CHAPTER IV

THE PROVING

    A tired rush ensued as Bontu replayed the horrific scene over and over again. He pushed Meardón to a gallop, and seemingly sensing the anxiety in her rider she pressed on at a reckless pace back to the city. With the city in sight, the mare began to make her way to the stable. 

“Hup, easy now.” With a pull of the reins he kept her moving at a quickened pace. “steady now, I need to get back to the inn.” A light kick put Meardón to a trot. “Make way!” Bontu rode through the crowd with little care if he knocked over a cart or brushed up past someone. He acquired both annoyed and bothered glances from those whom they had disturbed. But not caring too much how people perceived him, Bontu dismounted as they approached the Inn anxious to get inside. 

“Good girl,” he said in a proud, mellow tone.   “Go on home now, I'll feed you in a couple hours. Go on now, get!”

 The mare made her way leisurely down the road, turned to look at Bontu right before turning the corner, in hopes he would change his mind and wickerred when he didn't move. “Go on!” At the command she turned the corner and vanished out of sight. With his horse gone he made his way into the Blistered Imp. The crowd seemed only mildly disturbed as he walked up to the bar and took a seat. 

“ long time no see stranger,” Veln said mockingly. “Give up already?” 

“This is too much for me Veln. I'm too old for this.”

“I don't understand, ” Veln replied, “ riding a horse and shouting a name too hard for yah? If that be the case I'm sure you could send a guard out there to do it for yah.”

“It's more than that. There is a true evil at work here. I'm going to need a team. A team like that of old.” With a pause Bontu spoke again, his tone was hushed and he spoke as if distant, “I'm going to recreate the Simad Watch.”

With a quiet reverent voice Veln replied cautiously, “Now Bontu, those days are gone. No matter how hard you try, you can't bring ‘em back. Yah can't get another group of individuals together that could reach the same expectations.”

“It's the only way Veln. I will need them…we will need them.”

“You're serious aren't you?” Veln muttered under his breath just loud enough for Bontu to hear. “What in the Blazes is serious enough to recreate that mythical guild?”

“Can you help me or not Veln?” Bontu said a bit impatiently. 

“Oh aye.” he said defensively. “I know just the people that could fetch a dragon egg to bribe a giant, or maybe slay a demon such as Mordrich or, or even find a way to cut down all of Seglock!”

Bontu gave back only a silent stare. Who knows, you might even be able to all that yourself. You're crazy enough. He thought sourly. 

“Well I don't.” Veln sighed. “But I might know how to find them. Remember though, I only do this because it's a blazen good time and I don’t always get that the chance.”

A smile crossed Bontu's lips. “I knew I could count on you.”

Veln reached under the counter and grabbed a hefty sack of coins. “Yah might want to come back behind the counter.” Giving enough time for him to make his way around the counter Veln said, “Sit back and enjoy the show." 

What eyes weren't already tied to the hefty bag of coins surely became so when Veln slammed it on the counter. The sound silenced the room. 

“My friend here is looking for the toughest fighters east of the Bathil River and I'm willing to pay his way. You know what to do! 

With little warning, the common room of the inn became a buzz of shouts and hollers. Within moments, the rather spacious common room floor was cleared of all tables, chairs, stools, cards, coat racks and any other items as they were moved, or thrown, to the sides of the room. Bontu stood with mouth open and eyes wide as he watched the men scratched a large circle in the middle of the floor. 

“What in Blazes is going on?” Bontu said in amazement. Never before have I seen anyone move with such enthusiam, even at the wall. 

“It's an 'old bar game' so to speak. Been a thing here for oh, longer than I've been here and that's well over 30 years. Scared me to pieces the first time I saw it.”

Once a large circle was marked the initial group of men started calling each other out. The room filled with taunts, insults and dares for those around them to enter the circle. Eventually two competitors entered and started after each other with any weapons and resources they could get their hands on. 

“Explain Veln. How does this game work?” Bontu asked. 

“The rules are simple, but very important. First thing is as soon as you enter the circle you stay no matter who else enters or else yah just might die from the mockin’ and beatin’ you’ll get on the street. Your life becomes a struggle as long as you stay around here.” 

Two wily men began grappling as the group shouted.  “Second, you step out of bounds during a fight it's over and you give the victory to your opponent. If the fights started you can step out with little rebuke from the crowd. 

Thirdly, killing is highly looked down upon. In fact it's a greater show of skill to win a fight by submission.” as Veln spoke one of the men was thrown into the crowd. The match was followed with hurrahs and passing of bets.

“Lastly, and this is for you my friend; this was created as a better alternative to bar fights. If a fight started to brew, then the inn would clear and bets would be placed. This is different, if you win you stay and fight again until you win the reward. In this case when you are impressed tell them to stop and pull your victor to the side.”

“Sounds simple enough.”

“Aye, it is. Sit back and enjoy the show!”

    The two sat back and watched as the wounded and maimed limped out to find aid and were replaced by more skilled opponents. Bets were placed before each round and shouts were given after. 

“It looks like word has spread. You'll have yer’ crew by the weeks end I'd wager.”

Bontu gave an acknowledging chuckle. I would hope so… 

—————————————————————————————————————————

The sun was high in the sky, its heat beat down on the earth below. The city was full of exotic foreigners and farmers, as the harvest Festival would begin next week. People buzzed with the hum of commerce and the stone streets were packed with many different stands advertising fruits, vegetables and other grains. The streets were packed with vendors selling their scanty goods from the dry season before. 

Roglin, a sturdy man with a wide stance stooped, towering over the tiny shop keeper. His skin was a light tan color from his time in the sun and was severely contrasted by his long dark brown beard. His beard wrapped around his face and connected to long hair that reached his shoulders. His long hair was braided in several places to match the style in his northern home in Pinaquine. His jawline was wide and gave him a heroic presence. He wore a sleeveless leather jack with a cream undershirt and loose pants that were fitted with leather padding. His large great axe sat strapped to his back. It had two large heads carved with inticate markings and a long solid shaft with leather hand holds. 

“How much for a bag of apples?” Roglin asked the merchant. 

“That'll cost a silver piece,” came the response from the busy merchant, who hardly looked up from his duties in the shop. 

With a twinge at the price. It didn’t seem to matter where he went, the prices seemed to be skyrocketing, especially since he’s been out of work. 

He forced a grin and responded uncertainly, “Alright I'll have it.”

    Taking his precious food, Roglin went over by the stables and ate his food, hoping someone would pass by. Maybe he could find work guarding another merchant caravan or as a bodyguard of some sort. He wasn’t desperate enough working for the city guard; was he? No, not yet. Shaking his head he took another bite.

   Suddenly he heard loud cheering coming from deeper within the city. He saw people running off towards the noise, cheering and shouting. He caught word on his way here from Vistra, that a proving was taking place. This must be it! There has got to be some coin that comes with it, and how hard could it be, he’s been fighting bigger things than most people here anyway. 

He immediately stood, and with a hopeful grin he started out in a steady run. The closer he got the greater his hopes grew. All Roglin needed was a chance, he could use that money, He needed that money.  Eventually He found the proving, it was in an odd place, an Inn with so many people packed inside, one could imagine the walls bursting outward from the pressure. With a smile he began jumping on his toes and set himself to finding a way in.

Weaving his way through some and bulldozing through others, his heart raced, and his vision narrowed. He made his way past the congested entrance and saw the sweat and blood stained circle in the middle of the room. They must have been going for some time to have such a red room.

The sound of bets and men shouting quieted as a large crack split the air. A blonde man, young and seemingly fit, rolled back a steel whip from within the circle of spectators, his eyes glowed with mischievous light above his half smile, as if the world were naturaly humorous to him. The sound of chain from the whip grinding upon the wood floor was the only other sound as the behemoth of a man fell to his knees. Bright red blood shown upon his almost dark complexion. 

Before the excitement could continue an old man sitting behind the bar raised his hand and waved the young fighter over. Clapping followed as the wounded man was taken from the circle.

The man Roglin could only of think as the sponsor of the proving waved his hand and the shouting and betting began anew. In passing he noticed that the young man was not the only one sitting off to the side. Before he could take it in, the energy in the room poked at him reenergizing his focus. 

He lept into the circle, it seems that people had cleared room around him, expecting him to jump in. His heart raced, sweat covered his forehead, adrenaline coursed through his body and time seemed to slow. Each second began to feel like ten. A very large man hesitantly joined him in the circle. His deep tan, large stature and worn clothing showed him to be a young farm hand. Roglin rolled the axe in his hands. The axe immediately flew to the ground, head jamming between the boards as he threw the axe beside him. There was no point in killing the young man. He could just grab his axe afterward. 

Sweat poured down the young man's face and chest as they circled each other, quickly he grabbed a knife from off the ground and trailing one motion into another he threw the blade. The short weapon lodged itself into Roglins leather vest. The armor stopped all but the tip of the blade from doing any damage. Looking down at the blade, Roglin turned towards his axe and pried it from the beams.

    With adrenaline pumping rapidly through his veins Roglin leaped at the helpless man embedding his axe into the shoulder of the poor farm hand.

    Screams of agony overthrew shouting as a loud twinge rippled through the crowd. kneeling on the slick floor he signaled for mercy and was soon aided to the door by a couple of men. Bets were passed around in silence as no one really wanted to draw much attention to themselves. With the new silence the two men in the back and the blonde headed young man could be heard talking softly.

“...with me. I like this one.” the older man said. 

“aye but he's makin a mess of my inn and he's given the crowd a real fright.”

    Anxious and a little manic from the adrenaline, Roglin impatiently beckoned for the next challenger. He couldn’t seem to think straight when he got like this; it felt great!

 “Who's next! Who wants to prove themselves! Or are you all proving to be cowards!” through the rage he finally noticed the small blade stuck in his chest. As somewhat of an inconvenience he pulled it out of his armor and flicked it aside. A small trail of blood trickled from the wound.  Until that moment, he hadn't realized how quiet the room had become. The sound of silence felt wrong to him, as if unnatural. 

    After a moment of anticipation and silent pleading from the crowd, another man; at least he thought it was a man, walked into the ring. He had a smaller build and had a quick and evasive nature. The hooded man pulled two curved daggers from his belt and with uncanny dexterity twirled them around in so many flourishes that Roglin could have thrown him out the door twice before he finished. A flashy appearance never meant much to him, only action could prove one’s skill.

The two men sized each other up; Roglin slid his right hand near the head of his axe and gripped it from above rather than underneath. 

Each passing moment seemed like hours. Time slowed to a crawl, and Roglin could notice the slightest twist of emotion in his foes face. The quick jab was aimed for Roglin’s side. As if he knew what was going to happen he slammed his big axe head down on the man's hand. The knife fell to the floor with a clang, leaving the hooded man exposed. A shimmer of steel betrayed the other blade making its way for Roglin’s neck. Almost pure reflex carried the handle of his axe up and into the other arm of the contestor. Again, the quick shot was dealt with and a twist of the wrist sent the butt of his axe into the man's jaw with quaking force. 

    Time picked back up to a normal pace; the hooded man hit the ground with all the force a limp body can give, and long groans of pain came this time from the crowd, as they witnessed the jaw shattering impact that just took place. Without even signaling two men dragged the limp body off the floor and sat him in a chair to hopefully bring him back to consciousness. 

Being a little more sober from his rage Roglin spoke up encouragingly.

“He'll be fine, just splash some water on him.” He spoke through deep tired gasps for air, pointing towards the man. 

After a moment, another cloaked man joined him in the circle. Tall and slender, he had the appearance of a woodsman, shades of dark green and brown wrapping around his armor. He held a long, dark mahogany bow in his left hand and had a quiver at his side holding several arrows. His bow looked marred with cuts and scrapes. He wore tall black boots that went up his shin and he wore a hooded cloak with all but his green eyes covered by a black mask. He couldn’t quite tell but those eyes didn’t quite seem like..

Before he could finish the thought a sharp pain radiated from his leg. Looking down he saw a short arrow protruding through the cloth. Adrenaline pumped it's way back through Roglin’s veins, as his heart raced, his toes danced in his boots and time slowed to a crawl once again. 

He ran forward and noticed the bow being pulled back again. Turning the sprint into a slide, Roglin's momentum carried him across the floor, under the speedy arrow and into the legs of his opponent. 

A smack to the legs with the butt of his axe dropped the masked man to the ground. Standing up and swinging became one motion as Roglin put his weight into a downward swing towards his foe. 

To his surprise the hefty axe glanced of the wooden bow. The sound rattled the air. Leaving mouths wide as they stared at the incredible scene. 

That bow makes very little sense. Roglin thought.

    Frustrated Roglin grabbed at the bow in an attempt to pull it away. The cloaked man seemed calm as Roglin towered over him. The man loaded the grappled bow with an arrow and pulled it back. Before it could be fired, he released his grip of the bow and ducked back. The man sat up with the drawn bow and let the arrow fly. Another sharp pain radiated from Roglin’s shoulder.

His yell, filled with as much fury as it was anguish, echoed throughout the room. Looking towards his assailant, Roglin charged with a vendetta now as personal as it was desperate. He held up his axe to deflect an arrow as he charged forward. The ruined piece of wood and steel flew into the cheering crowd causing cries as it hit people near the edge of the circle. 

    Roglin began a flurry of reckless strikes in an attempt to strike a blow to the ranger. One by one the swings were met with uncanny evasion. The fight looked like a well choreographed dance, the slightest movement of one led to an immediate and attentive reaction by the other. 

Rage built up inside until it became an unending fount of strength and emotion. Throwing his axe to the ground he threw himself at his foe, taking them both to the ground. being greatly overpowered, the ranger had no choice but to accept the punishment. Fist after fist struck him. 

“Stop! Enough!” someone shouted. There was no stopping. Roglin couldn’t hear past the ringing in his ears and the rage in his eyes.

_____________________________________________________________________________________________

Being completely ignored, Bontu looked towards Veln, “could I get some help Veln.”

“No problem,” he said with a smile. 

A sharp snap of a whip drew the attention of everyone except for Roglin, who was still beating the poor stranger. 

“Don’t just stand there, pull ‘em apart!” Veln said.

Several men grabbed hold of Roglin and with little success held him down until his muscles began to loosen. Several other men began nudging the unconscious man awake. Eventually, and to Bontu’s relief, he sat up and to the surprise of everyone ‘she’ spoke for the first time since the fight. “I have a mad headache.” Her voice strung through the air with a smooth melodious note. she held her head and looked around at the crowd surrounding her. “What's the matter?” 

    Her mask had fallen from her face, revealing smooth yet aged marks that resembled a timeless appearance, her long ears and pronounced chin betrayed her elvish heritage and her height and strength was evidence of her human parentage. She had off-pale skin which made her green eyes shimmer. Her hair was a very light brown and fell back behind his ears in waves. Touching her face she realized her mask had fallen. She was a half-elf. 

While there are indeed some elvish domains on Selvora, they are not looked upon with much kindness from the majority of the humankind on the continent. Rumors would have you believe that elves will curse unlucky travelers while others are thought of simply as thieves. In any case Bontu knew of a small number of elves that lived in Seglock; as is another reason for local hostility; but there has never been a time that he has crossed paths with a half elf. It was said to happen occasionally in western provinces as travelers from Falinvarrial make there way east to Vistra but even the tales are rare.

 “That explains for the stares I guess.” the Half-elf said to herself.

“Call them both up here Veln.” Bontu said. 

    With a nod he did so, “come on yah crazed lunatics. Bontu wants to talk with both yah’s.”  

Battered and bruised they walked up to the counter giving a sceptical look to one another. As they did so Veln yelled back at the crowd

“That’s enough, we have our victors!” calls of outrage from the patrons soon faded and eventually that inn was left empty and broken with only Bontu, Veln and their new champions.