5th of Ashan, Arc 719
Rumors had been flying around for several trials that the Temple of Raskalarn was preparing for a large event, and on the fifth of Ashan, they proved true. As dawn broke over the day, every Yari who'd won a spar or duel in Raskalarn's temple within the last cycle would find an invitation at their doorstep; There was to be a battle royale in front of the temple in the Conqueror's honor, open to all who had proved their mettle in the temple. The winner of the match would earn a small purse, and have the opportunity to duel the head priest to prove their mettle.
Praetorum had hesitated when he'd first gotten the invitation, uncertain if he should go or not. He had fought a number of bouts in the temple, even won a few, but he could still feel the suspicion and hostility from many of the priests towards a shieldbearer who had yet to explain why he kept returning. He couldn't blame them, but he couldn't deny that it made him uncomfortable too. Still, perhaps this would be a chance to, as they put it, prove his mettle to them.
Why he was so determined to prove himself to them was a question he did not want to ask himself, so he didn't. Instead, he began to buckle on his armor, carefully tying tight each piece of plate. He'd only worn his leather armor to the temple before, but in this case... it would feel wrong, he decided, to give them anything less than his best showing.
When Praetorum arrived at the temple, he got more than a few surprised looks. Those who had met him before knew he spoke in the accent of the Eternal Empire, and now, wearing jet black plate—albeit with the crests painted over and an orange clawprint over the right shoulder—it seemed that some were beginning to put the pieces together.
An acolyte of the temple he'd met and fought, Kathalie Wintress, strode up to him, sword already in her hand. "Pulled out the old legionaire armor, have you?" She asked without preamble. "You've been holding out on us."
"You have me dead to rights." He inclined his head, raising his scythe in greeting. "When does the tournament start?"
"You're right on time." She led him off to the side, where a handful of other armed Yari were waiting. "The match starts in a few bits." She smirked. "This tournament's to disarm or disable. You're lucky it's not to unconsciousness. Not too late to back out, you know."
Praetorum returned her smirk, tower shield thumping against the ground. "Not a chance."
Praetorum had hesitated when he'd first gotten the invitation, uncertain if he should go or not. He had fought a number of bouts in the temple, even won a few, but he could still feel the suspicion and hostility from many of the priests towards a shieldbearer who had yet to explain why he kept returning. He couldn't blame them, but he couldn't deny that it made him uncomfortable too. Still, perhaps this would be a chance to, as they put it, prove his mettle to them.
Why he was so determined to prove himself to them was a question he did not want to ask himself, so he didn't. Instead, he began to buckle on his armor, carefully tying tight each piece of plate. He'd only worn his leather armor to the temple before, but in this case... it would feel wrong, he decided, to give them anything less than his best showing.
When Praetorum arrived at the temple, he got more than a few surprised looks. Those who had met him before knew he spoke in the accent of the Eternal Empire, and now, wearing jet black plate—albeit with the crests painted over and an orange clawprint over the right shoulder—it seemed that some were beginning to put the pieces together.
An acolyte of the temple he'd met and fought, Kathalie Wintress, strode up to him, sword already in her hand. "Pulled out the old legionaire armor, have you?" She asked without preamble. "You've been holding out on us."
"You have me dead to rights." He inclined his head, raising his scythe in greeting. "When does the tournament start?"
"You're right on time." She led him off to the side, where a handful of other armed Yari were waiting. "The match starts in a few bits." She smirked. "This tournament's to disarm or disable. You're lucky it's not to unconsciousness. Not too late to back out, you know."
Praetorum returned her smirk, tower shield thumping against the ground. "Not a chance."