Alfar had never seen a póril alive before, but he had heard the stories of people being eaten alive and their homes ransacked. His mother had always used such stories to frighten him into behaving. “Run,” was the only thought that his shock-stricken mind could conjure. The póril lifted its right arm to brandish a small jagged stone knife as it limped towards the pair. Alfar found no strength in his legs as he tried to stand to confront the adversary. Within two steps the creature stood above him, knife raised illuminated by the sparse sunlight filtering through the trees. In a single moment Alfar overflowed with a sense of dread, until he saw Deirdre’s back as she intercepted the attack by grabbing the póril’s hand wrestling for control. The creature was smaller and weaker than her, giving her little trouble in twisting the knife back towards it. Fearing for its life the póril quickly moved to bite her arm, but before its teeth could sink in a single arrow pierced its chest from behind.
“Are you both okay?” a voice called from where the póril had first emerged. A tall man dressed in black cloth covered in leaves walked over to them carrying a weathered short bow. He had a small quiver filled with arrows hanging from his belt.
After catching her breath Deirdre managed to respond, “Ciaran thank Lykos you’re here.” Offering Alfar a hand Ciaran explained, “I was hunting this beast for a while, even managed to wound it before it took off.” Alfar’s wits still escaped him as he managed to stand.
“Why would you even hunt such a rabid thing, surely you know better than to eat it’s meat?” Deirdre pondered observing the poril’s corpse more closely.
“The elders pay me a small sum for each of these abominations that I take care of. The only problem is that’s the fifth one this season.” Ciaran used an axe meant for woodcutting to chop of the poril’s right hand. He placed the hand into a pouch of sand and pulled it closed.
“There is that many of these things in the woods?” Alfar questioned glancing around fearfully.
“Normally no. Normally a single poril might wander here in a year.” Ciaran face grew with concern as he spoke. “I’m beginning to fear that there is a nest nearby.” Taking the axe, he began to chop the body up bit by bit.
“Why are you doing that?” Deirdre questioned a slight bit of disgust in her voice.
“I took the hand as proof of the kill, as for the rest, poril’s will eat any meat but they have a weird attraction to their own corpses. So, I'll use a bit to set a trap and dispose of the rest as to not attract any more. More importantly you two should return to town, no use tempting fate.”
Thomas had finished his guard shift in time for the setting of the sun to illuminate his pint of ale. Despite his former actions he was still allowed at the tavern if only at the tables positioned outside. The tavern towered over him being made completely out of large oak logs carved with simple designs. The second story was the inn which included a balcony wrapping around all the rooms. It was the talk of the town as the only building that compared to it in all of town was the meeting hall, a large single-story building that acted as both the town meeting place and church. While the meeting hall was constantly used by any too old to do heavy labor, the inn was rarely used except of course during the fire festival.
As the sun disappeared beneath the horizon the forest seemed to light on fire. The leaves of all the trees glowed with bright yellow light in their center surrounded by a dim blue glow. People began to exit their homes and gather outside the walls to watch the spectacle. As the wind blew it looked like millions of fireflies dancing. Children sat on their father’s shoulders as families enjoyed the show.
From up the road came a noise of many wagons accompanied by the playing and singing of bards. Appearing on the horizon a colorful caravan approached. A few dozen wagons filled with merchants and travelers eager to see the spectacle moved ever closer. The canvas covering the wagons was made from a patchwork of brightly colored fabrics.
At the sight of them Thomas was filled with childlike excitement. Elderbrook only received a single visit from traders per year and that would mark a week of festivities known as the fire festival since the leaves at night appeared to be on fire.
Within hours a small city of tents had been erected just outside the village. As Thomas walked the aisles of tents, he saw all manner of merchandise. There was fine crafted wood furniture that the seller claimed came all the way from the Sprigge forests, a place few men had ever seen or at least that’s what his ma had told him as a kid. Further on was a storyteller enchanting a crowd with the story of the mist men. A few musicians punctuated the words he said.
“A long time ago before any of your fathers’ fathers could so much as crawl, there existed an order of sorcerers whose knowledge was unmatched. They lived in a tall tower built so collect the power of the sun, the moon, and the stars. A city slowly formed around them and soon an entire kingdom flourished due to the sorcerers’ insight. It’s said that the kingdom flowed with gold and everyman was rich as a king. Farmers found their workload lightened by plants that harvested themselves. Tailors created clothes that never got dirty and were almost impossible to tear. However, the magicians continued their pursuit of knowledge desperate to attain new heights.” The speaker waved his hands as he told the story, the music slowly shifting from a light and happy melody to a foreboding one.
“It was then that a stranger appeared before the brightest among them and challenged him to a contest of magic. The tower champion fought bravely with every last bit of power he had but it was for naught. As the victor, the stranger offered to work with the tower to show it how to harness more power than they have ever dreamed of. Only one among the sorcerers spoke out against this plan. Fearing what his friends would do the voice of reason fled recording this story in the annuls of history. As the stranger’s project was finished the sorcerers found themselves overwhelmed with power their bodies couldn’t handle. They transformed into a thick black corrosive mist that spread out into the kingdom. Those touched by the mist became enslaved to it forced to build the tower higher and higher looking for even greater power. The tower still sits there to this day covered in mist with an army of slaves.” As he finished the story a thin smoke obscured the tent and the storyteller disappeared.
Thomas continued exploring the festival, finding himself tempted by the strong smells of various exotic foods. One booth even claimed to have fresh grilled squid. However, at the edge of the festival he found what he was looking for. Partially underneath the glowing leaves, a temporary arena had been constructed with rope fences separating the field into 4 circles about 15 feet wide. Next to each circle was a simple rack holding a collection of wooden weapons. Each weapon had blades covered with several layers of linen to dull their blows. A small crowd had gathered around a table in the center of rings. Standing behind the table was a figure calling for competitors to sign up for the tournament.
Standing at least a foot above everyone else was a man covered in pieces of carved stone. The carvings were intricate designs filled with dragons circling a shining sun. The few places that the armor didn’t cover revealed bright red scales. The stone gauntlets he wore ended in long sharp claws and his helmet opened up to reveal a long lizard like snout. A thick muscular tail wagged excitedly behind him.
“Come one come all and show your might on the battlefield.” The creature announced in a voice both coarse and deep. “Show me the ferocity of a farmer’s brood.” This was the second time Thomas had ever seen chlochdreki, a race of esteemed warriors who were famous for carving their armor out of stone found in the mountains they knew as home. Previously there had only been men among the traders probably due to the increasing tensions with the other races. Thomas thanked the gods the five races still managed to work together to defend the borders of Malagon’s tomb or at least that’s what he’d been told but living so far away from the cities stopped news from reaching him within months of its occurrence.
Walking towards the registration table Thomas prepared himself for the coming duels.
Alfar held a wooden sword wrapped in cloth in one hand and a shield in the other in preparation for his second bout and hopefully his second win. He had never been too keen on fighting but Deirdre’s eyes always lit up at the mere mention of a tourney. Whenever it was her turn to fight the crowd would lean in a little closer and the sound of chatter would dim. In either hand she held a practice sword as whirled around her opponent like a storm. Most foes would surrender before managing to return a single blow against her onslaught.
The exact opposite was Alfar’s fighting style where he would hide behind his shield until his opponent had an opening and then he would jab at their exposed torso. Despite the differences in fighting styles, they both found themselves among the four finalists. Alfar watched as Deirdre prepared to face off against Ciaran wielding a large two-handed longsword. As the chlockdreki referee shouted for them to start Deirdre launched herself forward slashing with her right sword. Ciaran rotated his sword just enough to block her strike and then deflect a jab from her left sword. The fight continued like this for several minutes before Ciaran finally swung his sword. Deirdre tried to pivot to dodge the blow and strike at the same time but just before she held her sword to his neck her left shoulder felt an intense pain as it was struck. With a practice sword to his throat, Ciaran admitted defeat as Deirdre grimaced in pain, her left arm dangling from her shoulder.
Alfar moved to check on her but found himself being rushed to the makeshift arena by the organizers while was rushed to a small medic tent. Alfar’s opponent was Thomas who had chosen a quarterstaff about a foot taller than himself. Alfar missed the call to start as his thoughts shifted to worries about Deirdre. The clack of the staff hitting his shield reminded Alfar he had no time to worry. Thomas jabbed with his staff rotating Alfar’s shield inward. Grabbing the staff and rotating Thomas wrenched the shield to the left exposing Alfar’s body. Alfar reacted by using the momentum of his shield to power a quick thrust of his sword hitting Thomas square in the chest knocking him off his feet.
“The winner of this duel is ALFAR,” the referee shouted as some people helped Thomas to his feet and out of the ring. As Thomas left Deirdre returned her should covered in bandages and her left arm bound to her chest. She held a single sword in her right hand.
“The final fight will be between the contestants Alfar and Deirdre,” The referee announced,” And to make this more interesting we shall reveal the prize they’re fighting for.” The chlochdreki held up a thin long rectangle covered by cloth. Upon lifting the cloth, he revealed a wooden box containing a long sword decorated in ornate engravings. Alfar let out an audible gasp as he saw the blade from his vision. In the corner of his eye Alfar also noticed Deirdre staring at the sword with a wide smile as though the sword were already hers.
“This blade is a family heirloom and upon seeing the skill of these two warriors and having no children of my own I offer it to the winner,” the referee stated proudly, “May you carry on the DragonBorn legacy and wield the sword that slew the dragon king, Scaleripper.” A cheer arose from the crowd, everyone enamored with story of the sword though none of them knew the tale of the dragon king. Some among the crowd had heard that chlochdreki believe themselves descended from dragons and figured it must refer to an evil chlochdrekian king.
“What am I supposed to do?” Alfar thought as the referee shouted for the match to start. Deirdre charged forward attacking wildly with her sword. Each attack was easily deflected by his shield. “Do I need to take the sword and destroy it or let Deirdre have it?” Alfar began to panic fearing the results of his decision. “No, the reason I was shown that vision was so I’d never take the sword.” Alfar thought as he jabbed forward with his sword, purposefully missing and lowering his shield. Deirdre seized the opportunity placing her sword against his heart causing the crowd to roar with excitement.
As Alfar back out of the ring the referee walked forward presenting Deirdre with the prized blade. Throwing the practice sword aside, Deirdre grabbed the blade and thrust it into the air. As the crowd roared for a second time Deirdre smiled at Alfar. The world felt like it slowed as Alfar looked at Deirdre’s shining emerald eyes illuminated by the surrounding forest. Despite her bandaged arm and the layer of sweat and dirt covering her skin, she had never looked more beautiful.
“No matter what, I will choose our future together,” Alfar swore to himself, ”Anything that stands in my way Lykos will damn.”
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