The Opening Ceremony

Altan Karn sighed as the morning sun broke through the window of his guest room in Sunburst Keep. The Malorans' newly built castle was certainly impressive, but morning seemed to come for him earlier in Resta. He tried not to think about how much sleep he actually managed to get as he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Today was the day he and his fellow Heronites had been waiting two weeks for. The Restans had spent weeks erecting a massive tent in the courtyard, building an arena within and stress-testing the structure. A letter then came the night before, stating that their venue was finally prepared. In just a few hours, he would be joining his people in an important battle.

The wolf snarls, the lords respond in kind. This tournament was what it had all been leading to. Did Chaos truly smile upon the Restans when they eradicated his brothers in the Brokamac clan? Is their new government doomed to cede the supremacy of their Pyrisian ancestors to these upstarts? A lot of questions had been hanging over the heads of the three lords of Heron since Hem Maloran and his rebels took Coronos back from the Pyrisians and joined with the people of Necros. There was an undeniable power in the kinship of these two former nations that Altan could only imitate with Torvald Piers and Borna Crowmont. Apart from the Piers lord's outburst and the Karn lord's resulting rebuke, the three of them had made a brave attempt to present a united front, but he had never seen such unity at home as he'd seen in the Restans. Unity had always been the source of the Karn clan's strength and he had hope to impart this value on his fellow nobles, but this trip had left him wondering

Altan swung himself out of the bed and rummaged through the the wardrobe for his clothes. He had set aside his usual expensive finery in favor of a flame-resistant vest, sash, and breeches for his appearance. This was because that, among the three lords, he was the only one who would be fighting. His sister had protested this decision every chance he gave her, but it was necessary given that he was the strongest of the remaining pyromancers. If no Restan could defeat him, then how could they prove anything?

Once he was fully dressed, he summoned his attendants to escort him to the tournament venue. The massive red tent that he was led to was nearly as large as the castle itself. Once inside, he found that the shadows cast by the stands that surrounded by the fighting pit nearly obscured the fact that they were in a tent. He scanned the seats and found dozens of men doing peculiar hand gestures while murmuring something too quietly for him to hear.

"Those are barrier casters."

Altan turned to look behind him at sound of the voice and saw Prince Gaius Maloran approaching from behind.

"Forgive me. I don't think I understand."

"These men are combining their magic into a great invisible wall that surrounds the pit," the prince explained. "They are responsible for making sure no harm comes to the tent or any of the spectators within so we can fight without holding back."

Altan raised his eyebrows. "You are prepared to fight to the death?"

"That's a risk we're prepared to take, but no one needs to die," Gaius said with a smirk. "We'll have healers on standby, of course."

"I've never met a healer that can treat severe burns," Altan said, returning the prince's gesture.

"You've never seen what a healer can do with magic," the prince said with a shrug. "I heard you'll be competing. You'll see what I'm talking about soon enough! Perhaps up close if you find yourself matched against me."

With that, Gaius walked away, leaving Altan alone with his thoughts. The young man had a reputation for being brash, but second in power only to his own father. Hem had abstained from participating himself so he could focus on his role as the master of ceremonies. Altan thought it was a mistake for Resta's strongest to sit out a tournament that was meant to measure the strength of their warriors, but Hem had projected nothing but confidence with his decision. That confidence seemed to be placed on Gaius.

Altan took a seat in the section that had been cordoned for the Heronite delegation and waited in silence as his countrymen slowly began to join him. Meanwhile, the rest of the tent had begun to fill with spectators from various parts of Resta, commoners and nobility alike. He could hear Borna sniffing indignantly as he took in the sight of the unwashed masses sharing their space. He might have lectured him for his attitude, but Lord Crowmont didn't seem to be making much noise beyond that. It wasn't worth breaking his focus. Soon, the king would arrive to announce the start of their game. Soon, he would know where Chaos' favor fell.

After an hour of watching people file into the arena, the sound of two horns filled the tent, heralding Hem Maloran's arrival. The king had stepped up onto a dais positioned directly opposite from where the Heronites sat, accompanied by a daughter whose name he had already forgotten. She sat first, leaving Hem the only person on his feet. Torvald nudged him, then Borna. The three lords shared a look and stood so they could face this rival ruler on their feet. As they did so, Hem nodded.

"Welcome, one and all! The king said in a jovial, but unnaturally loud voice. "As you all know, we are gathered here today to answer questions that differ based on where we come from. As Restans, we aim to prove that our nation is powerful enough to answer any challenge. And I am told that the Heronites who have joined us today aim to prove that their country has only grown stronger since their remaining clans have committed to setting aside their differences for the good of the north. What we have in common is the power of our unity. Today, forty-eight warriors will stand in this pit and fight to determine which country has benefited the most from this principle. I, Hem Maloran, king of the Restans hope that today's contest proves that we have the strength to overcome anything, but pledge to be satisfied with whatever outcome they lead to. I wish everyone the best of luck. Fight with strength and honor!"

The three lords shared a look that they each understood to mean that there was nothing else to say. It wasn't that Hem had covered everything they wanted everyone to know. They just didn't believe there was any better way to express their sentiment than they could in the ring. Altan nodded to his compatriots and left the stands to join the other Heronite contestants outside the tent. As he did so, the king concluded his brief speech.

"Since it appears our guests have nothing to add, there is no reason to delay this competition any further! Let Resta's Grand Tournament begin!

The Reception

"The Heronite delegation is here!"

"The honor guard isn't ready!"

Hem Maloran tried his best to maintain his composure even as his court had begun to panic. The Heronite lords and their entourage weren't due for another week and their arrival had caught everyone completely by surprise. It was hard not to see this unannounced entry into their capitol as a slight, but everyone was looking to him to protect his infant nation from war. That was the intent of his initial correspondence with their incoming visitors. 

"This changes nothing!" Hem called out in a booming voice, silencing the chorus of worried voices immediately. "Ready my entourage! We will greet them as we are!"

The king sighed as the servants rushed away to fetch the people with whom he had planned to receive their guests. Moments later, he was joined by his son Gaius, his daughter Lana, his three most prized generals: Arnold Desmond, Arthur Skye, and Walter Blackstone. The twenty guards who flanked them on their way out of Sunburst Keep wore their usual uniforms instead of the honor guard armor that had been forged for this occasion. A worrisome pall hung over the entire group as they awaited the king's leave to face their visitors. A simple glance at Gaius told Hem exactly what he feared from the moment the northerners set foot in their land. The boy had always had a bit of a hot temper and this gesture on the part of their former enemies was already stirring thoughts of war in his head.

"No one is to speak without my leave," the king warned. "You will all let me handle this."

With this command acknowledged by all twenty-five of those attending him, Hem and his entourage marched to the courtyard, where they were greeted by thirty Heronite travelers. At the front of the group stood the leaders of each of Heron's three ruling houses. Hem first looked to Borna Crowmont, who matched his gaze with a tired expression, clearly driven by the rigors in the trip. Torvald Piers, on the other hand, maintained an aura of haughty derision. This didn't surprise Hem considering the Piers clan's close friendship with the Brokamac. Finally, he looked to Altan Karn, whose face was the hardest to read. When their eyes met, the ruler of Mt. Phoenix spoke.

"Greetings, King Maloran!" he called out cordially. "We are ready to test the mettle of your warriors!"

"If the soldiers they've brought are any indication, I doubt they'll be that impressive. This was a waste of time!" Torvald grunted.

"If you can't respect us enough to arrive when we agreed you should, you don't deserve the effort of preparing a proper reception!" Gaius snapped.

"Gaius, I warned you to hold your tongue!" Hem roared, rounding toward his son. "Speak again and you will be confined to the keep for the duration of our guests' visit!"

The prince fell silent with a mutinous expression, which the king happily ignored.

"I apologize for my son's outburst. He is quite an emotional boy, and none of us have been able to see any good in your premature arrival," Hem said awkwardly.

"An apology is owed to you as well, then," Altan said with a sigh. "In truth, Dalaska has been visited with a terrible, unseasonable blizzard. We had to leave more hastily than intended if we were to make it out of Heron."

Hem nodded slowly as he digested this explanation. "Summer snowfall is uncommon, but not impossible. I am sorry for your hardship. You are welcome here in Resta until the snow clears. Please come inside and make yourself comfortable in our home!"

"I am grateful for your understanding," Altan replied with a short smile. 

"Sadly, we aren't quite as ready as you are for our contest as you are," Hem added as he parted his guards' formation with a hand gesture. "But there is much to enjoy here in the meantime."

"We can appreciate the position this puts you in," Borna said dully. "There is no rush to begin the tournament if your warriors need more time to prepare."

"Our warriors are always ready," Hem shot back a little impatiently. "It is our venue that needs more time to prepare!"

"Of course!" Altan cut in a little anxiously. "It wasn't our intention to cast aspersions on your warriors before the tournament. We look forward to seeing the stage you prepare for us!"

"Speak for yourself!" Torvald snapped gruffly. "The Brokamac were the weakest of our clans! Their eradication proves nothing! If you think you can measure up to the greatest warriors of Heron, you're going to find yourself disappointed with that delusion!"

"Torvald, your mouth is going to get you in trouble with more than the Restans if you don't close it!" Altan snapped to the Piers lord.

"A threat from a Karn? Now I've seen everything!" Torvald shot back with a booming laugh. "Don't worry, I'll be nice! Until the time comes for my men to demolish the competition!"

"I take no offense," Hem offered without a trace of honesty. "We all know why you are here. You're not the only ones with something to prove. With our mastery of the arcane and the power of our faith, we will prove Lord Piers' words are hollow."

With that, Hem turned his back on the Heronites and led both entourages back into the castle to get the Heronites settled in. This encounter was made more tense by the tempers of both Gaius and Torvald, but it went about as well as he could have hoped otherwise. His fears of war weren't quite confirmed, but only time would tell if they could be truly abated.

The Wolf's Challenge

Centuries of aggression have taught the members of the Karn clan one thing: if you go looking for trouble where there’s none to be found, someone will be happy to make it for you. No one understood this better than Tuya. As the sister to the clan leader, Altan Karn, her wisdom had become a vital part of the policies that guided her house. The Karns had spent many winters defending their precious home atop Mt. Phoenix from their enemies. The Piers of the west and the Crowmonts of the east had been some of their greatest adversaries while the Brokamac had been known for driving fear into the hearts of every clan leader. But the days of Pyris and battling both each other and the elements were over.

It was thanks to Tuya that Altan finally opened their home to the Piers and Crowmonts. It wasn’t that they trusted the other clans, but they had little choice but to learn to coexist. Their territory, while not completely comfortable, was more than large enough for all of them. Another thing that each of the three clans could agree on was that the Brokamac were not to be invited to these discussions. That clan was a threat the others would have happily discussed extinguishing together if the Coronosians to the south hadn’t already drawn their attention.

So, without the Brokamac to stir up the long-forgotten hatred between these families, the Karns, Crowmonts, and Piers combined their strength to form a more powerful nation. It was presumed that the Brokamac would fall in line eventually, but they did not survive to see the founding of Heron thanks to the eastlanders they foolishly tried to enslave. The news of the fourth clan’s utter decimation was met with mixed feelings, to be sure. The Piers Clan, who had enjoyed a particularly warm relationship with the Brokamac, called for war. The Crowmont Clan, who respected the Chaotic spirit of the Coronosians destroying their oppressors, called for restraint. The Karns, however, needed a long time to deliberate on this choice. With the Coronosians’ discovery of the arcane, they had become a threat that couldn’t safely be ignored, but they couldn’t advocate for war against a nation that hadn’t directed any aggression toward them.

The question of what to do about the eastlanders found its answer twenty years later. For Tuya, it had been a normal day of bonding with commoners, who the Karns particularly adored. She was sad to see the division that grew between the descendants of the original clan leaders of Pyris and those who followed them. Thus, she worked extra hard to minimize this effect by making everyone feel valued. In her conversations, however, she had learned something from passerby that her brother had not seen fit to tell her: the Lords of the Piers and Crowmont clans had paid them a visit once more. This in itself was highly unusual since Dalaska now existed as a meeting place for their three houses. 

Tuya rushed back up to the house and indeed found two carriages parked beside their own; one marked with a lapis sunfish and the other emblazoned with the symbol of a rose. Why they were here was a question with no positive answer that she could possibly think of. Fearing the worst, she burst into the sitting room and found her older brother sitting with the other lords, Torvald Piers and Borna Crowmont.

“Ah, Tuya! It’s good to see you home so early!” Altan said with a grin. “We could really use your help!”

Tuya took her usual seat beside her brother, to looks of disdain from the other lords.

“You would entrust this matter to the wisdom of a woman?” Torvald said with a scoff. “You Karns have really gotten comfortable on your mountaintop haven’t you?”

“Tuya is currently the wisest person in this room,” Altan said firmly. “As I am once again the tie-breaking vote here, she is going to have some say in what we do, whether you like it or not, Piers.”

Borna rolled his eyes and said, “Her rude interruption aside, I have no problem with this so long as we can settle this today.”

“Yet we must now waste time letting her catch up?” Torvald groaned.

Altan sighed and held out a scroll of parchment for his sister to take. “This is going to take some time. You may as well read this while the men bicker.”

Tuya unfurled the message, which bore the seal of a great Sunburst as its header. The words that followed read:

To the Lords of Heron, 

I am Hem Maloran, one the revolutionaries responsible for liberating Coronos from Pyrisian occupation twenty years ago. I am writing to inform you of my intent to join my house with that of the royalty of Necros, our neighbors to the south. What was once two weak countries is soon to become one that I hope will have the power to protect its people from any invaders. This is of relevance to you because of our previous hostilities with your Brokamac brethren. While war is not our intent, it is important that you understand the following words. Rest assured that we do not regret doing what we had to in order to save our people from yours and that this new kingdom of Resta will be ready should you decide to turn your swords in our direction once more. May you all be blessed.

Tuya frowned as she completed her reading of the short letter. She furled it once more and handed it back to her brother as she pondered its implications.

“Surely if this woman’s as smart as you say, she will agree that this is a challenge!” Torvald said insistently.

“You can’t be serious!” Borna declared with a scowl. “This is obviously a paper shield, meant to discourage us from seeking vengeance!”

“Vengeance is exactly what is deserved! Those wretches have killed thousands of our kinsmen!” Torvald boomed angrily.

“Torvald, you will control yourself in my house!” Altan snapped, a little less patiently than before. “Tuya, what do you think?”

Tuya frowned at the question, wishing she’d had a little more time to think. “I think they’re both right. This is clearly a challenge, but not one that’s meant to lead to war. The wolves are baring their fangs. Nothing more.”

“All the more reason to crush them!” Torvald said impatiently. “If we do nothing after receiving this message, it will make us look weak! Then, if they decide that killing the Brokamac isn’t enough to satisfy their rage, they’ll turn their swords toward US!”

“That’s a fairly bold assumption,” Borna said distastefully. “Would wiping out an entire clan not be enough for you in their position?”

“Their feud was with the Brokamac, not us,” Tuya mumbled. “To be honest, I don’t see why we need to consider them enemies at all. Even you have to admit that the Brokamac were unstable, Torvald.”

Torvald grumbled something beneath his breath, in which Tuya was sure she had caught the word “woman” yet again.

“What would you recommend?” Altan asked.

“Torvald is right when he says that ignoring this message will make us look weak,” she said, her confidence raised by her brother’s sincere question. “But let’s respond in a way that shows we do not fear OR hate them. I’ll be right back!”

When Tuya returned with the letter she’d written in response, all three of the lords nodded in agreement. Even Torvald seemed duly impressed.

“Yes, yes, that will do,” the Piers lord said with a big, toothy grin. “If Hem doesn’t respond to this, we’ll know his words are hollow!”

“Let’s sign it,” Altan said with a wink that was only seen by his sister.

One Last Time

Once upon a time, I wrote a few chapters for a story that I was interested in telling at the time. Even though I hadn't added to the story in a long time, I thought that finishing it would make a good special series for the season of Summer. So, I posted those chapters, but now remember that there was a reason I hadn't touched the story in a while. So, I'm completely over FFFL for now. If I see any interest in it, I might pick it up next year, but for now, I feel it would be easiest to start a new story that can hold my interest long enough to finish it. So, I bring you the first chronicle of a fateful event referenced in the history of Resta and Heron's Summer Festival.

Long ago, in the early months of Resta's existence, celebrations of unity were extremely common. It was easy to be caught in the revels of the marriage between Hem Maloran, the king of Coronos and Ilia Marle, the last surviving heir to Necros. With the combination of Karla Blackstone's templars and the king's spellwarriors united under the same banner, this marked a new beginning for the people of both lands. This jubilee swept through the kingdom, but could not penetrate the home of the new royal family.

Gaius Maloran had become used to many things during the Brokamac Occupation, but none of those experiences had come close to preparing him for life inside a castle. Sunburst Keep, as his father would call it, was meant to be a symbol of strength for people who were used to being downtrodden. But living there only filled him with anxiety. The massive responsibility that establishing a new kingdom inflicted on the Maloran family was one that Hem had always meant to take for himself. However, that didn't seem to stop many of Resta's subjects from coming to him with their questions. He hated it, but not as much as he hated the hopelessness that came before Resta. His longtime comrades had grown weak from years of war while his new compatriots from the former state of Necros brought fears of a disease he didn't understand to the court. These two peoples needed to come together to survive, which turned out to be much more work than he could ever imagine.

As a spellwarrior, Gaius had been sure of everything he did. He had many enemies to defeat in their oppressors and no one to question his actions but his father. But as a prince of Resta, his magical skills were meaningless. He was now expected to be a symbol for a nation that hadn't yet found its direction. These thoughts often brought him to long fits of contemplation in the courtyard. He would often sit by one of the ponds and feed the ducks, while intensely threatening any who disturbed him with the most powerful of curses. Hem Maloran had tried to make excuses for Gaius on many occasions, but one day, he could no longer tolerate his teenage son terrifying their subjects. He visited the boy early in the morning with an unreadable look on his face.

"We need to have a talk," the king had said simply for he was always quick to get to the point.

"My ears are yours, father," Gaius replied insincerely.

"I have worked hard to build a kingdom in which everyone in the eastlands can defend their neighbors, both from northern aggression and southern attrition. Do you not see the importance of Resta?"

It took a conscious effort for Gaius to avoid rolling his eyes and he only made the effort because Hem wouldn't tolerate any disrespect from him. He shook his head slowly and mumbled his response.

"I understand why Resta needs to exist, father. I just don't understand why we have to change to protect our people."

Hem sat down next to his son and wrapped his arm around his shoulder. "Gaius, we have to change because no one can better meet the needs of our people than us. I'm sure you can understand that our strength is needed to protect them, but it will never be enough. We also need the wisdom to turn our enemies into friends and our worn down citizens into an enlightened civilization if we are to survive. I know you possess that wisdom, but you must be willing to use it for the good of Resta!"

Hem sat in silence after his speech, hoping for Gaius' introspection to finish what he had started. Gaius could see the logic in his father's words. Without the wisdom to truly lead the Restans, what was to stop them from resorting to the savagery of their former Pyrisian masters? Conversely, without the strength that the Malorans had brought to the eastland in the first place, who was to stop the Pyrisians from returning? The burden on their family was immense, but Gaius couldn't think of anyone else who could handle it.

The prince's ruminations were interrupted by the arrival of a messenger that he recognized as Arnold Desmond, a warrior who proudly participated in Coronos' struggle for independence. Now a general of Resta's newly established Royal Army, it was unusual to see him delivering a message, but it didn't take long for the reason for his presence to become clear.

"A response from the... Heronites, I see," Hem murmured as he read through the letter. When he finished reading, he turned to his son. "As it happens, your transition to statesman will be a lot slower than I originally planned, my son."

In response to Gaius' unspoken inquiry, Hem handed over the letter and allowed him to read the following words:

"To the Maloran Family, Current Rulers of the Eastlands..."

Gaius frowned at the introduction immediately as he noticed the omission of the kingdom's name and the inclusion of the phrase "current rulers." It became immediately apparent that the northerners didn't take them as seriously as they'd have liked.

"We have received your notice regarding the formation of the kingdom you refer to as Resta and feel that a message from all of Heron is necessary to respond to your declarations in kind. As such, these words represent the feelings of all three of our noble houses."

These words seemed to contradict his original feelings. The Heronites were taking them seriously after all. Could this mean that the message opened with an intentional sign of disrespect?

"Let it be known that the houses of Heron acknowledge the cruel treatment visited upon your people by our Brokamac brethren and we hold no ill will towards you for doing what had to be done to assert the will of the Necrosian and especially Coronosian peoples. Although the lords of Heron all mourn the Brokamac, their legacy is anathema to values of our own accord."

Gaius frowned at these words, sensing a deliberate effort to avoid an official apology.

"This is a time of new beginnings not just for the East, but for the North as well. As Lords of the newly confederated state of Heron, we share your ambition to change the ways of the past. That is why, in the spirit of mutual growth, we propose what we hope will be a symbolic event for both of our countries: a final tournament in the tradition exposed to your people by the Brokamac.

Gaius nearly shredded the paper at the very suggestion. How could they seriously be expected to repeat the tortures of their past as a friendly gesture? He looked to his father uncertainly, but he only nodded, willing him to finish.

"It is our hope that with twenty-four brave Restan warriors and eight more from each of our houses facing each other in friendly competition, we can produce an event that will both heal the wounds between our countries and please Lord Chaos. Should you accept our invitation, we would happily defer to any arrangements you make for the tournament.

Signed, 

Torvald Piers

Altan Karn

Borna Crowmont

Lords of Heron"

Gaius handed the letter to his father and sighed. "What do they take us for? They don't really expect us to accept this challenge, do they?"

"Why not?" the king said with a scowl. "That is exactly what I wish to do."

"Father!" Gaius exclaimed in shock. "I don't think this is as friendly of an invitation as they would have us believe!"

"It does not matter," Hem said while standing up with a tone of finality. "They issued this challenge in response to a declaration that we would meet any challenge. Whatever their intent, refusing is not an option!"

"Shall I gather our warriors, my king?" General Desmond asked.

"No," the king said in response. "I shall leave the assembly of our champions to Prince Gaius. I believe this tournament will provide a measure of the motivation he's desperately lacked as of late. I know you will make me and your kingdom proud, my son."

Gaius nodded reluctantly to his father. While he didn't look forward to meeting more Heronites, rallying people to fight them was what he once lived for. He still had little sense for what he could do for Resta as its first prince, but a tournament was well within his ability to handle. With a smile that showed more confidence than he had felt in a long time, he responded:

"I will find the best fighters I can and together we will show the Northerners why we continue to exist!"

FFFL Part 2

Back to Part 1

Elliott

My manager is a greedy leech. Persistent, too. Lionel Wayworth always told me he was a better agent than I deserve. As if I was making his life more miserable by refusing fights in the off-season.

"We could both be talking to each other over the Moonsea from our own yachts!" He exclaimed for what must have been the hundredth time as he accosted me in my apartment on the morning of the first of Gytal "If you aren't interested in being wealthy,  just what are we doing here?"

We had been through this over and over. His face was red from a solid half hour of hard lecturing and his bushy brown mustache prickled with irritation. It had been a mistake to hire him, I decided then.

"Lionel, your services have been valuable to me, but I don't need to be wealthy. I make enough of a living with my tournament winnings," I muttered, trying my hardest to maintain my patience.

Lionel rolled his eyes and chuckled harshly. "You're the only client I have who has ever been able to say that."

Like many of my opponents in the arena, he showed  me a small glimpse of weakness. I had seen this enough times to know that this was the best time to press my advantage.

"That's because I am the best, in case you've forgotten."

"In terms of skill, sure. But I have plenty of other clients who bring in more fades than you."

He thought he had me with that point. He always boasted that he could spar with words at least as well as I did with a sword. He was testing The Silent Slayer. Just because I have no use for words doesn't mean I don't know how to use them.

"Maybe I would earn more if my talents were utilized more effectively," I muttered petulantly.

Lionel's eyes nearly popped out of his skull in response to the insult. I-1. "I have tapped every fucking contact I know and all I seem to do is keep the league from throwing you out on your ass!"

There he goes again. The "you need me" offensive. I decided to allow him this delusion, but it wasn't going to get him the raise he clearly wanted.

"How difficult is it to explain to a reporter that I'm not breaking any rules or hurting anyone intentionally?" I-1. I figured it would put him off his guard to see that I wasn't falling for his trump card.

"You smug son of a bitch!" Lionel cried furiously. "You need someone to take all of this shit for you so you can have  your precious training time! And for all this time I spend being the bad guy, I make eight thousand fades a fucking year!"

Ouch. Was he really suffering that much? "It's not my fault you feel the need to talk so much," I said quietly, trying to hide my concern under a mask of disdain.

He grumbled and reached toward the rack beside the door  for his coat as I turned on the airwave with a contemptuous sigh. As the screen glowed to life, my own face gazed at me through the glass and a female voice reported, "... Silent Slayer. This was because in 3E4, the wounds inflicted by the nearly mute competitor in the championship match were alleged to have contributed to the passing of his opponent, a 70 year old oni named Orson."

Lionel had walked over to my chair silently as I started at the image of the fated victim, as people would call him in the four years since then. "Do you see what I have to go through? You're the first client I've ever had who has needed me to go so far to convince the public that he's not a monster."

"At least they had the decency to mention that he was an oni," I growled feebly. "Maybe now I'll get less hate mail from the morons who think I beat up an old man.

A man appeared behind the glass next. His long alabaster hair framed a tan, lined face pulled into a tight scowl. He was adorned in the red and gold ceremonial robes of a Spellwarrior. "This is no honorable warrior,” he declared. “He maims all who stand in his way and hides behind the lawful rules of the Freeform Fencing League to turn away justice. He has rebuked countless challenges from my brothers and sisters. Justice calls for his sword and he hides from it! Face us, you coward!"

I continued to watch as this Spellwarrior verbally blasted me for several minutes. When I heard him speaking candidly about Orson, I knew he must be family. A human half-brother, I assumed. Lionel reached for the airwave controller in my hand and switched the machine off.

"This man doesn't even know me," I hissed, barely restraining myself from walking over to the screen and shattering it.

"Nobody does! You practically sent some half-elf to an early grave and now you expect everyone to be understanding? This make-no-assumptions attitude of yours goes both ways, Hawke."

I-2. He had me there. For years, I shunned reporters, refused challengers, and kept to myself. That can't have been good for my image.

"Tell me something," I mumbled with a turn toward Lionel. "Do I look like a violent monster to you?"

I figured he would tell me the truth, so I was surprised when he said, "No, you don't."

I raised my eyebrows at that response, but before I could say anything, he added. "But there isn't a soul in all of Comalan who knows you as well as I do. That's the problem, Elliott."

Not strictly true. Lilah knew me far better than Lionel does. Thoughts of her came to me just then, unbidden and quickly suppressed. Thinking of her only brings me pain, I reminded myself. Stop that!

"You know me," I said, frowning with the effort of keeping my attention on the manager, "I'm just not good with people."

"That is what you've got me for! But if you want the public to see you for what you really are, you're going to have to do some of the work yourself. Help me to help you, got it?"

I-3. Fine, he can start saving up for his yacht. I took my controller back and switched the airwave back on. The Spellwarrior was no longer talking, thankfully, and there was a bulletin displayed in his place.

Ser Willas’ Open Challenge - Today
8 FFFL Accredited Fencers; Guaranteed Entry for Elliott Hawke
Hurricane Gymnasium
1296 Sorrow Lane
Salica District, Resta Citu
Winner will receive 50,000 Fades and a chance to duel with Willas Green.

Lionel stared greedily at the reward announcement, but my mind was on Willas. "Call Ser Willas and tell him I'll be there for his little tournament."

The older man looked at me as if he had misheard me. "You serious?"

"Yes. I think it's time I showed this obnoxious windbag how wrong he is about me."

"You know this is probably a trap, right? This man has almost two decades of training over you! He may not have anything on you, legally speaking, but I'm sure he'd love an excuse to kick your ass!"

I only scoffed. "He can try."

FFFL Part 1

Now that Death Touch is done with, it's back to business as usual in the World of Comalan. So, here's the first part of a sports-themed series written for the season of Summer! FFFL is the story of two men with very different backgrounds, one a naive rookie and the other a standoffish veteran, who battle for the championship in Resta's premier league for regulated mock combat.

Simona

 I never imagined Audrey could have known someone famous. How many renowned people can you meet growing up in Fares, a town so small it can't be found on a map? As it turns out, the most respected name in professional freeform fencing is also from there. Who knew?

I love freeform fencing. Since I was 10, I've played with wooden swords, dreaming of one day walking into a FFFL arena. The skill and ferocity of the league's competitors has always been a thrilling sight to see.  Tales are always abound of freeform fencers who can hold their own against some of Resta's true warriors. To be one of those guys was the only thing more important to me than my girlfriend. Audrey never watched the games with me, though. She never liked sports. But one day, that changed.

It started on the first morning of the turn of the Gytal star. The opening of the FFFL season was officially a month away. I had been dreaming of Elliott Hawke, the current league champion. In my dream, we were dueling, and were evenly matched. I was deaf to all as our padded weapons struck each other repeatedly. Finally, I heard a disembodied voice shout, "Killing blow!"

Entranced, I gazed at my opponent. His chest had met the very tip of my sword. For a moment, the cold stare for which everybody had come to know him was replaced by a cold smile. He whispered something to me that I couldn't hear over the deafening cheers of the spectators. The arena then echoed with the gasps of the crowd as Elliott Hawke, the silent slayer, fell before me.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that Audrey wasn't with me. I rolled out of bed with a sigh, but I didn't feel as tired as I usually do when I wake up. The euphoria from my dream was still fresh in my mind, I realized. What a crazy dream it was! To think that I could beat Hawke! Yeah right, I thought. The hair on his head would be gray before I reached his level!

I began to rummage through my dresser for something to wear when I remembered that Audrey's brother Scott would be coming over today. I think he hates me. He rarely talks to me and when he and Audrey are together, its like I'm not even in the room. 

I decided I wasn't in the mood for that. Not today. Knowing that Audrey would stop me from leaving, I scrawled a quick note about going for a run while she catches up with her brother. Not very subtle. I knew I would pay for that later. I hurriedly donned a red cotton shirt and a pair of gildweave shorts, then snuck out of my house.

I was running before Audrey and Scott could say a word about me opening the door. I never have any destination in mind when I go out for these runs. I just like to run. As I sprint through the streets of Resta City, I tend to come across many fun distractions. Weaving through crowds, rolling under obstacles, and bounding over fences were all a part of my daily routine.

Today, many more people than usual strolled the city's stone streets and toured its marble buildings. One glance at any of the lemon-colored posters prominently displayed in each of the windows along my run through Helm Street would offer a simple explanation. I stopped at the corner where the street intersected with Blade Road to examine one of them.



 FFFL

 Open Tryouts


On Gytal the 1st, the Free Form Fencing League will hold its first open tryouts for the coming season. Interested sword arms should present themselves at the Flamespire Gymnasium in Resta City for consideration. The tryouts will be held all day.



 The Flamespire Gymnasium

 621 Blade Road

 Ragos District


I scoffed as I continued my jog around the corner. Had I not decided to skip the tryout this year, this would have been my fifth time. I wasn't ready to give up, but I hadn't been able to practice much since last year. The judge I partnered with that day wasn't content to send me home in failure. He sent me to the infirmary. 

That was when I met Audrey, I reflected just then. After my embarrassing attempt at besting that asshole judge, I was laid up in the hospital for a week. The first night I was there, she was the nurse who cared for me. Right away, I found myself flirting with her. Our conversation went perfectly until she asked how I ended up there. When I told her about the tryout, she just scoffed and rolled her eyes.


"Oh. You're one of those guys," she grumbled.

I raised my eyebrows as I asked, "What guys?"

"Toy swordsmen," she responded with a smirk. "I have never understood why anyone would want to fight with sticks in front of the whole kingdom."

That was easy enough for me to explain. "Freeform fencing is a noble sport! The league was founded originally as a way to gather the realm's finest swordsmen to compete for knighthood."

"But we don't have knights anymore, so what's the point?"

Technically, this was only half true. In the modern age, spellwarriors and templars alike were given the very same honorifics as the knights of old. Instead of pointing this out, I replied, "You never know when the land  will need good swordsmen."

She only laughed and rolled her eyes. Why not? If I wanted to be a true swordsman, I should have gone to Hem Academy or the Blackstone Monastery. Instead, I  was training to fight for sport with padded rods. She quite agreed when I mumbled to her that perhaps I had been wasting my time.

Yet, here I was, jogging along a road I knew would lead me to the tryouts. I knew it was too late to get in; I would have needed to started camping out near the gym the night before. But who knew? Perhaps I could run into my friend Dalenth, waiting in line as the two of us had every year.

In my hope to see my elven friend, I was not disappointed. He stood close to the end of the line, his spiky black hair gleaming in the morning light of the Kilg. His round green eyes widened with delight when he caught sight of me and I stopped beside him, ignoring the dirty looks if the others in line."

"Simon! I knew you wouldn't miss the tryout!"

I sighed and shook my head. "I'm not here for that. I'm just out for my run."

Dalenth's pale face sagged into a disappointed frown as he mumbled. "Oh. Well I wouldn't blame you, but I was hoping you would bounce back from last year."

The line moved just then, bringing something unusual to my notice.

"The line seems shorter this year."

The elf chuckled and shrugged. "Well,  you know a lot of the usual crowd joined the army King Baldus put together for the Mennon campaign. I guess freeform fencing isn't as interesting when there us an actual war going on."

Three weeks ago, all of the world leaders united in declaration of war against the fish people of Mennon, a world of endless water far from Comalan. I would have liked to enlist, but when the ships left, I was still recovering from my wounds.


"I should be out there with them! I can't fence for the crowd,  and I can't fight for real. David Crabtree has ruined my fucking year!" I roared.

"He's back this year. Today could be your chance to pay him back," my friend replied with a smirk.

That line did look short.



Meet Elliott in Part 2!