A human man of white hair and aged complexion slowly walked down a dark, stone tunnel as the world around him rattled with the fervor of those who sought blood and violence.

The man’s heartbeat was steady and composed as the world went from shuddering to stillness. The cackle, the echo of a demonic being carried out from the origin and final destination of the monk who forsook his name many, many years ago.

The clear, bloodlust filled voice of the announcer rang out before the rumbling of the stands above him began again.

“The Cackling Dagger, a Pit King of Seven years! And today’s crowd favorite, starts us off with his bone chilling calling card!” The announcer shouted and drowned out the cheering and boos. “But today, today we have something special for you folks.”

The monk knew this was his que and flashed forward in a sudden dash. Before stopping just as suddenly as he began, to stand at the entrance to the wide arena.

“Today, we have a clash of two formal disciples of monastic tradition! Yes, yes, that is right, out powerful and laughing Pit King, once was a monk student! And his opponent today, shares a master with him! A battle of the past and tradition! Against hedonism and violence! I give you, the monk who gave up his true name, Iron Petals!”

The monk, given the name as his graduation gift nearly two decades ago, looked out across the arena. His eyes cold and steeled for battle. He took in the bare, blood stained walls. The wide, nearly four yards across space. And multiple other tunnels that led into the pit. Nearly forty feet up solid stone walls, were the spectators. Stacked atop each other, leaning over and tossing down cheers and jeers at the fighters below them.

From each cardinal direction were large, crystal boxes, aimed down at the arena. Permanent scrying instruments that broadcast the events to those in the gambling halls, those with private rooms, and to those who couldn’t afford the in person tickets, but wanted to enjoy the sports regardless.

The pond that was Iron Petals’ mind and heart shuddered, reminded of the description of the proceedings from so many excited and money obsessed souls. In a city that housed close to a million residents across its entire spam of influence, tens of thousands of those would indulge in the viewing of these blood sports every day. Tens of thousands of gold being bet on outcomes, side bets, winning streaks, if the opponent would survive, and so much more. The fighting pits of Barg’s Refuge made most average people shudder, not just because of brutal violence, but how ferocious, how heated and dedicated its “enjoyers” were.

But the monk took in a small sip of the iron tainted air, returning their body and mind to a synchronized calm. The announcer was rambling about betting odds, about the connection between the fighters, and other nonsense that would last just a little bit longer.

But Iron Petals only listen halfheartedly to the nonsense. His target, his goal stood before him, nearly 80 feet from him. The former student, the former pupil of their shared master, Kiron the Serene, master of the Divine Will Monastery.

He took in the form, the figure of what he remembered once was a small, broken child of the gnolls. A creature ruled by their instincts and kept in line by the fear and respect they held for their superior, the Mad Gunman. The gnoll had no name then, same as himself. They would both come to earn a name, be it from different sources. His was one left to him, gifted by their master only a few months into the gnoll’s purchased training. The gnoll’s came years later, long after Iron Petals began his journey of self-discovery.

When he returned to the monastery with his first two disciples, Iron Petals learned of the events of his home and fellow disciples. And in turn, the fate of a gnoll pup. Who gave into his desires and depravity, forsaking the oath of their monastery in the name of their clan.

Master Kiron was not disappointed or upset. He spoke of how it was each being’s own journey in the world. That not all who were touched by the monastic ways would stick to them.

But Iron Petals felt differently. This was an insult to their monastery. A grave failing. Where the corruption of their pure way was adopted by, no, stolen by, a creature who never could hold a true monastic oath.

Iron Petals set out after integrating his pupils into the monastery, to find and confront the pup who once he remembered and honored with the title of brother disciple. Only to be disappointed at his finding.

Iron Petals did not know what he expected to find or see when he finally met his long lost brother disciple. But the sight before him was unlike how he had be told the gnoll behaved.

Before him stood tall, over seven feet when at full height, a figure of lithe body. Tight and powerful muscles rippled under the sandy fur. From the thick chest that released such a demonic echo, the eyes of the gnoll did not hold the same primal savagery and insanity.

The Cackling Dagger was a creature of wild ferocity. A whirlwind of raw talent and trained strength. A creature who relied on their body more than any techniques or forms. Who exuded the same primal feeling the sight of a prowling bear or lion might give off when hunting in the wild.

But before Iron Petals stood something that felt different from that. The Divine Will Monastery did not gain its name because it followed a divine being. But because they sought to forge in each of their members a will stronger than iron, steel or adamantine. A will strong enough to not bend, even in the presence of divine beings. The teachings involved finding what ruled your personal desires and instincts and bringing them in to be tightly controlled. The gnoll pup that left the monastery had never learned that lesson, even if they had managed to learn the techniques and combat styles of the monk and ways of ki. This Cackling Dagger, was not a mad animal released from their cage, waiting for blood and a chance to reveal on the primal savagery of combat.

This Dagger was different. Their aura was something that disgusted Iron Petals. It was the aura of a monk who had betrayed their monastic oath. Someone who had been marked unworthy, by the ki around them, but most importantly, by themselves.

The oath of a monk was not just an oath to the organization that they belonged to. It was more than an oath to themselves that enabled them to live in the ways the enabled their monastic way. It was what connected someone to the ki around them. It was the oath the person gave to their ki, their being, and their Dao or Way. And to lose your Way, to betray yourself and your oath, ripped from you the core, the very foundation of what was a monk’s power.

Dagger Glora had betrayed their oath and been permanently marked as such by the ki within and around them. And it brought instability to Iron Petals’ serene will. Wrath and anger at the gnoll’s forsaking of the training and oath that his monastery had taught them, that their clan had purchased and traded unknown amounts of favor and wealth for such an honor as direct teachings from Kiron, a master monk of the Divine Will Monastery.

Dagger looked across at the monk with a glint of surprise and an extremely small amount of, what looked to Iron Petals, like a quiver of guilt and shame. His body was loose and light, a stance that was of someone awaiting perhaps a companion to arrive. But when his eyes fell over the light sky blue robes of the Divine Will, their stance changed.

From lax and casual, to one of tight, coiled muscles barely held back from an explosion of violence. And the monk wiped away the pride that attempted to spread roots upon the shores of his heart and mind’s pond of serenity.

Slowly, the monk approached the center of the arena. The announcer was winding down his amping up of the crowd. For it was his duty to count down and ring the bell that sounded the beginning of the battle.

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The two stopped just thirty feet from each other. In the center of the arena. On two white stone circles that lay flush with the dirt floor of the pit. Iron Petals stood on his stone and slowly spread his legs and entered a horse stance. The preferred stance for meditation in the monastery.

Surprise blew across his pond of serenity when the gnoll mimicked him. They placed their fist into the palm of their hand and provided the appropriate bow of respect and thanks that two monks would show each other before beginning a battle or spar.

Iron Petals did not expect it, but returned a shallow nod of his head. Barely a noticeable movement from those above. But something the gnoll noticed and seemed to appreciate.

They maintained the stance for a few more seconds, and then the announcer banged his bell. Both monks had been silent and ready for the clash. Springing forward to clash in the center of the arena. But Dagger was that much faster than Iron Petals.

By the time he had crossed only five to ten feet, the gnoll had crossed with explosive speed over the gap and engaged in the melee before the monk’s movements were through propelling him forward.

Iron Petals barely had the space to bring his fists up in a guard before four strikes that were impossible for those above to see clearly beat into his raised arms. With two sneaking under to jab him in the guts and lift him up slightly into the air.

Iron Petals was astonished by the speed, the power of the gnoll. He felt grateful for the robes that clad him. Threads of large spider silk that reduced the strength of such blunt impacts. But the gnoll’s assault did not enable him any time to ponder. He needed to strike back, quickly.

Ki surged into his fists and arms. Speed birthed from training and energy poured forth from him as a series of strikes fell from him like rain upon the gnoll’s raised guard. But within the rain, four lightning strikes fell. Two were deflected by shifting arms covered in fur, but the last two sunk in and hit the pressure points that made humanoids nerve system.

With two strikes, the monster, the beast that was The Cackling Dagger, was suddenly stunned by another. Foreign Ki surged into the gnoll’s body from the two points. Stunning them for a precious moment.

And in those moments, another fall of fist and feet crashed into the gnoll, before Iron Petals kick off and made distance between him and the returning gnoll.

The gnoll’s speed and ferocity were far greater and explosive than his own. He dashed towards the wall as he withdrew a whip from within his robes and spun to see the launch of a gnoll sized catapult rock zip towards and slam into him with a wild and near feral ferocity.

A flurry of blows rains down in turn, too fast and numerous to be properly deflected. Again, Iron Petals was pummeled even harder as they attempted to distance themselves and the demon hyena.

With three slashes of his whip, he manages to make a few precious steps back, only for the weapon to be grasped and held in place by the gnoll. Their eyes are sharp, intent. Lacking the insanity of demonic blood, but not a drop less of the furry or intensity that a bonfire would hold. Before the gnoll had a chance to snatch the whip out of his hands, Iron Petals lunged forward with speed. With a single, precise and lucky strike, he managed to repeat the stunning feat.

The gnoll shuddered in futile struggles as his body locked up. Only to be met with a repeat of before. A rain of unblocked blows fell onto the gnoll like hail, before Iron Petals retrieved his whip and dashed away and up the wall of the pit. Stopping twenty feet up as his sandals seemed to anchor him in place as he watched the gnoll come to again.

The gnoll had blood running from their nose, pained and twisted, they let out a low snarl while looking up at the stationary monk. Withdrawing two darts from their waistband, the gnoll barks something in his language, “Seek,” if the monk heard him right. And toss the darts before making a dash straight up the wall towards the monk.

Seeing no need to doge to slow darts, he snatched the first from the air and reaches for the second, only for it to change its flight path just enough to sink tip first into his palm. A true strike of lightning pulses from the tiny dart and shocks the monk.

In that moment of distraction, the gnoll dashes up the wall and with claws extended in a tight spin. Six sharp claws dug deep, thick gashes into the guts of the monk. Before the gnoll used the last of their momentum to push off the wall and fall back towards the ground.

Iron Petals felt the severe wounds begin to spew forth blood. The pain disturbed his pond of serenity, but he did not allow it to rule him. Fighting through the pain, the lashed out with his whip at the falling gnoll.

In a single lucky moment, his whip snags the gnoll’s arm, and pulls them out of the air to slam against the pit wall, grappled by the whip.

Looking down, Iron Petals grins as he tries to tug on his whip, attempting to let the monk fall the remainder of the distance to the earth unable to stop themselves. Only to be met by what feels like an immovable weight at the end.

He watched as the gnoll had dug their claws into the wall, preventing themselves from falling further, or the whip being tugged free. The human watched as a blank face looked up at the monk holding the whip, and tugged with such strength, it overwhelmed the enchantment on his sandals. And the monk was ripped from the wall to swing down into the blood-stained dirt below.

Only to be descended upon by the shadow of the gnoll. A whirlwind of claw and blood flew in all directions as the two monks fell into a furious, close quarters melee.

Back and forth, back and forth. Blow after blow. Slash and flash of claws. The two rolled through the dirt as each tried to gain the upper hand. Dagger’s claws ripped free flesh and blood with each roll. Iron Petals’ fists fell hard, but mostly missing and weak. But for two.

He could feel his body cool and slowing as his life blood flowed freely. But he didn’t stop. One blow, he needed one blow. And found it. Catching the pressure point in the gnoll’s neck, he caught a single moment, a single breath where ki flowed through him and restored some life to him. And still managed to land another blow before the claws of his opponent ripped through his arms and tore free new flesh strips.

He had mere moments. Mere seconds before the darkness consumed his vision. One last stab of his knife hand at another point. But he failed. The ki rushing through the body of Dagger was able to finally push his own aside.

With one single strike, Iron Petals watched the fist of his opponent close in. He watched, he felt, he saw as the fist connect, the gnoll grabbed ahold of his ki and ripped it from him.

Leaving the last sensation, the monk felt before being consumed by darkness, was one of abject horror and terror. As a piece of his being was ripped from him and swallowed into the aura of his opponent.

****************************

The gnoll stood silently for a moment, looking up and breathing heavily as the announcer echoed in their ears. The screams and shouts of calls for blood and violence were nothing but droning that faded against the pounding heartbeat of their beaten body.

The monk that they vaguely remembered from over fifteen years ago lay bleeding and dying before them. A man with grey hair since his youth, lay battered and slashed, leaking his life blood across the floor.

The echo of her mother filled her ears, why do people fear the Glora name? Why do they fear her, a small goblin? It was more than the death, more than the power they wielded and earned. It was a strength, a confidence, that achieved what they wanted, and then stopped. With none rising to challenge them properly again. Glora had cowed the elves, cowed their hunters, and carved their name into the legends of Madra.

Staring down at the dying man, she took from him the whip and threw his body over her shoulder. With only a crouch and half a second of tension, they dashed up the sheer wall of the pit. No waiting, no warning. And came to stand on the same platform the bard announcer spoke from. She stepped forward and dropped the monk across the floor and stared at the announcer.

“Heal, him, hehe, heal him. I want to fight again!” She roared, ending her declaration with a howling laugh that stirred the crowd into a frenzy.

The gnoll turned from the platform and terrified Tiefling to walk casually over to the lip of the pit, and simply step off and fall the arena below. With a roll from the landing, into a casual walking pace, she returned down the tunnel from which she came.

She hoped the monk would live, he was a master of pressure points, and seemed immune when she tried to give him a taste of his own stunning medicine. She stopped once the figure of her mother was visible in the waiting chamber, a cigar lit and smoke rising from their green lips.

Stepping closer, the gnoll moved to stand beside their clan head. Bloody and beaten, but not dead yet. The goblin remained silent and puffed on the length. A pink, almost red smoke rose and wafted into the gnoll’s face. The red smoke filled their lungs and nostrils, numbing and increasing the natural healing of the gnoll monk and goblin who enjoyed a more direct effect.

“Fear, awe, admiration. It’se a powerful tool. Image can prevent more battles than threats can.” Glora spoke slowly, savoring the taste of the smoke as it filled the chamber. “If you’se image was strong...” They trailed off and took another long drag.

“Iron Petals, hehe, he challenged me because I, we, harmed the, hehe, Divine Will with my, indulgences...” The gnoll responded to the silence after a few moments. Their eyes closed and focused on the broken ribs that were trying to push themselves back into place. “He saw, saw my brok-hehe-en oath and ki... All monks can... I appear weak and the clan seems vulnerable...”

The clan head simply nodded, pulling the half-gone cigar from their lips and holding it up towards the gnoll without looking towards them. She took it after a moment and took a long drag of the magical leaf.

They sat there for a long time, simply sharing the cigar as its effects filled them both. The scent of berries and smoke burrowing into their clothes and fur. Clinging to them like a pup trying to stop its owner from leaving.