Chapter 80: Brent v Georgio

The institution of the Contract Tournament has a long and storied tradition in Esem. The idea began in the early days after the world was spawned by AION. Players, still curious and unsure how to properly progress in the world, got together to engage one another in a structured and (mostly) safe environment which would allow them to progress their levels at a faster pace. Of course the beginning Contract Tournaments were only the starting jobs: Fighter, Fisherman, Hunter, Thief, Tinkerer, Herbalist, and both the offensive and defensive Mage classes. But over time, as players completed their contracts and opened up never before seen jobs, the Contract Tournaments grew in scope and purpose.

In modern times, the higher the Contract for the Tournament the greater the prestige, and the greater the danger. In general, Contract Tournaments which occur before the fourth contract level are far safer than their advanced brethren. True, mistakes happen, but Esem has come a long way in ensuring, for instance, that Fighter Tournaments have enchanted blades which will not maim or injure, or that Mage 1 tournaments are done only in the Magic schools of Avalon or Great Nexia so that experienced players can oversee the dangerous energies these newly spawned players are using.

But where is the glory in safety? The more contracts one earns the fewer players one has to be matched by. Most people complete their first contract, and so the tournaments are held year round. Very few get beyond their fifth contract, and so those tournaments are held infrequently, and only if enough players come together to have them. Famously, there is one tournament that is held once every ten years, as so few players ever reach this lofty class that there is little reason to hold it more frequently.

Pyromancer. I am sure just the word and you are already nodding your head in complete understanding why this Class Tournament is so rare. No? Then allow me to explain: this is one of the most devastating classes a player may choose. Even a newly signed player to this contract is capable of wide spread devastation. This makes holding and managing such a tournament widely difficult, as the attendees would need a small army of highly skilled healing mages to attend to any wounds. Logistics is also a problem. Avalon and Nobanoban, what with the lush forests and verdant fields, would ignite in a ball of flame at a spell gone wrong. Killhiem has been the traditional location to hold this tournament, and it is often relegated to a far off island in the Viking sea, far away from any human or NPC habitation. And, well, who wants to go to Killhiem, anyway? To be frank I am always surprised when I hear this tournament is still being held, but I digress.

Peculiarities of Contracts, by Manly the Mopey, circa 982

The area around the tournament arena was bustling with players eager for the fight to begin. As soon as Brent and his guild made it there he could tell the atmosphere was tense with expectation. There were grumblings all around him of people frustrated to have to wait for so long, and he heard more than one person wonder allowed whether the final match was going to begin at all.

“There’s Christie,” said Chase, pointing to the arena.

Christie stood alone, arms crossed, staring the crowd down. None seemed brave enough to demand any information from her, and so they just talked amongst themselves. When Bent caught her eye she smiled and allowed the guild to assemble at the front of the arena before addressing the crowd.

“ALRIGHT YOU LOT, TIME FOR THE FINAL MATCH OF THE MENS DIVISION.”

“Finally,” said a gruff looking man to Brent’s right. He had a beard and was standing with a group of other men. Despite their swords and battle worn attire they seemed out of place in the tournament. “It’s been a mighty, mighty long time waiting for this!”

“THE TWO COMPETITORS KNOW WHO THEY ARE, NOW GET UP HERE, YOU TWO!”

The crowed cheered and clapped as Georgio’s head appeared at the end of the arena as he climbed the stairs. He was clearly the favorite, but Brent was ready. Before he made off for the other set of stairs Alex clapped him on the shoulder.

“Good luck, Brent. He is fast, but you are stronger, I think.”

“Thanks, Alex,” said Brent.

“You can do it, Brent,” said Chase.

“Thanks, guys,” said Brent. “I’ll try to make this fast.”

“That’s the spirit, lad,” said the man who had spoken earlier. He had a big grin that was splitting his beard across his face.

“Uh, thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” said the man. “You got a mighty, mighty spirit!”

Brent tried to clear his head as he walked to the stairs. Was it just his imagination, or were people not cheering for him? It was as though the world was turning quiet, like the world earth itself had stopped it’s spinning. Each step of the stairs was like a boulder crashing to the ground, and when he made it to the arena platform Christie merely nodded her head at him, her lips forming words that he could not hear. Though he were sure the wind had been blowing, the only proof of this was Georgio’s thick, dark hair gently rustling, soundless and serene.

Christie handed him the tournament sword. Georgio already was holding his, and his near vapid looking eyes watched him through his bangs. He had to claw his hair aside with his free hand.

“Brent?”

“Georgio,” he responded.

“Good luck.”

“Don’t need it,” said Brent. “Can we get started?” He added, glancing at Christie.

Christie rolled her eyes.

“On my mark, you little savage.”

The Old Guard member walked to the edge of the arena and cupped her hands around her mouth.

“FIGHT…START!”

The crowd roared, and Brent could hear his guild just as loud as anyone calling his name. He immediately brought his sword into guard stance, anticipating an assault from his opponent, but instead Georgio just stood there, sword dangling loosely in his hand.

“You look different,” said Georgio, frowning. “Yesterday…you’re eyes were that of a child. Today…”

“What?” Said Brent, caught of guard. “I knew you were a weirdo when I saw you. My eyes?”

Georgio either did not hear Brent’s mockery or ignored it. He merely shrugged and then brought his sword before his face, like Sir Anthony might before fighting an honorable opponent.

“You’ve changed,” said Georgio. “You barely escaped death’s clutches.”

“Right. Death’s clutches.”

“I’m serious. What happened?”

“Good lord,” sighed Brent with exasperation. “Look, when the match is over, and you’re laying on your back with my sword at your throat I’ll tell you all about it, deal?”

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“FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT!” Chanted the crowd.

“You think you can beat me?” Said Georgio curiously. Then a small smile ghosted across his lips. “I guess you haven’t changed too much since last I saw you. Still that arrogant streak.”

“Know what?” Said Brent.

“What?”

Brent lunged, swiping his sword at Georgio’s exposed shoulder. His opponent easily brushed it aside and then took a step back, absorbing Brent’s second, third, and fourth blow. Brent knew that he had to act fast and not allow Georgio to active his Frenzy class ability. Doing so would mean he would have to use his Stone Skin ability, and with that would be his single edge in battle.

Without that ability I’ll be a sitting duck, thought Brent.

“Not bad,” said Georgio. He pushed Brent away and then returned with his own strike. Brent parried and returned. The crowd cheered and Brent thought he heard someone say, “what a mighty mighty performance!”

They traded blows like this for what felt like hours, but Brent knew was less than a minute. He kept waiting for time to slow down as it had in his first match, for the blood lust to fill his mind as it had against the Followers, but something was holding him back.

“You’re much better than you’re friend, that’s for sure,” said Georgio. He had taken a couple steps away and was circling around Brent.

“I’m faster, at least,” said Brent. He was starting to feel the weight of the sleepless night now. The effect of Christie’s words were now a distant memory, and his breathing was ragged.

“No, you are talented,” said Georgio. “I can tell.”

“‘You can tell’,” mimicked Brent. “Shut up.”

Brent saw an opening and he struck. Georgio raised his sword too late and Brent’s blade scrapped across his sword, making a terrible sound of metal on metal, before sharply punching him in the chest.

“BRENT BRENT BRENT BRENT!” Shouted the crowed.

“You got him!” Shouted Claire, and he could hear the rest of his guild cutting thought the crowd with their cheers.

But Georgio seemed frozen, and did not collapse. His face was stuck in a look of surprise, his eyes wide and his mouth partly open. In the corner of his eye Brent could see Christie raising a hand towards the crowed who were chanting Brent’s name.

“Brent!” Yelled Alex. “He used Stone Skin! He’s not done! Get him again!”

Realization dawned too slowly on Brent. He readied his sword to swing again but Georgio’s class ability was over, his arm moving fluidly to defend against Brent’s attack.

“Incredible, you’re the first person here who got me to use that,” said Georgio. Though he did not look tired, a look of wariness crossed his face and soured his expression. “But you should have gotten behind me before I unfroze. You could have won.”

Brent cursed himself for a fool. He hadn’t been thinking when he struck Georgio and now a perfect opportunity was gone, and along with Georgio’s devil may care attitude about the fight. His opponent now opened with a slew of attacks that Brent could barely parry. He was on the defensive, but despite the onslaught he could not help but feel impressed with this young man.

If only I had been training with him this whole time, thought Brent.

The only sounds that Brent could now hear was the scrap of feet upon the arena floor and the clash of metal as their enchanted swords made contact. The crowd was either stupefied with their display, or, more likely, Brent’s focus had increased so much that his ears ignored their cries. Georgio and his blade was the only two things which existed in Brent’s world now. In his universe. AION or God or whoever was in the clash of their blades, in the breath he drew into his beleaguered lungs, in the steps he made as he danced around the arena. And what was Georgio is not the Antagonista herself? He was the enemy and fought with every breath to take Brent down.

“This has been fun,” said Georgio, finally, as they came apart after a particularly nasty flurry of blows. He was now breathing hard himself and his hair was matted with sweat and stuck to his forehead. “I hope that after this we can find some time to spar.”

Brent spat on the floor.

Georgio cocked and eyebrow.

“You’re a strange one, Brent, I’ll give your that.”

“Shut up and fight,” said Brent. He wanted to tear the boy apart, to see him bleed. He wanted to stand over him and bellow a war cry after having broken him upon the arena floor.

“Right,” said Georgio, a his eyebrows pinching together. “But our time is coming to an end. I’m about to end this right here.”

His opponent took a great leap back ward, and rose his sword before his face. A look of concentration cemented itself to his visage and his eyes bulged.

He’s gonna do the Frenzy attack, realized Brent. Every fiber of his being told him to rush Georgio and not give him the chance. He had only a couple seconds to bridge the gap and prevent this class ability from happening.

But instead he waited. Had his muscles been oxen he could not have made them budge with the fiercest of beatings. He only waited, and watched as Georgio’s sword lowered, and he saw the veins pop in his forehead, and he took his first step forward, and then the next. Georgio was running, sword raised to strike, but he was moving so slowly Brent could count his steps. He could make out individual droplets of sweat upon his opponents brow. Time was creaking to a crawl and the bloodlust was only rising in Brent.

He could win, he knew he could.

Just before Georgio’s blade fell Brent called upon his Stone Skin to activate. The next several seconds were a blur as his opponents sword slashed and stabbed and tried to unseat him. The blade bounced harmlessly away with his blow which only angered Georgio more. Brent had trouble knowing when his ability would stop, as this time dilation made him feel as though a week was passing as Georgio struck him. But then, the roared of the crowd gradually increased and he could hear the calls of his guild mates.

“Not bad,” said Brent, as Georgio’s Frenzy ended. Georgio has not timed Brent’s Stone Skin ability, and his eyes widened as Brent came to. His sword was raised high, ready for one last greedy blow, but Brent was too close, his sword ready to strike.

It would be so easy, in that moment, to end the fight. A jab to Georgio’s solar plexus would render him limp and unable to fight, instead, Brent allowed his heart and his rage to dictate his actions, and he was as helpless to prevent it as Georgio was helpless to dodge it.

Brent reared back his left hand, and back handed Georgio with all the strength, anger, and disgust that he had.

“What the—,” Georgio’s head wiped to the side and he was caught off balance. The crowd roared. Some laughed, others boo’d.

Time was moving normally again, and all of Brent’s bloodlust was gone. He just watched as Georgio recovered himself-the entire time keeping his sword raised in a guard stance—and adjusted his feet until he had his balance again.

“That was stupid,” said Georgio. His cheek was red and his face was a mixture of anger and shock. “You could have beat me. Why?”

“That was for Alex,” said Brent. “I am Brent of the Seven Banes. Don’t forget my name, Georgio. Don’t forget my guild. You’re good, but you will never rise beyond the Seven Banes. You can look down on us all you want, but you’ll never exceed us.”

“BRENT BRENT BRENT BRENT,” shouted the crowed.

“You got him, Brent!” Yelled Chase. “Finish this!”

“I believe in you!” Came Claire.

“Keep your guard up!” Screamed Alex. “He’s a wily one!”

“Neither have any more abilities,” came the man from before. “What a mighty, mighty match this has been!”

Georgio was looking confused.

“I never looked down on you,” he said.

“Please,” said Brent, spitting on the arena floor. “All you pretty boy prodigies are the same, I bet. Everything comes so naturally you end up forgetting what real work is like. Well, here is a fighter who works. And you’ll never overcome me, got it?”

“Are you done?” Said Georgio, sharply.

Brent roared, and lunged for his opponent. His strike was wide, and arced though the air. He expected Georgio to block it but then his opponent did something he did not expect.

“Ah!” Screamed Georgio. He blocked the strike, but not with his sword. His arm crunched as it took the blow, and Brent saw his forearm bend unnaturally.

“But…you…” stammered Brent.

Georgio planted his blade right into Brent’s chest. The enchanted sword sent a shock through his body and Brent collapsed on the ground, sword tumbling free. He hit the ground with a heavy whump, and suddenly Brent was staring at the cloudless blue sky, wondering what happened.

“GEORGIO WINS THE MATCH,” shouted Christie. “HE IS THE WINNER OF THE FIGHTERS TOURNAMENT.”

“Tell me again, Brent,” said Georgio, standing over him, his eyes watering with pain as he clutched his broken arm. “Who is it that works harder?”

Brent couldn’t say a word, as suddenly the arena was being stormed by players wanting to hoist the winner on their shoulders. Soon Georgio and his infuriating stare were lost to view, but Brent knew that his eyes, stern and challenging, would forever be burned into his memory.

“GEOR-GIO! GEOR-GIO! GEOR-GIO!”

The pain of defeat was still settling in his mind, and he didn’t notice who was talking to him. Probably his guild mates, likely Claire, come to console him. Well, he wouldn’t take their well wishes, their ‘better try next time’s. No, he was going to take this defeat and become stronger. One day, he would fight Georgio again, and that time he would win. He would kill him if need be. Not at some silly Contract Tournament, but in battle, among warriors.

“One day,” said Brent.

“That’s nice, lad,” said the bearded man. “But that’s not what I asked.”

“Huh?” Brent turned his head, which was difficult as the blade’s enchantment had seemingly reached his neck and made moving difficult even above his shoulders.

“I said, did you say your guild was called the “Seven Banes?”

“Yeah,” said Brent. “What about it?”

The man’s face crinkled with a smile.

“I’ve been looking for you,” he said.

“If you wanna fight then give my body some time to recover,” said Brent. Who was this old man?

The man threw back his head and laughed.

“A mighty, mighty answer!”