The Arena

[redford]

(IRON LEAGUE)
(OPEN)

John stood in front of his friend and listened to the man pontificate about this new “Iron League” that someone in the back hallways and hidden recesses of the massive Citadel had dusted off for the first time in centuries.

“I’m telling you, John, it’s great! Now that more people are showing up for fights we can start holding actual Iron League matches! We can let people watch the matches from just about anywhere on the grounds, including the courtyard.”

Naturally, the man was right. Brother Jor had been a monk since before John had been coming to fight, but the half-giant still knew what was going on. More publicity and a ranking system meant more people, and more people meant more money and more fights.

“Interesting. What are the details? What do I get out of this?” John inquired, leaning up against one of the obsidian-colored walls next to the courtyard. Jor waved a few people through the entrance.

“I knew you’d like it, John. As for you, nothing happens differently. A few monks will judge how well both of you fought, and assign scores to you both. If you fight well, there might be a little gold in it for ya, eh?” he said, nudging John in the ribs with his elbow. “And plus,” he continued, holding up a medallion on a chain. “There’s bling.”

John tried not to smile, but it spread across his face slowly, and he chuckled, wiping his face with his hand in exasperation. He knew what Jor was doing, of course. The half-giant had been quite a sight in the citadel of late, and people would pay to see more of him in battle, if he agreed to fight in the League.

“Alright, I’ll join.”

It didn’t take too much convincing.

“Sweet! I’ll set up the arena. You’ll get the first fight of the league, man, it’s gonna be great!” He exclaimed, slapping an iron medallion in John’s palm, already turning to head inside the courtyard, where the sounds of booths for bets and food could be heard and smelled. He jerked to a stop, turning quickly. “The arena good for you? The one with the stadium seats?”

John smiled at Jor’s exuberance. The blood of the citadel seemed to just, slip through his fingers without sullying them. His excitement was untarnished by the rough men around him.

“Yeah, that’ll be fine, Jor.”

The monk turned to weave his way through the crowd, and John followed in a much more lumbering and disruptive stride. After a moment, he was led through a long, dark, familiar hallway. He almost had to stoop his head, it was so low. Either that or John was unusually tall.

A light appeared and John strode towards it, and as he did, it expanded into a doorway. He emerged from the hallway, blinking, and crossed a five-meter drawbridge across a pit that was for all intents and purposes, bottomless. His feet crossed from wood to stone, disturbing a thin layer of dust that was always present when one entered the Coliseum right after the monks constructed it. In stadium seating around a massive circle of limestone were scattered people. John guessed them to number around three thousand. A sheer wall across from the moat rose ten feet before the seats began. As he entered, a small cheer rose from the crowd, more born of anticipation than conflict or joy, and the drawbridge closed itself, leaving the bottomless moat around the fifty meter platform unbroken. He walked forward, almost to dead center, and turned to watch for the other fighter to come through the only entrance or exit.