Legends of Belariath

Setan

Battle in the Arena

The Moriel soldier enters the arena, walking through a tunnel entrance into the grandstands. His dark skin blends into the blackness of his cloak as he passes through the unlit area. The only discernable feature is his messy mop of white shoulder-length hair. Fortunately for him, his fiery red eyes are trained to see in the dark. Once through the passage, he takes a seat nearest to the arena floor so that he can easily view the day’s events as they unfold. Adjusting his weapons belt to ensure his mithril rapier does not burden him as he sits.

Only moments pass before his abban, trusted friend and comrade, appears and sits down beside him, pulling her cloak tightly around her and rubbing her unusually blue eyes. She is here to fight today, a tournament open to everyone. Representing her Lord and lover’s house, House Kinslayer, she has crudely painted entwining red and black snakes on her shield. The same is done on her mithril chest plate. It looks like she had done the task of painting them herself, not professional, but they got the message across. Together they sit patiently, waiting for the event to begin.

A chirot descends from the sky, his black bat-wings easing him down to the ground. Once landed, he casually runs a hand through his hair, his tongue quickly sliding over his teeth. He looked at home here, ready and eager to get on with the tournament.

It’s then that the Moriel soldier hears the tournament’s organizer, down in the pit, standing on top of a training dummy. The half-cat organizer waves to his abban and to the Chirot that had just landed. She welcomes them both and then looks to him a moment with uncertainty.

The soldier, recently turned War Seneschal for House Kinslayer nods to the half-cat and adjusts himself in his seat while he continues to look around, intent on watching the event.

The Chirot raises his hand toward the organizer; withdrawing his dull red crystal sword, he rests it on his shoulder and asks the half-cat, “Hey Crow, a question, are there any rules regarding healing potions?” The organizer turns her head to the Chirot asking the question and shakes her head, no, “No rule Crow think, you want use, Crow no mind.” The Chirot seems satisfied with this answer.

Others begin to enter the arena; a Torian and a half Sylvan Elf in brown robes. The organizer smiles as they enter. The Chirot looks to the half Sylvan with an uncertain look, “Aaah, a new face. A good place to make introductions, is it not?" and grinns, the pale, batwinged figure showing off sharp pointy teeth. "I am Shogeton, sacred knight of Sheara, who might you be, opponent, that I might know who I meet on the field of honour.”

The Moriel’s attention is drawn away as his abban, Ubique, speaks, “I likely don't fight right away,” she tells him in their native tongue, “I have little desire to 'mingle' before attacking these people.” And to add emphasis to her words she draws her cloak about her even tighter, as if to fight off the day’s sun.

Responding to Ubique, he nods and says, “No, you should not play with your food before you eat it, do not mingle with your competition before you destroy it.” She chuckles at his words. Her eyes narrow as more people enter the arena.

Another enters the arena, one in black robes hanging loosely around him. The Moriel could tell this man looks like a mage of some kind.

“I assume they will announce fights when they start? You will know when you are about to fight?” he says in Moriel to his counterpart sitting next to him. Ubique nods, her hood still over her head. “I'll be called.”

Then, the black robed mage chuckles nearby. The soldier turns his head to look and the human is coming straight for them. He places himself beside Ubique and says to her, “How's that armor holding up?” with a wink. Ubique turns to the newcomer, her eyes narrowing, “Fine” she said quietly.

The War Seneschal and soldier’s attention returns to the arena floor, where the Chirot is still talking to the half Sylvan elf, they’re talking about names. It’s then that the organizer, Crow, calls out to everyone to point out their marks to identify who has shown up for the tournament. The eager Chirot, Shogeton, is first to show his mark a cat of nine tails, “Under this sign I fight, always and forever.”

The mage quickly makes his way down to the floor to point out his mark, three interlocking circles, “That's me Crow.” The elf in simple brown robes is next, he reaches into his cloths and pulls out a parchment of his own, unrolling it reluctantly and tucking it away quickly once the organizer had seen it. Two others point out their marks on the tournament scrolls.

Alakhir, one of House Kinslayer’s soldiers and the Moriel’s second in command enters the arena grandstands, quickly making his way to where he and Ubique sit. Another dark elf, everyone in the Kinslayer military ranks is a dark elf, Ubique had seen to that when she was War Seneschal. The new War Seneschal greets him, “I'll be staying here to watch the show today. We can see the fights and get a real idea of the skills of these above-ground creatures.”

His abban stands, “I'll go show my mark,” and makes her way down into the arena’s pit to where the other contestants are. She points to a WB etched on the scroll, short for Warbrood, “That’s me.” Almost as if her words had conjured him, a crack can be heard in the air as a portal opens and the Lord Kinslayer enters the grandstands, taking a seat by himself in the arena.

Another descends from the sky, this one late, but once upon the ground points out their mark. The organizer is pleased, “Very nice marks Crow think. Okay!” she says and then points to Ubique and the brown robed half-Sylvan elf, “First match, fight good!” then points to a second set of combatants, “Second match, You is just on time crow thinks.” Talking to the late arrival.

The soldier taps Alakhir on the shoulder and points toward Elthorion, Lord Kinslayer, before standing and making his way over to where the man sits. “Vendui sir, we are here for entertainment, you as well?”

Their heads turn to watch, as the fights are about to begin. The half-Sylvan elf can be seen sizing up his opponent, Ubique, as they make their way to an appropriate place inside the arena’s proper. “Yes, more to see Ubi fight, but some entertainment.”

The elf appears to be preparing a spell. Alakhir says, “I thought I might have missed most of it.” To which the War Seneschal responds, “Nau, you are just in time, Ubique will be setting the stage in the first match.”

A Dwarf runs into the arena, apparently another late arrival and stands waiting to see when he’ll get a turn. The organizer waves him, “Hey Orik. Come Crow need you show what you mark is.”

Ubique settles into a defensive position, secure in waiting for the other elf to strike first, a way to gauge the man’s attack and decide where to go from there. Alakhir says, “I don't know anyone in the contest. Do you think any of them have a chance against her?” The Moriel replies, “I am sure they have made these fights as even as possible. We will see what the outcome will be, I think Ubique stands a very good chance.”

Then the half-Sylvan is attacking. He runs toward her, switching at the last second to dart to her left, shield-side. He attacks with a feint to her chest and then slashes at her with something until now unseen over her left shoulder. Ubique is ready though and she defends, turning her shield to block his real attack and using the momentum of her turn she swings her sword in a large arc toward his head. Going for the killing-blow right away, the soldier thinks.

The sword lands, but not where she intended. The elf in brown robes is quick and steps to the side, avoiding most of the hit, feeling it though as she strikes his shoulder. He retaliates with a strike of his black iron claws toward her sword arm, looking for a weak spot in her heavy armour.

His attack is again unsuccessful and she calls out a jeer, “You smell like pussy!” as she strikes at him again. This time he easily lowers his targe and deflects the blow, thinking to strike her sword arm again while it is open. Ubique hisses as the black iron claws land, striking her armoured arm, piercing the metal. Her pain fuels her anger, she begins to spin away from him, using her own momentum this time she arcs her sword towards him.

The half-Sylvan ducks her blow and slides underneath her, striking at Ubique’s waist, in between the armour. He slices her again. She swears, and then unheard words dance across her lips before she swings again. Behind the Moriel he can hear Elthorion, clearly not happy to see his wife take such a hard hit.

Ubique’s downward swing misses as the nimble elf dances to the side, then attempts a swipe at the side of her torso or back. He lands the hit and Ubique “oofs” as she feels the strike and falls to her side, landing on her shield. With strength no typical fighter could summon, she launches herself forward, the point of her sword aimed at her opponent. The War Seneschal jeers as the thrust strikes true.

The elf is hit, blood soaks into brown robes but he continues, this time jumping into the air and striking Ubique on her left side. The assault is too much, she drops her sword, hand clutching at her bleeding stomach as blood pours from her mouth. She falls to the arena floor.

The moriel soldier is quick. In one move he is up and running, cloak tossed to the side as he hops the railing and lands in the arena pit. Moving over his abban’s body, he hisses at her opponent. Alakhir waits cautiously from the railing, watching to see what will happen. Lord Kinslayer is there too, quickly picking up Ubique, if she is tended immediately, she could be revived. His words, “It was a tournament. Kirva's wishes are done” take all of the fuel out of the Moriel.

Ubique flops to her stomach, the blood oozing onto the arena’s sandy floor. With a final breath she says, “...fight...” and no words from his Lord could stop him now. While the half-Sylvan’s attention is focused more on Elthorion he strikes, lunging forward with already aimed rapier, he stabs. As if in encouragement, Elthorion says, “You heard her. Kill him!” and begins to pull Ubique away, Alakhir coming to retrieve her belongings.

The Moriel’s attack is successfully dodged, the hood of the brown-robed elf falling down, “Hold there. This... was not what I wanted, Sir Moriel...” and the Chirot steps in, “What dishonour is this? This is an honourable tournament, Kiroan scum non-withstanding. You are not participants. I will not allow this contest to be fouled because people let their rage overcome their honour! It was a proper fight, and a good death, Arenis has done no foul play.”

Lord Elthorion speaks from behind them, “Consider it a late entry... Or don't. Either way, this is happening.” The organizer moves between the Moriel and the half-Sylvan, “He right, you no get fight if you no is in tournament.” Then holds the parchment out to him, “Crow miss people though.. You want join instead crow wonder?”

Nearby, Alakhir shifts his position carefully. Elthorion responds, “Call it what you want. For your own bookkeeping, put him in. Either way, this will be happening. I doubt death was a condition of entry.”

The soldier sneers and says, “Fuck fair, fuck honourable. I'll take a stab at him though, if I have to enter this tournament to do it,” he sheaths his rapier and grabs the parchment, scrawling his name S-E-T-A-N on it before drawing his mithril blade again, "then that's what I will do.”

Crow, the organizer, looks at his mark, unsure at first but then satisfied, “Good time crow think. You two fight now. Winner fight him next round.” As she points to Setan and the Chirot, Shogeton, “Match 3, fight!”

Setan scoffs, “I came to fight him,” he points to Arenis, “not the Chirot.” Shogeton steps in between, drawing his sword, “To get to him, you'll need to pass by me, Setan, and I intend to meet Zeph in the semi finals! I swear, as long as I fly, you will not as much as lay a finger on the half elf. You are MY opponent!”

Arenis, the half-Sylvan yells to Setan, a firm word, "Beat the Chirot then fight me. Moriel are called to be strong, Kirva demands no less.” The organizer nods in agreement, “He win fight, you only fight him if you make round two. That mean you win round one first.”

Setan draws his Moriel instincts to himself, bringing calm, “If that is my option, then I will fight to round two and kill him there.” Shogeton laughs, "Now you speak like a man." He grins broadly. "Know me as Shogeton, knight of Sheara, Setan. Let us test our strengths, and give the audience a thing to see, and our respective Divine Mothers the sight of their sons in glorious combat. For Sheara!" The Chirot swoops down towards the rapier wielding Moriel. The crystal blade raised high in the air.

The Chirot swoops down, hoping to strike fast and simple, the Chirot often counting on his usually superior speed to get a great advantage from the first blow. The enchanted blade comes down in an arc, towards the Moriel's shoulder and collarbone, the left arm raised to deflect any retributive attacked with his targe, the silver tatooed leathery wings flapping as they send him swiftly forward and downward.

Setan harumphs as all of the air is exhaled quickly out of his body, the blow is a powerful one, striking his shoulder and likely breaking it. Fortunately he is equipped with two arms. The Moriel soldier endures the pain, conjuring his training to ignore the pain and strikes quickly with his mithril rapier, hoping to use the force of the other man's momentum against him. Shogeton practically throws himself on the rapier, feeling it run through his side, going all the way through, the Chirot having to push himself off to get off of it, blood streaming out of his wounds immediately after. "Damn it... too fast..." He curses. Still, the man was far from over, maintaining his airborne position, he starts to circle Setan, making several feints, and light jabs, before committing to a vicious swipe at the Moriel's weapons arm.

Setan hisses in pain as the Chirot strikes him again, this time on his sword arm. He winces and blinks the suffering away, "pain is inevitable, suffering is optional" he reminds himself quietly, spinning around backwards, rapier swinging in an arc before stabbing at the Moriel's opponent.

Shogeton darts around, he tumbles forward, over the strike, flying upside down, groaning as the small, but deep enough to run him through, wound did not like that. Still, the Chirot would keep himself in that position, upside down, letting the blade come down towards the man's abdomen from just above him, hoping the Moriel would not be used to defending from that angle. Setan sighs in relief as the bat turns upside down, in the Nethergloom, many creatures attacked this way and he had grown accustomed to it, excelled at it even, hopefully it would give him better aim at the Chirot's head like this position had done in the past. The Moriel soldier stabs his rapier forward hoping to skewer the man's face.

The War Seneschal could read the surprise on the Chirot’s face just before he pierces it ever so slightly. “My face!” The vain Chirot paused to assess the damage, more concerned about that, than the worse but less defacing wound in his side. Gritting his teeth, the Chirot makes an arc in the sky, gaining momentum, only to swoop down low over the ground, his blade flashing as if to cut the Moriel's legs out from under him.

Setan attempts to jump, avoiding Shogeton's low swing but the pain in his shoulder catches him off guard and his attempt is cut short and so is he. The Moriel is tripped in the attempt and falls to the ground feet in the air with a loud thump, all fight out of him now. The Chirot descends to the ground, “Your vengeance will have to wait. But it was a fine battle. Thank you for ensuring I did not miss an opportunity.” Standing, Shogeton looks around. "Healers, see to him first. My wound can wait."

Setan waits, unconscious until the healers drag his body away and begin to work their magicks. Ubique is still warm to the touch as the healers' fingers deftly undo her armor and reveal her wounds. Arenis was thorough in his fighting of her. And Kirva had been quick to demand blood and death. Soon the healers are closing wounds and casting magick, and it is only because Ubique's death was so recent that she is able to be brought back to slow sputtering life.

The Moriel blinks his eyes open, grumbling after the healers had finished their work. At first he thought he was in bed in his bunk in the barracks until the world came into view and he remembered the events. Snarling, he stands up, checks his armour and rapier before nodding a thank you to the healers and stepping out of the tent.

Arenis notices Setan coming to, and raises his hand towards him, his arm up high, the robes drawn back where a wound upon his forearm could be seen. The half-Sylvan didn't care if others saw him now, and from within his wound tiny spiders began crawling out from inside his skin. They began slowly but surely sewing his wound shut before Setan's eyes.

Setan snarls in Arenis' direction. “I'm not here to avenge a loved one or friend, I'm here so that Ubique's scorecard is not marked with this loss. The tournament and all of these people keep you safe today. Tomorrow is another day.”

Arenis shrugs as he looks at Setan, "I serve Kirva, as I have shown you. I don't intend any lasting harm.. except to those she has dictated as my foes, or those that choose to come after me... since you have eyes, see. if not, then carry on.” Setan inhales long, filling his nostrils and his lungs, thinking. “I cannot clear this mark today. Any other day would not make a difference. You are no enemy, but that does not mean I will forget.”

Ubique comes out of the healer's tent, holding her damaged armor and looking very angrily around for the person who did this. Of course this was natural for any good fight. And a good fight it had been. But she is Moriel, evil-borne, so her anger has to be directed somewhere. She looks to Elthorion and nods, then looks down at her armor, shaking her head at the punctured pieces in her hands.

The half-Sylvan shrugs and nods “I did not come to plead forgiveness from you, Sir Moriel, merely to show you who I am. Take it or leave it, as you are.” He bows slightly and leaves the tent.

Elthorion looks Ubique up and down, reaching out and running a hand up over her shoulder. “Hmm.. Your armor will need repaired or replaced. So will Setan’s. I think this is an opportunity”

“An opportunity,” she scoffs, though she doesn't pull from his touch on her tunic covered shoulder. “Xas.” Again she shakes her head, catching some of the ridiculous words being thrown around. Hadn't these people come for fighting? Weren't the Moriel from House Kinslayer offering that, organized or not? Setan steps to Ubique's side, “Vendui abban. I did not get to fight the elf that struck you down. I fought a Chirot instead and lost, I think we both suffered heavy blows. If nothing else, I think people will remember House Kinslayer today,” he grins. Alakhir hefts Ubique's gear, then flicks a bit of dried blood from the edge of Ubi's shield.

A moment later Lord Elthorion creates a portal, Setan entering first, happy to be away from the arena where much of his and his comrade’s blood had been spilled. The others follow him; passing through the ethereal magick, they arrive in front of the Lonely Inn. Alakhir excuses himself, taking some of Ubique’s armours to be repaired. Ubique, Elthorion and Setan enter the tavern, taking in the dark atmosphere inside. They quickly move to their typical table against the far wall, that way any newcomers can be seen and their backs are protected.

Ubique picks up a Nymph at the bar, not giving the poor girl time to say yes or no before she is being dragged to where the War Seneschal sits. Without warning, she is spun around and forced to sit in Setan’s lap. He grabs her quickly, holding her down until Ubique sits comfortably on top of the little sprite. She is effectively pinned between them and already naked from who knows what adventure. The two Moriel have their way with the Sylph, and once satisfied, leave the tavern. “I’m tired, let’s go home.” Ubique says, to much agreement from both Setan and Elthorion. They leave the bar as the Nymph is left standing, “What the fuck was that?”

BACK