*Sadrianna*

"I agree it was unnecessary, but sometimes young fighters struggle to control their emotions in the circle. This is why we do this – to give them a chance to learn where the consequences are not so deadly."

Sadrianna scoffed at her father's words. "It was a cheap shot, and you know it. That's Hastor's daughter, right? Apples and trees," she replied, turning to see the newcomer enter the room.

"Speak of the devil," muttered her mother quietly, as Hastor himself swaggered into the room, looking immensely pleased with himself. In a louder voice that carried across the cave, she stood and spoke to the armoured man. "Welcome, Hastor. Congratulations on your daughter's recent victory. To what do we owe the honour?"

Sadrianna knew her mother wasn't necessarily one for politicking, but as a member of the Sworn Triarchy, she had a responsibility to the tribes as a whole. As such, she had learned a sliver of the craft of pretending not to hate those she wanted to kill. It seemed to take considerable effort for her mother to apply that craft at that moment. A tightness in the eyes, the smile a fraction too broad and with just a few too many teeth to be entirely friendly. Nonetheless, Hastor seemed not to notice, grinning with bravado and approaching for a firm handshake.

There was idle chatter for a few moments, with both her parents talking kindly to the snake of a man who still retained enough personal power to warrant politeness, despite his reputation following his wife's untimely death. Rumours. Detailed and likely true rumours, but unsubstantiated, nonetheless.

It was hard to listen to, and she turned her attention instead to Jorge. The older man sat quietly, dismissed by Hastor as soon as he was introduced, and seemed content to avoid the attention. Her parents likely understood the reasoning and helped along with diverting questions whenever the big man looked over at him.

She saw no tension in the older man's posture. Indeed, he seemed serene as a still lake, no emotion marring the surface of his lined face. She wondered if seeing one of his disciples beaten to bloody unconsciousness truly stirred no anger, or whether he just hid it well.

Time passed, and she settled in to watch her parents deal with the oaf of a man. He reminded her of Bjorn more than anyone – all wounded pride and reflexive anger, as if knowing he was a prick and being angry at the world for it instead of himself.

Lamb appeared at one point, and had an interesting conversation with Jorge that she couldn't help but listen in on. His thoughts on paths were nothing knew, but she had been dwelling on it herself for a while now after finding out the true test of ascending through the 2nd tier. She had plenty of time though, so filed away the brief moment of insight she'd gleaned from hearing someone else put their struggle into words for later perusal.

He soon left anyway, and she was back to listening in to Hastor boast about the prowess of his failing clan, and his cunt of a daughter. She sighed, knowing that wasn;t entirely fair. With a father like Hator, it would be hard to be anything but a raging Carhagg, and given the rumours she'd heard about the circumstances around her mother's death, it was almost a miracle she wasn't trying to kill everyone down there, however misplaced that anger would be.

The next two fights were a rote affair. Strong, if uncreative, warriors matched against similar opponents, leading to boring fights. And then Sandent Varselli took the stage opposite Jacyntha of clan Grey-Rock, and things became interesting once more.

Even Sadrianna had to admit to being impressed when the young woman summoned ice from the flowing water all around her before sending a hundred flying shards at her opponent. Jacyntha seemed to just bull her way through, numerous cuts opening along her arms, legs and face, though her heavy vest protected her torso from the storm of projectiles. Sadrianna did suspect a defensive Skill in use though, as there was a slight sheen of grey sheathing her limbs as she burst forth through the hailstorm – a legacy of clan Grey-Rock, if she had to guess.

Perhaps that was the correct approach though, because it allowed her to close in enough to force the young mage to cut off her weave of elementalism and defend herself physically. A rope flickered out, crowned in a thin blade of ice and fast as a viper. As accurate as one too, given the way Jacyntha winced even as she ducked aside.

Another line of blood added to the others on the dais, and Sandent used the time to create space once more. The fight continued like that for minutes; Sandent would begin some great working of magic and Jacyntha would push through it with speed and toughness alone, taking minor wounds all the while, before attempting in vain to hurt the slight girl.

It seemed a strategy that would favour the mage, given that she was sustaining no injuries while the bigger woman was being bled steadily, but the drain of essence was of significant concern for someone who relied on big, powerful Skills. On the other hand, Sandent was by all accounts a genius. High-level Skills and excellent essence control would result in very efficient Skill use, and Jacyntha was paying a cost for each approach, be it in blood or essence herself, as she kept flaring her defensive Skill to weather the proverbial – and sometimes literal – storm.

Hastor paced in the background, muttering to himself as the fight progressed, his mood growing darker as it became more and more clear that Sandent was winning the fight. Something changed after the waif of a girl landed an unexpectedly heavy blow with the braided-rope she wielded in her off-hand. It whipped out, somehow extending in her hand to whirl through the cascading water outside the arena. When it emerged from its arc, it was sheathed in frozen water, shaped like a maul made of solid ice.

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The magical weapon smashed into Jacyntha, who had barely managed to interpose the haft of her great-axe between herself and the incoming weapon, and she was sent flying across the dais, shards of ice scattering in every direction.

Sadrianna had thought that would be the end of it, and Hastor had cursed loudly then, but his daughter rose swiftly from her crumpled heap. Her shoulder hung unnaturally, and Sadrianna winced as the woman slammed it back into place with her other arm. She could well imagined the crack! – it was a noise she had heard herself on more than one occasion, after all, and the pain of a dislocated joint was familiar to her. A ghostly green light began to waft from the scars that marred Jacyntha's limbs and neck, and she seemed to swell on that dais, somehow taking up more space than before despite her stature remaining unchanged.

Sandent was clearly aware of the change, whether or not she understood the source, because she frantically began to weave more ice from the cascading water that surrounded them. Jacyntha crossed the space in moments, axe leading the way and determined to carve a piece from the younger girl.

Sadrianna was shocked by the scale of the transformation. It was like watching two different fighters; Jacyntha had previously been a relatively powerful fighter who possessed middling skill with a weapon and a sharp tactical mind. Now she was a very powerful fighter, with little in the way of strategy or tactics, and little weapons craft, either. She no longer even bothered with the defensive Skill as she rushed in, and Sadrianna was shocked to see blood splashing in strings from her arms and face as she dashed through a storm of icicles with little thought.

Her sweeping cuts with the axe missed Sandent by only inches each time, and it was surprising to see the genius pushed so hard that she had to rely on pure physicality rather than magical might to evade her opponent. How had Jacyntha managed to pressure her so quickly? She was moving faster than should be possible, as if a sudden boost to her attributes far beyond any enhancement Skill Sadrianna had heard of in the 1st tier.

"That's it, girl! Show them the might of Grey-Rock!" Hastor was practically screaming, pacing interrupted to watch with rapt attention as his daughter herded Sandent into a corner of the circular dais, difficult as that feat was.

It was a tactic that had served the large woman well in her previous fights, but unfortunately for her, the edge of the dais brought her opponent closer to the frothing water that smashed relentlessly into the rock all around the arena. Sandent Varselli was not an enemy you wanted near into a large body of water.

The young girl's mouth moved from its firm line for the first time in the fight as she spoke. Sadrianna couldn't begin to guess at what she said, but it was likely a chant of sorts to help shape her magic into a particularly complex form. Moments later, Jacyntha's legs froze, captured by a thick shroud of impenetrable ice from the waist down.

She tried to wrench herself free with her no doubt impressive strength, but had no luck. She brought her great-axe around in an attempt to crack the encompassing wall of frozen water around her legs, but Sandent's dagger was already in place, its tip kissing her bare throat with a promise of death.

A single twitch by the young girl would spell the end of Jacyntha, with or without a defensive shroud such as the Grey-Rock inheritance that she'd demonstrated earlier. The Holder leapt in quickly, dispelling the ice with a casual flick of her wrist. Sandent retracted the dagger as soon as the match was called, and Finanda grabbed the bigger woman by the arm as she seemed set to charge after Sandent even now.

It was a startling display, a key reminder that while the young prodigy may be known as a mage, she hadn't neglected her weapon's training and shouldn't be thought of as a one-dimensional problem to solve. Jacyntha had forgotten that at the end and had paid the price for it.

Still though, it was a good showing for the Grey-Rock barbarian, no matter how Hastor muttered venomously under his breath at the loss. Sandent Varselli would proceed, and Jacyntha now out of contention for the coveted rank of First among the clans.

It wasn't all over for her, though - she had no doubt qualified for a chance at Second, if she could defeat the loser's bracket, and judging by that last showing, Sadrianna would not like to bet against her in that pursuit. It also meant she would be meeting Lamb on the arena floor at some point, and Sadrianna wasn't feeling confident about the lowlander's chances.

*Lamb*

I had made my way back down to the arena and taken the time to work on my armour a little. It had dried over the last couple of hours, and I'd worked some oil into the leather where it needed it, shined some of the scale that littered its surface in tasteful patterns, and applied some grease to the arm holes to hopefully save my poor, abused armpits from the chaffing when I inevitably got it wet again in my next walkout.

I'd then retied the braids along once side of my head and set about sharpening my side-arms. The fang dagger didn't need it, and besides, I had little that could damage the surface of the ovular fang. It wasn't that sharp to begin with, honestly, and was more of a punching dagger than a slicing one. My hatchet I could work on though, and brought the edge to a mirror shine over the next half an hour, before taking it to my head and shaving the stubble on the other side of my head once more.

Not long afterwards, the brisk man from earlier appeared, striding into view and giving me a terse once over.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Yes," I sighed, sheathing my hatchet and dagger, picking my shield and spear off the ground and then striding over to him. "Who am I facing?" I asked.

The man simply stared at me for a few long moments, and I thought he would simply refuse to answer. Wouldn't be a surprise considering his attitude thus far. Instead, he spoke carefully.

"The one who hurt your friend."

My eyes snapped up from where they had drifted down to examine the elegant lining of his cloak. Strange to see such fine clothes worn by an escort.

"What?" I asked, biting off the word.

"The woman who hurt your friend has lost to Sandent Varselli. She will enter the loser's bracket and face you as her first opponent. We wish to see her lose."

I floundered, surprised by the sudden change in both attitude and diction. He'd not entered more than a few words at a time when he had escorted me and Nathlan back and forth before, and now he was giving me whole sentences and referring to himself in the third person.

"Why? And who is 'we'?"

He shook his head lightly though. "Your friend was crippled for no reason. It was a calculated move, designed to take out a possible competitor from the loser's bracket. She tried the same against Sandent Varselli, but was pushed harder and resorted to cheating to win, not that it did her much good. Will you fight her?"

"What do you mean cheat? Are you saying that she broke his knee intentionally?" My voice rose with my last question, and I took a step forwards towards the tall man. He was unmoved, examining me with his too-sharp gaze.

"Will you fight her?" he asked again.

We stared at one another as my breath echoed in my ears. Heavy. Someone had hurt my friend, and I was being given a chance to make them pay for it. What else did I need to know?

"Yeah, I'll fight her."

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