Chapter 54: The Contract Tournament

“Just plant your feet there, lad. Whenever you are ready, strike ‘em as hard as you can.”

Brent draw his sword and eyed his target. It was nearly as tall as he and leered at him with an unseemly grin. The thing had no body to speak of and was just a floating face with beady eyes.

“Here it goes,” muttered Brent.

He swung his sword as hard as he could at the face. The face was slashed in two and the grin was replaced with one of shock moments before the two pieces vanished in the afternoon sun.

“Well done lad,” said the man with a clipboard. He was a player who had greeted them in Birchtown after Chase had dropped the three fighters off at the town square. He scribbled something down on his clipboard.

“Did I do it right?”

“I should say so,” said the man. He appeared to be middle aged and had long grey hair. He was not dressed as a fighter but had a staff strapped to his back. “My illusion only makes that face when a truly expert attack has been done on it.”

“How do I compare to the others?” Said Brent. Across the square he could see the building where the other players were at. He had seen several others attack the face and then be directed through those doors.

“Haha, well, that’s for me to know and you to find out,” said the man with a nervous laugh. “We need data on each of the participants before we commence the tournament.”

“Why?”

“Why?” The man blinked at glanced at his clipboard. He jotted a couple more notes. “Never you mind. Go talk to the NPC at the table. He will complete your registration.”

“Go on, Brent,” said Alex, standing behind him. He was next in line to attack the face and was stretching his arms in preparation. “Me and Claire are right behind you.”

Claire didn’t say anything, but watched as the mage made some gestures with his hands and the face returned. It materialized before Alex and it’s grin was bigger than ever, and even appeared a bit strained.

I wonder what kind of magic that is, thought Brent to himself. But he did as he was told and walked over to the NPC at the table. He was now close enough to the building that he could hear other players inside. All around him were people going this way and that way through the middle of Birchtown. Before Chase had dropped them off, he had mentioned that the town was usually only a couple hundred NPCs. Due to the tournament however the population had swollen with players and their guilds eager to win some recognition and some experience.

“Name?” Said the NPC without looking up. He sounded bored and Brent noticed that he looked just like most of the other NPCs he had ever seen. The NPC was sitting, but looked no taller than himself, and gave off the appearance of a town functionary.

“Brent.”

The NPC wrote his name down.

“Class?”

“Fighter, of course,” scoffed Brent. “Isn’t this tournament just for fighters?”

“Obviously,” said the NPC, unable to hide his annoyance. “But we have to ask. Show me your contract mark.”

Brent rolled up the sleeve on his left arm. The mark was no larger than a coin, and was the image of a pair of crossed swords. He remembered when Ghelion had given it to him using his magic, and the sting which had ensued for days after.

“Alright,” said the NPC. He scribbled some more on the paper and then looked back up at Brent, squinting in the sun. “I need a bit more information. When did you leave the island?”

“Um, early April.”

The NPC sighed and wrote his answer down on the parchment.

“Alright, and what is your level in the fighter class?”

“Four.”

The NPC cocked an eyebrow. He looked Brent up and down and then craned his neck to see his companions behind him. Brent heard Alex swing his sword and the player speaking to him.

“Level four in only five months? That’s quite fast.”

“Fast learner,” shrugged Brent. He imagined he could hear Chase telling him not to tell anyone what level he had made it too. The speed at their level progression could cause some envy among other players. Surely this NPC would not bother them over it, however.

“Are you affiliated with a guild?”

“The Seven Banes,” said Brent.

For a moment, Brent thought he saw the NPC’s eyes widen, but then his face become neutral and slightly bored again.

“Very well, thanks,” said the NPC. He motioned toward the building behind him. “The other competitors are within the building. Any fighting prior to the tournament will be met with instant expulsion. Next.”

Alex was behind Brent and he awkwardly slapped him on the shoulder and smiled.

“We will meet you inside,” said Alex.

He must be really nervous, thought Brent as he came to the door. Alex had come a long way, but had never really fought another player. Brent’s experience with others came in the practice area of the island, and all the fighting they had done at the fort. Thought in reality it was little more than Alex, anytime Brent and he had sparred it always ended with Alex on his back. As usual, with every step towards a challenge and danger Brent was growing more excited. It was everything he could do not to kick the door down.

A large room greeted Brent, and all kinds of players were milling around. Brent saw large, hulking men, and slender, brutal looking women. Some were three times his own age, and others appeared little older than Thomas. By the entrance was a man with long red hair who was playing a flute, to the consternation of some onlookers. His face was handsome yet scarred, and he had an eyepatch over one eye. Despite the annoyed looks from others no one seemed to want to tell him to stop playing. His flute playing was halting and occasionally screeched through the air, and no melody was discernible to Brent.

“I hope you’re a better fighter than a flute player,” said Brent to the man.

The entire room became quiet. The red haired man looked up at Brent, his eyes wide. Brent thought he could have heard a pin drop such was the silence. Suddenly a smile played on the red haired man’s lips and he tucked the flute away into his shirt and rose to his feet.

“I was wondering when someone would say something. My name is Astor Briggs, and you?”

Brent looked down at Astor’s extended hand and shook it.

“Brent. You here for the tournament I’m guessing?”

“That I am,” said Astor. He looked Brent up and down appraisingly. “I am guessing you have never heard of me. You must have spawned recently.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Brent glanced around the room behind him. The other players were all trying hard to stare at the floor, the ceilings, out the windows, and generally any place other than at the two of them. They seemed to be scared of Astor, and despite himself Brent only felt himself grow excited.

“Are you famous or something?” Said Brent.

“Well,” said Astor, slightly taken aback by the bluntness of the question. “Around here, I suppose. I have won the last three Fighter Tourney’s in Avalon.”

“Really? Yet you are still a Fighter?”

Astor’s eyes darkened now, perceiving Brent as mocking him.

“The first contract is a difficult one to pass, as you will soon know. I am sure you are just a level one, correct? I have made it all the way to level 7 in no less than 18 months.”

Thinking of how to respond to that, Brent was saved as a hand fell on his shoulder.

“Long time no see, Brent.”

Daniel and a grinning Hackney, back from the Triple Fives on the training island, were standing behind him. They were no longer in their training garments and instead were dressed similarly to Brent and his own guild. Hackney put an arm around Brent’s shoulder and apologized to Astor, who was nearly quivering with rage.

“Excuse us, Champion, our friend here is just a little out of the loop, it seems,” said Hackney.

“Must have been in the woods for a while,” chuckled Daniel, stroking his beard. “He won’t bother you again. Come on, Brent.”

Brent started to protest but Hackney poked him in the side.

“Shut it,” he whispered. “We will explain.”

“Astor,” said Brent, shaking Hackney off him. He faced the player and stared him in the eyes, refusing to break contact. “If you are the Champion then I hope we meet in the tournament.”

The red haired player pfft’d and then sat back down, idly crossing his legs and leaning back against the wall.

“Leave me,” he said, examining his nails.

Now Hackney and Daniel were pushing Brent to the other side of the room where some tables were pushed against in the wall.

“Brent. Sit. Down,” said Hackney gruffly, pushing him into a chair.

“What was that all about?” Said Brent furiously.

“You just nearly got done in by Avalon’s supreme tourney champion, that’s what that was about,” said Daniel as he sat across from Brent. He glanced over his shoulder to Astor who was now examining his flute.

“So?” Said Brent. “We aren’t allowed to fight here, otherwise we will get kicked out. I wasn’t in any danger, just some big words is all.”

“You don’t understand,” said Hackney, shaking his head. “Astor is dangerous. He killed a player at the last tournament he was at. They weren’t even fighting in the tournament yet. The player said something to him and Astor slit his throat in front of everyone.”

“He’s a crazy one,” said Daniel. “Just got out of the King’s Dungeon only a few weeks ago and came straight here, as though all he wanted to do was finish this tournament.”

“How long was he in prison?”

“Dunno,” said Hackney. “But not long, which is the strange part. Add on to that he won his previous three tournaments and he is a player to be reckoned with. Has a short temper. Oh, hello, Claire.”

“Didn’t figure on seeing you two here,” said Claire as she sat beside them. Alex joined only a moment later and didn’t say a word, seeming to sense the tension in the air.

“Where else would we be?” Said Daniel with a grin. “We decided to form a guild with Meredith and the others from the Triple Fives. Guess we got the idea from you guys.”

“Good idea,” said Alex. “You guys worked well together.”

“Thanks,” said Daniel, looking at Alex. He seemed to not remember him but decided to forget about asking. “How have you guys been? Get some good training in before coming here?”

“Actually we did,” said Brent. He glanced at Daniel and Hackney’s features. They were more weathered than the last time he saw them, and both their beards were nearly identical giving them the impression of brothers. For a moment Brent thought of his own brother, and the scintilla of a memory he had brought with him from the Old World. “We found a place with a decent number of goblins.”

“Goblins?” Said Hackney, looking impressed. “We fought mostly these little pixies when we left Moontown. They were everywhere around this one river. We didn’t find many goblins until we traveled north a bit to around this area.”

“Fight many actual players?” Said Claire curiously.

“Ah,” said Daniel, looking at the table. “That we did. A month maybe after Moontown another guild attacked us, nearly killing Clark. Remember him? He’s our mage now. They snuck up to us at night but fortunately Hackney here was on guard and woke us all up. They ran poor Clark through the middle and he had to heal himself.”

Brent tried to imagine the bespectacled man from the Triple Fives. The memory of his face was distant and he thought of him laying on the ground in a growing pool of blood.

“I’m glad he’s okay,” said Brent seriously. “Amelie is our mage and I don’t think we would be around without her.”

“Honestly I think the spell itself nearly killed him more than the wound. After he was done we had to make camp there for a week for him to recuperate.”

“What level did you get to?” Asked Alex casually. He was occasionally looking around at their competition but now turned to face Hackney and Daniel.

The two looked at one another and then Daniel sighed and gave his friend the go ahead to speak.

“Level 2 for both of us,” said Hackney, lowering his voice. “Meredith and Clarke both got to level three, but it was hard fought that’s for sure. How about you three?”

“Might as well tell them,” said Alex after Brent had given him a look. “Just about all of us made it to 4.”

“Really?” Said Daniel, looking shocked. “Level 4? It’s only been, what, five months since you all left the island?”

“We figured a few things out,” said Claire with a shrug.

“You’ll have to tell us about it later,” said Hackney, inclining his head toward the door. “Markon is here.”

A man had just walked through the door and the room had grown quiet again. Markon was easily seven feet tall, and was clearly a player by the way he carried himself. He was garbed in black leather and bore a two handed sword strapped to his back. Brent thought he was perhaps 40 years old.

“I think that is everyone,” said Markon, his voice low and rumbling. “And if not, oh well. The last call for signups went out and if anyone is late then they can wait for the next one. Anyways, welcome everyone to Birchtown’s 527th Contract tournament for the Fighter class. I see a few familiar faces, but for the new people I’ll give you the run down.”

Markon then looked at Astor who was blowing on his flute, causing a distracting chirping to pervade the room. The gathered players looked toward the large and agitated player to see what he would do.

“Astor, you murdering lout,” said Markon. “I don’t know how you got outta that cell so quick but if you don’t put that thing away I’ll be going to the dungeons myself before too long.”

The red haired man looked briefly as though he were about to violently retort, but then he sighed and put the flute away.

“Apologies, Markon, please continue.”

“As I was saying,” said Markon, glaring around the room. “This tournament is a three day affair. Each day we will have a single round of fights. Tomorrow we begin, but today we need to all draw lots to see who fights who. Men and women will fight in their own brackets, no exceptions.”

Markon then opened the door behind him and shouted, “Argo!”

The NPC who had taken Brent’s name hurried inside, an upturned iron helmet in his arms.

“Here, Markon, where should I place it?”

“Hold it, Argo,” said Markon. “Men, form a line. Draw a number and that will tell you who you are fighting. Whoever has your matching number will be your first opponent. After we do the men we do the women. Got it?”

Nods all around the room. Brent saw a middle aged woman with wild red hair look devilishly at Claire, liking mistaking her for an easy match.

Bad idea, old lady, thought Brent to himself. The four of them got in line, leaving Claire at the table. Brent counted there must have been close to 30 of them standing waiting to draw a name. Around half that many were women, who were still at their tables waiting their turn. It was difficult to gage who might be the strongest, but despite himself Brent found himself sneaking looks at Astor who was near the head of the line. Though he was far from the largest there was a menacing quality about him that struck Brent. He had seemed to have seen a lot of combat with actual people, and not just mindless NPCs.

“I hope I get him,” whispered Brent to Alex.

“Have fun with that,” muttered Alex. “I just hope I make it through the first round.”

“Of course you will,” said Brent. “You just need the right attitude. Most of these people are either newly spawned like us, or been unable to leave the Fighter contract and probably got lazy. Our odds are good I would say.”

“I guess,” said Alex, eyeing a large man with a shaggy head of hair who was currently drawing from the helmet. His hand nearly didn’t fit inside the helmet and when he drew a name he had to squint at the name.

“Astor Briggs! I saw you draw 4, well so did I.” Said the large man with a dark chuckle. He turned around and found the red haired man sitting by the wall, having already gotten his name. “You and me are tomorrow, looks like. I am gonna enjoy ripping your head from your shoulders you little weasel of a man.”

Astor smiled almost shyly.

“You’re death will be exquisite,” he said.

“Enough,” said Markon. He was standing beside a nervous looking Argo, arms crossed and with an almost bored expression on his face. “I have more contract marks than then you two put together, and double for that matter. If either of you try something before the tournament I’ll be glad to rip your arms off until we get a proper mage around to heal ya.”

The big man started to spit, glanced at Markon, and then thought better of it. Astor returned to staring out the window as though nothing had happened.

Finally it was Brent’s turn to draw a number. He reached into the helmet and then unwrapped his piece of paper in front of Argo and Markon.

“7,” said Brent, showing it to Argo.

“The matching number hasn’t been drawn yet,” said Argo. “You’ll find out who you fight soon. Go back to your table.”

“Alright,” said Brent. Alex and the other two men were behind him, and still another ten following them. He found his chair and sat beside Claire while he waited.

“Hey,” said Claire.

“Hey yourself,” said Brent. “Talking to me again?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” said Claire, looking away. “I’ve just had some things on my mind lately.”

“Sure,” said Brent, not wanting to get into it. “Hey, what are the odds I end up fighting Alex?”

Claire sighed.

“100% if you both win all your matches.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true,” acknowledged Brent. “I would just feel bad if I had to fight him first, you know?”

“Let’s hope you don’t have to tomorrow,” said Claire. She was staring at another woman who had a pair of daggers in her belt to complete the slender blade at her side.

“You’ll do fine, Claire,” said Brent. “These women all look like alley cats compared to you.”

“Thanks,” she said, sounding confused.

Alex returned from the helmet.

“I drew a 5,” he said, sitting heavily beside Brent. “Looks like you were spared.”

“Good one, Alex,” said Brent, smiling. “Let us hope that we do not find our selves having to fight one another anytime soon.”

“That would mean one of us lost,” said Alex. “It’s not going to be me.”

“You’re on,” said Brent enthusiastically. “Here’s Daniel and Hackney, let’s see what they got.”

Daniel looked content with his number, but Hackney walked over nervously. When the were near Hackney sighed and revealed the number in his palm.

“7,” said Brent. “It’s you and me tomorrow.”

“I hope you are ready, Brent,” said Hackney, his anxiety seemed to slip away and his eyes and voice hardened.

“I spawned ready,” said Brent. “Guess I’ll be paying you back for the Triple Fives.”