Ember Ortum: The Assassin's Fight

Prologue

I always took my freedom for granted, and now I had to fight to win it back.

Sitting in a stone cell was not fun. Especially with dim lighting, bare walls covered in dried blood and rusted metal bars. All I could do was count the cracks on the walls, attempt to free myself of my shackles or think about the closest thing I had to a home. I was tired of doing the latter two - one was futile, the other too painful - so counting the cracks it was. Again.

I was nearing the number fifty when I heard approaching footsteps. I looked up from where I sat and found a large man with a mace hanging from his hip walking towards my cell. "Great," I thought, "It's time." The man didn't need to say anything as he opened the door, I got up and shuffled past him. He led me down an even dimmer lit hallway with water dripping from the roof and an occasional oil lamp on the wall.

We passed a mirror and I caught a glance of myself. I saw a gaunt tired face, framed in long, dirty brown hair and dull brown eyes with a scar over my right eye. My body was covered in a tattered shirt that was barely more than a rag at this point and ripped cotton pants. I was still fit but it was only for one wretched reason.

Feeling disgusted with myself, I continued forwards and into a room full of weapons and armour. "You have fifteen minutes to get ready," the man grunted, then left.

I sighed and walked over to the armour rack first, picking out a light-weight leather chestplate, matching greaves and bracers as well as a helmet. I donned the armour then turned to the weapons; most of which were dull and nearly rusted - "You can't give us the advantage, now, could you?" I thought bitterly. My eyes travelled over all types of daggers, swords, bows, arrows, hammers, axes and maces.

I grabbed the least rusted double sided sword and strapped it to my back. As I sat down, I cast a glance around the room properly as I waited for something to happen. The room was surprisingly well lit, with filthy tiled walls. Opposite to the entrance was a much darker wall with a crack down the middle. A few minutes passed before I heard a grinding sound and the darker wall started to slowly open outwards revealing a large sandy area with rows and rows of seats looking down on it. The roar of the darkly-dressed crowd was deafening. Standing in the centre was a muscular black man wearing only pants, letting his glistening upper body show. He had his arms over his head egging on the crowd and I felt hate boiling my blood. This was the man who had taken so many of my friends' lives.

I stood up and unsheathed the sword, letting the tip rest of the ground. Once the doors were fully open, I started walking forwards picking up my pace step by step until the walk turned into a sprint, the sword still dragging behind me.

My rival was taken by surprise but he recovered quickly and waited for me to come to him. As I got close I let loose a roar so loud it was all I could hear and I swung at him. Our swords connected and the fight began.