"In battle, there are not more than two methods of attack--the direct and the indirect; yet these two in combination give rise to an endless series of maneuvers.”
-Sun Tzu
Amid the shock and horror that unfolded in the arena, Mengus found himself in a daze. The sudden and brutal turn of events with Saraphine's demise left him in a state of disbelief. The crowd's cheers had transformed, they became more silent, with the guards rushing to intervene. Mengus, still grappling with the gruesome image of Saraphine's fate, was turned off from the chaotic scene.
The memories of the following rounds in the tournament became a blur. The weight of grief and anger clouded his focus, and each clash of weapons, each victory, felt distant and insignificant. Mengus moved mechanically, his mind haunted by the haunting image of Saraphine's demise.
As the tournament progressed, Mengus found himself advancing through the rounds, win after win he managed to beat his opponents. The spectators cheered and jeered as the remaining fighters battled for supremacy. Mengus, driven by a mix of emotions, pressed on, determined to reach the finals.
In the concluding moments of the tournament, Mengus emerged as one of the finalists. His presence in the arena was met with mixed reactions, as the crowd remained divided between those eager for a thrilling showdown and those still disturbed by the earlier tragedy. The herald announced the commencement of the final duel, and Mengus faced his opponent across the sandy battleground.
His opponent, a formidable warrior with a reputation for ruthless efficiency, Bravard Perkon, bore scars of previous battles. The opponent's armor, etched with the marks of countless encounters, reflected a history of victories and defeats. Bravard Perkon, a seasoned warrior, stood tall with an air of confidence. The crowd's murmurings ceased as the final bout began, the tension palpable in the air.
Bravard Perkon
LvL 19
One-Handed: 140
Two-Handed: 75
Polearm: 105
Bow:0
Crossbow: 20
Throwing: 40
Riding: 15
Athletic: 105
Smithing: 0
Scouting: 45
Tactics: 90
"Shit, he's strong...."
The battlefield blurred before his eyes, but muscle memory and survival instincts guided his movements. Bravard Perkon, sensing an opportunity to exploit Mengus's apparent distraction, launched a series of aggressive attacks. The clash of steel echoed through the arena. Mengus, however, adeptly blended the direct and the indirect, evading the onslaught with a fluidity that surprised both the opponent and the spectators.
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The crowd, initially uncertain of Mengus's ability to focus, witnessed a masterful display of strategic brilliance. As the final duel reached its climax, the arena was a symphony of clashes and parries. The opponent, though seasoned, found himself entangled in a web of strategic complexity. Mengus, with a blend of direct and indirect tactics, outmaneuvered Bravard Perkon, leaving him exposed to a decisive blow.
In the defining moment, Mengus executed a flawless combination of direct force and indirect subtlety. The opponent's defenses crumbled, and Mengus emerged victorious by disarming Bravard, his sword making a loud noise hitting the floor. The crowd erupted with a mix of awe and admiration, recognizing not just the physical prowess but the strategic genius displayed in the arena.
Victory
Reward: The Heavy Knight Lance
+3 Reputation
Bet won: 2400 gold
The Heavy Knight Lance, the coveted prize, was awarded to Mengus. However, the triumph was bittersweet. What had happened to Saraphine casted a shadow over the moment of victory.
Outside the arena the atmosphere was heavy. The air was thick with the remnants of the battle, the cheers of victory echoing hollowly in his ears. The Heavy Knight Lance in his hand, the weight of recent events hung heavily above his head.
In front of the tavern, the sword sisters approached him. Mengus knew what they wanted of him.
"Mengus, Saraphine is dead. We won't be following you anymore." as simple as that, they left.
Mengus felt a lump form in his throat.
"They were expensive, but they were good. Kinda sad they're leaving...."
Mengus made his way through the bustling streets of Crepatia. The Heavy Knight Lance, a symbol of his recent victory in the tournament, gleamed in the sunlight. As he approached the merchant quarter, he sought out a reputable merchant known for dealing in rare and valuable items.
The merchant, a stout figure with a shrewd gaze, eyed the Heavy Knight Lance with interest. "Ah, a fine piece of craftsmanship you have there," he remarked, his fingers tracing the intricate details of the lance. "What brings you to part with such a treasure?"
"Just won it at the tournament, but this lance holds memories I'd rather leave behind. I'm looking to sell it for a fair price." Mengus replied.
After a brief negotiation, Mengus and the merchant reached an agreement. The lance exchanged hands, and in return, Mengus received a hefty sum of 10,000 gold coins. With the pouch of gold jingling at his side, Mengus decided to visit the tavern. The aroma of food, the lively chatter, and the muffled sounds of laughter welcomed him as he entered the establishment. It seemed like a fitting setting to rest. Inside, some of his party members were already at a table, tankards of ale in hand.
Mengus approached the table, and the party members looked up, acknowledging his presence.
"Today we're drinking on me fellas!" Mengus raised his tankard high. They responded with a loud cheer.
As they sat around the wooden table, a jovial bard took the stage, tuning his lute with an exaggerated flourish. The tavern's patrons hushed in anticipation, eager for the entertainment about to unfold. The bard, a charismatic figure with a twinkle in his eye, began strumming the strings and launched into a humorous tale that echoed through the lively atmosphere.
The story unfolded in a land, far away, where chickens were said to possess mystical powers. They were able to shit gold. So the villagers tried their best to make them shit as much as possible. Legends spoke of a legendary chicken, Sir Shey, who could shit the most gold of all the chickens. The villagers even made a potions that made the chickens shit even more. The more they drank the more they shat, but the more they shat, the thirstier they grew.
As the bard animatedly narrated the tale, he mimicked the exaggerated clucks of the mystical chickens while taking an imaginary shit, his performance drawing laughter from the patrons. Mengus and his party, caught up in the whimsical atmosphere, joined in the merriment.
The bard's storytelling skills painted vivid images of villagers chasing after clucking chickens, hoping to catch a bit of luck for themselves. Mengus even threw some coin bellow the bards ass as he was squatting to make it seem like as he took a shit.
The tavern echoed with laughter, and even the most stoic patrons cracked smiles at the bard's comedic rendition. Mengus and his party, momentarily free from the weight of their journey, shared hearty laughs, toasting to the absurdity of the legendary Sir Shey and the unexpected joy found in a simple tavern tale.