The crowd whistled and cheered as the announcer declared that the next fight was about to begin. The Arthurian Sword School was a town of its own on the outer edge of Son-Gonkiruun. They were one of the sites for official preliminary matches prior to the tournament, so they saw a lot of traffic in the time leading up. The city state of Le-Shade could be seen from anywhere in the school, trailing in the skies behind the mainland.
The atmosphere was burning with excitement, and the people were ready for another fight.
"Ladies, gentlemen, and everything in between. We have a special match for you today," the announcer bellowed, casting his voice across the arena with a rune. "It's not every day that you get to see a fight for the history books, but today might be that day."
The crowd roared, and the eastern door of the arena opened wide on its own. The sound of drums echoed from the halls within, and was soon thumping the arena in a mix with the cheering.
"From the jungles of Edahni, deep in the heart of the most fearsome rainforest. This fighter has been seen worldwide on her brutal journey to Tane-Kontelsta, and landed on our beautiful shores with hundreds of songs already sung in her name."
The crowd began to stomp their feet, adding a rumble to the heavy drums.
"She's the rumble in the jungle, the four fists of fury. Ladies and gentlemen, it's your favourite Ulrock Druid. It's Grahdaka!"
The crowd called the fighters name along with the announcer, and jumped to their feet in a unified cheer. The ground rumbled, and in a burst of smoke, Grahdaka rocketed from the doorway, sliding to a stop in the centre of the area. She smiled wide, and held her four arms out to take in the crowd. No stranger to her fame, the grey skinned warrior began a slow walk around the perimeter of the arena, letting everyone take in her glory close up. She stopped when she got to her side of the arena, and made sure to flex once she took the small podium laid out for her. The crowd never stopped cheering and chanting, growing louder still as she grew bone armourings from beneath her skin.
Soon enough, the cheer settled into its usual background noise, and the announcer took the opportunity to continue.
"Good people of Son-Gonkiruun. The Arthurian Masters have gone to great lengths to get this next fighter into the arena today."
The crowd cheered in anticipation, having already seen the bracket outside.
"That's right ladies and gentlemen," the announcer chuckled, feeding off of the crowd's energy. "This stranger comes with a mysterious past, washing onto our shores from seemingly nowhere. Taken in by the Bellas, this fighter quickly slashed his way to the higher ranks of the mercenary clan."
The western door slowly opened, the sound of the creaking filling the arena. Black smoke spewed out, thick enough to cover the dirt beneath from view. A funeral bell chimed as the announcer continued the introduction.
"Captain to the Crows of Le-Shade, it's the Raven Cloak himself. Ladies and gentlemen, Dalkir Bella!"
The crowd exploded in a cheer as Dalkir walked into the arena. He was draped in a raven feather cloak, covering a deep grey Victorian coat. His face was obscured by a half mask in the visage of a crow, revealing only one eye shaded by crimson red. He slowly strode towards his starting place, ignoring the crowd's roar. Once in his place, he shed the cloak and coat, revealing his twin scimitars. Runes glowed along the blades, and more shone through beneath his puffy white shirt. An attendant rushed out to retrieve his garments, then four mages approached the corners of the arena. They cast a spell with synchronised movements, bringing runes to life along the perimeter. Slowly, a shroud of protection rose between the crowd and the fighters, until eventually it stopped and closed them in at the top. The sound grew muffled, allowing the fighters a moment of calm before the fight.
Grahdaka smiled and nodded at Dalkir. "Loser buys the first round," she offered in a deep and gravelly voice.
Dalkir smirked, and nodded back. "I'll take that," he replied in a strange accent.
"I've got you this time little bird," she said with vindication.
"You said that the last two times. Maybe this time you'll get lucky," Dalkir boasted.
The sound levelled out, letting the noise of the crowd flow in. "We all know the rules by now," the announcer spoke. "The first fighter to yield or be made unfit to fight will lose. Beyond that, fight with honour."
A flame came to life above the arena, glowing a vibrant red. The instant the flame lit, Grahdaka took her stance. Dalkir remained still, and watched his opponent closely. Soon enough, the flame turned green, and the crowd roared.
In a burst of dust. The Ulrock launched forward, fists poised for an attack. She met with Dalkir and thrust two of her armoured fists into the man's chest. He burst into a cloud of feathers, letting her pass right through. Before her lunge came to an end, he reappeared from the feathers and slashed at the Ulrock's ankles. Aiming too high, he sliced into her leg instead. She crashed into the ground, but was quickly on her feet again. The cut healed quickly thanks to her nature, so he jumped back to get his distance.
She wiped the blood away, and licked it from her thumb.
"Clever," she said through a smirk. "You've got two more of those, I've counted."
He swirled his swords in response, then started a charge towards her.
He ducked a left hook when he met her, launching his face into the uppercut coming from the twin fist. He spun backwards from the force, slashing out wildly to keep her from getting too close. The crowd roared when his back hit the dirt, but he was quickly onto his feet. He glanced up in time to see a kick coming from his left. He lifted his arm and activated a rune just as the kick made contact. The rune flashed on his forearm and deflected her leg, depleting its charge entirely. She spun on the spot and struck him with a quick backhand, sending him stumbling sideways. He slashed upwards as he gained his balance, slicing into one of her left arms. She gritted her teeth and furiously stomped down into his chest. He stepped backwards and let her foot meet the ground instead. He took the opportunity to plunge one of his blades downwards. He pierced through the top of her knee, and drove the blade downwards along the bone, pinning her to the ground when the metal met the dirt. She screamed in agony, throwing all four of her hands towards him in an attempt to stop the torment.
He disappeared in a cloud of feathers and black smoke that shrouded her entirely. The smoke coalesced above her back, and he reappeared clutching at her dreads with his remaining blade held high. The crowd erupted in applause, so he took a moment to soak it in. She tried desperately to swipe him from her back, but her big arms couldn't manage to reach him. He swirled his blade, and slashed downward, cleaving into her top right arm at the shoulder. One of the runes on his blade lit, and the metal continued through her flesh unabated. It came out the other side, and met her second shoulder just the same. Within a matter of moments, he severed two of her arms seamlessly. She went silent in pained rage, and tried to twist herself free of her tormentor. The blade pinning her foot snapped, sending her toppling to the ground. Before she reached the dirt, Dalkir sprung from her back, flipping forward over her head. With another slash of his blade, and another rune spent, a third arm found its way free of her body.
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She hit the arena floor with a thud, followed soon by her severed limb. He landed seamlessly on his feet. He held his hand out, and summoned his broken blade back in a deep blue flash. The crowd continued to cheer and shout the entire time. In a display of showmanship, he swirled his blades again, and held his hands out to the crowd. The people were chanting for him to finish it, so he pretended not to hear them properly. They screamed louder when he held his hand to his ear. He played them like an instrument, and they loved him for it. He turned to his opponent while she rolled in agony on the ground. Approaching her slowly, he sized up his blades, showing off in obvious gestures. Deciding on the broken blade, he held it high for the people to see. They started to chant his name, and he smiled at Grahdaka.
"The people want me to end it," he boasted. "I'm going to order something really expensive when you buy me that drink."
"Do you finish everything this quickly?" She chuckled, lifting her head to see him properly.
"Only when I get excited,” he said smiling. “Are you ready?” He asked, stopping at her feet.
"I'll be back fighting in a week," she replied with a pained grunt.
"That's the spirit."
He raised his blade, getting another collective cheer from the crowd. He swirled it again, and lunged forward, slashing at her remaining arm. An unbroken rune lit on the blade, and it passed easily through her bone armour and sliced her flesh, severing her arm within a second.
The crowd jumped to their feet and the shroud fell. The announcer had to shout to be heard over the roar of the people.
"We have a winner!" He bellowed. "Dalkir the Raven Cloak has rendered Grahdaka unable to fight.
Three men ran into the arena with a stretcher and gathered the fallen fighter onto it. Before they even lifted it, one of them had already started casting some kind of magic over her wounds.
"The undefeated Dalkir ladies and gentlemen," the announcer continued while the Raven Cloak left the arena through the east door. He continued talking about the fighters sponsors and moved onto the details of the next fight. Dalkir walked the halls outside the arena, receiving claps on the back and admiring nods from the other fighters waiting for their turn. He made his way to the locker space he was using for the day. One of his soldiers waited by his things as always, but this time there was another man standing in wait. Dalkir sighed, recognising the pretentious face smirking beneath the black bowler hat.
"Welcome out of the shadows, my lord," the Raven Cloak said snidely. "Be careful not to get any filth on yourself."
He walked past the pompous lord, and got to changing his shirt as if the man wasn't even there.
"Oh please Dalkir," Lord Jarrey complained. "You really do need to move past your disdain for me. We're nearly equals now after all."
"Even when I reach your station, you'd have a long way to crawl to equal me," the warrior said smugly. He removed his mask, and placed it gently into his travel chest. Holding out his arms, his soldier slipped the raven feathered cloak onto his captain's shoulders. He ran his hand through his hair, clearing his long black fringe from his face. With a noticeable sigh, he turned to face his superior.
"What do you want Jarrey?" He asked impatiently.
Jarrey Bella scowled, and looked Dalkir up and down, settling his stare into the warrior's uncovered eye. "Very well, no pleasantries then," he scoffed. "I'm here on business of the family."
"I'm already doing the family's business," Dalkir interrupted, gesturing towards the arena.
"We have plenty of tournament fighters," Jarrey said, holding up a finger in a plea for silence. "The blooded want to meet with you."
Dalkir paused, and considered the implications. The blooded family members were the blood children of Le-Shade. To say they were the elite of the mercenary clan was a gross understatement. They were people with a mythology of their own, he wasn't even sure Lord Jarrey actually had contact with them. The man was a snobbish bore. It wouldn't be a stretch to believe that he liked to embellish his stories with a manner of falsity. Meeting the blooded was a big deal for anyone within the Bellatores Clan. It meant he was either moving up, or in a lot of trouble.
"Who wants to see me exactly?" He pried carefully.
Jarrey's thin lips rippled into a smile. "You've been summoned by Seldamie, the mud witch. Rumour has it that she's looking for people who specialise in your," he paused to think of a word, then twisted his lip up in disgust. "Your area of expertise," he sneered, gesturing with his fingertips towards Dalkir and his soldier.
"So I'm going out there again?" The warrior asked, trying to hide his excitement.
"Hopefully," the Lord sighed. "That is, if you don't rub her the wrong way."
"I'm a perfect gentleman," Dalkir grunted, turning back to his locker. "Isn't that right Ted?"
"Yes sir, very polite sir," the soldier responded sharply.
"Oh please," Jarrey complained, breaking his facade of a proper man for a moment. He fixed his tie and brushed imaginary dust from his vest. "You best not drag your little peasant feet. I can't imagine anyone would be happy to wait for you, no matter how important you think you are."
"I'm not a peasant, little coward," Dalkir snapped, spinning to face the Lord. "I'll try and take your advice into mind. But the words of a man that's too afraid to fight for his family will only go so far here."
"How dare you," Jarrey snapped back with a red face. "If you were anyone else, I'd take your tongue for such insubordination."
Dalkir chuckled, and stepped forward to pat the Lord's shoulder. Jarrey winced, nearly hurt by the idea of the warriors' dirty hands. "I guess I'm too important," the warrior said smugly, gesturing at his soldier to follow. The underling listened readily, as did his travel chest, and they both followed him silently and awkwardly past the raging Lord.
They left through a side entrance, and stepped into an area sectioned off from the public. People still gathered at the fences in an attempt to see their favourite fighters come or go, so he was met with another cheer when they walked outside. He waved gently to the crowd, giving them the recognition they craved, then turned to his soldier.
"I think you made them happy today, sir," the soldier said meekly.
"Everyone's happy when you put on a show, Ted," he responded, waving again at the crowd. "You'll learn soon enough. It's all about presentation."
"If you say so, sir," Ted said without commitment. "Where to now then?"
Dalkir tossed him a stone with a glowing rune carved on both sides. "Take care of my chest," he ordered. "And you can take the rest of the day off."
"Thank you sir," the soldier said through a wide smile. He stuffed the stone into his pocket, ensuring the chest would float behind him instead. "Good luck in your meeting then."
"You’re not supposed to listen to the conversations of your superiors, soldier," Dalkir stated with a mocking scowl. "Keep up the good work."
Ted saluted with a fist to his heart, and Dalkir responded with a subtle bow. "I'll see you at the Crows Nest. Tell the others I want to meet you all at tomorrow's dawn."
The soldier nodded again, and took a step back. He knew what was coming, so he gave his captain some distance.
Dalkir turned quickly, flourishing his cloak to fan out. In a smooth motion, he crouched silently to the ground. There was a moment of wait while the air pressure changed. Then with a muffled boom, Dalkir rocketed into the sky, trailing black smoke and feathers. Once high enough, he turned, and the crowd cheered again as they watched the Raven fly home to Le-Shade.