The Arena

Death to the weakling

Her feet felt heavy as she dragged them on the dusty earth, walking with her head held high, in the scorching sun. Was it always this hot in the Badlands? She felt tiny drops of cold sweat running down her neck and back, reminding her way too much of the whiping chamber. The crowd kept cheering her and Baruing kept talking while she made her way to the center of the arena.

She wondered about the new prisoner, what kind of person he was. Maybe a new race? Perhaps an undead? Baruing never allowed Forsaken there, but maybe this time he changed his mind. Would he have a raven?

‘What raven?’ asked a small voice from the back of her head.

‘You know, a black one!’, she responded back, a bit annoyed at the question. Of course there would be a raven. Tellor told her about it.

‘There’s no raven…’, came the voice back. ‘The guard said it was dead’. 

Each word felt like heavy banging on her skull and sending small spikes of pain to her hands. Her fingers clenched on her daggers, almost numb and she had this strange feeling that her arms and hands weren’t hers anymore. She looked around, trying to spot Tellor. He knows about the raven. He spoke to Safina, afterall. But as she tried to look around, she could barely make out the cells' bars. It was as if every rock and spec of dust was reflecting the sun back at her, making it almost impossible to see anything. She would have to be careful during the fight and avoid facing the sun.

But, for some reason, all the light made her anxious. She turned and realised it was the same everywhere she looked. It was as if the sun came down and settled closely above her head, blinding everything surrounding her, making their outlines blurry. She wouldn’t be able to see the raven this way…

‘There is no raven!’ the voice said again and she could feel hints of anger and sadness and pain stirring inside her. Her hands started trembling and the general noise around her became louder.

‘He’s alive! I know he is!’ she added, but the voice remained silent. ‘He is!’ she almost screamed in her mind, but no answer came.

The crowd was louder and louder, while inside her mind a creeping silence was engulfing every corner. She wanted confirmation. She wanted to know for sure. She couldn’t take it anymore. But she couldn’t even hear her own thoughts with all the general noise from the arena, as if all the people there were standing right next to her, yelling right in her ears. How could she hear that mean voice, that insisted that her raven was dead, admit that she was right? How could she hear Asendriel? 

Will she hear him again? She felt the ground and the arena slowly spinning around her and her head hurt. Will she touch him again? Her whole body felt hot and cold at the same time. Will she see him again?

A low laugh almost like a growl caught her attention above all the noise and she looked straight ahead.

‘...ladies and gentlemen: Tir’gal of the Arcane!’

Baruing’s voice came from afar while the crowd slowly went quiet. Alera looked, but she didn’t know what to make of this creature.

Between the sun rays, she could see it was twice as high and around three times wider than her. Its skin, a light ochre, seemed tough and wrinkled in several areas, as if it had too much of it. Its head was oval in general, but it reminded her of a giant rock, with his features as if chopped. He had a large horn decorating its forehead, right above a single, centered, bulgy eye. Its mouth was opened, as if grinning at her, showing two small yellow tusks.

Ogre…

It came to her almost like a dream. She remembered the other healers mentioning them. Fierceful and vile creatures that were said to have enslaved the orcs at some point in their history. She never believed it, after seeing how the orcs fought, but looking now at the beast in front of her, she couldn’t help but think that maybe there was some truth to those tales. She stared at him, trying to concentrate. He had a purple cloth tied up above his left shoulder, revealing several long scars on his chest and no weapon. A mage, perhaps, judging by his name.

She vaguely heard Baruing starting the fight and that was all that Tir’gal waited for. With swift hands movements and yelling several short words, he started conjuring his attack. His words seemed too melodical, to the point that she thought that it was impossible for him to dictate them, but purple sparks appeared out of nowhere around his palms and she barely managed to dodge the attack.

Around three rays sprung forth and she barely managed to jump from their path. Her head was spinning and her vision was getting blurry. As she landed, she started running towards him. Fighters like him were always powerful, if they managed to keep their enemies at bay. But close range attacks were usually fatal. She heard him cast again, but a moving target was harder to hit. She had almost reached him.

Alera lifted her arm to strike, but the ogre yelled a short, single word and she was pushed back by an invisible force, propelling her several feet away, down on her back. She got up just in time to avoid a purple circle that appeared on the ground right at her feet. At this point, her vision almost failed her as she realised she couldn’t make out his features anymore. Her enemy was just a blurred outline.

She tried running again, but her feet refused to budge, as if they weren’t listening to her anymore. She could see the ground coming closer to her, as she fell to her knees. Panic rose in her, as she realised she couldn’t get up and Tir’gal didn’t wait for another opportunity, launching a new purple ray at her.

It hit her right in the chest, throwing her on the ground. It didn’t leave a cut or a bruise, but it felt hot against her skin, robbing her of the air from her lungs. She laid there, on her side, but she realised she couldn’t even grab the daggers that she dropped earlier, on impact. Her fingers felt stiff, and no matter how hard she concentrated, she couldn’t even move her arms.

Blurry forms kept dancing in front of her and she made out a guttural growl yelling ‘Death to the weakling!’

This was it. Death. And she found herself almost surprised at how quickly she was ready to accept it, to give into the tranquil darkness and silence. To leave the arena and all the fights behind, along with Baruing and everything that was evil in the world. She could almost feel her face loosen up in a little smile and she couldn’t tell if it was real or not.

The general sound almost left her completely, being replaced by a light buzzing as her thoughts went to Safina. Dear Safina, who took care of her as best as she could in this place. She was the only solace she had.

No, that was a lie. There was one more and her heart skipped a beat as she imagined the look on the blonde elf’s face as he saw her die. Would he be sad or angry? Angry at her for giving up? Sweet and kind Tellor. She hoped he wouldn’t start blaming himself and she wished him happiness and hoped that he and Asendriel would both escape…

Asendriel…

Alera felt her chest aching at the mere thought of him. Everything was blurry around her, but she could see his frame clearly, in her head, standing and looking at her. She could almost make out his facial traits, and she remembered their first battle. When they had met face to face for the very first time. When they were both ready to die for each other. 

Her chest ached again, harder, as she realised this was the last time she would see him. And just like in their fight, even in her imagination, he looked stern and stoic, never revealing his thoughts. She wished he was smiling, but he was probably angry at her for giving up so easily. But it wasn’t easy for her, as she found herself overwhelmed by her desire to see him again, at least one more time.  And if that meant she had to endure the arena again, she was ready to. For him.

The buzzing in her ears started getting lower and lower, as she could make out small bits from the general sound coming from the tribunes. She looked at Asendriel again, but he became blurry, as everything around her and, scared, she reached out to him, trying to catch this last ilusion before it faded, leaving her to her fate. But it seemed the Gods forsake her yet again, as Asendriel’s blurry form turned around, as if refusing to look at her.