by Charles Dean
“I take it things didn’t go too smoothly after that?” Lee asked. His brain was already filling in pieces of the political story that he hadn’t even been told. It was a familiar tale that he had heard dozens of times over back home. The only difference was that race actually meant differently-colored skin or ethnic background there and not an entirely different race of humanoids like it did here. To say that Firbolgs were stronger here wasn’t a lie. They had better starting stats in that area, so there really wasn’t an argument to be made, and it wasn’t entirely biased to say they were born better at certain things. Anyone who had seen Miller tear through a group of foes like he was a chainsaw-wielding engineer slaughtering zombies could understand exactly how much stronger Firbolgs were.
That said, delusions of true superiority were such an easy crutch that Lee already knew where it was going the moment this man started talking about a Herald preaching that Firbolgs and Leprechauns and the other races were better than Humans. No one wants to feel bad about their lot in life, but over half of the people in any town are below their own personal bar for what ‘successful’ means. So, to prevent themselves from feeling ‘worse’ than their counterparts, most set random, abstract reasons for why they are better than others. ‘I’m an X, and the job of an X is hard and necessary. If you’ve never done it, then you don’t know what I’ve gone through and how vital I am.’ Worst-case scenario, people end up saying, ‘Oh, those people are just stupid because that occupation, that race, or that group is bad. Since we’re not them, we’re better.’
The non-Human races had likely started to get behind the idea that at least they weren’t Human. Even though they weren’t successful--they didn’t have wealth and renown, a beautiful wife or a manor in the country--they at least weren’t Human. They were Firbolgs or Leprechauns or whatever and thus better than a significant portion of the population simply because of that fact alone. The fact that every race in the game had advantages and disadvantages didn’t matter. Even though power and might weren’t everything in a fight, the fact that Firbolgs had a penalty to certain stats like coordination and reflex when they started was conveniently overlooked. The result was that they had created a social order based solely around their specious concept of racial superiority in order to create social standing for themselves. The consequence was that they had completely denigrated and destroyed Humans’ ability to function within the same city.
Lee wondered how they’d feel about the fact that one of the weakest fighters in Satterfield, a Human named Ramon, had been one of the most challenging opponents he had faced off against since he arrived on this world. Lee still went to sleep even now thinking about how he could incorporate Ramon’s tricks into his own fights--much more so, in fact, than he ever worried about the speed or strength he might need to compete with his Firbolg companion, Miller.
He was still mulling over this universal social issue that he had apparently stepped into while the old man continued. “Didn’t go smoothly? Well, depends who you ask though,” the man said. “If you were part of the Tigernach faction, then yeah: things went swimmingly. They drummed up enough support within a week to challenge the king by pulling together the help of every other Leprechaun and Firbolg family. They had five of the thirteen seats between those two races alone, and it gave them a large enough minority to issue a challenge.”
“A challenge?” Lee wasn’t sure what that meant. “Wouldn’t it just be called a vote?”
“Vote? No, a challenge. You have to send a champion in who will fight all of the champions of a house one after the other by himself. If he wins the challenge, the head of his house becomes the acting representative of the city until he passes away, either from a new challenge or old age. At that time, the city would revert back to its oligarchic roots, and leaders would be elected. It’s a stupid law from way back in the day when this city was founded on blood and battle. The council then felt that a weak house would drag the town’s martial ability in the wrong direction, which would cost us ground in the great wars that were fought when the city was founded. You only need a third of the seats to issue a challenge, but it hasn’t been relevant before now because no one has ever done it. It’s simply too risky.”
“I take it that the Herald acted as the champion of the house?” Lee asked knowingly. The old man nodded. “And then he went undefeated?” The man nodded again. “But how? That doesn’t make sense. Shouldn’t there have been at least one good fighter who could have stopped him?”
“Oh, there was. The previous champion of my household, House Alastar, was an undefeated gladiator by the name of Hunter. He was so skilled in the arena that the idea of a challenge would be ludicrous. He alone defeated nearly ten people in a single fight. The way he worked his war maul was marvelous to watch. Unfortunately, he went missing three days before the challenge was issued along with two of our other top fighters, Arand and William. We found out later that their food had been drugged with sleeping agents, and then they were kidnapped from their own homes and shipped off to a nearby town, where they were held for a week before being let go. It left us wholly unprepared.” The man sighed heavily again, clearly distraught over the story he was retelling. “When they showed back up, it made us look even worse--as if they were cowardly and fled.”
“So, the usurpers won easily, didn’t they?” Lee guessed, filling in the blanks. “The Herald came in and beat the leading faction, a Human faction, without contest and played it up as if Humans were just inferior and victory was a common sense, guaranteed outcome. No one knew about the underhanded schemes or the dirty ploys, so the propaganda about Humans being second class only spread further.”
“That’s exactly it . . . except that the fight didn’t go over so smoothly. Lacking a champion, my employer and benefactor--one of the greatest men to ever live--took to the stage himself. He fought hard, majestically, you might say, with skill that no one knew he had, and the battle was too close for anyone who saw it to look down on either party. Unfortunately, he still died. It was rough to watch. It was the worst day of my life. The only thing that made it worse was when the Firbolg and Leprechaun factions started spinning lies about how easily he was trounced and how the fight was humiliating for any Human spectator.”
“That’s not good, but it doesn’t explain how you were arrested. And shouldn’t there still be other Human factions?”
“There are two left, but one of them went the way of the Dwarves and the Aes Sidhe, packing up their bags and leaving as soon as the climate changed,” the man replied.
“The Dwarves and the Aes Sidhe left too?” Lee was confused by this. “But wasn’t it the Humans who were being targeted? Why did they leave?”
“Well, a Dwarven Herald showed up a week or two later and led that entire race away. One of the two remaining Human factions asked if they could go as well due to the political climate. As for the Aes Sidhe, well, they were closer to the Dwarves to begin with, so when the Dwarves left, and they saw a third of Kirshtein’s Human population going with them, they tagged along too.”
“I see.” Lee nodded along, his frown deepening. The only bright side to this entire story was that at least a good number of people had made it out before things got too bad. “But when did things reach this level? And what got you in here? Did you protest the changes?”
“You’d be surprised, but it didn’t take long. One minute you’d be sleeping peacefully by yourself in a bed, the next minute you’d be getting beaten and dragged through the streets to the jail. Most of the Firbolgs and Leprechauns took to hating us Humans like a fish to water. By the end of the first month, they were arresting anyone with power--anyone with wealth or influence--inside the town on whatever bogus charge they could. They took our money, promising to give it back if we were cleared of the charges, but there was never a trial. Arrested Firbolgs got fair trials, good cells and lenient judges. But us? Well, I was arrested for supposedly stealing from a man I’ve never heard of in a part of town I’ve never visited. Like everyone
here, they threw me in the gladiator pits, and I was one of the few that lived. Most of us wealthy ones die. That way, they never have to worry about giving back the money.”
“So . . . the Firbolg Herald appointed his own people into the justice system the moment he took over. Since you had both money and influence, that’s why you’re here.”
“It happened last month for me,” one of the Humans on the wall said, breaking into the conversation. “They didn’t even bother telling me what court case I was obstructing. Too lazy to make up one, I guess. I went from being the knight captain of the town guard to being stuck here. They’re slowly trying to starve me to death with the occasional piece of bread and some water every now and then, and they don’t even let me fight. It’s a shame, but I guess they thought I’d make them look bad.”
“I’ve been here for a month and a half,” the old man who had filled him in said. “I’m just a lot better with a sword than those bastards thought I’d be. I’m Dave, by the way. Or as my arena name is these days, The Old Fart-Whistle.”
“I’m Pelham,” the knight captain said as he stood up and walked over, pulling up a chair so that he could sit down at the table too.
“I’m Lee. And I think I was arrested because I actually did kill nine or ten Firbolgs and a Human recently. So . . . starve to death, is it?” he asked, looking down at the bread he was still holding.
“They do whatever they can to make us look weak and miserable when we reach the arena. They want to keep selling that same song and story about all Humans being terrible fighters. Hell, they have that guy, Silinus the Slayer, kill most of the new arrivals who show any promise. Makes them look better and us look worse,” Pelham grumbled. “I’m sure that once my muscles forget how to work from always being locked in this container, and I shrivel up like a haggardly old man, they’ll let me have my chance in the arena. They’ll let me in for one last fight so that they can showcase the superiority of some guy in perfect shape with the best gear money can buy.”
“Starvation . . .” The word hung on Lee’s lips.
“Yeah, we said that already. You’re still in shock, huh?” Pelham asked.
“He’s new. Leave him alone,” one of the other men lying against the wall said. “He probably didn’t know what was coming for him when they locked him up.”
“He killed Firbolgs--a damn lot of them too. How could he not?” Pelham laughed. “I wish I had been there and seen the look on those bastards’ faces when you showed them that arrogance and lies and trumped-up social classes don’t stop death from finding ‘em just the same.”
“So, no one has eaten properly since they got here?” An idea kept swirling around in Lee’s head.
“You’re really stuck on that, aren’t you? You don’t seem that large for a glutton. You one of those high-metabolism kids that needs ten solid meals to make it through the day?”
“No,” Lee answered with a smile, looking over the group. “I just worked up an appetite from killing Silinus earlier. Was hoping to wash down that victory with a good mug of ale, but now you’re telling me that I won’t even have food. This just won’t do.” Undefeated Leprechaun built to squish noobs on their first day? Not anymore! Now, I just need to milk this for some faith and get some food in the process.
Lee checked in on his pair of golems and told them. Go and find out what you can. We need food quickly. The mice were happy to oblige. The people in the arena had essentially been eating junk food while watching Lee try to stay alive. While he was in the arena, fighting for his life, there were several food vendors they had seen.
“Wait, you killed Silinus?! They made you fight him right off? That’s crazy. You must have really ruined the mood of the guards or someone higher up.” Dave shook his head.
“He could be lying . . . trying to make himself feel big since he’s stuck in jail,” Pelham suggested. “Kid, don’t bother. We’ll know sooner or later. Few people could give Silinus a fair fight if they were skilled and armed, but you are going to tell us you beat him barehanded?”
“You can believe what you want,” Lee replied distractedly. He was so busy looking through one of the rodent’s eyes at the moment that he wasn’t fully engaged in the conversation anymore. There was no point in arguing about small stuff to impress them when what he needed wasn’t their respect: it was the faith points they would generate. “It won’t bother me. As you said, the truth will come out in time.”
“You gonna pretend that you didn’t just mention that to sound big? That you weren’t about to go on bragging and bloviating about how great you were in the arena on your first day? Come on, kid. If you’re going to brag, do it right. Puff out your chest and say whatever exaggerated nonsense you think you can get away with. Make it creative. Don’t say you killed ten Firbolgs or that you killed Silinus. Say that you killed over a hundred and murdered one of the Heralds while you’re at it.” Pelham ranted on, continuing his challenge of Lee’s boast, laughing as he did.
Lee wondered what Pelham would think if he knew he actually had killed a Herald and at least a dozen Firbolgs, if not more, thanks to his conflicts in Satterfield. He decided that since Pelham would think he was lying no matter what he said, he might as well have fun with the old knight captain. “Maybe I should tell you that, one time, I freed a group of enslaved Humans while killing over forty guards in the process with my trusty Firbolg best buddy and a beautiful archer.”
“Ah, there’s a good story. How about you go into more detail about the women. We’re all men here. They don’t let women fight in the arena after all. So, add in some more girls . . . that beautiful kind that just crawls into bed without a single prompt.” Pelham continued chuckling without any way of knowing that he was describing an actual character in Lee’s story to a T.
“Let’s not forget food fit for the king and queen of Spicy Noodle Chicken Surprise themselves. Did you have feast after feast after saving all of these women?” one of the previously-uninterested parties lying on the side of the room said as he sat up to join the conversation. “Gods, what I’d give for a nice juicy slab of meat and some fruit.”
“And a nice bed. You must have had the best beds in the world back when you were in town, right? The kind that doesn’t leave you exhausted the next day after a whole night of tossing and turning?” one of the other Humans chimed in as he sat up too.
“I’d be lying if I told you there wasn’t a bed there that would make every bed in the entire town of Kirshtein look like a lumpy pile of burlap sacks. Its sheets were so smooth and crisp that a Kirstein monarch would find that his own bed felt like a pile of straw by comparison,” Lee replied wistfully.
“Oh, really? And I’m sure your home was also more impressive,” Pelham continued. “Probably had a room so well decorated that even the most nitpicking wife couldn’t find fault with it.”
“Well, it depends which wife is nitpicking. The queen from this world? Never. My mother? She’ll never approve of any place I live, and no room will ever make her happy, so it’s all a crapshoot really.”
“Oh, but that isn’t the end, is it? I’m sure you also--” Pelham was about to lead Lee into more hyperbole, but Lee was having so much fun with the conversation he couldn’t help but interrupt.
“Took over a castle? Of course. How else do you think I killed the Herald inside it? Single-handedly defeated knights and dragons in an epic battle as a score of beautiful women watched? Absolutely,” Lee said, piling it on. Even though every word was true, more or less, the others were laughing as if he were the biggest gloating fibber in existence. “Let’s also not forget the fact that people practically worshipped me. I think it’s because of my good looks, but they are all also hung up on the fact that I came back from the dead.”
“So, you can’t die, huh? That explains why you’re still alive with those tiny arms of yours. I hate to tell you this, but you’d make a terrible knight, much less gladiator. A cheat ability like not being able to die is the only way you’ll make it through the mo
nth.”
“Cheat ability? Well, you know, when I first got in the fight with them, they sent a Glubinsa to slime me. Just to show them how amazing I am, I turned the entire thing into booze before their eyes and drank it. You should have seen the look on those two Firbolg guards’ faces--especially after I made a bet with one for better living quarters.”
“Come on, man! You’re killing me! That’s too much! You gotta give me time to breathe,” Dave gasped between fits of laughter. It apparently didn’t take much to make them laugh--likely due to the fact that they’d had nothing to entertain themselves with for a month--but Lee appreciated it nonetheless anyway.
Even as he was speaking, he was also managing his golems. They had found one of the nearby food vendors but were struggling to carry their bounty back to him. The two mice had grabbed the food from either side and dragged it like it was a pizza on the sidewalk, but that didn’t work. They had stealth on their side, but moving food was visible, and they couldn’t drag it along quickly enough so that a guard wouldn’t notice.
At this point, Lee decided to change tactics altogether: he had the mice eat the food. They wouldn’t actually digest anything since they were really just clay sculptures, and instead, the food just went into the hollow containers that were their stomachs. Their size expanded a bit as their bellies were filled, and thus their own size bit by bit as they kept snacking on the vendor’s grub and then running away with it over time. Normally, Lee would have felt awful about stealing from people. He knew they were just trying to make a living the same way he was, but after they had jeered and sneered as they watched him fight for his life, he somehow didn’t mind taking from their stalls without paying. If every person in the colosseum was profiting off his potential death, he felt it was a fair price to pay.
