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 bracer 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 tree days she had easily ended several of those beasts. Her sword permanently stained in the blood of her victims.
“To Velbi, the trimmer of monsters!” A men cheered raising his mug of all. “Aye!” “To Velbi” “To our champion” other 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, inhabiting their senses and infusing men and women with liquid courage and energy.
The party continued on for hours into the night until the strong win swung the tavern door open, letting in cold snow and hail. Everyone looked towards then 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 prices and glory to their champion.”
At those words the fellow barbarians in the tend 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 enjoy their support. “I assume I am your champion” she laughed out 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.