Wings of Forgotten Warriors: Titans of War

Chapter II

The day neared it's close as the sun dipped beneath the treeline. Lyle and Lyndal made for the Green Dragon Smith. The door swung open before Lyle could knock on the door.

"Come on." The same dwarven woman ushered them in. She led them into another room containing several pieces of metal and bars of steel. They had to walk slowly to stay behind her short legs, though they had no doubt she could plant their faces in the dirt in the blink of an eye. She removed a key from her beard and removed a few false boards in the floor to reveal a locked entrance to a lower level. The lock clicked and she stuffed the key back into her hair. She led them down a set of stairs. They ended up in a room that looked like any other office. A bookshelf took up one wall and a desk of diagrams and drawings of various weapons lay scattered across it. She moved for the bookshelf and took yet another key out of her hair.

"How many of those do you think she has?" Lyndall whispered to Lyle. A series of clicks echoed through the room just before the bookshelf swung aside. Instantly, chatter filled their ears.

"Don't touch anything, don't stare at anyone." The woman instructed. The room was surprisingly large. In the center of the room was a circular ring of stone. A wall of stone, which they walked on, was elevated about three feet around the ring. Some people were sitting, either in chairs or on the floor, though most were standing. Not all of them appeared to be a fighting type, but Lyle could tell that all of them have seen their fair share in life. The dwarf led them to a spot next to a set of steps descending into the pit.

"You two are lucky. We have one spot for  an available participant. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to fight each other." She offered. Lyle began signing and Lyndall quickly translated.

"Lyle is the only one participating. Wait, you are?" He shot a look at Lyle, as if to say, since when? Lyle just shrugged.

Just one of the smaller fights. The sooner we get this over with, the better. He signed. Lyndall didn't complain. He didn't like these sorts of things, much less participating in them, but he knew his brother could hold his own.

"Great," the woman broke in, "Now, I need a name, and where are you from." The siblings exchanged looks.

"You can lie too. I don't care." She offered.

"Lyle Sorra. From Stotham." Lyndall suggested. Lyle agreed. He didn't see much issue in giving his real name. No one knew him anyway, but he preferred to keep his place of origin a secret. He had only heard of Stotham a few times, but could think of nothing else at the moment.

"Alright. There's one fight before you and one after you. If you're not dead, I suggest you stick around for the final competition. She's quite the show stealer." The woman informed them.

"Oh, and if you need me, ask for Al." She told them before leaving.

"Is that your real name?" Lyndall asked as she walked away.

"Nope!" She called back.

A few minutes passed, leaving them a while to take in their surroundings. A few feet from the opposite side of the steps, five people were gathered, which the two presumed to be the competitors. One was adorned in cloth wrappings and loose fitting breeches. Her hair was cut close to her head, revealing her almost elf-like ears. Her skin was a beautiful dark olive, and her golden eyes shimmered with excitement. Beside her was a somewhat lanky figure. He dressed in the finest clothing either of them had ever seen. A dark blue vest was buttoned over a velvet shirt. A cravat was neatly tied around his neck. He jabbed and swung at the air with an intricately decorated basket hilted sword. His hair seemed to remain in place as he moved, as if it was one solid piece. Lyle couldn't help but wonder if he earned his wealth soaked attire.