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Rejected; TP Chptr I Prt IV
Topic Started: 4th July 2006 - 11:08 PM (400 Views)
Morkskittar
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The Tunnel's Resident Rodent Ecologist

The Pitfighter
Chapter I Part IV

Rakkin bearily opened his eyes, his head pounding. The floor around his cot was littered with empty bottles of Skavenade. Wearily, he remembered that he was actually going to have to pay for all that wonderful drink... he dimly recalled a loan the night before in one of the taverns surrounding Hell Pit. Rakkin goraned and rolled over. He fell on the floor and swore drunkenly. Trying to stand up, rakkin succeeded only in falling back down again. He groaned and tried to open his eyes. The glow from his Warpstone lamp nearly blinded him. Rakkin howled and covered his eyes, wimpering like a baby.

He lay on the floor for at least an hour, unmoving and unthinking. Gradually, his mind began to clear, but his head still pounded from all that Skavenade. Rakkin slowly stood, feeling like a vein just cut out of a victim. He staggered over to his lab bench, and wearily plopped down in the chair. He gazed stupidly at his tools before cloing his eyes again.

He remembered back to the day before... the HellRats match against that accursed Thrask Vilepaw. Rakkin managed a growl, even in his current state. The damned Moulder had cheated.... and the judge just let the fucking guy keep going... Rakkin's arm jerked involuntarily, knocking over a jar of Warpstone Paste. The damn Jezzail team had blown out poor Splinter's chest...

Reminded of his beast, Rakkin lifted his head and stared at the cage that Splinter was locked up in. Brass and bronze wires ran into the beast, and a hasty patchwork job was evident in his chest. The newly pasted flesh stretched with each heartbeat... a potential wekaness, there, that thinness...

Rakkin allowed his head to drop again. At least he had had the presence of mind last night to operate on Splinter... how he had managed it, he didn't know.

Rakkin was asleep again in five minutes.

***

He woke up later, and his head was feeling much better. he shook it, testing its pain; none came. Rakkin stood up. Splinter was awake, eyes ablaze. He had too much pent-up energy...

The Moulder looked at the clock he had bought ever so long ago from a Warlock engineer. He choked. He had ten minutes to get to the pit... Now he remembered everyhting.

He actually didn't have to pay for the Skavenade. He had made a bet with the bartender. The bartender had said Rakkin was too cowardly to ebter Hell Pit's new tournament, The Rejected. Rakkin, already half drunk, said that he would enter if the bartender gave him 20 casks of Skavenade. The bartender had accepted... and now Rakkin had ten minutes to get there or he would have to pay.

He grabbed Splinter, ran out of his lab, locked the door, and ran through the winding corridors of Hell Pit and its surrounding areas.

***

He barely made it. the judgerat quirked an eyebrow at him but made no further comment. Rakkin knew this one; his name was Halikkenath. Rakkin nodded tiredly at him; Halikkenath inclined his head a fraction of an inch and opened the door. Rakkin put Splinter on the ground, drew his whip and his.... wait! he had forgotten his sword!

Rakkin cursed in his mind; he couldn't go back now. He walked through the door, herding Splinter with his foot.

The door shut behind him. Rakkin looked around. The floor was covered in a layer of bones, flesh, blood, and flies. Rakkin swatted away a few of the pesky insects himself, and splinter growled and snapped at the bugs.

The Rejected was a simply tournament; a Moulder and his Beast were set loose in one of the pits where failed experiments were thrown. They had to survive an hour.

What most Moulders did was hang about around the door for an our and advance to the next round. At least, most of the veterans did. The new Moulders usually went off to prove their valour and their edibility.

Needless to say, many Moulders were often attacked anyway. Rakkin was lucky. An hour passed, and Halikkenath opened the doors and let Rakkin and his beast slide through. Rakkin collected his winner's money and returned to his lab. He was still tired...

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Complete Works of Morkskittar / You Have Just Lost the Game 'zodi
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Bassik Dwarveripper
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Not too bad, it was nothing special, but it didn't suck. It was much betther then Skavenslayer. I like your style, it enables people to imagine everything without going too much into detail. Only thing I would change is the man-thing curseword "fucker". I would use "and they let the impotent/breeder/snotling/ get away!"

But thats just me, I'm crazy! ^_^
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