Resting Witch Face
breaking the laws of physics medieval style
Prelude
For the better part of civilization's history, combat has been adapted and refined to a sharp head. With so much combat taking place in the world, whether from petty brawls to all out war, it wasn't long before people became numbed to the visceral feeling of seeing death. As such, people fought as commonly as communicating with one another. It got so bad that the "brave" leaders, the Nobles, took the reins from the previous rulers and asserted a new kind of rule upon the lands. Of course, many objected, but those who agreed seemed to have a better chance at staying in their homes.
So, naturally, the nobles sought to both please their nervous populous and take care of their overflowing prisons. Thus the Arena was born, a prison three to four times the size of their largest at the time, with decency and respect as far out of the picture as possible.
Ironically, Arena combat is highly respected by both onlookers and the nobles attending. Despite their respect for the sport, they have little to no respect for the faces behind the helmets, and tend to focus more on their own entertainment than on the well-being of these presumably disposable assets. After all, they must have been pretty bad people to have ended up in the Arena, right?
Right?
Welcome to the Arena
You aren't entirely sure how you ended up in this grim place, but one thing is for sure: you aren't leaving any time soon. High stone walls and gritty guardsmen outnumber you ten to one, and everywhere you go the stench of blood and grief floods your senses. However, the sad prison life you endure is nothing compared to the matches. Yes, to pass the time, the guardsmen round up all the prisoners/slaves/gladiators kept here and pit them against each other in lethal combat. The winners are allowed to eat, the losers... you get the picture.
You'd be lucky to get a trained swordsman who'll end you quickly in this place, some even say they keep beasts locked up just for special occasions. It's pretty easy to lose hope in your immediate continuation of your mortal existence, but the moments between the crippling loneliness and the brutal killings, you might actually be able to find solace in your fellow inmates. After all, two heads are always better than one.
Life here is still harsh, but the time the guardsmen allot each day to have social interactions might be the only thing keeping people from turning their swords on themselves. However, you can't imagine a single decent thought swimming anywhere near those apelike mongoloids. They're more likely trying to get emotional bonds formed only to have them slashed to pieces in combat, the sadistic bastards.
So naturally, with life being so awful, you plan an escape. What could possibly go wrong? It's just a big prison, isn't it?
This is the story of those escapees.
For the better part of civilization's history, combat has been adapted and refined to a sharp head. With so much combat taking place in the world, whether from petty brawls to all out war, it wasn't long before people became numbed to the visceral feeling of seeing death. As such, people fought as commonly as communicating with one another. It got so bad that the "brave" leaders, the Nobles, took the reins from the previous rulers and asserted a new kind of rule upon the lands. Of course, many objected, but those who agreed seemed to have a better chance at staying in their homes.
So, naturally, the nobles sought to both please their nervous populous and take care of their overflowing prisons. Thus the Arena was born, a prison three to four times the size of their largest at the time, with decency and respect as far out of the picture as possible.
Ironically, Arena combat is highly respected by both onlookers and the nobles attending. Despite their respect for the sport, they have little to no respect for the faces behind the helmets, and tend to focus more on their own entertainment than on the well-being of these presumably disposable assets. After all, they must have been pretty bad people to have ended up in the Arena, right?
Right?
Welcome to the Arena
You aren't entirely sure how you ended up in this grim place, but one thing is for sure: you aren't leaving any time soon. High stone walls and gritty guardsmen outnumber you ten to one, and everywhere you go the stench of blood and grief floods your senses. However, the sad prison life you endure is nothing compared to the matches. Yes, to pass the time, the guardsmen round up all the prisoners/slaves/gladiators kept here and pit them against each other in lethal combat. The winners are allowed to eat, the losers... you get the picture.
You'd be lucky to get a trained swordsman who'll end you quickly in this place, some even say they keep beasts locked up just for special occasions. It's pretty easy to lose hope in your immediate continuation of your mortal existence, but the moments between the crippling loneliness and the brutal killings, you might actually be able to find solace in your fellow inmates. After all, two heads are always better than one.
Life here is still harsh, but the time the guardsmen allot each day to have social interactions might be the only thing keeping people from turning their swords on themselves. However, you can't imagine a single decent thought swimming anywhere near those apelike mongoloids. They're more likely trying to get emotional bonds formed only to have them slashed to pieces in combat, the sadistic bastards.
So naturally, with life being so awful, you plan an escape. What could possibly go wrong? It's just a big prison, isn't it?
This is the story of those escapees.
