The Arena

The two gallant warriors step onto the battle field. One clad in red plate mail, the other in rags. The man in red draws his mace, his opponent wields a battle axe.

“To The DEATH!” is heard over the battlefield.

The man in red agrees. He charges, wielding his mace like a maniac. He swings three times at his opponent, missing all three blows.

Surprised, he says “What treachery is this?”

The man in rags smiles, drops his axe, and strikes four times: one elaborate kick to the knee, another to the shoulder. The red clad warrior shouts out in pain. The man in rags then punches the armored foe in the back of the neck and uses his other hand like a sword, severing the head.

The crowd goes wild, chanting, “Mareek! Mareek! Mareek!”

The local Magistrate smiles, enters the arena, and approaches the warrior

“Mareek, you are our most prized champion. Here is your reward.”

He hands Mareek a large chest. In anticipation, Mareek opens it and sees its contents.

One copper piece. Mareek slams it closed in anger.

The magistrate smiles again. “This time, say your name when you open it.”

Mareek obeys and sees the contents: a set of copper bracers, a copper pendant, and two copper rings. Pleased, Mareek smiles, and exits the stadium with his prize.

The Magistrate yells out, “The next two combatants are the sneaky Pockets, and the incredible knight, Stavros."

Stavros stepped onto the field, adorned in black leather armor, wielding a scimitar with a serrated edge.

Pockets enters the field with a well-polished, well-kept rapier with an elaborate cage. In his off hand, he is holding a red dagger with a gold tint to the blade. For armor, he is wearing nothing but a face mask and an simple cape.

Again, “To the Death!” bellows out over the arena.

Pockets frowns. “But this is just a pasttime for me. I want to live.”

The crowd boos. Stavros boos as well. The battle begins.

Stavros draws his scimitar and charges. Pockets side-steps and trips Stavros, snagging his coin pouch. His opponent falls to the ground.

Angered, Stavros gets to his feet and yells a few words in a strange dialect. A flaming scimitar projects from his left hand.

Pockets shoves the pouch into one of the pockets in his cape and draws his rapier. His red dagger glows and catches fire.

Stavros, maddened, lunges at Pockets and nicks him. Pockets drops his flaming dagger and clutches his arm. At the first sight of blood, Stavros feints. The crowd boos.

“Silly paladin, he spent too many years fighting undead creatures that don’t bleed. Very well, the match goes to Pockets and everyone gets to live,” claimed the Magistrate.

Pockets wins the battle and gets a coin pouch out of it and a chest of copper pieces.

Pleased, Pockets dances off of the field.

*****

Now night has fallen, covering the fair village in darkness. The villagers are celebrating the outcome of the weekly tournament. Gleeful cheers of happiness overcome the tavern when Mareek steps into his favorite drinking establishment, The Dark Wolf.

Mareek steps to the bar and orders a large pitcher of dwarven ale. Because he is a regular and a well-known champion, the bartender smiles and says, “No charge.”

A drunken brawl breaks out. A relaxed Mareek is bumped by one of the agitated peasants.

Mareek leaves his bar stool, grabs the two drunken fighters, lifting them off the ground and carries them out the door, drops them in the street and re-enters the tavern.

Finishing his ale, Mareek leaves for his monastery. The mighty warrior travels through the village, entering the mountains surrounding the area. After entering cave after cave, he finally reaches the monastery of the White Spider.

Inside, he sees his fellow monks training. Mareek steps to a giant white idol of a spider.

He bows his head and places his hands on the ground, shapes them like a spider and prays. He does this for about an hour or so. Every minute his hands glow whiter and whiter until the whole room is illuminated.

His meditation is broken by a scream of agonizing pain. Mareek says a short prayer and rises to his feet, dashing to his living quarters and sees his beloved.

She is on the floor, screaming and yelling in pain. “Mareek, Mareek, your child is here.”

The monk runs, searching the monastery for the high priest. When he finds him, they both return to the living quarters. It is all silent except for the crying of a new born baby.

Mareek runs to the lifeless body of his wife and picks up his daughter.

The high priest blesses the baby and the body.

Mareek hoists the body upon his shoulder and walks out of the monastery, ducking in and out of caves until finally he reaches the burial cave. He prepares the body, wrapping it in cloth like a spider encases its prey in its web. He prays over the body and then suspends it on the wall. The sweltering heat overcomes him and he blacks out.