The Whelps Initiation - Blood on His Hands
Mar 14, 2015 13:47:01 GMT -6
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Post by Weyrloc Karn on Mar 14, 2015 13:47:01 GMT -6
A known thing of krogan society is the rite of passage. A slow process takes place before the initiation of a krogan whelp into the arms of a strong, able clan, taking strength, determination and resolve to overcome trials set by those ready to test their skills. Many a krogan die through this task, many who never come back, branded failures by family and kin alike. Those who achieve the skill to become part of a clan, those who marked clanless must abandon all desires and goals to put forward their minds to a deadly, dire task indeed... Those who gain the abilities, the resolve and the sheer strength to overcome their trials and become part of the clan they so desire to become part of, all starts somewhere, earlier, and much younger.
The initiation of a whelp is long, painful and stressing. But the path of those blessed with power, is worse than to be imagined. And the actions forced upon them will define what they become. A beast, an executioner... A monster.
The clanless krogan knew this trial too well. But what of the battlemaster in training?
Karn knew this all too well as he stood before his master, his so called 'krant'. The old man was a dinosaur, from a time seemingly decades old, brutal in his ways, but as caring as a father. The mentor before him was still just as powerful as any one of these many krogan could be, maybe even more. It struck fear into his hearts, into his very being, the old brute before him could easily destroy his very being with a simple thought and a fist to the skull. The whelp merely accepted that fact, knowing his place all too effectively. He was a special case to the elders, and his sheer determination to stay alive long enough was more than be expected. They basked in such a grand specimen. But he needed to be trained in one simple task.
To kill another.
The first kill of many...
The whelp had never killed another krogan, only an animal or two. He wasn't going to expect a great thing from said deal, but his mind was set, hardened on his task. He required his first kill to become one of them, one of the warlocks of old. A master of the biotic field, a brutal warlord of unthinkable powers. It made his mind boil in thoughts, his dreams, his desires. They were all too common at this fact, his will to be powerful. Merciless... A monster.
A monster was the most common thing any of these krogan become.
It was just sooner than expected.
-------------------------------------
They tossed the whelp to the pits, reserved for competitions of strength, the paid gambles of varren fights or whatever mindless games the clans could bring up. In the case of todays matching, it was a whelp, against a disgraced creature. A rough looking krogan is shoved into the ruined ring, messy, dirtied, almost dead from his looks. Probably hasn't eaten for days, but it made him no less the desperate, more frantic than any krogan Karn had ever seen before. He stood before the shell and remains of a dead beast, gasping for the final breaths of air he cannot obtain. He was almost like a mercy killing, but he held no regrets to his actions, but still found himself afraid of what he faced.
The sick beast still had strength, and not even that would be enough to stop him from raging out. The distinct growl of a blood enraged krogan was all too noticeable.
He was fighting an insane creature. Even the whelp understood this insanity of the situation. But neither did he care. The old, dying carcass infront of him was just an obstacle.
His first kill.
-------------------------------------
For what seemed to be hours of fists flying against hard plates, the garbled noises of growls and chokes, the sounds of blood splashing across the ground. The whelp soon overturned his powerful opponent. With sheer might, his beaten form would bash against the weakened elder, the snarled growls and yells of aggression, the widened eyes of an enraged krogan filled those of the whelps. His fists beat into the flesh of the mostly dead beast... Nothing seemingly stopped the madness, the sheer pained screams from the whelp built up over time before his torn, bleeding knuckles withdrew from the corpse of the defeated.
He had won his bout. His title prize, the final stage of the brutal scheme. The whelp shook as his nerves calmed his senses, his eyes shrinking to their normal state, simply eyeing his bleeding knuckles. He felt exhausted, but... Excited. Even with the first brutal death of his first victim, his sheer power almost scared him. To see the mangled mess of an already dangerous foe lie dead on the ground, bleeding ever so slowly... He felt sick, but still he felt exhilarated, energized.
Almost enthusiastic about his overcome trial.
Even the elders who watched found it a delightful display with cheers and chants to their new disciple. The first kill of the whelp, was their needed achievement.
For something so unexpected, the best came through.
The whelp had finally proven his worth. For what good had it proven, the death of another for his goal was simply... Unknown to him at the time. His mind was muddled with so many thoughts as they lugged him from the circular pit. He remained fixated on his hands as they led him away, smiling almost all the way.
The whelp was finally given his purpose.
His new life.
The initiation of a whelp is long, painful and stressing. But the path of those blessed with power, is worse than to be imagined. And the actions forced upon them will define what they become. A beast, an executioner... A monster.
The clanless krogan knew this trial too well. But what of the battlemaster in training?
Karn knew this all too well as he stood before his master, his so called 'krant'. The old man was a dinosaur, from a time seemingly decades old, brutal in his ways, but as caring as a father. The mentor before him was still just as powerful as any one of these many krogan could be, maybe even more. It struck fear into his hearts, into his very being, the old brute before him could easily destroy his very being with a simple thought and a fist to the skull. The whelp merely accepted that fact, knowing his place all too effectively. He was a special case to the elders, and his sheer determination to stay alive long enough was more than be expected. They basked in such a grand specimen. But he needed to be trained in one simple task.
To kill another.
The first kill of many...
The whelp had never killed another krogan, only an animal or two. He wasn't going to expect a great thing from said deal, but his mind was set, hardened on his task. He required his first kill to become one of them, one of the warlocks of old. A master of the biotic field, a brutal warlord of unthinkable powers. It made his mind boil in thoughts, his dreams, his desires. They were all too common at this fact, his will to be powerful. Merciless... A monster.
A monster was the most common thing any of these krogan become.
It was just sooner than expected.
-------------------------------------
They tossed the whelp to the pits, reserved for competitions of strength, the paid gambles of varren fights or whatever mindless games the clans could bring up. In the case of todays matching, it was a whelp, against a disgraced creature. A rough looking krogan is shoved into the ruined ring, messy, dirtied, almost dead from his looks. Probably hasn't eaten for days, but it made him no less the desperate, more frantic than any krogan Karn had ever seen before. He stood before the shell and remains of a dead beast, gasping for the final breaths of air he cannot obtain. He was almost like a mercy killing, but he held no regrets to his actions, but still found himself afraid of what he faced.
The sick beast still had strength, and not even that would be enough to stop him from raging out. The distinct growl of a blood enraged krogan was all too noticeable.
He was fighting an insane creature. Even the whelp understood this insanity of the situation. But neither did he care. The old, dying carcass infront of him was just an obstacle.
His first kill.
-------------------------------------
For what seemed to be hours of fists flying against hard plates, the garbled noises of growls and chokes, the sounds of blood splashing across the ground. The whelp soon overturned his powerful opponent. With sheer might, his beaten form would bash against the weakened elder, the snarled growls and yells of aggression, the widened eyes of an enraged krogan filled those of the whelps. His fists beat into the flesh of the mostly dead beast... Nothing seemingly stopped the madness, the sheer pained screams from the whelp built up over time before his torn, bleeding knuckles withdrew from the corpse of the defeated.
He had won his bout. His title prize, the final stage of the brutal scheme. The whelp shook as his nerves calmed his senses, his eyes shrinking to their normal state, simply eyeing his bleeding knuckles. He felt exhausted, but... Excited. Even with the first brutal death of his first victim, his sheer power almost scared him. To see the mangled mess of an already dangerous foe lie dead on the ground, bleeding ever so slowly... He felt sick, but still he felt exhilarated, energized.
Almost enthusiastic about his overcome trial.
Even the elders who watched found it a delightful display with cheers and chants to their new disciple. The first kill of the whelp, was their needed achievement.
For something so unexpected, the best came through.
The whelp had finally proven his worth. For what good had it proven, the death of another for his goal was simply... Unknown to him at the time. His mind was muddled with so many thoughts as they lugged him from the circular pit. He remained fixated on his hands as they led him away, smiling almost all the way.
The whelp was finally given his purpose.
His new life.