Open Chronicles The Guardian Gauntlet

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Solomon Regis

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Valenntenia
The Nazatari Arena
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Even Solomon Regis himself hadn't expected this level of turnout.

The aging Absalon looked out upon the edges of the newly reopened Nazatari Arena from his platform that seemed to hang from the heavens, nestled within the still-beating heart of Valenntenia. The stone seats that surrounded the edges of the Colosseum were practically overflowing with life-- It felt as though every man, woman, and child in the city, his city, had come to celebrate the return of one of their most treasured sources of entertainment and community. The raucous sounds of cheering and screaming assailed him from all angles.

Yes. His home had suffered great loss and turmoil as of late, but today they were together. Today, all felt right. Were it not for the wind against the valleys of his face, he would have felt a tear escaping his eyes. At one time this arena had been a beacon of happiness to his people. Perhaps today, it would be again. With all the trouble in Valenntenia lately, they could certainly use it.

Beneath him was the sandy pit of the Arena itself, and lining its massive perimeter were the true attractions of this grand display: Guardians, Vanguards, any who were willing to tackle the might of Valenntenia, to seek the glory of the Runestone that Solomon held in his arms as though it were a fragile newborn. They were all shining examples of strength, will, and wisdom. They would need these attributes in spades if they were to conquer the trials that lay before them in this Gauntlet of tribulations. Puzzles, hazards, and obstacles masterminded by The Absalon and his Somners filled the Arena. Some relied on brute force to attempt to incapacitate any who dared approach. Some were docile-- puzzles and riddles to be solved by only the sharpest of minds.

But all of them held rewards within them; Small blue crystal spheres hidden within, waiting to be returned to the massive pillar erected in the center of the Nazatari, littered with small receptacles just large enough to place one stone each in.

The participants had been given one sphere each and instructed to hold onto it as if it were their life. Because in this game, it indeed was. Being without a sphere meant elimination, and the only way to collect more was to face the dangers of the Arena or to sneak-thief your way through by swiping them from other contenders. When enough Spheres were reunited with the Pillar at the Arena's heart, Solomon's platform would descend, and any who dethroned him would earn the right to lay their hands upon the Stone of Life and Death.

The first besides him to do so in decades.

What would drive these souls to seek a look beyond life's veil? What did they aim to accomplish by grasping the power of Death? Solomon wished not to know, but any with evil intent would find themselves a challenge in The Absalon. Alas, the time for such musings was coming to an end; Now the midday sun hung over the Arena, casting harsh shadows beneath. The spectators, both local and from lands beyond were on their feet. The show was set to begin, and Solomon felt his heart beating in a way it had not in many years.

Pride, excitement, and anticipation all coursed through him.

Solomon carefully placed the Stone on the surface of the Platform and retrieved the torch that hung from the support that held his plinth aloft. Holding it out over the edge, he released the burning torch. When it hit the ground, it would signal the beginning of the Gauntlet. The participants had but a moment more to prepare themselves for what lay ahead of them now.​
 
What sweet opportunity this was; a chance to wish of the Stone of Life and Death a desire one held dearly.

He had not planned on participating in today's festivities, not when he was more of a protector than a go getter. His boots already had sand in them, (how?!) and his jaw was moments away from jarring as his teeth gritted at the sheer anticipation for the event to begin and bodies move in all sorts of directions. His task was not to win, no, it was much harder than squaring off with the Absalon.

Mikko Cendrillon had forgotten the Warrior Somner Yehven used to be, and that strength did not simply rot and wither in his aging body. Before Mik could move to the areas reserved for spectators, he was taken aside by Arran Yehven.

"You need to ensure Kaira does not achieve her goal. We all know what she will wish, and I fear she had never healed from those wounds."


"And why me? She already is annoyed with me, what better way to keep her happy with you than to offer my head to the chopping block?"

There was a tension between the two men, and Arran gave a wry smile to the Cendrillon boy. "She would listen to a friend. Hinder her achievements, that is all. You do not have to physically stop her."

And he was left to his own thoughts, to stew on the burden that although unwilling to begin with, he would have to be on high alert for whatever obstacle came before him. Mik doubted his knowledge and intellect, hoping to avoid the puzzles that were mentioned prior to the event.


"This is ridiculous." He muttered under his breath. He was a member of the Vanguard! A Guardian to a Guardian! There was no need to babysit a capable combatant like Kaira Yehven outside of Valenntenia than was needed inside this arena...