West Harbor
As was always the case this time of year, the people of West Harbor were fast at work preparing down to the very last minute. Men, woman, children and their dogs were all doing their part. The people were perfectly content to continue working to make the perfect harvest fair when one carpenter's eye was caught by something emerging from the wetlands.
As the carpenter worked diligently repairing a broken table for the pub, the dark-hooded figure walked up to him.
"Can I, um… Help you?" the carpenter asked, scratching his neck.
"I certainly hope so, sir." The hooded woman whispered with the faintest essence of a hiss "I'm looking for someone."
The carpenter gulped, something definitely seemed wrong about this woman.
"Erm, well. I know lots of people. Who do you need?"
It didn't take long for more people to start wondering about her. From across the way, a citizen watched as she leaned in and whispered something into the carpenter's ear. When she leaned back out and he shook his head, the rumors began to fly.
She's a thief, she's a dark mage, he owes her money, he made an oath and owes his soul. These and much more entertaining and ridiculous versions came pouring out of the people's mouths.
Then, the carpenter pointed toward the fairgrounds and told her to look over in that area. And as quickly as the hooded woman entered, she left, stringing along dozens of prying eyes after her. She casually strolled along toward the fairgrounds and quickly became lost in all the commotion.
--
There was a brutal truth about fights—brawls, they called them—that rung true even in the wild swamplands outside of West Harbor: there were no fancy moves, no places to rest, and any fight lasting over three minutes was already lost. Ny'ren felt that truth deep in her bones now, her mind strangely blank as she studied her three opponents warily, Bevil and Amie on either side of her.
She slid to the left, to Ward's side, leaving Bevil to take Wyl. Amie would have to fight Webb, but there was nothing they could ever have done about her lackluster fighting skills anyway.
Size was a matter of concern, too. She was small and dainty, though years of tough farm work had given her some muscular definition. All three of the Mossfield brothers were big—big and strong. Ny took a deep, calming breath, willing herself not to cower at the sight of their overdeveloped pectoral muscles. If they sat on her she'd be diced meat…
Brother Merring raised the red flag in the air, stained with the years. "Ready… Brawl!"
The Mossfields' rushed.
Ny soon lost Bevil and Amie in the sudden onslaught of blows. She could only concentrate on getting out of Ward's long reach and avoid the bone-breaking punches he was dishing out. His foot came up to kick her in the stomach; she moved only slightly out of the way. She grabbed his ankle and pushed up, bringing him off balance. He fell to the ground head-first.
Amie's squeal of pain from her right distracted her for enough precious seconds that Ward could get his fingers around her ankle.
If he brings me to the ground I won't be able to win.
She dropped to the ground like a sack of flour, kicking out with her legs as she did so. She could feel the crack of bone underneath her boots, knew she'd struck a vital area, and kicked three more times before Ward could get his bearings. She used his slackened grip to her advantage, rolling backwards and out of harm's way.
Bam!
Ny crumpled to the ground under the impact, and Wyl leapt on her. An animal scream, and he was punching every part of her he could reach. She refused to cry out in pain, and focused on getting her hand free from underneath his body. She used two fingers to hook his nostrils and pull him towards her and into a headbutt, leaving them both dazed.
Wyl jerked on top of her, and then Bevil was there, kicking his ribs to get him off of her. Brother Merring stepped in the ring, disbanding the match.
Wyl was out.
They were given a few minutes' respite, and Ny, breathing hard, focused on assessing her team's state. Bevil's face was going to swell later on, and two twin trails of blood ran unstopping out of Amie's nose. Ny didn't want to know what she looked like.
"Calm, steady breaths," Daeghun's voice said from somewhere behind her, close enough that she could pick it up, but far away enough that it didn't look like he was giving her tips. She relayed his instructions to the two others and tried to follow them to the letter—her fight with Wyl and Ward had left a sheen of sweat on her forehead.
They were right to have left this challenge for last.
Brother Merring finished his administrations on Wyl and stepped back into the ring. He gave them each a long, hard look and said, "I expect a nice, fair game from all of you." He must have heard about their stint in the bar yesterday. Ny was too tired to pretend to feel embarrassed. "Begin again."
Webb and Ward rushed again. Ny and Amie met Webb halfway, knowing the strength of numbers was on their side. Then, to what must have been one of the biggest shocks in Amie's life, Webb delivered a straight, perfect uppercut to her jaw. She fell backwards and lay there.
Amie was out.
The Brawl stopped again. Brother Merring knelt on the field and revived her by trickling a dark red liquid inside her mouth from his hipflask, which Ny immediately recognized as a health potion. She also didn't miss the fact that he still hadn't given any to Wyl, whose ribs must have been hurting.
Amie's eyes blinked open, confused. "Did we win?"
"He got you," Brother Merring said. "Come on, dear, let's get up… 'atta girl. Now just hold on to my shoulder, you'll feel the effects in no time."
They were given another mandatory break to let themselves cool off. Ny took a sip of water to wet her suddenly dry, parched mouth, and listened to Bevil take a larger swig. "Two on two," he muttered, wiping his lips. "Whose the strongest?"
"They're even," Ny replied. Calm, deep breaths. "I'll take Webb."
"Watch out—he's learned how to kick."
"I'll avoid it. Thanks for the assist back there, by the way."
Bevil only nodded, wiping the sweat off of his forehead and taking another swig. Brother Merring entered the ring for the second time. Ny noticed that they were starting to draw a crowd. "Begin again."
Nobody rushed this time, but Bevil and Ny were forced to change opponents when Webb angled for the former and Ward stepped in front of the latter. Ny forced her breathing into a calm state, letting herself forget about tactics and forget about concentration—there was only natural instinct and the need to survive this.
She raised her hands in an unarmed fighting stance, keeping as light as she could on her feet in preparation for any swift movement she might have to make. She leaned to the left, and Ward threw an uppercut—flaunting his reach—but missed when Ny just stepped forward in and under his guard to elbow him in the stomach and groin. She turned to the side, missing a knee aiming for her chest. The leg lashed out and turned, trapping her head against his privates and bringing them both down.
Ny let out a feral snarl, wiggling for all she was worth to get out of the hold. He repositioned his legs slightly, blocking the blood flow to her brain. Repulsed by her own actions, Ny tucked her chin deeper into his hold, allowing the blood to flow freely, and let out a choked scream of frustration.
Ward raised himself to a sitting position, still trying to subdue her with his legs, and twisted both of them to the side to resume his stranglehold on her throat. The move left her legs clear and his chest open: he'd forgotten that elves were predisposed to be the most flexible race of Faerun.
She swung her left leg up as hard and as high as it would go, the toe of the boot connecting soundly with his chest. She pivoted on her shoulders, swinging the other leg around to get enough momentum. She broke free of the chokehold and let herself recuperate for a second before bunching the muscles in her legs and jumping at his face.
It worked perfectly.
Ward still hadn't realized she'd twisted out of his hold and twitched violently in surprise when her fingers, bunched up like claws, were suddenly raking his face. She smacked him with a solid elbow strike to the temple, but it still wasn't enough. He twisted around, and suddenly he was on top.
She bit his hand for all she was worth, tasting the dark red blood running down his wrist and into her mouth. It was metallic, so much unlike the meat Retta cooked for dinner. He punched her in the face with his other hand, but she refused to let go, digging even deeper into his flesh.
He was panicking now, she could tell. She felt his fist connect with every open part of her body, struggling to release her hold. This is for yesterday, she thought savagely. For a moment she wondered if she'd bite a large enough chunk out of him for Merring to call it, but Ward broke it with his own frenzied yells. "Get her off of me! Webb! Webb!"
She shifted her bite to a larger portion of his wrist, not caring now about the blood running freely from the wound—she only wanted to hurt him. She would never resort to cannibalism.
Brother Merring's voice seemed to come from far away, breaking into her thoughts. "Stop! Stop the match!"
She let go at once, and Ward scrambled off of her, fear and disgust etched on his face. She leaned over and spit his blood into the ground beside her, eager to get that taste out of her mouth. Bevil extended a helping hand to get her up. She stared at it for a moment, uncomprehending, and blinked stupidly. Everything seemed so slow.
Then Bevil was kneeling next to her. "Ny? Ny, can you hear me? The match is over."
Oh. Oh.
Ny gripped his hand in hers, and he pulled her up, frowning a little. Amie gasped, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Daeghun come closer to the fence to get a better look. Brother Merring came over and sat her down, wiping her face with a cloth. "Do you know what I'm saying?" he asked.
"Yes," she muttered, out of breath. "Do you have some water?"
Her canteen was pushed in front of her nose, and she took a long, grateful draught from it. Everything hurt. "Can you keep fighting?" Bevil asked, looking deep into her eyes for confirmation.
"Is Ward?"
"No."
"Then I'll keep fighting."
Merring pursed his lips and shook his head. "Not until she answers a few questions. Do you have a headache?"
"I will later," she hedged. She glanced over at Webb—his face was a bloody mess, his knuckles scraped and bruised. She looked down at her hands and saw the stains there, too. How far will we go until we kill ourselves? She wondered.
"Difficulty breathing?"
Yes. "No…"
"Look, I can take Webb," Bevil said quietly. "All he has to do is sit on you."
That made her angry. "I'm fighting," she retorted. "Just… give me a second."
He blinked, pursed his lips, and nodded. "Brother Merring?"
"I don't see the point in refusing," he muttered wryly. "Okay. Off you go."
He gave them an extra minute to rest up in their corner. Ny and Bevil kept glancing anxiously at each other as the minutes progressed, taking into account each others' wellbeing. Ny knew they should probably try and figure out a way to take Webb down, but somehow even thinking about it hurt… and she knew that it would only hurt worse later.
Brother Merring called the match again, and Webb stayed in his corner, hands on guard, tense and ready. Bevil and Ny spread out on either side of him, keeping him contained in his corner, but Ny stopped suddenly and pulled back, motioning for Bevil to do the same. "He'll fight harder in a corner," she whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. "Draw him out."
But Bevil didn't taunt him like she had hoped he would, and Ny didn't want to enrage Webb into an even bigger frenzy. Come on come on come on come on come on! She urged him.
Webb almost took a step out—she saw his foot twitch in their direction. But a smile crept across his face, and he shook his head. "Come on, elf," he taunted. "Afraid?"
Ny hissed at him.
Webb cocked his ear to the side, studying them. The smile never left his face. "Too bad you didn't want to use the clubs," he said conversationally. "It's probably the only, heh, wood you'll see in your life, Vollen."
She had a witty comeback… somewhere. She felt her face flush, but she kept her cool, readying herself. "Sun's setting, Webb," she said. "Come out and play like a big boy."
"Afraid to fight after dark, elf?"
"On the contrary." Ny flashed him her own smile, her teeth marred with Ward's blood. She saw Webb's eyes tighten slightly. "The night's my time."
"Says a little girl who'd rather eat us than face us like a good fighter."
"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing about you," Bevil said. "We'll wait here all night, pal."
Ny slid in, motioning for Bevil to stay back. She was now halfway between him and Webb. "I'm all yours, Webb."
He was only three feet away now. Ny felt the disturbance before he even threw the punch, and slid out of the way. He'd expected that, and followed through with an uppercut that connected squarely with her shoulder. His knee followed, then an elbow to the head.
Ny managed to stay upright long enough for Bevil to take over, and took a deep breath, blocking out the pain. She crouched, waiting for Webb's back to be shown—but no, he'd gone back into his corner and Bevil had met him there.
Wild animals fight better under extreme conditions, she recalled.
Oh, well. It was worth a try.
She attacked low, Bevil attacked high—and there was the second mistake she'd made that round. Something hard connected with her chest, she felt herself falling, and then all the pain vanished.
--
She wasn't having a pleasant dream. She was trying to sleep, but people kept coming into her room, bothering her. Daeghun came in more than once, reminding her that Bevil and Amie were coming soon. They were going to help set up the Harvest Fair. She rolled over in her bed, wondering idly if she should get up and get ready when a voice, stronger than all, whispered in her ear:
Get up, Ny.
It scared her into alertness, and the voices and sounds of the Harvest Fair came back in a frightening suddenness that surprised her. Her eyes blinked open, and she was aware of a great many people surrounding her. She rolled her head back and forth, wondering at the headache throbbing beneath her skin, and counted Brother Merring, Bevil, Amie, and Pitney Lannon among her small audience. She blinked.
Bevil sighed and closed his eyes, and Amie let out a bark of laughter. "Why are you both bleeding?" she asked, a jolt of fear running through her. She sat up too suddenly, and the world twisted and rotated in front of her. Brother Merring caught her before she fell back again. Then she remembered. "Hey, did we win?"
Another bark of laughter from Amie. She took it as a good sign, and it was only confirmed when Brother Merring gave her a soft smile and said, "Yes, you won. Now do me a favor and drink this."
He gave her a canteen, but it wasn't full of water—a health potion. She drunk it gratefully, reveling at the strength that fueled through her limbs. "Thanks," she said, handing it back to him when it was empty. She looked around, suddenly aware. They were outside of the ring, and the Mossfields' were nowhere to be found. "How long was I unconscious?"
"Give or take a few minutes," Amie said, far too excited for her own good. She was literally bouncing on her heels. "We didn't want to choke you with the potion so we decided to wait until you woke up. As soon as Webb kicked you in the fence Bevil gave him a face plant he'll remember for the rest of his life!"
Bevil smiled shyly. "He's prejudiced against elves. He'll probably just blame it on Ny or something."
Speaking of elves… Ny looked around and frowned. "Where's Daeghun?"
"Back at the Archery Competition," Amie said. "He left as soon as he was sure you'd be okay."
She winced. "Figures," she muttered.
"Haven't you realized yet?!"
"What?"
"We won."
She blinked. "Oh, we did, didn't we?" Ny frowned thoughtfully. "All four competitions… Hmm."
Amie leaned closer into her face. "You aren't excited?"
"Just trying to imagine the look on Wyl's face when he sees us up there with the trophy."
Brother Merring cleared his throat. "If you all want to go wash up, I will go inform Georg."
"Should we wash up, guys?" Bevil asked when Brother Merring left. "We could make a point…"
Amie made a face. "You both need to wash up. I just need to get the blood trail off my face, but you guys have it bad."
Bevil looked at Ny and Ny looked at Bevil. From the look on his face, she must've been as just as much of a mess as he was. "I vote we clean up in the river," Ny said. "I need some cold water on my face. Bevil needs a steak, but nothing we can do about that now."
"True," Bevil admitted. "At least you got the health potion."
"Yeah, but did you see them hitting her head the entire time?" Amie asked, making a face. "I was doing a dance when she bit off Ward's hand. Brother Merring had to give him some potions, too."
Ny smirked, enjoying herself. "So what does human blood taste like?" Bevil asked curiously, helping her up into a standing position.
"Not as good as animal blood," she said. "I decided early on I was just going to hurt him—if I bit off a chunk of his hand he might call me a cannibal."
Bevil threw back his head and laughed.
--
Meanwhile amongst all the excitement and jubilation, which had only been amplified by Ny'ren, Bevil, and Amie knocking the three bullies on their backsides, the hooded woman had returned at last. Almost as though she had appeared out of nowhere, she made her way to the front of the crowd.
Even though she had to push her way through, the woman advanced surprisingly quickly. Many of the crowd members even stepped out of her way. Not because they were polite but because everyone seemed concerned for catching some unholy plague if they happened to touch her.
The fanfare from the only bard in the swamp village continued on top of the stage where all three had been presented their trophy, and each were given a special cloak from the Village Council.
While everyone clapped and cheered the woman simply stood there and looked at Ny's face. Her look seemed to be accompanied with thought, almost as though she was studying the young elf girl. By the time Ny'ren noticed she was being stared at, the woman had already turned around and was on her way back out. Only a brief impression of one of her eyes as she turned away remained in Ny'ren's mind.
Her mind quickly shifted back to the fair when her two friends came up behind her and shook her, laughing vigorously. Someone uncorked a keg of ale nearby, letting loose a round of mischievous laughs. The rest of the evening was theirs to enjoy.
--
Once the booze began to flow, things got quite merry indeed. With the bards playing their hearts out on the strings of their lutes and the juiced-up men singing in gibberish about songless birds the atmosphere only increased with time. One particularly large man even got up onto a table in the hopes of dancing only to quickly have it break under him.
"Damn it, Gord!" the carpenter yelled from across the tavern "I just fixed that table this afternoon!"
Gord just shrugged and smiled up at his many admirers, earning him numerous rounds of applause and a couple of helping hands back to his feet. Despite how upset the carpenter may have appeared, even he couldn't avoid laughing at the sight before slapping the bar to ask for more ale.
Outside of tavern the people enjoyed themselves just as jubilantly. Wives swapped stories and talked about this and that, while their children played nearby. Most of the older girls sat and braided each other's hair while they whispered to each other about boys, while some younger ones sat nearby and played hand-clap games.
The boys meanwhile did what they did best and roughed around with each other. Some younger ones climbed trees and did cartwheels and other things like that. A couple of little boys even re-enacted the famous sword fight between Ammon Jerro and the King of Shadows, albeit with wooden swords.
"HYAH! Ung! Take that, evil king!" the young blonde boy playing Ammon yelled.
"You can't kill me, Jerro!" the other yelled back "These lands shall all be mine! Hahaha!"
The two boys playfully clanked their swords together. After a while the blonde began to get tired and his swings got slower. Seeing this, the other boy knew he had won. He gave a mock evil laugh and started swinging faster, making the Ammon kid retreat a few feet.
"Surrender now and I will spare you a painful death, Jerro." He said triumphantly. To this the other boy just smiled and raised his sword with two hands.
"You haven't won, and you never will. For I have a secret weapon. CHARGE!"
Much to his surprise, it actually worked. The kid playing the King of Shadows dropped his sword and ran like heck in the opposite direction. Ammon Jerro had won and the make-believe world was saved!
But something strange was happening. As the child took his bow, all the other boys began running away in the same direction. The older boys and all the girls followed quickly. Before he'd had a chance to look behind him, the boy's mother ran over and scooped him up.
The boy's mother ran in the same direction for a few feet before hugging him to her, giving him a chance to look over her shoulder at what was going on behind them. His mouth agape, the young boy dropped his sword.
