The feeling of being forced from your wet sheet on the floor wasn’t the thing that woke you up. Nor was it the metallic clank of iron chains and manacles as they were attached to your hands. It wasn’t the faint light of the door being opened to your damp, dark room in the back of this den of agony. No, it was a voice; one filled with spite and hatred, “Oi, slave! Get yer ass up!” the man ordered you.
You simply staggered there in a slightly confused daze as you were forced to walk forward at whatever slow pace you could manage. This caused the man’s hand to shove you forward as he added, “‘Ey, ya fuckin’ scum! Keep movin’!” he said in almost a completely broken tongue. It was very doubtful this man was hired for his intellect, but you did not have time to dwell on the thought.
Instead, your mind was filled with thoughts about what was happening to you as you opened your mouth to inquire about what was about to occur. Your lips parted, but no sound escaped, most likely due to this faint blue rune that was unceremoniously etched into your throat. You attempted to force said words even harder, but to no avail. You wanted to let out a sigh, but all that came out was a series of silent coughs; damn, your throat was dry. When was the last time you had even a cup of water? It was hard to even say.
It wasn’t long until the man ordered you to stop in front of a dimly lit door, “Yer time’s up, slave. Enjoy bein’ cut inta lit’le bits.” he said as the man, dressed in leather armor and equipped with a sword and a shield, unlocked your bindings; the manacles fell to the floor and kicked up sand as it landed. The faint sound of cheering could be heard on the opposite side of the door which made you certain of what was happening. It was time for your first fight in Voreth’s Arena.
As the door opens, what does the crowd see?
[Human]
They never thought an urchin would be missed from the city. They were right. You were taken and made a slave at a young age; having been in servitude for many years until they needed more meat for the slaughterhouse that is the arena.
Martial Potential: High
Spiritual Potential: Moderate
Magical Potential: Low
Passive: Human Survivalism - When competing with the speed of an elf or strength of a dwarf, humans had to find alternate ways to survive. Be it by luck or fighting dirty, things go your way just a tad more. Sucks that it couldn’t have kept you out of the slave ‘life’.
[Orc]
A respected warrior in your tribe until a band of slavers raided the camp one night. Many were slaughtered and the unluckier ones were turned into servitude. They thought an orc would surely thrive in such a place of death.
Martial Potential: High
Spiritual Potential: High
Magical Potential: Very Low
Passive: Orcish Ferocity - Who needs blood when you can run on pure adrenalin? Even when crippled and bleeding, you can fight on further than any other could.
[Elf]
Living in the forests of your homeland seemed to be perfect. With an almost unending natural lifespan, elves are incredibly respected; yet highly valued as slaves. It was only a short time before they wondered how you would do in the arena.
Marial Potential: Low
Spiritual Potential: Moderate
Magical Potential: High
Passive: Elven Speed - Anything in your hands is faster than they normally would be. From swords to bows and healing magic to necromancy.
[Dwarf]
Why did you ever leave your home? The reason seems irrelevant now. You, once the child of a famous blacksmith and on your way to becoming one yourself… you are now nothing more than a slave, forced into the arena as a commodity.
Martial Potential: Very High
Spiritual Potential: Low
Magical Potential: Low
Passive: Dwarven Efficiency - Any armor you wear is enhanced by your own sturdiness. Even if not wearing armor, even your skin is hard enough to resist being pierced.
[Custom Race]
[More Options]
