Roleplay Forum - Valucre

Mana Valley is located due north of Athirat Desert’s Amphitheatrum. The Soothsigh River carves a path through the heart of the valley. The hallowed ground is thickly coated with a blue fog that seeped from the spirits and ghosts that haunt the valley. Skeletal black lanterns, the only source of light, hover within the strange blue fog; their flames never burn cold, even during the fierce thunderstorms that ravage these southern lands. Adventurers daring enough to traverse this soil use these arcane lights to help guide their way through the treacherous land, but warning to those foolish enough to leave the path of the lanterns. The bitter souls of those who perished within the gladiator compound were doomed to haunt Mana Valley and their hatred for the living was colder than Bete's touch. Even in death, freedom eluded them.

Ze'chne Azkabab, a mage enslaved to a member of the House Guild, was said to have fought fearlessly within the Amphitheatrum. He would fight against many opponents and, for many years, sent those opponents to their untimely deaths. In those days, the fallen Gladiators would be buried in unmarked graves that littered the valley north of the Amphitheatrum.

Like other Gladiators, the credits Azkabab earned with the fall of each opponent (those not used to purchase the various scrolls and cantraps used in his fights) were hoarded in order to purchase his freedom from his callous Master.

It was during what would have been his last battle that he would be forced into combat against a younger boy who possessed a meager talent in the art of the arcane. Azkabab drew the battle out as long as he could, for he was far beyond the skill of this boy and the deep gouges that ran the length of the mage's backside, provided him by his Master, served as a reminder to Azkabab of the spectator sport in which he was imprisoned. When the boy was too exhausted to fight and defend his life, he clung to the mage’s thigh, pleading for mercy. The crowd demanded mercy, but Azkabab’s Master demanded blood.

Azkabab’s mercy saved the boy’s life, but it cost the mage more than his own.

As Azkabab’s attentions were drawn upon the crowds that cheered him, he thought, for the mercy he’d shown the boy, the child rose from complacency to drive a dagger into the mage’s throat. Azkabab’s hope for freedom would be no more as the mage sank to the ground in bitter defeat. Dying eyes stared in bewilderment at the crest inlaid within the handle of the dagger. It was his Master’s crest. Azkabab had been betrayed, his freedom forever denied.

The mage would die, but not before those pallid lips uttered dark incantations that cursed the grounds of the Amphitheatrum. That night, a blue fog emanated from Azkabab’s unmarked grave and, from then on, would grow thicker and thicker as the wraith that Azkabab had become would draw in the souls of the men who died within the Amphitheatrum. As in life, the Gladiators were enslaved; their souls doomed to forever haunt the grounds where their bodies rested and their freedom eternally denied them by the mage who had once shown mercy.

Submitted by: Ayden Nedane
Edited by: Disco Lemonade