The BlackSand Tournament I: Round I, Duel VI
From Velbi Trimmer of the Muscle Mountain
Velbi Trimmer of Muscle Mountain (10349)
The winter wind was blowing strong through the night. Snow mixed with hail stormed down the sky and covered the streets of what was one of the few remaining barbarian camps in Muscle Mountain. That was Velbi’s birth place. The camp where she became a warrior. A warrior so skilled to be undefeated amongst both fellow women and men. No one dared to challenge her, and everyone adulated her.
That winter night had brought the majority of the inhabitants to the camp tavern: a fairly large wooden building that was now hosting close to fifty people. A large fire in the middle of the room provided light and warmth, as well as serving as a big fire for roasting. Few tables and chairs were scattered, having being pushed around by the rowdy crowd.
They had convened to celebrate Velbi’s latest success. Once again she had raided the nearby forested hills to hunt for the were-beasts threatening the camp. She had ventured alone in the woods and come back with the heads of five beasts as trophy. “A good hunt” she smirked remembering the fights. She had carried her long blood sword and in less than three days she had easily slained several of those beasts. Her sword permanently stained with the blood of her victims.
“To Velbi, the trimmer of monsters!” A man cheered raising his cup of ale. “Aye!” “To Velbi” “To our champion” others echoed. “To Velbi Trimmer of Muscle Mountain” someone else yelled. Everyone lifted their mugs in approval and started chugging the ale. Chants, laughs and dances followed as the magic of the ale spread amongst the crowd, inhibiting their senses and infusing men and women with liquid courage and energy.
The party continued on for hours into the night until the strong wind swung the tavern door open, letting in cold snow and hail. Everyone looked towards the entrance as a large, black crow stormed in and dropped a letter right in front of where Velbi was sitting. The crow then disappeared back into the night as quickly as it had come.
Everyone went quiet, intrigued by what that might be. So far into the mountains, the camp very rarely received letters from the outside world. Any communication was a big, welcome surprise.
“Read the letter” someone asked, obviously to Velbi. “Come on Velbi!” someone else said. Not many amongst the crowd could actually read so Velbi felt obliged to comply. She quickly scanned the letter, which turned out to be quite exciting news. “It is a call to participate in the BlackSand tournament” she announced. “A city near the Salt Sea. They promise gold coins and glory to their champion.”
At those words the fellow barbarians in the tent erupted in cheers and dances again, chanting “Velbi the champion of BlackSand” “The glorious BlackSand fighter” “The champion of Muscle Mountain.” Velbi started laughing, she truly enjoyed their support. “I will be your champion!” she roared raising her mug. “To BlackSand then” she announced confirming her decision to participate: “This sounds like another great hunt!”
From Marcellus Chopper of the Tower
Marcellus Chopper of the Tower (1236)
Marcellus wanted to go home. It had been too long. He missed his wife, his children. He missed a normal life. A soldier of the Sixth Platoon, he had been marching across the continent for more than eighteen months now. Non-stop. One battle after the other, the Sixth had moved from the dusty desert of The Sand to the rainy forests of The Wild.
Their war had been ongoing for so long that Marcellus could barely remember what started it. Was it the kobolds who attacked first, or was it the goblins? But his loyalty to the Kingdom had pushed him through what felt like an eternity of fighting.
Marcellus’ platoon had recently started marching south towards the Salt Sea. They were expected to sail to the Purple Wizard Pavilion. In an attempt to avoid the Hedge Wizards Wood, now occupied by kobolds, they had steered towards the coast and almost randomly stumbled upon a city called BlackSand.
The Sixth camped a few miles off the city limits on a small hill overlooking the black, sandy plane. More than a city, it looked like a village. A not-so-tall wooden fence marked the city perimeter. The majority of the buildings were small, single story builds except for a tall, large tower-looking building right in the middle of the city.
As they made camp, an envoy from BlackSand reached them and quickly disappeared in the commander’s tent to only come out a few hours later.
Shortly after the Commander also stepped out of the tent holding what looked like a heavy bag of gold coins. “Oh Marcellus” he exclaimed as he noticed the solider nearby. “I have some great news. Come in” he continued, inviting Marcellus into the tent. The inside was warm and well lit. A wide desk stood in the middle, covered in letters, some plates and two calices. The Commander set on the far side of the desk and pointed Marcellus to take a seat in front of him. They were old friends. Marcellus and the Commander had joined the Sixth together years ago, and had been close since. “I’m sending you to BlackSand” the Commander announced as he poured wine into the cups on the table. “You are to participate in a tournament.” “A tournament?” Marcellus replied, surprised, but not excited. “Aren’t we supposed to set sails in a few days?” “Not you” the Commander continued after a big sip of wine. “My old friend, I am giving you a way out of this damn war. The platoon will depart in the morning, but you will head to BlackSand. Their messenger paid enough to keep us fed for another few weeks. In exchange they just asked for a tournament participant.” He rubbed his tired eyes, a hint of concern suddenly covering his face. “We can use the help, and it’s time for you to get back to your family. Here are your leave papers.” The commander handed Marcellus three letters. “They should guarantee safe passage back home. In exchange I only ask you to honor our agreement with BlackSand.” “But why me, and why now?” Marcellus replied, confused. His friend was a honorable leader, always calculating his moves; never wasting resources.
“My brother” the Commander replied, his eyes watering up. “Maybe because I love you too much.” he paused. “You know better than me that it is unlikely we will make it back from this next assignment. And you deserve more than dying in unknown lands to the hands of unknown enemies. Consider this my goodbye gift” Before Marcellus could reply he concluded ceremonially for one last time. “You are dismissed, Marcellus. May the Light guide you through the darkness in your path” Shocked, Marcellus left. Nostalgic of the countless battles they have fought together. Concerned about the future of the Sixth, yet grateful for the opportunity to reunite with his family “Thank you, old friend. Thank you.” he whispered as he walked away in the night.
From Shaman Azazel of the Astral Plane
No results
Azazel made his way back up on the wooden bleachers as the Attendants fixed the fighting pit, readying it for the next fight. “Another day, another fight” he exclaimed as he took his seat. The crowd was eagerly awaiting for the next duel. And so was he. The contenders had so far been spectacular. Pouring all their valor and skills into the duels. Never he could have dreamed of a better inaugural tournament. “Only up from here” he murmured; a hopeful smile breaking his round, stony face.
He was particularly keen on this next fight.
He had to send his own crow far North into Muscle Mountain to hopefully enlist skilled barbarians. The Murder Guild likely to disapprove of such action, but it had been worth it. “That was a long shot” He murmured as he looked at one of the warrior entering the arena. Velbi Trimmer of the Muscle Mountain couldn’t be a better fit: a valiant, skilled, and ferocious warrior from the mountains.
And he had personally met with the Commander of the Sixth Platoon to secure at least one of their soldiers as participant to the tournament. “That was an expensive endeavor” he thought, remembering the considerable amount of gold coins he had to offer to close the deal. But he was extremely pleased with the results: Marcellus Chopper of the Tower was an ideal candidate.
Excited, he stood up, welcomed the ever growing crowd and announced the start of the sixth duel: “May the best fighter prevail!”
As the crowd exploded in cheers, the two warriors came closer to the center of the pit, ready to fight.
Velbi was holding a massive blood sword and a round wooden shield. A classical leather barbarian bikini and a horned helmet completed her outfit.
Marcellus was wearing his pretorian helmet, typical of soldiers of the Sixth, a dark fighting tunic and his iron shield. But most surprisingly, as soon as Azazel announced the start of the duel, his sword magically caught on fire. The crowd went wild, remembering the flaming sword that appeared in the inaugural tournament duel.
Velbi did not seem impressed. “Is that all you got?” she provoked her opponent. Marcellus smiled and charged.
As the opponent approached, Velbi jumped to her right avoiding the charge. But in a split second Marcellus lifted his shield wide and cut her arm with it. “What?!” she exclaimed in surprise and quickly jumped back a few steps to regain a safe distance. “My sword isn’t the only thing you should worry about.” Marcellus grinned.
Velbi reacted impulsively and launched her attack. The first swing of her blood sword aimed at her opponent’s neck, but Marcellus was ready. He crawled behind his shield, in the typical defensive position of the Sixth, and easily parried the attack.
Velbi didn’t desist and attacked again. She swung her sword again left to right, then right to left, hoping for an opening. But Marcellus defensive stance was battle tested. None of the attacks could make it through.
Velbi continued to attack in what looked like a savage dance. Hit after hit she tried to wound the opponent, but to no avail. Marcellus was trying to tire her out. And soon he succeeded. After a few more strikes, Velbi had to pause to catch her breath. In that split second Marcellus jumped forward, charged with his head down, and swung his flaming sword upwards. Velbi had just enough time to fend off his attacks with her wooden shield. But the wood immediately caught on fire.
The crowd roared in excitement.
Velbi threw the shield to the ground. Enraged, she tried another attack and lifted her massive blood sword to charge her offense. She then jumped high above Marcellus, trying to hit him from above. As she descended, Marcellus lifted his shield.
The impact resulted in a massive clang and for a moment the two warriors seemed to be stuck in time in their respective stance while the crowd enjoyed the action. The hit was heavy, but Marcellus had managed to parry well and was quick to pivot. He swiftly moved to the left. He jumped forward and stroke hard with his blade.
His aim was impeccable. The flaming sword hit Velbi right on her lower back slicing through her bare skin. She yelled in pain and fell to the ground as blood started flowing.
“For the Sixth!” Marcellus yelled in triumph lifting his flaming sword as the crowd started to chant his name.
“What a fight! Azazel shouted. “Honor to our new winner! Cheers to Marcellus Chopper of the Tower!”