The BlackSand Tournament I: Round I, Duel IV

From Valen Battler of The Coliseum

Valen Battler of the Coliseum (3845)

Valen was sitting in the small inn room he had picked for the night. It was frugal. The room only hosted a hay bed against the wall, a desk with chair and a small, opaque mirror. “Not bad for a few coppers” Valen thought, weighing the coin sachet that was hung on his waist.

He stood up, moved to the front of the mirror, and stared into his reflection. His rugged, brown beard covered most of his face. He was shirtless. His shoulders were broad and his pectoral muscular. He run his fingers over the several scars he had collected across years of fights and skirmishes. He stopped his hand on top of one of them. Right next to his heart, a short scar just a few inches long. Not the deepest cut on his skin, but definitely the deepest cut in his soul.

He had collected it during the darkest night of his past. A night he wish he could forget. Yet, a night that turned him into the man he was today. The night he became a warrior.

His tribe had convened for the holy rite of passage that would turn him from just a boy into a man. He had waited for that night for years: to finally become part of the tribe warriors. Never he could have expected what that night eventually turned into.

Driven by fear and jealousy, the men and women of his tribe attacked Valen instead of celebrating him. Fearful that he might become too strong of a warrior, unstoppable in his raise to tribe chieftain. So they hit him with everything they had. Spears were thrown, arrows loosened, sword drawn. But he avoided, parried, and stopped all attacks, fighting back with all his rage. And he killed them all. One by one.

Until she came. The only love Valen had ever known. Beautiful, she stood in front of him, dagger in her hand. And she charged him. In shock, Valen didn’t even try to defend himself and her knife pierced him right next to his heart. Leaving that hideous scar in his body, soul, and mind. “Maybe she missed on purpose. Maybe she did not mean to” he tried to recollect, still hopeful. But he brought his attention back to his reflection in the mirror. A small tear fell down his left cheek. He shook his head and chased those memories away: “Not point in this.”

The sun was now high in the sky and it was time for Valen to head to his duel. He wore his fur armor and picked up his weapon and helmet. He then left the inn and quickly walked to the nearby tournament arena.

Fighting was all he had left. It was the only way he could free his mind of his thoughts. The only way he could live in the present, leaving his past behind. The only way he could think of a future.

He was ready. His axe and shield held firmly. His blue helmet covering his face. “I am ready” he exhaled.

From Urlok Amputator of Bears

Urlok Amputator of Bears (4132)

Urlok was running fast in the night, his loyal jaguar Forcett following him closely. They were out hunting. “Hunt hunt in the night” Urlok grunted with his high-pitch goblin voice. The trail they had been following had gone cold a few days earlier. But finally they had picked it back up.

They were chasing a Noar Bear: a rare creature that only lived in the lands of the North. “Why down south?” Urlok grunted again, questioning why the bear would venture so far from his northern home. After a few days of hunting, they had travelled all the way from the Rabbit Lake to BlackSand. Yet the bear always seemed to evade them. Until now. “Hunt, hunt” Urlok instructed Forcett, who immediately recognized the order and sprinted ahead.

The bear was close, Urlok could feel it. Forcett’s task was to attack it from the front and push it back towards Urlok. Then Urlok would engage the bear. Most goblins wouldn’t dare fight such beast. But Urlok was no common goblin. His broad shoulders and tall legs made it quite large compared to his peers and his muscular arms gave him the strength of a full grown bull. Especially his right arm, which had been magically replaced with a massive, furry bear arm he had grown accustomed to control as if it was his own.

And with that arm he launched his attack as soon as the Noar Bear appeared. “I got you” Urlok yelled, and he punched the bear hard right on its nose with unbelievable strength. The bear groaned loudly in pain before collapsing to the ground, defeated. Urlok decided not to kill it: this species was too rare to kill. Instead, he cut some fur and carved out only the few teeth he knew would quickly grow back. Afterall, he needed something he could trade for some gold coins.

“Trade now” he grunted in approval weighting his hunting prize on his left hand. “Few coppers. Let’s go city now” Urlok told Forcett. They left the bear, that would probably awake in a couple hours time, and headed to the nearby city of BlackSand to trade.

Once in the city, Urlok quickly found demand for his hunting spoils. A merchant with a round stony face offered one gold coin for the teeth and a few more silver for some samples of the fur. “Good trade.”

The merchant, seemingly more interested in his bear arm than what he had just traded, told Urlok he should participate in a fighting tournament. “Urlok very strong in fighting” Urlok told the merchant, who nodded in approval and told him to head to the tournament arena in four day-time. “Strange merchant” Urlok admitted, slightly confused.

Four days later he showed up for the tournament. “Good money for win” he told Forcett, almost apologetically, as the jaguar seemed more interested in getting back to hunting rather than walking around the city streets. “Time to fight fight” Urlok said, as his name was called from inside the fighting pit announcing the start of his duel.

From Shaman Azazel of the Astral Plane

“A goblin!!” someone shouted from the crowd. Screams and gasps followed as people noticed Urlok walking into the fighting pit. “He has a bear arm!!!” someone else yelled. And that novelty was enough to turn fear into excitement. The crowd started cheering and clapping again, eagerly waiting for the next fight.

From the other site of the pit, a tall man wearing a furry armor and a blue helmet made is entrance to the pit. “Valen Battler of The Coliseum” Azazel announced “against Urlok Amputator of Bears. May the duel commence!”

None of the two warriors charged. In fact, they paced slowly around the arena, staring at each other. Studying each other. Both of them were experienced fighters, and had already figured out the high caliber of their opponent. Valen was analyzing Urlok’s bear arm, while Urlok looked weary of the massive axe Valen was so easily flipping around.

To test his opponent, Urlok suddenly revealed a knife and threw it towards him. Valen noticed in time, and easily avoided the attack by taking two quick steps to his right.

Urlok seemed not to care about missing the target. Instead, he took a few steps back gaining even more distance from Valen.

“His hunter instincts are telling him to wait out, annoy, and tire the opponent” Azazel observed pointing at Urlok. “Interesting approach” Acrhmagus Crowly mentioned, looking towards Hothor for a sign of approval. Battle Mage Hothor of the Hills was a man of few words, Azazel thought, but his contribution had been instrumental to get the tournament started. Without saying any words, Hothor proceeded with a thumb down, seemingly in disapproval of what had so far been a slow fight.

On the other side of the arena, Valen started to lose patience after Urlok threw a few stones at him. So he charged lifting his massive axe. Urlok was ready, and just before Valen could hit, he jumped to the side running a few more steps away. Valen didn’t desist and charged again. Urlok avoided the attack, again. And again, another charge missed.

Urlok plan seemed to be working as Valen stopped to catch his breath. So Urlok took the opportunity to charge. He jumped forward and run towards his opponent. He lifted his massive bear arm and threw a punch. Valen reacted in time, parrying with his wooden buckler. But the hit was too strong. The punch crushed the shield into pieces. Urlok laughed in approval, but Valen didn’t lose focus and stroke back immediately in the split second Urlok took to celebrate. His axe hit cutting deep into the goblin’s left shoulder. A loud scream of pain followed as dark blood started flowing out of Urlok’s wound.

“That Valen was so fast at striking back” Crowly admitted, surprised. Hothor raised his thumb up this time.

Valen saw the shock in his opponent’s eyes and immediately charged again. This time aiming for a winning strike. He lifted his axe targeting the goblin’s bear arm. But before he could swing, Urlok dived to the ground, rolled on his back and stood back up behind Valen. From that advantage point he threw a massive punch and hit Valen right on his helmet. A loud sound followed and Valen lost balance, falling flat on the black ground.

The crowd shouted and cheered in surprise to what seem the winning strike.

But Valen stood up again very quickly. This time he removed his helmet and threw it at his opponent. And he hit the target. Urlok, surprised, suffered the hit and before he could respond Valen got close enough to swing his axe at him. The goblin had to parry with his bear arm to avoid a fatal strike. He screamed as the blade cut through his thick fur and more blood started spilling on the ground.

The crowd went silent, holding their breath.

Valen spin on himself and stroke again, this time hitting Urlok’s on his back. Not a fatal hit, but very close to the rib cage. That hit was too much to bear, and Urlok fell to the ground. Exhausted. Defeated. The crowd exploded in cheers as Valen lifted his axe in triumph.

“What a duel” Azazel shouted “Honor to our winner, Valen Battler of The Coliseum.”