by S. A. Devane
“No, if we don’t find one by the time we leave the city Roy will become our healer.”
“No I won’t!”
“You damn sure will. You know the rules of RPG’s just like anyone else, you need balance. Magic damage, physical damage, a bruiser, and a healer.”
“Well what are you going to do for the group?” He asked stand offishly.
“The ranged damage dealer.”
“You have eight unspent attribute points, you could pass me in intelligence right now.
“My stamina racial trait makes me a better fighter in the long run.”
“Well we should at least vote on it.” He looked around the room and all the faces looking at him said he was going to lose that vote.
“Well, let's try to find a healer first before I go spending my points.”
After taking the books I asked another question. “Also Mr. Crumb could you recommend a place to purchase weapons and some leather armor?”
“Why yes I can, you’ll want Nether Leather, they are the best in the city for leather bags and armor and right across the street is Blades N Such, a terrible name but what do you expect from an Orc. The weapons are great, at least that's what I hear. I’ve never used the things. Don’t forget to mention my name, they’ll give you a 5% discount.”
“Thankyou.”
We made our way across the central trading hub, a man in a brown robe, long black hair and a booming voice was standing on a crate. “For all people, we must come together. The system should keep us all alive. We cannot go back, and going forward alone will mean all our deaths. We must force the crown to give players a stipend so we may live, so our people in the gutters may live. How can we stand by while our fellow players die every day because of an unfair monthly tax? We would be no better than those beasts in the arena that kill one another for strength.”
“Umm, Roy, who’s that?” I pointed at the man.
“Joe, I don’t know every nut in the city.”
“Right,” I kept looking at the man and the small crowd gathered around him. I wondered how high his charisma was.
We entered Blades N Such and I bought five iron throwing axes and two short handled battle axes that hooked onto my belt. Then we went to Nether Leather where I bought a tough leather bandolier that held my axes on my chest. “So now that we’re done shopping are we going to go get a drink?” Kraznick asked as the sun rose above the buildings.
“Kraznick you should buy a bag of holding like Roys and keep bottles in there, that way we don’t have to go somewhere every time you need a drink.” I said annoyed.
“Yeah, I thought about that, but I can’t afford one yet. I want to keep at least five Mystic coins on me at all times in case someone else gets the same bright idea the Mayor had.” He bemoaned.
“Okay fine, where can we get a drink Roy?”
Roy smiled, “we can go to the Arena.”
A little excited, “can we see some gladiator fights?”
“Oh yeah, and we might be able to make a little money off it too.”
Splintir’s ears perked up. I’m sure he wanted to test out his high Luck.
The coliseum was massive, bleached white, and looked like the Colosseum from Greek history. A tan bulky man looked at our group and in a monotonous voice asked, “what seats would you like? A, B, C, D, or S?”
“What's the difference?”
“D is nosebleed, C and B are better seats and A is as close as you can get. S is a private room for your group to watch and there is a concierge service that will bring you food and drink and will place bets on your behalf.”
“How much for a room?” Roy asked.
“Ninety Platinum coins.”
“Well that's not so bad,” he counted in his head while his lips moved silently, “eighteen each.”
I was interested in something else. “How do you fight in the arena?” The tan man eyed me up and down. “Gretchen! Get out here, we got a wannabe fighter.”
A young woman with brown curled hair and flush cheeks ran out from the back room. “Yes Mr. Larimy?”
“He wants to fight.”
I looked at the woman and back at him. “That's not what I said. I said how do you fight in the arena? I don’t even know if the reward is worth the risk.”
“Well you receive different payouts depending on your rank, the higher the rank the bigger the reward. In the top 50 they pay one mystic coin per win. When you kill your opponent, you’ll receive triple experience.” My mouth dropped at this news, but it was too good to be true. “What's the catch?” “Dying of course. Fifty gold won’t pay for a revival. Do you want to fight or not? There's a line building behind you.”
I nodded, “sign me up.”
“Follow Gretchen, she’ll go over all the necessary paperwork with you. How about the rest of you, anyone interested? You all seem to be fighters in one way or another.”
Charlotte asked the most important question, “If we sign up, do we have to fight each other?”
“Arrangements can be made, but if two of you make it to the top 50 all bets are off, you have to fight who your assigned to fight.”
The others joined me and Gretchen in the back office. Except Kraznick, “but I wanted to drink,” he whined. “Then drink, fighters drink and eat for free as long as they fight once a day.” “Oh yeah? Sign me up!” And he plodded into the office with a wide smile on his face.
After we signed all the documentation, forms that read: the coliseum is not liable for death or injury etc. To receive perks of a combatant you must fight once a day. No hurting customers, employees, or other combatants outside of the arena. Only combatants can fight combatants. Attacking customers, no matter how foul they become will have you immediately expelled from the coliseum and all owed money and items revoked. Also you will be given a one year ban from entry and a two-year ban from being a combatant. Kraznick didn’t even read it, as soon as he signed the papers he had Gretchen call a concierge and bring him a bottle of whisky.
A muscular human with blonde hair and a short sword came up to the room. “Hi Gretchen, and new combatants.”
Gretchen told us before she left, “you five follow Fredrick down to the combatant area, he’ll show you around.”
“Hello everyone, I’m Fredrick.” He smiled his white smile and threw back his silky Fabio blonde hair. We all introduced ourselves to him and followed him out of the tiny office and into the massive rounding hallway. “Okay this is the lower level; the building has eight floors above us and three below. Lower level one, below us is where the combatant lobbies are, training rooms, and where you sign up to fight. Below that are the living quarters, only ranks 300 and above get free living quarters, and below that is the graveyard. If you’re down there, you screwed up. But don’t worry, plenty of fighters die and make it up the ranks.”
“Have you ever died?” I asked.
“Don’t be ridiculous, I’ve never died.”
“Well what rank are you then?” Roy asked.
“134.”
“And what rank are we?” Roy followed up.
“I don’t know yet. Probably around 3000.”
“How long have you been here?”
“Almost two months, don’t worry, you don’t gain ranks one at a time. If you get a three-win streak they’ll bump you up fifty ranks. Five wins in a row, they’ll bump you up one hundred till you get to rank three hundred. From there you gain ranks in bursts of 10. You can fight more than once a day if you’re eager to get ahead. That's why I am where I am. Getting to the top ten makes you royalty in this city. Guards won’t touch you. All the food and drink you eat outside the coliseum is paid for by the Arena. King Goodlim tries to recruit you as a bodyguard which is basically a life of luxury. Nobody even knows what level he is. He hasn’t been attacked in five hundred years. This is the fast track to immortality and the good life. You’re lucky you found this place. A lot of people just die in the wilderness chasing rare items and dungeon crawling.”
We
climbed down the flight of stairs and saw thousands of combatants talking and walking. It was like an underground city. Two plate clad guards about my height stood with their arms crossed looking at us. “It’s okay boys, new combatants.” It didn’t stop their disdained glares.
Fredrick continued, “Anything you will ever need you’ll find down here, except sunshine.” He smiled for a moment waiting for a laugh that never came. “Alright, to the right is where you can get your weapons and armor repaired, down farther they sell enchanted weapons, but only for arena tokens. Normal currency is useless down here, unless you're making bets. You’ll find restaurants and bars and a few hotels scattered throughout. Hotels take arena tokens, so I recommend you fight as often as possible.”
“Wait, go back, what are arena tokens?” Charlotte asked.
“They are tokens you get from winning fights. You can’t trade them for anything outside of the coliseum. You might be able to sell them to some people. You get them based on how entertaining your fight was. You get one no matter how boring it was, as long as you fight. They pop up into your interface like gold you put in your pocket. If you get 25 tokens, it was an edge of your seat, nail biter. Some critics the king hired decide all that.” He pointed down the long narrowing corridor, “straight down there you’ll find the signup sheet, Perkins, a nasty little elf handles all that. There's a big sign that says fight sign ups. See you around.” He waved and disappeared into the crowd.
Charlotte looked up at us, “what do you guys think?”
The liquor was already affecting Kraznick, “its sound like a sweet deal. I’m gonna drink them into the poor house.”
“Triple experience. Can you think of a better way to grind up? We’ll be back in Burnshire in a month.”
“I’m with Joe, I haven't heard of a better way to power level.” Roy said.
“Don’t you still have to tell the Bounty Hunters Guild about the Mayor?” Charlotte questioned.
“I’ll send them a letter and tell them I’m fighting in the arena. Tell them I’m here to get stronger to fulfill the bounty, they should let me slide.”
And you Trevor? “I’m with you sister. Whatever you decide.” His tail moving in the air behind him.
Chapter 14
Kraznick dropped his warhammer on the desk, “Are you’s Perkins?”
The the chalk skinned elf pushed the hammer to the side, in a tempered tone he replied to the drunk dwarf, “Yes, I am Perkins. Do you wish to sign up to be slaughtered little dwarf?”
“Little, why you lousy.” Charlotte put her tiny hand over his mouth. “Yes, we are all here to fight, but none of us will fight each other. I’ve been told these accommodations can be met.”
“Why yes they can. Who would like to go first?”
Kraznick stuck his tongue through Charlotte's fingers and started giggling as she said, “eww” and pulled away. “I wants to go first.”
“Very well, sign this sheet, he scribbled some illegible scrawl on the paper. “You have signed a magical contract. If you are not at the arena waiting room in fifteen minutes the contract will execute you. “What!” He blurted out leaning forward on the balls of his feet. “I recommend you leave now. Runner! Bring the drunk dwarf to the arena waiting room or the contract will kill the damn fool.”
“Yes sir,” a young boy wearing bright yellow robes said. He grabbed the dwarf, mumbled something under his breath and they sprinted off in a blur. We all looked shocked. Perkins explained, “low level wind magic, not very good for a fight, but great for getting places quickly in short bursts. Now who is next?” He held the quill out and I took it. Signing an X, I sighed. I really need to get my intelligence up to ten. “Your fight will be after your companions. I would recommend you go in the arena waiting room now. In his shape, you can bet the fight will be over swiftly. Runner!” Another young boy in a yellow robe came from the back room. “You know where to take him.” He grabbed my wrist and he pulled me in a blur through crowds, around corners, and stopped at a wooden door. There was Kraznick, his arm on the wall puking on the floor. With every wretch, he took another swig from the bottle. “Hey, hey runner kid. Can you get me another one of these?”
“Are you sure sir? Your about to fight.”
“Yeah I’m sure, it gives me power.”
“Very well sir.” Not a moment later the boy had an unopened bottle of Firewood Whisky. Kraznick threw the empty bottle down the long empty hall and you could hear a faint smash. “Thanks.” He said grabbing the bottle from the kid. “Where’s me hammer?”
“On the floor next to you sir.”
“Good,” he belched. A bald man peeked out from behind the door. Which one of you is Kraznick. He vomited again, “I’s be him.” The man sighed, “okay, let's go, you’re up.” Kraznick walked along the wall, his hand holding him up and into the room.
“Hey kid, where can I watch the fight?” I asked.
“There are some viewing portholes here.” He pointed to the round windows in the wall and I mentally prepared myself to watch Kraznick get killed.
An announcer's voice boomed across the stadium, “We have a treat for you tonight ladies and gentlemen! A lifelong blood feud is about to have another bought. These two races hate each other and have been fighting for five thousand years! You know who I’m talking about!” The crowd cheered. “In the east arena we have a new contender, his very first fight in the coliseum, Mountain Dwarf, Kraznick Gemcutter!” The crowd roared and the announcer waited for it to die down. “And in the west arena we have the Mountain Goblin Crackle! They aren’t fighting for themselves today, they are fighting for their ancestor’s honor. Who will win? The stout and strong dwarf or the sly and cunning goblin? Guess we're about to find out. Are the contestants ready? Is the crowd ready?” The spectators exploded in a roar. “FIGHT!”
Kraznick walked out bottle in one hand and dragging his hammer through the dirt with the other, all the while looking confused. While the Goblin across the field screamed a high pitch battle cry, sprinting full speed with two curved daggers in his hands. Kraznick set his bottle on the ground, patting the top as if it was his pet. He pat it again and looked at the Goblin and started walking towards him, his hammer at waist height. Just when the Goblin was within reach Kraznick swung at the green-yellow creatures rib cage. The goblin disappeared leaving a trail of black miasma. “What the hell was that?” I said aloud. “Shadowstep.” I looked to my right. It was the runner, he was watching from his own porthole. “It’s a dark magic spell.”
The goblin appeared behind Kraznick driving his dagger into his back. Even over the crowd and through the porthole I could hear the dwarfs cries of agony as he swung his hammer 180 degrees around him and crashing into the dirt. The goblin jumped back out of reach well before the hammer was near. Crackle began to circle around Kraznick pulling another dagger from his boot, revealing his razor tooth grin. The goblin circled all the way over to Kraznicks bottle of whisky and looked at it, then at him. Kraznick said something I couldn’t make out. But his face was overcome with worry. The goblin picked it up, spun and hucked it at the arena wall, smashing the bottle and alcohol spilled down into the dirt. Kraznicks face burned red, while the goblin laughed, slapping his knees.
Crackle charged again, and Kraznick raised his hammer to a batter's stance and swung when he came within reach. The goblin vanished again, but Kraznicks hammer kept moving, rotating with his whole body until the it reached the goblins arm. The power broke through his arm and crushed the creature’s ribs sending it rolling fifty feet through the dirt, tumbling and screaming. Kraznick threw his hammer over his shoulder and walked to where the goblin lay, putting his hands up in mercy. Kraznick raised his hammer overhead and brought it slamming down on the wounded Crackle’s knees. It squealed in pain and the crowd grew silent. He lifted the hammer again, bringing it down on the goblins other knee. Tears streaming down its face. I could see from the wailing and hand gestures it was begging for mercy. So Kraznick gave it to him, with a final blow to t
he head.
“Kraznick Gemcutter is victorious!” The announcer shouted as runners ran onto the field to remove the body. The crowd cheered as Kraznick walked off the field of battle.
The same bald man peeked out from behind the door, “your next.” I took a deep breath and walked into the room at the same time Kraznick entered from the other side. “Knock’em dead Joe.” He said as he passed me and slapped me on the back. “Thanks.” When I left, I could hear Kraznick yell “runner!” as a green burst of light flushed through the crack of the closing door.