A SKRALL BY ANY OTHER NAME: THE SKRALL'S TALE
--1000 Years After the Shattering--
As a Skrall, he was not allowed to wonder.
The society he lived in forced him to be a warrior, a soldier, not a thinker. He was expected to fight and die, not sit and ponder. It was a simple but brutal life, one which he was a slave to. But every night, when he laid down to sleep, he could not help but wonder.
He wondered if there was more to life than this, if there could be a world to live in without needing to fight and die.
He wondered....
* * *
"Get up."
A sharp kick to his rib cage was enough to wake the Skrall up. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see an older Skrall, clad in bulky black and red armor which indicated his status as an elite warrior. It took the younger Skrall a moment to realize that it was Stronius whom he was looking at, Tuma's greatest lieutenant.
"Did I not make myself clear?" Stronius growled. "I said get up!"
The Skrall quickly shot to his feet, reaching for his helmet and donning it before giving his superior a sharp salute.
"Stop standing there and get yourself armed!" Stronius snapped. "You have a match today."
"Yes, sir!" The Skrall found it all strange; on most days he was waken by an Agori villager or a fellow warrior, not someone as high ranking as Stronius.
As the Skrall donned his armor and retrieved his tribal sword and shield, Stronius continued to speak. "The match is in Tajun. The Water Tribe have claimed an abandoned chest filled with Exsidian and other valuables. As it was found in the Black Spike Mountains, it rightfully belongs to us. But the Water Tribe doesn't think that way."
"I shall see to it that it is returned to us," the Skrall said, loading up his Thornax Launcher.
Stronius smirked. "That's what I like to hear. Atakus is waiting for you in the Rock Steed pens."
* * *
Although he would never admit it, the Skrall dreaded venturing from Roxtus.
He had heard of the tales: years ago, a patrol of Skrall sent to explore the Black Spike Mountains were attacked by a pack of strange shape-shifting creatures. Only two of the several soldiers sent out returned alive. It was not long after this event that the Skrall were forced to migrate south and settle into the city of Roxtus. Since then, the creatures had been given the name "Baterra"-- the Skrall word for "silent death."
Despite reports that the Baterra only seemed to reside near the mountains, the Skrall was nonetheless wary of traveling outside the city, though he never voiced his fears to anyone.
As a Skrall, he was not allowed to fear.
* * *
The ride to Tajun was long but thankfully uneventful. As the Skrall got off of his Rock Steed, Atakus walked ahead of him, shouting loudly and rudely while waving his dual blades in order to clear a path for the warrior.
While he considered himself to be less cruel and heartless than others of his kind, the Skrall nonetheless enjoyed the looks of fear and terror on the Agori's face as he walked past them. It made him feel respected, which he never did among the other Skrall, or even the Agori of the Rock Tribe.
Perhaps that would change after today.
* * *
His opponent's name was Tarix.
That was the one thing he always envied of others: a name. As a Skrall, he was not allowed one, unless it was bestowed upon him by the exalted ruler of the Skrall, Tuma himself. And the only way he could earn a name was to perform a great deed or accomplishment.
Today, he would make sure that he would no longer be nameless.
He stepped out into the arena, his Tribal Design Blade brandished and his Thornax Launcher loaded. Tarix stepped forward as well, his blue and gold armor pristine and his twin Water Blades bared. Between them stood the Agori leader of the Water Tribe, who began reciting the standard pre-battle speech. When he was finished, the Skrall leaped into combat.
His blade clashed against Tarix's, the blow enough to make the veteran Glatorian stagger back. The Skrall took no pride in this attack however; he had been in enough matches to know that the first rush of adrenaline wore off quickly.
The battle went on for quite some time. Tarix was quite the formidable opponent, but the lessons the Skrall had learned from practice matches took precedence here. With ever trick the Glatorian pulled on him, he responded in kind with dirty tactics, some straddling the line of rule breaking. But it would not matter in the end.
As a Skrall, he was allowed to cheat.
The moment Tarix had been robbed of his Water Blades and the Skrall's blade was at his neck, it was clear to all who the victor was.
For once, the Skrall felt proud to be one.
* * *
Ignoring Atakus' grumbling complaints for being the one to carry the heavy chest, the Skrall stepped into the throne room of the mighty Tuma.
The darkened chamber was hardly reputable. Its only decorations were a ceremonial shield adorning the stone walls and the empty helmets of defeated foes dangling from the ceiling.
Seated in his throne was Tuma himself. Large and imposing, the ruler of the Skrall looked down upon his subjects with mild contempt.
As Atakus set the chest down with a loud thud, the Skrall bent down on one knee and bowed his head. "My liege, I have reclaimed the chest from the Water Tribe."
"Have you?" Tuma hissed. "Open it so I can be sure it is the right one."
Once he had beckoned for Atakus to leave, the Skrall sliced the chain keeping the chest sealed with his blade. The warrior then lifted the lid, expecting to find the glittering of gold and Exsidian.
Instead, all he saw was an iron scroll.
His mouth fell agape, his heart skipping beats out of dread. "M-my liege, I... I had no idea."
Tuma said nothing as he rose from his throne, his full, massive height becoming more realized.
"The... the Water Tribe must have deceived us," the Skrall went on, becoming choked with fear. "They've given us the wrong package."
"No, they haven't," Tuma said with confidence.
The Skrall blinked, confused. "But... Stronius told me that it was supposed to carry Exsidian--"
"Only because that's what I told him. I knew what the chest's true contents were." Tuma stepped over to the chest and retrieved the scroll, unrolling it to reveal yellow parchment printed with faded ink. "This is the will and testament of my predecessor-- and father-- Kalrazon."
The Skrall slowly nodded, still bewildered by this change in developments. "Is... is it of any importance, my liege?"
Tuma snorted. "Hardly. In it he disowns me as his son for attempting to usurp his legion during the Core War. But I've been needing confirmation for a millennia now, and after years of searching, I finally have it."
"But why misinform Stronius?" the Skrall wondered. Realizing that he had spoken his mind aloud, he hastily added, "Not that I mean to question your actions, my liege--"
"But you do," Tuma said darkly. "And... rightfully so, I must admit. I trust Stronius, but there is some information I still do not wish him to be privy to."
"Then... why let me know, my liege?"
Tuma turned his gaze on him, his face impassive. "Because you are my son. You and I are both of Kalrazon's blood, and the last of his descendants."
The Skrall found himself speechless. He had no inclination that he was the offspring of the very ruler of the Rock Tribe.
"I wished to wait until you had proven yourself worthy of a name before telling you," Tuma went on. "Henceforth, I bestow upon you the name of Drakus. Serve me as well as you do the empire... and you may find yourself upon this throne one day."
The Skrall-- forever more known as Drakus-- bowed his head once again. "I shall not fail you... father."
For, as a Skrall, he was not allowed to fail.
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