Annice knew she wasn’t supposed to
be here, she knew that, but that wasn’t about to stop her. She shuffled forward
with the crowd, bumping against a man here, a woman there. She twisted her head
as a small child began to wail next to her ear before being pulled away by a
shushing parent. She felt that exhilarating mix of excitement and fear. A gasp
near came to Annice as the crowd began to move in earnest, she hoped it would
continue to the end, here before the entrance to the arena was too open, and
she might be seen. The woman did her best to hise her vestments beneath a dark
cloak, but her blonded hair and pointed ears were somewhat noticeable to anyone
in her order, and if some of her more strict compatriots found her, it was
certain they would rush off to rat on her, what would she do then? The thoughts
caused her stomach to pit, but even still the thrill that rushed through her immediately
after near made the idea appealing.
Annice was a Cleric, a holy woman
sworn to a Deity, and not just any Deity, she was sworn to serve Syrene, the
goddess of Peace, Tranquility, and Equilibrium. The Lady in the Grove, Mother
of Babbling Brooks, and Protector of Glades, so the fact that she was here of
all places was quite a scandal to say the least. She couldn’t help it, though,
she was drawn to this place. At first she said it was a simple curiosity, she
came to see what the fuss was about, and expected truly to mock and condemn it.
That didn’t happen. She went again, to better understand the possible appeal,
which she certainly wasn’t feeling… Then again just to give it one more look
before never seeing it again. Of course, that was three winters past and she
hadn’t stopped.
The crowd finally moved far enough
that Annice was passed the entry gates, beyond the gaze of anyone who wasn’t
already taking in the same revelry that she was, and all concern vanished. She
was now surging forward, pushing through the crowd, bouncing between persons
with the grace of a dancer, all to find the best vantage point for what was
about to come. Soon enough Annice was pressed against the podium, looking down
into the arena proper, excitement filled her and the roar of the crowd pushed
her beyond her breaking point, she could contain herself no longer and she hollered
out in a wooting howl, crying out her excitement! No sooner did she start her
screaming that a well tailored Dwarvish man with a well oiled bear stepped out
into view. He placed a wand against his throat and spoke.
“LADS AND LASSES, AND ALL THOSE
BEAUTES IN BETWEEN! Are ye ready to see some action?” The Dwarf’s voice was amplified
by the spell stored in the wand, his words carrying out over roaring crowd, who
responded by exploding in even greater shouts and screams. “Sounds like ye are!”
The Dwarf said, cackling in bouts of laugher. “Well I be yer Master of Ceremonies
for this here event, Brisbane Rubblemaker and I’d like to say to all ye out
there welcome to the Cove Colliseum, and this here seventeenth annual Lapis
Cove Championship!” Brisbane held back to let the crowd react to his words.
Annice’s heart nearly burst from
her chest, her mind was racing, and she felt just a little bit dizzy.
Championship. Since she began sneaking away to the arena, she had been unable
to see any of the major events, only being able to get away from the temple
without suspicion during exhibitions. But here she was, at one of the biggest
shows of the year, she let out another holler that she was certain ruptured the
eardrums of the gentleman beside her, she would have normally felt terrible, but
she was too taken in the moment.
“Alright ye fine folk, enough of me
yappin about here, you did’n come to see ‘ol Brisbain, pretty as I be!” Brisbane
paused for the woots and laugher. “Who’s here for action!?” An absolute
explosion of cheers erupted from the crowd. “Who’s here for blood!?” Another eruption.
“And who’s. Here. For. Gloooooooory!” The crowd was deafening for a full
minute, Brisbane began to back away from the audience, slipping out of the
arena. “Then let’s have at it! The first two fighters, enter the ring!”
From opposite sides of the arena
two entered. The first was a half orc woman, broad shouldered and skin like
that of a ripe olive, vibrantly red hair struggled to stay tied behind her
head, resenting the strip of leather that kept it from its freedom. She brandished
an impressive looking trident, raising it high and belted out in a guttural language
a battle cry .
“From the Vagrant Plains,” Brisbane
called from somewhere beneath the arena “the Bared Knight, the victor of the
Cleansing War, the Herione of the Battle of Pride Falls! KURAN, TUSKTOOTH!”
The second warrior was decidedly different
from their opponent. An Elf, Wood not High by the looks, umber skinned, and
smooth as all elf flesh seems to be. They brought up a longsword of startling
beauty up into a formal military salute.
“And from the Forlorn Forrest, the Master
General of the Lost Army of Thul, killer of the Red Wyvern Bloodclaw! And wielder
of the Eye of Grimdar! Elenra Silmar GREEEEEENBLOOOM!”
The crowd let out another cheer and
the battle began. The two warrioes sprinted at each other with Kuran attempting
the first strike Elenra’s longsword was impressive, but the Trident still had
the advantage of reach. Kuran skid to a halt just as the two were about to meet
and let the prongs lance out, the metal of the shaft gliding through her
fingers for near the entire length, where the Half Orc gripped tight, and
thrust her weight forward. Elenra nearly didn’t see the stroke coming, not
expecting such speed from an opponent so bulky, with a twist, a sudden shift of
weight, and a slightly less than graceful hop, the Wood Elf shifted their blade
down between two of the prongs, allowing their weight to deflect the blow. The crowd
roared as the sound of metal against metal rang out, the fight had begun.
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