July 3rd

Today there was no D&D game, which means that you get an interlude with Riley instead of a full out campaign journal.
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"Get up! How do you expect to survive in the arena if you can't make it through one training session?" The half-orc loomed over me. I resisted the urge to smile up at him from where I was lying in the dirt. He thought he'd bested me, and I was perfectly happy to let him think that...for a few more seconds. He raised his mace high in the air and brought it crashing down, right where my head had been. I rolled to the side and sprang up quickly. I kicked out with my left foot and knocked the mace to the ground while bringing my clasped fists down hard on the half-orc's back, making sure he followed the mace to the dirt. In one practiced fluid motion I kicked the mace out of reach, flipped the hal-orc over, knelt on his chest, and brought the dagger I'd grabbed from my boot firmly to rest on his throat.

"I expect idiots like you to continue to underestimate me." I said, pressing the dagger into his neck. A slow clap echoed through the pit where we were fighting.

"Well played half-elf, I think you've proven yourself." The Duke walked into the pit, his red satin doublet and shiny boots out of place in the rust colored dirt that covered the arena and it's gladiators. I quickly removed the dagger from the half-orcs throat, slipping it into my boot as I stood. I took a step back and picked up my great axe from where it had fallen. Still keeping half of my attention on my enemy I faced the Duke. The Duke kicked at the half-orc, but I noted that he didn't allow his boots to come into contact with the creature. That simple gesture spoke volumes to me. I watched as the half-orc rolled to his feet and picked up his own mace. He stood at attention, ever the good little soldier.

"Few have ever bested Fargore, and certainly not a nobody who's never been in the arena. Where did you learn to fight like that?" I studied the Duke's face and considered my answer. Bet it would really bend his mind if I told him I learned from the Elven King's best knights, but I knew better than that.

"I've been to a lot of tournaments." I didn't elaborate, tell him that I competed in and won every tournament I'd even been to, that wasn't important. The Duke studied me in a way I'd become familiar with over the past few weeks. I'd fought in twelve pits since I arrived in Derishka, each one sponsored by a different noble, and each of them looked at me the same. I stood comfortably still, my great axe held casually but ready in my arms as he circled me. He lifted my hair, bits of my armor, the cloth of my shirt. He ran his hands over my calves, my shoulders, my arms. He squeezed my muscles and noted the daggers hidden in my boots, along my forearm, and strapped to my thigh. Like every noble before him he stopped when he reached the birthmark on my arm. He yanked down my bracer to see the brand clearly, tracing the shape with a finger. They all paused when they saw it, and up until now ever single one had then sent me away without a word. The Duke simply walked back a few paces and looked at me again. He held out a hand.

"Your axe." I almost laughed, almost. I don't know who he thought he was, but he had to realize there was no way I was handing over my weapon. I shook my head. His eyes hardened. "If you want me to sponsor you in the arena then I need to know the quality of your weapon. I will not have my gladiator fighting with an axe made for show and not battle." He indicated the gold inlay and scroll work on my blade. He didn't trust that I could fight with this weapon, but he would learn soon enough. I returned his cold stare.

In a smooth motion I shifted down into a crouch and pivoted to face the half-orc. I swung the great axe in a arc once, twice, thrice, and then returned to my original position. As I stopped moving the leather armor Fargore had been wearing fell in ribbons to his feet, leaving him standing naked in the pit. The Duke recovered quickly, but I saw his eyes widen for a moment.

"I'll keep my axe, thank you." There was a hard edge to my voice and I saw the Duke's pride bristle when he heard it. To his credit he managed to swallow that down, taking a hit to his pride for a gain to his coin purse.

"You're in the arena tomorrow. I'll get you my colors to wear. A servant will show you to your quarters." The Duke turned to leave and then looked back over his shoulder. "What shall we call you?"

"Battle Axe."