THE ARENA OF KARAKORUM
Every four years, warriors gathered.
From across the world they came to the Taagi Baara Steppe. The Steppe Portal Stone flooded with activity, and instead of heading northwest to Dornoch as most travelers did, these warriors all went northeast, deeper into the untamed Steppe, to a grand and ancient construction in the middle of the vast steppeland. No one knows precisely how the tradition first began, or when it first began, but to this day it has endured. To this day fighters from nations across Arethil descended upon this colosseum, putting aside in an unspoken truce whatever hostilities and grievances their homelands may have had with one another.
Here, at Karakorum, allegiances meant nothing. All that mattered was the spirit of the warrior, embodied by all who came to fight and witnessed by all who came to spectate.
The first eclipse of Lessat on every fourth year was the herald of this tournament's commencement.
And when the sun emerged from behind Lessat's form, so would it begin.
The Warrior's Call.
* * * * *
Zael Castomir was here on a mission.
Not for the official mission, no. A Kendrick Urahil made a stupid bet with somebody, lost, lost again, kept losing and getting in deeper, and finally lost a Urahil family heirloom when he was buck-fucking-naked. That somebody was a smug ass Avariel named Darius, and Darius was here at Karakorum. Normally, the mission would be simple: kill Darius and take back the heirloom. Easy.
But.
Kendrick Urahil was a Urahil Zael could actually get behind. This fucking mad lad, upon hearing about the Warrior's Call tournament, decided, you know what...why not have some Initiates from the Academy win his dumb locket back? A missive was sent to Darius, and that smug son of a bitch agreed. Whoever won in the threes category of the Call would have the locket.
The best part topping this all off? No Anirian had ever won a Warrior's Call. Ever. Not in the one on one category, not in the two's, not in the three's nor four's nor five versus fives either. And it wasn't for a lack of trying, either. However much Vel Anir could console itself with victories on the battlefield instead of victories at this tournament, still it had no one who could rightly claim the title of Champion of the Call.
Zael was looking to change that.
Three days. Three fights. They were even in the three versus three category. His favorite number. Fucking hell, how could he possibly lose?
No. How could they possibly lose?
Because Zael had an Initiate on his right and an Initiate on his left. And they were gonna make history. He could feel it.
* * * * *
In the dark staging room they waited. Outside beyond the thick stone walls and the gate leading into the arena itself, loud cheers and OOO's and flinching hisses at particularly nasty hits that went unseen to them. The current fight was still in progress, but it would be over soon enough.
Zael had had himself a pretty good lunch (all these vendors and merchants from across the world, hot damn, they brought exotic dishes from every corner of Arethil!) but now it felt like his stomach was empty again. Fuck he loved the anticipation, the jittery shakes when they come, that little sizzle of adrenaline before the big rush. Thrill was a drug all in its own right.
"Hopefully that fucker Darius doesn't lose his first fight," Zael said to his companions. "Be a real shame if we don't have a climatic championship fight."
He smirked.
"I'd rub it in anyway though."
