It was a surprisingly uneventful journey south to the Faire; the group arrived the next day no worse for the wear. After securing lodgings for the night, they set out to register for the tournament.
“Good day!” a cheerful Faire worker said. “Do you wish to register?”
“We do,” Niggaroso said.
“I will warn you,” the worker said slyly, “the competition is tough.”
He pointed to the arena, where an elf, a gnome, and another Eladrin were battling a group of dragonborns – and winning.
“Them?” Thorin asked.
The worker laughed. “They are a ragtag group of nobodies, but they remain undefeated in the arena thusfar.”
The crowd let out an “Ooh!” as the elf shot one of the dragonborn’s helmets right off his head. The dragonborn clutched his bare head and dove behind a statue.
Niggaroso scoffed and signed the registration form with great flourish. Thorin and Marill were right behind him.
“Well,” the Faire worker said, checking his notebook, “it appears as if these adventurers have defeated every other group at the Faire. So when they are done with the dragonborns, you’re next.”
The three exchanged glances. “How are you so sure that they are going to win?” Marill asked.
The worker just smiled. “To the right, then,” he said, pointing to the arena entrance. “Through the first door on the left.” He paused, and grinned even wider. “Best of luck to you.”
…
Niggaroso, Thorin, and Marill waited impatiently behind a closed gate on the far side of the arena. The dragonborn team was still battling the other adventurers, but one of their own was down – and another was about to be in the same position.
Thorin scanned the competition. The gnome was the smallest, standing about a foot shorter than Marill. He dashed between his companions, maneuvering swiftly. He looked incredibly comical, as he only reached to their mid-thighs. Despite his stature, it was clear that he was their leader. He fired off commands to the others before taking refuge behind the elf. Thorin had seen his kind before; a bard. He was singing loudly, and clearly annoying the other team.
The second competitor was an Eladrin, and displayed some similar physical characteristics to Niggaroso. But he was smaller, and paler. He was flipping idly through a book, almost as if he was bored and on vacation. In between pages he lazily sent out bolts of arcane magic that effortlessly hit their marks.
“Artificer,” Niggaroso said, nodding his head as if he approved.
The third was an elf, on the short side, but still two feet taller than her gnome companion. She was hard to keep track of, as she moved so fast she seemed to teleport across the arena. She fired off arrows in mere seconds, dark hair swinging with each movement. Her eyes were dark as well, but alight with fiery concentration as she easily side-stepped an attack from her opponent. In the blink of an eye, she whipped out a longsword and dug it into the back of the dragonborn, who blinked and fell over.
“And a ranger,” Thorin said.
The last dragonborn stood, facing the three. The elf nocked her bow again and took aim.
Suddenly, the dragonborn dropped to his knees. “Stop! I forfeit!”
A loud horn blasted across the arena, signaling the end of the battle. The crowd went wild, cheering for the oddly mismatched team. They relished in the attention, bowing and clapping.
“Winners,” came a booming voice, “for the tenth round, bard Eidward Ku Len, artificer Dirac, and ranger Adrie Stormslayer!”
The crowd again let loose a flood of whoops, shouts, and general noise.
“And now,” the same announcer declared, “Round eleven! Our three reigning champions versus newcomers to the Faire! Wizard Niggaroso Von Blackius, fighter Thorin, and rogue Marill Samazumi!”
The crowd cheered. The other team sized up their opponents and were clearly unimpressed.
“And begin!” the announcer shouted.
“What should we do?” Thorin asked.
“I shall bring down the ranger,” Niggaroso said. “After her, the artificer. We will save the gnome for last. Everyone behind the statue. I will cast the first shot.”
Thorin and Marill nodded in agreement and took up their positions. Niggaroso stepped out quickly, and fired off an arcane missile at the ranger, hoping to catch her off-guard.
But she was faster than that. In what seemed like milliseconds, she dodged the bolt and nocked her bow, taking careful aim. Then she fired. The arrow sailed through the air, the tail of it catching fire. Niggaroso looked on in terror. The arrow seemed to move in slow motion, he silently prepared for what was about to happen. The arrow found its mark, and the sheer might of it knocked Niggaroso off his feet. His vision swam, dots clouded his eyes. His head ached horribly.
“AND THE WIZARD IS TAKEN DOWN IN JUST ONE SHOT FROM THE MIGHTY BOW OF THE ADRIE STORMSLAYER!” the announcer yelled over the roar of the crowd.
“Niggaroso!” Thorin cried. He could not answer.
“He’ll be fine,” he heard Marill say. “We have to take them down, now!”
Marill cast one final, worried glance at his fallen comrade and started to move forward. He had already decided that the gnome was his; it was to Eidward that he moved.
He snuck around to the side of the statue, narrowly avoiding a flurry of bolts from the artificer Dirac. Sneaking a glance around the corner, he noticed the gnome… and struck swiftly with his dagger.
Eidward was hurt, but not nearly as bad as Niggaroso. He climbed painfully to his feet and called out to his companions.
“Adrie! Dirac!”
Their heads snapped around. They both eyed Marill with determination. It was then that the rogue knew he had made a mistake. They were on him in seconds.
…
At the opposite end of the arena, Thorin cursed his fallen teammates. Not that it mattered to him. He was confident he could take all three.
It was with this confidence that he took a slow step out from behind the statue, in full view of his opponents. The bard had begun singing again. The artificer was mumbling something over his glowing hands. And the ranger was moving her bow in his direction, preparing to fire.
Yet all Thorin felt was ready.
-Kim
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