The Conjured and the exiles

Leoff adjusted his heavy raiment straps, having only just repaired it after his last match an hour ago, that gladiator had really been something. He hadn't quite managed to mend some of the metal plates but it would hold for another bout; hopefully.

Next to him the caged battle hound stirred from its deep hay bed then came to sniff him through the bars. Leoff absently taped its snout with the hilt of his sword. The animal let out a snort and snuffled away.

Chuckling Leoff stretched and got up. Before he crossed the practice room and approached his master, 'ready for another match gladiator?'

Leoff nodded grimly.

The grizzled gladiator trainer looked at his newest acquisition with some consideration, 'Savage dog aren't you.'

'I don't have any choice.' He replied with only a faint northern tern to his words.

The pepper haired man laughed, 'I have never seen someone fight so many matches in one day before, keep it up and you will be dead by the end of the week, or grand champion.'

He laughed again at his own joke. ‘Anyway your next opponent is one of the Crydrus, how the hell that bastard Fendear managed to get hold of one of them is beyond me. Do you know much about the Crydrus boy?'

Leoff shruged. 'Nomads from the Hys- b- dry.'

The old man scowled 'The Crydrus they like range weapons, they are cunning but he doesn't have a mount under him so after that big brute from Dengamar you should find it easy.'

'Right sir.'

Leoff strode through the warrens of halls to the arena door. He nodded grimly to the steward as he read out his name. Then his hand tightening instinctively upon his hilt as the stout wood door closed and locked behind him. The short dark passage way was slick with blood. Once again there was no going back. Hard to believe two days ago he had had his first match, he had never suffered nerves, but waiting for that gate to raise as they announced the match as the crowd rumbled and then roared above him it would have been enough to freeze any mans piss.

He had unsheathed his sword at that moment, feeling the power thrum through it and reassuring warm weight in his hand strengthened his resolve. He looked down at the runes carved on the blade, and remembered the word his father had taught him, and repeated it as a silent prayer 'Resolve. Strength in arms, I am as strong as this my ancestors blade. ‘If only he knew its name, if only he could awaken it then this would be so much easier. But it didn’t stir under his hand, it stayed just cold dead metal.

Leoff was no novice to battle, his father a border captain, was also a seasoned scout, and he had trained his son well, that along now aged sixteen with two years as a bounty hunter had given him plenty of front line experience, honing his skills against the guild members and experience taking out the marks themselves. However a Mark hunter as guild members called themselves, did more than just hunt criminals, they worked as rescue teems, stalkers, guards and guides as well as hunting down bounties.

But this was different, his opponents were skilled, and they were willing to kill or die for fame, freedom some were simply desperate, criminals who if they survived would be let off the death sentence. When you took out a bounty you wanted them alive for the most part so your opponent always had the option of giving in and most people when they know they can’t win will do just that. Most people chose to live for another day to lick ones wounds. But in the arena it was kill or be killed.

However his opponents didn't relies that Leoff had to win, perhaps they might have seen the steely intention in his hasil eyes the moment they felt the cold bite of his blade. Leoff could have drawn the battles out if he had chosen to do so; blocking and parrying giving the baying crowd a show. But it was only the kill that mattered, besides the quicker a fight was over the sooner he could fight again.

His opponents found there deaths as swiftly as Leoff could arrange it. His fist fight had hardly been a match, the foolish North man had charged head long at him, wielding a battle axe, Leoff summed him up before he could see the mans eyes; the North man obviously thought that his size and strength alone would win the match, he was mistaken. The barbarian swung his axe in a wide and clumsy arc; Leoff tilting his shield slightly let the blow glance off like rain shed off a ducks back. The large man was surprised, and fell forward as the force of his blow carried him through, right on to Leoff's weighting sword. The crowed was not pleased at the lack of showmanship, but what did he care for that, he wasn't after fame, he wanted the money.

That first kill had been the hardest. No mater how many times he wiped the blood from his hands in the gladiators baths he just didn't feel clean. Were he a lesser man he would have laid and wretched in to the straw after his first match. But he would never show such weakness. And kill by kill it was growing easier.

The gate finally opened, and Leoff burst forth once more, he didn't run, he walked purposefully like a stalking lion. The small lithe Crydrus let fly their first arrow, he side stepped it easily, steadily advancing upon them.

The nomad danced away trying to keep their distance, readying another shot. This time it hit. His armour took much of the damage and Leoff only stood for a moment to pull the arrow from shoulder with a shout of pain. He murmured a basic healing spell, another lesson from his sister. But before the small dark skinned Crydrus could notch another arrow he threw his shield at them, knocking their bow away. And in the process their helmet was knocked off as well. It was a woman.

She scrambled around in the dust for her bow, but to no avail as the young man caught hold of her hair pulling her to her feet. His sword hovered above her breast, He looked down at her with menace, he almost pitied her but it was kill or be killed, she knew the rules. He tensed his arm ready to slice down her sternum, however the terror in her eyes changed his mind and he slit her throat a quick clean death. Or so he told himself as he walked away from her body.

The crowd this time celebrated his victory; it seemed that victory was all that mattered to them, eventfully. He was disgusted with them, and with himself, but it didn't mater, none of this mattered; only the money mattered. fourty marks of silver,or four thousand heads was what he needed to save the one who knew his swords true name, his sister Daen.

Sarol paid the young man out carefully, 'Well that was an impressive show. I haven't ever seen such a ruthless style before.'

Leoff shrugged, 'I like to be efficient.'

'Till tomorrow then. Go get some rest you earned it.'

'Morow.'


Leoff was sitting and trying to repair the plating in his raiment. He had bandaged his shoulder and downed a pain killing potion. But his shoulder still hurt, he was not as skilled as his sister when it came to healing, or even alchemy. Leoff sighed he had already broken one hammer trying to beet the metal plate back in to shape. Cursing roundly he looked up and looking down at him was one of the other arena fighters, judging by his accent he was from one of the mining towns in Cwarmourth. 'I could mend that for you.'

'How much?'

'Nothing.'

'Nothing? Nothing comes for nothing.' Leoff's bold eyebrow raised and he looked back up at the dark haired young man who seemed earnest.

'As I see it we are all family now Sarol our adopted father, the crowd our mother.' He laughed. He put his hand out and Leoff handed over the raiment and his hammer and set to work.

'I'm Leoff Sheld.' Leoff said in rather poor Clodd the guttural language of the mining towns and waited for the others reply.

'Ah, you speak my language!' The young man said with real pleasure. 'My name is Vassardan Anvali, but you can just call me Vas.'

'Your one of the arms?'

'Er…aye, not that it means anything hear. How did you know?'

Leoff switched back to imperial, it was obvious that Vas’s imperial was much better than his Clodd. ‘You haven’t got the black streaks on your skin, and your pretty skilled at mending metal by the looked of it.’

‘Oh the black marks. No I suppose I wouldn’t have any of those, they are made by coal dust or ash getting in to wounds.’ Vas quickly had the raiment repaired. Leoff looked it over satisfied with the work.

'So what do you want for this?'

'You could buy me a drink.' Vas smiled. Leoff decided that it was a fair deal.