Round 3: Relt Peltfelter Vs Chosen of the Gods

[Chosen of the Gods]

“Where am I going?” Ahk’Ran had asked the sailor next to him, his chains still wrapped tightly around his wrists. The sea air had pilfered into his nose and tingled it, making him sneeze several times as the Corone Naval Guard sat at a table laughing at their prisoner. The Fallien native, whom grew up living on desert sand, was not used to boats or being on the sea. This duality of experiences made him weesy at best and outright sick at worse.

“Well, your little stunt sir had really impressed the masses back in the giant arena!” A portly man replied, his face full of joviality. He wore a simple suit, striped diagonally with a pink tie. The tie itself made him look like a pig, but the warrior thought it better not to voice that. “Chopping off the head of Jeffery Winston, Captain of the Port Guard was a bold move, even in the Citadel! I got clients who can really get behind that.”

“This has not even begun to explain where I am going,” Ahk’Ran muttered angrily, his stomach doing a flip and making him start moving towards the railing of the tiny yacht. The man smiled, widely as his fat fingers rolled one over the other like little sausages. A ruby gemmed ring sat on his pinky, probably the only digit thin enough to house it, which indicated he was a lord of Corone.

“We’re going to get you to a Serenti fight! The winner of the last round has just taken the dive towards her destiny, and you will be her next fighter! Doesn’t that sound interesting, Ahk, my buddy?” The piggish noble actually snorted as he laughed.

“No, it really does not seem all that interesting!” To emphasize his growing irritation with people forcing him into fights he would rather not been part of, he stamped his sandal covered foot. The guards on the boat gave him a passing glance. With a heavy sigh he looked out to sea and saw the other boat, and with narrow eyes he realized he had already arrived at his location.

“Come now, Ahk, my buddy! I paid a heavy fee for you. Tearing through Corone’s royal port all to fight Teric the famous mercenary and then ripping through the bastard Jeff and chopping off his head! These things are not cheap to pardon you know!” To show how giddy the thoughts made him the rather rotund noble jumped, a feat of no small nature, and landed with his sausage fingers over his throat making inappropriate noises. “Just like that!” He smiled, which the honorable warrior did not return.

“Can I perhaps scrub this deck, or do something other than fight?” Ahk’Ran suggested his voice heavy with irritation and desperation. The man gave him a coy look, his tiny eyes glaring upon him. It seemed the man used all his will power to make himself look threatening and only managed to look like a constipated farm animal. Then he smiled again, nodding his head as he turned to the guards and motioned for them to hand him something. Within moments the noble was holding a rather heavy looking vest.

“If you will not fight, then I suppose I cannot force you. Please, wear this vest now.” He moved forwards opening the fabric.

“What? Why?” Though he asked the questions, he received no answers. The guards stood when the man let out a shrill whistle, and they forced the garment onto him. He protested, but being bound in chains was hard to fight, no matter how fantasy stories may have claimed otherwise. Now he was dressed in a puffy vest that made his shoulders sag, sword being attached at the side where his satchel was.

“In case you should fall in the water, I would hate for you to not swim back to safety.” The man then lifted up his pudgy fingers, and pushed the desert warrior into the waters. Ahk’Ran’s back hit the rail, and two guards charged him, lifting up on his legs. He dangled upside down, screaming as the noble nodded once and motioned with one finger forwards. The man did as he was ordered, lifting up a small key and placing it in the padlock. With a soft word of power, the magic within the braces unlocked all the bindings and the warrior fell into the waters plummeting below.

“Now, let’s see him fight!” The noble said sitting on a lounge chair and lifting up a small fruity drink with a tiny umbrella.

What nobody would ever know, becacuse nobody ever had asked, was that the desert warrior did not know how to swim. The sinking feeling made his body react violently, and screaming loudly in the water made water seep into his lungs. With a few hazy blinks, a bit more protesting, the Bronze Warrior sunk to the bottom of the ocean, dead.

((The moral of the story is, I withdraw. Best of luck to you Relt, sorry man, but I just don't got it in me.))