You have until 12:01 March 10th. Good luck!
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You have until 12:01 March 10th. Good luck!
Thunderous applause rattled the giant arena, columns that stretched skyward holding the crowd at bay. It was a sea of hands and a chorus of screams, as though someone had emptied hell to fill the seats. Tobias skimmed the crowd with distant, uncaring eyes and heaved a heavy sigh. "Another damn arena," the soldier cursed his luck and remembered his last encounter. The first round of the Magus Cup, against the werewolf. "This time ought be less tricky, though."
He took stock of the weapon at his side, and Tobias swept his gaze over the bloodstained, grainy ground. Whispering echoes of war washed in with the wind. The rattle of chains as a metal door creaked upward across from him caught his attention. Tobias glanced up with vague interest. "How I let them convince me to enter these things is beyond me."
Tobias spoke of course of his Alerian benefactors; the Elves assured the soldier his participation would increase his skill and make him a better man. The coin was incentive enough, though he had come to believe they asked for their own reasons. He thought he could see shapes not unlike Ettermire's elite among the higher ramparts, but it may have been a trick of the heat.
He let out a ragged breath and slid the blade from its sheath with due alacrity, the faintest of sparks rippling off the edge. Standing in a comfortable, wide stance, Tobias steeled himself for what he expected came next. Battle, harsh and unforgiving, was about to be joined.
The choir of infernal voices dulled to a whisper as the grate dissolved into shadows, and a lone figure began to appear across the way. Tobias scratched his nose with his right hand. "No point in getting too eager, aye?" He asked himself, trying to lighten the mood. It was hard to accomplish, but calm men made better decisions than those who raged. "Aye," he affirmed, and he exhaled slowly.
Andy Rorton was not happy.
The gunslinger had entered the infamous Althanas Leagues only once he had heard that the equally famous Max Dirks had also registered for the gauntlet-style battles. Claiming the life of Althanas best gun fighter would have done wonders for the Legend Killers name, as well as his powers. His fingers itched at the possibility of wrapping the Flair around Dirks' neck and unloading six rounds straight into his chest. He would feel the wrath of the ARO.
Or at least, he would have, had Andy been placed in the same section as the criminal.
When Andy learned that he would not be fighting Dirks in the leagues, he was infuriated. His blood boiled, and his hands itched for the head of the helpless saps he was supposed to fight. As he went down his list, he realized that he face a whole bunch of nobodies. Who the hell is Tobias Stalt?!
~~~~
Andy stepped onto the arena floor, the crowd that surrounded him chanting his name as if he were reigning champion. He smiled and allowed the glory of a preemptive victory overwhelm his form. The air tasted like sweat and snack foods, no doubt distributed by some hapless vendor. He looked to the crowd, the mish-mash of faces reminded the gunslinger of Corone; all sorts of cultures, together for a common goal. Of course, the crowd here was united in their love for bloodshed rather than their love for their country.
It was something Andy had in common with the common folk. He raised his hands and made a full circle turn to allow the crowd to soak in his visage. Tobias Stalt would have to wait a moment for Andy and the audience's moment in the sun. The people ate up Andy's various gestures that indicated a victory before he ever started to fight. When he was finished, he finally turned and faced is opponent, his left hand already on the whip that was wrapped up on his hip.
"Andy Rorton," he said, his voice taking a deeper, more grim tone, "Legend Killer. Future Althanas League Champion." He unfurled the whip and cracked the weapon towards his foe, the tip of the mid-range weapon aimed directly for Tobias' chest.
Tobias spat at the ground when the newcomer appealed to the crowd. He had never met anyone with their head quite this far up their arse, but there was a first time for everything. While his opponent basked in some imagined glory, Tobias took several steps forward, and he grabbed his crotch suggestively. Throwing a wink to one of the younger ladies in the crowd, Tobias let out a laugh as she sneered in response. A ripple of laughter overtook the crowd, stealing their interest away from Rorton. The soldier smirked when Andy turned to face him at last.
"Honor is useless," he recited, "glory is of no use to the dead." The words were muffled by the laughter and cheers of the crowd, but they were not meant for the other man. With a sharp intake of air, Tobi watched the self-proclaimed legend killer grasp a whip from his side. Tobias' mind raced as Andy Rorton introduced himself, complete with whiplash accompaniment.
The whip struck out toward Tobi quickly and with little pretense, and he jerked backward and winced at the sharp, staccato sound. The distance between them was great enough that the sound snapped several inches in front of his body, but the whip lacked the closeness to strike true. The crowd went silent, and the ringing in Tobias' ears shook him enough that he knew better than to scoff at the whip's effectiveness. "Tobias," he returned in a gruff voice, one hand rubbing at his temple. A second strike would likely not miss him. "Not legendary, and not planning on dying today." At the snide retort, a chorus of cheers broke out.
Sand stirred up at their feet as Tobias strode forward, defiance and confidence dripping from him in droves. Dwarven steel lifted and the tip pointed toward Rorton with purpose. The Knight of Tears sharpened his senses, awaiting another attempted strike. "Have at you."