8th, searing 309 Age of Sundering
T
he ship's rocking had continued for several days now. Though the pain of the fight had mostly settled throughout his body a new one had formed. Hunger. It growled deep in his stomach like a beast. The slop that he had been given was not enough to satiate the large man. Though he wasn’t foolish enough to pass it up. His body yearned for more. He rolled onto his side before slowly rising into a seated position. Legs reaching out till his feet touched the other side of the door. The Dragonborns soul cried for freedom. But try as he might, his attempts at escaping were blocked. Escape… No, if the Orkhan man really made for escape he might have stood more of a chance. Fleeing towards the sea. Towards his ancestral home. He would have more than enough strength to escape and flee. No. He longed for revenge. He fought to kill and take the ship back. He wanted glory. To right the metaphorical wrong that had been done to him. To erase the shame from his name. He wanted revenge.
”Ah, my friend. It is good that you are awake… You speak in your sleep, some pretty troubling things I might say.” Nakir grinned through the bars of the cage next to his. Nakir was a human. His tanned skin, bald head and large black beard are his most notable features. At least from what Novath could really make out in the dim lighting of the lower deck. ”I apologize if I kept you awake Nakir.” Novath grumbled trying to get as comfortable as he possibly could.
” No friend, you did not. Though I am curious, you speak in the tongue of your people. Sounded almost like war-chanting. Were you dreaming?” Nakir asked. His arms lay on his lap with his fingers interlaced. Brown eyes studying Novath as he spoke.
Nakir had been the closest thing to an ally that Novath had for the trip. He had offered kind words and prayer. It was oddly comforting to Novath. The man's voice was smooth and soft. As if the man was gifted to speak in the voice of the gods. A loud breath escaped Novath’s nostrils. ”I was.. I was dreaming of my home. My family. It was not war chants but songs.” Novath wasn’t much of a singer, he was not too proud to admit that.
But when the villagers sang and danced, it was too infectious to ignore. His people were proud and joyful. Always accepting challenges and learning from one another. He missed them more than he could express. ”Though I am not much of a singer.. My mother is. She would often lead my family in celebrations… I was remembering her singing to us.” He grumbled as he looked away from Nakir and up to the ceiling.
”It is good to hold on to those memories. They bring strength and happiness” Nakir said as he stood up. He was just short enough to be able to stand fully without issue. Nakir stretched as much as he could with the limited space. ”We will need good memories in the coming times.
The coming times… Novath remembered the fat man that had spit on him days before. He had mentioned the Pits. Was that all they had planned for the Ork? To fight? Novath rolled his eyes at the idea of fighting for slavers and weaklings' entertainment. But Nakir had been correct. The less fighting he did against them now the easier it was to regain strength. He got more food and thought it wasn’t enough to really fill him. It eased the pain. He would regain his freedom. His eyes moved from the ceiling down to his cell door. His freedom and more.
14th, searing 309 Age of Sundering
They had been brought off the ship a few hours before. Bound, gagged and hooded, they were led away from the docks. The sounds of men at work slowly faded away. Many of the men who had been taken off the ship tried to complain through the gags. Some even attempted to fight back and were quickly struck down. The sound of steps grew thinner as they walked, as if some were being pulled away.
Novath came to a stop at command. The sounds of a large wooden door scraping against a cobbled floor that had not sat quite right. Then he was pulled in again. The sound of voices filling his ears. Curses and cheering, visceral threats against their lives as they were pulled through an area. Lead into another room by the sounds of it. The muffled voices still calling out from behind them.
The hood pulled from his head, eyes adjusting to the slight change in light. The gag was removed from his mouth and then the chains from his arms and legs. He rubbed his wrists before looking around. What started at twenty was now just five. Among them, he was happy to see Nakir. Nakir had taken notice of Novath as well and had begun to close the small gap between them. ”It is as I suspected. We have been brought in to fight” Nakir stated.
”Then fight we shall.” Novath said, looking at the rest around them. They were in a small room, a cell door on one end and two tiny windows to let in a little light. The other three had noticed Novath looking at them and began to back up. Fear. Even though Novath was not in full health. He was still bigger and meaner looking then the lot. His fanged teeth were still strong enough to rip flesh.
But seeing the fear in these mens eyes did not bring Novath any satisfaction. ”I shall not bring violence upon you if you promise the same. I hope for us to work as one to escape.” He said, looking between them. He wasn’t much of a leader nor public speaker. But he hoped that the statement of a common goal would bring about some form of unity.
The other three looked among themselves then back to Novath and only answered with a nod.
16th, searing 309 Age of Sundering
A few days had passed since they had been brought to the cell. The food was better, though still not enough for the Dragonborn. They were given some dried meat to build up their strength again and their water was laid in a basin for them to use. Fresh water was given every day. In the mornings they drank their fill and at nights they bathed in the remnants.
Though no one had come for them. No one was drugged out to fight nor die. By this point they had all shared names, except Novath, and stories. Novath still felt as if he did not deserve a name. The shame of his capture still hung heavy on him. But alas the rest had just referred to him as Bigs.
Niklas was a shorter man, red hair and a rough stubbled face. He was around Novaths age but considerably less bulky. Then Vath, a larger and rounder man. Bald head like Nakirs, but his beard was less bushy and splattered with hints of gray and white. Last was Sam, the middle age of Niklas and Vath. He sported long black hair and crooked teeth. Sam and Niklas had been traveling together upon their capture, they had sought to see the world and had found themselves on the ship around the time that Novath was captured. They had apparently protested against the barbaric treatment that Novath and others had received, which in turn landed them in a cell. Vath had been down in the cells a while before the rest showed up.
Nakir had begun to lead the other three in prayers. A cleric or priest of some sort, he was never to open about who he served. Just that he longed to bring peace to anyone he could. It was a lofty goal but respectable enough in its own right.
Novath had begun to build himself again. The added space allows him to work his form and muscles back to a more fit state. He had even begun to teach the others some ways to fight and build form without much to work with. Though awkward as it was, the others seemed grateful for it. It was a simple process but everyone was in different places with their form. Something as simple as push ups would take an hour or more to do, just correcting form for the best results. But the real fun came with fighting.
Fighting had been easy for Novath to grasp on to. A natural gift of Ecith was being taller and bigger than most others. Top that off with being a dragonborn and you had a natural recipe for strength without much effort.
Novath stepped and wrestled with the others. His goal was not to teach them to kill, but to survive. Novath began to show them different holds that he was taught as a child. He would start with the wrist, his massive hand covering it with ease.
Through the wrist body could be controlled with ease. One could grab the wrist and twist it behind the back of their opponent. Pushing and pulling them as they saw fit. Holding the wrist and twisting it in towards the middle of the stomach would hold the opponent at an awkward level. Allowing the one holding the wrist the ability to move them how they wanted. With these holds they could use their opponents weight and momentum against them. It would hopefully be enough to teach them how to survive.
As the morning came and went the group expected to stay within the cell again like they had days before. But soon after the first meal, a pair of large guards with spears walked into the cell. ”Aight meat bags, stand up and follow suit. Keep nice and we won’t chain ya” one of the guards grumbled beneath a helm. Motioning for them to move.
Novath stood first, moving towards the door and ducking under the frame. As he did the others followed. The guards had kept true to their words and they led them down the halls past other cells. Before they marched into a large, empty room. On one end a large gate and the other the smaller door they came in. ”Good luck scum. I’ve got money on you ork.” The guards laughed as they left the room. Closing the smaller door behind them.
Soon they heard the sounds of horns blaring and the gate opening before them. The sunlight filling the room blinded the group for a moment. Novath blocked the sun with his forearm.
(For the purposes of ease and other locations not being open. I'll just be posting all parts in this section)
