Final Round: Tzerah the Voiceless vs. Avendar the Armorer [intro]
Indeed, the intermission piece was written for this round. However, this being the final, I want to pay a little more attention to the fighters. The usual introduction and lead up to the opening attacks therefore ran a bit long. Rather than edit it like a good writer, I'm going to break it off into this post. If you really don't care about storylines or motivations, skip this post to go right to the fighting.
In his cell, Avendar's gauntleted hand brushed over the top of his polished helm. It was an unconscious act - a muscle memory of the days when he had hair, and flesh, and a
life. The days before he had been entrapped in this all enclosing suit of armor. It was enough to drive a lesser man insane, but Avendar had conviction, and the fires of vengeance burned bright in his heart. His quest had led him across Brettonia, and beyond, in search of the foul wizard who had damned him so. Months became years, years became decades, and yet Avendar hadn't seemed to age. Would his hair have been grey now? Would his face have the deep lines of a wise man? If not for this cruel fate, would he be sitting in a country manor, bouncing children or even grandchildren on his knee? Somewhere in those years, he had lost sight of his goal, and had simply turned to
wandering - the only thing left to a man who had lost everything. Throgga's words had struck him though. The Orc's breath had stunk, his flesh was unwashed, blood unclean, and his mind was that of a lowly savage - but he had spoke of a 'good death'. It had never occurred to Avendar that his journey must one day come to an end. Even if he found the wizard, would killing him be enough to even the score? Avendar had been sure that he was still mortal - that one day the passage of time would leave him behind as dust. But it had never occurred to him that perhaps it would not, or that he would die before that appointed hour.
"You should fight with a clear head," a voice called from outside the doorway to the cell. The monk was here with his weapons, to prepare him for battle and escort him to the arena, "what are thinking about?"
Avendar looked up, eyeless behind the black slits of his helm, "Monk - you are a man of spirits - is there such a thing as a good death?"
The monk offered a hollow smile, "In Nippon, the warriors strive every day for a good death. Victory, their family, their yesterdays and tomorrows, don't matter to them. It is only good to die in battle, doing your duty for your lord. There is no greater honor for a Bushii than to die gloriously for his master."
Avendar took his sword and belted it around his waist, and stepped towards the door. In the wide, stone-floored hall outside the cell, the Hatamoto guard was waiting with his horse. The shorter man bowed curtly, and said something his in strange language. The monk chuckled,
"He wishes you a soldier's luck in your fight. He says that you gave him your word that you would duel with him when you are living among the Nipponese."
Avendar offered his hand to the stoic guard. Confused, the man stuck out his own hand, Avendar took it and clapped him on the shoulder. Then the knight took the reigns to his horse, climbed into the saddle, and rode out into the bright sunlight of the arena, and the roaring crowds.
--
Tzerah had been moved, after his last fight. It was improper to have the two finalists lodged facing one another. The monks had learned to give the strange Warrior a wide berth. Tzerah had not slept for two days, spending the entire time scribing the walls with the twisting prayer-spells of Tzeentch. Now the runes whispered to him, filling the entire second wing of the arena with ominous hissing, like storm-waves breaking on a distant shore.
A monk darted into the room and laid out his weapons and armor on the floor, before bowing and backing away in a rush, terrified of the unearthly happenings within the chamber. Tzerah looked over his assembled wargear. He lifted the heavy cuirass, and the runes whispered to him a new thought. He laid the armor aside. He knew this other contestant. Personally. Tzerah looked over his own flesh - pale, so thin that you could see icy blue veins running beneath it, and dusted with frost. For all the world, he looked like a frozen corpse - such was the blessing of Tzeentch to the armies of the warlord Borael. Tzerah had borne Borael's personal banner for centuries, and now, his Warlord had released him to wander the world in his name. It was fortunate then that Tzerah had found an old foe so early in his journeys. The Brettonian had escaped the will of Borael's sorcerer, the last survivor of a glorious battle between the warhost and the combined armies of the Empire and Brettonia. It was time to pen the closing chapters of that tale, and kill the only man to escape the frozen clutches of the Army of Winter.
--
Shogun Ittazen watched the ring with intense, undivided, attention. The Emperor was a stark contrast, lounging carelessly on his cushions and enjoying a sweetened rice ball. Ittazen scowled at Teo-Hahn, standing proudly at the arena's center, ready to introduce the fighters himself.
"Fortunate spectators and honored guests, I present to you the two finest fighters that the world beyond has to offer. For many days and nights we have held this contest, threshing away the weak, the dishonorable, and the worthless. Now, only two warriors remain, each to speak for their nations, and to stake their claim as the greatest among all the outside world.
Avendar the Armorer, Knight of Brettonia. From a land mirroring our own, where Knights serve their lords with courage and honor, Avendar has journeyed to our shores to speak on behalf of his entire kingdom. A wealth of trade abounds there, entire castles piled with gold earned in crusades across the many lands of the outside world. They stand an early kingdom of man, a gleaming light surrounded by the dark brutality of the Old World. And among them, Avendar shines brightest, and was chosen to fight before you all, here in Nippon."
The crowd cheered loudly. They fell silent as Teo gestured to the other warrior in the ring. "From the dark and savage wastelands of North, we bring you Tzerah, the Voiceless, servant of the Dark Brother, Tzeentch. A legacy of proud and capable warriors and raiders, savage conquerors and powerful warlords has been written across the north by the blades of thousands. That Tzerah has been chosen from among the countless hordes should be considered an honor. Indeed, Tzerah was once human, and there are many more changed even than he. The power of the Dark Brothers is strong, and it courses throughout the world beyond our borders. Tzerah's very face is a cautionary tale of the horrors that lay beyond our shores."
Teo-Hahn stepped back, clearing the center of the ring for the impending fight. Beside his knee, Avendar's escort looked up at his charge and whispered loud enough for only Avendar to hear, "Knight, I will answer your question now," Avendar looked down at him, "there is no 'good death'. There is only the end - cold and black, and lifeless. There is no honor for you in that, dying here in a game." The monk hurried off, clearing the arena.