This next match seemed one that none of the spectators were looking
forward to. It didn't feature mul, centuar or half-giant gladiators. Nor
did it have elven and drow spell-slingers and sword-dancers. No
strange thri-kreen, cambions or half-dragons with their exotic features.
Neither the powers of good nor of evil really felt strongly about either of
the two combatants coming up. An old human in his autumn years matched
versus a kobold rogue. More likely a pilferer than a true highwayman or
bandit, knowing the tendencies of kobolds. To meet a man who looked as
though he'd be leaning on a cane in the near future.
Appearances could be deceiving. If the audience didn't know this, at
least the wiser among the Arena's own warriors understood this well, and
treated every opponent with a measure of respect. Until they took
their opponent's measure, and found it lacking. Then they closed in for the
kill.
The old man, Romb, the mentalist, knew this well. As wise in years as
his age belied, what elves and dwarves said notwithstanding, Romb never
underestimated his opponent. Today he would fight a kobold, a master of
deception and trickery. Romb hoped his path of clear thought would lead him
onto victory, and the next rung in this vicious competition.
Coincindentally, vicious was a good adjective to describe the thoughts
Kreeshnik was entertaining right now of Romb's death. The circle is a
common pattern in the multiverse.
With the help of the bugler, the announcer's voice won out over the din
of the audience. Most of the people in the colosseum had turned their view
to the Arena floor, to the two far ends. "From the north gate I introduce
to you Kreeshnik, a kobold rogue." Romb looked across at the kobold. He
was physically unimpressive, standing up straight he probably wouldn't clear
Romb's own chest. His limbs were gangly, but festooned with a curious
assortment of rings, bracelets and necklaces. He wore a fine cloak, but
sized for a kobold? As well as superbly crafted, gleaming metal bracers on
his forearms.
Romb wasn't sure what magic the kobold carried in his possession. But
one thing was sure; he would eventually quash the kobold's magics, and turn
this into a physical battle which he should win. Even though the kobold had
twin daggers showing; Romb had already erected a defense
against those and more. For a mentalist, it was just a matter of
concentration. Something Romb had been practicing for more than eighty
years now; he should have it right by now.
"And out of the south gate, Romb the mentalist!" A polite clapping went
up at this last announcement. So they like the human better than me,
thought Kreeshnik disgustedly. What was he, just a white-haired old
human in a simple white toga with a shiny necklace (shame I can't steal it,
amended Kree resignedly) and a simple ring. But wait, he had a shiny golden
ring on the other hand. Wonder what it does, thought the
covetous kobold. The old man had a quarterstaff slung over one shoulder on
a thong. Never heard of a 'poison staff', thought the kobold gleefully as
he considered his own envenomed daggers.
"Let the Games begin" cried the announcer. As the bugler signalled the
Games' commencement, Romb mentally translocates himself the other end of the
Arena, just where Kreeshnik came out. Appearing there a split second later,
he doesn't see the kobold who has become invisible. Let him find me now,
thought Kreeshnik as he flew to midfield, as hard to see as an honest man in
prison.
Sooner or later the little varmint will show up, and then we'll see bout
this 'invisibility', thought Romb sourly. Then from the middle of the Arena
a tiny ball of fire suddenly erupted and headed in a straight line path for
Romb. Unconcerned, knowing his antimagic field would protect him from
anything the kobold could throw, Romb concentrated a moment and disappeared,
to reappear an instant later very near where the fireball started. In a
moment more, the kobold faded back into its own ugly colors for everyone to
see.
"Rats" cursed the kobold, suddenly leaping skywards to fly away from his
would be tormenter. As soon as he was a bit more than fifty feet away, he
vanished once more. Whatever powers the mentalist used could only reach
that far, noted the audience.
So flying is part of your bag of tricks, along with invisibility thought
the wizened mentalist. 'Well, nature doesn't allow it' he thought sternly.
Only birds, dragons, and other things born with wings can fly. The plain
ring upon Romb's finger flared with brilliance for a moment. But Kreeshnik
wasn't concerned. Nothing happened after the ring glowed; no lightning, no
death beams. Kreeshnik creeps up carefully as only he could, and removed a
magical horn from beneath his oversized vest. Creeping up near the human,
but not so close that he could see his own self, he stopped and leveled the
horn at the human.
Then he blew. The din of the horn should have been deafening, the
kobold thought with dismay. But the sound seemed to die out just a dozen
feet from him, as though someone had but a cotton muffle over his ears. And
then the Human rushed forwards toward him. He jumped up, only to fall back
down on his palms and knees. He noticed belatedly that he could see his own
hands. Then his opponent Romb was on him, landing punches to his guts and
head. But each of his punches was met by a flash of light. An old trick,
and one that didn't last long enough to make it worth the trouble to will
away. Better to just batter it away, thought Romb. One last punch to the
head of the kobold met with limited success; the magic defense was
eliminated. But the hit wasn't a clean one.
Let's see if I can't put an end to this nuisance, thought Romb finally.
He'd dealt with the kobold's magic so far; now let's see if he could deal
with it's wielder. He jumped into the air and flew in a neat half-circle,
swinging his heel to drive into the kobolds forehead. But the deftly agile
kobold saw the kick coming and ducked at the last moment, his human opponent
falling towards the ground.
Good, thought Kreeshnik. Now I can do some damage with my daggers,
while the old man gets back to his feet. Maybe even disrupt his thinking so
I can become invisible or fly again. But as Kreeshnik drove his daggers into
the mentalist's back, there was a sudden glow of light
that stopped both daggers from even biting into the old man's skin. Kree
thought a stream of kobold obscenities.
Take that, thought Romb. The kobold must have struck him, he could feel
the energy flow into his aura. Sensing the kobold behind him he delivered a
rear mule kick to the kobolds groin before spinning and landing antoher kick
to the kobolds head. Leaving the little rodent reeling with his blows, Romb
jumped into the air to land an axe kick to the kobolds shoulder. Now Kree
backed up hastily, raising his right arm and pointing a finger at the
mentalist.
But it availed him naught. Romb quickly caught up to the runt of a
kobold, delivering a series of straight and reverse body punches that
knocked the wind out of the kobold. Finally, as the kobold staggered like a
drunken sailor, Romb leapt into the air to deliver the same kick the kobold
had ducked before. And this time he connected with the powerful reverse
thrust kick, leaving the kobold lying on the battlefield addle-brained.
A moment later the judges declare the match in favor of Romb. Save your
magic for someone else, thought the mentalist as he looked as
the dazed kobold with disdain. Then, with a thought he teleported from the
Arena floor. (
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