Why does Bash Lane exist? There are obvious answers, such as the natural proclivity of orcs to seek battle unless reined in by other Traits. But there is also the fact that, barring Nolus, impromptu fighting is quite rare. Combine that with the factor that Green Oasis is the central hub of trade and cultural exchange in the Vast Dust and it becomes clear why so many would find the idea of a place where you can get into good natured fights a breath of fresh air. It also provides many with a way to improve in a relatively safe environment.
-Excerpt from Gren ‘Greenskin’ Delk’s pamphlet ‘Fight Clubs’
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Immediately, the two fighters burst into action. The harpy took the tall height of the arena, evidently preparing spells as her feet swirled around like an intricate dance. The runeslinger, by contrast, seemed to disappear into his own shadow. Lines of the now-ownerless shadow split and darted to its brethren, masking the runeslinger’s location. Some within the crowd seemed to groan at seeing his shadow trick; most mages were not well versed in light-adjacent mana like the lich was, and they would almost certainly be shot at from all sides. Evidently, the harpy was not like most mages, and had a counter ready.
A blinding flash of light shone throughout the arena, banishing the shadows to the far edges of the room. The man was thrown out from the shadows, sending him flying upwards. In spite of the abrupt movement, the man looked entirely calm. He held his revolver in front of him, the gun pulsing with mana-laiden runes. Just as he took aim, the harpy looked ready to cast her spell. For a single, solitary moment, the scene in front of Norta seemed almost picturesque and utterly beautiful.
Then, the bullet was fired and the spell was launched. Whatever runes the runeslinger had put into the bullet, they reacted to the spell, unleashing a wave of force that disrupted the cloud of mana-laiden smoke. In return, however, the bullet shattered from the force, showering each of the hunters with tiny lead fragments, though leaving them unharmed.
The runeslinger fell to the ground, rolling on impact, and dove back into the shadows, a whirling drill of wind breaking on the ground where he disappeared to. With an annoyed huff, the harpy let loose another flash of light, but the man was gone. Now far beyond annoyed, she narrowed her eyes and let loose another two flashes of light. Then another two. Finally, the man was forced from the shadows as she flashed her light both behind her and in front of her, leaving the man with nowhere else to go. He leapt from his cover and dashed underneath the harpy in a gambit to get away from her spells. He failed to account for the fact that she cast her magic from her feet. A cloud of mana burst from her feet and bore down on the man, forcing his hand. He shot another bullet upwards, another blast of mana dispelling the clouds. In spite of that, something slammed him to the other side of the arena.
He coughed for a moment, glaring at the harpy, who had grown two blocky appendages from her back, tipped with three smaller fingers on each arm. The left arm threw a fireball down at him while the left arm began twisting earth mana to grab the man. Dodging backwards, he shot another bullet at the approaching fireball, smothering it with a gale emanating from the bullet. He, however, was not able to counter the shifting stone beneath his feet; blocks of stone surrounded him and held him in place. He struggled for a moment, but seemed to give up after being unable to break free. Norta noticed, however, that he was not panicked —he was calm and collected, even as the harpy descended, “Is that the best you got?” she asked coldly, “You weren’t even a challenge…”
She let the sentence hang, seemingly enjoying the man’s expression of defeat. Then, the man’s red eyes began to glow. Norta always wondered why so many people with hidden abilities would let their eyes glow to signify using it; it made sense for someone like Mori because it was her normal state of being, but it would be something she would have to ask Zubov later.
The harpy seemed to understand what glowing eyes meant and backed off into the sky, her blocky magical arms held out in front of her holding shields of mana. A gunshot rang out and the earth around the man exploded with it. He snarled at the flying form of the harpy and whipped his revolver out in front of him, firing the last two shots in his revolver. The bullets seemed to pulse with mana and she shoved the shields as far forward as she could. The bullets struck the shield and the arena exploded in a burst of flame. The tail ends of the inferno within licked the ceiling, leaving scorch marks behind as it raged and simmered. After a few tense moments, the flame subsided and the audience could see the results of the inferno.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The entire ground was scorched, left as black as pitch after the fire. To one side, the harpy laid on the ground, burned and smoking, as she stared up at the ceiling. On the other, the man stood, unsteady on his feet but nonetheless alive. “And the winner is Eurkan!” the announcer woman yelled as the crowd either cheered or booed at the outcome of the match. A team of medics rushed out from each side of the arena and began tending to the contestants.
Norta looked to the side to see Zubov stroking his chin while the other hunters furrowed their brows, “Why does everyone look so… introspective?” she asked.
The four of them turned to her and while the hunters gave her confused looks, Zubov smiled, “Ah, that’s because most come here for the thrill of battle while also learning from others to improve their chances of survival. This place actually mostly serves hunters as their clientele, so it’s far from surprising that people do this. Even the three back there who don’t like to fight as much are thinking about it.” Norta turned back and did agree that the undead were looking at the battle with a critical eye and were certainly thinking of ways to improve themselves.
“You know,” one of the hunters, a lizardman wearing a rough tunic, said, “You would’ve thought she learned to keep her mouth shut by now.”
The orc beside her rolled his eyes, “As if. She messed with a damn lich just mindin’ her own damn business and got scared off by that blood dude. She’ll never learn ‘till somethin’ spooks her real good.”
“Come on, you two,” the third member, an elvish man, said, “It’s not nice to say stuff like that. Lessons will be learned when they need to be. It’s how the world works.”
“Says the one that can’t seem to learn a damn thing ‘till it blats ‘em in the face with a hammer!” the orc laughed.
The lizardman sighed, “Stop it you two…”
Zubov sat off to the side laughing while the three undead seemed to be smiling; even the two that she knew could not understand their words. After a moment, the orc paused and turned around, “Wait! You three! You with the lich?” he asked.
Desire smiled, “Yeah, Mori Athanatos is our mistress. I heard some of it from Aerolat but other than that I don’t know anything.”
The orc smiled and retold the story, including every detail and hilarious moment. By the end, Zubov was frowning, “She never mentioned that… I thought it was just a stupid dispute…”
“It was,” the lizardman said, “But she just made the whole thing worse by being too absorbed in the task board to know where she was. You need to help her with that; she’ll be standing around clueless one day and a dragon’ll probably smack her or something.”
Desire chuckled, “We agree, but be more mindful when talking about her in the future; we do still love her like our mother.”
The elf widened his eyes, “You know, I never knew how undead saw their creators and masters. I mean, you guys seem a lot more calm and normal than some of the other undead I’ve seen. So, how is it, being undead and all?”
Desire thought for a moment, turning to her siblings as she did, “Well, how’s being undead, he asked.” The other death knights spoke their gibberish and she nodded, “I get it, but… well, difference of opinions,” she said, turning back to the elf, “Well each of us has something we want to achieve; I want to meet more people and learn how to be more friendly with the living, Crave wants to accrue knowledge and share it with others, and Avar over there wants to have things to turn into other things. Being undead gives us both responsibility and freedom. We have to obey the mistress, as it is a part of who we are, but we are also free from the fear that comes from potentially losing our place because we know the mistress will always care for us. That’s really it. I mean, I’m sure some of us think differently, but we all have those two things: serve the mistress and we will always belong.”
The three hunters took a few moments to internalize and process what the undead had said before the lizard man smiled, “That sounds like a noble way of living, even if it is different from what most would consider as such.”
“Ah, the next round’s starting!” the elf said excitedly. Their attention snapped to the arena and they spent the rest of the night watching matches between hunters, civilians, mana-beasts from far-off lands, and other creatures. It was fun, Norta decided.