A Talk of Glory

While I've not heard how the characters for Super Fantasy Brawl are recruited to the Arena I couldn't help wonder if it was a bit something like this.

Image from Super Fantasy Brawl by Mythic Games

The room was sparse but nice. The furniture was comfortable and hand-made. A table, some chairs, and a warm bed filled the space. At the foot of the bed was a dark chest, similar to the one he had placed at the end of his bunk in the barracks.

It reminded Dugrun of home. Except the walls. These weren’t like the keep in the Frostfel Mountains. The walls at home were smooth grey stone. These were a coarse tan sandstone. He ran his fingers across the surface of the nearest one. It was rough and weak. Though there were no tool marks which showed a level of care to them.

There was a sturdy door in one wall. Though, thick oak by the look of it. Iron braces held it together. It was undoubtedly locked. Dugrun would see to that in a moment. That and a way to defend himself, his hammer, shield, and war horn were absent.

He turned his attention to the last feature, a wide window was fixed in a far wall. A set of curtains similar to the ones his mum had were hung over them. One side was pulled open to reveal a bright sky with few clouds. A harsh sun shone down from above marking it close to midday.

He heard a cheer from outside the window. There was a crowd. From the sound, it was massive. Dugrun moved to see the view and perhaps get a better idea of what was going on, who had taken him, and maybe even how they had done it.

Far below a battle was being held in an arena. Five warriors clashed around three statues. No wait, it was six. One of them had been burrowing under the sand and burst out to attack a tigeran warrior. The crowd cheered as the gladiators blades clashed.

“There’s a bowl of stew on the table fer ye.”

Dugrun moved back from the window and grabbed one of the chairs. He held it in front of himself to ward off any blows from the person. A stout figure sat in the shadow of the closed curtain. Dugrun tried to make out some features of the shadowy form who watched the match below with a detached interest.

“Who are ye?” asked Dugrun.

“A friend.” The figure kept his eyes on the fight below.

Dugrun began to move towards the door behind him.

“Calm down,” said the figure. “If they’d wanted to hurt you they’d have done it. You’re safe.”

Dugrun paused and slowly set the chair down and sat angling himself to be able to see the door and the figure obscured in the window.

“Eat the stew before it gets cold. It’s yer favorite.”

“Not possible,” said Dugrun. “I only like me ma’s stew.”

“Try it then.”

Dugrun reached out a cautious hand and took the bowl. He sniffed the thick mixture of gravy, meat, and vegetables. It certainly smelled like his ma’s. He dipped a tentative finger in the liquid and tasted it. It was his ma’s.

“Told ye it was yer favorite,” said the shadow.

Dugrun ignored the two spoons in the middle of the table and took the half loaf of bread. He tore a chunk off and began scooping the stew up with the crusty ends as he had when he was a child.

“How do ye have me ma’s stew?” asked Dugrun. “She’s been gone for…”

“Some six years,” said the figure. “I know. It’s what they do here.”

“It’s not all they do here,” said Dugrun motioning towards the window.

“True.”

Outside there was a crack of thunder and the figure let out a bark of laughter as the crowd cheered.

“What happened?” asked Dugrun.

“Gwaien,” said the figure as if it had answered the question. “You’ll understand later.”

“Is that what they mean for us to do?” asked Dugrun. “Fight for the crowds?”

“Aye,” said the figure. “If ye wish to. I did.”

“What if I say no?” asked Dugrun. “Will they just let me out of the locked room to go home?”

“Ye can leave when ye want,” said the figure. “Doors not locked. Exit’s out and to the right. Third door down. It’ll take you home. Yer kit’s in the chest.”

Dugrun walked over and opened the chest. The figure was telling the truth, Dugrun’s hammer, shield, and war horn sat neatly placed in the chest. They had been cleaned and polished to a shine. He strapped everything in place and walked to the door.

“Thank ye fer the stew. It brought back good memories.”

“It always does,” said the figure.

Dugrun opened the door and looked out of the room. He was in a large barracks. The outer edge of the room was ringed with doors; some open and some not. A large practice area was set in the middle of the room. Several training dummies were set around the room at regular intervals.

A large troll in heavy armor was eviscerating a trio of dummies with his claws. As soon as he was done he stepped back and yelled, “Again.” The dummies quickly stitched themselves back together. The troll took a deep breath and started again.

“Do ye want to know the prize fer fightin?” asked the figure.

Dugrun looked back at the figure in the room. “Is that yer job?” he asked. “To recruit me?”

“Not exactly,” said the figure. “I’m more here to get you ready to be recruited.”

 “What could they possibly offer me?”

“What do ye want?”

“Money, power, the usual,” said Dugrun.

“No,” said the figure. “I didn’t say ‘what do ye think they’re offering.’ I said ‘what do ye want?”

“They don’t have it,” said Dugrun.

“Try me.”

“Home. I want a home.”

“Just any old place,” said the figure. “Nice little picket fence and some roses? That’s what ye’d like?” The figure paused. “Tell me what you want. Deep down in the core of yer being. In yer soul.”

“Dundurin,” said Dugrun. “I want them to last. I want them to thrive. The mountains and my people who live there.”

“Done.”

“What,” asked Dugrun.

“Done,” said the figure. “If you win, they’ll live on for all time. Just as ye asked.”

Dugrun stopped. “How do they do that? How is it possible?”

“It is,” said the figure. “I’m not good at explaining it. They’ll have someone along who can do better than I.”

“What do I have to do?” asked Dugrun. “How many do I have to kill? How long must I play in their games? Is it till I die or become so broken I can’t go on?”

“Neither,” said the figure. “All of them. There’s a tournament going on below us right now. Each of the wizards involved have chosen a few heroes and villains from throughout - whenever and we face off to see who makes the best team. Be a part of the team that wins everything and ye’ll get yer wish.”

“How long does it take?” asked Dugrun.

“That is a hard question to answer,” said the figure. “The tournament is a few weeks but you’ll take part over most of yer life. Stepping in and out depending on where in the tournament the match is taking place.”

“How many fights have you had,” asked Durgun.

“I don’t believe I’m allowed to say. Don’t want to spoil the surprise.”

“Is there ever an end to it?”

“Aye,” said the figure. “I just fought my last match a few hours ago. I’m spending time to watch an old friend face their final opponent. They let ye do that.”

“I’m meant to replace ye?”

The figure laughed.

Dugrun’s hand rested on the shaft of his hammer. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” said the figure. “It’s just that I remember asking that question and getting mad at the answer. It just struck me now. The things ye remember.”

“Any advice before ye leave?”

“Watch yer left,” said the figure. “Beware the skies, and try and remember to make new friends. Ye’ll be working with and against everyone here. Ye’ll not like them all but ye will love some. Some will be like brothers and sisters. One may be more. When ye remember to let them.”

Dugrun let go of the door handle. “Can they really do it? What you said?”

“Yes,” said the figure.

“Then I think I’ll stay.”

“I know.”

Dugrun looked at the figure through the curtain. “Have you recruited so many that you never fail?”

“Yer the first,” said the figure. “Ye’ll only ever take part in this little chat twice. Once from that end. Once from this un.”

“Thank ye,” said Dugrun. “What’s yer name old timer?”

“Not sure I’m allowed to say.”

“Then how will I speak of ye?” asked Dungrun. “I must call ye something when I speak of this?”

“If ye must call me something call me Warden.”

“Goodbye Warden,” said Dugrun as he exited the room.

“Good luck,” said the Warden smiling. “We’re gonna need it.”

end

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