81st of Zi'da, Arc 718
The Shookspear celebration yesterday had been a good excuse to put this off, but Praetorum had known he would have to do this ever since he had first stepped into the city and seen the building, standing as proud and imposing as the empress herself. So he stood now, before the doors of Raskalarn's temple, steeling himself to enter as he should have trials ago. Taking in a deep breath, he stepped forwards, and pushed open the doors, striding in with as much confidence as he could muster.
The interior was glorious, a wide, open space with fine weapons and armor lining the walls, each item unique and clearly custom made for some warrior. But his eyes were immediately drawn to the center, where a large sparring ring, nearly an arena, was currently in use. The ring was encircled by stone chairs, with a single golden one sitting empty at the head, and several people were seated around the ring, watching the battle in progress.
Praetorum stepped closer, eyes fixed on the combatants. Both were priests, it seemed, each bearing the golden crown that signified Raskalarn's favor. One was an Ithecal, a Paltharnum woman who wielded a scimitar in each hand, while the other was human, a large bearded man armed with a greatsword. Again and again their weapons clashed, forcing each other back and forth along the battleground. Neither seemed to have the advantage over the other, but both were clearly unwilling to back down.
As quietly as he could manage, Praetorum took a seat among the spectators, holding his scythe loosely at his side. A quick look showed that the audience was mostly other priests, with a handful of others scattered around. Some glanced at him as he sat; most ignored him, focused entirely on the fight before them.
Praetorum did his best to focus as well, aware even before he sat down of what the seats were meant to do; he'd seen similar setups in others of Raskalarn's temples before. Designed to test one's self discipline, the chairs were massively uncomfortable to sit on, which was why he had left his plate armor behind; there was no point to the test if he wore a protective layer.
Forcing himself to keep still, Praetorum kept his eyes on the combatants, trying to ignore the pricks of cold stone against his hide. He couldn't imagine what this would be like for a human or wyvarnth, with their pitiably thin skin.
The interior was glorious, a wide, open space with fine weapons and armor lining the walls, each item unique and clearly custom made for some warrior. But his eyes were immediately drawn to the center, where a large sparring ring, nearly an arena, was currently in use. The ring was encircled by stone chairs, with a single golden one sitting empty at the head, and several people were seated around the ring, watching the battle in progress.
Praetorum stepped closer, eyes fixed on the combatants. Both were priests, it seemed, each bearing the golden crown that signified Raskalarn's favor. One was an Ithecal, a Paltharnum woman who wielded a scimitar in each hand, while the other was human, a large bearded man armed with a greatsword. Again and again their weapons clashed, forcing each other back and forth along the battleground. Neither seemed to have the advantage over the other, but both were clearly unwilling to back down.
As quietly as he could manage, Praetorum took a seat among the spectators, holding his scythe loosely at his side. A quick look showed that the audience was mostly other priests, with a handful of others scattered around. Some glanced at him as he sat; most ignored him, focused entirely on the fight before them.
Praetorum did his best to focus as well, aware even before he sat down of what the seats were meant to do; he'd seen similar setups in others of Raskalarn's temples before. Designed to test one's self discipline, the chairs were massively uncomfortable to sit on, which was why he had left his plate armor behind; there was no point to the test if he wore a protective layer.
Forcing himself to keep still, Praetorum kept his eyes on the combatants, trying to ignore the pricks of cold stone against his hide. He couldn't imagine what this would be like for a human or wyvarnth, with their pitiably thin skin.