Random stories

Sheolden put his head into his hands. Faint blue light from the crystal cage sept through his fingers, his only reminder that he was still alive. It wouldn't be long until the assembled wizards found a way to break it; there was no way they'd be befuddled too long by a simple arcane trick.

"Sheolden, you're a coward," a voice called from outside the cage, the deep haggard tone identifying it as Glossius the Red, one of the twelve Grand Arbiters.

Others murmured in agreement, some going as far as to voice their anger. Those men were to die as well, why not Sheolden? He supposed that if all hundred of the losers worked together they could run from their mortal fate. The problem was that they'd have nothing to run back to, their names disgraced. It was a social contract that mandated that the losers knelt before the winner and gave themselves up in the sacrifice of immortality; only a few times in history had one tried to do anything but, and for nothing. Their lines were dishonored, their families were driven from the citadel, and every wizard remembers them as baseless cowards.

"I know the games are fixed, Glossius," Sheolden said, drawing in a long breath.

"Loser!" someone else screamed.

"You've been swindled! Yellidren was chosen winner!"

"A baseless claim coming from a loser? Like we haven't heard that one before." Glossius drew out the words.

"I saw it upon your own lips sitting in the stands!"

"I spoke of Yellidren as I thought him the best competitor. Surely you're mistaken that anything was fixed. The games have stood in honor for six and a half millennia."

"No, you said 'Yellidren is doing as told'"

"You misread something. A sign of an inferior wizard. Which, may I remind you, is exactly what you are."

"I demand a retrial, this time with Yellidren disqualified," Sheolden recalled the strange spells that Yellidren had cast to defeat him in the third round. How could it be the work of anyone but the Arbiters themselves, providing assistance to their chosen one?

"Preposterous! We're going to free you from that cage, restrain you, and put you on your knees."

The crystal melted away, revealing a stunned crowd and angry faces. An array of wands were pointed in his direction.

Sheolden was about to utter a final prayer when, to his shock, Yellidren stepped forward. He looked sharp in his blue robes, his tight gray beard frolicking in the breeze.

"These accusations are true," he said to the gasps of everyone, holding down his head. "There should be a retrial."

"Are you out of your mind!" Glossius turned to him.

"I've had a change of heart. As you said yourself, there is not a stain on six and a half millennia of the games. Let me not be it. I am uncertain of your plans, and of the future. I shall step down and allow for a retrial."

"You cannot! We cannot allow it! We will look weak in the face of the Gods, like ungrateful mouths at Diablo's teet."

"We must honor Diablo before it flashes the night sky."

The arbiters gathered amongst the crowd looked at each other and spoke in whispers. Nine of them turned on three of them, including Glossius.

One of the nine said. "It appears that some among us stain the dirt." More whispers followed. "This is a matter for the Arbiters. We will declare a new tournament. Yellidren will be disqualified, and we will call up the first wizard on the list of replacements that happens to be in attendance today."

"We cannot," another Arbiter declared, "by breaking the ritual, we will declare the original spell to be invalid." The Arbiters whispered amongst themselves again. The same Arbiter spoke. "I say, it is of no use. At the passing of Diablo, Yellidren must sacrifice one hundred wizards, or we are done for."

"It would not be at all just to these souls."

"Then we all die."

The Arbiters shook their heads. They spoke for some time longer, eventually agreeing to leave things as they were. They would sacrifice a hundred wizards unfairly for the sake of their own immortality.

Sheolden was lined up with the others and forced to take a knee in front of the Arbiters. Yellidren thanked him personally for cleansing his soul and said he would always remember his name fondly, ensuring that his line would go on to achieve greatness at the Citadel. Sheolden shed tears for his unjust fate, as many of the others did.

They were so immersed in their feelings of sorrow that they paid no attention to the fact that the comet Diablo, the sign that the sacrifice was to begin, never came. By the time the crow cocked the next morning, the Aribters had all turned to dust.

Some say it was cosmic fate; others divine interference.

r/StoriesToThinkAbout

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Submitted by armageddon_20xx on Tue, Feb 21, 2023 to /r/WritingPrompts/

The prompt

Every 500 years, when the stars are aligned correctly, one wizard can perform a ritual which grants immortality, but requires 100 lives to be sacrificed. In order to prevent needless bloodshed, 101 of the most powerful wizards enter a great tournament, and only one remains alive, forever.