In the lavish lanes of Fort Ravyin a miniature celebration was swinging in the central entertainment district. Its center was a massive colosseum, its majestic silhouette reaching well beyond the city walls. This impressive structure was a testament to superior stonework and engineering, its rounded walls graced with intricately crafted arches and lofty spires. Each hand-chiseled stone had been meticulously arranged, creating an edifice of stunning complexity. Statues of mythical beasts and legendary monsters kept vigil around the perimeter, their stony gazes overlooking the joyful crowd below.
The streets were filled with mary men and women as they celebrated the start of a great event. The chorus of song celebration and the promise of great entertainment. As rumors had promised, the 41st Grand Arming Tournament had opened its gates to the public entry. Those who dared to challenge the city's courageous knights, their esteemed guests, and disciplined masters, had now been given the chance.
Thousands eagerly entered the competition, necessitating not just one or two, but five rapid format changes. Single combat was replaced, no longer the grand champion of the tournament. Instead, the first 99 rounds featured four teams of 20 each, and each bout lasted only 20 minutes. This ensured that all 7,893 commoner participants could take part.
The first day was filled with frenzied fighting, captivating the spectators who relished the brutal thrashing of the reckless and unprepared. High-quality matches were few and far between, at least initially. By the second day, teams had formed. The tournament organizers were more concerned with keeping the event on schedule than ensuring fairness; they permitted this development, resulting in more organized fights on the second day. The third day, however, promised to be a truly exceptional spectacle.
A grand sixty vs sixty took up an hour and six minutes, with only 10 minutes of a break they fought each other. 30 vs 30 lasted a bit longer, with an hour and forty-seven minutes. Which was good as it left plenty of time for the earnest start of the tournament.
It was on this third day, around noon, that Varis guided Ravina to the grand arena. Elysia was following behind as Fraven and Joren took up the rear. None of them were dressed in their knightley attire, choosing instead to wear attire that combined flexibility and ease of movement though didn’t skip in their rich opulence and high value.
Elysia had bought Ravina a better suiting dress, one that was charming for a child to wear. Ravina's ears still burned red with embarrassment over the excessively adorable design. Despite her youthful exterior, her adult mind struggled to accept the frilly attire.
She handled it by not looking down, keeping the design out of her mind as she harkened to follow the tall knight before her. This amusing sight elicited a soft chuckle from Elysia, likening the scene to a child chasing after her father. They strode into the colosseum, their path guided by regal servants, until they reached a lavish box adorned with the crest of the Einzfeder Order - a dark raven with a blade as its feathers and a shield held to its chest in its claws.
Two individuals were already present within the box, a privileged vantage point that provided a commanding view of the tournament grounds below. Devices humming with arcane energy allowed the viewers to zoom in on the action, offering a closer, intimate perspective. A few attentive servants were positioned behind a well-stocked bar, ready to serve refreshments at a moment's notice.
Upon their arrival, a man with steel-brown hair looked up. His blue eyes focused on Varis, and he warmly greeted, “Captain.” Clad in a casually open grey suit, his demeanor was more akin to an affable friend than a fellow knight.
“Sir Varis,” a second voice echoed. The owner, dressed in a deep green robe edged with silver designs, turned away from the first speaker.
“Gentlemen,” Varis responded, gesturing to the timid girl at his side, “This is Lady Ravina.” As Elysia, Fraven, and Joren trickled into the box, they shared acknowledging nods with the two men.
“My Lady, I present Falkurs, the Vice-Captain of our Order, and Jarona Madeen, a distinguished member of Phylixa Tower and a fellow comrade in the Order.”
“Lady Ravina,” the man in the grey suit, Falkurs, offered a congenial greeting.
“Little Lady,” Jarona Madeen, the man in the green robe, followed suit.
Ravina managed a nod at the pair of them, attempting to hide behind Varis, her nervous eyes never leaving the mages gaze. Unfortunately, the knight seemed intent on showing her off to the group, he kept a hand on her back and promptly pushed her forward any time she tried to retreat. A press on her neck hinted at her what he was after.
“Ah, I'm Ravina.” she replied. Her job done, Varis allowed her a moment to flee, dashing into Elysias arms as the amused women sat into one of the plush chairs facing the grand spectacle of the arena.
"Boss," Falkurs began, his gaze bouncing between the young girl and his superior, "when in the seven hells did you sire a child?" His audacious question earned him a swift slap on the back of his head.
"We'll discuss that later," Varis retorted, directing a subtle signal toward one of the servants. As the servant acknowledged with a nod, Varis veered the conversation back, "So, any worthy contenders yet?"
"Predictably," Jarona Madeen responded, manifesting a goblet in his hand. He absentmindedly swirled the liquid within, his eyes scrutinizing the ongoing spectacle below. "It's nothing more than a graceless brawl. I truly wonder what crosses their minds when they orchestrate such farce."
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“They seemed to have thrown in the towel, allowing the poor bastards to engage in a grand melee. Absolutely no coordination between them, a truly shameful display - the crowd loves it though.” Falkurs added.
“Well, as expected.” Varis echoed, accepting a filled goblet from the approaching servant. He toyed with the red liquid, watching it dance in the cup before he indulged in a careful sip.
"Should be an interesting spectacle in the forthcoming rounds though. Only about 30 left, right? Could turn out to be a decent fight."
"Perhaps. But it's time for the main event. The knights should be entering the stage soon."
"How are they faring?"
"Ready as they'll ever be. Khareem's still nursing that grudge from the last tournament. Delick won't stand a chance."
"Any outsiders?"
"Balways's gang and a few lads from the capital. Additionally, the empire has sent a representative. Small chap, though."
"The empire?"
"Yes, it seems they brokered a deal with the king. Absurd idea, if you ask me. There's no winning in that situation."
well - not like it's our problem- ah, it's starting.”
“Any bets?” Falkurs offered.
"I'll bite. Place me down for 30 on Delick," Fraven chimed in.
"Bold move, betting against your own kin. Dangerous game," Falkurs countered.
"Only perilous if I lose, which is improbable considering how extensively Khareem's been preparing for this."
"I advised him to rest," Varis interjected.
“Yeah we all did, but he never listens”
"Ah, there they go."
the resonant blare of a brass band. The festive melody swept over the crowd, stirring a palpable sense of anticipation. Arrayed in dazzling ceremonial armor, the knights paraded before the spectators in a shimmering spectacle.
“Yup, that's why you’d never see me in these things again, what a waste of time, dressing up in that uncomfortable gear just to wave to the crowed under the midday sun.” Falkurs commented as he watched the men march around.
Fifty knights, glittering like stars descended on earth, entered the field in groups of five, the detail on their armor and capes showing off the order they belonged to. However, three distinct rows consisted of knights with no common insignia, indicating they were the outsiders, not bound by the city's ties.
“Quite a lot of additions” Joren tutted as he watched the orderly group show off their coordination.
Once the grand display and introductions were over the knights retreated back into the arena.
After their grand presentation, the knights retreated, leaving the field to the anticipatory silence of the spectators.
"Noble souls, lords and ladies who have ventured from afar," a voice boomed across the field, magically amplified to reach each corner of the massive colosseum. A larger-than-life image of the announcer appeared on the magical screens, his every gesture exaggerated for all to see.
Ravina watched in fascination, muttering, "Feels like a football match," as she took in the odd blend of medieval aesthetics and futuristic technology.
"Did you say something, dear?" Elysia inquired from the seat beside her, curiosity piqued by Ravina's mumbled words.
Caught off guard, Ravina swiftly replied, "Oh, just... marveling at the spectacle. It's quite amazing."
The announcer continued as Elysia laughed at the child’s wonderfilled words. "Honor and glory to you all, as we stand on the precipice of the 41st Grand Arming Tournament! Today's spectacle transcends the boundaries of old, as courageous commoners stride beside our noble knights. We've glimpsed the vibrant spirit of these audacious warriors, their fervor transforming their clashes into a storm of steel and valor!"
Jarona Madeen interjected with a cynical tone, "You mean, the disorderly debacle."
Riding the rallying cry that swelled in the stands the accouncer continued, "As our knights brace themselves for the ensuing tempest, let us usher in those gallant few who've weathered the storm!" With his words as their signal, a contrasting group took to the field, their awkward strides and jerky maneuvers painting a stark contrast to the disciplined march of the knights.
"Behold, the final thirty! The stalwart survivors who'll face the gauntlet next. Those who emerge victorious will earn the matchless honor of crossing swords with our city's bravest champions!"
A deafening cheer detonated from the crowd below, a seismic wave of elation, expectation, and sheer exhilaration that ricocheted off the colosseum's walls, filling the arena with an electric fervor.
As the announcer’s booming voice continued its melodious dance across the vast arena, weaving grand tales of the tournament's past and stoking the fires of anticipation for the spectacle to come, Ravina found herself playing a game of 'spot the protagonist'. Amidst the sea of men garbed in disheveled armor, she spotted her.
She progressed with the elegant stride of an experienced wanderer, her sapphire-blue hair flowing like a tranquil waterfall under the shimmering sun, stirring rhythmically with each stride she took. Her keen, luminous oceanic eyes roamed the crowd of spectators, ultimately anchoring on Ravina. A mysterious yet alluring smile graced her thin lips as she moved forward with purpose, her sky-blue skirt-cape fluttering around her like a breath of wind, unveiling her muscular thighs with each step. Her legs were shielded by gleaming silver armor that reached up to her knees, adding a hint of dangerous beauty.
Her lithe yet well-defined form was partially veiled beneath the gleaming silver armor, a light, meticulously designed protective layer that covered her chest and arms, the cool metal complementing her vibrant hair. By her side, a slender sword seemed to dance with her movements, a lethal partner in this grand spectacle, harmonizing with her graceful steps, each one promising both danger and allure.
Her radiance dimmed the shine of the others around her. She was a bright blue bloom amidst a dull world. She was more than a presence - she was the protagonist of her own epic.