Chapter 45 – Contest

As the sun slowly rose over the mountainside, a sense of anxiety was in the air. The roar and rumble of thousands of people filling the coliseum could be heard for miles around. The construction was complete; the day had arrived. Today would be the day the Argent Tournament began, a contest in might and magic between allies and to the winners went the finest magical weaponry and armor the Alliance had available. While the thought of their best heading off to almost certain doom was sobering, the Tournament was a brilliant move by the leadership to help people cope with the pain. The Tournament in all of its majesty they hoped would help the populace and the military believe in their strength. It was to be a shining display of power that would spark hope in the face of utter despair.

On a high-up ledge, a goblin stood on a pedestal with a makeshift microphone in his hand. He looked down upon the crowds.

“Laaaaadies and gentlemen! Boys and girl… oh wait. There are no boys and girls, just thousands of battle-hardened warriors come from miles around to watch the magnificence of martial combat! Even celebrities have arrived, legends of the alliance from ages past! Welcome, welcome one and all to the Argent Tournament!”

The thunderous response from the crowds nearly knocked the small, green creature off of his pedestal. They cheered loudly and they stomped their feet on the concrete construction beneath them, and it sent shockwaves through the ground all over the mountain. The goblin grinned, showing his alternating white and gold teeth, calculating in his head how much gold was being made simply by selling refreshments. He thrust his wart-covered hand into the air, pointing a single finger to the sky as he continued:

“But this! This is only the first day of what will be an entire week of spectacular spectacle! As each day dawns, fewer and fewer selected crusaders will remain, until there is only one left standing! Will it be a mage? A warrior? One of those freakish Death Knights? Only time will tell!”

~

The room Airyanna was given was small and dirty, similar to a dungeon. There was a small wooden table crafted from a crate in the middle of the room, and a single chopped piece of a tree-trunk for her to sit upon. She was given a standard-issue uniform, a hardened leather garment that exposed as much as it covered. Airyanna payed it no mind, she knew that goblins were behind this tournament, and they would put on whatever show necessary to make a profit. She secured the harness around her chest, tying off the leather straps and smirking at the way it forced her breasts to sit up at attention. She fastened a similar leather skirt around her waist; it made from scraps of leftover leather and barely hung lower than her mid-thigh. She rubbed her nose as the dust started to get to her, the wooden door opening a crack. A guard, strong and youthful, looked to her as she was fastening her knee-high sandals. Fighting off a blush he stood at attention as he addressed her.

“Dame, your contests begin in one hour, and will last throughout the day. Is there anything we can do to help you prepare further?”

Airyanna stood up after fastening her other sandal, her hands going to her hips which the leather garb accented nicely. She looked down upon herself, her somewhat tall, lanky body pushed in all the right places – she wondered if this was a fighting contest or a fashion show.

“No, obviously you’ve got me covered,” she said with a smirk. He returned the smirk, secretly admiring the goblin’s handiwork as he closed the door.

~

On top of one of the many spires that stretched high above the coliseum grounds, Bryn knelt beside her drake and watched, her hand clutched tightly around her spear. She did not like what she was witnessing, a scowl on her face.

“Inzdus. The goblins make a mockery of combat.”

The drake agreed, closing its greenish reptilian eyes. “Yes, but morale is important. Humans are capable of overcoming insurmountable odds; they have many times in the past. But hope is what fuels them. The Alliance knows this and is using everything at their disposal to keep hope alive,” the drake communicated to her, its words heard in her mind.

~

Kraiven watched the show from a ground-level hallway. He was technically out-of-bounds where he was, but his dark visage was more than enough to keep any hapless guard from trying to move him.  It was the hallway where the competitors entered the arena from; he wanted to be close by in the case something went wrong.  There was a loud echo of the applause and foot-stomping above and around him, which sounded very much like a rainstorm.

“Are you competing?” a man asked, Kraiven turning his head to address him. He was dressed in the leather armor of a crusader, or competitor, and carried a sword at his hip. It was magical, a blue blade with pulses of electric energy running through it. He had a short beard and long gray hair, a man easy to miss if he were in a crowd. Kraiven shook his head.

“No, I am not,” he said. “They won’t let me fight in my armor.”

The man nodded, “Mm. Nor mine. Robes are more my style.”

Kraiven noted his weapon, pointing to it. “Are you allowed to have that here? Looks… sharp.”

He looked down, “This? Yes, all live weapons in this tournament. Were you not aware of the regiment of priests and druids standing in the tunnels, waiting to save the fallen?”

Kraiven was taken aback; he has no idea this was actual combat. He suddenly felt much more ill-at-ease than he ever did before. “N.. no, I guess I didn’t.”

The man shrugged, “I am indifferent. I do not plan on dying – and the rewards to the winner are more than worth it. Some of the most powerful artifacts in all of Azeroth, I hear.”

“Yes, but someone else wore them at some point,” Kraiven said, eliciting a raised eyebrow from the crusader. “Let’s hope they died from old age, I suppose.”

The man laughed, shaking his head, “My name is Kaylorn. Tell me Death Knight, why are you so concerned, if you are not competing?”

Kraiven looked back into the arena, a reflexive reaction to personal questions. “A loved one,” he said simply. “She competes.”

“I see,” Kaylorn said. “I know how you feel. I know a certain succubus I’d rather not see harmed, either.” His words made Kaylorn lower his head, the urge to cover his face with his palm overwhelming. The Warlock laughed, then quieted quickly as he began to think, “Wait a minute, that’s not the crazy woman looking for a man – rather desperately – last night was it?”

Kraiven twitched, “she’s not crazy.” The tone in his voice was dark and eerie, giving the impression that the warlock just crossed the line. He immediately backed away, “my apologies.”

They were both interrupted by another roar of applause and cheering, followed by the goblin’s voice carrying throughout the arena. “My my! What a pleasant surprise! It would appear the Alliance High Council has decided to pay the tournament a visit, personally! As you can see, Ladies and Gentlemen, this tournament is of the highest prestige! The highest honor! The highest… uh… altitude!”

Airyanna looked up from her sword she was sharpening, “The High Council is… here?”

“And now, without further ado – our first competition!” yelled the goblin, eliciting another explosion of approval from the crowds.

“Kaylorn the Warlock of Ironforge, versus Dame Airyanna – a Paladin of Stormwind!”

The Warlock’s eyes narrowed as he was presented with his first opponent: a lanky girl wielding a short sword and a shield, both of which gleamed in the sunlight. She walked slowly out into the snowy arena, the biting wind and cold swirling around her. The crowd was deafening with its roars similar to a dragon’s, rattling the ground and pumping adrenaline through the young Paladin’s veins. She looked up, up into the sky with her raven hair that swirled about her, catching the eye of several High Council members. Those that survived her attack were there, all of them. Taolyn whispered a prayer to her, unable to see the words but she felt their meaning in her heart.

Be well, my child. Be victorious.

Airyanna closed her eyes, breathing in the chilled air until it filled her lungs to capacity. Her hand tightened around the leather tightly wrapped about the hilt of her sword, the other holding her shield firmly in place. She readied herself for battle, taking a stance that gave her as much leverage as she could manage with her somewhat tall frame. The warlock eyed her from across the battlefield, the crowd breaking into a chant for blood and victory. Airyanna could see his red eyes through the snow and she shuddered as a demonic pattern was suddenly etched on the ground before him. The Warlock dropped to a knee, causing Airyanna to pause, along with the waiting crowd.

“Is he alright, ladies and gentlemen?” the announcer asked. “What a twist…”

Airyanna could hear her own heartbeat in her chest. The ground started to rumble and shake, causing a few of the audience to start to run in fear. The ground cracked around the warlock and his pattern of runes on the ground, and out from the circle burst a red-skinned, toothy abomination – a demon the size of a small house with his twisted armor, its massive goat legs and outstretched wings. It roared into the air, an agonized roar in pain and suffering as it was suddenly ripped from its home and placed here in their world.

“Would you look at that!” yelled the goblin announcer, “The Warlock must be a master of the demonic arts! What a work of art! What majesty! How amazing! Will the young paladin ever be able to defeat something like this?!”

It dropped onto its front claws, its red eyes finding Airyanna, its brain dominated by the Warlock who summoned him. With another roar that shook the arena walls it outstretched its leathery wings, launching itself at the Paladin until its endless rows of razor teeth smashed full-out into her magical shield. She heard its teeth break and felt its acidic saliva spray onto her as she fell backward several steps, tightening her grip on her sword. The crowd began to cheer again, shocked that the young female Paladin survived the demon’s first devastating blow.

“She’s alive! She’s alive! What a show!” yelled the announcer, “but I don’t think that demon is done yet! Can Dame Airyanna manage to recover and fight back? With what magic? HAS SHE NONE?”

She heard no voices. She held tightly to the memories and thoughts of the ones she loved the most; the children of New Avalon, her friends and Crystoph. She fought for them. She fought for an answer, a solution, a way to fix everything. Her shield swiped at the demon’s maw, knocking its head aside and exposing its leathery neck where her sword was quickly plunged, eliciting a cry of pain from the monster. Its wings shuddered as it twisted away from her, she withdrawing the blade with an explosion of green blood blasting forth from the demon’s deep wound. The crowd quieted with the attack, then roared their support for the mortal woman. The demon lifted its claw and swiped at her to no avail as her nimble body danced away, an annoying gnat that prodded the demon into a fury. She made distance, her eyes surveying the arena for its controller, who was nowhere to be found.

“What a work of grace and beauty! With a body chiseled by the Titans, to be sure! The demon can’t hit what it can’t find! Surely, it is only a matter of time before her inevitable defeat… or is it?”

In the stands, Varlen, Haley and Lucy were attendees. Haley’s head was already buried in Varlen’s chest, unable to bear the violence. Lucy analyzed the situation without emotion. Varlen remained silent, his wizened eyes intently watching the battle.

“Come on now, girl. You can do it,” he mumbled.

Kraiven was silent, making not a move as he watched her fight. He observed her style; he admired her strength and dexterity. He loved her intelligence when it came to battle. He could not help but remember a younger version of this very Paladin fighting off hordes of Undead, fleeting glimpses of memories from what seemed like millennia ago.

Airyanna turned and made a mad dash for a large stone pillar, the beast giving chase and picking up a full head of steam. Gushing green blood vomited from its wound, leaving a trail of acid that ate into the snowy ground behind it.

The endless voice of the announcer continued to fill the arena, “Oh no! She’s decided to turn and run! That won’t do any good ladies and gentlemen, there’s no escaping the coliseum! Where is she going?”

The paladin grit her teeth as the powerful muscles in her thighs clamped down, vaulting her into the air. With a flip, she caught the stone with her feet and stuck to the stone pillar like an insect, coiling up and waiting just long enough for the demon to crash into it at full speed. She leapt from the column as the demon crashed into it, a streak of black hair following through the air. A crack formed in the pillar’s foundation, bits of stone dust falling onto the beast’s head, it stunned and confused by the trauma. The demon looked upward, stretching its wings to fly, but it was too late. The beam teetered and crashed down upon it, sending tons of jagged stone into its flesh. Airyanna the butterfly landed on its back and with a wail of her own plunged her sword deeply into the beast, causing it to stiffen and become paralyzed with pain. She was blasted backward by its attempts to get out from under the beam, landing harshly in the snow and rolling several times before jumping back to her feet. She took but a moment to admire her handiwork, the demon slowly dying, buried alive.

“Oh my! Oh my! She’s done it! She’s used her situation to her advantage, though I must admit that we can’t have any more competitors doing things like this, for the sake of the Coliseum’s structural integrity!”

That moment of admiration was enough for the Warlock to take advantage. Airyanna’s lovely hair was grabbed and her head jerked back, she could feel the Warlock’s filthy breath on her ear. A runed dagger was drawn to her neck, so close that her crimson blood already started to pour down between her uplifted breasts.

He whispered to her, his voice raspy and weak. “You see, young lady… killing my most powerful demon has done nothing… nothing!”

Kraiven stepped forward, but held himself back. The crowd went deathly silent, the arena going quiet except for the demon’s death wails. Taolyn stood from her seat, as did Varlen.

The Warlock licked his blade, making her cringe in disgust. He smacked his lips as the blade was returned to her neck, shuddering as she did. “Virgin blood,” he gasped, coughing once and sending some of it spattering to the snowy ground. “How delicious. I can see why the Lich King commands that we bring you to him, so pure… so innocent. But perhaps before… yes… before I take you to him, I can siphon some of that delicious blood for my own experiments.”

Airyanna grit her teeth as he pressed the dagger harder, more trickles of blood dripping from her neck. From behind the Warlock rose a gateway to the twisting nether. Airyanna closed her eyes, thinking hard. The warlock started to pull at her, trying to drag her into the portal. She tried to draw strength. She prayed to the light. She thought of Crystoph. She thought of Taolyn and Varlen and all the people that refused to quit on her.

Like a wild horse she kicked her leg upward and caught the Warlock between the legs, accompanied by an almost audible sound of walnuts cracking. His eyes crossed and as his dagger was lifted a precious inch from her neck, she spun around and smashed her shield into the demented man’s chest, sending him hurling through his own portal which swallowed him whole. She collapsed to the ground, coughing and gagging as blood poured from her neck, her hands finally releasing her sword and shield. Healers ran from the tunnels to assist her as the crowd began to roar with applause, chanting their love and admiration.

The goblin spoke, “Round one, fight one: Dame Airyanna, the victor!!”

Taolyn sat down in her chair, placing her hand over her heart and sighing. Round one, Airyanna had made it through.