Zyrel shakes his head. "You really should go back and complete the last decade of elementary wizardry, Lanatir. You have a gift. Uh, you too Elsa, though in your case you are pursuing it."
It really is just stuff I picked when I worked with a wizard. He was studying electricity Elsa explains.
"I may do that in time, Zyrel. I have been rather single-minded in my pursuits."
"I think I know what related skills and experience we should search for, in order to find someone who can resolve the problems. Shall we begin?"
:D
"Really Elsa? I mean... I sort of assumed you only had a basic formal education in the arcane arts, but none at all? If you can just 'pick up' as much as you have, well.. that's more than just 'talented'. I'd be intrigued to see what you could accomplish with a few decades of real training." The normally unflappable Zyrel is obviously flapped.
He considers for a moment "Look, my great-grandfather teaches at one of the Academies. It's not normally done, but I could see if I could get him to pull some strings, and get you a placement. You'd have to prove yourself, but given your talent I'm sure you could do amazing things during the probation decade. Sixty - maybe even fifty - years and you'd be teaching!"
Elsa is unworried about Zrel's tone. She has heard it before.
I'm a sorcerer. My magic is from birth and talent. Learning is something I have picked up.
She smiles And you have seen my casts in action. I'm no wizard, magus or Arcanist.
Electricity flickers over her hands
And I'm teaching now. Are you learning?
As the party chats about magic, a bookish looking mutant with large spectacles and a batlike face and ears comes along, saying quietly and a little sheepishly, ”Ah, good evening, I don’t mean to disturb you all. The archives are closing in about an hour. I understand you all are new to the city. If you are looking for diversions, the Dueling Yards are hosting their weekly sparring tournament. Slots to participate are still open if you’re looking to hone your skills and make some coin. The betting booths are also sure to be open if watching the action is more of your preference.”
Pumpkin has blown three heads off on her way here. Dueling even with the intent not to kill… she won’t dare.
”I strapped on this mercy pistol thinking I could spare opponents in a firefight. Tragically, the bullets are lethal when I shoot straight.
“So I ain’t pointing my gun at anyone unless there’s no choice.”
She mentions the specialist the party’s looking to recruit. ”Any inkling as to where we should look?”
"What sort of dueling typically takes place there? Is it strictly firearms, or are other weapons used as well? Is it to first blood, to yielding, to disarming, or something else?"
While Lanatir does not yet have Improved Disarm, he is pretty good at defending against that maneuver (30 CMD) so could be persuaded to try such a combat.
"The fields are enchanted with some sort of nullifying field. No matter how hard a person hits another, it will never hurt badly enough to kill. Leaves some bruises certainly, but it only ever ends in yielding."
The archivist thinks for a moment, "The Margrave has final say over matters of magical study. He's the one you'd end up having to speak to."
"Hmm. Well, then. I may have to give this a try. I have been practicing a technique that may be effective against firearms, and it would be good to see if I have attained any skill with it."
Lanatir is happy to go up against a gunslinger and try Cut from the Air. It's not automatic by any means, but he should have decent odds.
Not my cup of tea. But it would be fun to watch
Pumpkin agrees. Even if she really won’t take a life, her father—One-Shot Finch—never cared for proving himself in a duel.
She’ll sit by Elsa and watch.
Lanatir considers placing a bet on himself, then decides against it. His interest in this contest is strictly to test his skills against his own expectations.
Elsa thinks that bet would be fun, possibly profitable, and will seek to do so
Lanatir heads to the dueling fields.
"Miss Finch, would you accompany me? If I am to challenge one of these gunslingers, I'd like to have a good idea of their skills.
We can observe if any are practicing at the dueling fields or nearby, and make our best guess.
One who is far below you would not be a worthy test of my talents. Nor would be one far above you - the sort of legendary marksman that appears once in a century.
But one who you think you might be able to beat on a good day? That is the sort of respectable challenge I am looking for."
Pumpkin is happy to size up opponents.
”I’m here for moral support. It’s my friend who’d like to duel.”
Pumpkin tries to catch the opponent’s body languages and other tells, including verbal should she get him talking. She might even mention the O.S.F. on her holster stands for One-Shot Finch—her father—if that will keep a conversation going.
The party leaves the Margrave's palace, making their way through the late-afternoon streets of Tan Serik. The searing heat of the late afternoon is mitigated but well-designed buildings providing shade to most streets the party walks along.
It's a bit of a walk across the city, but flyers for the Dueling Yards posted on message boards around the city provide spot-on directions to the destination.
The party hits what they think at first is a city wall, but the sounds of chanting and cheering from just across the other side indicates that this is just the impressive scope of the Dueling Yards. Making their way along it's exterior, the entrance proves to be as impressive as the size of the place. Two large brass door stand open, artfully worked with images of warriors from Tan Serik battling against mutated horrors like one might find deep in the wastes, heroic figures wielding blade and magic fighting against twisted monsters.
Just beyond the threshold is a ticket booth with a smaller gateway on each side, one labeled Audience, the other Contestants.
The attendant at the Contestants entrance, a small man with four twisting goat horns sprouting from his forehead, greets the party with a snaggle-toothed grin. "Good afternoon! Or evening! It matters little, but what does is what I can do for you. We have several enticing other contestants tonight. There is Ogaran and Narago, an ettin berserker from deep in the wastlands, wields a huge axe and an equally huge shotgun. Then, there are the Bekstra twins, skilled gunslingers with a penchant for magic. Finally, we have a rotating assortment of wild beasts sourced from across the Mana Wastes!"
"Ah, I believe there is but a lone elven swordsman as a contestant.
If I might face one of the Besktra twins, I believe the crowd would find that more enjoyable.
But, if they will only duel together, then I shall face them both."
Pumpkin gets the feeling two-on-two is required, and she’s gonna get roped into this.
Zyrel sighs. "This is the trouble with being a long range combatant. All the arenas are these closed in places where someone can run up to you in under a minute."
He turns to smile at Lanatir. "I've no doubt in your ability to parry projectiles, so I suggest the twins. I, on the other hand, am going to have some well deserved entertainment. Would you like me to hold anything for you?"
"It's a new skill, Zyrel, and I have not truly mastered it yet. I tried it against the flying cog in the factory without success, so I should not get overconfident.
This is merely another test - one without the stakes of me or anybody else getting hurt."
With their selection of the twins, Zyrel and P.S. head in the contestant’s entrance, while the rest of the party heads into the stands.
Zyrel and Pumpkin Spice are shown to a staging room where they’re magically scanned for any enhancements that would be deemed unfair. Finding nothing, the arena assistants give a brief rundown of the rules before ushering them into the ring.
The spectators have a brief opportunity to place bets on their party-members (or against them if they really want) before heading into the arena to find seats. Managing to get some seats just as the contestants to come out, this should be an interesting fight.
The announcer begins to speak, ”And for tonight’s first slot, we have the Bekstra Twins on the north side of the ring! You know ‘em, you love ‘em, so give it up for ‘em!” The crowd erupts into cheers. ”And on the south side, we’ve got two new contestants! Traders from outside the league with a fighting streak in ‘em, give it up for Lanatir and P.S. Finch!” There are cheers from the crowd, but much more reserved.
The Bekstra twins are both humanoid and wield pistols but the similarities between them end there. One has a toothy maw with sinuous tentacles extruding from their head, along with eyes covered by a blue bandana and clawed, three fingered hands. The other has a normal body for a muscular human but with a batlike face and pointed ears. They jeer and hiss, clearly not thinking much of their competition.
The party, however, is quicker on the draw and manages to act faster than the twins.
Before the challenge, P.S. grumbles, ”I don’t know how you talked me into this, Lanatir, but they say there’s magical protection, so… here goes nothing.”
* * *
Suddenly, it’s on!
P.S. fires!
”Oh s*!*! Not again?!?!?”
If the first shot takes down her target—without removing his head like all the others—she switches targets.
P.S. is praying, don’t die don’t die don’t die, but is also well aware once the shooting starts, it’s hard to stop while opponents are still standing!
Elsa yells Go Pumpkin, wreak their day!
Up in the stands with Elsa, Zyrel takes his cue from the sorcerer and cheers enthusiastically, his keen elven eyes giving him an amazing view.
Lanatir is again impressed with Pumpkin's skill and luck. Fate clearly favors her with that gun. I wonder what it has in store for her.
He will charge and slash with his sword.
Knowing that his enemy may step and shoot, he prepares to deflect the bullets.
Once again, P.S. Finch proves her talent with hitting foes right between the eyes. The arena’s magical field keeps the tentacle-headed mutant from dying, but he’ll be feeling that shot for at least a few days after. His unconscious form slams against the arena wall before he crumples like a sack of bricks.
Lanatir, meanwhile, darts in and slashes at the bat-faced twin, cutting into his side.
The mutant steps back and fires off three shots at Lanatir. Lanatir blocks the first shot with his blade but overextends himself, opening himself up for a devastating shot to the side of the head for 37 damage! The gunslinger’s last shot goes wide.
Lanatir, still standing, backs the gunslinger against the wall such that he cannot step and shoot.
Then he strikes to disarm.
"Yield."
If the gunslinger picks up the weapon, then Lanatir will take an AOO for damage.
If the gunslinger then tries to shoot, Lanatir will take another AOO to Disarm.
And if that fails to Disarm, then he will use Cut from the Air.
Note that Lanatir does not have Improved Disarm, so he suffers AOOs on those attempts if the gunslinger threatens in melee (most don't, but I thought the tentacled one might).
PS shoots again, but she misses and misfires—!
Lanatir smacks the gun out of the gunslinger's hand and the bat-faced mutant huffs and puts his hands up, "Yeah fine. I yield. Good job."
The announcer declares, "And the outlanders win! Give it up for them folks, what a show!" The crowd erupts into cheering.
Lanatir and P.S. Finch head back into the staging room where a tall, powerfully built human with curling ram's horns growing out of forehead waits. "Excellent job. I'm Captain Udayas of the city guard, and the organizer of these matches. Now, since you're new here you've got a few options. You can take the full 1000 gold payout, or take half that and get to carry the Captain's Seal. Now, I know you're skeptical of less gold, but the commendation of the second most powerful person in the city can get you pretty far, especially if you're here on business with the Margrave. I'll let you think it over."
After getting four shots like that in as many gunfights, P.S. thinks the Captain’s Seal is worth it. But… ”Lanatir, this was your idea and I enjoyed being a part of it. Your call.”
Lanatir waves to the crowd.
Has he taken lethal or non-lethal damage? He is down to 2/39 HP.
"Let's take the 500 gold and the Captain's Seal. Might make our task here easier."
The arena assistants come back with a leather pouch full of coin as well as a silver badge bearing the a symbol of a crossed sword, gun, and magic staff. Captain Udayas nods, ”An excellent choice. Again, well fought you two. You’ll do well here.”
It’s just past nightfall by the time the party leaves and magical lamps light the cities streets. A few roaming bands of city-folk pass by the party, quite obviously going between the city’s taverns.
"You should find out if there is a recurring opening, Lanatir - you too Pumpkin. You both seem naturals." Zyrel offers. "Still - the Margrave?"
The night passes on, the party having found lodging at an inn nearby to the arena.
With morning comes the party's meeting with the Margrave. Breakfast is a simple affair at the inn. Dark bread and eggs for the mostpart, along with strong coffee grown just outside the city walls, packing a slightly magical punch.
Then, the party's off, going through the morning streets of Tan Serik.
The reptilian receptionist ushers the party towards the grand spiral staircase that leads to the throne room, and the climb is breathtaking, the whole scope of the palace's atrium, sitting areas, and archives arrayed before them.
The throne room is greater still. The onion dome of the palace wraps around the throne room, ever-shifting bands of it enchanted so as to see through them. In between, scintillating patterns and designs create an almost mesmerizing affect. Motes of light drift through the air, emitting soft melodies that fill the room with an aura of tranquility and majesty.
The Margrave sits at the far end, about a dozen guards along the grand carpet protecting him. He is a small man, though with a large head with slightly simian features. He extends a hand to the party, his voice surprisingly deep and rich, "Travellers! You stand in my court, yet I know not of names with which to welcome you. Pray tell, what are they?"
Elsa bows politely
I am Elsa Swiftfoot of Absalom, my Lord. Adventurer, Caravan Guard, Sorcerer and Easer of life's small problems.
Zyrel also bows, though his is a century out of fashion "Zyrel. Border guard from Kyonin, on sabbatical as a caravan guard."
"Lanatir. Swordsman and traveler, from Kyonin and lately of the First World."
”Excellent! An odd bunch to be sure, but all are welcome here! So, I am told you seek a specialist on wild magic? So, tell me why you deserve the aid of the few and brilliant minds that work in that capacity.”