Session 70

The Honor Duels begin soon. But first, we prepare.

Two hours deeper into avian territory, escorted like prisoners to their semi-permanent settlement built around ancient ruins. Dozens of warriors watching us with predator eyes. An elder presiding. The shaman Tirana translating the rules of combat while shadows wreathed around her staff.

"Spill blood, stand with honor or fall."

Seven of us. Seven of them. Two arenas - stone circles on a hilltop, or wilderness fighting in the forest. Teams of four each, then the survivors from the first duel join the second. Magic allowed. Weapons allowed. Animal companions allowed. Even necromancy, judging by the bones scattered across the fighting ground.

Most importantly: we cannot leave these circles until we've bled on the soil. Ancient magic binds the arenas. Try to flee before proving courage, and they hunt us all down. But here's the part that makes this bearable - the arenas have restorative magic woven into them. Death won't claim anyone today. Fall in combat, and you'll be brought back. The avians want to test our courage, not execute us.

They introduced their champions like gladiators. Zavrak Dwarfsbane - a six-and-a-half-foot mountain of muscle and war paint, wielding thunder magic and an axe bigger than Aluni. The kind of foe that makes smart fighters reconsider their life choices.

Aroc Beastbrother brought a snow leopard and a raptor. Professional beast master with longbow and shield. Gret Cliffstalker sailed down from the trees with a blowgun and bandolier full of glowing green poison. One-eyed Tovor, Roth's dance partner from the border negotiations, now wearing throwing knives like jewelry. Ignoring the rest of us, she only has eyes for Roth. (See what I did there?)

Sira Listens to Wind - beautiful white feathers, staff crackling with ice magic. Storm druid, probably as dangerous as the rest combined. And Tirana Mountain Ember herself, flames rising from her staff when she plants the end on the ground.

Then there was the young one. Movruk. Just Movruk - no clan name, no earned title. Barely past adolescence, carrying two tomahawks and the desperate hunger of someone trying to prove himself, and not just to the others. The other avians showed him no respect. Their youth getting thrown into honor combat with seasoned killers.

I know that look. I wore it once.

The teams sorted themselves through careful negotiation and strategic positioning. Tovor wouldn't move until she saw where Roth went - professional recognition between fighters who understand each other. Or at least want a piece of each other. When Zavrak stepped into the stone arena, I followed him.

Couldn't help myself - walked right up to the massive warrior, close enough to see the war paint streaked across his feathers, and looked up at all that muscle. "Sup, big guy? That's a lot of muscles. Must make it a little hard to fly like all these other birds."

The jab hit home. His eyes narrowed, and I could feel the thunder magic crackling around him in response. The other avians went dead silent for a moment. Sometimes putting your adversaries off their emotional balance is good tactics. And sometimes my wise mouth just gets the best of me before my brain catches up. Either way, I'd marked myself as his primary target. Good. Let the big scary one focus on the shadow who can disappear at will.

I ended up in the stone arena with Zarael, Roth, and Aemon against Zavrak, Tovor, Tirana, and the kid. The forest arena got Flynt, Artemis, Aluni, and probably whoever survives our bloodbath first, facing the beast master, the poisoner, and the storm witch.

Before the fight, we buffed ourselves like proper adventurers. Roth blessed us all, except for himself. I guess divine favor only stretches so far. He also made us just that much more vigorous. Again, us, not himself. He apparently wants to keep us alive more than himself. Paladins. Aemon surprised everyone by conjuring a pack of wolves, then morphing into a wolf himself to join them. Suddenly our twitchy apothecary became a proper threat with a personal army.

Zarael... Zarael did something I haven't seen before. Used thaumaturgy to project her voice across the arena, announcing her intention to demonstrate complete control over her shadow magic. Then she activated what she called "form of dread."

Shadows poured from her mouth, her eyes, her ears. Tendrils of living darkness wreathed around her like hungry serpents. The bonfire cast long shadows behind every pillar, and those shadows seemed to reach toward her, responding to her call. Then she layered more shadow on top, concealing her form completely while radiating wrongness that made my teeth ache... but in a good way?

Roth apparently didn't think so, though. He pointedly kept his distance. Smart man. His divine light and her corrupt darkness don't play well together.

Her aberration should concern me more than it does. But watching her command those shadows with perfect control, seeing the calculated way she demonstrated her abilities... she's not consumed by whatever darkness she channels. She's using it as a tool.

The Shadow Line teaches that fire reveals but darkness conceals. Zarael understands concealment on a level most shadow practitioners never reach. Whatever bargain she made for that power, she's not its victim. It's kinda hot.

Tirana immediately recognized the threat and cast protection from evil and good on herself. The avians know corrupted magic when they see it. Whatever's happening to this forest, whatever Melkoth has unleashed, they've encountered it before. Zarael's power registers as the same type of aberrant energy.

Whatever she did, she managed to cover all of her companions except Movruk. Poor kid.

Couldn't help myself. Called out across the battlefield: "Movruk! No protection for you? That must reeeaaally hurt!" I did feel kinda bad for him, though. Watching an elder abandon their youngest reminded me too much of other things. Other failures of people who should have protected someone smaller.

The fight opened with positioning and patience. Tovor moved to cover, using her action to hide behind the pillars. Zavrak advanced but stayed defensive, too smart to charge four opponents alone. Roth readied a challenge, hoping to draw the big warrior into range.

Then I made a brilliant tactical decision that was in no way an impulsive spur-of-the-moment action. I am, after all, a professional. I shrouded the central bonfire in magical darkness, plunging most of the arena into shadow. The avians have excellent eyesight for hunting, but like most raptors, they're built for daylight. Most of our party isn't bothered by having to see through darkness, but all of the birds are. The exception is Roth, but hey, he wants sacrifice, he gets sacrifice.

I coalesced in the shadows behind the rocks to get an angle on young Movruk, who promptly tried to show off with some kind of acrobatic approach and ate stone instead. He's a martial artist alright, but apparently not very experienced yet. Kid's having the worst first day of the rest of his life. Good thing his spectating crowd of young admirers was having trouble actually spectating at the time.

Game's barely started and already the pieces are moving. Zarael positioned herself for spell support, ready to blast anything that shows itself. The wolf pack advances with Roth's protective aura. I'm flanking through the shadows. Even Kenna the pseudodragon is helping - Zarael sent her to Roth so she can project vision and help him navigate the darkness.

Soon we'll find out if "they burn out, we endure" applies to thunder magic and poisoned blowguns. Knowing death isn't permanent makes this feel less like a fight for survival and more like the most elaborate training exercise I've ever participated in. Still dangerous - still going to hurt when that axe connects - but the stakes are honor, not life.

Watching this strange collection of broken people prepare for ritual combat with the same professional focus I learned from Kael... I think we're going to surprise these avians. They expect softskins from the empire.

They're getting something else entirely. They're getting people who build what others would burn. People who protect each other even when possessed by serial killer ghosts or wreathed in aberrant shadow magic. People who've learned to endure by standing together.

The chain continues. Even when it leads to ritual combat under ancient magic, watched by crowds of predators who've made their settlement from the bones of anyone who came before.

We'll show them what endurance really means.