(Closed to SirArtemis)
There was a briskness to John's step that was quite unusual given his current losing streak in the citadel. Three straight battles he’d lost, all in dramatic fashion. Once with a sword, once with an arrow, and the last time he’d been defeated by a very unusual mage that had bested him with some form of fire magic before he could close the distance and land any actual blows.
But, for some reason he felt good today, though that certainly didn’t put a smile on his face or a laugh in his throat. The courtyard of the citadel was beginning to empty, seldom did people fight this late, and only a few gamblers placed bets here and there about their favored combatants. The sun was sinking over the wall of the citadel, it’s massive shadow painted across the courtyard and the surrounding forest, heralding the day’s end.
John’s boots clacked on the worn, cobbled stone as he made his way to a portal. A familiar figure stood beside it, waving to John as he drew near.
“Brother Jor,” John said flatly.
“Here to fight again, eh?” Jor asked, smiling. “You seem awfully chipper considering your recent fights,” he continued. Jor was one of few who could read him. Perhaps it was because since training with the monk of Ai'Bron, he'd received more blows from him than most.
“I have a feeling,” He responded. He glanced from the portal to Jor, then back to the portal. “I want-”
Jor interrupted him with a clap on his shoulder. “Come now, John! You have the same arena every time, man!” he looked up at John, seeming to hope that his joking would change his preference. It did not.
Jor laughed. For a man as skilled as he was, he certainly did not let the citadel’s bloody nature rub off on him. “Alright, I’ll take care of it, just make sure you win, right, or I’m gonna stop betting on you,” He finished, ushering John through the portal.
John lowered his head a bit to step through the portal, his eyes adjusting from the fading light of the courtyard to the other courtyard he now stood in. The sun hung high above, and it was warm. It felt not unlike a training ground. The courtyard was perhaps fifty meters square, and high-walled. The floor was covered with white marble, no streaks of discolorations to be found in it, save the ring. A ring of black stone, fifteen feet across and one inch high, sat in the middle of the place, a giant hollow ring marring the white marble. He stepped into the white stone within the ring, and slowed his breathing. His good feeling wavered a bit, but he was confident a victory would be coming, eventually. He had to keep fighting until he began to win.
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