The first bout was between two massive combatants. One was lizard folk, and the other must have been either an ogre or giant mix.
The huge warrior was around eight feet tall. Hashtar the Great, as he called himself, wore slabs of steel armor an inch thick and carried no obvious weapon. Yet as he faced off against the lizard man, a brute that would normally look intimidating in any other company, the giant lifted his hands before him, revealing that each was wrapped in steel.
After the fight started, the lizard man flashed his scimitars in arcing sweeps that lifted sparks from the giant’s armor with tremendous speed. After a few moments of the attacks, the lizard man had made the giant bleed in half a dozen places. Emboldened by his initial success, he attempted a stab toward the gap at the bottom of the giant’s breastplate.
Quicker than I’d have thought possible, the giant managed to snatch the lizard man’s wrist, then struck the reptile’s chest with his opposite fist. A few more jabs peppered the lizard man’s torso, then the giant grabbed his throat and ripped a handful of flesh free.
Blood sprayed out across the boxer’s face and chest, and the only thing louder than the crowd’s scream was the giant’s own cry of victory.
I was pretty sure that the giant would make it all the way to the final round. He left the arena with enough confidence to convince any number of the audience members to bet that he would do just that. That was, until he stepped into the ring with Teegan.
Rather than show off or delay, Teegan unsheathed his sword and, in a flurry of strikes, evicerated the giant, leaving him grasping in vain for an opponent he was too slow to reach.
Two more rounds of fights brought the Solo Cup to a finale that I should have seen coming. Teegan walked out and faced the duelist, Steven B. Noobshanks, whom he’d admired in the first round.
The announcer called the match and, for the first time that day, the crowd went almost completely silent. Teegan bowed deeply to the duelist, who tilted his head in response. Then, with an eagerness that he had not displayed until now, Teegan let his sword arm fly.
Rather than the clanging crescendos that had characterized most of the bouts, this one was more like stillness interrupted by occasional flurries of movement. A subtle shift of the body would incite a few thrusts and subsequent parries. Little noise was made, as each attack was economical, and the parries were soft blocks meant only to guide the opponent’s weapon away from the body.
I had no idea which way the fight would go, and after a few minutes of tense exchanges, Teegan let his guard down for a moment, allowing a light strike of the duelist’s sword before recovering. This happened again, shortly after the elf had pushed harder on the offensive, making Steven backpedal rapidly. When the attack had subsided, Teegan dropped his guard just an inch, which, again, the duelist took advantage of.
My friend was bleeding from two thin gashes, breathing deeply from the labor of combat, when Steven pressed his advantage. He laid into Teegan’s weakening defenses with more powerful swings of his sword. Then Teegan moved, suddenly faster than he had been before, and not at all fatigued. The elf parried Steven’s sword aside, stepped into the space provided, and, in the same motion, ran his dagger through a chink in the man’s armor.
He didn’t twist the blade or yank it out but retreated swiftly and bowed as Steven looked down at the evidence of his own demise. I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw the duelist nod his head slightly before he slumped to his knees.
The team matches were next, and in many ways, at least for me, were a lot more engaging. Analyzing each team’s strategies was my favorite part.
My favorite team so far was one that had a Ranger, a Paladin tank, a Shaman to heal and buff the party, and a crazy freaking orc that was too ugly and familiar to forget.
Oliver was not easy to reach, with his halberd constantly snapping out at the three fighters who stood on the opposition’s frontline. He was so effective that, until that point, the Paladin hadn’t cast a single healing spell, but instead focused on imbuing his team with holy strength. He even dropped a couple hammers, made out of shimmering light, onto the heads of the healer who stood at the back of the party. Already, I could see that the Cleric’s health was declining.
But despite my fondness for the orc, and the obvious skill that the team commanded, it was the Ranger that gave me the most satisfaction. She was hot. Hot like, older cousin’s friend who brings a bottle of tequila to the quinceanera and makes out with you in the bathroom kind of hot. True story, too. I swear, the perky little ranger looked just like Miel, the first girl I kissed a few years ago.
Initially, I thought the match would last a while, but the Cleric fell after Oliver used an interesting skill. He pulled back his halberd and threw it, but the weapon turned into fiery energy as it landed in the cleric’s chest. The healer died immediately, and Oliver’s halberd reappeared in his hands. Crap, I was glad he hadn’t used that on me. It must have been on cooldown.
After that point, the paladin shouted to his teammates, “Left to right! Mop up time!”
Sure enough, the Ranger focused her attacks on the fighter that stood on the lefthand side, He held a small buckler and a mace, and though he dodged a few of the first attacks, the Shaman cast an entangling vines spell on him and rooted him in place. After than, he fell to a few well-placed strikes.
The Paladin used a Shield Bash on the tank opposite him, stunning the woman. Oliver’s halberd finished her quickly.
They downed the final
