🌬️ Chronicles 03. “CHAMPIONS”

🌧 Rain was heavy for the last week of her walk, turning soil into mud. When Akino arrived at the Arena – looking younger than her eighteen years, dappled with insect bites – supervisors at the gate took her for a beggar and gestured to the food tent.

🍖 Two days later, assisting the relentless churn of preparing meals for fighters, all the while she watched them spar. How they ate was how they fought. The burliest Viking wasted energy in moves that signaled his intent. When his blows connected they were powerful, but an opponent unintimidated by his size could find openings. The senior Templar was measured - even out of armor acting like steel and faith were protection enough. 

🍐 Around Warlord Ka the air crackled with unruly magic and an odor of rotting fruit. Combined with horns jutting from his skull most found him unsettling. But he kept the glare of his eyes away from the cheery Necromancer, and Akino wanted to know why. As for –

“Hello..?” Priestess Tasenka smiled. “I need nettles and garlic for a poultice. And the Vikings demand stronger cheese.” 

🍶 Later, Akino prepared a mulch of leaves, herbs, and oils. The Priestess muttered forgotten words and smeared an injured fighter with the mixture.

🦟 At dusk they drank honeyed wine by fire. “Your bites. They’re not from local mosquitos.”

“No.” 

“Your secret is safe. You don’t move like a warrior.”

“My father is a farmer.”

“You hold yourself like someone the land trusts. And arrived unharmed – walking for a month, sword wrapped in a ragged cloth bag.” Tasenka rose. “I look forward to your first tournament fight Akino.”