Realm of Monsters

“Then why did you come?” Stryg asked.

“You’re family now,” Gilgard winked, “I wanted to give you some advice, regarding a particular drow girl and her mysterious sword.”

Stryg’s voice grew solemn, “You mean the northern drow, Nalla.”

“Half northern drow,” Beatrix corrected.

“What?” Stryg said. “Aren’t the drows from the Northern Lands blue? She’s blue.”

Beatrix clicked her tongue, “For being a drow hybrid yourself you sure don’t know much about them. Northern drows are more of a dark icy blue. Nalla’s skin tone is more muted, more of a blue greyish I’d say. She’s mixed.”

“She’s a hybrid?” Stryg asked, surprised.

“No, she’s a drow, just not a pure northerner,” Beatrix said.

“Nor does her swordsmanship match the fighting styles of the Northern Lands,” Gilgard added. “The few times she spoke I realized I couldn’t quite place her accent either. She doesn’t speak like a northerner.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if she isn’t even from the north,” Beatrix said. “Which begs the question, why is she fighting for Frost Rim?”

“...You’re both quite observant,” Stryg muttered.

Beatrix looked him over suspiciously, “Clearly not enough, Aspirant.”

“Ahem,” Gilgard cleared his throat. “Our point is, Nalla is an unknown, especially that sword of hers.”

Stryg recalled the giant black sword and nodded grimly, “I’m well aware.”

“When I fought her I theorized that such a powerful sword would consume exorbitant amounts of mana. And I was right,” Gilgard said.

“Yet you still lost, despite having your own enchanted sword,” Stryg noted.

Gilgard clenched his jaw at the goblin’s words, having his failure thrown in his face stung more than he thought it would. He took a deep breath, relaxed his shoulders, and continued, “I dragged out my fight with Nalla in order to exhaust her mana. And it almost worked. It should have worked. But I made one made miscalculation.”

“Which was…?” Stryg asked.

Gilgard shook his head, “Nalla’s sword isn’t like other enchanted weapons. Most enchanted weapons are composed of three things. A base object, such as a sword. The enchantment itself is a complicated series of sigils, usually etched onto the steel of the blade. And a magestone that acts as the supply for the enchantment’s mana,” Gilgard pointed at Nameless hanging from Stryg’s hip.

The sword’s grey leather hilt was capped with a round magestone pommel that dimly glowed a mixture of brown and yellow hues.

Gilgard clasped his fingers together, “All three parts work in unison to create a cohesive enchantment when wielded. Such as a sharper edge or more durable steel. I’m fairly certain your sword is the same.”

“And what if it is?” Stryg asked warily.

Gilgard chuckled, “Are you always this defensive?”

Beatrix stepped forward, “My brother’s point is that most enchantment items work the same, but there are a few exceptions. Nalla’s sword is an exception.”

Gilgard nodded, “We know because our family’s sword Feather is the same. Weapons like those drain more than just the mana within their magestone, they drain the mana within the wielder. Sometimes the weapons require even more…”

“Like what?” Stryg asked suspiciously.

“It can be a lot of things depending on the enchanted weapon in question. Some weapons crave the wielder’s life force or that of others. Others crave blood, some even souls.”

“Crave? You’re talking as if they’re alive,” Stryg said.

“Some of them are. Feather carries a small part of the blood wyrm Fraxinus’ soul. I felt it speak to me when I fought Nalla. It wanted to fight. Feather awakened.”

“It’s a rare ability that a few powerful objects have,” Beatrix said. “Their power ‘awakens’ in exchange for a large amount of energy.”

“That red aura that appeared around you during the duel,” Stryg muttered in recollection.

“Right,” Gilgard nodded, “Nalla’s sword is the same, but her sword didn’t just drain her mana, it put an incredible strain on her body as well. Had our duel lasted a little longer, I’m certain she would have fallen under the pressure of her own weapon.”

“So I should just try to drag out the duel like you did, until she collapses from exhaustion?” Stryg surmised.

Gilgard smiled wryly, “No, that was my mistake.” 

“What?” Stryg blinked.

“I underestimated the sheer raw power of her weapon,” Gilgard said. “Her sword isn’t like Feather, its power is something much greater. If you allow Nalla to awaken her sword then you will lose.”

Stryg remembered the final moments of Gilgard’s duel. The sheer wave of power that exploded from Nalla’s black sword had carved a crater into the arena. Had Gilgard not been shielded by Feather he would have been a bloody smear on the sand.

“There are two points in our favor, however,” Gilgard said. “Nalla doesn’t like to expend more energy than she needs to, I’m guessing it's because her sword is so taxing on her body. She won’t be at her full strength when the duel starts, that will be the best chance to defeat her.”

“Secondly,” Beatrix added. “Feather only awakens when it wants to, but Nalla’s sword seems to require her to speak a certain set of words. I talked with Heather Navis, Nalla’s first opponent. She spoke the same words in both her duels right before her sword’s power awoke. ‘Heed my call, Votum.’”

“Votum…?” Stryg said slowly.

“I’m guessing it’s the name of her sword,” Beatrix said. “Problem is, I looked into the name, but there are no records of a sword matching that name or the description of Nalla’s weapon.”

“Just make sure she doesn’t talk and when the duel starts go all in,” Gilgard said. “If you do that, you’ll win.”

“Wow… that’s actually useful information,” Stryg said.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Gilgard raised his eyebrow.

Stryg shrugged, “I just thought you two might be trying to trick me or something…”

“We’re Morrigans, we don’t deal with such petty tricks,” Gilgard laughed. “If I wanted to do you harm I would meet you face-to-face on the dueling grounds. But family doesn’t do that, do we?”

Before Stryg could speak, Gilgard turned around and walked away. “Take care of yourself, Aspirant. I wish you the best in your next match.”

Beatrix glanced at her brother, but hesitated to follow him. She turned to Stryg and looked him in the eyes, “Who are you really…?”

“What?” Stryg furrowed his brow in confusion.

“As far as I’m concerned you are far more suspicious than Nalla,” she said warily. “You come out of nowhere, no family, no relations to anyone. And then all of a sudden overnight you become possibly the most important mage in all the realm. And then there’s your mana…”

“I’m not the only prime mage. Hollow Shade has half a dozen,” Stryg said defensively. 

“Yet you’re the only one in the entire Ebon Realm capable of becoming an Ebon Lord. But that’s not what I was talking about. Ebon Lords have come and gone before, if it was just that your existence wouldn’t have been so odd.”

“I’m not odd,” Stryg growled.

Beatrix stared at him in silence for a moment then shook her head, “It’s different.”

“What?” Stryg said, a bit taken aback.

“Your anger. When I fought you, your eyes were practically glowing with rage. And the chaos within you was like a storm… It was terrifying.”

“Chaos?” Stryg’s eyes widened, “You saw it?”

“So you’re aware you have chaos mana flowing within you. You just don’t want to tell anyone.”

Stryg blinked, “It’s not like that, I just don’t…” 

“Beatrix, are you coming?” Gilgard called out from the end of the hall.

“...Yeah!” she shouted back. Beatrix glanced at Stryg, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Your secret is safe with me, but I’ll figure out the truth for myself, one way or another.” She took one last look at him then turned around and walked away.

Stryg sighed, “How can I tell you something I don't know…”

~~~

The next morning…

The coliseum liveliness had somewhat recovered since yesterday’s sorrowful mood. Dozens of funerals were still taking place each hour throughout Undergrowth, but Lady Thorn had made certain that the city’s entertainers kept the coliseum alive with music and dance throughout the early morning hours. They had even performed a play for those that had arrived at dawn.

The city’s people were eager to forget their own pain and watch the world of myth and stories come to life from the edge of their seats.

Stryg on the other hand would have rather been back in his room, sleeping next to Feli. He hadn’t gotten any sleep the night of the attack and he had barely slept last night either.

As he stepped out into the arena’s white sands the sun’s bright encroaching light seemed like a mockery to him. A reminder of how tired he really was. There was no canopy of scarlet leaves or any kind of shade over the arena. Stryg felt bare under the thousands of eyes in the crowd, but as he found Feli and Rhian in one of the front rows he suddenly felt better, a sense of assuredness that wrapped over him and settled into his chest with familiar warmth.

Nalla stood across from him, twenty paces away. Votum rested next to her, the upper part of the blade buried in the sand.

“Why are you smiling?” she called out.

Stryg looked away from his family and glanced at the drow.

The woman rarely ever talked to anyone and now she was asking about his smile?

“You don’t smile,” Nalla noted. “Not in a single duel you’ve had in this tourney. You haven’t smiled. Not like you just did.”

“How would you know? Have you been watching me or something?” 

“Yes,” she said matter-of-factly. “From the first night we met at the welcome party. I’ve been keeping a close eye on you.”

I knew this girl was dangerous… Stryg thought uneasily.

“Who are you?” 

“Why do people keep asking me that,” he muttered to himself.  “I’m Stryg of Ebon Ho—”

“—Who are you to Elzri Noir?”

“Huh?” He hadn’t expected that question, especially from her.

That old drow had betrayed him. Elzri had been the one who had ordered the lie of Widow’s Crag.

“He’s nothing to me,” Stryg said coldly.

“So you deny you’re his adopted son? That you are part of the Noir family?”

Family?

Elzri had only taken Stryg in to give him access to a wider range of magical resources in exchange for his loyalty. A loyalty that no longer existed between them or perhaps it had never existed in the first place. Perhaps Elzri had never really cared for him, only for his power.

“That family means nothing to me,” Stryg repeated, a trace of anger in his voice.

“Hm, odd,” she said thoughtfully. “Your academy records state that you are part of House Noir and that Elohnoir Noir and you share a master-apprentice relationship. How odd that someone that claims to have nothing to do with that wretched family is so closely related to them.”

Stryg hated the Noirs for what they did to him, yet hearing Nalla insult them somehow felt wrong. A cold pit of anger slowly formed in his chest.

“What does it matter to you? Huh!?” he snapped.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. What are you to them? A pawn to seize power in Holo’s Shade?”

“I’m no one’s pawn,” he hissed.

“Then what are you?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” 

“I didn’t think you would,” she said calmly. “Elzri and your ilk are all the same. Cold-hearted monsters that hide until it’s useful to them. How long did you hide your nature as a prime mage, hm? Why reveal it now when all the realm is watching?”

“What are you even talking about?” Stryg glared at her.

“...I know you’re lying. I know you’re close to Elohnoir and Elzri. I know you're keeping secrets that could hurt a lot of people.”

“Secrets?” Stryg laughed angrily. “Says the woman who is carrying a strange giant sword with her everywhere she goes!”

“I wield my sword to protect others, not for my own desires.”

“Bullshit! I don’t know why you wield Votum, but it’s certainly not to protect others!”

“Votum?” Nalla stiffened, “How do you know its name?”

“How do you think!?”

Nalla chuckled under her breath, “So Elzri has even told you the secrets of the family… I should have guessed.”

“What are you even talking about!?” Stryg shouted.

“Secrets, Stryg, secrets.” Nalla narrowed her eyes.

“WELCOME BACK LORDS AND LADIES, MERCHANTS AND COMMONERS ALIKE, TO THE GREATEST CITY’S TOURNEY OF THE CENTURY!” Jane Stemme yelled from the Herald’s Tower.

“I know you were there the night the Monster in the Dark appeared in Widow’s Crag,” Nalla said. “I know it was you, the adopted son of House Noir, who led a class of students and a caravan of innocent commoners into the Cairn Tribe’s ambush. I know that Elohnoir was leading a squad of master mages to protect that caravan yet somehow she and her team weren't there when the valley savages attacked. In fact, almost the entire squad of master mages mysteriously died, save for Elohnoir and her two closest friends. And I also know that Elzri used his influence and power to cover up what really happened that night.”

“You have no idea what happened that night,” Stryg said in a low voice.

“I know enough.”

“WHAT BETTER WAY TO CELEBRATE THE EVE OF THE FESTIVAL OF THE GODS THAN OUR EAGERLY ANTICIPATED SEMI-FINALS!” Mark Stemme announced.

Jane nodded eagerly, “WE KNOW YOU’VE ALL BEEN WAITING! SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO…”

Stryg’s eyes grew cold and his face became bereft of emotion, “If you think you know what happened at Widow’s Crag, then you truly know nothing of the Noirs nor me.”

“I am a Noir!” she yelled resentfully.

“What…?” Stryg frowned.

“...LET THE 12TH MATCH OF THE CHALLENGE OF SPELL & STEEL… “

“I am Unalla Noir, daughter of Una Noir! And I will not stand by and let my House do the bidding of that Monster!”

“…BEGIN!!!”

Unalla grabbed the hilt of her blade, “Heed my call, Votum!”