Glatorian Comics

2009 - Glatorian Comic 1: Sands of Bara Magna

Adapted by Michael Larson. Edited by Jeff Douglas.

Berix ran for his life.

It was foolish, he knew. There really was no point in trying to escape death when it was as tight on his heels as it was right now. And if death came in the form of a Bone Hunter?

Berix somehow ran faster.

As he did, however, he realized that he should have been long gone already. Listening through the sounds of his own breathing, he could hear no stomping behind him, nor the breath of the reptile on his neck. Daring a glance backward to the left, he realized nothing was behind him.

This movement was ill-timed. The glance back combined with Berix’s shock at escape and a poorly-placed rock, worked together to fell the water Agori. Berix fell face-first into the sand with a grunt.

Then he heard them approaching.

Calmly, they drew near, towering over the downed Agori. And now he realized why he hadn’t been caught sooner. In drawing out the game, the Bone Hunter had eclipsed Berix on his right flank.

The Rock Steed, Skirmix, reared, unleashing a terrifying cry into the desert wasteland. The rider’s lips curled into a vicious smile as he raised his sword.

“Hunt’s over,” Fero snarled. “You lose.”

Terrified, Berix closed his eyes, anticipating the fall of the blade. Never in his wildest dreams had he anticipated it ending like this, yet here he was. After so long, his reckless, unimpeded treasure hunting had proven to be his downfall.

He waited for the end.

But the clanging sound of a projectile striking the metal blade caused him to open his eyes again.

Fero was glaring at something behind Berix with a cold rage in his eyes.

“You must be tired of living, Glatorian,” he snarled.

“No,” came the reply. “Just tired of Bone Hunters like you.”

Berix whirled and saw a confident young Glatorian reloading his Thornax Launcher and aiming it directly for the Bone Hunter’s head. The Glatorian was green, a Jungle Glatorian from Tesara evidently, if his armor was anything to go by, and nearly twice Berix’s size.

As Berix gazed at him, he realized that he had seen the Glatorian before, often fighting in the arena, either training with Tarix and Kiina or battling for Tesara’s claims. They had even adventured together once, though it was doubtful the Tesaran Glatorian remembered. Although he was relatively new, he was still a well known, up-and-coming star. Gresh, his name was. But for the most part, Berix had only ever admired him from a distance — to be this close…

“Leave the Agori alone and move along,” Gresh finished.

Although Bone Hunters were almost universally feared, the Jungle warrior betrayed no fear as he regarded the warrior of the rock tribe.

But Fero simply laughed.

“One lone fighter, still with sand in his ears, challenging a Bone Hunter? Did the sun get you, or are you just stupid?”

“Not sun-struck,” Gresh replied. “Not stupid. Just a traveler. One thing, though…”

He gestured behind Fero. While they’d been talking, two more Glatorian, one blue and the other white, had flanked the Bone Hunter.

“I never travel alone.”

✴        ✴        ✴

From a distance, several pairs of red eyes caught sight of the conflict unfolding in the dunes. The head of the pack signaled the beast-like creatures behind him. Powerful fighters as they were, they knew better than to challenge both a Bone Hunter and a team of Glatorian at once. But once one of these fell, the rest would be theirs.

✴        ✴        ✴

Fero shouted in pain as a Thornax from the white warrior struck a glancing blow to his left shoulder. His mount, Skirmix, had done a good enough job keeping the Jungle Glatorian at bay with his jaws, even as he dualed the Water Glatorian from atop the Rock Steed.

But the three Glatorian were too experienced as warriors to handle all at once. Yelping, he spurred Skirmix to charge the Ice Glatorian who was blocking their exit.

“Block him, Strakk!” the Water Glatorian shouted.

But this barely registered for the Ice Glatorian, who simply stood there as the Rock Steed charged for him. Raising his mighty axe, it was all he could do to make a strange gurgling noise with his throat before Bone Hunter and mount slammed into and kicked him into the dust.

“Ow,” Strakk groaned feebly. Under his helmet, his cheeks flushed. Thousands of years of arena combat and he could only muster so much as a throat garble as the steed had charged for him. Strakk didn’t believe in anything except his own might, but somehow he found himself praying that he hadn’t been heard.

“I said block him!” Tarix shouted as he and Gresh ran over. “Not get trampled by his mount.”

“He’ll be back, and with friends,” Gresh grunted, his eyes scanning the dunes the Bone Hunter had escaped into. “We should keep moving.”

The water Agori, Berix, stirred. He had been wise enough to scramble away from the fighting, but as he came closer, Tarix recognized him.

“Berix, right?” he asked. “I know you.”

“Gresh,” the Jungle Glatorian offered his hand. “My travelling companions here are Tarix and Strakk. We were just passing, but saw you were a bit outmatched.”

“Thanks for the rescue,” the water Agori replied, returning the gesture. “Though I’m afraid I don’t have anything to pay you with.”

Tarix smiled slightly. “Don’t worry. We did this one for fun.”

“Speak for yourself,” Strakk snapped. “I don’t fight for free.”

“Glatorian don’t charge to save a life,” Gresh shot back at Strakk, who merely scowled in response. The Ice Glatorian had encountered Gresh once or twice before, but even prior to their first meeting he had heard a great deal about him, and his code of honor. Such things were dangerous these days, and while Strakk hated to say it, Gresh wouldn’t make it far with such a heavy load like that.

Deciding to change the subject, Strakk turned to Berix.

“So what are you doing so far from Tajun?” he demanded. “Agori don’t fare too well on their own out here, in the dead of the wastelands.”

The water Agori grinned sheepishly. “Collecting bits of old armor. I need better protection if I’m going to fight in the arena someday.”

“You need more than that, Sand Flea,” Strakk responded. “You need…”

But his voice trailed off. Some camouflaged movement was crawling along the sand dunes right for them.

“Well, folks, we’ve got company.”

They moved with incredible speed. Three of the tan creatures had scarcely appeared before the warriors before something exploded from the dune behind Tarix, toppling him to the ground.

“Block him, Tarix!” Strakk quipped.

The Water Glatorian rolled his eyes as he and the tan warrior tumbled to the sand. He restrained himself from firing right back at Strakk.

Unfortunately, the others weren’t doing too much better. The small party was now surrounded, and the dunes were crawling with the primal tan creatures.

The animalistic warriors were the species “Vorox.” Once a proud civilization, this lost sand tribe had backslid over 100,000 years ago as a result of some Great Being experiment. What sapience they once held became neglected and forgotten, and they were abandoned to the harsh wastelands to fend for themselves. Accompanied by the Zesk, companions that might have once been the Agori of this tribe, the Vorox represented the very worst the desert had to offer.

For if the remaining tribes weren’t careful, they would suffer the same fate.

“What do you think?” Gresh asked, narrowly raising his shield to block a leaping Vorox. “Hungry? Or angry?”

“Probably both,” Tarix grunted from his position in the sand.

Strakk swung his axe down hard on a Vorox, cutting deep into its shoulder. “Since when do Vorox need a reason?”

Gresh batted another Vorox away. “Good point.”

✴        ✴        ✴

Some distance away, Berix found himself in a terrifying situation. Having instinctively backed away when the fighting began, he had stepped further and further back, faster and faster.

But in his rising haste, he tripped and fell backwards on something that felt like flesh.

Berix looked down.

He was surrounded by four Vorox limbs.

Shouting in shock and surprise, he leaped forward, but the limbs snapped shut behind him. Raising his hand, he barely could get it up to block the stinger tail descending upon his exposed form.

As the Agori squirmed and struggled to make his escape, he dimly perceived several more large Vorox closing in on him. As they drew their blades, the raw iron glistened in the desert sun.

Then, so quickly Berix almost thought he had imagined it, a sharp, distant whistle cut through the sounds of struggle. Berix found himself thrown forward, face-first, and as he picked himself up and whirled, he realized a hole lay in the dune where all of the Vorox had just been standing. The sand moved quickly to fill in the cavity, and just as quickly as they had appeared, there was no trace of any living creature.

The Agori moved closer to the three Glatorian, who were watching dumbstruck as the last of the creatures receded. Spying a dark silhouette on a ridge nearby, he pointed.

“It was that Glatorian over there—I think he signaled them,” Berix said. “But who is that?”

Tarix stepped over and followed the Agori’s gaze.

“That’s Malum,” he said finally. “Exiled from Vulcanus for crimes in the arena—against Strakk, actually. Looks like he’s made new friends.”

“Here I thought the desert couldn’t get more treacherous,” Gresh muttered. “But if the rumors are true, and the Vorox really have made Malum their leader…”

“Ah, I remember,” Strakk said, almost fondly. “A rather sore chap. Couldn’t take a loss.”

“You were fighting dirty,” Tarix growled. “Taunting him for hours.

“Still, I almost can’t blame him,” Strakk continued, ignoring him. “A Glatorian really shouldn’t be condemned for behavior in the arena. Why, I’ve almost snapped a few times myself… It’s the arena, it does things.”

“On that particular occasion, it was all you,” the Water Glatorian bit out.

“Oh, like he’d never done the same,” the ice Glatorian growled. “Malum would be the first to tell you to fight fire with fire.”

“Speaking of fire, we’re due in Vulcanus, remember?” Gresh spoke up. “And I have a match waiting for me. We’d better get a move on.”

“You’re fighting today?” Berix asked Gresh. The Jungle Glatorian nodded.

“Yes,” Tarix said, starting in the direction of the road. “Locking horns with a Skrall, no less.”

“A Bone Hunter, a Vorox pack, and a Skrall,” Berix said, gazing up at the green warrior. “All in one day!”

Strakk snorted.

“Welcome to Bara Magna.”

✴        ✴        ✴

Raanu folded his arms.

“You know I can’t do that. I don’t think you fully understand our situation here, Metus.”

Metus flung out his arms.

“Understand? Raanu, I’ve been working day and night to fix your situation along with that of every other village for months now. You can’t blame me that Malum got himself exiled so soon after the Skrall moved in.”

Raanu stared at the Ice Agori and bit his lip.

“I’m sorry, Metus. That was rude of me.”

Metus relaxed. Raanu clasped his hands behind his back and paced.

“But we need another fighter, now that Malum’s gone.” he continued. “The Skrall are claiming the flame geysers to the north, and we have no choice but to meet their challenge. A week ago, two of my lower Glatorian defected to Iconox on their promise of higher wages. And if the Skrall beat Gresh today and claim the oasis from Tesara, the Jungle Agori may come after us for what little water we have. We need fresh fighters who can face them!”

Metus exhaled and sat heavily on a hide chair, rubbing his face with his palms.

“Good Glatorian don’t spring from the sand, Raanu. And besides, nobody wants to work for you right now.”

He gestured out the window where two black-armored figures, one large and one small, could be observed making their way through the crowd.

“Not if it means fighting him.”

✴        ✴        ✴

Atakus had long-since given up trying to restrain his arrogant smirk. As he and his hulking companion cut through the crowds like a hot knife through liquid sand, he spotted sidelong glances and scowling glares from merchants and pedestrians. Yet whenever Atakus moved his eyes to meet their gaze, there was a delightful expression of horrified surprise before the offenders averted their eyes in shame and fury. This only served to bolster the rock Agori’s pride as he sought out the next such encounter.

Were he travelling alone, the Vulcanus Agori would likely pay Atakus far less respect. But as the Roxtus villager moved, he could feel the shadow of the mighty Skrall warrior looming behind him. Agori and legionnaire made quite an intimidating pair.

“Make way!” he bellowed to the villagers as he walked through the village. “Make way for the Skrall champion! Unbested by in the arena pits! Unshaken by snow and sand! Unrivaled in all the world!”

Ironically, despite the boasts of the Rock Agori—or perhaps because of them—Atakus could sense the tension emanating from the Skrall warrior. Skrall, after all, had been trained for thousands of years to fight in legions, as coordinated armies. They were generally unaccustomed to single combat, much less for sport. Although the Skrall was unconcerned about his opponent, the fact that he was to do battle for the spectating of a city’s worth of Agori didn’t seem to sit well with him.

The Rock Agori slowed his walk so the Skrall was walking beside him.

“Relax,” he murmured in a hushed voice to the Skrall. “There’s a reason you were selected from among the Skrall. You’re one of the better ones at this sort of thing.”

The Skrall said nothing, simply staring forward as he walked. Atakus looked away, and the smile once again spread across his features.

It was not long before the two arrived at Atakus’ favorite box—one reserved for the wealthy and usually claimed by whoever got there first. Foolishly, some water tribe Agori was standing there, gesturing at the arena and chatting with a friend. Atakus glanced at the Skrall.

“Your assistance would be most welcome.”

The Skrall snarled and advanced. Towering over the Agori, he growled.

“Move.”

Unluckily for the Agori, his back was turned to the towering warrior, and didn’t realize from whom it came. The villager shrugged it off, failing to notice the terrified expression of his conversation partner.

“Find someplace else to watch from. This spot’s mine,” the Agori responded innocently. He smirked at his friend for validation.

But a jet-black blade with the red tribal markings of the Skrall lowered itself in front of his face and rested on his neck.

“I. Said. Move.”

✴        ✴        ✴

From deep in the tunnel beyond the arched gate leading into the arena, Gresh and Tarix could just make out the commotion on the far side of the arena. The Water Agori issued repeated apologies to the Skrall and Rock Agori for having dared to occupy the latter’s alleged seat.

“So you’re fighting a Skrall for the first time, huh,” Tarix murmured, as he generously assisted Gresh in gearing up. “Remind me what this is over again.”

“The Tesaran Oasis,” Gresh responded, strapping on a shinguard. “The people of Tesara say it belongs to them. The Skrall say it’s theirs. This will decide who gets it.”

The light in the tunnel seemed to dim as the gated arch closed.

“Take courage,” Tarix said, clasping Gresh’s shoulders. “The Skrall are not invincible, no matter how much it may seem that way. Remember the needs of your people. You have shown great promise as a Glatorian. I have every confidence that today you will accomplish what none, not even I, have accomplished yet.”

Tarix turned to leave, heading for the dugout where he and Strakk would watch.

“Smear his face in the dirt for me,” he smiled.

✴        ✴        ✴

In the arena, Raanu gazed up at the expectant faces of Agori.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Allow me to present to you today our main event! From the clawed ridges of the Black Spike Mountains—the hero of the rock tribe! The champion of the Skrall—er… Skrall!”

On one side of the Arena Vulcanus, the gated arch slid open and the black-armored Skrall stalked powerfully onto the field, his muscles bristling with energy. In a demonstration of his strength, he swung his blade at a nearby boulder, shattering it to pieces.

The crowd roared—boos and cheers alike.

“And now,” Raanu shouted. “From the Twin Villages to the east! The Emerald Thorn! The Viridian Vine! Tesara’s rising star! Gresh!”

As the Skrall stalked closer in the direction of Raanu, the gate on the far side of the arena unsealed and rose, revealing the verdant warrior. Now it was Gresh’s turn to march onto the field, and now to almost universal cheers. Skrall were reliable winners, but there was no doubt that the crowd was in the underdog’s favor tonight.

“You honor our arena with our combat,” the fire elder looked at each fighter in turn as they drew closer. “May your swords and shields preserve the peace.”

In unison, Gresh and the Skrall thrust their weapons in the air and spoke as one the Glatorian Creed that they had each recited in dozens of matches already—three virtues that every arena fighter held dear and every spectator melted at.

“For Glory! For Victory! For Honor!”

“Fight!”

Gresh scarcely had a chance to lower his weapons than he flung them up again—with lightning speed, the Skrall had vaulted over Raanu and was descending upon the Tesaran.

“Fall!” the Skrall hissed. “You will fall!”

He descended hard on Gresh’s shield, as the latter tumbled backwards. If it weren’t for Gresh’s broad shield and his last-minute defense, the sheer weight and downstroke of his attacker would have been enough to make him collapse like a tower of cards in record-shattering defeat.

“Not… today…” Gresh managed to grunt.

The Skrall gracefully slid off the shield and rammed hard against it, sending Gresh reeling.

“Surrender and I will let you live,” he smiled, advancing.

Gresh rose. “If I surrender, I have nothing to live for. But if you want to give up…?”

In a flash of action, he spun on his heel and unleashed a devastating roundhouse kick.

But the Skrall reacted fast, bending backwards under the whirl of the strike, then raising his shield in time to meet a smash attack from that of Gresh.

“Skrall never concede,” he snarled.

✴        ✴        ✴

From the dugout, Strakk and Tarix watched with grim expressions.

“You have to admit—for a Jungle type, he’s got guts,” Tarix murmured.

“Right,” Strakk snorted. “And I think we may be seeing them soon.”

✴        ✴        ✴

The Skrall backflipped out of a swipe from the razor-edges of Gresh’s shield. Before he’d even landed, he whipped his own shield at Gresh—one fashioned like a circular saw. The shield spun like a disk crashing into Gresh’s shield, lodging itself deep.

Gresh jumped away, desperate for a chance to catch his breath.

“You Skrall have been challenging for everything of worth for months now,” he huffed. “You would leave the other villages with nothing!”

With his shield compromised, he drew his Thornax launcher and fired in a blur of motion. The thorny projectile flew through the air, but it seemed the Skrall had anticipated it, for he swung his sword like a bat and swatted it away.

“We fight. We win. We take. We are Skrall. And now—”

The Skrall leapt forward, swinging wide and swatting Gresh’s useless shield away in a single motion. The Skrall shield came loose, but the green one cracked in two and Gresh’s launcher was flung from his hand. The Rock warrior followed up mercilessly, blasting his Thornax Launcher at point-blank range, exploding Gresh’s shoulder. The Tesaran fighter screamed in pain, and an immediate shove sent him falling to the ground.

“The match is over,” the Skrall said, rearing back, raising his blade for the killing strike. “Now meet the fate of the defeated!”

The Skrall blade descended—but a blue projectile sent it off its course, and it buried itself into the ground beside Gresh.

“Enough!” Tarix roared, advancing as he prepared to hurl the second of his twin blades. Some distance behind him, Strakk followed reluctantly.

“You said it yourself,” the Water Glatorian said, bending over Gresh. “The match is over. Now get out of Vulcanus or fight us all.”

The Skrall paused for a moment, as if genuinely tempted by the opportunity to fight all three.

But the moment passed. He raised himself to his full height.

“By right of combat, the oasis now belongs to the Skrall,” he announced. He then proceeded off the field.

The stands erupted in a roar of noise, and Raanu came onto the field to speak, but the Glatorian scarcely heard any of this.

“Nice. You almost lasted three minutes. That’s a new record,” said Tarix, helping Gresh to his feet.

“Pay up, Tarix,” Strakk gloated.

The Water Glatorian threw a red-hot glare at the Iconox Glatorian, before looking abashed at Gresh. But the thoughts of the Jungle Glatorian were elsewhere.

“I lost… And Tesara needed the water…” his voice shook.

He looked at Strakk. “Did the Skrall cheat?”

“That’s the scary part,” Strakk responded. “He didn’t.”

✴        ✴        ✴

Far outside of Vulcanus, there is a long and winding canyon where a flowing river wound up from an impossibly large ocean. Rich crops grew along the banks of the basin, which has since been renamed Iron Canyon, and the area was considered the breadbasket of Bara Magna.

Unfortunately, due to tectonic shift, the Iron Canyon region, along with its larger neighbor, the Creep Canyon, became cut off from the rest of the ocean and dried up. Territorial disputes between the natives of the desert and the greatest of the floating cities on Aqua Magna prevented the basin from being connected with the ocean ever again. And by the time the Core War swept through, the canyons had long-since dried up.

But the Skrall warrior who waited impatiently within the Iron Canyon did not care about this. The geographical or historical nature of the canyon was of no consequence to him.

No, the Skrall had other matters on his mind.

Following the arena match with Gresh, Atakus had been contacted by a non-rock tribe associate of Tuma’s to pass along information concerning the affairs of the villages. In fact, Atakus had originally been one to discover the treachery of this villager and had first brought him to Tuma some time ago. Unbeknownst to anyone, the real reason Tuma had insisted that the Skrall/Gresh match be held in Vulcanus, rather than Tesara or Roxtus, was to rendezvous with this villager, who was scheduled to be here now.

As for why it was the Skrall in this remote part of the Iron Canyon rather than Atakus himself, well—in the event of being caught, it would make more sense for a warrior to dare wander in such a treacherous location than a villager.

The sudden manifestation of a voice roused the warrior out of his impatient pacing.

“Skrall! Over here!” it hissed from a nearby cave.

The warrior stepped over. The “voice” seemed disembodied, for nothing could be discerned from the cave save only the dim reflection of eyes.

“Why are we here?” the Skrall snapped. “Skrall do not hide in the shadows.”

“Inform Tuma that a trade caravan leaves Tajun in a week’s time. If the Bone Hunters raid it, Tajun goes hungry this season.”

“Bone Hunters,” the warrior snorted. “What does anyone care what those Sand-Spawn do? They have raided caravans going to and from the village for months now—and with information we give them thanks to your… intimate knowledge of Tajun’s infrastructure. They’ll inevitably hit this one as well.”

“No, this one is different—let me explain. The caravan in question is a major delivery of food from Iconox, won from them in last month’s headliner, and Tajun has banked everything on it. Losing this shipment will force them to challenge others for even more. And if they lose—when they lose: Kiina and Tarix are stretched thin already thanks to the Bone Hunters, and this will break them—they will be easy prey for your people. Our people.”

“You are not one of us. Do not pretend you are.”

The traitor ignored him, and the Skrall could tell he was moving away.

“Relay the message. Go, before we are seen together.”

✴        ✴        ✴

As it happened, Tarix had tired of the bustling village streets and excused himself for a stroll through Iron Canyon. As he wandered over stone and through the winding basin, he happened to hear something scrambling in the direction of him and Vulcanus. He paused, drawing his blades and ready for anything.

The scrambling noises seemed to pass above him, and the fall of pebbles and dirt verified what the Glatorian’s ears suggested.

Tarix took a half-step forward toward the commotion…

…but then a shout from above and a loud crack shattered any sense of stealth his quarry might have had. Now the trickle of pebbles was a small avalanche. A stream of rocks slid from the heights above, and over the ledge of one of the lower canyon rims, a blue form slipped and slid the long way down, coming to a rest at Tarix’s feet.

“Berix?” Tarix exclaimed. After initial hesitation, he helped the villager to his feet. “What are you doing out here?”

The Water Agori grinned sheepishly, as if he had been caught looking for treasure where he wasn’t supposed to. “Oh, just walking… and wishing… and wondering what the future will bring.”

He gave an almost cartoonish expression that caused the Glatorian to smirk knowingly.

“These canyons are treacherous, Berix,” Tarix said. “Even I really shouldn’t be out here.”

“And yet, here you are. I’m no more guilty of anything than you.”

The Glatorian stared at the Agori, reminded of how he, Gresh, and Strakk had found him earlier in the remote wasteland.

Berix had always sat awkwardly on the periphery of Agori life, often regarded as an unintentional comic—or worse, a common source of mockery. The eccentricities of the self-proclaimed “collector” were too much for all except maybe Tarduk of Tesara. Nevertheless, most in Tajun distrusted him and tended to consider him a thief.

To make matters worse, a few months ago, Scodonius and Kirbraz, two flamboyant vehicle fighters, had feigned allowing him into their team. Berix had long desired to fight in the arena and was eager to participate, but rapidly realized they were intentionally making a fool of him in front of his village. Tarix rather pitied Berix, but the latter had so cemented his reputation that there was little he could do.

All in all, the water Agori had more reasons than most to distance himself from Agori civilization.

“A fair enough point,” Tarix conceded. “Then let’s both return to the safety of Vulcanus.”

“Oh, Tarix,” Berix sighed, as the two started walking back to the village. “You take all the fun out of creeping around in Creep Canyon.”

✴        ✴        ✴

“…or so I was told,” the Skrall said, knee bowed and head lowered in reverence. “What are your orders, Great Tuma?”

The great leader of the Skrall sat on his throne and contemplated the news from the spy.

After some time, he proceeded to speak slowly.

“Take the guard outside and proceed to the dungeons. Speak with him as you go. As you come within auditory range of one of our captured villagers, let the subject turn to the caravan. When he hears this news, the Agori will be doubly eager to escape. See that he does.”

He leaned forward in his throne. “As soon as he reaches open desert, he will be captured by the Bone Hunters… and he will tell them all that he knows about the caravan in exchange for his life. Then the Bone Hunters will act on what they know and win our battle for us. But the time is coming, warrior, when we will not need to act through others…”

Tuma rose from his seat, drawing himself to his towering height.

“Soon we Skrall will shed our skins like the Sand Dragons and be revealed for what we are—Conquerors! Rulers! We will attack… we will win… and Bara Magna will be ours.”