“I find it strange,” Zeldria's heart jumped for a moment as one of her fellow Gems came alongside her and spoke, “That they would show kindness in the face of all they have done to prove that they are anything but.” The Gem in question had an exotic look to her, with dark hair and bronzed skin. Her body was toned as well, like a dancer's.
"Yeah," she replied, her new acquaintance voicing her very concerns, "That's what has me worried."
“Although I suppose even drakken have to agree that a dirty, travel weary girl would make for a poor prize,” the other Gem said in kind as she seated herself by one of the nearby pools.
“I’m Xaelia, by the way.”
"Zeldria. You don't... think there's anything in the water, do you?" she asked hesitantly as she crouched next to Xaelia at the edge of the pool.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter if there is or isn’t something there. We have to go in regardless.”
That, Zeldria thought, was something she hadn't considered. There were still guards about, and given previous instances,she doubted refusing the bath was an option. She still highly suspected some kind of cruel jest at their expense in play, but that was little more than suspicion, a phantom punishment that may not exist at the end of it all. The punishment for going against what she was told, however, was a vivid certainty.
"You raise an excellent point," she said as she stood up, took a breath, and then slowly unwrapped herself. She draped her towel over a nearby stalagmite and took slow, careful steps into the pool. She stopped, waiting for whatever horrible thing had been done to the water to show itself... and when it didn't, she lowered the rest of her body down and into the water.
A wave of warmth followed the surface as she sank into the spring, the water sapping away her fatigue by the second as her muscles relaxed and her cold skin warmed once again. She vaguely registered Xaelia following suit next to her, but for the moment she was lost in the sensations that brought pleasantry she'd become a stranger to these past weeks.
"It's... actually kind of nice;" she said, her voice passively sighing contently, "Really nice, in all honesty. Almost makes me forget where we are."
“Almost,“ Xaelia said in kind as her attention turned toward the wall of the cavern. Zeldria followed her gaze toward a pair of Drakken guards who'd clearly been taking their time watching the two of them undress and get in. The Gems stared ruefully at them, but that was all they could do. Not that it would deter the brutes regardless.
"Well, at the very least they seem to keep it to just their eyes. For now. Small raindrops in the summer, we used to say back home." Home. Now there was a forbidden word. But, she reminded herself, she had to stop thinking of such things. Clinging to the past would only make moving forward harder. Instead, she sank a little deeper into the spring and tried to let the water wash away her memories as well as her aches. But it seemed Xaelia had other things on her mind, as she stared intently at something along the side of the pool.
"What has you so interested?" Zeldria asked
“M’not sure.” Came the reply as Xaelia moved her hands about and caused the spring water to ebb away from where she looked. Zeldria pushed herself up and moved over to look as well. The light in the cavern was proving too dim, she thought, so she raised her hand and conjured a small flickering flame onto to for light and held it near the spot. There, carved into the stone, was some sort of writing, though Zeldria couldn't quite make it out herself. “We... are not.... things.”
"Things? Huh." Zeldria pondered that for a moment. Surely it couldn't have been a Drakken who did this. Things? The Gems had certainly been taught that they were things, not people. And its location in the springs, perhaps...?"You don't suppose a Gem made this?"
“Whoever wrote it... they aren’t wrong” Xaelia responded as she released her control and allowed the water to resume its shape.
"Yeah... they aren't." Zeldria affirmed as she put out her light. She turned and reached for one of the washing utensils at the edge and began to tend to herself. The scribbles in the rock had the right of it; they weren't just things to be toyed with, they were living, breathing beings. And even if their tormentors didn't agree with that, they had to retain that knowledge for themselves. It was one of the only comforts they would find in this land. Well, that, and kindred spirits. Zel had kept to herself mostly up until now, but being able to converse and connect with another Gem had proven to be precisely what she needed to keep going. Perhaps she could survive after all.
But, as the call came some time later to cut short their time in the spring, she was reminded of the constant menace. As she dried herself as best and as fast as she could, she was still glad for the time spent with Xaelia. She would need all the help she could get...
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Wilhelm the Black Blade
(Titles and Relations TBD)
Unlike many of the fighters, who chose to let the time before their bouts pass in the stands enjoying the food, drink, and company offered, Wilhelm spent his time in what was effectively the barracks, seated on a bench with his hands interlaced, his head bowed, and his sword in his lap. Meditation was hardly a Drakken pastime, and nobody would mistake Wilhelm of doing so, but over many years he'd found assuming the pose in a quiet place helped him to hone his senses and sharpen his focus on the battle that was to come. His opponent was not one of note; a young, hot-headed Drakken probably eager to prove himself for the first time. By all accounts, it would be little problem for the Black Blade to force his surrender. That, however, was no excuse to be lax. A single chip could snap a blade, and a single mistake could lose a duel. And so Wilhelm sat, honing his mind for a battle of blood, steel, and wits that was to come.
"Lord Wilhelm," came the voice of one of the guards nearby, "You're up next."
"Am I?" he replied without raising his head, "Quite a bit earlier than what I was originally told."
"There's been some changes. Some commotion just happened in the stands. Pit Master has orders to produce a good one so's to take the crowd's mind off it."
"And he relies on me to provide," Wilhelm said, finally raising his gaze to look the guard in the eye, "Is my opponent reassigned as well?"
"That's right," the guard replied, consulting a note, "It's to be Captain Stalgren."
"Captain Darius Stalgren? The Desert Reaver?" Wilhelm asked, his interest piqued.
"The very same. You have two minutes."
"Very well. Perhaps this will have been worth the time after all..." Wilhelm said as he gripped his sword and stood, stretching his muscles. Darius Stalgren was one of Drakka's best, an older fighter who still managed to shame Drakken half his age. His axe technique was flawless, his grit renowned, and his ferocity knew few equals. He was, to the bone, a true warrior. He and Wilhelm had battled once before, nearly 30 years prior- it had ended in a draw. And now, it seemed fate had conspired to bring them to blows once more. It was a good thing he had spent his time to focus; Wilhelm would need all of his ability to some out on top in this new battle.
Two minutes later he was striding out into the pit, head held high and eyes locked on the man opposite him. Darius was a little shorter than Wilhelm, but he was also stockier. The Reaver's beard remained immaculate, as always, and he still wore the scar on his nose like a badge of honor. And, as always, he carried his greataxe on his back, its size and weight terrifying even when not in motion. Even as the crowd roared, the two men only paid attention to one another.
"Captain."
"Your Lordship."
"I'm glad to see you can still heft your axe." Wilhelm said, half smiling and half sneering in good jest.
"Ha! It'll take another century yet before my arms give out. And I'll be fighting until the day they do." Stalgren replied, smiling in return.
"It is the Drakken way, is it not?"
"That it is. And someone needs to keep the young wolves in their place! Bwa ha ha ha!"
Wilhelm grinned again as he spread his legs and took a fighting stance. "You and I both know this will be no disciplinary meeting."
"True," the Reaver replied as he drew his axe and squared up as well, "You're not the kind of opponent I can afford to take lightly."
Stalgren's attention turned to the stands, where the jeers and yells had begun to reach a fever pitch. "The crowd's getting restless. Shall we give 'em what they want?"
"Naturally," Wilhelm replied as he swept his cloak off of his body, threw it aside to reveal his bare chest, and drew the black sword that was his family's legacy from its house at his waist. "It will be an honor to defeat you."
"Likewise. Now, enough talk!"
The Reaver surged forward with his axe in both hands, a battle roar filling the air as he closed the distance. Rather than flee or try to recreate the distance, however, Wilhelm lunged in himself and sent his sword snaking forward in a series of thrusts. Stalgren deftly knocked the point away with the axe's haft, but the swift counterstrike had forced his charge to slow. Wilhelm wasted no time as he pressed the advantage he'd earned, lashing at Stalgren's head and chest with a barrage of slashes and thrusts. His target evaded or parried them with little effort, but was still ceding ground as he backed away from the singing edge of the sword.
With another bellow Stalgren ceased retreating and swung the head of his axe up into Wilhelm's sword, knocking the tip high overhead and instantly sliding his hand down to the bottom of the handle as momentum carried the axe up and behind him. As soon as it reached its apex he swung, the axe head barreling downward with horrifying speed. With not a moment to spare Wilhelm leaped to the side as the axe came crashing down, shaking the floor of the pit with the impact.
As soon as he fully landed Wilhelm shifted his weight and ran toward Stalgren, aiming to strike before he could ready the axe again. He swung his sword up from the ground in a rising slash as he rushed toward his opponent's left side, to which the Reaver replied by clenching his left fist and swinging his forearm outward to bat the sword away. The edge bit into his arm in the process, but it was merely a surface wound that would cost him little. And as he swatted the sword away his other arm tore the axe from the ground and brought it around to swing from the side. Wilhelm, without missing a beat, righted his sword arm and passed it across his front to meet the attack with the flat of the blade. The lack of distance on the swing combined with its one-handed nature made it possible for the beat parry to work, and Wilhelm instantly moved from it into another assault!
But the bold defense hadn't been without consequences. The greataxe was still shockingly heavy, and displacing all of its weight had forced Wilhelm's hand to stall for just a moment. In that moment Stalgren had sprang backwards and away from the follow-up attack. Both men paused for a moment and regained their composure as the crowd roared.
"Is that all you've got, Black Blade?!"
"I've only just warmed up, old man!"
With that the battle resumed as both men surged forward and into the fray. This time it was the Reaver that took the offensive, bringing the axe to bear in a round of short swipes and jabs with the wedge as he advanced. Wilhelm danced from side to side as he weaved around the attacks, taking light wounds in the process but keeping the damage to a minimum. Finally, as Stalgren reared back and sent a large swing again, Wilhelm pivoted on his back foot and spun away from the axe's reach. As he came around again the black sword sang through the air once again, driving Stalgren back as he blocked as best he could.
As they clashed, however, Stalgren took one of his hands away from his weapon briefly and used it to conjure a fireball in his hand that he hurled directly at Wilhelm's face! Wilhelm raised his own hand and called a gust of wind to guide the flames away from him, but as his attention was divided Stalgren was upon him again with the axe driving down toward his head. With little time to react, Wilhelm made a costly error- he raised his sword to defend himself, wedging it beneath the axe head on the haft, but as soon as contact was made Stalgren ripped the axe back toward himself, catching the sword inside the head's curve and tearing it from Wilhelm's hands! With his sword sent tumbling away and his opponent still bearing down, Wilhelm had little time to think and less still to act. Before Stalgren could ready another swing Wilhelm surged forward, reaching both arms out to grab the axe himself, his hands right next to Stalgren's on the haft, and engaging the older Drakken in a battle of raw strength!
Muscles bulged in both sets of arms as they wrestled over the axe, each one twisting this way and that trying to force the other to relinquish their grip. The pair spun about the arena as the continued to struggle, neither giving an inch- but where Stalgren was entirely focused on Wilhelm and the axe, Wilhelm's attention occasionally flitted elsewhere. Then, as Stalgren made to twist the axe again, Wilhelm tapped into his command of the earth and willed the stone beneath his sword as it lay nearby to suddenly and forcefully jut upwards like a seesaw, flinging the blade through the air. At the same time he suddenly released his grip on the axe and backed away, letting Stalgren throw himself to the side as he had prepared to meet resistance that was no longer there. Before his opponent could properly recover Wilhelm reached up, called the wind to adjust the sword's trajectory, caught it out of the air, and immediately brought it slashing down across Stalgren's back! No flesh wound this time, the black edge carved a deep gash into the Reaver's shoulder blades, provoking a bellow of pain. Wasting nothing, Wilhelm drove his boot up into Stalgren's abdomen, forcing the Reaver to drop his axe and roll over, at which point Wilhelm's foot was planted on his chest with sword leveled at his neck.
And yet, despite the pain and danger, the elder Drakken found himself smiling. "Ha!" he laughed, "Nicely done!"
"You nearly had me old man," Wilhelm replied, "Your skills are as sharp as ever."
"And yours have only gotten sharper. Good. Drakka needs sons like you."
With that, Wilhelm sheathed his sword, stepped off of his opponent, and helped him to his feet. He retrieved his cloak again as the spectators roared and made his way back to the barracks. It seemed as if the rabble were satisfied. He certainly was, in any case.
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