Dawn's first light filtered in the barracks through a stained glass window, waking me. Rising, I felt the weight of the day ahead. I consumed my morning ration, each bite a reminder of the strength I'd need. Taking a moment to meditate, I cleared my mind, preparing it for the battle's mental and physical strains.
The morning seemed to fly by, and soon a system message appeared and summoned me. My fight was next, time to prepare, and with that I headed to the arena entrance.
The din of the crowd was audible even from the arena's entrance, a cacophony of eager anticipation. As I approached, an attendant stood with an array of weapons spread out before him.
"You get to keep the shield," he remarked, gesturing to my forearm. Then, pointing to the weapons, he continued, "Choose."
Before me lay a Great Axe, heavy and menacing; a Morningstar with its spiked ball promising a brutal impact; a longsword, balanced and versatile; and a dagger, quick and deadly in close quarters. Memories from my time in Salve surfaced, of battles fought, of strategies employed, of victories and defeats. Each weapon had its strengths, and each, its unique rhythm.
The Great Axe was powerful but required space and momentum, leaving me potentially vulnerable to a faster opponent. The longsword was a weapon I had some proficiency with, but would its reach be enough? The dagger was agile, but would it provide the necessary force against an opponent skilled in mental manipulation?
It was the Morningstar that most captured my attention. The perfect blend of range and power, its ability to cause blunt force damage could be of benefit to me. Grasping its handle, I felt its weight and balance, its promise of both defense and offense. I made my decision.
As the announcer's voice began to echo throughout the arena, a projection appeared, showcasing a sprightly Halfling, her fingers gracefully strumming a lute. "Introducing... Tamsin, the Enchanting Halfling Glamour Bard!" boomed the voice.
Jag Roneo: Now here's somethin' interestin', Bill. We've got Tamsin the Halfling, a bard who's got more tricks up her sleeves than a magician at a kid's birthday party. She's enchanted this crowd before, and today she faces Everett. What's your take?
Bill Ruggles: Oh, Jag, I love a good bard battle! Tamsin's got that blend of melody and mayhem. Remember her last fight? Had that poor dwarf dancin' like he was auditionin' for a dance show before she sent him to the great beyond. It’s gonna be a clash of might and magic, I tell ya.
The projection vividly illustrated her last fight. A robust dwarf, seemingly invincible, danced helplessly to her tune, each step leading him closer to his doom. The crowd watched in awe as Tamsin, with a graceful pirouette, ended her opponent's life, her music still echoing hauntingly.
The focus then shifted to me. "And now... Everett, the maimed berserker who overcame the deadly embrace of Valyran!" The projection played my fight, the heart-stopping moments of my poisoning, the intense struggle, and the eventual victory, drawing cheers and shouts from the spectators.
Jag Roneo: Everett's entrance is just as thrilling. The crowd's roar says it all, Bill. They’re lovin' the drama. The projection of his struggle against Valyran, poison an’ all, really amps up the tension here.
Bill Ruggles: Aye, Jag. He's walkin' in like a man who's got nothin' left to lose, and everything to gain. This lad's seen some rough times, and he’s got the scars to prove it. I reckon Tamsin’s gonna have to pull out all the stops on her lute to keep up with him.
The ground vibrated from the crowd's energy, and a tingle ran down my spine. Standing across from me was Tamsin, her lute in hand, her eyes a challenge. With a nod to each other, we charged into the arena, the battle of wills and skills about to begin.
The sky was a tapestry of faded gold and bruised purples as I stepped into the vast arena, the very earth seeming to pulse with anticipation. Guttural chants of the crowd mingled with the scent of blood from previous bouts, tugging at my senses. In the distance, I could discern Tamsin the Halfling, her silhouette eerily serene amid the pandemonium.
As our eyes met, she began to strum her lute, each note dripping with memories I had tried to forget. The world around me blurred as her music painted pictures of my tormented past. Images of my girlfriend, my hometown, and my own seared flesh from the injury that had cost me my hand. The weight of every regret I'd ever felt threatened to pull me under.
Jag Roneo: Tamsin’s startin’ off strong with her signature tune, drippin’ with sorrow. Everett's lookin' like he's caught in a bad dream. The crowd's feelin' it too.
Bill Ruggles: Aye, it’s like she’s playin' a symphony of sadness right into his soul. She’s not just strummin' the lute; she’s strummin' his heartstrings. If he’s not careful, he’ll be sobbin’ like a baby.
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I looked down, the familiar cool touch of my new forearm shield acting as an anchor to the present. It was more than metal; it was a testament to my resilience. I couldn’t allow Tamsin to drown me in my own past.
Taking a deep breath, I shifted my weight, readying myself. But Tamsin was already a step ahead. A haunting ballad echoed through the arena, the lyrics a tale of a young warrior named Everett, who lost everything but continued to fight.
The cruel irony of her choice was not lost on me. Every note was a sting, every lyric a reminder. But beneath the sorrow, there was respect in her voice. She acknowledged my pain, my journey, and now sought to end it.
Jag Roneo: Look at that, Bill. Tamsin’s playin’ a ballad about Everett’s own life. It’s almost like she’s tryin’ to finish him off with the weight of his own memories. Bold move!
Bill Ruggles: It’s a cheeky tactic, Jag, singin' about his past like that. It’s like twistin' the knife and then pourin' in some vinegar. I’d be surprised if he doesn’t try and knock that lute right outta her hands.
Determined, I charged forward, Morningstar out in front of me, using my shield not just as a barrier but as an extension of my will. But as I neared, she unleashed an enchanting tune. It wrapped around me, urging me to lay down my weapons, to embrace peace at last.
But this peace was an illusion, a beguilement. I had to concentrate on that, to not be seduced by her song of peace. I lunged forward, our weapons clashing in a dance of steel and song. Each of Tamsin’s moves was graceful, every note she played calculated. I had to be better, sharper. The crowd's roars faded into a dull hum as we clashed, two souls telling a story of pain, loss, and determination.
Jag Roneo: And here we go! Everett’s on the move, but Tamsin’s magic is tryin’ to lull him into layin’ down his arms. This is a battle of the mind as much as the body!
Bill Ruggles: Oh, he’s a fighter, Jag. He’s pushin' through that lullaby like a sailor in a storm. He knows there’s no peace in her tune—just a fancy way to get him flat on his back.
In a deft move, she sidestepped my advance, her fingers playing a swift, mesmerizing melody. The very air shimmered as she wove a spell of confusion. My surroundings twisted into a surreal landscape. The cheers of the crowd became mocking laughter, the sky turned blood-red, and I felt an overwhelming sense of despair.
But as the world spiraled, the pain and loss in my left hand called to me. Its presence was a beacon, a glimmer of clarity, a reminder of the real world that existed beyond Tamsin’s melodies. Focusing on it, I fought against the illusion, breaking free from the mental chains Tamsin had imposed.
Jag Roneo: Whoa, Tamsin’s illusions are somethin’ else! The whole arena’s shiftin’ around Everett. He’s gotta hold on to reality if he wants to stand a chance here.
Bill Ruggles: Aye, she’s like a musical magician! But look at Everett. He’s clingin’ to that pain, turnin' it into strength. It’s a raw, gritty way to fight, but it’s workin'.
She looked momentarily taken aback by my resistance but recovered quickly, shifting her strategy. Instead of songs of sorrow and confusion, she opted for aggressive, driving beats that summoned gusts of wind and waves of force.
Yet, with every blow, with every note that sought to overpower me, I countered. My shield was not just defense—it was strategy. I used it to deflect, to attack, to surprise. It absorbed the brunt of her magic, its resonance clashing with her melodies, creating pockets of silence where I could think, plan, and execute my next move.
Jag Roneo: Everett's fightin' back strong! He's usin' his shield to counter Tamsin's spells, creatin' gaps in her music. It's a battle of sheer willpower now!
Bill Ruggles: Aye, he’s givin' as good as he gets! That shield’s not just for blockin'—he’s turnin' it into a weapon. He’s like a one-man band, only his instrument is pain.
Our dance continued, neither willing to relent. Sweat dripped from my brow, and my muscles screamed in protest, but I couldn't afford to give in. Every time I felt the weight of fatigue, I thought of my family, and the future I was fighting for.
Then, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the arena in an eerie twilight, I saw my opening. Tamsin, perhaps overconfident or simply exhausted, missed a note. Seizing the chance, I thrust forward, closing any gap between us and sent my shield forward in an offensive strike, just like I had against Korrok.
She barely had time to react. Though she deflected it with a swift chord, the force of the shield threw her off balance. Using the momentum, I lunged, driving my Morningstar forward. But, as it neared her, I hesitated, remembering the respect in her voice when she sang of my journey.
Jag Roneo: Tamsin missed a note! Everett’s pushin’ in, his shield comin’ in like a freight train. He’s got the upper hand now!
Bill Ruggles: He’s goin’ in for the kill, but look at him! He’s hesitatin'! Must be that song she sang about him—shows he’s got a heart, even in battle. Respect in the midst o' war.
This hesitation caused me to graze Tamsin’s shoulder instead of hitting her full in the face. The blow was not deadly but was still forceful enough to knock her off her feet. I held my Morningstar to her face.
The arena was silent. The weight of the moment settled over us, the finality of life and death palpable in the still air.
Finally, Tamsin spoke, her voice hoarse, "You've bested me. End it."
“I enjoyed your song, I will remember the respect your words contained. I wish you no ill.” With that, I ended Tamsin’s life with a devastating blow to her small head.
Jag Roneo: A silent finish to a fierce fight. Everett’s words carryin' more weight than the final blow. Respect in battle—something you don't see every day.
Bill Ruggles: Aye, Jag. That’s the end of Tamsin.. Everett showed mercy, but still did what he had to. This arena’s seen a lot, but tonight’s got a special kind o’ poignancy to it.
I did not throw up, though if I am being honest with myself, I wanted to. As I exited the arena, I was struck by the duality of the emotions I was feeling. On one hand, I had won, I would live to face another day. On the other hand, I had killed another person, another person who was just trying to survive. I did not know what to think, but I did wonder who my next opponent would be.
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