Act 1.1 A Meeting of Paths

A Meeting of Paths

Consciousness slowly ebbed into being bringing with it a dull ache at the back of the head. He felt cold, cold right through to his very bones as though he had been sleeping in a bath of ice. His stomach and legs felt sodden from a pool of something that he appeared to be lying in.

Slowly he opened his eyes only to be greeted by a half light of flames casting dull illumination into the night time sky, he had no idea where he was. The last thing he remembered he was scouting the Mountains of Heaven for Princess Freya, he thought he had heard something then a sharp blow to the back of the skull and then oblivion.

With a mighty splatter he rolled his bulky form over onto his back, splurting a cascade of mud and filth from under his body. Looking up he could see the night sky overhead although his vision was obscured by thick iron bars.

With deep sigh he pulled his mighty form upwards into a sitting position and fully took in his surroundings. He saw that he was in an iron cage, one of many such cages infact, he could see many similar cages stretching off to his left hand side as well as another row opposite him running parallel. A walkway of sawdust and hay stretched between his cage and the one opposite, brazers of coals standing intermittently along the walkway providing a low source of lighting. Over the walkway and half of his cage there was a low ceiling of thick timber, so low that he knew he would not be able to stand up without embedding his horns in the roof.

Whilst wooden beams covered the ceiling of half of his cage the other half was open to the elements, letting a deluge of rainwater to enter his holding cell as it pelted down from the night sky in thick, grim drops.

His cell floor was mere soil, turned into thick, clunky mud from exposure to the rain, lying on it the source of his cold and wetness.

He became aware of not being alone, someone was rattling a metallic object against a cell door further down the corridor and he could just make out the sound of voices, although could not make out the words.

The sounds gradually got closer and closer until the sources of the noise approached his cell, two lank greasy looking men, draped in ill fitting armour with swords hanging loosely by their sides. He took an instant dislike to the men, he knew their sort, the sort that loved to revel in the misery and pain of others because their own existence was so pitiful.

They sneered as they approached him, confident that the iron bars would hold him. One of the men chucked a bowl of slop that was supposed to be food and a gourd of water in the cell.

"Eat up, you're going to need your strength, tomorrow you earn your keep in the arena", commented one of the men.

The men chuckled to themselves as they retreated down the corridor, snuffing out the lights as they went. Soon he was plunged into darkness, unsure what tomorrow would bring, but knowing that it would not be good.