20th Ashan, 719
It was the dead of night in an almost empty arena. Empty, that was save for two. Fridgar, a towering, fierce opponent with more than his fair share of hunts, kills and murders with plenty of scars to prove it... And Rhostus, an old man Lothar who'd openly and directly challenged Fridgar to a duel. Rhostus was elderly, shorter and nowhere nearly as beefy as the enormous, beastly Fridgar, but he'd still looked the scar-clad horrific monster dead in the eye and told him to fight him. Fridgar was... very drunk and fully intended on ripping out the old man's throat with his sharp teeth. Beastly, guttural snarls and growls warned and threatened the smaller Lothar ahead of him, run now, save yourself... Rhostus didn't bat an eye. That was it then, he decided. The world would be short of one old man tonight.
Fridgar, in all his wild majesty, stood well over seven feet tall and weighed in close enough to five hundred pounds. Even among the battle-hardy Lothar of the Gauthrel, he was a monster, a force not to be reckoned with. The marks and tell-tale scars of all his victims painted every stretch of his tan, thick hide. So many things that once breathed had tried to kill the Lothar that stood before Rhostus, not a single one had succeeded. He, typical to his wild and vicious nature, wore nothing but a Loincloth made of soft Stekir skin and nothing else. Every story that threatened his life laid bare in the scripture of his scars for the old man to see, but he still didn't bat an eye. Unexpected for someone of his nature, he wore two pieces of armor. On each hand, a gauntlet made of masterwork Terrendyte. Each one was worth more than a typical home in Andaris and both were designed to his detail. They were made for him to tear into the fleshy hides of strong Gauthrien animals and came equipped with claws on each digit. They also reinforced his bones so that he could strike extremely hard materials like stone and steel without breaking himself.
And to top it all off, he was drunk. This meant a multitude of different boons for any of Ilaren's followers, but the most important in those bits was three sheets to the wind, which granted him incredible strength on top of his existing physical prowess at the cost of all speed and reaction time. It didn't matter that he was slow, all it would take to end the fight was one solid blow to the Lothar's ribs, which would surely be enough to shatter the majority of the bones in his torso like glass, spine included. He'd already decided that this man would die and nothing could convince him otherwise now, or even slow him down.
Rhostus dropped to one knee and began gliding the tip of his finger along different parts of his body... And yellow light followed along his skin to form characters and letters that he didn't recognize, runes. Fridgar huffed through his nose as the man worked. He didn't quite understand what it was that he was doing, but it certainly looked pretty. Fine, if the dumb ass old man Lothar wanted to look sparkly when he died, so be it. "Ek'm til endir þú." Fridgar spat in Haltunga. 'I'm going to end you'. His threat was clear and straight to the point. Rhostus rose his eyebrow in surprise. All this over asking Fridgar to fight him? What were they teaching them in Uthaldria these trials? When Rhostus didn't reply, Fridgar grunted, then took off in a wild charge for the kneeling old man. He rose to his feet with insane speed, prompting Fridgar to double take. How fast had the old man just moved..? It was supernatural, faster than his eye could even keep up with almost... or was it that he was too drunk? Probably the latter.
Fridgar threw his armored fist as hard as he could at the other Lothar... And he ducked with insane quickness, avoiding Fridgar's slow punch with ridiculous ease. In the same motion, a massive, heavy force slammed his chest and not only depleted all of his momenta, but also knocked him back a few feet. Fridgar stumbled, all the sense and air knocked from his lungs. Andaris came to mind, the trials prior to when he'd accidentally tried to kill the king. Warren, Valyeria's father, he also wielded strength and speed like this... And he'd thoroughly kicked his ass, leaving him broken in bed for the most part of a season. If Valyeria hadn't intervened, Warren would have killed him. That was Arcs ago, Fridgar was far stronger now. He quite quickly adjusted his stance to face the old man side-on with his fists raised; more defensive than offensive. "WARREN!" Fridgar yelled at the Runewright. Rhostus' eyelids narrowed a little, then he dove at the Lothar.
Due to his slow reflexes and inebriated head, he didn't even see the hone user until he'd already landed his third punch in his stomach. Fridgar's defense fell apart and Rhostus laid into him, slamming heavy fist after heavy fist into his gut, his ribs, then his face. If it hadn't been for Palenon, Fridgar could have easily broken a few bones by now. Instead, his thick, leather-like hide had torn in places and bled slowly. With a fearsome Roar, Fridgar threw his heavy right hook in retaliation and hit nothing. Rhostus was already gone. He managed to look to his right a glance before being slammed full force in the head from behind by the Runewright's fist. Fridgar fell forward to rest on one knee, despite his incredible endurance, he was panting, trying to catch his breath. "Get up, whelp." The old man barked from behind him.
And immediately, the giant forgot all his fatigue and roared in blind fury before throwing himself a full force for the source of the voice. As he closed in, he spat his bloodied spit for the space below where he intended to punch. He caught a glance of Rhostus' surprised face before it disappeared in a duck that wove beneath his strike. Fridgar had come to expect that, and his bloodied spit met with the Runewright's forehead, just shy of his eyes. All of a sudden, he was knocked clean off his feet by a powerful uppercut that could have verily easily broken his neck... The room spun before he fell flat on his back. His neck was intact, but his body was done. The room was spinning, going black around the edges of his vision. And just before he lost consciousness, he saw Rhostus kneeling over him, drawing the same glowing runes on Fridgar's chest. And then he passed out.
When he opened his eyes, he was in the space of his mind again, wherever he went as he meditated. "That was humiliating." his own voice rang in his head. Then the familiar white, wispy grizzly bear manifested before him, speaking in his voice. It rose onto its hind legs to stand eye level with him, peering deep into his light brown irises with its empty, black eyes. "I couldn't do anything... He was too fast and I was drunk." Fridgar immediately turned to his excuses. "Never mind that. You have fought someone like this before and they almost killed you, did they not?" The bear asked. Fridgar hesitated, then nodded in response. "And even though you are so much stronger now, he still beat you. Why?" The bear kept talking, But Fridgar didn't like what it was saying. "I left my totems at home and got drunk." The Lothar replied, like a child who was being scalded for their mistakes.
The bear nodded, it accepted his answer and understanding of what he'd done wrong. "Go home, replenish yourself, then find this man and make him teach you of these runes. Do you understand?" The bear demanded as though the Protean had no choice in the matter. Fridgar paused for a trill or two longer, which stirred the bear's fury. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?" it bellowed in a roar. Fridgar roared back with his own weaker vocal cords "YES! I UNDERSTAND!" The bear snorted in response, then lowered on to all fours. "See that it is done." It spoke one more time before disappearing in a puff of darkness.
His eyes snapped open, beholding the stone cobbled streets of Lair. It was still dark out and it seemed that no one was around. A look to his left held the sight of the Arena's front entrance with its massive stone door closed. he was still drunk and had a hangover coming, but... His bleeding had stopped? he reached to his face to meet the gash of a steadily healing wound on the side of his head. It was as though he'd been healing for a few trials now, but it had only been a break or so at most, hadn't it? It was hard to tell. The Lothar rubbed his head, then pushed to his feet. He was a bloody, dirty mess. He'd need to get home and clean before Alistair woke up.
It was the dead of night in an almost empty arena. Empty, that was save for two. Fridgar, a towering, fierce opponent with more than his fair share of hunts, kills and murders with plenty of scars to prove it... And Rhostus, an old man Lothar who'd openly and directly challenged Fridgar to a duel. Rhostus was elderly, shorter and nowhere nearly as beefy as the enormous, beastly Fridgar, but he'd still looked the scar-clad horrific monster dead in the eye and told him to fight him. Fridgar was... very drunk and fully intended on ripping out the old man's throat with his sharp teeth. Beastly, guttural snarls and growls warned and threatened the smaller Lothar ahead of him, run now, save yourself... Rhostus didn't bat an eye. That was it then, he decided. The world would be short of one old man tonight.
Fridgar, in all his wild majesty, stood well over seven feet tall and weighed in close enough to five hundred pounds. Even among the battle-hardy Lothar of the Gauthrel, he was a monster, a force not to be reckoned with. The marks and tell-tale scars of all his victims painted every stretch of his tan, thick hide. So many things that once breathed had tried to kill the Lothar that stood before Rhostus, not a single one had succeeded. He, typical to his wild and vicious nature, wore nothing but a Loincloth made of soft Stekir skin and nothing else. Every story that threatened his life laid bare in the scripture of his scars for the old man to see, but he still didn't bat an eye. Unexpected for someone of his nature, he wore two pieces of armor. On each hand, a gauntlet made of masterwork Terrendyte. Each one was worth more than a typical home in Andaris and both were designed to his detail. They were made for him to tear into the fleshy hides of strong Gauthrien animals and came equipped with claws on each digit. They also reinforced his bones so that he could strike extremely hard materials like stone and steel without breaking himself.
And to top it all off, he was drunk. This meant a multitude of different boons for any of Ilaren's followers, but the most important in those bits was three sheets to the wind, which granted him incredible strength on top of his existing physical prowess at the cost of all speed and reaction time. It didn't matter that he was slow, all it would take to end the fight was one solid blow to the Lothar's ribs, which would surely be enough to shatter the majority of the bones in his torso like glass, spine included. He'd already decided that this man would die and nothing could convince him otherwise now, or even slow him down.
Rhostus dropped to one knee and began gliding the tip of his finger along different parts of his body... And yellow light followed along his skin to form characters and letters that he didn't recognize, runes. Fridgar huffed through his nose as the man worked. He didn't quite understand what it was that he was doing, but it certainly looked pretty. Fine, if the dumb ass old man Lothar wanted to look sparkly when he died, so be it. "Ek'm til endir þú." Fridgar spat in Haltunga. 'I'm going to end you'. His threat was clear and straight to the point. Rhostus rose his eyebrow in surprise. All this over asking Fridgar to fight him? What were they teaching them in Uthaldria these trials? When Rhostus didn't reply, Fridgar grunted, then took off in a wild charge for the kneeling old man. He rose to his feet with insane speed, prompting Fridgar to double take. How fast had the old man just moved..? It was supernatural, faster than his eye could even keep up with almost... or was it that he was too drunk? Probably the latter.
Fridgar threw his armored fist as hard as he could at the other Lothar... And he ducked with insane quickness, avoiding Fridgar's slow punch with ridiculous ease. In the same motion, a massive, heavy force slammed his chest and not only depleted all of his momenta, but also knocked him back a few feet. Fridgar stumbled, all the sense and air knocked from his lungs. Andaris came to mind, the trials prior to when he'd accidentally tried to kill the king. Warren, Valyeria's father, he also wielded strength and speed like this... And he'd thoroughly kicked his ass, leaving him broken in bed for the most part of a season. If Valyeria hadn't intervened, Warren would have killed him. That was Arcs ago, Fridgar was far stronger now. He quite quickly adjusted his stance to face the old man side-on with his fists raised; more defensive than offensive. "WARREN!" Fridgar yelled at the Runewright. Rhostus' eyelids narrowed a little, then he dove at the Lothar.
Due to his slow reflexes and inebriated head, he didn't even see the hone user until he'd already landed his third punch in his stomach. Fridgar's defense fell apart and Rhostus laid into him, slamming heavy fist after heavy fist into his gut, his ribs, then his face. If it hadn't been for Palenon, Fridgar could have easily broken a few bones by now. Instead, his thick, leather-like hide had torn in places and bled slowly. With a fearsome Roar, Fridgar threw his heavy right hook in retaliation and hit nothing. Rhostus was already gone. He managed to look to his right a glance before being slammed full force in the head from behind by the Runewright's fist. Fridgar fell forward to rest on one knee, despite his incredible endurance, he was panting, trying to catch his breath. "Get up, whelp." The old man barked from behind him.
And immediately, the giant forgot all his fatigue and roared in blind fury before throwing himself a full force for the source of the voice. As he closed in, he spat his bloodied spit for the space below where he intended to punch. He caught a glance of Rhostus' surprised face before it disappeared in a duck that wove beneath his strike. Fridgar had come to expect that, and his bloodied spit met with the Runewright's forehead, just shy of his eyes. All of a sudden, he was knocked clean off his feet by a powerful uppercut that could have verily easily broken his neck... The room spun before he fell flat on his back. His neck was intact, but his body was done. The room was spinning, going black around the edges of his vision. And just before he lost consciousness, he saw Rhostus kneeling over him, drawing the same glowing runes on Fridgar's chest. And then he passed out.
When he opened his eyes, he was in the space of his mind again, wherever he went as he meditated. "That was humiliating." his own voice rang in his head. Then the familiar white, wispy grizzly bear manifested before him, speaking in his voice. It rose onto its hind legs to stand eye level with him, peering deep into his light brown irises with its empty, black eyes. "I couldn't do anything... He was too fast and I was drunk." Fridgar immediately turned to his excuses. "Never mind that. You have fought someone like this before and they almost killed you, did they not?" The bear asked. Fridgar hesitated, then nodded in response. "And even though you are so much stronger now, he still beat you. Why?" The bear kept talking, But Fridgar didn't like what it was saying. "I left my totems at home and got drunk." The Lothar replied, like a child who was being scalded for their mistakes.
The bear nodded, it accepted his answer and understanding of what he'd done wrong. "Go home, replenish yourself, then find this man and make him teach you of these runes. Do you understand?" The bear demanded as though the Protean had no choice in the matter. Fridgar paused for a trill or two longer, which stirred the bear's fury. "DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?" it bellowed in a roar. Fridgar roared back with his own weaker vocal cords "YES! I UNDERSTAND!" The bear snorted in response, then lowered on to all fours. "See that it is done." It spoke one more time before disappearing in a puff of darkness.
His eyes snapped open, beholding the stone cobbled streets of Lair. It was still dark out and it seemed that no one was around. A look to his left held the sight of the Arena's front entrance with its massive stone door closed. he was still drunk and had a hangover coming, but... His bleeding had stopped? he reached to his face to meet the gash of a steadily healing wound on the side of his head. It was as though he'd been healing for a few trials now, but it had only been a break or so at most, hadn't it? It was hard to tell. The Lothar rubbed his head, then pushed to his feet. He was a bloody, dirty mess. He'd need to get home and clean before Alistair woke up.
