The sun was at the peak of its shine and the wind was calm and unmoving. It was as if nature had stood still in preparation for today. That did not mean that did not mean the world sat in silence, in fact it was quite the opposite. The great city of Alacchia was alive and full of fervor. Not a single house was occupied. The cobbled streets were packed with people from all over the city celebrating as one. A young man veered through the crowd, dancing in and out of the celebrations. “Today is the day!” shouted a large bearded man who was drenched in beer. “Aye!” shouted a few of those who stood around him. The mugs they held were half empty, but it looked as if most of theirs had made it into their mouths. Continuing down the street the young man looked upon countless banners hung from shops and residences. His nose filled with intoxicating smells from the Taverns who kept their windows open as if to invite guests to join them in preparation.
A small crooked building was his destination. Although he had never been inside, he had stepped past it countless times before. Maybe it was the varying colors of the mature wood used to make up its walls, or the bends and cracks in the support beams that drew him in. To him, watching this building stand felt like an act of defiance in the face of time. The young man reached for the handle to the barely standing doors and stepped inside. The place was poorly lit by a few lanterns and a fireplace in the corner of the room. The walls were damp and it looked like mold was starting to grow. The people inside were as loud and excited as crowds outside. The boy took off the cap he wore to reveal his fine brown hair that grazed his eyebrows, and the sweat that beaded on the tan skin of his forehead.
“Hayken! Over here!” He could barely hear his name being called in the uproar of the tavern. Hayken quickly spotted his friend Gerrick seated at a nearby table and weaved a path to him. Gerrick had already bought him a drink and offered it to Hayken as he took his seat. “Cheers!” Said Gerrick with a radiant smile. Hayken had almost never seen him without at least a grin on his face. “Cheers!” Said Hayken. “Today’s the day huh?” Gerrick said as he widened his grin to an almost suspicious length. “You’re always intolerably pleasant Gerrick, but even more so today. What’s gotten into you?” “It’s that obvious huh? Remarked Gerrick. “Hey! What do you mean intolerably pleasant? There’s nothing wrong with being in high spirits, you know.” They both let out a small laugh at the exchange and Gerrick’s cheeks dropped from their peaks to rest in a much more somber position.
Hayken didn’t notice the change in mood at first as he was distracted by the continual influx of new tavern goers and the clanging and banging of business in full swing. When his eyes finally made their way back to Gerrick he noticed the change in the atmosphere. Gerrick was no longer in his usual delighted character. He was sitting completely still looking down at his arms laid across the small table. His eyes were blank with thought and he was nowhere to be found in the presence of his companion. Gerrick was alone when the rest of the city was unified and celebrating one of the most exciting days of the year.
“I’m tempted to let you sit in silence forever. It’s really quite peaceful.” Said Hayken “but it’s been longer than 30 seconds so I’m starting to get worried about you.” Gerrick looked up and let out a small snicker. “I’ve got something to show you.” Responded Gerrick and slowly his face began to restore to that familiarly disgusting smile. His eyes remained affixed to his hands on the table as he began to lift his right arm. He reached across the table and worked the sleeve of his shirt back to his elbow revealing a silver colored bracelet that had a significant buildup of rust scattered along the band. Everyone in the kingdom wore one of these bracelets, for it was used to determine if you were one of them.
Hayken looked in disbelief at Gerricks’ wrist. He looked down at the bracelet on his wrist and didn’t see a single spot of the brown or red that littered Gerricks’. In fact, his bracelet was almost completely spotless aside from a few spots of grease that had worked their way on the shiny metal from his fingerprints. “I’m going to do it.” Stated Gerrick. “Do what?” “I’m going to challenge the Bloodletters.” “Haykens’ face immediately sunk and his mouth looked as if it was forced open. “Are you insane?” asked Hayken, still in disbelief. “Not at all. How many times have you seen this much rust on a bracelet?” Hayken thought for a second and nobody had ever come close. “I’m sure of it. I’m strong, I’m fast, and I can do things that you would have to see to believe. Here, watch.” Gerrick took the handle of his tankard and bent the metal handle straight back with just two of his fingers. Hayken sat and watched dumbfounded at this unimaginable strength contained in his best friend. Gerrick’s face shone as bright as the sun intoxicated by his ambition but Hayken could not share the joy in which Gerrick bathed in. Instead his face carried the expression of concern, and the weight of worry.
“What the hell?” Asked a bewildered Hayken. “Impressive right? And that’s the least I can do. This is what I was meant to do. What I’ve always wanted, Hayken.” Gerrick paused for a moment and continued. “Look, I know how dangerous it is, but this is what I’m meant for I know it. I’m finally going to be able to help people, to finally be able to make a difference.” Said Gerrick with so much enthusiasm it made Hayken wince. “And the best part is….” Gerrick hesitated. “It’s going to be a lot of fun.” Gerrick finished his speech and sat with a face stuck like a man who had died at his happiest moment. Hayken collected his thoughts while his eyes were still gazing at the handle of the mug, where just a few seconds ago it had been curved so meticulously to fit the palm of a grown man’s hand.
Gerrick was Hayken’s best, and first, friend since moving to Allachia as a young boy at the age of 9. Hayken was born in a small village outside of Greater Allachia, and spent his childhood playing in the mountains instead of staring at them from the massive walls of the city. Between the ancient stacked bricks that formed the walls and the mountains of Shorden, sat the grasslands of piedemen in which the grain that fed the populace grew. The Shorden mountains sat to the north of Allachia, and to the opposite, sat the river Salvion which roared and carved its path along the entire world. Hayken spent his youth swimming in the headwaters of the great river, and it was a surprise to see the collosal difference in the size of the river when he first arrived. There the river was friendly and inviting with its cold waters and the familiar plants that dipped their leaves into the rushing waters of the clear river. Hayken had been in Allachia for 11 years now, but still found himself occasionally longing for the embrace that nature once held him in, an embrace that the city did not contain.
The crowd in the tavern had slowly dwindled down as everyone made their way to the stadium where the Iron trials were going to be held. The trials occurred every year in the heart of the city, and anyone could participate if they were of age. Exceptions were to be made of potential extraordinary candidates, but that didn’t happen very often, in fact it had been at least 50 years since anyone had participated under the age of 18. Participants made their way to the arena to register for their challenges, and spent the rest of the day preparing and resting however they chose. The trials were used to recruit civilians into the military, city guard, or for competitors to earn fame and accolades to make a name for themselves. Some chose to make their way into the arena and fight for glory and money, while others took the military route to serve with a sense of pride and purpose. Those with considerable talent could challenge a member of the group known as the Bloodletters. Very few attempted this last challenge for it often ended in death, but to defeat a member of the Bloodletters meant that you would immediately be accepted into their rank.
Although the Bloodletters were some of the most well known people throughout the kingdom in name, not much was known about the members. In order to challenge them you had to show extreme strength and skill. This was measured by the amount of rust you collected on your bracelet and a few trials to show you weren’t untruthful and seeking fame. “How long have you known?” Hayken asked. “About 2 years now, I needed to be certain. I took the time to learn what I was capable of and what my limitations are. It’s a gift to be given this blood, and I'm not going to let it go to waste,” Responded Gerrick confidently. Each of the members were well beyond the skill set of any normal person, and to send someone into battle with them without showing potential would mean death. Hayken let out a sigh and his lips curled upwards indicating a small amount of relief. “At least you’ve thought this through a little bit. Who are you going to fight?” “I’m not sure… they don’t tell you beforehand, not that it really matters much, they’re all capable of ripping me in half with their bare hands.” Gerrick said lightheartedly. His hands on the table were clasped together and white from how hard he squeezed. He was tense.
Everyone in the kingdom was given a bracelet at birth. For some, no rust would ever form, and for others it would change their lives entirely. Hayken wasn’t sure which he’d rather have. Sometimes he felt like he wanted to escape his normal life and being Giant born was a great opportunity to do that. He could play Yerken, and rise to fame and fortune like many of the star players. He did always enjoy going to the matches. Watching the amazing displays of strength and skill with a hint of strategy mixed in made him ecstatic. There were other routes he could take if he was given the gift of Giant’s blood as well. There was no shortage of need for workers or soldiers with the strength they possessed. Ironwork was readily available, or the mining company always needed someone to do the heavy lifting and they paid pretty well. It seemed a waste to take such a mundane job with the gifts they had though.
“What’s on your mind?” Gerrick asked. His demeanor had settled and he had returned to his usual jovial self. His hands had started to fill with color again as he’d eased up on his grip and awkwardly drank from his Tankard with the bent handle. His question broke Hayken’s trance and he returned to the Tavern and his companion. “I know that face well enough.” Said Gerrick. “Something’s churning in that brain of yours. What is it?” “Nothing important, just wondering what I’d do if I was Giant born, or if I even want to be.” “Why wouldn’t you want to be?” Gerrick asked intensely. “It’s a gift, with it you can do so much good with it!” “Yeah I guess, but how often do you hear of the horrendous acts which men given the Iron blood commit? Or the stories of those who take their own lives because of the unrelenting loneliness being gifted places you in.” Gerrick, while never lowering his drink from his lips, responded, “You sure do know how to see the downside don’t you? Anyways, that’s not going to happen to me. I’m going to make a real impact and provide for my family. With the money and perks I get from being a Bloodletter my parents will be more than taken care of.” Gerrick always seemed so confident and knew exactly what he was going to do. Hayken really envied that in him and thought it was one of his most redeeming qualities.
The two finished their beers as a few of the stragglers stumbled their way out of the heavy wooden doors of the tavern. Some of them with drinks still in hand making it awkward and quite the sight to see them struggling to move the doors. The tavern returned to its usual gloomy ambiance as the tavernkeep tidied up the place in a rush. It seemed he also wanted to make his way to the arena and catch the trials. The two men left him to his work and headed out the doors to join the moving herd of people celebrating in the streets. There were fewer people than what littered the streets before, but the noise they created matched that of the previous crowd.
The young men weaved themselves into the streets and moved in unison with the crowds. On several occasions strangers would collide with them. The strangers would face them and give a quick shout in excitement and return their attention to the group they traveled with, where their shouts would be answered. Slowly the mass made its way to the entrance of the arena. A massive structure made from a patchwork of stone, some old and others new. The arena was one of the most important places in Allachia, so despite its age, it was very well maintained. The only signs of aging were the colors of the rock or the crews who were actively repairing damaged sections. The spectators were funneled into one of a few archways that led to the grounds beneath the arena.
Here the two stopped and embraced each other before Hayken spoke. “Don’t get yourself killed.” His lips quivered. “Don’t worry, I got this.” was all that Gerrick said as he turned away and made his way to the contestant entrance. Hayken started for one of the stairways that led to the upper seats, but instead opted to see if there was any seating on the ground level. The hallway was made of rough edged stone he noticed while placing his fingertips along the walls as he walked. It was exceptionally dark inside the halls. All that lit the path were a few torches that left flickering shadows on the people in front of him. Finally the hallway gave way to a large opening of layered stone steps and thousands of people cheering. The seats encircled a large plateau of dirt where the challenges would soon be held.
To Hayken’s surprise there were plenty of empty seats. Behind him there was no shortage of spectators, and soon seating would be sparse. He made his way through a few crowded sections and found one that was rather empty he found to his liking. Above him were a few men and women wearing cloths over their faces to protect from the blistering sun. Alongside him a few men sat unnervingly still. The heat of the sun had no effect on them as they all were covered in plates of metal armor, and padded armor where the plates were missing. They all wore the same blacked out vambrace on their right arm signifying who they were. Black arm members. Hayken now understood why this section was mostly unoccupied compared to the rest. The black arm were one of the most prominent gangs in Allachia, and were known to be ruthless if need be. While their roots were trading in illicit substances and thievery, they mostly dealt in protection and security now. They had grown significantly in size and strength and those types of jobs paid more. In the public’s opinion they were almost recognized as an official organization, due to the occasional patronage of the King himself when he needed extra protection or capable soldiers.
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Hayken sat alone and watched as the seats around him started to fill. Until even those seats between him and the Black Arm members were taken by the bravest civilians Allachia had to offer- or the most foolish. Only a few minutes passed and the entire arena was crammed with delighted citizens ready to watch the bloodbath that was imminent.
Slowly, a hunched over figure made their way onto the field. He was surrounded by a group of armed soldiers that numbered at least twenty, and more stood in close proximity to the door they had emerged from. The King had arrived. The gilded cape he wore laid across his shoulders seemed to weigh a ton, and his trousers made of iron kept him standing upright, but made it burdensome to move. Hayken squinted in opposition to the sun to see the center of the field and noticed that a few of his guards wore deep red tunics and chausses under their plate armor. “Those must be Bloodletters.” Hayken thought to himself. A very faint, fragile voice disturbed his thoughts as the rest of the arena fell silent. “Welcome all!” He proclaimed. His voice echoed by the callers standing scattered throughout the seats. They each wore deep blue cloaks and across their chest lay a silver plate with the king's seal, two hands holding a stone from underneath, emblazoned in front. The symbol represented our appreciation of the Giants’ gift, and of their sacrifice.
“Today we test those who are willing to take on humanities’ heaviest burdens.” The King continued. “Beneath us at this very moment, await two hundred brave souls who wish to entertain, honor, and serve our great people of Allachia.” Each time the King finished speaking he paused to allow the echoes from the callers to reach their destinations. “Each of our participants has already made their requests should they prevail in combat.” The King continued. “And upon our great fortune, we have the pleasure of witnessing one of my Bloodletters in action! Karden, of Grecklee, will be facing Gerrick, of Mirren, in a contest of strength and skill unmatched by any seen here today! May they both honor us, and those who gave them their blood.” He had barely finished his speech before the crowd erupted in cheers. Those who were seated in the upper levels received the announcement later, and created a wave of excitement that muffled the slowed cheers from the lower sections.
The King turned and made his way to the exit he arrived in as the crowd murmured and conversed in anticipation. Immediately after he had vanished from view every Caller in the stands shouted in unison. “King Genox has spoken!” It was as if the words had come from the mouth of a Giant and reached the ears of thousands in an instant and left no echo.
After a short time the first round of contestants made their way onto the field. Each wearing armor that they were accustomed to and that matched their styles of combat. Hayken could make out some of their faces and the scars and wounds that distinguished them as warriors. Warriors as they were, they had little to no Ironblood in them and their fights would be less enthralling than those of the later bouts. Fifty contestants stood upon the field acknowledging the crowd and graciously accepting the praise that was showered onto them. After a moment each made their way to a designated section of the field and met their predetermined opponent. The first match of the trials contained individual combat between a mass of fighters, and the winner of each would move onto the next round. Usually death was avoided and most of the combatants would be recruited to the military or join in a local gang that was looking for bodies. This tournament was used to excite the crowds and allow future competitors to prepare.
“Commence!” Shouted a caller from the balcony, pieced together of rough gray stone, opposite of Hayken. The crowd roared as the combatants moved to action. Swords sliced the air and sent wind to blow the banners on the walls, and axes smashed upon shields like drums of a chaotic rhythm making music with the vocals of the crowd. Hayken’s eyes affixed to two men engaged in full combat dancing intimately. One held a spear and kept his distance but maintained a constant barrage of swipes and stabs to prevent his opponent from encroaching. His opponent, dressed in flowing chainmail, appeared unphased at the sharpened iron thrusting near his body and continued his advancement forward. Closing the gap, he dodged another lunge from his opponent’s spear and brought his ax down with both hands onto the shaft. Shouts of intrigue around him made Hayken aware that he was not the only one watching this skirmish. The spear remained intact with the spearhead driven into the dirt. Swiftly, the man wearing chainmail made for his adversary and unleashed a violent fury of heavy swings, each of which looked to put great strain on his body. He was there to kill. A few of his swings connected, causing the recipient to stumble. Several of the blows landed directly on his armor, while others were redirected by his arms saving him from being knocked unconscious. Crack…. The ax landed directly on his forearm, and while it didn’t go through, his arm went limp. His arm was broken, but his rival offered no forfeit and swung again. Furiously the man shouted “Damn you! Arghhh!” as he dove for the spear and plucked it from the ground with his unbroken arm. After Rolling under another swipe of his opponent's ax, he set his feet and lunged with his entire body and drove the tip of his spear into the chainmail covering his foe’s chest. Like a tree just felled he dropped backwards into the dirt. Spear upright in his chest, and his ax, chipped and cracked from the reckless onslaught, lay just out of reach next to his open palm.
Applause filled the arena as the victor made his way to his feet. Although he had won, he opted to resign from the tournament and sought assistance in removing the pieces of armor that had been hammered into him. After he made his way off the field there were only a few ongoing matches that ended rather uneventfully. The next few rounds showed the fatigue and desperation of the participants and so the fighting became more sluggish and brutal. Hayken took a liking to one combatant in particular, who fought with a large two handed blade. Despite the blade looking like it weighed as much as her, she was able to swing it as if she were wielding a small branch from a tree that had fallen to the ground. With flowing blond hair that followed her movements after each massive swing of her greatsword she made light work of the rest of her opposition and became champion of the first round of trials. Most of the fighters that faced her seemed displeased with her, and complained that she had a significant advantage. The officials asked to see her wrist but no evidence of rust was found on her bracelet.
Intermission followed the first round, while workers cleaned up any weapons or corpses that would become obstacles in future fights. Hayken’s eyes wandered around the crowd in the absence of the distraction the brawls provided. He looked to where the Black Arm members were seated before and noticed one of them missing. “I wonder where he went.” Hayken thought to himself as he stood up to allow blood to flow into his legs again.
“Now begin the trials of Iron!” shouted the same Caller from his balcony, as the fighters made their way onto the field. Every shout and cheer paled in comparison to the eruption that came from the stands when the Giantborn competitors arrived. This is what everyone had come to see. Quickly, the combatants took their spots and the duels commenced without much fanfare. It was hard to remain focused on any particular match, for each was more dramatic than the last. While watching two large suits of armor colliding with each other, Hayken witnessed the dual edged blade of a battle ax fly between them and wedge itself into the stone wall that encircled the field. Screams of fear and excitement arose from the onlookers seated above the wall that now held onto the ax head. To his left, Hayken’s attention was drawn to two smaller competitors mercilessly attacking each other. Going blow for blow with swords that had long since dulled from the continuous strikes upon the Iron armor their adversary wore. Neither combatant took a defensive stance, and when two concurrent strikes collided both swords shattered and showered the wielders in a rain of iron fragments. Each dropped the hilts of their previously intact blades and began striking with the hardened iron that covered their fists. Eventually, after being knocked down several times, one of the women could no longer stand and the match concluded.
“These guys are really tough.” Hayken thought to himself. How Gerrick was going to fare against Karden, one of the kingdom’s strongest warriors, engrossed his mind as much as the fights in front of him. Although he was nervous for his friend, he couldn’t help but feel excited to watch the fight. “We have reached the final regular match of this year's Iron Trials!” Shouted the same Caller as before, but this time it was amplified by the synchronous shouts from the rest. “I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to that.” Hayken whispered just seconds before the crowd's enthusiasm reached its peak. After the commotion faded the Callers, led by their leader, continued speaking. “The Championship bout will be fought between Rushfen of Dowren,” the same town he was from, “And Nicklette Ironblood of the Nobel district in Allachia!” Shouts came in waves from the crowd,“This’ll be a blowout!”, “Nicklette’s an Ironblood! This shouldn't take long,” “What a letdown for the finals!”
Nicklette was a member of the Ironblood family. Being part of the most recognized family in Allachia was no small ordeal. Every member of the family was a Giantborn, and by no small measure. The blood in their veins was almost as pure as that of the giants, or so it was commonly suggested by Allachia’s citizens. Nicklette, being the youngest of the Ironbloods, was much lesser known than her older brother Audrick. He led the Bloodletters, and was known for his unmatched strength and wit. Unknowingly, Hayken’s mind drifted to wondering where Audrick was, or what it was like to have that much power and fame. “I bet he’s lonely, '' Hayken muttered under his breath as he was brought back to the arena by the vacuum of sound created from Rushfen and Nicklette’s staredown.
Neither combatant moved, nor spoke. The crowd watched in silence as the warriors stood motionless and unyielding. Rushfen’s face looked as hardened as the armor that enveloped him. Scarred flesh covered more of his face than not, and he had a slight lean to his left side which made his right shoulder stand higher. Rushfen knew battle well, and his body showed it. Nicklette, on the other hand, had no noticeable injuries and to Hayken’s surprise was quite pleasing to look at. If he had not known who she was, he would have underestimated her almost certainly. She stood almost evenly with Rushfen in height, but without the shoulder imbalance. She wore a few thin metal plates, but there were large gaps where her clothing underneath was all that offered protection. A strike from Rushfen in one of those gaps would be enough to completely separate any body part he hit.
Before the crowd had time to respond the two crashed together and sent the hats flying off the heads of the bystanders in the front rows. Without pause each attack was met with an equal, and each looked to have enough force to cut Hayken in half. Rushfen and Nicklette both wielded longswords, and each knew how to manipulate them like an extension of their arms. Hayken didn’t know much about fighting other than a few basics, but was dumbfounded at the skill they showed. It was a masterpiece and neither competitor had even come close to successfully landing a strike, but it was almost as if they had expected that. They were both aware of the fight ahead and wanted to perform for the crowd before the real fight began.
Rushfen let out a blood curdling scream and everything changed. Nicklette immediately changed to a defensive stance with both hands on the hilt of her blade. She was not afraid of the man before her, but she was most certainly prepared. Rushfen lept into the air several feet, much higher than Hayken had ever witnessed anyone reach before, and swung with every muscle in his body for Nicklette. Nicklette, aware of the danger she was now in, deflected the blow with an upward slash. Throwing Rushfen’s blade to her side, she Immediately began a counter attack with her longsword and a small dagger that she had retrieved from somewhere. Hayken had not noticed her reach for it, so its appearance came as a surprise to him.
Rushfen easily avoided the longsword, but Nicklette’s dagger posed a much more serious threat. She had used her main weapon to close the distance and distract Rushfen, and now she was within arms reach. Rushfen was in danger, and although his face didn’t show it, the crowd’s thunderous shouts indicated that they knew the crisis he was in.
Nicklette drove her dagger into Rushfen’s ribs and twisted the blade several times before being pushed off by the vehement man. Nicklette stopped and stood several feet away from Rushfen, who stood hunched over with the dagger still sticking out from his side. “You’re going to die,” Said Nicklette. Her voice was cold and as sharp as the Iron she held at her side. “Forfeit the match and you can live. It’s not worth dying here.” “Go to hell,” Responded Rushfen. The words came unexpectedly strong from the lips soaked in his blood. Although he was badly injured, he had a lot of strength remaining and forfeit was not an option.
Nicklette did not offer twice. Immediately after her offer was declined she continued her onslaught, with each strike being more powerful than the last. Denying her proposition meant she could not let him live, and she did not intend to do so. Rushfen barely survived the blows however he could. Some he dodged, while others continued to deepen the chinks in his armor and widen the already present cracks. Soon Rushfen was overwhelmed and was thrown halfway across the arena with a strong push from Nicklette’s fist. The sounds of bones cracking and Rushfen screaming were soon followed by the nauseous response from the crowd. Leaping high into the air, Nicklette aimed the tip of her sword below her. Arms outstretched, she drove her blade into the face of the broken man on the ground, and crushed his legs when she landed.
The crowd watched quietly and anxiously. A soft feminine voice came from behind Hayken, “Is he really dead?” “I’m not sure,” responded the man sitting next to the woman. Nicklette stepped off Rushfens' now destroyed legs and slowly started her way towards the exit. When she had made it halfway, the crowd erupted in cheers. Nicklette did not acknowledge the onlookers and continued her slow pace until she was out of sight. Hayken thought he saw her lower her sword from her shoulder and drag the blade along the stone floor just before she left his field of view. “She doesn’t look like she’s happy she won,” Hayken thought aloud.
After Nicklette had made her exit, two figures made their way onto the field without an introduction. They walked side by side until they reached the middle of the arena where they took a bow towards where king Genox was seated. It was time for Karden and Gerrick’s bout. The King waved his hand and the two made their departure. When they stopped walking, the two faced opposite sides of the crowd and removed their helmets. Furiously, they shouted “Today! We spill our blood in remembrance of those who gave it to us! Today! We show no mercy to our brethren. Today! One of us will meet our ancestors and the other shall live on in envy.”
Gerrick replaced his helmet while Karden laid his on the ground beside his feet. Squinting, Hayken glanced at the helmet and realized he couldn’t make out the engravings. He also didn’t remember Gerrick bringing it with him, or ever having seen it before. The two turned towards each other and began walking until they were within arms reach.