2017-07-03: We Are Not Playing Tag
- Cutscene: We Are Not Playing Tag
- Cast: Ethius Hesiod
- Where: Lacour, Tournament of Arms, Match 23
- Date: 3 July 2017
- Summary: Grondo Rawlos and Ethius Hesiod battle it out in the first round of the Losers' Bracket. Both appear to be playing entirely different games altogether - and neither appear to win.
So far, this has been the longest match of the tournament. There have been exciting clashes. Narrow battles between fellow swordsmen. Martial artists bringing might to bear against master sorcerers. Heart-pounding exchanges that highlighted the greatest of the greatest that could all converge upon this location - nail-biters that could swing any which way.
The round one Losers' bracket battle between one armored knight named Grondo Rawlos, and one Symbologist named Ethius Hesiod was not one of those battles, set now in the feigned arrangement of a shallow river with a strong current that conveyed a sense of urgency that did not at all reflect the situation on the floor.
"Stand and fight! You... coward!" Grondo growled through heavy breaths as he trudged across the field for the umpteenth time after his opponent, who had once more leaped away to keep his distance.
Ethius had no retort for the accusation, as he circled the outer edge of the arena once more with the tattooed runes visible on his forearms glowing as he prepared some other spell that was much, much more difficult to cast with intent to graze at best en route to some other part of the arena rather than his own opponent. A spray of dust flew past the left-hand side of the armored knight. He paid the tugging sensations at his heels little mind.
"I DON'T KNOW HOW MUCH LONGER ANYONE COULD TAKE THIS!" The announcer shouted. "WE HAVE A WARRIOR WHO CAN'T CATCH A GUY WHO CAN'T CAST FOR BEANS! WHEN WAS THIS THE LACOUR TOURNAMENT OF AMATEURS?"
Ethius was content with the descriptor. He imparted a sense of incompetence in that battle against a fellow Symbologist. With all the commotion, it was easy to mask the intentional mistakes in chanting. He could use these 'accidents' to better test the boundaries of the arena and its protective seals. Even his greatest spell was a feint - something to set the idea that he was little more than a blustery con-man at best. It took his best on-the-spot thinking to invoke the spell's initial wind-up, and then rapid dispersion into harmlessness - requiring as exacting a chant for effect as any other. The distinction would go unappreciated and unnoticed by the masses. This was intended.
"I... I can keep this up... forever...!" Grondo panted, as he found a burst of energy to lunge ever closer.
It was much easier to keep up appearances in a melee contest. Grondo's armor was virtually impenetrable with the Symbologist's sponsor-supplied bronze spear. Even a sincere thrust would have done little against the armored gladiator. Unlike Ethius, Grondo picked his sponsor with full intent to clinch victory. Ethius put in two ineffectual one-handed pokes of the spear, both bouncing off the shoulder and forearm of his opponent respectively.
The only reason he didn't allow the tower shield to land a believable blow was because this had proven a valuable opportunity - an easily-controlled opponent. If all went to plan, this would be the last time he'd stand in the coliseum's pit. He wanted to make the most of it, the jeering of the crowds and the inventive new insults of an announcer be damned.
"I won't... I won't lose to... to a... coward!" Grondo's words grew weaker by the moment, but his resolve was genuine. He had lost his first round against the trenchcoat-wearing warrior Nolipse, even having boasted one of the greatest armored defenses of the entire tournament. He was hungry to stay in the game - hungry enough that he went with one great lunge with all the might he had left.
Ethius, who grew complacent in the limited ways Grondo could swing the shield, found himself leaping into it. The impact echoed across the arena as he went tumbling across the illusory wet rocks. Every contour, every edge, they were felt. Ethius wasn't capable of wearing the heavier armor that his sponsor intended to supply. The pain that shot through his ribs might have made him reconsider the decision to have gone without any at all, as he finished in a kneel.
"THIS LOOKS LIKE THIS MIGHT BE IT! I'M READY FOR THIS TO BE DONE! FINISH THE GUY ALREADY!"
Just as well, Ethius thought, until his ears picked up an errant hum behind him.
He had an idea. He would need help.
Grondo tried to catch his breath after that lunge. He roared tiredly as he stomped over the rapids. Each step was slower than the last.
Come here, Ethius thought. Come closer.
Grondo dropped his shield. The improvement to his mobility lasted for only three steps before his pace slowed again.
Ethius stood up - an idea his sides were not fully for, and the pain he felt reminded him of this fact. He slammed the butt of his spear against the ground in challenge. Pick up your shield. Come again.
Grondo walked four more steps. He was within spear-striking range.
He could do this with his own gauntlets, perhaps, Ethius considered.
The armored knight fell on his seat, a loud exhaling followed by shallow breathing.
Ethius slammed the butt of the spear again.
Grondo no longer had it in him. The chase was too much. He was dehydrated. He was built to withstand almost any full-on physical assault over a short period of time. This extended marathon of cat-and-mouse expended what energy he had to spare. His own armor was just short of cooking him alive, underneath the mid-day heat. He scowled on the outside. Inside, there was only sorrow in resignation.
Ethius tried to coax Grondo one last time to stand and fight with that challenging gesture. The butt of the spear slammed hard enough that the projected rock underneath shattered into oblivion. He was invested, in the moment, to test that theory.
Grondo threw off his helmet in disgust, shook his head, and waved an arm. He was not going to get back up.
The audience was torn between booing for an anticlimactic finish, or relieved that this arduous extended bout full of nothing was done with. The boos won out.
"YOUR WINNER BY SUBMISSION, WITH GRUDGING ACCEPTANCE FOR WHAT WE WILL CHARITABLY CALL CLEVERNESS AGAINST A SUPERIOR OPPONENT - ETHIUS HESIOD!!" The announcer had more choice words that he was informed that he was legally not allowed to say.
Stoically, Ethius planted the butt of the spear against the ground as he looked away from his exhausted opponent, keeping hold of it as his other arm slackened. His eyes looked up into the stands - to where the hooded figures supposedly responsible for this year's landscape-altering development for the Tournament of Arms. They narrowed slightly.
The illusory shallow river returned to the familiar grounds that had soaked so much blood, sweat, and tears over the years.
As appreciative as he might be for another hands-on look at the ins and outs of the arena floor itself, he had other plans. He only wanted to establish his identity in a specific light before he did.
His window of opportunity to investigate thinned with every round he remained. An honorable exit was necessary to give him the least oversight.
Something told him there was far more at stake. He had to find out what, without further delay or mishap.