Eman had sttarted this particular journey in Rylencia where he had been staying for quite some time just wandering and listening to the words of others with his long unusual ears. He watched the many many people of the city doing their many things following many strange reasonings. He had only killed twice. It seemed this city did not warrant much of God's atttention. Most people avoided Eman and Eman avoided most people all for one reason or another.
Finally he had been meditating at the top of a fountain listening to the humans speak of the Orakin when he received the quiet urging to go to Orjak where he would know his purpose. It was not a direct command from God and Emann could have chosen to do something else but he followed the suggestion as if it were holy writ. And now he was in Orjak, a place where, as he had heard, there was a proving arena for outsiders. Outsiders like Eman. Many of the large Orakin laughed at his diminutive size, many found themselves inexplicitly afraid of Eman and this seemingly ridiculous fear made them angry. Roars of outrage and laughter greeted Emans sensitive ears as he set foot alone into the dust and dried blood of the arena and he did not flinch or speak. Everyone knew there was only one reason to set foot in such a place and everyone knew a fool was about to be parted from his life. Just not in the way any of them expected. Eman was used to all this sort of thing. Used to the brash youth vaulting into the path of destruction and striding toward his death. Eman made the first fight quick, to assert his dominance right away and make clear his standing among these warmongers.
The youth was foolish but obviously no stranger to fighting and no stranger to winnning. He charged Eman and Eman raised the sands of the pit around him. Experienced enough the boy feinted at the last moment changing his angle of approach and atttack. But he was still pressing forward with far too much momentum. Eman also was waiting for the last moment when the sands were shifted and flashed white hot for a seconnd or less. Eman had not moved from his spot during the entire fight that had lasted only a few seconds. Now that he was over he stepped a few feet tto the side to avoid the falling corpse and the thick, now broken spike of glass that his enemy had skewered himself upon. Hot blood and chunks of glass spread out below the body and every spectator was silent and still.
Having clearly proven himself the Orakin had to admit to themselves that this tiny rat-like creature was a warrior, however grudgingly. Three Orakin came forward, two to drag away the carcass, one to congratulate Eman on his victory. Eman held up one small hand and spoke one word. "Next." The Orakin smiled widely at Eman and in turn Eman gave him no expression. In a booming voice this Orakin called out for the next challenger to come forth. As he left the arena one much older Orakin stepped forth. Considering the violent lifestyle of the race to live to old age indicated skill, power, intelligennce. Here was a far more dangerous opponent.
Eman took his time. Conjuring sands to wear at the old one and cloud his vision Eman avoided every potentially fatal axe swing with incredible speed and agility. Any single strike would have splatttered the Rakaphit all over the arena but Eman played the game exceptionally well. Each opening Eman lunged and sheared off another piece of the think hide with his viscious teeth. Eman used no glass. Eventually the battle dragged on far too long for tthe aged Orakin to handle and the great beast went tto one knee. When he asked for it to be finished quickly Eman obliged tearing through half of his throat in a few deep bites. By the end of the day Eman had earned yet another nickname, the Sand Rat. And there was not one he fought that could best him, no matter how cautiously they approached the fight. When the sun set Eman left the city limits to camp alone for the night. As he left he asked that he be summoned when a worthy opponent could be found for him.
Finally he had been meditating at the top of a fountain listening to the humans speak of the Orakin when he received the quiet urging to go to Orjak where he would know his purpose. It was not a direct command from God and Emann could have chosen to do something else but he followed the suggestion as if it were holy writ. And now he was in Orjak, a place where, as he had heard, there was a proving arena for outsiders. Outsiders like Eman. Many of the large Orakin laughed at his diminutive size, many found themselves inexplicitly afraid of Eman and this seemingly ridiculous fear made them angry. Roars of outrage and laughter greeted Emans sensitive ears as he set foot alone into the dust and dried blood of the arena and he did not flinch or speak. Everyone knew there was only one reason to set foot in such a place and everyone knew a fool was about to be parted from his life. Just not in the way any of them expected. Eman was used to all this sort of thing. Used to the brash youth vaulting into the path of destruction and striding toward his death. Eman made the first fight quick, to assert his dominance right away and make clear his standing among these warmongers.
The youth was foolish but obviously no stranger to fighting and no stranger to winnning. He charged Eman and Eman raised the sands of the pit around him. Experienced enough the boy feinted at the last moment changing his angle of approach and atttack. But he was still pressing forward with far too much momentum. Eman also was waiting for the last moment when the sands were shifted and flashed white hot for a seconnd or less. Eman had not moved from his spot during the entire fight that had lasted only a few seconds. Now that he was over he stepped a few feet tto the side to avoid the falling corpse and the thick, now broken spike of glass that his enemy had skewered himself upon. Hot blood and chunks of glass spread out below the body and every spectator was silent and still.
Having clearly proven himself the Orakin had to admit to themselves that this tiny rat-like creature was a warrior, however grudgingly. Three Orakin came forward, two to drag away the carcass, one to congratulate Eman on his victory. Eman held up one small hand and spoke one word. "Next." The Orakin smiled widely at Eman and in turn Eman gave him no expression. In a booming voice this Orakin called out for the next challenger to come forth. As he left the arena one much older Orakin stepped forth. Considering the violent lifestyle of the race to live to old age indicated skill, power, intelligennce. Here was a far more dangerous opponent.
Eman took his time. Conjuring sands to wear at the old one and cloud his vision Eman avoided every potentially fatal axe swing with incredible speed and agility. Any single strike would have splatttered the Rakaphit all over the arena but Eman played the game exceptionally well. Each opening Eman lunged and sheared off another piece of the think hide with his viscious teeth. Eman used no glass. Eventually the battle dragged on far too long for tthe aged Orakin to handle and the great beast went tto one knee. When he asked for it to be finished quickly Eman obliged tearing through half of his throat in a few deep bites. By the end of the day Eman had earned yet another nickname, the Sand Rat. And there was not one he fought that could best him, no matter how cautiously they approached the fight. When the sun set Eman left the city limits to camp alone for the night. As he left he asked that he be summoned when a worthy opponent could be found for him.
