Arena Night: When Blades Learn to Dance Together

by Eleawen Galathiel

Friday eve. The sun did slip o’er the docks of Durakiss, and once more Yvie and Lilian Linelle had turned the Durakiss Arena into a cauldron of cries, sand and cunning. But this time – mark me well, good readers – the fighters did not enter the pit alone. They entered as teams. And I do swear upon Erevan’s ivory quill: even the stands did hold their breath.

Let us begin with the setting, for it deserveth praise. The arena is oval – like a dragon’s egg polished for the occasion – girdled by stands and a sand track twice as vast as that of Saban. Around it, small shops to feed the hungry, and e’en a beach where one may lick the wounds of pride whilst gazing upon the sea. Set in the District Market, close to the docks and to our friend Rodrick, it is open to all. And – the detail that doth gladden the priestess in me – it doth proudly bear the city’s new banner, fluttering like a jest well hung.

The eve did begin with the new system’s telling. By lot, two captains are drawn from the competitors, who choose in turn the members of their teams. Then the two teams do clash, and each fighter of the winning team gaineth a point. After two bouts, two new captains are drawn and the teams fight again. In the end, he triumpheth who hath, alone, gathered the most points. « If I did tell thee that fortune and strategy would embrace beneath the stars… wouldst thou believe me? »

Then came the battles: fierce, intense, cunning. Each team did forge its plan, set its snares, and sometimes sacrifice a piece to save the game – and the sand did fly, to the fighters’ and the crowd’s great delight. I did see sworn foes shield one another, and allies of an hour betray with but a wink. Ah, Erevan’s fair lesson: « Change is the spice of life – and now, it seemeth, of the arena too. »

At the end, the best-ranked did receive their prizes, generous as ever. Well do we know the Arena Night crew: to draw fighters in, one must bait the hook – and they bait it better than the fishmongers of the port.

As a journalist, I do confess it plainly: at no moment was I bored. This format must verily be done again.

Alone, a rogue may steal a purse; in a team, he may steal a throne. Erevan doth whisper it to thee: the truest cunning is not to win alone, but to make others dance with thee.