Redemption Bracket Finals: Callan Vs Tobias Stalt

He counted six.

As his head cleared the water and he gasped to fill his lungs with air, Tobias coughed as liquid surged into his throat. "You will fight," came the authoritative female voice; he could not place her identity, but the woman sounded familiar. He hacked again, then struggled for a clear breath. "Do you agree to fight?"

Her toneless queries and assertions sent his mind reeling. The darkened man opened his mouth to speak, but his head plunged again into frigid water. How did I get here? Tobias looked frantically around for some sign of where he was or anything familiar. Beneath the water, his eyes burned. What does she want from me?

Tobias hardly felt the pressure bearing down on his head, but with his hands bound, he could not resist. Lightheaded and unbalanced, the lanky youth flailed in futility. When the woman yanked him free by his hair, Tobias spat the water and jerked free of her grip. "It's usually considered courteous to ask politely," he said between rigid breaths. She blinked.

"I ask you again," the woman intoned. "Will you do battle?"

The last that he remembered, Tobias had been fighting against some strange woman in a barren wasteland. Her blades had danced through him and left him in ruins, but he was devoid of any real damage. It had been in the Citadel; the likelihood that this was a similar illusion struck him, but he had no desire to test that theory. "Fight," he rasped. "You want me to fight."

She yanked his head back, glared down into his eyes, and nodded. "Yes," she crooned, "I do." As he stared into those blue eyes, he was haunted by the resemblance they bore to a pair of eyes he had once stared deeply into. Her hair was the wrong color, and she was not quite as striking, but the woman had an alluring quality Tobias could appreciate. "I want you to stand as my champion."

"I take it you watched me die," he drawled. Tobias did not need to see her nod to know the answer. "So why, then?"

"Your eyes," she stated. Tobias looked up, brow furrowed. "You have suffered. Greatly." How she could know such a thing from his eyes the young man would never know. He watched her for several moments, then looked into the distance. The room was filled with strange fragrances, salts and poultices meant for healing. The bath she had used to wake him had presumably been meant to wrench him from a deep sleep. When he looked down at the water, she blushed. "You were comatose," she explained. "I bound you to prevent harm in the event you became violent."

"Comatose," he mouthed. Had it been that severe a beating? He recalled every wound as if it had opened his eyes to a new world. He soared beyond consciousness, to the gates of hell and back, and he could still recall Death reaching out for his hand. Tobias flinched as he recalled reaching back. "The monks revived me."

"Barely," she admitted. "The Ai'brone who healed you remains in critical condition. Your wounds were beyond fatal; the killer meant to leave you in pieces."

Assassin, more like, he snorted. It was typical; the woman had probably been an assassin of the Order, sent by Lye to end his life. Had it not been for his extraordinary resilience and the swift, skillful work of the monks, she would have succeeded where many others had failed. Still, Tobias looked back to the woman. "Who do you wish me to fight?"

"I ask that you enter your next battle in the name of my father," she replied, "and win."

"Your father," he repeated. Tobias looked more than a little confused. "Please, explain this to me."

"My father is a poor farmer in Corone," she explained. "We barely bring in enough money to make ends meet. I want to bring In the money to pay our debts so that we can keep our family farm," the girl told him. "I wouldn't ask this of you, except..."

"Except what?"

"You were not expected to wake," she told him. Tobias blinked. "I brought you to this inn and toiled at reviving you. It took weeks."

He snorted a laugh. "You're bribing me with my life," he chuckled in disbelief. "If nothing else, you've a bright future in politics." Tobias laughed heartily for a good while before he finally cracked a smile. "I tell you, lass," he said, "I'll fight your battle. I like your brass."

He rose unsteadily and the girl cut him free from the ropes. His golden eyes fell on her as she absently traced a hand over the scar on his chest. The former soldier darkened as he glowered down at her, but her hand quickly sped away. "You removed my clothes." It was not a question.

"Y... yes..."

"Should I be expecting a proper reward upon victory?" He asked the girl with a mischievous smirk, and she pointedly avoided his gaze. "I mean, you've seen my goods..."

The girl turned red as sunset. "M... mr. Stalt!" She protested. He laughed again.

"We'll discuss my payment later," he said, then patted her on the back. He found his pants and pulled them up his legs, then slipped his cloak on. "My weapons?"

"In the armory. They're waiting on you." She smiled uncertainly at him, then looked away. "And... so am I, if that is what you wish for your reward."

Tobias stepped forward and placed a hand on the girl's cheek. She gasped. The ex soldier leaned forward, a fraction of an inch from her face, and he whispered. "You have beautiful eyes."

She staggered back a step from him, breathing heavily, and fell into the chair he had been sitting in minutes prior. Tobias cast her a wink, then turned for the door. The armory would just as soon have seized his weapons than held them for him. He'd be lucky to get one of the daggers back.

When the door slid shut behind him, Tobias uttered a curse. "How I end up in these situations," he muttered. "Gods take me, I need to stop getting in with the wrong crowd."

The next morning...

Tobias stepped onto the marble floor with a grimace. "Greetings, Lord Stalt," came the unsteady voice of a monk. "I see you... made a full recovery." Tobias had never liked the Ai'brone much; they were a succinct lot, and he disliked their dispositions. "You will be competing again?"

"You seem enthused," Tobias remarked dryly. If the monks had lost one of their own healing him, he doubted they would be happy about serving him again. He had to bank on his opponent not moonlighting as an assassin. Tobias smirked at the strangely garbed man who sneered in response.

"You will forgive me if I am displeased with losing a brother," the Monk spat.

"You'll have to forgive me for being brutally murdered," Tobias quipped. The Monk shook his head. Neither man spoke another word, though the Monk indicated the floor beneath them. Soon, the arena would come to life. Soon, Tobias would be consumed by battle once more.

The thought was enough to make Tobias smile. "Give me a good one," the Alerian fugitive called as he strode toward the center of the room. "I want something grand."

Pastel colors blurred around him as the mystics wove their illusions. The room began to swirl and light faded into oblivion. In a brilliant flash, Tobias was consumed in a raw image of visceral combat. Gladiators fell on every side of him, mangled by sword and spear. Heaps of corpses lined the sandy floor, and he looked up to face the image of some ancient dictator.

The conqueror raised a hand as he looked down at Tobias in condemnation, and he turned his thumb downward. Tobias' smile quickly turned into a flat line. "Well, fuck."