Sea of Madness
I, Tzolek, am the last living member of the Obsidian Clan of Goliath. Our tribe was not very large, but this knowledge still pains me greatly. I recall going to bed one night and waking up the next morning in shackles. Few of us died that night, our captors went to great lengths to avoid battle as much as possible. What followed was a seemingly endless and unnecessarily grueling march. During that time I only managed to get one good look at their leader’s face and I have burned it into my memory with the hopes of one day ripping it off. Our journey ended at the coliseum where the leader was given a very large sack of gold for his troubles. I find it strange that I hate this man who has taken so much from me and yet don’t even know his name.
Surviving the fights inside the coliseum was difficult but was nothing compared to what we had to endure once the fights were over. Plague and malnourishment claimed most of my tribe and the rest were lost during the fights or simply lost the will to live. My hatred kept me strong, kept me and my hope alive when both should have died a long time ago. I still enjoyed the fights immensely and believe any slave who had survived any extended period of time had to as well. How can one survive multiple battles if you don’t look forward to them? I don’t think it possible. I prefer to fight when it serves a purpose, not just for the enjoyment of others, but the thrill of victory is still unmatched. However despite my hatred and enjoyment after several years my resolve finally started to wear away. That was until I met Ithyk.
Perhaps my threatening glares had finally unnerved the wrong party to force this bout, perhaps they were just sick of the two of us, but we were put in a fight that should have only ended one with both of our deaths. We were sorely outnumbered. I decided if I was going to die I would kill as many of them as possible and ran into battle with abandon. I noticed my Gnoll companion doing the same and against all odds we had survived the day. “We are brothers” Ithyk had said and the implications of that statement renewed my sense of purpose. With our combined strength a chance of escape seemed very possible indeed. My fears that someone wanted us both dead were confirmed when the two of us were scheduled to fight one another a few days later. The idea of fighting Ithyk pleased me, he would be a great challenge but not here, not to the death. Ithyk dropped his weapon and I dropped mine. The crowd was furious, they wanted to see two of their favorites fight one
another. Then a monstrous creature entered the ring and it took all of our skill and determination to beat it. That creature was meant to kill whichever one of us survived, I’m sure of it. The beatings I took for the next few weeks left me on death’s door and I often wondered why they didn’t kill me then. I suppose I’m too profitable and well known to die outside of the arena. The time to make a move to escape is running out.
Thankfully hope is starting to bloom in the other captives as well and word of servants of Patior coming to save us has spread. My dreams have been of freedom and violence filled with purpose. Revenge will be mine, and I will kill those who have enslaved me and their like. The day is so close I can almost taste the blood of my enemies.