World Seed 64 Chapter 64

The scorching rays of the summer sun were beating down on the city of Gral'Thrak Or as Sarmak made his way to the arena. Behind him were the elders of the Gral'Thrak clan, a clan which he was born into and chosen to lead just last year. Most of the sixteen elders held a favorable opinion of him but there was a few who would like nothing more than to find an opportunity to remove him and see their own kin lead the clan.

He was leading the procession atop his trusty brolla named Surn, a beast he had raised since childhood. To his left was his wife Usha and to his right was the reason for this procession, his son Pyk. Today was Pyk's torakan, a coming of age ritual where young Lok'ra prove themselves in battle by defeating three Rozk'ra unarmed. If successful, the Lok'ra youth would be given their krea, a revered type of sword that was used by their G.o.d Torakka to cut down the other G.o.ds once he ascended.

During a torakan the arena was open to all facets of orc society, even the vosk and other slaves were allowed to skip out on work should they choose to attend. The ritual served many purposes beyond simply testing the mettle of a Lok'ra youth. Witnessing an unarmed Lok'ra youth defeat three fully grown armed Rozk'ra would halt most thoughts of rebellion and remind the rest of the Lok'ra's right to rule.

The Rozk'ra chosen for the ritual aren't without their means either. They are criminals condemned to death, who are trained for a full year before the ritual and promised their freedom should they come out victorious. This incentive made them fight voraciously and although rare, it wasn't completely unheard of for the Rozk'ra to win.

Sarmak glanced at his son Pyk, the boy was only fifteen yet he was already large enough to compare to his father. A sense of pride welled over him as Pyk caught sight of his stare and met his gaze.

"What is it?" Pyk asked rebelliously.

"Nothing, simply admiring my handiwork." Sarmak laughed off the boy's teenage impudence.

"Your handiwork? Bah! This body is my achievement old man." Pyk flexed his muscles as if to show off to his father.

"This 'old man' is the one who put you in your mothers belly, thus all your achievements are my achievements as well brat." Normally Pyk would get a smack on the head for speaking to him this way but he let it go as today was a day to feel glory not admonishment.

"Stop antagonizing him already, he has enough on his mind." Usha scolded.

"Yes dear." Sarmak laughed heartily and spoke as if that was the end of it but as soon as Usha looked away he flexed back at the boy, showing him that if the boy wanted to challenge him he had a long way to go.

The procession was greeted by a ma.s.sive crowd that roared cheerfully as they made their way to the arena entrance. Horns and drums played resounding melodies creating an atmosphere akin to a glorious return after a victorious war. Once inside, Usha and the others broke away to find their seats as Sarmak stayed behind for a moment to have a word with his son.

"Focus on one at a time, if they choose to group up... kick them in the b.a.l.l.s or throw dirt in their eyes. Do anything you can to win."

"That's cowardly, i'd rather die with the honor of a Lok'ra." Pyk proclaimed proudly, slapping his chest.
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"That sort of thinking is the reason why we're stuck in this world brat. If victory is the goal then one must do all that they can to achieve it, especially when failure means death. Remember my words and be strong."

Sarmak left him without waiting for a response. He knew his words wouldn't reach the boy but if things got desperate he hoped they would ring true in his mind and save him. It wasn't that he didn't believe Pyk could win but the boy was at that impressionable age where he believed battle was a glorious thing.

Sarmak rubbed the scar on his chin that he received during his torakan, he too thought as his son did in his youth. It wasn't until he was standing before three Rozk'ra that truly wanted to kill him that his thoughts s.h.i.+fted. Honor was best left for games, there was no honor in dying at the hands of an enemy that didn't share the same sense of honor.

Scoffing as he let his hand fall from his face, he made his way up the stairs to his booth. Once there he took his place at the highest seat, next to his wife Usha. The booth was only a few meters from the pit where the ritual would take place so they would be close to the action. The elders sat one step below him and the rest of the clan sat in normal seats around the booth as if to remind everyone of their place in the hierarchy.

"How is he?" Usha asked with a hushed voice.

"He'll be fine, the boy's even stronger than i was at his age. My seed is strong." Sarmak banged his puffed out chest with a smile as Usha rolled her eyes.

"Stop taking credit for his achievements before he starts to believe he's worthless."

"Bah! If my seed was that weak i'd just have to sow some more with my beautiful wife!" Sarmak bellowed as he grabbed at Usha's belly playfully.

Usha motioned to speak but was interrupted by the sound of a horn that marked the start of the ritual. Sarmak sat upright and put a more serious expression on as he turned his attention to the center of the arena. Eighteen Lok'ra youths stood in a line representing all those who were to earn their krea today.

The high priest of Torakka stood before them and after a short speech, some slaves brought out a pregnant brolla along with the ceremonial krea and pan. The high priest slit the brolla's throat in one quick motion, collecting the blood that spilled out into the ceremonial pan. Once the pan was full he slowly walked over to each of the Lok'ra youths, sticking his hand into the pan and imprinting a b.l.o.o.d.y hand print onto each of their faces. Once he was finished, he walked back over to the brolla and opened it's belly with another quick slice.

The ritual was pointless as Torakka had no power in this world since the gate closed but back in Urak if the brolla fetus survived it's mothers death it was a sign that Torakka was watching and willing to choose a champion. The baby calf would then take it's first steps and whichever youth it walked to would be named Torakka's champion.

Sarmak disliked this part of the ritual. Since coming to this world the calf only survived a handful of times but never walked to anyone other than it's deceased mother as if to remind them that they had been forsaken. If he could he would remove this part of the ritual but the elders would never allow it, even the ones who supported him.

It made no sense to Sarmak to continue wors.h.i.+ping a G.o.d that they would never see again. They had already been in this world for six hundred years and the original generation from Urak has long since pa.s.sed away. The gates connected worlds at random so there was no hope of ever returning to Urak without a miracle of miracles.

However it appeared that today was a day of miracles. Once the brolla's belly was opened the dead calf slid out in a gooey mess. The high priest checked it for life before shaking his head and announcing that the calf had died. Walking back to the center, he transitioned into the closing speech that would begin the youth's trials and once he finished he ordered the slaves to remove the bodies from the arena ground.

They got to work quickly but the slave who was tasked with gathering the calf's body froze as the body began to twitch. He quickly called over the high priest who ran over in a hurry. The crowd grew silent as the high priest arrived at the body that was now standing up on it's own. It looked around the arena frantically as if it was staring at an arena full of predators looking to kill it.

Sarmak stared intently and was caught by surprise when the calf turned it's head and faced him. The moment their eyes met the creature began to hobble in his direction as quickly as it could. Sarmak stood up from his seat, entranced as the calf stopped a few meters from the booth all the while locking eyes with him. The calf's eyes appeared empty and hollow but Sarmak found himself unable to look away. It released a tiny roar before collapsing to the ground, it's eyes ever locked onto Sarmak even in it's death.

"Lokkan Sarmak has been chosen by Torakka!" The high priest shouted, snapping Sarmak's attention back to the world around him. The elated crowd began to cheer at the first chosen being named in centuries but Sarmak stood there with a concerned expression plastering his face. The crowd must've taken it for shock at becoming a chosen but his expression had nothing to do with the high priests announcement.

He wasn't blinded by faith like the high priest, he knew this had nothing to do with Torakka. What's more the scene felt far more ominous to him than one that deserved to be celebrated.