Q'ynn Daelrith's First Fight in the Arena
The first thing Q'ynn Daelrith notices, once the portcullis lifts, is a cold, strong breeze against his face. A persistent wind whips around the bowl of the arena, causing Q'ynn's tattered tabard, the one featuring the Daelrith family crest, to flap incessantly in response. Daelrith steps onto the dirt arena floor to see tonight's opponent, the Half-Orc Barbarian known as Shaylor Umblereck.
Daelrith, not sure how he'll fare against this beast, knows only quick thinking and perhaps some luck will enable him to win tonight's match. Shaylor, full of vitriolic intensity, charges forward, brandishing a greataxe caked with the blood of forty past opponents, most of whom didn't survive.
Q'ynn Daelrith realizes he needs to slow this big, burly monster. Damaging or disorienting the Barbarian would be a side benefit to consider. Not wanting to be pinned against the arena walls, Q'ynn slides slightly away from Shaylor's trajectory and unleashes Kord's malediction against the opponent: "Kord grant me bane against this unworthy heathen!" Golden sheaves of light spray the area around the incoming Barbarian, annoying him if nothing more. Q'ynn thrusts his magic staff at the Half-Orc. As he does this, the Barbarian begins to see visions of his own demise.
Shaylor, under the assault of Kord's might, shakes it off and charges forward, easily tracking down Q'ynn Daelrith. The Barbarian flies into a rage, swinging wildly his greataxe. Kord's malediction, however, throws the Barbarian's attack wide. The crowd begins to come alive with the Barbarian's attack, only to see it miss by quite a bit. Q'ynn Daelrith, emboldened by the knowledge that Kord's malediction interfered with Shaylor's strike, calls again upon his deity's power: "Brace me, my Lord, and bring Ruin to this battered fool!" With a strike from Kord himself, the Barbarian is dazed, allowing Q'ynn to escape from Shaylor's reach.
Q'ynn, himself fatigued from the use of his divine abilities, isn't able to get that far away. Fortunately, Shaylor was slowed enough that the Barbarian was unable to close into melee range. "This combat is close to an end, graceless barbarian scum," Q'ynn says to his opponent. "Kord, lord of strength and of war, I call upon your might to finish the Half-Orc I see before me!" A shaft of light, seemingly from the heavens itself, shines down on Shaylor, enveloping him in radiance. The Barbarian cries out, not in fear, but in the pain of Kord's might. Shaylor drops to one knee, trying to surge forward, swinging his greataxe, but unable to close in on Q'ynn.
Choryl Velt, arena master for the night, stamps his giant staff-pennant against a large, flat stone amidst the second tier of the arena stands. "It is done," Velt announces. "Q'ynn Daelrith is the victor!" A battle horn sounds.
Daelrith turns to face Velt and the crowd. He raises his magic staff in victory, awash in the feeling of defeating an opponent for the very first time. Shaylor Umblereck, unwilling to accept defeat, snarls. "I will not submit!" The Barbarian gets to his feet and, his fangs bared, charges forward, knocking Q'ynn to the dirt floor. Q'ynn barely had time to roll over to see Umblereck swinging his nasty greataxe down towards the Invoker's head. Q'ynn dodges, but not enough, as the axe digs into Daelrith's shoulder, drawing first blood.
Umblereck stands, facing Velt. "I am the victor," the Barbarian claims. "I have drawn first blood! Give to me the spoils."
"No, Shaylor!" Choryl Velt replies forcefully. "I have decreed Q'ynn Daelrith the victor. The horn has sounded!" An assistant approaches Velt and whispers in his ear.
Meanwhile, Q'ynn Daelrith rolls over and gets up, still bleeding rather profusely from the axe wound in his shoulder. The Invoker glares at Shaylor, the Half-Orc. Daelrith realizes, however, that the Half-Orc may be in the right, at least in his addled brain. Daelrith is still in mortal danger. The Half-Orc could turn, at any moment, and finish Daelrith before any of the guards could intervene. Q'ynn considers running into the tunnel, but also wants to stand his ground. Daelrith was declared the victor, after all. How would it look to run now?
"Shaylor Umblereck," Choryl Velt says. "Under a strict reading of the arena rules, your claim is correct."
Q'ynn Daelrith sighs. He knows where this is going. At least he thinks he does.
"However, the horn has sounded and I have made the victor declaration," the arena master adds. "This leaves us at an impasse. Unfortunately, that means I must declare a draw." A wave of cries and boos emanates from the crowd. "All bets... all bets will be returned. Please, form one line to the banker's window."
Q'ynn looks over at the Half-Orc, who barely understands what's going on. Regardless, the simple Barbarian realizes that he's been robbed, at least in his mind. Daelrith, seeing a slight change in Shaylor's body languages, runs into the tunnel. The portcullis is still down. "Open this thing," he demands. "Hurry!"
A slave smiles at the Invoker, slowly cranking a wheel to raise the portcullis. Bearing down on Q'ynn is the Half-Orc, bringing his greataxe along for the ride. Just as Q'ynn ducks under the gate, Shaylor brings the axe blade down on the space Daelrith had occupied, barely missing. As Umblereck prepares to attack again, a robed figure in the hall, waiting for his own turn in the arena, uses his wand to shoot a thin, blue ray at the Barbarian, freezing Shaylor Umblereck in his tracks.
"Thanks much, friend," Q'ynn says to the unknown Wizard.
"You'd do the same for me, wouldn't you?" the Wizard replies with a smile.