Interlude: The Center of Death Tournament

Xela stared straight ahead, he couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of him because of the fog that had moved in overnight. In the month of Selwyn, the fog would roll up from the coast and settle into the natural depression in the landscape known as Tournament Plains. The tournament organziers used this natural phenomenon to heighten the audience’s anticipation of the day’s fighting. Xela’s sister, Ceylina, stood behind him, eyes closed, focusing on the strategy they had discussed hours before. Behind her stood Balto humming an old Kirzan battle song softly to himself. Xela took a deep, mind-cleansing breath. He was ready.

A cacophonous chorus of crunes suddenly filled the air with triumphant music. Underneath the music, a buzzing sound could be heard, the source of which soon revealed itself. The mists were blown away from the battlefield by a dozen king stasisks beating their immense wings. These giant flying carapids were tethered to the earth by cords normally used to anchor airships. Xela took the cue and strode onto the battlefield, his orange robes electric against the crisp blue sky.  

Once the mists had been cleared, anchors from the Skywall Anchor’s Association reeled the king stasisks back to the ground, where they clicked and clacked like insectoid umpires. Their hitching posts formed the boundaries of the battlefield and the anchors stood next to them monitoring the action and the stasisks. Beyond them, on wooden risers, stood the audience in viewing booths. Each booth contained a party atmosphere as the audience mingled and cheered dressed in costumes and masks. The Center of Death Tournament was a guilty pleasure for the attendees and no one wanted to give away their true identity.

The only identities that Xela knew in the vicinity were his teammates and his opponents, whom he could see now as they lined up opposite him on the battlefield. There was Quar’goth of Ithilia, a cunning and cocksure cipher. Quar’goth’s teammates were a bit more of a mystery, some vagabonds from Fairewood, a young Sidrani urchyn and a hefty Kirzan anvyl. Xela believed his team’s strength lie in the advantage his sister would have over the urchyn. They couldn’t lose. Quar’goth’s beady Siryl eyes stared intently at Xela and Xela returned their intense gaze. The cipher’s black robes were adorned with symbols and signs unknown to the savant. “Your formulas won’t help you this round,” the Sarajan whispered.

The crune players fell silent as the tournament proctor took his place on a raised platform at the center of the row of viewing booths. He wore purple robes adorned with skeletons stitched in silver thread. Over his head he wore a mask shaped like a bird head with a trumpet for a beak. The beak amplified his voice as he addressed the combatants and the crowd.

“Distinguished spectators and jolly speculators, I welcome you to the final round of our tournament. Many have fought bravely over the course of these few days, but only six remain to test their might and their will. Let us welcome those who will be fighting in honor of their ancestors who died noble deaths before them. Today’s fallen will have the privilege of preserving that tradition of noble death and bring glory to their bloodlines. “ A loud chorus of cheers erupted as the proctor finished his line and paused.

The proctor waved his left hand toward Xela. “The team representing Sanctum is lead by Xela of Exedosa, member of the Saraja High Council. He is joined by Ceylina of Saraja Fay, a glaive knight, and Balto Fannerbock of Farpoint, a mercenary for hire.” Each team member took a bow when their name was called and the crowd cheered loudly for them. Their masks contained whistles, rattles and amplifiers that modified their voices. The resulting noise thundered over the battlefield louder than the crune chorus.

“The team representing the Sequence of Seven is lead by Quar’goth of Ithilia, a cipher. He is joined by a pair from Fairewood: Fretly Quickfinger of the Fairewood Urchyn’s Clan and Farley Strongheart, an anvyl from the Cirqus of the Three Moons.” Again, a wave of cheers and chaotic noise swept over the battlefield.

The proctor raised his hands in the air and the crowd grew quiet. “The team representing the Sequence of Seven has won the right to take action first. Which team will be victorious? Let us find out. Begin!” The most deafening blast of sound yet washed over the combatants as they scrambled to take their strategic positions. The proctor took off his bird mask to reveal a blood red hood. He launched a radia flare that exploded over the battlefield, startling the king stasisks, all of which took flight and strained against their tethers. Xela rolled up his sleeves and lowered his head. It was time to fight.