Joran was marched into the main throne room by dorn and the saurian who he had learnt was named tornon during a conversation between the cyclops and lizard. The prince’s eyes roamed around the room to see it was filled with mythics and even a couple humans in armor. He looked over to see a magi-human, humans who were born with magical abilities and are easily identified by their aura, and a large minotaur arm wrestling on a stone table. The minotaur ended up slamming the magi-human’s hand down so hard the table cracked in half and the magi-human yelled briefly in pain while the minotaur cheered along with the small group that had gathered. Music played and a beautiful voice filled the air which drew joran to turn his attention to a siren wearing a slave collar while being forced to sing on a stage while others watched and cheered. He had believed only humans practiced slavery, but this settlement has proven there are those of other races who don’t mind the practice which makes him sick to his stomach.
He moved down the black carpet past those eating. Drinking, gambling, laughing, and doing all other sorts but when he walked past, they would go quiet since it’s rare for someone to be brought before the warlord. Joran now stood at the end of the carpet before a large throne and laid eyes upon the man they called the warlord of korr’s maw. He was a large mass of muscle standing at about 6’11 with shoulder length hair and piercing green eyes. The only clothing he wore was brown pants, a fur coat made from some type of monstrous lion, and rings on his fingers that sparkled in the torchlight. Joran’s eyes fell on the rings as he felt there was more to them than meets the eye. Female mythics were draped around the warlord in very revealing clothing that left little to the imagination. An elf held a pitcher of blood red wine and would pour into the warlord’s goblet every time it ran empty. A lamia was coiled around the throne with her human half resting against the warlord’s left leg while a girl with cat ears and a tail which could only be a cat beastkin which were also known as felari leaned against his right. They were of different races, but Joran could tell the one thing they all had in common was the broken look in their eyes and the slave collars on their necks that will punish them if they misbehave.
The warlord gulped his wine noisily with the liquid streaming down the sides of his mouth and a little bit splashing on the girls at his feet. He sighed and wiped his mouth before holding the goblet up to the elf who flinched nervously. “More wine bitch.” She poured wine into the goblet just as the warlord seemed to notice joran. He raised his free hand causing the siren to go quiet which led to the complaints of some of the others who were enjoying her song until the man slammed his fist down on the arm of his chair. “QUIET!” the stone arm cracked beneath his fist and the entire room went silent as everyone turned their attention to the warlord. The slaves were trembling as they were afraid if he got angry then he would let out his anger on them. Joran stared at collared mythics with sadness and quiet anger as the sight sickened him and kept him from blushing at their barely concealed bodies.
Finally, Joran looked back up at the warlord whose eyes were locked onto the prince with a look of mild interest but also disdain. “Why is this boy…no. This pup here? Is he here to challenge me?” Joran placed his hand over his heart and bowed as he attempted to regain his composure. “Warlord of korr’s maw. I am-” “nothing until you are given permission to speak. Now shut the fuck up.” joran stood up straight and went quiet as the warlord turned his attention to joran’s escorts. “Well?” tornon nudged dorn who then stepped forward. “well… y-you see sire… I had used my sight on ummm… him and… w-well… i… we.. tornon and i… discovered that… y-you are not going to believe-” suddenly a goblet slammed into dorn’s gut causing his eye to widen and he fell to his hands and knees vomiting. Joran looked at Dorn then turned back to the warlord. The prince had barely processed that the warlord had thrown his goblet until it was already over, showing off his strength and speed. The lamia and the felari were drenched in wine causing their tops to be more see through.
“The next guard to speak better answer plainly or else both of you will be on tonight''s menu for the champion.” dorn was still on the ground groaning and heaving which left tornon to answer. He stepped forward and said, “warlord varkul… Dorn used his vision magic on this newcomer to see what race he was as we didn’t believe him when he said he was just human and… he’s half dragon and half slayer." This caused quite the uproar in the throne room. What was he doing here? What does this mean for korr’s maw? There is only one person known to the realm that has that kind of mixed blood and that is the prince of lothara. If the prince was here, then how far away could the king or the knights of Lothara be? Varkul rose to his feet and yelled, “I SAID… quiet…” he said the last word softly, but it carried through the entire room as everyone followed his command.
The slaves moved out of the way as he walked towards joran until he was now looming over the prince. “So… you are the prince of Lothara aren’t you?” he asked with a tone that said he already knew the answer but wanted confirmation. “Yes… I am.” joran’s voice was clear and filled with confidence unlike any other time he has spoken to strangers. It could be the fact he was addressing the ruler, and he has been taught how to do that for most of his life or maybe it was the anger at how it was obvious varkul mistreated these slaves and how many mythics seemed to be ok with it. He looked past varkul at the slaves then up at him. “Why do you do this?”
The room was still as varkul just chuckled and leaned down a bit as dorn and tornon slowly backed away.”you’re going to have to be specific, pup. I do a lot of things and half of them I barely care enough to remember." Joran took a step back, but he didn’t pull his gaze away from varkul. “The slaves, the gladiator fights, the pain and suffering. All of it. Why do this to innocent people?” varkul started laughing and so did the rest of the room except for the slaves. The laughter was so loud joran could feel his bones rattle a bit. “Pup… you have lived in your ivory tower for too long. There are no innocents in this world or any world. There is only the strong and the weak. The predator and the prey. I may be human, but I have respect for strong mythics. When I took over as warlord this settlement was crumbling because the leader before me, a tiefling with an affinity for speed magic, focused on himself. I murdered him with my bare hands and then told everyone who resided here that you will prosper if you are strong. I turned the maw into a place where you can rise through the ranks if you prove you can defeat or kill someone stronger than you. Then we realized how close we were to a route that mythics used to travel to Lothara and took advantage of that discovery.”
“But why? You could help them. You just said you give those the chance to live as the strong so why force mythics looking for a better life into this way of living.” “Where there is the strong there must be a lower class, prince of lothara. The strong are the ruling class and then the weak are the serving class. They all have the chance to rise through the ranks. We even have a couple warriors here who were slaves. Those who were servants, raise your hands!" Joran looked around to see a couple of the grisly warriors and mercenaries raising their hands “you see? They have the opportunity and if they wish to enter the maw then we allow it but then we have quite the number who are too weak or too afraid and so they continue as slaves until they are sold off or finally have the guts to enter the arena. There are a couple who will take their chances when they find out that they are close to being sold to merchants and sent back out into orano.”
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Joran’s gaze became more intense before he said, “I have an alternative. You’re right that you are close to one of the main routes mythics use so why not make business off of it.” varkul stroked his chin with a raised eyebrow. “I am on a mission to build alliances and deal with other groups and kingdoms to further the goal to one day have a united orano where mythics and humans can live in equality. I am willing to make an agreement with korr’s maw. You will be allowed to continue your way of living of the strong over the weak but only for those who come to your settlement willingly. You will be put on the map and everyone will know of this place. In exchange you will protect those on the road to lothara, for a hefty payment which lothara will provide, and you will banish all merchants of the slave trade from this location.”
“And… if we say no to your offer?” varkul asked as he leaned closer towards the prince so their faces were inches from each other. Joran didn’t flinch as he replied, “then Lothara will raze this settlement to the ground leaving nothing but the ruins that came before it.” varkul stood up straight and was quiet for a long minute before turning to walk back to his throne. He waved away the lamia and the felari causing them to scramble to move out of his sight. He then looked over at the elf. “Come here, elf.” She placed the pitcher down and slowly moved over to the warlord. Varkul snatched her arm and moved so they were now facing joran with the elf in front of varkul. “That is an interesting offer prince joran but now is the time for me to explain something to you.” he moved his large hand to grab the elf’s breast causing her to whimper as he groped and molested it. Joran could feel his heart beating through his chest as he stood and watched. “You aren’t in your kingdom anymore. This isn’t lothara. The rules are different out here. We aren’t your subjects and if you think we are just some mercs who will move towards the biggest buyer then you’re wrong. We aren’t afraid of you. I''m not afraid of you. Your authority means nothing to us. Those of us in the strong stay here because we love to rule over those below us.” he moved his hand from the elf’s breast to her head which he began to stroke gently as she trembled. “You are the hybrid between two powerful races. If you just stopped acting like such a little bitch and released your inner beast then you could rule us all but instead you preach about equality and love…. None of that matters.” he began to squeeze the elf’s head causing her eyes to widen and she gripped at his fingers trying to pry them off as he lifted her off her feet. Joran’s eyes widened and he stepped forward. “Let her go!” “There is only one thing that matters, prince! One thing that keeps humans at bay!” the elf started to scream as the sound of bone cracking came from her. “Stop it!!!” joran yelled even louder as he moved towards the warlord. “What matters is strength! Power! Domination! If you have none of that… then you are nothing.” with that he squeezed and crushed the elf’s head with ease. Her body went limp except the occasional twitch until it fell off the crushed remains of her skull and hit the ground with a thud.
Joran stared in shock as varkul dropped the crushed skull and shook off the blood and brains on his hand. Joran’s heart was beating faster now as his eyes rested on the warlord. “You fucking MONSTER!!!” Joran’s rage burned hotter than dragon’s fire. The heat in his chest surged, spreading through his veins like liquid magma. His fingertips curled, sparks of gold and crimson arcing between them, the air twisting from the sheer pressure of his gathering magic.
Varkul’s smirk remained as he rolled his shoulders, taking a step forward. Unbothered. Unshaken. “Yess…. Show me your strength! Show me your power! Make me fear you, pup!”
He doesn’t think I can hurt him.
Joran gritted his teeth. Then I’ll show him.
He slammed his hands together, and the entire room ignited.
A shockwave of golden fire erupted from his body, shattering the stone at his feet. The blazing energy spiraled upwards, forming into a massive, searing-hot sphere above his hands. It pulsed like a second sun, writhing and crackling with power barely contained. The air itself trembled, the pressure threatening to collapse in on itself.
Varkul’s grin widened while everyone in the room backed up as far as they could from the two.
Joran’s eyes blazed like an inferno as he thrust his hands forward, his voice thundering through the hall.
“INFERNAL JUDGEMENT!!”
The blazing sphere exploded forth. A pillar of fire ripped through the air, swallowing everything in its path as it slammed into Varkul with the force of a divine hammer. The entire chamber shook violently, walls cracking, the floor splintering as the flames raged, expanding outward in a blazing vortex.
The heat was unbearable. Metal warped, stone melted, the air itself shimmered under the sheer intensity of the blast. The light was so blinding that Joran had to shield his eyes, yet he could still hear the deafening roar of flames consuming everything.
The warlord’s form disappeared in the maelstrom as he laughed before going quiet.
Joran’s chest heaved, sweat dripping down his face as the last of the fire began to fade, leaving behind only a swirling mass of thick, choking smoke. The acrid scent of melted gold and scorched stone filled the air. Joran could feel himself drained and noticed the sweat on his skin. He knew that this particular spell was powerful but considering he was rested, healed, and had a great deal of magical power there is no way he should feel this spent. He stood up straight and waited for the smoke to clear, expecting the spell to have been enough to take down the warlord. The warriors in the room stared in complete shock at the magical power joran had shown and wondered if that was it for their warlord. The slaves were hopeful as they stared where the warlord had been standing.
Joran''s fists clenched as he tried to pierce through the haze, his breath uneven.
Was it enough?
Had he—?
A deep breath echoed through the silence. his stomach twisted. The smoke refused to clear completely, as if something still lingered within it. Something standing. And then—a low, guttural chuckle that turned into a laugh.
Joran’s blood ran cold as varkul stepped out of the smoke with not a scratch on him. He pulled off his burning fur coat and tossed it aside as he cracked his knuckles with a malicious smile on his face. “While a disappointing attack, I still believe… that was a challenge for my throne.” he slammed his foot into the ground causing it to crack before he charged toward the prince.