In a world as fantastical and filled with adventure as Tellardrin, one could not contest that huge shows of spectacular violence makes everyone happy. The small Colosseum, built by some hopeful entrepreneurs, literally banked their hopes and dreams on it. And by the grace of the Gods of luck and gambling it was paying off.
This was mostly in part to Garn, of whom to the proprietors had crawled out of the western swamps just to claim the title of champion. It helped the alligator-like Dragonborn was 6'7" and built like a barrel with several logs wrapped in dark green hide topped with another log filled with teeth. He had even gained enough money to gather enough leather and metal to create an intimidating metal sleeve and threatening belt. Of course, arrogance and a swelled head followed, as who could beat a literal giant lizard with a sword that could double as an ironing board?
Garn certainly didn't think it would be the tiny human who cheerfully entered the ring, his friends equal parts wishing him luck and asking why he believed this was a good idea. He toward over the little human, watching the cloud of storm colored hair and dark grey robes flow as the wind kicked up.
He had with him a long and thin sword covered in strange marks, and a overly friendly smile. Garn raised an eye ridge at this newcomer. The proprietors had informed him he would be fighting a formidable adventurer, but the little thing before him looked out of place within the rough sand and high walls of the arena.
"And who are you?" Garn bellowed over the crowd, as it wasn't hard with all the bass in his voice.
"Vort of The Grand Peninsula." He returned, only loud enough for his opponent to hear.
"Let us hope you fight as grand as your title." the dragonborn moved into a fighting stance.
Vort simply smiled and took up his own stance. And when the call to begin came, he flew. Garn watched as the little human dashed forward and hopped into the air, sword poised in a thrust which led towards his opponents un-armored shoulder. He managed to just barely avoid the blow, staggering back as Vort skidded to a halt and retook his stance.
The objective of this battle was simple, hit one another until one was incapacitated. The local Mages had enchanted the stones of the arena to dull any attack so one could not be killed, only bloodied. Garn steadied himself and grinned as he raised his blade.
"I didn't know I would be fighting a Mage." he said.
"What gave it away?" Vort called back.
"No normal swordsman would use such attacks."
Vort laughed, and came at Garn with a fast horizontal slash. Despite his size, the Dragonborn could move with surprising bursts of speed, and stopped the attack with the flat of his own blade, bringing his free fist down toward Vort's head. He rolled out of the way before the scaly mace could make contact,and jumped further back as Garn's massive blade cut the air where he had just been. He let loose a stone-shaking roar as he went on the offensive.
His massive blade whistled though the air and sent clouds of dust as it hit the earth were his nimble opponent had barely managed to get away. Vort managed to move in close enough to land a blow, but was sent flying by a punch to the stomach. And so they went, partners in a deadly dance.
Both had equal reach with their weapons, and what Vort lacked in Garn's impressive strength he made up for in his astounding speed and precision. They continued to trade blows, stepping back and coming at each other with ferocity given to those who quickly grew to respect the other's prowess while all the while the crowd cheered, screamed and bet on the outcome of a fight no one would ever guess would be so intense.
It was when the pair pulled away, Garn knew he had to finish this soon. While the injuries he had sustained were not fatal they were steadily compiling against his stamina. It seemed a much similar case for Vort, blade bobbing with each breath he took. He would have to buy an ale for this one after he won, he thought, prepairing his final strike against the human.
He had just enough time to realize the long and thin blade coming toward his face like an arrow, and quickly raised the flat of his blade to deflect it. He didn't register the impact of it though, as Vort had seemingly materialized in front of him, hovering in the air as the back of his hand made contact with Garns face.
This humble narrator would like to pause on this moment to quickly explain something to you dear reader. Many of you are aware of the phrase "love at first sight" but within Tellardrin's western Dragonborn culture (and a few Dwarven ones as well) is the concept of "love at first blow." Sparing the long winded cultural history as to how it came to be, it boils down to similar concepts: a connection with another which brings about strong feelings, outside of the physical feeling of being struck.
This was the feeling that struck Garn, along with a slap empowered by a storms gale that sent him flying into the nearby wall and into abrupt unconsciousness. It is fairly obvious to admit that it was something absolutely no one had expected, at all.
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