Shabaka's Pride - Round 0

             Shabaka had never experienced such as whiplash of emotions as when she saw her father fight at full power, unleashing the Essence of Fire within him. Bard’s fire seemed to change from being like it came from the depths of the underworld, to like that of a home hearth. Her father was the Fury of Sound and Flame, and what made that fury so destructive was that he could control and direct it as he willed. It was that destructive power, that ability to defend oneself and their loved ones, that Shabaka hoped to learn from him.

            After the defeat of Autca and his Capital Robot, the family returned to Bards estate in Gygax they were finally able to rest for a few days. Shabaka slept close to twenty hours on that first day back, four more than the sixteen-hour average for her race the quat.

It was on the third day back that Bard called a family meeting after dinner. In the living room they met, the room with full to bursting bookshelves for walls and only the fluffiest and comfiest of chairs and couches to sit on.

“I want to talk to you about my two main concerns,” spoke Bard to his children, sat around the room. Shabaka, Smallblade, and Vito shared the couch, while Tilian and Amare sat alone in chairs. “The first is that I think your mothers are all going to come kill me as soon as they hear about that happened at the dig. So, there’s that.”

“I wouldn’t exactly blame them,” said Vito, rubbing his brow. Vito was met with an accusatory stare from Shabaka, who didn’t like it when her own flesh and blood disparaged her own flesh and blood.

“Not helping, but I agree,” said Bard. “The danger you were in back then was my fault, because you were unable to defend yourselves,” Shabaka instantly leaned forward. “Starting tomorrow, we will begin your combat training!”

“YES!” cheered Shabaka and Smallblade simultaneously. The eyes of the other three siblings were glazed over in shock.

“Father, you must be insane. We’ve all been trained back in our homelands. This is unnecessary,” said Amare.

“Yeah, but you suck,” spat Bard. “I’ve fought people from all your cultures and races and got my ass whooped. Heck that is how I got with Smallblade’s mom!”

“Eeewwww,” Smalls said covering his face, as it turned a bright cherry color.

“Point is, you all need help,” sighed Bard. He sat down in a chair and put his hands on his legs. “I should have taught you all. None of you have the full physical advantages of either being human or of your race, so you need all the help you can get.” He gave a kind but serious stare around the room. “And who better to teach you than the third strongest man on earth?”

“BLASPHAMY!” shouted Smalls, standing up and pointing an accusatory finger at his father.

“I said MAN, as in humans. I am not trying to belittle orc battle culture,” Bard sighed. He rubbed his eyes. “Anyway, before I can train you, I need to know how strong all of you are.” Shabaka was confused, she thought his observations of how defenseless they were in the battle at the dig were enough. Not to mention that if he was familiar with the fighting styles of their homelands, he should also know how far along each of them were. But then Shabaka realized what he meant, and Bard spoke her thoughts. “I need to have a full understanding of what you all need to learn, and how you need to be taught. Most importantly, I need to see how you fight. In other words, I need to see all of you fight, multiple times.”

“I imagine you want us to spare with one another?” asked Amare. Xyr arms were crossed, and xyr head was tilted down with xyr eyes looking up.

“Exactly,” said Bard. “Starting tomorrow, we will have an informal round robin tournament, each of you will face everyone else once. That is all I needed to say. Do as you like now for the remainder of the evening but go to bed early and be rested. We start at the break of dawn’s light.”

To say Shabaka was excited would be an understatement, but she hid it well, as she didn’t want her siblings to tease her over this. But back home combat tournaments like this were a common form of entertainment. There were the minor open tournaments Shabaka had watched her stepfather compete in, and then there were the major invite only tournaments. It was the later that were typically fought in this round robin style, as it allowed for a definitive champion to be crowned. Shabaka knew her father was aware of these types of tournaments, because that was where he met her mother. And if he were to adapt the sport in addition to the competition format, Shabaka would have an advantage on her siblings. That sport… was oil wrestling.

The next morning, Shabaka was stolen from the land of sleep by her father, who came barging into her room ringing loud brass bells in both hands. “Get dressed!” he cried. “The sun rises in fifteen minutes! The tournament will begin then!” Then as quickly as he barged in, he left. Shabaka was left dazed. She went over to her dresser and pulled out the traditional quat battle garb. Heavy pieces of black leather including a pair of shorts weighing thirty pounds called a kispet, and a similarly heavy top worn by women. The two pieces were two separate birthday gifts and were among Shabaka’s most prized possessions.

As Bard had said, Shabaka and her siblings met him outside at dawn’s first light. The pure deep green grass was wet and stuck to Shabaka’s feet as she walked through the yard. Her siblings were still in their pajamas, except Smalls who had gotten fully dressed in his loin cloth. Bard on the other hand, was dressed oddly to say the least. He wore a garb like that worn by priests in the Kingdom of Demons, an almost triangular robe with intentional folds and creeses, and an ornamental fan held in his right hand. Shabaka was wrong, this was the garb of a gyoji, a referee in Demon Free Fist Wrestling. And like those priests, he stood so that the sun rising in the south would make him but a harsh silhouette.

“What on earth are you wearing?” groaned Vito while rubbing his eyes, still tired after being forced awake by Bard.

“Patience young pupil,” chanted Bard in a deep throat singing voice. “Today shall be a sparring tournament combining the traditions of both quat and demon.” Shabka was once again confused and slightly offended. Would she be able to fight in the way she was familiar with? Or would she have to learn the ways of her sister’s culture? Or would Bard do that human thing of mashing cultures together with no regard to their differences? She decided to just let Bard speak.

“The rules of each match will be simple. Three-minute time limit, if anything above the belt touches the ground, you lose. I can stop the match at any time for any reason, but otherwise, anything goes. If the three minutes pass and a winner has not been declared, the match will be a draw. Understood?”

“Father, I fail to see the point in this,” said Tilian biting his nails. “We all know that in a pure physical wrestling contest that Smallblade will win.”

“I said anything goes,” Bard said with a smirk. At this moment, he reached into his robe and pulled out that familiar large copper key. “The armory in the basement is unlocked,” Shabaka grew a smile that took up nearly her entire face, and for once, her siblings seemed to share her excitement.

In his many travels, Bard had filled his bottomless bag with an army’s worth of weapons and kept them all. Some were magical and deadly powerful; others were rusted and useless. Obviously, this was the kind of thing a father needed to childproof. But that did not stop Shabaka from being annoyed that she couldn’t use it. The only of her half-siblings that could, were the adults Omakaze and Amare, even then Bard kept the only key. “I will give you fifteen minutes to pick out any of the training weapons you want to use. I don’t want to see any real weapons today; I am in enough trouble with your mothers as is. Now go!”

Shabaka didn’t have to be told twice, nor did she need to think about what weapon she was gonna get. Whilst she had never been allowed in the armory, her older sister Omakaze did once or twice sneak out weapons to show her. She even let her use some of those training weapons, and out of those, Shabaka knew exact which ones were for her, which ones literally fit her hands.

Shabaka rushed to the back side of Bard’s mansion. There, at the southwest corner, was a cellar hatch, one Shabaka almost didn’t recognize, for she had only ever seen it closed. But without hesitation Shabaka flew in.

Inside, lit by eternal purple candles, was a what seemed like an infinite array of shelves, each holding an infinite multitude of weapons. Bard undersold it; this was not an armory that could supply an army, this could supply an entire war. The kinds of wars, Bard, Paladin, and Rogue had three-handedly won and/or stopped. Shabaka browsed through the shelves, looking for the straw claws, gloves with three tightly bound bales in between the knuckles.

Suddenly, Shabaka felt a large hand on top of her head, pressing down her pointed ears. “Looking for a toy huh?” laughed Smalls. Shabaka growled, she liked being petted by Smalls, but only when it was her idea.

After Smalls continued to keep his hand on Shabaka’s head, she hissed and jumped away from him. “Yeah, and so should you,” replied Shabaka with a twitch of her real claws. Smalls was still holding his hands up close to his face, trying to avoid being scratched. He slowly let down his arms and exhaled slowly.

“I don’t need any training weapons,” said Smalls. He slammed his right fist into his left palm, making a satisfying clapping sound. “I fight with my fists alone!”

Amare poked out xyr head from the shelf behind Smalls. “Father told me he wants you to use gloves. Your skin his hard enough to be a deadly weapon to us,” Amare said briskly. Smalls slumped down his arms and hung his head.

Smalls then seemed to have become distracted by something behind Shabaka. “Hey… what the hell is Vito doing?” Shabaka turned her head.

A few shelves down the hall, there was one with a large chest at the end. And looking through that chest while fitting comfortably inside it was Vitoroy. He wasn’t just searching though, he was absolutely scrambling, tossing out objects as he dug through. Most of the objects he threw out seemed to be Enchanted Enhancers. Items, typically jewelry, that increased the user’s ability in a certain field, such as strength, speed, or stamina. Eventually, after a good large pile of trinkets had formed around the chest, Vito pulled out a small black cube that fit in his palm, with silver lining on the edges.

“What do you have there?” asked Shabaka. Vito did not respond, he kept his gaze and attention firmly on the cube, he was laughing, smiling, and almost crying.

Suddenly, Tilian came to see what the commotion was about, and then let out a loud gasp. “Th… th… that’s a Smith’s Cube!”

“A what?” asked Shabaka getting closer to Vito to see said Smith’s Cube.

“A Smith’s Cube. Only the most versatile object ever made! It can turn into eight-hundred-eighty-eight different tools. I can’t believe father just had it lying around in his basement,” Tilian said with a large grin. “Are you sure he will even let you use it? These things can get pretty deadly.”

Vito waved his finger theatrically in the air. “You forget my dear brother,” he said. “These are of dwarfish make; I can easily use it in a safe way appropriate for today’s affairs.”

“Oh cool!” exclaimed Shabaka, genuinely interested to see what her brother could do with this mysterious object. “You really know how to use it?”

Vito’s face went pale. “Well, um… I’ve seen someone use it… okay I read about someone using it… okay I just looked at the pictures.” Vito slumped his arms and hung his head. “But I am going to use it. And I will win this tournament of ours.”

This confidence motivated Shabaka, soon she found the straw claws, and went on ahead back outside. And as her siblings exited the basement, she learned what weapons they would be using. Vito had already left before Shabaka, clutching his Smith’s cube. Smalls followed almost immediately after her, seeming to have picked out the first gloves he saw, a pair of worn down, tattered, and tanned boxing gloves. Next came Tilian with a simple wooden training sword, a heavy thing that certainly would hurt to be hit by, but also probably wouldn’t leave more than a bruise. Finally, and long after everyone else, was the ever thoughtful and cautious Amare, who brought out with them a shovel. Not even a good shovel, an old rusted one with a large half circle shaped chip taken out of its tip.

“Amare, I love you, but how the fuck is that supposed to help?” asked Vito, speaking for everyone. “I don’t even think that’s a weapon, probably just a gardening tool dad left down there by mistake.”

“You will see,” said Amare, shaking their head. “Let us go meet father. He will understand.”

“I have no idea why think a shovel will help you,” said Bard upon their return, and Amare showing xyr choice in weapon to him. Amare slumped xyr arms and hung their head. “That isn’t even a weapon, just a gardening tool I must have left down there by mistake. Heck, it might even be too dangerous for sparing matches because of tetanus.”

“You have no need to fear father,” said Amare with xyr hand to xyr heart. “I know how to use this weapon safely. The metal will not even touch anyone’s flesh. However, if we must discuss weapons too dangerous for today, then Vitoroy has chosen a Smith’s Cube, I’ve learned little of its capabilities and even I know it is far too dangerous.”

Bard looked down, seemingly in deep thought, but this was only for a second before he looked back at Amare. “Vitoroy is a dwarf, and said cube was designed for dwarfish hands. Even if he only had a cursory understanding of it, I would trust him to use it safely. Furthermore, the most dangerous of its capabilities take years to learn how to use. Ultimately, I feel it is safe to proceed with our little sparing tournament.”

Bard reached inside of his robe with his left hand, while his right still held firmly onto the fan, and pulled out two objects. The first was a simple pocket watch, and the second was a sky pen. Shabaka recognized the later right away, because her mother owned one, and she herself frequently used it when back home. It was a magic item that allowed one to write in the sky, using a pink light as its ink. The writing would fade after a few hours, or when one wiped away a bit of the light, it was a useful utility item. Bard uncapped the pen and speedily drew a five-by-five grid, a round robin tournament table, with the names of his five present children written across the top and side.

 

	Amare	Vitoroy	Tilian	Smallblade	Shabaka	Points
Amare	~					0.0
Vitoroy		~				0.0
Tilian			~			0.0
Smallblade				~		0.0
Shabaka					~	0.0

 

“A win will score you a point, a draw will score you half a point, and a loss will be no points. In the case of a tied score at the end of the tournament, the head-to-head result will decide the winner,” Bard said with a casual but solid expression. “I don’t want you to take this too seriously, but also don’t, hold, back.”