Warwielder - Book 1 of The Evernoth Odyssey

Chapter 1 - A Paravellan Remnant

The fist connected with Marschal's jaw with a loud crack sending him staggering back across the ring until he reached the edge. His forearm pressed onto the ledge of the wooden barricade supporting a body whose link to his will only grew more tenuous the longer he remained in the fight. Agony. Torture. Excruciating pain. Things his body felt at that moment. Things he welcomed. He was used to this. Marschal could feel the ravenous crowd trying to push his body back into the ring. Somehow he still held on to the barricade's edge. But only just, as the ground continued to appear more homely for his lanky body's rest. The crowd surrounding the ring was nothing but an incessant roar of insults, taunts and incoherent yelling. At least that's what Marschal imagined they were. It was growing increasingly difficult to hear with his ringing eardrums muffling everything into a murmuring headache. Coupled with the taste of blood in his mouth the realm of comfort only proved to be a distant memory.

Marschal gazed up to see a blurry mass looming closer towards him. He quickly shook his head to clear his vision...only to meet another fist smashing into his temple. Marschal barely had any time to recover before he was received with a flurry of blows forcing him to curl up against the barricade behind him. The crowd bellowed with thunderous cheers as Marschal wilted under the pummeling assault.

"What the hell is this?!" Marschal could practically hear his opponent grinning. "Where is this almighty Paravellan warrior I was promised?!"

Perhaps he was exhausted. Or perhaps he was relishing in his handiwork. For whatever reason, his opponent stopped and moved back. Marschal turned up to see his aggressor: a large and fierce man coated with muscle and fat. Grey white hair populated the expanse of his face except for the top of his head which seemed to glint in the candlelight hanging from the chandelier above. Marschal inched himself up using the barricade to prop his body into a standing position. Apparently that was the wrong move. In one final strike his opponent launched a fist into Marschal's gut ultimately sending him toppling over and curling on the ground.

Marschal could hear his enemy's scoff over the uproarious laughter and scathing 'boo's from the crowd. His opponent gifted him with a hocked up puddle of spit beside his face before raising his arms up to his audience boasting his championship.

Now lying useless on the ground, it was all Marschal could do to peek at his victor from the corner of his eye. In amongst the crowd Marschal could see a young adolescent boy enjoying a skin filled with what he could only assume was wine or something similar. The large champion lumbered towards the boy at the edge of the audience and snatched the skin from him mid-drink before putting it to his own lips. Marschal couldn't hear from where he lay but he could see the boy was visibly upset and red with anger. None of the surrounding crowd offered to help. Rather they jeered and shook with laughter at the boy's sulky protests. 

That's when Marschal witnessed the boy's mistake.

In a bout of impulsive fury he made a grab for the skin. Not only did he fail but he only succeeded in splashing the champion's eyes with the wine causing the skin to be dropped to the ground. The drink continued to pour out onto the patch of dirt which constituted the floor of the ring. By the time the large man picked up the skin, the wine had been emptied out.

Marschal could only see his back but he could almost feel the hot rage seething from his body. The boy's eyes widened in fear as the giant's footsteps shook the ground beneath Marschal's skull. He could see the boy backing up and attempting to flee into the ocean of spectators but the crowd loved a good show too much. Blocked by a wall of people the boy was suddenly cornered, forced to face the beast hunting him. Marschal didn't even hear so much as a squeak from the boy as the champion grabbed his collar and unleashed a series of blows straight to the young face. The giant didn't relent and eventually Marschal could only see his victor repeatedly punching a blotch of red. All the while the bloodthirsty crowd howled at the sight of such entertainment. When it finally seemed his opponent had vented enough of his rage he finally released the boy. Marschal could hear his body drop in amongst the audience of savages followed by their cruel laughter. All in all, Marschal found the whole scene......interesting. He was probably dead. Marschal hoped not. Or maybe he did. It didn't matter. He had worse problems to think about as the champion decided to return to his original quarry.