, through the blade, the soft impact as the point drove downwards. Then the noise rose, suddenly, and Grix looked down. Blood was spreading over the sand, slowly…
**
Grix sat back, wiping blood from his wounds, his sweat stained headband laying by his side. A knock resounded, and the door opened. A man in military uniform emerged, powerfully built.
“ Grix Thraves?”
Grix didn’t move.
“ I am General Honour. Er, may I sit?”
Grix nodded slowly, at the empty chair opposite him. The general sat.
“ We have a confession to make, Mr Thraves. This tournament isn’t run by the slavers that own you. It’s run by us. The US Army. We, er, were looking for recruits. A recruit.”
Grix didn’t move.
“ This was staged. I didn’t need to kill my friend?”
“ Well…”
Grix erupted out of his chair before the general had finished, foot outstretched. But the general was faster. A flurry of blows had immobilised Grix before he had even landed a blow. General Honour grimaced.
“ Yes, you needed to kill your friend. As did last year’s winner. And the year before. I had to kill to win. You have won membership of the Martial Legion.”
Grix’s brow furrowed.
“ The what?”
“ The Martial Legion. We are few in number. We do as the government commands. The elite of the elite. Only those trained in the martial arts will pass into ournumber.”
“ And why should I join this?” asked Grix.
“ To free yourself from slavery of this rotting land. The jungle’s of Asia are no place for you.”
“ Good offer. So you use this place to train me? By winning the tournament I have proven myself trained.”
General Honour leant forward, a grin splitting his features.
“ Oh no. Your training has just begun.”
**
Page: