The dawn had broken today without a cloud in the sky, and the perfect
weather lasted into the afternoon. Match time for two more contestants
attempting to climb in the tournament brackets. Only one combatant would go
on; defeat, humiliation, and maybe death awaited the other. Above the Arena
was a clear azure sky; wait, were those spectators circling above, using
magic to watch the event instead of paying for tickets? Looking closer, one
could see that those were vultures circling above. Surely an ill omen for
one of the contestants.
To many of the regulars who attend fights every week, today's contest
appeared to be somewhat of a mismatch. Koobon, the centuar gladiator would
be fighting an Athasian halfling fighter and mindbender. Hopefully his
powers of the mind would serve him today; not only was he giving over a huge
size advantage to his opponent, but also the centuar was more likely the
faster over ground. Usually when a combatant yielded a size advantage, they
were the quicker of the two. But unless the halfling's mental prowess could
make him bigger or faster, most expected the centuar to win in these
categories. Which didn't tell the whole story; most knew that on a given
day, there was no telling what surprises one was in store for in the Games.
Yet even the small folk in the audience, the gnomes and halflings, were
afraid to bet on the Athasian.
A cymballier signaled the audience that the Games were about to
commence. The announcer's voice could be heard as soon as the brassy din of
the cymbals died down. "From out of the south gate comes Koobon, centuar
gladiator from the slave pens of Romus Todd." The centuar came out of the
gates, disdaining clothing much as centuars do. But he was equipped with the
tools of his trade. About his body Koobon wore both a harness, studded with
silver and gold beads, and a belt whose buckle was carved from antler. Over
his wrists the centuar wore a pair of shiny mithril bracers, and he carried
a horn on a leather thong, hanging at his side. He came equipped to fight,
with a pair of heavy looking morning stars hanging from his belt, as well as
a net. A long bow and quiver was slung over his shoulder to rest until
needed.
"And out of the north gates comes the Athasian psionicist-fighter,
Tak'Nak'Raq." As everybody expected, the figure that emerged from the tunnel
was diminutive, hardly taller than the centuar's knees. His mangy black hair
hung all about him so thickly it was a wonder that he could see at all.
Through the hair could be seen the halfling's leather armor, studded with
some magical metal that gleamed liquid in the afternoon sun. In his right
hand was a small sword; no, wait, the sword was 'on' his arm where his hand
would otherwise be. In his other hand was a dagger, and slung across his
back too was a bow and quiver. But his weapons looked like toys compared to
his much larger foe's weapons.
"Let the Games commence" yelled that announcer in basso tones that were
a counterpoint to the high-pitched clash of cymbals.
The halfling appeared to be concentrating, summoning his power, while
Koobon ran full tilt across the field of battle. As was often the case, the
centuar's speed was magically enhanced. His hooves thundering, Koobon ate up
the ground separating him from the halfling in a blindingly fast gallop.
Still the halfling stood his ground. Tak' seemed to still be concentrating
when the centuar brought his horn to his mouth and blew a deafening blast of
sound, as loud as the cymballier's magically enchanted instruments. From
hardly a hundred feet away, the blast of sound physically shook the
halfling, leaving him reeling in its wake. Dropping the horn to take his
morning stars in each hand, the centuar charged with a battle cry on his
lips.
Tak' was still unsteady when Koobon reached him, doing nothing to defend
himself. With blinding speed beyond what anyone in the arena expected, the
centuar began raining hammer blows with his morning stars down upon the
halfling at his hooves. So fast that they were a mere blur, the twin morning
stars came crashing down on the halfling again and again likes bolts from
the very heavens above. In hardly more than half-a-dozen blinks of an eye,
the centuar stepped back. The gore laying upon the ground couldn't be the
halfling, could it? As the moments passed, the spectators began to realize -
the halfling Tak' Nak' Raq was no more. Koobon had pounded his opponent into
a bloody mess that looked more like stew meat than a body. Holding his
weapons on high, each covered in gore, the centuar received the glory that
was his due. (
geocities.com/area51)