Chooka spent much of the next two days teasing me about Serideth, going into graphic detail as she shipped us together. I suspected that she was projecting her own desires where such designs had been foiled in the past, but I reserved that tidbit as a nuclear option for when I wanted to tease her back. After all, they were coworkers, and Chooka has enough class to not jeopardize her working relationship for a romantic one when a rejection would make things awkward. Ergo, her advances would have had to have been subtle, but Serideth’s normal personality would be too obtuse to recognize such things. I remained conflicted, for while Serideth had a certain appeal, I did not want to invest my energy into pursuing her. However, it would probably be a different matter entirely if she came onto me.
Chooka and I had reason to make our way to the festival early, specifically to the colosseum, for tonight, the final night of festivities, would be the night of exhibition in the form of a sparring match. I wondered if the match would be fought with paper and ink, for one briefing led to another, and I had filled out more forms and waivers that night than all other nights combined. The rules had been made painfully clear as one very enthusiastic gnome read the entire rulebook to me along with at least four anecdotes per page. Perhaps this was the real challenge, that I could endure his onslaught of dull droning without falling asleep or strangling him. I had hoped to not suffer alone, but Chooka had found a reason to excuse herself to help prepare and coordinate some of the choreography for my grand entrance.
When at last the gnome finished speaking, I signed the final document. I made sure to get copies of each as proof in case I ever needed to fight again some day so that I would not need to sit through what most legal bodies would define as “cruel and unusual punishment”. I was directed by an orc to a hallway, and as I recalled from the briefing, I would be going to a room to meet my opponent before the duel. He spared me any small talk or lengthy instructions, and after a few turns and stairs, I found myself in a lavish parlor where a waiting Chooka was enjoying tea with a woman I had not met before but recognized immediately through reputation.
“Erethel Starweaver, you honor me with your presence,” I announced politely with an accompanying bow as I approached her. Chooka sat with her back to me, with Erethel to her left in her own chair, and the couch opposite Chooka empty and presumably for my opponent.
“The pleasure is all mine,” she replied politely as she rose from her seat to curtsey and greeted me in return.
“I did not think I merited our one and only Diamond Adventurer to be the judge for my duel. Forgive my ignorance, but is this completely normal or rather unusual?”
We found our seats with myself sitting on the couch on Chooka’s left side as she scooted down, a seemingly minor detail of etiquette that had been explained no less than three times in the briefing. However, considering I was in the presence of damn-near royalty, anything less than perfection would spell catastrophe as far as the staff was concerned.
“A reasonable question,” she replied politely as she accepted a plate of sweets from a red-headed female elf in a mask, if my judgment of the pointy ears were correct. A silver gorget betrayed that she was an Adventurer herself, but for one so low down the pecking order to be an attendant to one so noteworthy suggested a familial connection. “I actually enjoy these battles, for it is a delight to witness the up-and-coming display the fruits of their training. Also, I sometimes manage to scout a promising recruit for my entourage,” she said with a slight chuckle to punctuate her polite humor.
Chooka and I smiled back in return. “I had expected my opponent to show up by now. Has there been a delay or a last minute change in the roster?” I had no idea who I would be fighting, as such details were traditionally hidden from those in my position. Apparently, not having time to plan ahead would show off my skills and Skills more adequately, but I would argue that such a system punishes those who can only shine when they have had time to make appropriate preparations.
Erethel chuckled quietly to herself, taking her time to daintily wipe away crumbs of food with her napkin before answering. “Oh dear, she probably forgot her paperwork to prove she sat through the briefing in the past. She does that every time. Consider yourself blessed, for you were briefed by the Barkley brother who possesses an ounce of brevity. Not to worry, I think I hear her coming now.”
Erethel gave a flourish of her hand, and upon the coffee table in front of us appeared a simple circle of light. A small cone cutout appeared within it, connected to the center, which slowly began to grow. I deduced it to be a countdown of some sort, and so Chooka and I engaged in small talk with Erethel for several minutes as we occasionally glanced at the timer. It was at the moment that the last vestiges of the remaining circle were swallowed into nothingness that the door opposite me burst open. Well, off its hinges and onto the floor, coming to a halt at the couch across from me, mostly likely as a result of its abrupt introduction to the heavy boot I observed in the air at the doorway.
“I believe that to be a new record, Blythnin. Last time the door only made it three quarters of the way,” commented Erethel casually as she sipped at her tea.
An angry Summarian elf stormed across the room to join us. She held her helmet under her left arm, but otherwise she was clad head to toe in full plate that was as much art as functional. Her kind lived far to the south and were instantly recognizable by their ashen skin, black hair, and red eyes. She exhibited a number of crisp scars on the left side of her face and neck, and given the ample availability of healing techniques well within her price range to remedy them, they must have been left there as a testament to her valor. A rapier hung in its scabbard at her waist, with her only other armament being a misericorde, so I sized her up as some manner of fencer. My Abilities to appraise her by virtue of my Blessing and some ancillary training showed her to be a veritable monster, so I would certainly have my work cut out for me to even stay alive in the arena.
“I would gladly foot the bill for his pension if that fucking gnome would just retire by now!” she shouted angrily as she plopped down on the couch with no air of dignity spared for the occasion. She sat with arms hooked over the top of the couch and knees spread wide, but her expression quickly softened when she locked eyes with Chooka. “But I see yet a silver lining before me now. Do you come here often, toots?” She punctuated that last part with a wink and a light raking of her lower lip with her teeth, making no effort at subtlety when hitting on Chooka.
Erethel and I exchanged looks as Chooka and Blythnin eyed each other down. “Not as yet, but my darling and I are not intimately familiar with what pleasures the arena can offer,” Chooka replied politely as she placed her left hand on my leg and generously far from my knee. “Perhaps if you can show the two of us what delights could be in store for us, we may have more cause to frequent this establishment.” Chooka’s words flowed like honey on velvet as she toyed flirtatiously with the uncouth elf. I’m actually not sure how well that works when performed literally, but it sounds smooth, so I will roll with it.
“Puh, I suppose I will see if he is a real man or not after I put him through the ringer,” she asserted boldly while not even sparing me a glance. The two continued their aggressive flirting by trying to stare each other down.
“Perhaps we could officiate this duel now so as to stay on schedule,” interjected Erethel, who for her part managed to maintain her composure in the face of such an awkward situation. The three of us rose at Erethel’s direction and stood together, with Blythnin across from me. We shook hands, with Erethel placing hers on top. “This is a battle of honor, not a fight to the death. Show some class and put on a good show for the audience.”
A power filled the room, as if some incredible pressure radiating from Erethel threatened to crush us as she glared at Blythnin. Her touch was gentle, but the authority and majesty of her intense energy cowed even Blythnin into relaxing her grip as she tried to assert dominance by crushing my hand.
“Let’s get to it, everyone. You have been briefed, so report to your staging areas,” commanded Erethel.
“Yes, ma’am!” acknowledged Blythnin and I in unison.
I joined Chooka and we left the room together to report to our respective destinations. Once out of earshot of everyone, she let loose.
“By the gods, Erethel is hot! Did you see the size of her bazongas!” exclaimed Chooka as she propped up her own with her hands to emphasize her approval. “I know she is middle-aged, but there is not a blemish or wrinkle on her. Ah, the things I would have her do to me…” stated Chooka as she gazed upward in contemplation with a lewd leer on her face.
“Probably the same things Blythnin wants to do to you, if I am to make a good guess.” I replied earnestly.
“I know, right!” chimed Chooka excitedly as she looked back my way. “She totally wants to bang me. I’m not sure if I should toy with her more or just invite her to our bedroom.” Chooka looked at me with an expression that begged approval.
“That may be a tough sell. I don’t think she likes me very much, but if you can pull it off, I would see how it plays out.” I placed my hand tenderly upon her arm as we walked through the twists and turns of the bowels of the arena infrastructure. “I love you dearly, of course, but it could be fun if she is properly seduced.” I gave her a thumbs up to punctuate my approval.
“Challenge accepted!” responded Chooka as a devilish smile brightened her face and a mischievous gleam shone in her eyes.
Chooka was now on the scent, and much like her passion for paperwork and bureaucracy, there would be no bringing her to heel now. Our paths diverged, hers to a stable and my own to an armory. We were not permitted to use our own weapons and armor, which each and every one of you would know if you had sat through the briefing.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
The dingy hallways gave way to a well-reinforced wooden door. Scars along its surface suggested sore losers, bookies, or other rascals had attempted to force their way into an area reserved for combatants. A male dwarf, old and gray, yet still strong, waited within for my arrival. One eye inspected the weapons to ensure they were of sound quality, while the other remained only as a memory if his eye patch were any indication. He turned to face me, not with any haste, but certainly with measured and calculated motions that wasted no energy nor taxed his form. Perhaps one did not grow so old by being rash.
“Master Towlry, I have been instructed that you are the armorer that will assist me for this match. I appreciate your efforts and what guidance you may offer,” I said in greeting as I bowed slightly.
“Aye, that’s me,” he replied as his left hand passed over a weapon rack, the tips of his fingers feeling the blades for any defects as he regarded me casually. “Remove all your weapons and armor and leave them with me. These weapons here are enchanted to be extra durable, but otherwise not very sharp or lethal,” he stated flatly as he gestured around the motley collection of weapons both mundane and exotic. Many I found familiar, but some I could not even fathom how to wield. Perhaps the latter were for races with a different assortment of limbs. “Take your pick of what you want, and I will record it all down in the leger here so as to ensure you get everything back.”
“Is there a limit as to how much I may take with me?” I asked as I started to remove my own weapons and deposit them within a secure chest he pointed out to me.
“I would imagine as much as you can carry. I don’t know of any rule that places a limit,” he responded as he gazed at me quizzically.
“Good. I will take everything then,” I asserted confidently. The crackling of flames lit in sconces upon the walls were my only reply for a few moments as the old dwarf stared at me like I was making a joke at his expense. To inspire confidence in my claim, I opened my pocket dimension and flooded the chest and the floor around it with all the weapons I had at my disposal. “Those are all my weapons,” I said as I pointed over my shoulder at them, as if there were any room for confusion.
“I’m going to need a bigger book to log all of this,” he stated in both irritation and wonder.
I selected for myself a buckler for my left arm as well as the largest tower shield I could find. I figured that if the larger shield would become lost, I would at least still have a buckler underneath as a backup. For weapons, I chose a spear as my primary armament, with a sword across my back and two dirks, each placed just above my waist on my back but parallel to the ground, with hilts facing each way. I also selected two boot knives. The entire rest of the armory’s weapons and armor found themselves sucked into my pocket dimension.
“I sure hope you have enough. I can’t say that anyone has cleaned me out before,” Master Towlry stated dryly as he looked around the room. “This will be an excellent opportunity for my apprentices to clean the place and to learn the finer points of how the log book works.” The old dwarf moved to another door on the far side. “You wait here, the big door there will open when they are ready for you,” he commanded as he departed. A few unfortunate apprentices would surely earn their keep this night.
I waited patiently as instructed, not that there was much else to do. Two large doors stood before me, each three times my own height and twice as wide, constructed of hardwood and reinforced with iron. Not as many nicks and marks were found on these doors, but I imagine the other side of them painted a different story by virtue of craven individuals seeking sanctuary. However, if those people had listened to the briefing, they would know that the doors would not open again until the match was over, but panicked minds seldom flock towards reason.
Master Towlry, overseer to three poor souls, gave a mix of hearty laughter, foul language, and barked instructions as the armory gained a thorough cleaning. To be fair, it was in rather good order when I had entered. I had expected blood to coat the walls, but apparently Master Towlry was a man of character and kept what was entrusted to him in a respectable condition.
I did not have to wait much longer, for the doors in front of me parted ways as the clamor of distant cheering surged into the room. Before me stood Chooka and a rather decorated hydra. I am not sure who was of mind to create such ornate barding for them, but The Boys were decked out with as fancy of armor as one would probably ever see for a hydra. I assumed it to be custom-made as I doubted anyone just had that sort of stuff on hand, but perhaps some maniac was getting the last laugh somewhere with this being the day his mad vision for such a need bore fruit.
“Got enough weapons there, or do you need to go back for more?” teased Chooka as she greeted me.
“Oh, trust me, there are no more weapons to go back for. I cleaned the place out,” I replied with a smug smile on my face.
Chooka smiled as she came forward to give me a kiss on the forehead. “I suppose you would know best how to use them all. I am curious as to how that will take shape, but I just hope you kick Blythnin’s ass.” A horn sounded in the distance before she could say more. “Oh, that’s my cue. Show ‘em what you got, darling!”
Chooka rushed out another set of large doors to the right, no doubt to the stables or some staging room for mounts. I would say I saddled up on The Boys, but they didn’t exactly have one, so I just stood upright on their back on something similar to a howdah, but smaller. It at least had slots for me to slide my feet into so that I could maintain balance.
“Alright Boys, let’s go!” The Boys heeded my command and waddled confidently down the short tunnel to the arena proper.
I found myself greeted by the night sky, a packed arena of wildly cheering creatures of all races, and an announcer in the middle. I could not say what race the announcer was part of, for it appeared to be someone inside a mascot outfit. I believe the name was Cheesy or something, and he appeared to be a rather comical wedge of cheese. Some amplifier magic allowed a strong baritone voice to boom out across the colosseum, and judging by the slight accent and stature, I assumed the announcer to be an orc.
I paid little attention to the announcer and instead studied the layout. The ground was flat and consisted of some fine sand. The walls were smooth all the way around and a little taller than the door, which is to say, high enough that escape would be impossible. Magical barriers, ever so slightly translucent, shimmered in the light provided by illumination crystals arranged in a periodic fashion around the arena. There was no clear glare provided by any of them, nor any sun to create an opportunity for advantage by positioning relative to its light. The arena itself was larger than I would have thought, with the other side being barely within range of an archer with a strong longbow.
“And now, for his opponent,” continued the announcer as the crowd cheered yet again before being quieted by the announcer. “Hailing from the Ashlands of Summaria, this femme fatale will break your heart as quickly as your face if you dare cross her. Slayer of the Fel Dragon, Eurwelurst, that plagued our city forty years ago. Undefeated champion of the arena with a streak of nineteen wins. The third highest ranked Platinum Adventurer in this fair city of Berkerin. You know her, you love her, give it up for Blythnin, The Sting of Berkerin!”
The crowd roared in approval as Blythnin finished her grand entrance. She rode in a chariot pulled by two steeds of sorts, if those steeds were plucked from the dark corners of The Hells. Their flesh was of shadow given form, the mane fabricated of umbral tendrils that radiated flickers of light like lightning in dark thunderclouds. Their hooves left behind a trail of smoke that flared into purple flame before disappearing. Their eyes were fashioned from the night sky, for to look into them was to stare into the cold abyss of deep space. They were as large as draft horses, yet nimble beyond what their size should allow, for they moved with a grace and speed beyond mortal ken.
Blythnin herself was clad in much the same equipment as before, at least in form. The equipment of the arena was not very ornate, but it was effectively functional. She wore full plate, and not the silly kind with boob armor. Her helmet was tucked under her left arm and her black hair, perfectly straight, fluttered in a light breeze that I did not feel.
“Combatants, dismount!” commanded the announcer.
The juxtaposition of Blythnin’s grand entrance and otherworldly horses, combined with a walking block of cheese bossing her around, proved burdensome for my composure, and I had to focus to stifle my laughter at such absurdity. I dismounted as ordered and instructed The Boys to return back to the stables, for which they obeyed, but not before giving a proper roar at Blythnin. She followed suit, and her steeds returned to their stables unbidden by any command I could recognize. We each turned to face the grand viewing box of Erethel, our judge. She rose, and with her stood a man with as fine and regal an appearance that remained unrivaled in the city.
“The combatants are ready for review, Erethel Starweaver, Star of Final Night,” shouted the announcer as he bowed in her direction.
The crowd instantly became silent. I could hear my own heart pounding in my chest as Erethel spoke, her voice not particularly loud, but sounding as if she were standing before me.
“I find the combatants to be of the quality and character befitting our fair city. Fight with honor and show us all what the best among us can become.” She turned to face the man next to her and kneeled before him. “Grand Duke Archibald Melwyrr Fylthern, by the grace of your mercy and the justice of your rule, I implore you to bless this contest and your people.” She accepted a bottle and a chalice from an attendant, and she poured the contents of the bottle into the chalice until it overflowed. She then drank from it, and handed it up to the duke. He took it from her, and turned to the balcony, holding the chalice up for all to see. He turned it over, letting the contents fall onto the sand of the arena, which in turn greedily swallowed it up, leaving behind a deep purple stain in memory of the wine that had fallen from grace.
The Duke spoke with a calm and eloquent demeanor, a voice born from practice and of a bloodline destined to such a path. “This wine I offer unto the earth, from where life springs and life returns upon ending. I welcome citizens of Berkerin and visitors all, to share in the bounties of the earth and what blessing we may enjoy together while we yet live. It is from each and every one of you and your labors, your passions, and your sacrifices that we have forged our future together. I hereby bless this contest, and may we continue to enjoy nights like this until the gods ordain that we too rejoin the earth.”
All heads bowed as he finished his speech. After a pause the announcer continued the ceremony. “Combatants, take your places.”
Blythnin and I stood on our respective sides, some twenty paces apart. He explained the rules for the audience, and upon completion, he withdrew from the arena. Long story short, victory would be achieved by knockout, having an opponent dead to rights at the throat or head, or by forfeit. Deathblows were forbidden, but otherwise everything was legal, for an army of healers stood ready to patch us up and shield the audience with protective barriers from what destruction we would unleash. Another barrier was erected to divide us, for we would have one minute to prepare for the fight once Erethel commanded it to begin.
“Try not to bleed out like a stuck pig,” heckled Blythnin. “It would be a shame if that beauty you had with you earlier had to wipe away your tears after I make you beg for mercy.”
I could not tell if this was her natural charm or if she was waging psychological warfare with her words. A solid strategy, but I remained uncertain as to how clever she was for such things to be employed. I countered by starting to recite the orientation briefing verbatim, which caused her to momentarily recoil in dread. She placed her helmet upon her head, and we both gazed up to Erethel.
“Combatants!” echoed Erethel’s voice throughout the arena as she raised one arm high above her head. “Begin!” As she brought her arm down, Blythnin and I began our preparations.