Wait This Round

Lobran swings his hammer overhead, barking out a challenge in that gravel-coated voice of his. “Oi! Andin! Let’s see if that fancy stick o’ yours does more than shine!”

He’s an average dwarf—stocky, broad, all muscle and stubbornness. Andin, by contrast, looks like he stepped out of a noble’s dueling academy. His armor’s light, tailored, and his sheath is etched with intricate designs. When he draws his rapier, it catches the sun in a silver gleam.

Elven craftsmanship. I narrow my eyes. That blade isn’t just rare—it’s expensive. How did a noble brat end up here in the Dock Ward fight ring? I make a mental note to speak with him afterward.

The crowd stirs. Bets are shouted, coins exchanged, and the two fighters step into the ring. Andin offers a graceful bow, his rapier held lightly at his side.

“Git yer pansy arse up and look at me!” Lobran snaps, spitting into the dirt.

The fight begins—and it’s almost funny.

Andin dances circles around the dwarf, always just out of reach. Lobran lunges with heavy swings, his battlehammer whistling through the air, but his blows graze off Andin’s shoulder or miss altogether. The fencer’s footwork is impeccable, his form elegant. But Lobran’s no pushover—he lands a couple of glancing blows, and I can see the bruises forming through Andin’s tunic.

Still, the rapier finds its mark. Thin, precise strikes slip through the gaps in Lobran’s loose chainmail. Blood beads along the dwarf’s side and chest. With a frustrated growl, Lobran swings low at Andin’s feet—but the human skips back effortlessly.

“Quit yer dancin’ ‘round like a pixie and fight me like a man, ye blasted human!”

That’s when Lobran overcommits—misses again and spins too far. His side is wide open. Andin doesn’t hesitate. His rapier flashes, puncturing Lobran’s weapon arm. The dwarf cries out as the hammer crashes to the ground from his limp hand.

“Gharh! Ye kill’d my arm, ye blasted nancy boy!”

Andin breathes hard, his shoulders clearly sore, but he still manages a cocky bow before lifting Lobran’s hammer and setting it beside the grumbling dwarf. A healer rushes over and offers a Cure potion. Lobran takes it with a snarl but drinks.

The crowd roars. Coins change hands again. Winnings are collected, losses cursed.

The dust settles, and now all eyes turn back to the ring.