The crowds roared as the Combat Wombats battered the soles of their latest opponents. Barely winded, they accepted the crowds accolades as the gamemaster goaded them on to the next challenge.
Although they have been friends for years, and even got into a few scraps together, this was the first time they’ve truly fought as a team. They stumbled and tripped over each other during the first two fights of the day, but their prowess put them on top. Going into the third fight, they were much more comfortable with each other, and it showed in how quickly they dispatched the next contestants.
One orc, seeing his fate sealed as his comrades fell around him, offered up his blade to the Wombats. Fwoosh put the sword back in his hand and gave him a death worthy of the spectacle of the stadium. More importantly to him, though, it was a death he would’ve have wanted for himself if ever he could not go down fighting. A better death than the orc deserved, since he could have chosen to go down fighting. Of course, he didn’t expect the others to understand…it was the dwarven way, not theirs. But at least it got the crowds going.
Still guilt nagged at him, especially when Fabby refused to talk to him while preparing for the next fight. The human gods were strange and he could not understand how he had erred in the eyes of her god. But he did know that Fabby had a heart kinder than anyone he had known, and despite his inner protests, it drew him to her. Her approval (or disapproval) made him…
Bah! He quickly waved away the sentiment – they were in the arena and violence was expected. Not that he’d ever say that to her face. Even though he couldn’t tell why a kind-hearted cleric joined the lists, he certainly would not drive away their source of healing – healing it seems he would not benefit from after that last debacle.
And so, he entered the next fight not feeling up to par, both in body and spirit. He was lost in his own thoughts as the cheering crowd as the announcer declared this to be an unprecedented challenge. He barely heard the taunts and wagers of the other Wombats as they bet against the outcome of the fight. Something about drinks – good, he could use a drink after all this.
His head wasn’t in the game. Usually on top of the tactics, he made some awful calls. Still, the Womabts triumphed. And he’d be getting his drink soon…