Flashback [The Blood Pits] To Prove Your Mettle

[Quint Caravel]

Quint tried to say something else to his Uncle Pondar but the old man was having none of it; the grown-ups had gone wild with excitement and Pondar was lost to the frenzy of the crowd. Everyone around him-- including his uncle-- had raised their arms and pumped their fists or clapped their hands, shouting and cheering and some of them jumping up, unable to contain themselves.

Quint felt a twinge of envy for his uncle and the rest of them. He had been so busy trying to follow what was going on, so busy paying attention to arms and legs and muscles and weapons that he had lost sight of the big picture. And so now, instead of being caught up with the crowd and swept along on the bloodrush of the happy, cheering mob, Quint found himself in a cerebral and detached mood where he felt more like a spectator to his own life than a participant. And he realized something then and there that he would often be reminded of in his own future: life was a trade-off; the more one attempted to sit back and observe, the less you were actually participating.

Perhaps later on when he was older, more skilled at both watching and doing, he could do both at the same time. But now he could not have it both ways. He had worked so hard at paying attention to the little things-- the tiny movements of both the Inarta and the Metalsmith-- that he had lost sight of the fundamental nature of the big picture: today, someone was going to walk out of here a winner, and someone else was going to fall to the mat, wounded or worse. And that was a hell of a lot of fun to be a part of. From childhood he had been in fights or had joined in the circle of boys surrounding two others and watching them tear into each other, punching and grappling as necessary. It was why he had joined his uncle this evening, after all: they enjoyed attending events like this the way others liked going to fancy parties.

Well, there would be other fights and other moments. For now he just sat back and realized that while he might not have been swept along with the crowd-- or learned anything more about fighting in the blood pits-- he had observed something about himself.
He wasn't happy with what he had found out, as it had cost him his chance to go wild along with everyone else, but he was not one to deny such insight either. He just wasn't on to do anything about it.

[Daedalus Dagwood]

Daedalus could not believe that his own sword was now being used against him. His eyes following down the length of the rapier to the elaborate hilt. He watched as the Inarta tried to set his left hand onto the handle only to be surprised that the handle only offered a one handed grip. It left the mans left arm awkwardly gripping at air near the hilt in shock. Daedalus began to look around for anything that he could use to defend himself when his eyes met with the glint of steel. It was the Inarta's long sword. He slowly back peddled towards the longsword until his boot touched against the steel blade.

Once he had picked up the longsword allowing his fingers to curl around the handle, he imminently felt the added two pounds of the sword that was heaver then his slender rapier. There was a clear loss of dexterity to the longsword that Daedalus was not used to. His left hand awkwardly gripped the handle like he was about to swing a club. Shifting his wrists from side to side as if the blade were a pendulum. With each shift of his wrist the blade moved where he wanted it to move as he tried to force himself to learn how to parry with the longsword.

The Inarta stood up with a begrudging show of will power. Even though pain surged from the man's left thigh he managed to take an attack stance that. The man was nearly standing on one foot as all of his weight was balanced on his right as the left practically limp behind him. Each of the men both stared at each other as if silently contemplating if they should switch weapons. Daedalus quirked a brow to raise the longsword up in a questioning manner. It was a display that the Inarta also made as Daedalus slowly walked forward into a proper range of attack.

The trade off was a tactic that both men tried to preform in order to gain the advantage. A lie. Daedalus swung the longsword as if he were at a smithy hammering metal on an anvil. There was no finesse to the wildly arching slash as he turned his body into it. The Inarta did the same thing with the rapier. However, Daedalus had learned that to properly defend with a rapier a parry needed to be made with the thickest part of the blade in order to properly repel an attack of force. Otherwise, the slender length of the blade wouldn't stand up to the incoming attack and knock the rapier holding hand off course.

Their weapons met in the air with a loud clang of steel on steel, Daedalus was the first one to gain the advantage on the Inarta as the force of the longsword striking the slender tip of the rapier caused the rapier to repel off of the longsword and backwards in at an akward angle. It sent a shock through the mans shoulder as it tweaked and rolled painfully in its socket to the point of almost dislocating that caused him to grunt between his teeth. The Inarta quickly recovered to fall to one knee. When the Inarta bent down he moved to stab at Daedalus's thigh out of revenge. The strike was met with a hammering smash of steel on steel as the Metalsmith swung the longsword downward into the rapier to smack it away with the blunt side of the weapon.

Daedalus kicked out with a bend of his right leg so the point of his knee flew towards the mans head. The kneeling red haired man received a knee to the face along with a broken nose. The sight of blood on Inarta face only caused Daedalus to advance his attack. He wanted to thrust the tip of the longsword into the mans face but was met only with dirt.

The Inarta had fallen backwards onto the ground after the knee to the face. As he watched the longsword grow nearer and nearer. He rolled out of the way leaving a trail of Arrows in his path as they fell from his quiver. As he was rolling he let go of Daedalus's Rapier. It was a hilarious sight to most of the spectators as the man rolled all the way to his shortbow and onto one knee. He had five arrows left as he pulled one from the quiver, set it on the string to aim, then fired.

[Quint Caravel]

Quint was finally swept along with the crowd. He jumped up and down with excitement, sure now that things were soon to be decided one way or the other. After all, each man was holding the other man's weapon. Quint himself did not know what the swords were called or how their size and shape mattered, but he had been around enough to know that people liked using their own stuff; this was a basic fact of human nature.

Paying attention to the fight, Quint realized that he was probably going to win the bet with his Uncle after all. Because while he did not know what the Inarta did for a living-- or if this was it and he was simply some sort of professional gladiator-- Quint did remember that the other man was a metal smith. And that was why he had bet on him, and why he thought it mattered: the Dagwood fellow understood metal. Quint didn't understand metal. He couldn't tell you when it melted or when it boiled, when it was ready to be forged or when it was ready for the slag heap. He had no idea at all. But he knew that his Svefra sister always won races with regular sailors because of all the advantages her extra knowledge of the sea gave her. Advantages and inside knowledge mattered. And in a fight with metal weapons, that meant a smith was always going to have the advantage.

Quint's observation was proved correct when the two men rushed each other and the metal smith proved to be the initial victor. The other man was forced to roll away and go for his bow. Quint found this as funny as anyone else, and he chuckled along with the crowd. "Haha! Look at that! He's losing his arrows, Uncle. Still think your man has a chance?"

Uncle Pondar nodded. "No sword can deflect an arrow, boy. Even if it could, it can't hold up to a sustained volley. That's why archers exist, after all."

Quint thought about it. "Well, you seem convinced. Want to raise the bet another 5 Miza?"

Pondar shook his head. "You don't have it. I'd just be borrowing against the allowance I give you."

Quint pointed at himself. "Scared to lose to a kid, huh?"

"Don't make me laugh. The Inarta is amusing enough."

"Okay, how about this? If I win, you give me the extra Miza. If you win, I'll owe you 10 Miza plus I'll do extra errands and shifts for a season."

Uncle Pondar thought the boy a fool, but he was persuaded. "You're on!"

They both turned back to the battle to see who would win.

[Daedalus Dagwood]

Simultaneous to the Inartans escape roll, Daedalus had harsly stabbed the long sword into the blood stained ground with intent to pierce through a skull. He turned his head to watch as the man spun away from his along the ground though his attention was pulled towards his rapier when the warrior had let go of it along his long roll. When the Metalsmith let go of the longswords handle the weapon stood tall, standing alone as it was stuck in the sand. Daedalus moved swiftly to rapier where it laid as he bent over to pick up his weapon.

Slowly, the sweltering burning and stinging sensation of his bruised side ebbed through his body, leaving jagged, piercing, pain to halt his movement. He remained bent over as his left hand quickly moved to grip the right side if his body out of instinct alone to massage away the pain. It was an act that only proved to make his side hurt worse as. His right hand had gripped the handle of his rapier as he slowly stood up to his full height. Once his attention had set back onto his opponent, he watched as the man fired an arrow in his direction.

Daedalus had barely managed to doge the arrow as the tip of the arrowhead grazed his right shoulder. The arrow continued on its flight leaving only a flesh wound where it had cut the metal worker.

Even though he was in the middle of combat, Daedalus received a sudden Idea for a specialty type of arrow. An arrow with specialized wings to adjust itself in mid flight, animated with life to know what target to hit. It was a thought that he had no real time during the moment to contemplate as he charged towards the Archer.

The Inarta Archer had already nocked an arrow shortly after having fired his first arrow, adjusted, then fired his second. In response, Daedalus crouched down to his knees so that the arrow would fly over him. Gritting his teeth, Daedalus ignored the pain he felt during his crouch. He set his free left hand against the ground to help stable himself in his crouch, though most importantly he griped a handful of sand then stood up.

The Inarta had begun to grow frantic as he knew that he only had three arrows left. His aim was diluted by the blood constantly dripping into his eyes that caused him to blink furiously as he fired off an arrow. It was so far off target that Daedalus quickly closed the distance between them as the red haired warrior rubbed his eyes with his forearm that had his archers arm guard.

To any archers among the spectators above, they would be disgusted at the way the man quickly grabbed at one of the arrows from his quiver to jam it harshly against the string of his bow. There were a few in the crowed who's laughs were hearty, showing that they disapproved of the Archers technique.

The way the arrow flew after being released proved that the man only wanted to fire it to halt Daedalus's advance as the arrow wobbled through the air. It had no power in its flight but it did serve to force Daedalus to jerk to one side to avoid the projectile.

Each of the Archers attempts were proving to be fruitless with every arrow fired. Daedalus closed the distance so much that he was only two meters from the man as he held the rapier forward, the tip pointed right at the warriors head.

Admitting to himself that he was in trouble was a smart thing for the Archer to do, the man acknowledged that feeling and suddenly felt an overbearing feeling of imminent death. The Archer did something that not only shocked Daedalus, but many in the crowd above. The red haired man hobbled up onto his good leg, stood up tall, and threw his short bow to the side which left him completely unarmed.

Daedalus arched a brow slightly at the mans response, pursing his lips faintly. "What are you doing?" He said aloud to himself with a tone directed towards the other warrior. It was the first time during their fight that he had spoken to his opponent.

The Inarta held up both of his hands to the level of his shoulders, palms facing towards Daedalus in what looked to be a sign of surrender. The man had closed his eyes which confused the Metal worker into believing the man wished for death. There was no surrender in the Blood Pits. No. Only one combatant was ever allowed to leave once his opponent was slain.

He listened to the Inarta as the man mumbled delicate words to himself in some language that was unknown to him (had he known, he would have understand that the man was speaking the Eypharian language of Arumenic).

The strange language cause Daedalus to curiously pause in intrigue as he took a defensive stance. A dim ethereal glow of white light began to engulf the Inarta's right palm which caused Daedalus to open his eyes wide. "PETCH!" He yelled as he knew what was about to happen next. The Inarta's eyes snapped open suddenly as the white glow of Res was transmuted into a ball of flame that the man shot at Daedalus.

He was a Reimancer.

The arena erupted into a deafening uproar of anger at the magic user within the Blood Pits. The red haired Reimancer must not have understood how much the city of Sunberth hated magic.

Daedalus had to lunge wildly to his left to avoid the ball of arcane fire. His legs failing to regain his footing as he stumbled, quickly pointing his rapier forward to touch the tip to the ground to use as a makeshift cane.

To increase the range of his attack, the Reimancer focused his res into a long horizontal line rather than a simple ball of Res. It took the man sometime to focus though once enough res had been gathered he fired an arc of flames towards Daedalus. He couldn't simply dodge this attack as he turned to run away from the flames while looking back over his shoulder to see it quickly creep up behind him. To avoid the fire he had to fall to the ground where his forward movement cause his chest to grind against the ground. The arc of fire blazed over and past his head until it slammed against the far stone wall of the Blood Pit.

The Inarta eyes turned bloodshot while wound split open on the mans left cheek as a sign of overgiving from the amount of Res he used to make the Magical attack. Daedalus rolled onto his back, groaning loud from the intense pain that surged through his battered body. He had dropped the sand that he held in his left hand, though managed to grip at the ground to gather more even as he suffered through his pain.

The Inarta began to concentrate on emitting the Res he would need for an attack, but small amount of res he made only cause more wounds to open along his face. Daedalus used all the willpower he could muster to force himself to his feet. As the man focused on his magic, Daedalus charged towards him in a blistering sprint. His rapier held up in preparation to strike. Once he was in striking range the Inarta narrowed his eyes at Daedalus.

Their eyes locked.

The InartaAs I write this, I was asked what skill level I was playing the one time NPC. Just used the stationary NPC skills as a template 50. Assuming he has LongSword -19, Shortbow-15, Unarmed Combat-8, Reimancy-8. caused the outside of the small ball of res to turn into fire. Dedalus lashed out with his left hand to throw a mist of sand into the Inarta Face.

It all happened in less then a tick of a chime.

The man had become blinded by the sand which caused the Mage to misfire his Res resulting in the ball of fire launching towards the ground to the left of the charging Metal Worker. There was no finesse to Daedalus's attack as he pressed forward, stabbing the tip of his rapier forward savagely. He didn't care where his attack landed so long as the attack ended with his opponents death. The rapier stabbed through the Inarta left eye, sliding through his skull, piercing the brain, and exited through the back of the Mages skull.

[Quint Caravel]

Quint was not impressed. "I've seen better."

His Uncle slapped him upside the head. "No one likes a liar and a braggart. But more than that, no one in Sunberth likes personal magic. Remember that well should you return here. People here want your magic to be things like magic swords, so that if you're separated from them from your stuff you're just a normal man. And that's not really loved here, but it's more tolerated than this petch we've just witnessed. They may even decide to null and void the fight on account of cheating, and then we're out all those Mizas that we'd have won."

"But what if we've won?"

"Here's an important lesson, boy: no amount of coin is worth your hide. No girl, no reputation, no Miza: nothing is worth being able to wake up the next day and try again. Never let anyone talk you into caring about stuff that's not putting air in your lungs or food on your table. The rest of it comes and goes. People will leave you; your wallet will end up empty and your reputation is out of your hands; some will love you and some will curse, and there's not a thing you can do about it. Just protect your own rear end, always, and the rest will work itself out."

Quint nodded. "Very well, Uncle."

Pondar pointed at the exit. "Come on, let's get out of here before they make an official ruling on the matter. Lots of people are going to be unhappy one way or the other, and the last thing we need is to be caught up in a mob hopped up in an adrenalin frenzy."

And so the two of them left, and thus Quint's memories of the fight were of only the parts in the middle, where things went awry, people switched weapons and magic was used illegally.

He would not see Daedalus again for many years, though the Inarta magician would haunt his dreams for some time to come.