The Boar-Pit Gang Stirs

[Oleander]

General Boar, head of the Boar-Pit gang, sits upon his throne of bricks, overlooking a deep, roughly circular hole in the ground. He chuckled as a sum of ten bodies clobbered and tossed each other about. The pit was full of his gang, unarmed in leather armor, for the daily hour-long brawl.

"Alright boys, thirty minutes down, thirty to go! Remember, winner today gets to pick the hunting party for the entire week!" A wave of cheers rose from the brawlers and their efforts intensified. This was not a one-time thing. Ten minutes from then, he would shout the same message and they would burst into new life. Ten more minutes, this would happen again. Then again at five minutes.

Not everyone made it to the end. Some would fall unconscious, others would tap out and crawl to the edge of the pit, and still some would fall from sheer exhaustion. The numbers of knockouts grew fewer and fewer by the week. General Boar's training made sure of that.

The pit was a wondrous idea for training, and it was sad to say it was not Boar's own. The idea was so grand, he itched to join in. Sadly though, the twelve-foot Dire Were-boar was... a bit overwhelming against the much smaller members of the gang. "Twenty minutes till the winner lines you lot up!" He snorted, the thick steel ring in his pig-like nose shifting under his breath.

His thick fingers dig into the brick chair, the kilned clay crumbling under his strength. How he itched to join in! Soon, though... Very soon. "Ten minutes!" His lips curled to a grin. General Boar stood, approaching the edge of the ring. His massive hands rest on his hips as he enjoys the glorious show.

"Five minutes!" The energy of the remaining combatants either doubled... or dropped. Many fought with all their might, but he counted five that simply raised their hands and wove their way to the edge of the pit. They knew they could not come out on top.

"One minute!" The general snorted again, his cloven foot digging into the soft earth around the pit. He counted down aloud, watching as energy either skyrocketed, or waned. Two more gave in. "Three... Two... O--"

"GENERAL!"

"Hrrm?" His gaze lifted from the three men still fighting, turning towards the rather large young man rushing his way. His brow furrowed and his eyes widened at the sight. He pulled a corpse in each hand. "WHAT?! JORIC! What happened?!"

The pit was forgotten. He did not even notice the three fighters groaning as he stormed towards the rotund fighter. "General, I regret to inform you that a new Prime has..." He stopped when General Boar held a hand up to silence him.

"You three were supposed to be an unstoppable team... Is that not what you THREE agreed to?"

"Y-yessir, but--"

"But?"

"But... Ban charged in before me... and the Prime blindsided Leo..." General Boar looked very displeased as he peered down to the bodies.

Suddenly, his nose twitched and he recoiled in near agony. "In all of Camelot, that is a foul stench!"

"That... that would be Ban..."

"Take them away, immediately! And prepare a pyre for their funeral!" With that stench, he imagined their pyre would be something horrid to behold for his sensitive nose.

"Yes sir... One more thing..."

"Make it quick." A massive hand was clinched tightly over his nose, but with its odd shape it was truly difficult to close. "You know what this is doing to me."

"Yes sir... well... Deon is tracking the Prime. He said he will contact us as soon as he's found him. Only..."

"Only what?"

"I think the Prime has joined Dante's Abyss... which means--"

"FUCK. We can't get to him..." The were-boar snorted. "I suppose that just means we have more time to prepare..." His grin returned. Without another word to Joric, the giant turns to face the pit. "Alright, all those standing, line up! Time for the final test!"

[Oleander]

Joric was almost relieved as he worked. Dragging fallen trees to the pyre felt like retribution. He failed Ban. He failed Leo. He failed Deon and the General - he failed the whole gang. This was penance for what he has done. He did not deserve to get off so easy. Chopping massive logs blown down by storms into haulable lengths was a lot of work, then carrying the thick trunk over his shoulders would have been back breaking work. While Joric's great strength and resilience made the job more possible, it was by no means easy.

We were supposed to be unstoppable.

The plan was perfect. They had been training years before Boar-Pit even made a move. Boar-Pit was supposed to be an up-and-coming star of Camelot, but they botched their first big deal. Botched it big time. As he returned with the fourth log, he looked onto the bodies again. He uttered not a word, but there was still a silent apology. The log was laid on the pile, completing the bottom level.

Joric sighed. Sweat rolled off his brow, causing his tunic to stick to him awkwardly. As he pulls the wet cloth from his body, he notices the stains of blood. His chest tightens. Forcing away the rising thoughts of that demon Prime, he strips from the bloody shirt and continues his work.

Despite Joric's rotund gut, his arms were thick as tree trunks, and vaguely rounded. The man was definitely obese, but just beneath that rounded exterior was a powerhouse. And yet... that Prime seemed so much stronger. His thick arms felt like twigs when he stared into the demon's eyes, and his skin felt as thin as paper.

I froze.

The little admittance almost physically hurt him. Of all the things that could have happened, Joric had froze on the battle field, and because of that his friends died. He did not know Leo as much, but Ban...

He and Ban had been around for quite a while. Joric had always been a large man - he simply loved food! Ban, on the other hand, was a very picky eater, thanks to an easily upset stomach. They both had grown up in a rough village. To get by, Ban had trained to become a city guard, but time and time again failed because of his violent personality. Ban, on the other hand, was routinely beat up by his peers. Not a day went by that someone did not try to take him to his knees.

Ban could have joined them, but instead, he drove them away. Joric would not fight, but Ban would - and did. He enjoyed the pummeling of his enemies until they begged for mercy, and then he reveled in their limping retreat. Joric did not enjoy fighting. In fact, he considered himself a gentle soul.

Joric and Ban remained close, with Ban eventually getting Joric to spar. Joric was an excellent punching bag, he knew how to take a hit. Joric enjoyed the spars much more than fighting those smaller than him. He was naturally tough, naturally strong, and even Ban had to learn to duck and weave to keep Joric's meaty fist from landing flush.

Then General Boar discovered them. Two up-and-coming fighters that stood above the every day Secondary were given a target worthy of their strengths. Primes. Joric toyed with the idea. The idea of fighting those weaker than him was heart breaking, but challenging the strong? It had seemed like such a good idea at the time.

At this point, Joric regretted it. He regretted ever joining the Boar-Pit. If he hadn't, he and Ban would still be satisfied with beating the snot out of each other, then toasting over cheap mead then sleeping it off to repeat it all the next day.

That's all gone now... Ban is dead... and we don't get to come back...

[Oleander]

As Joric placed the last log, it felt like the tension in his guts had lessened, if only slightly. It was a magnificent pyre. With their low rank, Ban and Leo were entitled to a Pyre, but had anyone else been the one to build it, they would only have one layer. Joric had laid two, each with four decent sized logs and packed with dozens of fallen branches and pounds of dead leaves. The Pyre would be grand, at least.
 
The next step was far worse. Steeling himself, Joric left the site of the pyre and headed towards the cabins. He knew Ban’s room. He hosted an almost nightly game, some to gamble, others just friendly. He walked in practically holding his breath. It felt strange, going through the man’s dresser, but he had to pick out Ban’s best wardrobe. It ended up being a long pair of ragged pants, a sleeveless cloth shirt and his backup Boar-Pit jacket.
 
Joric was not too familiar with Leo’s room. He knew Leo was near the end of the line of cottages. It took a while to find it, Joric eventually resorting to ask the various returning members just where it would be…
 
“Nice going, Joric. Hope you’re proud.”
 
“Blowing your first job… it was nice knowing you.”
 
“You should be on that pyre too!”
 
“It’s members like you that keep our reputation down.”
 
Joric’s heart dropped. He had thought so much of this gang. General Boar had trained them to fight together, work together, live together. Here he stood, alive. Ban and Leo were dead and he was alive. Continuing his search, unaided, his hand found the back of his neck, tracing the healing cut left by the demon swordsman.
 
I’m a coward. I should have fought back. I should never have stopped running. I should have died there too.
 
Eventually, he finds Leo’s name carved into a door, along with the three other inhabitants of the cabin. Again it felt like he could not breath. Upon stepping into the cabin, he is met with the cold glare of one of Leo’s roommates; Hughes. Joric immediately averted his eyes. Hughes was not one you would want to mess with.
 
The third-eyed man had an intense glare. Those who met his eyes open their mind to them. Joric quickly brushed past the scrawny man to enter Leo’s private room. He is immediately assaulted with the smell of burning incents – and a lot of them.
 
It almost hurt his nose, but it was much better than the smell of death and shit. With that thought in mind, Joric hunted down Leo’s stash of smell-goods and filled his pocket. Among them, he found Leo’s … stash… That too wound up in his pocket.
 
Leo had much nicer clothing than Ban. Leo actually had a wardrobe worthy of being buried in. It was almost a surprise to find clothing worthy of a lesser noble sitting in Leo’s dresser. There was no telling who he stole that from.
 
Clothing acquired, the worst was yet to come. Now he had to face his murdered friends as he cleaned them for their final rites. Perhaps he would burn a few incents to help with the smell, but he doubted it would help. Maybe it would, but the pessimism allowed Joric to punish himself. He failed them; he should suffer their final burden. Right?

[Oleander]

Cleaning of the corpses took till dusk. The stench ruined Joric’s nose for a lifetime beyond his own, and the task of maneuvering stiff bodies to wash them clean was perhaps more difficult than hauling heavy longs for the pyre. It was grueling to bend the body delicately, as if one might hurt the dead. It did not matter if he used excess force, but it still did not feel right.
 
The end result was exactly as he hoped for. The gang all stood at the Pyre, thirty or more men bowing their head in a moment of silence. Joric was there, closest to the flames, sweating profusely under the heat but bearing it for the sake of penance. This is all my fault. The survivor’s guilt had its clutches on his heart and soul and there was no light in sight for him. No light except for the funeral fire in front of him.
 
I should be in those flames. The thought seems daunting. He feared death; that is why he stopped when confronted by the swordsman’s murderous glare. Maybe… just maybe… he should have feared living more. Joric took a step closer to the fire. He took another step, till it felt like his face was catching on fire. They shouldn’t be in there alone.
 
A sudden weight rested upon Joric’s shoulder. The large man peered up at the even larger were-boar. “You have failed, Joric.” The beastly man’s baritone rattled his soul. It was confirmation to what he already knew. “But… throwing yourself into the fire will do Ban and Leo no good. Instead, perhaps you should help us plan…
 
“Brothers!” His voice rose, the thundering baritone carrying for quite a distance over the crackling fire. “Today, we have lost two of our own!” At these words, Joric felt a great many glares in his direction. “Do not think your harsh words have not reached my ears, or the glares not caught my attention.” As quick as the glares found Joric, the same eyes found the dirt underfoot.
 
“We are kinsmen! We all exercise together! We train together in the pit! When you achieve my strength – and you will – you will fight alongside me as equals!” General Boar’s gaze flicked between the individuals brave enough to meet his eyes. “But strength of the individual is not enough in this world! A new Prime has taken two of our own. Primes are powerful, but in numbers, SO ARE WE!”
 
Spirits were rising, and the large Boar-man let them for but a moment. Then… he crushed them. “However… though a Prime has slain two of our own… Many of you almost slew the sole survivor. Grief wracks his spirit, and you add salt to his wounds? Had he not survived, we would have nothing!” The sharp bite of his words had those nearest him flinch, even Joric recoiled – and the words were not even at him.
 
From his leather vest, he tugs a magic scroll and unfurls it. Upon the page a picture formed. A man with long, black hair tied back was presented. Stray locks escaped, looking like an explosion captured in his hair. His eyes were cold, and upon his lips was a smirk. In the picture, blood stained the stubble along his jaw. “This is our culprit! Shinmen Takezo: he is a deadly young Prime with no hesitation when it comes to murdering us Secondaries.”
 
He handed the scroll to the nearest man. One by one, they each look upon the scroll. Sneers pealed many faces at the sight of the Japanese man. “We will hunt him down… and end him.”

[Oleander]

It took almost an entire day for the pyre to burn out. Even before the flames died to heated cinders, the pit was full once again. Training resumed, now with far greater gusto. Joric was in the pit with the rest of the gang, using meaty fists to clobber his comrades with non-lethal, pride-hammering punches. Normally, Ban would be dealing the damage, and he would just play defensively.

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he knocked friend and foe alike to the ground. He had to get stronger. Fists hammered at his back and chest, legs kicked at his own. He felt numb to their pain. Though he was brought to his knee once or twice, he stood back up and paid back the damage dealt twofold. In the distance, he heard General Boar shout the time left, but he did not care.

Punch, kick, punch, kick, that is all he knew at the moment. He fought hard. He fought like he wished he had fought against the swordsman. He fought for retribution, penance and self-loathing all at the same time. It did not register that these were his friends he sent to the ground. The fact that he was wading through knee-deep piles of groaning allies meant nothing to his pain-filled depression.

His best friend was dead, and it was Joric's fault. He had been too weak, too pathetic to fight then. That had to change. He had to change. Joric could not hide behind Ban's lust for glory any longer. He had to be not only a shield, but a sword too, if he wanted this Takezo to pay for the murders. Even of Joric died, he would make sure Takezo went down with him.

"Time's up!" The thundering voice of the giant were-boar broke into Joric's mind for the first time. He heard the crunch of cloven feat as the man-beast leaps down into the pit. He slowly became aware of the surroundings. Only five people, including himself, still stood. The other four were glaring at him. Most of the unconscious bodies were littered around his feet.

Stepping into clear ground, Joric joined the others in a line. This was the final test of the Boar-Pit Challenge. The giant among them started at one end of the line. "Three... Two... One..." A mighty fist punishes the first in the line with a heavy blow to the gut. He stood for a moment... then fell to his knees. "Maybe next time." A pat on the shoulder as an apology, then the were-boar moved to the second in the line.

This continued. The second man managed to stay on his feet, but after a couple of seconds the pain had him vomit up his breakfast. "I'm going to let you pass this time. Good job. Go sit down." It used to be odd how the massive man could be so cruel, then so comforting to his gang. Then again, the Boar-Pit was not exactly an evil-doer type gang. Rough. Misguided, maybe. Spiteful of primes had to be the biggest reason the Boar-Pit existed.

The third man did not stay on his feet for long at all. He was unconscious before he hit the ground. "Hmm. Took it like a man, at least." General Boar turned to one of the conscious men not in line. "Take this one to the bench. The new guy is going to need an ice pack."

The fourth man, right next to Joric, did not even flinch at the heavy impact. As usual. "Abs of steel, Marcus. Go inform the cooks we will be eating early today." The man nodded before dashing off. So full of energy, with such a powerful body it was still odd to see the man pulling a pair of glasses out of his pocket.

The giant toward over Joric next. General Boar smirked at the rotund man. "Well, Well... I never thought you'd stand here. Not that I doubted you, my boy..." the gravelly baritone was sincere in his surprise. "I guess without helping Ban to the line, you thought he'd want you here." Without the count down, a giant fist sank into the soft gut of the resilient secondary. Joric did not feel the pain he knew he should. He did not even tense for impact or wince when it found him. "I believe so too. No one takes a punch like you, Joric. Marshmellow armor and fists of steel." He patted the man's shoulder.

"You and Marcus are the winners. Help wake the men you knocked out... then have everyone come to the mess hall for lunch." The were-boar flexed his hand for a moment. "If you ever lost that weight, I think you'd break my wrist." The baritone chuckle that followed was infectious. It even brought Joric out of his mood for a brief moment.

For a moment, he almost forgot that they were preparing for a war...