Round 1 Fight 7 Part 1

The Stick has taken me to all sorts of places, from far-away palaces to realms beyond my recognition. So, when I appeared in a quaint bedroom, I was quite surprised. I was even more amazed when I saw the figure sitting and leaning against the stone wall of the charming bedroom, draped in lavender robes that drape dangerously loose upon his lithe body. He lifts his head just a bit, letting me see his tired eyes. There is a beauty in this sadness, and my heart ached for him. But also, my loins stirred for him as well.

“So, you’ve come to see my servant,” another voice speaks up. I turned, and there stands an older man with broad shoulders. He appears not like the nobles or aristocrats who would have servants, but as a simple figure, a man who works for his life.

“You have servant?” I asked.

“Indeed. As my father before me, and his mother before him.” The older man said, reaching into his pocket and producing a small gold key. I looked over towards the young, beautiful man, and I saw the golden chain connected in part to the wall, and in part to a golden anklet. “Who you?” I asked, looking towards both men.

“It isn’t important. I’m not important. My family may have been at one time, but the gods have forgotten us. They haven’t forgotten him, Maram.”

“Maram,” I repeated.

The older man handed the key to me, and as I touched his hand in response, I felt the magic flowing through him. “Wizard!” I shouted.

The older man sighed nodding. “Indeed, from a family of disgraced spellcasters, cursed now to be in service to the keeping of our servant.”

Maram stared up at me, the sad gaze upon his face not entirely genuine, and yet, not a falsehood. It was as if he knew not any other way. “Does he understand?” I asked. “I can’t take to be champion if he not consent.

“I consent,” Maram says, slowly standing up. He brings his robes up over his shoulders, the coverings perhaps a bit too small for him. “But I know I will not be at my full strength, not as long as I am indentured.”

“And may we never see that full strength,” his master said. “But, if you deem it necessary,” the wizard began, nodding towards me, “You may unlock his full potential. I pity those who face him, in combat or lust.”

“Let us go,” Maram said. “The gods wish to see the power creation has made, well, I am an example of what their creation has made.”

I hung the necklace over my neck, stuffing the key under my shirt. Considering this enigma of a man once more, I nodded and raised the Stick high to find his opponent.

Maram and I appeared upon a long and grassy field. I had never seen such an expansive land without the marks of mountains or forests or farms, and I felt then as if I could write page upon page in the glorious sight that I had seen.

Maram, meanwhile, seemed less overwhelmed and just sat upon the ground, crossing his legs and leaning back, staring off into the distance. I turned to him, asking him how long it had been since he had last been to a place so beautiful.

He didn’t respond to me, and instead, he lifted his head just a bit, squinting in one of the ever-present horizons. The sun was bright, so I could not see very far, but I felt it in my toes before I even heard it. It was the ever-increasing rumbling of the ground, of a great many creatures rushing in unison, like a terrible army of under-crawlers, ready to move through the earth and gobble up any kobold in their wake.

I searched my knowledge for all the defensive spells I could think to fight such a beast, but Maram lifted his hand and shook his head. “No,” He spoke, and though I had control over his leash, he seemed much more in control than me.

I listened to his calm and silky voice and kept my eyes on the horizon. There, I saw a magnificent sight — dozens of creatures, beautiful and wild. Their upper bodies were as statues as if they were the models for the Temple of Love. Their lower bodies were that of magnificent steeds, like those I saw hitched at the Aldevan Estate at the Anteronian Ball. Each of them with different patterns of hides and different skin colors, a pick of beautiful, strong creatures, each of them more admirable than their component creatures.

The wall of muscled and naked creatures stood there, staring at us for a bit before they parted, and one that was smaller than some of the stronger ones approached. The female’s look was that of an adult with little marks of age, though she held herself with an upright posture, staring down at Maram and then to me. Over her equine back, she carried a pack, tied on and with armor resting upon it, the only hint of protection she had in her unashamed herd.

“Charis,” she said, pressing a hand upon her breast. “Centaur.”

“Tik Tik,” I replied, mimicking her motions, “Kobold.”

Charis smiled, and then looked to the man sitting next to me, her breath caught in her throat as he sat there, his robe drifting off of one shoulder, showing off more of his tattooed chest.

Charis snorted and clopped her front foot across the ground. “Opponent,” she responded.

“Or lover,” Maram said, picking himself up and pulling his robe back up over his shoulder.

Charis’s composure returned as he stood before her, and the tension I saw between those two went past any other smack talking or contractual agreements between fighters I had seen previously. Charis is a champion, through and through, and Maram is an enigma.