Life was never easy for Amaran. Maybe it’s because he was born a slave or made into a gladiator to fight. Perhaps it was his less than appealing appearance or his seemingly wild behaviors. But first and foremost, it was his origin.
Amaran was a rare, almost unique breed of half-troll, half-gnome. This was a rare breed because of mere ridiculousness of the act of breeding between the two species. Gnomes were tiny, reaching barely higher than a human knee, both males and females being smaller than most human children. Trolls however were humongous, massive beings, the smallest of which were rarely smaller than three meters high.
As ridiculous as it the idea of a gnome man touching a troll female may be, the other situation was much worse. The intercouse between a troll male and a gnome female, which would surely be non-consensual, would probably get the poor thing ripped apart.
Regardless of how Amaran came into being, his parents have both been killed, father before his birth and mother during. He was born a slave to a sadistic master who liked playing with his pets. By playing he always meant torture. Thankfully, Amaran inherited the best traits from his parents, his monstrous regeneration was way better than that of the normal wood troll, making all but most horrid scars heal and disappear.
The mixing of blood made each trait become stronger, as if they are warring with one another, enhancing and strengthening to overcome the other blood. Of course it never happened, all the traits persisted and did not go away, but each of them gave Amaran great advantages.
From his troll heritage he got great regeneration, superior agility and higher strength than average human his size. From his gnome parent, Amaran gained ingenuity and intellect as well as a massive magical core inside himself, allowing him to have great potential if he were to train magic. Of course being a slave, he wasn’t allowed to, making the core rather useless, but it was there nonetheless.
As he was, Amaran was slightly below average height, with pale green skin, bright green hair and small tusks coming from his lower jaw. Otherwise he looked like a human, although his arms were a little longer than usual. By taking advantages of his racial traits, Amaron became an excellent gladiator, earning him fame and fortune, although he was still a slave, so all of that came to his master.
His new master, one he gained after being sold, was more merciful and fair. He still gave punishment and whipped those slaves who wronged him, but he allowed them to have proper treatment if they did well. Amaran had big meals three times a day, good training and equipment, spacious living space and even some coins to save for himself. He was never promised freedom, as he was way too valuable, so nothing short of a King’s intervention would save him.
So, he didn’t have any fantasies of freedom and adventure. Amaran was content with spending his time training, perfecting his stances and getting his hands on female fighters.
At first, ladies didn’t like Amaran, his appearance showed his troll heritage, which repulsed most people. Trolls are known to be dumb as bricks, making them less-than-perfect conversation partners and even worse love makers. However, once people got to know Amaran, they would understand that he was smart and willing to learn. While he was illiterate, there were no books to read anyway, but otherwise he was interesting to be around.
His growth was faster than most others’ because of his troll blood, so he was fully grown at the age of six, just a little while before he was sold. At the age of eight he tasted his first girl’s lips, at the age of nine he became a man. With his success in fighting also came his success with ladies.
The female fighters were all strong and great warriors, so nobody less powerful could get them. Thankfully, Amaran was one of the best, making girls willingly submit to him. There never was a shortage of willing participants, so Amaran became as skilled in Love as he was in War.
Truthfully, the half-troll was amongst the top three in the pits. He was agile and quick, but there were two others who were exceptional. A half-lupine, half-elf Hamorok was great at long range fights and evasion. It was impossible to get close to him to land a strike, so he was undefeated for the most part.
The other guy was half-orc, half-ogre Grum. He was a brute, about three and a half meters high, with thick skin and huge muscles. He wasn’t too smart, but his brute strength was enough to easily cleave most others in half. His favorite weapon was a great axe, which could be used to both cut and bash, depending on how you wielded it. Grum would have to switch his axes out every now and then, as they would often break in his hands.
Most of the pit fighters were half-breeds, as the mixing of blood brought out the traits and made them stronger. It was impossible to say which traits would be present, but thanks to Amaran’s luck, he received the best ones, making him one of the most profitable purchases his master made.
Being so successful, he spent most nights in a loving embrace of another. There was some competition amongst the girls, as Amaran was not as furry as Hamorok or as dumb as Grum, but knowing his superiors stamina, Amaron was enough for everybody. If girls felt particularly playful, he would share his bed with several, spending hours tending to each one tenderly. And girls loved him for that.
So, now Amaran was about fourteen, spending roughly half of his life as a gladiator. He didn’t know his true date of birth, so he celebrated his first win in the pits instead, which happened seven years and a month prior to this day.
He was lying in his bed, covered with a soft beast skin blanket, a demi-elf lying naked beside him. Demi-humans are the most common half-breed, having humans breeding with other races. So the demi-elf was half-elf and half-human. This particular one was very beautiful, with long ears and shiny green hair. She looked somewhat similar to Amaran, as one of her parent also came from the woods. She was shorter than usual elves, just the right size for the half-troll.
This one girl was called Jaina. She also had a magic core inside, but it was useless just like for any other slave. So she practiced using bow and arrows, wanting to be as good as Hamorok. Her behavior was very bitchy and catty, so most people prepositioned a ’Va’ in front of her name. She was also very competitive over Amaran’s attention, which he liked a lot. It is truly great when somebody fights over you.
Just last night Jaina had an argument with another girl, Tirit, a half-feline, half-goblin, a tiny thing that was as lusting as she was small. Goblins aren’t known for their size or their self-control, which was only accentuated by the fact that she had feline blood. The only reason she lost the argument was because she had ’those’ days, something that was not coveted outside of the beast races. So, she was sent to approach Hamorok, who gladly decided to take care of her.
Amaran and Jaina spent a good portion of the night in a wild, passion-filled haze, with their bodies interlocked and connected. She enjoyed sex, it was one of the few joys other than food and battle, which were available to slaves. And it was least dangerous and most rewarding, as you didn’t need to care if you went at it for hours, you wouldn’t turn fat or loose a limb. Pregnancy was something that was irrelevant, every slave collar had runed spellwork engraved, making males infertile while wearing them. It wasn’t permanent, and in fact it made the body work more, increasing the potency once the collar would be removed, but for now, Amaran had no risk of becoming a father.
Jaina was very kinky, she didn’t need much foreplay, so their union happened as soon as they both undressed. Throwing the clothes on the floor and throwing themselves on the bed, they wasted no time and joined together in an amazing display of mutual passion. Their bodies were similar yet different, his pale-green skin against her pale-purple, with both of the having green hair and emerald eyes. Their sizes were smaller than average, but exact match to one another.
Their bodies were well toned, no excess fat anywhere and only some scars left by their struggles. Jaina had almost perfect skin, with only few scars on her back. Some people shunned them, making Jaina feel bad, but Amaran coveted such little imperfections. He himself was less than perfect, his tusks would scare off most people, his own flesh had some gruesome scars engraved by his first master. He wasn’t unattractive, he just had features that repulsed most people who knew nothing of him.
With their bodies intertwined, Amaran studied the body of his partner, slowly moving his fingers over the skin, sliding them over the scars on Jaina’s back. First time he did it, she was scared and tried moving away, but he held her close. It was the first time somebody held her after finding those marks, making her pour out her feelings. Now, she got used to that and even enjoyed having Amaran brush his hands over her imperfections. It was one reason in particular why she loved him so much. Well, not Loved, just loved. There is no love in arena, if they ever went against each other, unless the audience would decide to spare the looser, the winner would have to kill the weaker one. And Jaina knew that Amaran was not the one to loose easily.
The two spent plenty of time together, but Amaran didn’t feel any different from what she felt. They just were just partners, lovers making each other feel good while they could. If they were to meet under different circumstances, the feelings would just get in the way. It was a lesson every salve learned at some point. Amaran had shed some tears when he was younger, after he killed the girl he felt love for. Love is those with freedom, those who are not forced to kill for entertainment of nobles. If you have a slave collar on, love is not for you.
So, they shared mutual joy the night before, ending up covered in sweat and bodily fluids. When they ended their passion filled night, they were too tired to do anything, so they just fell asleep. Their exhaustion, both mental and physical claimed them quickly, making them plunge into darkness to sleep amongst their non-existent dreams.
It is like that, both of them naked under some rugs, when an overseer found them. Filirin was a demon, a slave like them, who didn’t have a talent for fighting, but had a talent for controlling, who made his way higher up and was in charge of managing the slaves. He was special, as he was one-horned, a unicorn what people called him secretly. From the middle of his forehead a horn extended, going up and curving backwards just at the end. There were two more smaller horns growing from the base, flowing backwards close to the head, but because it was from the same base, he was still a unicorn.
Swinging the door open, the red demon made noise trying to wake the half-troll up. He banged on the door, banged on the table next to them and then banged on a shield hanging from the wall. When the half-breed finally showed sighs of life, only then the demon stopped his torture.
“Wake up Amaran. You have a match in two hours!”
“Whoa… Screw off Filirin, I am off today, it is Hamorok’s turn to entertain today.”
“Nope, there has been some changes. A royalty type came by, wishing to see a fight. He promised freedom to the winner, but he wants the best fighters to duke it out. So you, Grum and Hamorok are all fighting, as well as some jokester from the royal guy. Whoever wins walks free.”
“Eh? No kidding? You must be kidding right? Master would never allow something like that.”
“He didn’t like it, but what can he do? Royalty are just that, a royal pain in the arse. Get up and get yourself washed, maybe fuck the VJ once more. You know, royalty are not often merciful, I doubt more than one of you will make it through.”
At those words Amaran flinched. The demon was right, the trio is likely to need to kill one another to please the royal-whoever it is. Otherwise he won’t see the freedom that was promised.
“Ok, getting up now. You can leave, Jaina likes privacy.”
With that the unicorn left, leaving the naked green-haired people alone. The girl has woken by now, but only Amaran noticed it.
“So, what do you think?”
“I think I will miss you. Either way you go, I am unlikely to see you again.”
“Right. Wanna go some more?”
“You bet your tusks I do. Being the last lover of slave Amaran would be a good thing. Perhaps some of your luck will rub off on my to cootie.”
“Aye-aye. Ready to sail?”
With that the two love-rabbits resumed the activity from last night. The thought of the half-troll leaving made the demi-elf more excited and wetter than usual, so their current session was filled with more moans and nails-digging-into-the-back than before.
They separated only an hour later, once demi-elf was all out of energy. Amaran however was as lively as ever, his stamina not at all drained by the exercise, even invigorated somewhat. The thoughts of possibly attaining freedom was alluring and sweet. Such a prospect was too good to pass up.
After Jaina fell asleep once more, the half-troll took a cold shower, scrubbing his skin clean and shiny. After that he prepared his equipment, making sure it is in the best condition possible. His armor was made of leather, providing him with enough protection and allowing him to utilize his ability fully. He had twin blades, each sharpened as much as possible, to ensure that it would cut through muscle and bone if needed.
Once the time was up, Amaran make his way towards the arena entrance, waiting for the announcement. The announcer was an old guy, pretty cool to be around and to talk to. His voice was almost magical, which is why he worked in the same position for thirty years. Now he talked about whoever it was present here, wanting to witness the battle between the best fighters of the pit.
It was the royal princess, Lady Floria, a beautiful and majestic flower of the royal family, who decided to show up out of the blue and throw the master’s plans out of the window. Master never wanted to pit the trio against one another, they each provided plenty of money for the arena. But now he had no choice.
Fighting for the princess was her servant, little known about him. Amaran tried looking from underneath the archway where he was, only seeing a small figure come out of the dark arch to his left. The figure was cloaked, so it was impossible to see whether it was a he or a she, or what weapon the figure used. This amused Amaran, as he liked a little mystery. But from the small size of the figure he deduced that it was a girl.
As the announcer continued talking, across from Amaran a furry man came forth. Hamorok was in his best attire, ready to put on a show. To the right Grum came forth, his massive head showing a wide grin and a massive battle-axe held in each hand. He was giant, making everybody else seem tiny.
As announcer called out for him, Amaran walked out of the darkness, revealing his form to the audience. There were cheers and shouts of encouragement, as Amaran was one of the favorites. His appearance was the most human of all, only small tusks showing him to be a monster. Many girls wished to be swept away by a monster to some wild place and be forcefully taken by those strong green arms… Of course those were just fantasies of some women, as their own men were all home-stuck and lazy fatmen.
While the announcer was talking on, Hamorok and Amaran nodded to one another. They often trained together, as their agility types supplemented one another. They knew that it would be difficult for Hamorok to kill Grum, as his arrows would get stuck in his skin and do no damage. It would be battle of attrition, which the wolf man would loose. So it would Amaran who would take on the brute, while the bowman would provide some support and take on the hooded figure. After that it would be a great show, where they all come close to death and collapse on the floor together. Lupine regeneration was pretty great, so if his vital organs were intact, he would survive. And nothing short of cutting his head off would kill Amaran, as it was proven many times.
Everybody eyed the half-troll. He looked somewhat attractive, with his pale green skin covered in light-brown armor. He seemed to glow somewhat, his attire much brighter and livelier than grim attire of other fighters. He tried to look like a hero type, wanting to inspire people and to show his goodwill.
The royal princess looked at the new half-breed and smiled somewhat. Her smile was not cruel and evil, it was normal smile of somebody intrigued. People talked about the great fighter Amaran, a half-gnome, half-troll. He was unique, as no other such hybrid has been discovered yet. As much as princess Floria didn’t want to attend to such a place, she decided to enjoy the view after being forced to come by her father. Maybe laying with a slave like that one green-skin would teach that old fart how to use princess for his games… Those were only fleeting thoughts, as the princess would never actually give her virtue to a dumb troll slave. But the prospect of pissing off her father still seemed sweet.
When the announcer gave the signal to begin, the two allies sprung into action. Hamorok sent a number of arrows at the big brute, attempting to blind him. The first arrow did in fact reach the eye, but others just got stuck or bounced off the skin, leaving no harm. For a moment, that would be all Hamorok could do against the brute, so instead he turned to a cloaked figure.
Deciding not to pay much attention to the other two, Amaran rushed forward towards the red-skinned giant, who was struggling with an arrow in his eye socket. It was a great distraction, as Grum did not see the small man charge at him, his left being a massive blind spot. As much as he was a great warrior, he lacked brains and could do little thinking while being blinded by pain and rage.
Amaran didn’t let the chance pass by and quickly slashed at the tendons in the brute’s legs, making him drop to the ground. The skin was think and muscles were tough, but Amaran trained a lot and his swords were just sharp enough for the task at hand. Before the brute plummeted to the ground, Amaran began his relentless assault, slashing and cutting at the giant.
When he fell, Grum was confused as to why his legs gave out. He got used to being an impenetrable wall of flesh, so he didn’t get much thinking done usually, only relying on his strength. As he noticed a blur moving around, he could do nothing more than to flail his arms around, trying to hit the pest. New lacerations opened up in his skin and his axes found no resistance as they swung about. He couldn’t hit the pesky blur.
The showing of intellect from the green-skin intrigued the princess somewhat. Immobilizing the brute allowed the twin blades to do great damage while staying relatively safe. If the brute could move about and face the opponent, there would be much difficulty fighting, but now he just plopped on the ground, waiting to die. There was nothing to be done, the red-skinned giant slowly bled, painting his bright red skin darker and darker. If no vital organs are hit, then the man would bleed to death. Not even his superior regeneration, which is common amongst monster races, would be able to cope with this many cuts. Truly, brains over brawn. And a bit of luck in there as well.
At some point Amaran stopped. He knew that Gurm had little chance to survive. He made quick work of the giant thanks to Hamorok. If he finished the fight quickly, perhaps there would be a chance of save the brute. Thinking that he turned around to help the wolf man, only to find him cut in half and twitching on the dirty floor of the arena, his limbs missing completely.
The audience were captivated. As much as it was amazing to see the smaller green man cut up the bigger red man, seeing as the hooded figure suddenly charge at the bowman, ignoring his arrows and then proceed to dismember him was awe inspiring. He showed great speed and left no chance for him.
Seeing how dire the situation is, Amaran charged. He didn’t want the wolf man to die, not by somebody else’s hand. If he won now, than wolf man could still survive.
His opponent was a small girl… No, a small boy. He looked like a cat with pointy wolf-ears. Amaran knew this breed well, Tirit looked like that. Before him stood a feline-gremlin hybrid. They were quick and agile, no wonder Hamorok got cut down so easily. He couldn’t escape fast enough.
So, the first half of the fight was done, if he didn’t win now, nobody would be granted freedom. It was a quick start to the fight and the two opponents were dispatched quickly.
“Minas, don’t kill him, I want him freed.”
The princess shouted at the small feline. He only smirked in response, he didn’t seem to be willing to follow her orders.
As Amaran came close, they clashed together in the dance of claw and steel. The cat-boy used one short sword in one hand and claws on the other. The shallow cuts that were left on Amaran’s body didn’t bother him, he just fought on, knowing they would heal. Their skills were relatively equal, their styles both relied on quick strikes and dashes. Perhaps the cat-boy was faster, but the green-skinned man had greater healing power, making wounds close insanely fast if they were mere scratches, making most attacks irrelevant.
Lacking in strength, Minas lacked the capability to wound his opponent severely. He could only draw out the battle, hoping for his opponent to make a mistake and expose a weak spot. Amaran knew it as well and he too looked for a weak spot to exploit.
The deciding factor was the experience in fighting. While Minas seemed like an excellent warrior, he didn’t spend half of his life fighting almost everyday and adhering to many other styles. He didn’t perfect his body to fit his style and his weapons and he didn’t learn the art of battle deception as well as Amaran did.
So, Amaran used a feint. It was a tiny distraction, impossible to see by an untrained eye, but Minas was trained well enough to notice. Amaran miss-stepped, as if he got tripped over something and tried to balance himself immediately. It produced a tiny wavering in his stance, a small moment to exploit, which Minas did without hesitation. He quickly swung his sword, hoping to pierce the half-troll.
That was exactly what the half-troll needed. He righted himself immediately, moved himself so the blade would miss any vital organs and allowed the sword to enter his body. Such wound would be inconsequential, so he just let it happen. With the feline warrior now loosing his weapon, Amaran quickly slashed at him, wounding him.
Knowing that princess wanted himself alive, Amaran didn’t intend to kill his opponent, but he wouldn’t let him get off so easily for defeating his frenemy. He swung again and again, wanting to wound the small critter.
As he was about to land another hit, a massive surge of lighting came forth from the cat-boy, hitting Amaran’s blade and conducting the lightning towards him. The electricity ravaged his muscles, making him spasm. His muscles contracted, making him fall on the ground, powerless.
The face of the cat-boy distorts into a wicked grin. He isn’t used to loosing, and he is not going to loose now, even if it means breaking some rules. Using magic in the arena was forbidden, unless stated otherwise which what everyone was shouting about just now. The announcer, the arena owner, Amaran’s master and even princess were furious. But the little bastard didn’t care.
Amaran began regaining his senses, but most damage wasn’t done by lightning, but by Amaran himself. The display of magic made his own magic core retaliate, making magic in his body fluctuate. If not for his collar and anti-magic ward, such pathetic show of magic would barely touch the half-troll, but with the runes in place to stop it, his own magical power was used to subjugate itself and Amaran. It was the battle without winner, Amaran’s magic was forced to fight itself, locking in the unending cycle, only getting fueled by the magic attacks from the pussy beside him.
There was havoc inside Amaran. The runes made his own magic hurt him, but the attacks from Minas, made his magic try to retaliate. The small furry critter didn’t understand what he was doing, he only saw a slave writhing in pain. Truthfully, none of his attacks bore any real damage, the fire and lightning would be healed, the ice spikes and earth bullets would be ejected and wounds closed. It was Amaran’s own magic that made him scream in pain.
Enjoying the pathetic display before him, Minas decided to toy some more before breaking the slave. He used pure mana to lift the body up and to try and tear limb from limb. He couldn’t do it even if he tried his best, the reaction was produced by Amaran again, not my Minas. And the agonizing screams also came from Amaran’s own mana.
The magic inside him pushed against the ward violently, making the collar heat up and the few runes glow bright. As they came in contact with his skin, they left those runes as marks on his skin, further increasing the effect of the ward. Now two engravings were fighting him.
With the wild magical torrent growing inside Amaran, he began loosing consciousness, drifting in and out because of pure agony he felt. Minas enjoyed the few, because he believed it was his effort that produced such pain.
As this went on, the guards attempted to approached the two locked in magical duel, but they were repulsed by magic. Nothing could be done, magicians were not kept around as no magic was allowed to be used here. The nearest magician would take at least fifteen minutes to get here.
As the two were locked in the duel of wills, Amaran’s magic core began to crack. The crystal that controlled and collected mana within his body was fighting itself, locked right in the middle of the three forces, Minas’ magic attack, Amaran’s retaliation and ward’s backlash.
As seconds and then minutes went on, Amaran screamed and screamed as his centre was torn apart. The core cracked, the pieces separated from it, but they stayed together, locked in place by opposing forces. More and more stress was applied to the core, as inner magic fluctuated faster and more violently. Soon, Minas felt something was wrong, but he dismissed the matter.
The core pieces inside Amaran were being pulverized, turning into fine dust. It still held the shape of the core, but it wouldn’t last for long. The process similar to this was called Sundering amongst monster races and was often performed to increase the magic potential of shamans and druids. Normal races were too weak to survive it.
The advantage of monster races was their great regeneration, which allowed those races to survive if their core was damaged. Making cracks and splitting the core apart would force the body to repair it and make it grow slightly. This process could be initiated through rituals or through use of exceptionally strong spells. This fact was why most mages disliked monster mages. They could use a spell way more powerful and impossible to control than their civilized counter parts, survive after that and grow stronger. Such wild mages were often called primal mages and were feared, until they were exterminated long ago. This is one of the reasons, slaves were not allowed to use magic, except for a few exceptions.
The process Amaran went though was much finer. His core didn’t just crack, it got destroyed completely, turning into fine powder. It wasn’t a miracle it still conducted mana, it wasn’t anything special, using core dust with metal alloys allowed men to create magical staves and wands, any little piece of core was great mana conductor. But having his core in such a broken down state allowed magic to grow wild and increase in power exponentially. If it wasn’t for the second Ward engraving, the power would have already poured out and destroyed the first.
At some point the magical power reached the limits that the two wards could control. The metal collar suddenly burst open, unable to subside the vast magic and it poured out quickly. Most of that power flowed towards the closest conductor of magic, towards Minas. He didn’t understand what happened, he just felt a massive spike in magic and then a massive magical backlash went through his body. He didn’t expect the troll to be able to use magic, so he didn’t care about possibility of backlash, which brought him his demise. The massive magic that accumulated flowed towards his core and being unable to contain in such a small space, it flowed towards the rest of his body.
Mana is known to give life. Pour it into a plant, it would grow bigger and stronger, use it to enhance muscle and you get more power. But it is only good in moderation. The magic power that Minas received was immense. His own core was tiny, as small as a blueberry, but it still proved to be enough to utilize magic. Amaran’s magic core filled his heart almost entirely, and it was bigger than a normal human’s. The difference was just too big in both the potential and capacity.
The raw mana flowed through Minas’ body and then it disintegrated, like a leaf smoldering away. His appendages just turned dark and then from edges they faded away, with a small blue line flowing from outside towards the centre. It wasn’t fire that burned him, it was pure mana. With just that, he turned completely dark, with his ashes scattering in the wind.
Amaran’s mana, seeing no other conductors nearby than flowed towards a different entity, towards the inhibitor. The first one was destroyed, blown away, but the one on the skin was a different matter.
Branding a slave with runes was a forbidden practice, as it effectively changing his being. The runes were derived from primal forces themselves, their images and sounds carried massive power and were forbidden to practice without proper caution and supervision. Changing engraving made into ones’ body was nearly impossible. You could cut it, brand something on top, pour massive mana into it, but everything would be useless. Only few cases where successful rebranding was done were known, and nobody knew how.
So, getting rid of the branding on Amaran’s skin was impossible in conventional ways. Well, there were no conventional ways. So, the magical power within the green-skinned man turned towards his genetic memory, towards the times when his race used primal tongue many millennia ago. There was a single word, a rune that could help.
Currently, three words were on his skin: ’magical’ ’power’ ’limit’. Concentrating, mana then engraved another word, a short and almost meaningless when used in engraving or spell casting, but essential in this situation. A small rune word appeared in front of the other three, rendering the inhibitor null and void.
With that, the struggle within Amaran subsided, the magical fluctuations ended and the remainder of his core was allowed to flow freely through his bloodstream. Normal races would die from such thing happening, but Amaran’s superiors regeneration as well as the immediate healing from the Mage who finally made an appearance saved him. Having his magical core no longer present, healing him became a cakewalk. The mage quickly mended his wounds and continued pouring mana inside, hoping to save him.
Princess Floria immediately called for best royal magicians, healers, clerics and anybody who could do healing. She wanted to make sure the green-skinned man survives, she promised freedom and it can’t be granted to a dead man. Her action as well as continuous pouring of mana ultimately saved his life.
Princess Floria had to part with a considerable sum of money, which was her father’s initial plan all along. What wasn’t planned was for the one of the most promising warriors in his private army to die. This would surely leave a dent on his reputation. But princess was glad. She disliked her father and even more she hated that damn pussy, whose insubordination and violation of the direct order cost him his life. She was glad that her father would get angry and shout, but this time he had nobody else to blame. Even the green-skin was innocent, as it was Minas’ own mana that produced the backlash that killed him.
As princess pondered on that, she saw to it that the now-freed warrior was tended to with upmost care and respect. Royal promise cannot be broken. She was glad with the outcome, because the three top man of the pits were supposed to die and Minas to survive. The new outcome was promising to be very interesting.
While the half-troll was carried away, his neck had an engraving with four runes. A new rune had little meaning, it only meant ’negative’. It was a simple rune, most people never really bothered to learn such rune, but it saved Amaran’s life. In the conventional tongue, the new rune simply meant ’No’.