Lessons Learned

[Blystos Re]

The setting sun fell upon Daeron’s neatly kept streets as shopkeepers brought in their goods and swept off their stoops and citizens drifted off to various temples and shrines to pay their evening homage to their benevolent gods. Bells tolled the call to worship and gentle chanting floated over the rooftops. Monks and priests greeted one another with smiles and clasping of hands.

The peace and tranquility above the cobblestones made no suggestion of what was taking place several yards below them. Deep within the hidden chambers and halls that ran under the city streets, devout warriors of faith disciplined and prepared themselves for that which would one day arrive. Each one a soldier in an elite fighting force, bringing their individual gifts and abilities together as a whole, the power of which would one day be nearly unstoppable. Several groups sparred in one of the main halls, entering circles chalked onto the smooth stone floor. Common were the sounds of bones snapping and the sight of a youth with a mop and bucket rushing to clean up a pool of blood. Pain was a badge of pride here, and healing was given only when further training would otherwise be hindered.

Out of one of these circles stepped a brash young man with earthen skin, shaking sweat from his hair and then stretching his shoulder from the blow he had suffered. His opponent was helped to a cot against a nearby wall and bandaged quickly by three aides. Chuckling to himself at the bruise appearing quickly on his neck, he dipped his head in a water tank to cool off. He was young by the standards of this army, but eager to prove himself against any who would face him. He had a wit like a razor and a tongue to match, and found these combined with the natural toughness he had been born with made for an effective fighter. Sensing a presence at his back, he turned slowly. “Right then, you next? I got a lot o’ people put down today already, but I reckon I can handle one more.”

He was surprised to see one of the lead healers there rather than another combatant. “Healing?” she said, nodding toward his shoulder. Her eyebrows raised and lips slightly curled in a smirk at his words.

“Nah,” he set down his shield and waved her away. “’Ain’t nothin’ I can’t work through. If it's one thing I don't like it's people always relyin’ on a healer’s touch…kind of a weakness, doncha think?”

“I can’t say that I agree with you,” she shook her head. “A trained healer can mean the difference between life and death. When you stand in the halls of the hells and you face their evil, would you not wish for a healer to restore you from the withering touch of the damned? If they were to best you, would you not be grateful for a second chance?”

“Bah, nonsense,” he laughed. “I’d want to have another blade at my flank than a bloody priest to worry about. They’d last but moments and only prove a distraction in the end.” Those nearby grew quiet, those behind craned their necks to see what was stirring. The fact was that many in the room were priests and the young man’s statement furrowed the brow of more than one of them.

“I’d mind yer words, boy,” a dwarf nearby spoke up. “Ye could find yerself need’n her help someday, and I’d wager you’ll be thankful she’s there te save yer hide when ye do.”

“You’ve gotta be joking!” he retorted. “I mean, speak of distractions! I’d be too worried about defending the lass to be any good fightin’”. He was getting carried away now, but he had an audience which only acted to fuel the fire.

“I assure you,” she said calmly. “I can more than take care of myself.”

“Yeah,” he replied sarcastically. “You bet. Personally, I don’t think you’d last ten minutes.”

“Against whom?” she asked him. “You?”

His blood ran hot, this sounded like a challenge and he could not back down. “Yeah,” he nodded slowly, glancing around the room. “Why not?” A murmur went through the group of spectators that was quickly becoming a crowd, though rather than boisterous and good natured it seemed to be of concern. Nothin’ I need to worry about, he thought to himself. If these sorry sods think this girl can best me then I’ve got a show for them.

“Alright then,” she nodded once, not a trace of emotion on her face. “Whenever you are ready.” She removed her robes to reveal a light, loose fitting tunic and trousers. Her arms bore the tattooed marks of their guild. She entered the ring unarmed.

Through the clamor of the crowd, the dwarf pulled the young man aside. “Listen te me, Al. Yer makin’ a grave mistake here.” He tugged intently at the others sword arm. “Clan Bralk, the giants…they’ve adopted her name as a curse! She’s not te be taken lightly, this lass.”

“Pshhh!” Alrhond rolled his eyes and picked up his shield. “Thanks for the warnin’ shorty. She’s a healer…c’mon, how bad can she be?” He hefted his practice sword, sharpened, but made of mundane metal, and headed out to the ring.

“Bah,” spat the dwarf. “Famous last words. Maybe ye needs a good arse-kickin’.”

Ten minutes later the two still circled each other, Alrhond battered, limping and frustrated as all hell with the woman opposite him who sported a handful of cuts from his sword and bruises from his shield. She seemed not to be bothered, though her blood dripped on the stone, mixing with his. Roaring, he swung out in an intricate series of blows, driving her back. His last thrust would have missed, but he changed direction at the last second. It was a bad, off-balance attack, but the tip of his sword hit her in the mid-section, drawing a sharp gasp from the wounded priestess.

She leapt back clutching at the wound with one hand and glancing at the fresh, dark blood that trickled between her fingers, yet she still did not heal herself. Too proud, he thought. It’ll be her downfall.

He lunged at her, hoping to take advantage of this momentary show of weakness, but his downward cut met the floor with a clang. Her knee met his ribs with a crunch and her hands pressed against his skin. In an instant his whole body burned as each blow she had inflicted intensified. Skin split over swollen welts and even old scars opened up and bled anew. He screamed in pain and shrugged her off.

Staggering and spitting blood, he listened to a roar go up from the crowd. As they quieted and a rhythmic clapping of hands commenced, he shouted out to his opponent. “I hear that the giants use your name for a curse word,” he panted. “I’ve gotta say, Chief Bralk must have been pretty angry with you to get you that…but then, giant’s don’t deal well with infidelity.”

A hush fell over the crowd and the priestess’ eyes grew wide with rage. “What?” He shouted to the crowd, turning around with arms spread to face them all. “I’m only sayin’…what I’d like to know is who she left him for, eh?” He laughed aloud, strutting as he turned back to the priestess.

She wasn’t there. He glanced nervously about…

The hammering blow hit the side of his jaw seemingly out of nowhere, like a bomb from a catapult. He felt teeth shatter and feebly pushed away from her, stars swimming in his vision. He watched the blur of her hand extending and then felt an intense draining from his body and his vision went red. The healer then leapt up, wrapping an arm about his neck and pulling him down backwards. Her knee met his back just between the shoulders with a resounding CRACK!

Suddenly the pain from his body was gone. He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, and he realized what she had done. His vision began to fade to black at the edges as he saw her bend over him. “The spine is both a pillar of strength and a fragile conduit. I learned that from being a healer. Never underestimate your foe, youngling, and never turn your back. I’ll see you when you return from the rifts…and I expect an apology.”