April 18th - Old Market
Mornings were not her cup of tea. So as Reign stood outside of the three story building in the heart of the Old Market, it was no wonder she had in hand proper tea in the form of a venti black iced tea. No sweetener. Sweet tea was for weirdos and people with voices like molasses. Her free hand curled around the strap of her pack, stuffed full of clothes and various other accouterments as it was. It wasn’t much, the entirety of her worldly possessions, but it was hers.
Also hers, at least for now, the handsome building standing before her. Made of stone accented with hints of wood, the sign over the door marked it as the famous Cardinal Inn, a well-maintained, and well-loved fixture of the Old Market district, purchased by the Arena’s owners almost two decades prior to serve as the Barony of Old Market’s manor. Numerous windows peered out over the cobblestone streets of the market, some curtained, some opened to the early springtime air. It was old, sure, as so many things were in the city, but it showed minimal signs of wear and tear, all things considered, likely thanks to its designation as a landmark with the local historical society.
“Well. Guess I get dibs on the best rooms…” Reign remarked, taking the first step to snag the door of the building, opening it so that she could slip inside. As so many other patrons and barons before her had done, she stepped inside to the sound of ringing bells, a merry sound that announced her arrival to whoever might be inhabiting the common area. Lit by frosted glass hurricane style lanterns, the room was dim but not dingy, warmed by the glowing coals of a fire not left to die but not quite stoked to a blaze.
It seemed woefully empty. Par for a Monday morning, maybe?
“Awkward…” She muttered, stepping further into the room just for a door in the rear of the great room to open, swinging outward to reveal an old man, frail, grizzled, and a little hunched over.
The infamous Franklin of the Chili if Reign had to guess.
She raised a hand to greet him.
“Hi, I’m R--”
“The new Baron. I know who you are.” He said, prompting a blink from Reign. “Welcome to the Cardinal.”
“Ah, uh, thanks. You must be, F--”
“Franklin. Yes.”
“I was gonna say ‘Not one for small talk’, but that works too.” Put in awkward situations, Reign had the tendency to make jokes.
Franklin didn’t laugh.
Reign cleared her throat.
“Ahem. I mean, nice to meet you. Uh, anything I need to know?” She asked.
“Not really. Patrons come, patrons go. Barons come, barons go. Just so long as you don’t go subjugating and breaking the district like D’Artainian did, shouldn’t be a problem.” Franklin said, setting a hand to the nearest table. He had been a fixture at the Cardinal even before the Arena owned it and that had been at least fifteen going on twenty years.
“I, uh… yeah… that’s not really in my plans…” She said almost sheepishly.
“Good.” Franklin nodded, gruff as he turned back toward the kitchen door. Reign’s voice caused him to pause again.
“But… what does Old Market need?” She asked. “Like… if I can do something to like… help or somethin’... what could I do?”
“Find a cause that calls to you and do something about it. Brush up on the history of the place, talk to the people. See where it all meets.” He shrugged.
“History…”
“Mmh. My wife made a few scrapbooks for the place. Keep ‘em over by the hearth on the shelf if you want to look at them.” He nodded toward the glow of the fireplace.
“Ah, perfect. Uh, thanks. I’ll stay out of your hair…” They both quieted as her eyes went up toward the top of his head.
Franklin had next to no hair.
Reign looked vaguely mortified.
Finally Franklin snickered, bleeding the tension from the line of Reign’s shoulders as she groaned.
“Not much to stay out of but if you need anything, let us know. Too old to be at your beck and call, but if you need a bite or some insight, I’ll be around. Room twelve, the baronial suite, is open and ready for you.” He nodded.
“Thanks, Franklin. Sure I’ll see you around.”
As Franklin retreated into the kitchen, Reign went first to the hearth to snag a trio of thick scrapbooks from the shelf before heading up the stairs to the second and then the third floor to find her room for the foreseeable future.
So You Think You're a Baron
Moderators: King, Cooper Gallows, Claire Gallows
Re: So You Think You're a Baron
May 2nd - The Cardinal Inn, Old Market
To say that Reign had taken Franklin’s words to heart had been an understatement. She was a diligent study, if not a quick one, pouring over the scrapbooks that he had pointed her toward, first in the comfort of the neatly appointed Baronial suite and then in the commons of the Cardinal, curled into a pretzel of a knot with a cup of steaming mulled cider and a spread of carefully crafted tomes containing the history of the Cardinal Inn, Old Market, and the Barons that had called it home.
It was a storied history spanning thirteen holders when it had still just been the eleventh ring with a further thirty-eight once it had been converted to the Barony of Old Market over seventeen years ago.
There was a lot of history to go through. A few stories stood out to her more than others.
Like Darkness, the first holder of the 11th ring, who disappeared after requesting challenges and ended up stripped of the title in less than two weeks.
Or Anubis Karos, the last holder of the 11th and the first holder of Old Market, the slaver who was only displaced by virtue (ha) of ascending to Overlord.
There was Rena Cronin, a woman of whom her mother had spoken quite highly. Reign couldn’t recall seeing the woman since coming to this time, but the histories indicated she was as real as she had been in her own time.
Or the story of Anjolie and Cory, the married couple who were back to back holders of Old Market after Anjolie deposed Cory as the Overlord, in turn trading titles with her husband. Odd, Reign thought, maybe they called it foreplay or something. Not her jam, but she wasn’t one to shame people.
A slew of prominent names followed after that. A veritable Who’s Who of the dueling world in the past decade.
G’nort.
Xenograg.
Maria Graziano.
Ellisa Morgan, an eventual Overlord who challenged for Old Market when she was still only a Grandmaster and a Squire.
Reign’s review of the histories slowed when she reached more “recent” pages. One covered Candy Hart’s time at the Cardinal and included a nearly full page article about the Beat Down versus Wrecking Crew grudge match that came during Candy’s reign. What came after that on the next page though had jarred her hard enough that even Franklin noticed as he passed by to clear her empty glass.
“You all right, lass?” He asked. Franklin had been rather sparing with his words in the two weeks Reign had lived there, the question made her jump in her seat, nearly toppling the scrapbook from her lap. She caught it narrowly, cradling it back against herself as if to protect the page she was on.
“Y-yeah… I’m… I’m good.” She bobbed a nod that wasn’t overly convincing.
“Mm. You finding anything good?” His chin jerked toward the books she had balanced on either arm of the chair and the one in her lap. Reign gently lowered it flat to her thighs. Franklin leaned over to peer at the page. A small smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Terry King. Young one when she had the place. Was one of those Beat Down girls.”
The page focused on a black and white picture of Terry King being named the Baron of Old Market almost ten years prior. After Candy Hart took down Overlord Chris Graziano, she had given Old Market to Terry for her services rendered during the challenge. She ended up holding the barony for over two hundred days before losing it to Lem DeAngelo, a name Reign knew for entirely different reasons.
“Yeah… I’ve, ah, studied some of her duels… do you remember much about her?” She asked, looking from the page up to the man. His expression screwed up briefly as though he were thinking back. Considering his age and the number of barons that had passed through the Cardinal, she wouldn’t have been surprised had he said no.
“Polite, she was. Funny too. But was always polite, minded her manners, quiet, didn’t cause trouble for me. Did her part to make the district a bit better too.” He nodded, shifting Reign’s empty glass to his other hand.
“What’d she do?”
“She was involved with the shelter a few blocks over, the one for battered women, you know?” Franklin gestured vaguely toward the east for emphasis.
“Guess I’m not familiar with it…” Reign admitted, disappointed in herself.
“It was her pet patronage when she was here. Gave them a good bit of publicity, brought in some good donations, gave them a leg up for helping the women that go there.” He nodded but was already starting back toward the kitchen, signaling an end to their exchange.
“That’s a pretty good cause…” She nodded, looking back down to the scrapbook in her lap.
Franklin said no more. The swinging door creaking on its hinge was enough for her to know he was gone.
“Maybe I can help too…” Reign closed the scrapbook gently and put the trio of books back on the shelf before abandoning the common area in much the same fashion as the Inn’s caretaker.
To say that Reign had taken Franklin’s words to heart had been an understatement. She was a diligent study, if not a quick one, pouring over the scrapbooks that he had pointed her toward, first in the comfort of the neatly appointed Baronial suite and then in the commons of the Cardinal, curled into a pretzel of a knot with a cup of steaming mulled cider and a spread of carefully crafted tomes containing the history of the Cardinal Inn, Old Market, and the Barons that had called it home.
It was a storied history spanning thirteen holders when it had still just been the eleventh ring with a further thirty-eight once it had been converted to the Barony of Old Market over seventeen years ago.
There was a lot of history to go through. A few stories stood out to her more than others.
Like Darkness, the first holder of the 11th ring, who disappeared after requesting challenges and ended up stripped of the title in less than two weeks.
Or Anubis Karos, the last holder of the 11th and the first holder of Old Market, the slaver who was only displaced by virtue (ha) of ascending to Overlord.
There was Rena Cronin, a woman of whom her mother had spoken quite highly. Reign couldn’t recall seeing the woman since coming to this time, but the histories indicated she was as real as she had been in her own time.
Or the story of Anjolie and Cory, the married couple who were back to back holders of Old Market after Anjolie deposed Cory as the Overlord, in turn trading titles with her husband. Odd, Reign thought, maybe they called it foreplay or something. Not her jam, but she wasn’t one to shame people.
A slew of prominent names followed after that. A veritable Who’s Who of the dueling world in the past decade.
G’nort.
Xenograg.
Maria Graziano.
Ellisa Morgan, an eventual Overlord who challenged for Old Market when she was still only a Grandmaster and a Squire.
Reign’s review of the histories slowed when she reached more “recent” pages. One covered Candy Hart’s time at the Cardinal and included a nearly full page article about the Beat Down versus Wrecking Crew grudge match that came during Candy’s reign. What came after that on the next page though had jarred her hard enough that even Franklin noticed as he passed by to clear her empty glass.
“You all right, lass?” He asked. Franklin had been rather sparing with his words in the two weeks Reign had lived there, the question made her jump in her seat, nearly toppling the scrapbook from her lap. She caught it narrowly, cradling it back against herself as if to protect the page she was on.
“Y-yeah… I’m… I’m good.” She bobbed a nod that wasn’t overly convincing.
“Mm. You finding anything good?” His chin jerked toward the books she had balanced on either arm of the chair and the one in her lap. Reign gently lowered it flat to her thighs. Franklin leaned over to peer at the page. A small smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Terry King. Young one when she had the place. Was one of those Beat Down girls.”
The page focused on a black and white picture of Terry King being named the Baron of Old Market almost ten years prior. After Candy Hart took down Overlord Chris Graziano, she had given Old Market to Terry for her services rendered during the challenge. She ended up holding the barony for over two hundred days before losing it to Lem DeAngelo, a name Reign knew for entirely different reasons.
“Yeah… I’ve, ah, studied some of her duels… do you remember much about her?” She asked, looking from the page up to the man. His expression screwed up briefly as though he were thinking back. Considering his age and the number of barons that had passed through the Cardinal, she wouldn’t have been surprised had he said no.
“Polite, she was. Funny too. But was always polite, minded her manners, quiet, didn’t cause trouble for me. Did her part to make the district a bit better too.” He nodded, shifting Reign’s empty glass to his other hand.
“What’d she do?”
“She was involved with the shelter a few blocks over, the one for battered women, you know?” Franklin gestured vaguely toward the east for emphasis.
“Guess I’m not familiar with it…” Reign admitted, disappointed in herself.
“It was her pet patronage when she was here. Gave them a good bit of publicity, brought in some good donations, gave them a leg up for helping the women that go there.” He nodded but was already starting back toward the kitchen, signaling an end to their exchange.
“That’s a pretty good cause…” She nodded, looking back down to the scrapbook in her lap.
Franklin said no more. The swinging door creaking on its hinge was enough for her to know he was gone.
“Maybe I can help too…” Reign closed the scrapbook gently and put the trio of books back on the shelf before abandoning the common area in much the same fashion as the Inn’s caretaker.
Re: So You Think You're a Baron
May 30th - The Cardinal Inn, Old Market
From the door of the kitchen, he watched. Just as he had done for the better part of two decades, watching the comings and goings of the barons that called the Cardinal Inn home, however fleetingly. Over seventeen years the Cardinal had been property of the Arena and though he had spent much longer than that taking care of the historical building, Franklin couldn’t help but reflect on the years he had spent taking care of the Barons as well. The tenured, like Rix Favre and Lirssa Sarengrave and Xenograg kathu-Darelir. The fleeting, like Cory Havoick and Maria Graziano and Cletus Ganderfald. The oldest, Anubis Karos, and the newest, Reign, the young woman pacing near the front door of the inn, smoothing her hands over (what he assumed was) a recently purchased blouse as if it might make it less stiff.
How many meetings had taken place in the common room of the Cardinal?
In recent years, Franklin could recall the sweat and grime of rowdy Blackguard captains gathering around Harris D’Artainian during his reign of terror. Or Jaycy Alexander conducting business in the commons to try and meet the needs of the people in the wake of D’Artainian’s time there. Good, bad, wholly benign. The Cardinal had seen it all.
His study of the young woman ended as the Cardinal’s door opened to permit two more to the commons. It seemed to be who the young Baroness was looking for, so with a nod, Franklin made himself scarce and disappeared once more into the back.
“Baroness Reign, I assume?” Of the pair, the shorter of the two spoke first, offering out a hand to shake. Reign stepped forward with an eager nod and a quick, firm grasp.
“Yeah, I think we spoke on the phone. It’s nice to meet you both in person,” she said with a sweeping gesture of her hand to a table near the hearth, where a recently stoked fire was gently crackling. Just enough to make it cozy but not so much as to make it hot. As the trio sat down and the respective sides freed notebooks, pens, and at least one tablet, Franklin returned with a pitcher of water and a trio of glasses before disappearing again.
“So, you’d like to make the Old Market Women’s Shelter your patron cause during your time as Baroness of Old Market…”
Here’s to you, Mom.
From the door of the kitchen, he watched. Just as he had done for the better part of two decades, watching the comings and goings of the barons that called the Cardinal Inn home, however fleetingly. Over seventeen years the Cardinal had been property of the Arena and though he had spent much longer than that taking care of the historical building, Franklin couldn’t help but reflect on the years he had spent taking care of the Barons as well. The tenured, like Rix Favre and Lirssa Sarengrave and Xenograg kathu-Darelir. The fleeting, like Cory Havoick and Maria Graziano and Cletus Ganderfald. The oldest, Anubis Karos, and the newest, Reign, the young woman pacing near the front door of the inn, smoothing her hands over (what he assumed was) a recently purchased blouse as if it might make it less stiff.
How many meetings had taken place in the common room of the Cardinal?
In recent years, Franklin could recall the sweat and grime of rowdy Blackguard captains gathering around Harris D’Artainian during his reign of terror. Or Jaycy Alexander conducting business in the commons to try and meet the needs of the people in the wake of D’Artainian’s time there. Good, bad, wholly benign. The Cardinal had seen it all.
His study of the young woman ended as the Cardinal’s door opened to permit two more to the commons. It seemed to be who the young Baroness was looking for, so with a nod, Franklin made himself scarce and disappeared once more into the back.
“Baroness Reign, I assume?” Of the pair, the shorter of the two spoke first, offering out a hand to shake. Reign stepped forward with an eager nod and a quick, firm grasp.
“Yeah, I think we spoke on the phone. It’s nice to meet you both in person,” she said with a sweeping gesture of her hand to a table near the hearth, where a recently stoked fire was gently crackling. Just enough to make it cozy but not so much as to make it hot. As the trio sat down and the respective sides freed notebooks, pens, and at least one tablet, Franklin returned with a pitcher of water and a trio of glasses before disappearing again.
“So, you’d like to make the Old Market Women’s Shelter your patron cause during your time as Baroness of Old Market…”
Here’s to you, Mom.
Re: So You Think You're a Baron
December 17th - The Arena
“You probably shouldn’t go to the All Ranks tourney drunk…”
“Eh, why not? Will take the sting off, if I lose, right?”
~*~
"Who the fuck is Jordan..."
"Lots of exciting match-ups! Including someone brand new! Might be a tough draw for the Baron of Old Market."
"Reign is out to as good a start as one can be, earning the perfect victory! Jordan and her, um, pets I suppose... will have to go back to the drawing board and see if they have better luck in the lower bracket! And Amaris isn't too far off from Reign, getting a shutout in one extra round!"
~*~
"In the winner's bracket we have: Maggie vs. Amaris and Reign vs. Rekah! And in our lower bracket, it will be Haru vs. Doran and Jordan vs. Sal! You may all begin when you're all ready!"
"Yo, luck and stuff. Glad you're not a bug."
"Honor and cake. And I am also glad I'm not a bug. You would tell me if I was though, correct?"
"Rekah's trade takes her to the victory! Reign will move on, but in the lower bracket."
~*~
"In our lower brackets, we'll see Reign vs. Doran, and Amaris vs. Sal!"
"Skill and grace.”
"Got neither of those. How bout stubbornness and fun?”
"And with a well placed cut, Reign ends Doran's night! Good dueling Doran, and thank you for coming out tonight!"
~*~
"We're down to our final four! In the upper bracket, we have Maggie against Rekah! And in our lower bracket, it will be Reign against Sal! You may all begin when ready!"
“Reign is two away from staying alive in the tournament!"
"Sal isn't done yet as he gets on the board, but it will be a long climb for the comeback!"
"Reign doesn't give Sal the opportunity to comeback, and his night comes to a close! Thank you for joining up tonight, Sal! Good dueling!"
~*~
"While Rekah waits on in the upper bracket, it will be Maggie against Reign to see who goes on to meet her in the finals! Please begin whenever you're ready!"
"Skill and honor, Reign."
"Got neither of those." Just like she told Doran earlier. "Settle for obstinance and serendipity?"
"Reign is on a roll, and scoring five straight points sends her to the finals! Good dueling tonight, Maggie! Thank you for joining up!"
~*~
"Moving on to our finals, Rekah comes from the upper bracket meaning one win and she takes it all! Reign will have to win two in a row if she wants to be the ultimate victor! Rekah and Reign, please begin when you are ready!"
"Honor and cake part two."
"Honor and cake. That, I can manage."
"Reign is looking to push this all the way and she is on fire right now! Can Rekah stem the tide, or are we going to see another match for all the marbles?"
"Rekah isn't out of this one yet! A full point on the board, but she'll need more to end the tournament here!"
"Rekah will not go undefeated this evening, and we're back to even ground! Tonight we're going all the way, and we have one more match with Reign against Rekah! Take a break if you need to, and then begin the final duel of the tournament when ready!"
"I think I've got one more in me..."
"Neither are backing down, and both score again! More points!"
"Rekah isn't going to let it end just yet, and her defense is perfectly placed to move her within a score of tying it up!"
"Reign finds an opening underneath Rekah's defense, and the score and the win! With that, Reign is the winner of the End of Fall All Ranks Tournament! Congratulations, Reign and well dueled, Rekah!"
(Dialogue taken from The Arena log during the All Ranks Tournament)
“You probably shouldn’t go to the All Ranks tourney drunk…”
“Eh, why not? Will take the sting off, if I lose, right?”
~*~
"Who the fuck is Jordan..."
"Lots of exciting match-ups! Including someone brand new! Might be a tough draw for the Baron of Old Market."
"Reign is out to as good a start as one can be, earning the perfect victory! Jordan and her, um, pets I suppose... will have to go back to the drawing board and see if they have better luck in the lower bracket! And Amaris isn't too far off from Reign, getting a shutout in one extra round!"
~*~
"In the winner's bracket we have: Maggie vs. Amaris and Reign vs. Rekah! And in our lower bracket, it will be Haru vs. Doran and Jordan vs. Sal! You may all begin when you're all ready!"
"Yo, luck and stuff. Glad you're not a bug."
"Honor and cake. And I am also glad I'm not a bug. You would tell me if I was though, correct?"
"Rekah's trade takes her to the victory! Reign will move on, but in the lower bracket."
~*~
"In our lower brackets, we'll see Reign vs. Doran, and Amaris vs. Sal!"
"Skill and grace.”
"Got neither of those. How bout stubbornness and fun?”
"And with a well placed cut, Reign ends Doran's night! Good dueling Doran, and thank you for coming out tonight!"
~*~
"We're down to our final four! In the upper bracket, we have Maggie against Rekah! And in our lower bracket, it will be Reign against Sal! You may all begin when ready!"
“Reign is two away from staying alive in the tournament!"
"Sal isn't done yet as he gets on the board, but it will be a long climb for the comeback!"
"Reign doesn't give Sal the opportunity to comeback, and his night comes to a close! Thank you for joining up tonight, Sal! Good dueling!"
~*~
"While Rekah waits on in the upper bracket, it will be Maggie against Reign to see who goes on to meet her in the finals! Please begin whenever you're ready!"
"Skill and honor, Reign."
"Got neither of those." Just like she told Doran earlier. "Settle for obstinance and serendipity?"
"Reign is on a roll, and scoring five straight points sends her to the finals! Good dueling tonight, Maggie! Thank you for joining up!"
~*~
"Moving on to our finals, Rekah comes from the upper bracket meaning one win and she takes it all! Reign will have to win two in a row if she wants to be the ultimate victor! Rekah and Reign, please begin when you are ready!"
"Honor and cake part two."
"Honor and cake. That, I can manage."
"Reign is looking to push this all the way and she is on fire right now! Can Rekah stem the tide, or are we going to see another match for all the marbles?"
"Rekah isn't out of this one yet! A full point on the board, but she'll need more to end the tournament here!"
"Rekah will not go undefeated this evening, and we're back to even ground! Tonight we're going all the way, and we have one more match with Reign against Rekah! Take a break if you need to, and then begin the final duel of the tournament when ready!"
"I think I've got one more in me..."
"Neither are backing down, and both score again! More points!"
"Rekah isn't going to let it end just yet, and her defense is perfectly placed to move her within a score of tying it up!"
"Reign finds an opening underneath Rekah's defense, and the score and the win! With that, Reign is the winner of the End of Fall All Ranks Tournament! Congratulations, Reign and well dueled, Rekah!"
(Dialogue taken from The Arena log during the All Ranks Tournament)
Last edited by Reign on Thu May 25, 2023 8:42 pm, edited 1 time in total.
Re: So You Think You're a Baron
December 27th - Old Market
“Challenge grant for the DiArchLord, eh?”
“Dunno how I pulled that off.”
“Same way you pull everything else off… miraculously.”
“Appreciate the vote of confidence. Suppose I oughta go throw up the challenge… can’t prolong it forever.”
“Famous last words.”
“Challenge grant for the DiArchLord, eh?”
“Dunno how I pulled that off.”
“Same way you pull everything else off… miraculously.”
“Appreciate the vote of confidence. Suppose I oughta go throw up the challenge… can’t prolong it forever.”
“Famous last words.”
Re: So You Think You're an Overlord
January 10th - The Arena
Having been up in the Old Market box for some time, she waited until the caterers had finished setting up and the first few arrivals had settled in. A ball of antsy energy, she forced herself to count out a full three minutes after the DiArchLord before eventually making her way down from the skyboxes above.
Black leather, throat to toe, exposing but the tips of her fingers and the inked V of her chest to mirror the smaller triangle of flesh seen at the bottom edge of a cropped tank top that provided… really, very minimal protection.
Just be careful… the wards…
“I’ll be fine.”
Over a shoulder, a thicker weapon case than normal and it was this that was set down reverently upon a table before she could make her final preparations.
Alasdair’s opening words were a garbled mess in her head, drowned out by the hammering of her heart and the whispers of doubt and anxiety. She vaguely remembered waving to the cameras for those watching at home.
"First, our challenger: She is the current Baron of Old Market! She duels under a banner that is black with a gold crown in the center; her second is Jesse, in absentia; and her person of honor is Royal! Everyone please give a round of applause for... Reign!"
The shrill whistles and roar of the crowd reminded her of gulls on the beach, the waves beating the sand over and over and over again.
She had been grateful for the leather half mask she had worn. It covered the fretted pucker of her mouth and most of the flush of rose that suffused her cheeks, bridging her nose and laying a florid backdrop for hints of freckles.
"And our defending Overlord! They are only the second person in history to hold the title of Archmage, Diamond, and Overlord at the same time! He duels under a banner with a golden rose on a field of black; his second is Salvador Delahada; and his persons of honor are Salvador, Rekah Illyriana, and his Rhydin family. Put your hands together for the man called Gatito!"
The mountain to climb. The second ever to hold all three top titles at the same time and one of just over a dozen to hold the top three titles in general in their career.
It’s all uphill.
Yeah… it’ll make it that much more satisfying to skate down the other side.
She distracted herself from the cheers of the crowd by unloaded three blades from her bulky case. While the DiArchLord and the caller settled the format, she checked the laces on her boots and took a moment to tighten her leather bracers around her hands and wrists.
One shot.
Well if you embarrass yourself, at least it’ll only be once.
Reign stepped into the ring and rolled her shoulders, pausing briefly to regard the three blades like old friends. Quiet conference in her head had her plucking the gunblade, Overture, from the sand, leaving behind the more modern of the two gunblades along with the rapier. Therein she waited for the Gatito to give them a slashing salute once they were both settled. And one for Alasdair too! She remembered that after a moment.
The Overlord had a kind smile. That much stuck with her.
Some in the rings often succumbed to the vitriol and pomp of the sport. The cockiness was pervasive when really they were no more than sporting figures.
A cautious start, a trade of blows, a nimble dance aside.
A kind compliment, a simple inquiry to go with the swap of blades, rapier for gunblade.
An impasse to duck low, a trap never sprung.
Overture. Promise. Memoria.
A piece of her family, each.
A jarred blow, lead shaved thin.
Another trade, a deft repositioning to length the narrow lead, in the midst of which she exchanged the rapier for the remaining gunblade.
Its heft was a quiet comfort in the chaos.
For all of the noise and calls and cheers beyond the curved edge of the sand filled ring, there was something to be said about the intimacy of locked eyes, a darting study of movement and motion and technique. It was a test, even if no test was permitted under her challenge grant. The test was whether she had the mettle to stand toe to toe with a great. No mere Overlord, but a DiArchLord, a pinnacle in a trio of sports that Reign had grown up watching and, once the city had fallen and they were left with recordings and holograms, what she had listened to at night when she was drifting off to sleep and what she thought about when Lady Nayun put her through her paces on the beach, blades in hand.
A nickel’s width, it may have been a mile when levied against the incoming lunch of a magical saber.
Memoria held true, turning away the blade in a belated bookend that writ poetic closure to nine rounds hard fought.
“Holy fuck.” One step, two step, three. Retreat, disbelief.
Congratulations within the ring and without. Cheers for the new Overlord, cheers for the new Baron of Old Market.
Blades three returned to the hollow protection of their case, a promise made to Royal to ensure their safety and return to their origin as Barons spouted alignments. Two Renegade right off the bat.
No surprise. What fun was being Overlord if everyone was loyal?
Not Overlord. OverReign.
She liked the sound of that.
Having been up in the Old Market box for some time, she waited until the caterers had finished setting up and the first few arrivals had settled in. A ball of antsy energy, she forced herself to count out a full three minutes after the DiArchLord before eventually making her way down from the skyboxes above.
Black leather, throat to toe, exposing but the tips of her fingers and the inked V of her chest to mirror the smaller triangle of flesh seen at the bottom edge of a cropped tank top that provided… really, very minimal protection.
Just be careful… the wards…
“I’ll be fine.”
Over a shoulder, a thicker weapon case than normal and it was this that was set down reverently upon a table before she could make her final preparations.
Alasdair’s opening words were a garbled mess in her head, drowned out by the hammering of her heart and the whispers of doubt and anxiety. She vaguely remembered waving to the cameras for those watching at home.
"First, our challenger: She is the current Baron of Old Market! She duels under a banner that is black with a gold crown in the center; her second is Jesse, in absentia; and her person of honor is Royal! Everyone please give a round of applause for... Reign!"
The shrill whistles and roar of the crowd reminded her of gulls on the beach, the waves beating the sand over and over and over again.
She had been grateful for the leather half mask she had worn. It covered the fretted pucker of her mouth and most of the flush of rose that suffused her cheeks, bridging her nose and laying a florid backdrop for hints of freckles.
"And our defending Overlord! They are only the second person in history to hold the title of Archmage, Diamond, and Overlord at the same time! He duels under a banner with a golden rose on a field of black; his second is Salvador Delahada; and his persons of honor are Salvador, Rekah Illyriana, and his Rhydin family. Put your hands together for the man called Gatito!"
The mountain to climb. The second ever to hold all three top titles at the same time and one of just over a dozen to hold the top three titles in general in their career.
It’s all uphill.
Yeah… it’ll make it that much more satisfying to skate down the other side.
She distracted herself from the cheers of the crowd by unloaded three blades from her bulky case. While the DiArchLord and the caller settled the format, she checked the laces on her boots and took a moment to tighten her leather bracers around her hands and wrists.
One shot.
Well if you embarrass yourself, at least it’ll only be once.
Reign stepped into the ring and rolled her shoulders, pausing briefly to regard the three blades like old friends. Quiet conference in her head had her plucking the gunblade, Overture, from the sand, leaving behind the more modern of the two gunblades along with the rapier. Therein she waited for the Gatito to give them a slashing salute once they were both settled. And one for Alasdair too! She remembered that after a moment.
The Overlord had a kind smile. That much stuck with her.
Some in the rings often succumbed to the vitriol and pomp of the sport. The cockiness was pervasive when really they were no more than sporting figures.
A cautious start, a trade of blows, a nimble dance aside.
A kind compliment, a simple inquiry to go with the swap of blades, rapier for gunblade.
An impasse to duck low, a trap never sprung.
Overture. Promise. Memoria.
A piece of her family, each.
A jarred blow, lead shaved thin.
Another trade, a deft repositioning to length the narrow lead, in the midst of which she exchanged the rapier for the remaining gunblade.
Its heft was a quiet comfort in the chaos.
For all of the noise and calls and cheers beyond the curved edge of the sand filled ring, there was something to be said about the intimacy of locked eyes, a darting study of movement and motion and technique. It was a test, even if no test was permitted under her challenge grant. The test was whether she had the mettle to stand toe to toe with a great. No mere Overlord, but a DiArchLord, a pinnacle in a trio of sports that Reign had grown up watching and, once the city had fallen and they were left with recordings and holograms, what she had listened to at night when she was drifting off to sleep and what she thought about when Lady Nayun put her through her paces on the beach, blades in hand.
A nickel’s width, it may have been a mile when levied against the incoming lunch of a magical saber.
Memoria held true, turning away the blade in a belated bookend that writ poetic closure to nine rounds hard fought.
“Holy fuck.” One step, two step, three. Retreat, disbelief.
Congratulations within the ring and without. Cheers for the new Overlord, cheers for the new Baron of Old Market.
Blades three returned to the hollow protection of their case, a promise made to Royal to ensure their safety and return to their origin as Barons spouted alignments. Two Renegade right off the bat.
No surprise. What fun was being Overlord if everyone was loyal?
Not Overlord. OverReign.
She liked the sound of that.
Re: So You Think You're an Overlord
May 22nd - Aeternitas Sector
Days passed, weeks did too. A month and a half for her first defense, a month and a half after that for the second. By the third, she wondered if the stream of challengers would ever end. The winner of Madness came to challenge too, and so she notched a third defense and at last thought she might have time to rest before another came calling. Instead, a promise made months ago came back to haunt her.
"I beseech you to uphold your generous offer of waiving the grace period, as per the conventions of our honorable sport."
It was a matter of putting her money where her mouth was. She could only hear her mother's voice from beyond the grave.
"Your word is your bond."
And so it would be. Far away as she was, on another world entirely, she requested a hasty missive be sent and posted without hesitation, lest the challenge be marked invalid by her lack of confirmation for the waived grace.
I waive whatever remains of my grace after my defense against Ettyn for Lupton and Lupton alone today.
The post script, a smartassed comment about needing the number for the Emperor's son should the traitorous man still be amongst the living by the end of the Emperor's reclamation of his throne. In truth, she didn't care.
Not about Lupton's bid to take back his kingdom. Not about getting his son's number. Not about what it would mean if she won or if she lost.
She had trouble caring about any of it. It was all a trivial distraction in the grand scheme of everything.
There were only two things that mattered to her.
One, ensuring she was never again separated from Royal.
Two, doing whatever it took to forget the echo of the Nothing that seemed to reside at the edge of her consciousness, waiting to strike any time her guard was down.
She was an Overlord, now. She could do both. Between dueling, her work with the gleaners, and her other professional and personal endeavors, she had very little time left with which to think. Or overthink, as it were.
There was no room for uncertainty in her life. There was no room for fear.
"I don't want to die. I want to live.
I don't want to be alone. I want to love.
I don't want to be afraid. I want to be free."
The poem lingered in her head as she closed the screen on her tablet and tucked it into the bag at the food of her bed. The carrier was on its way back to Gateway Station, but it would still take time to reach their destination. In the meantime, she was left to her thoughts. How she would face Lupton, what she would do if she lost, what her handlers would say after she waived the paltry grace she had earned by virtue of having just enough loyal barons to force it. She didn't even have a majority. Only thanks to the Senior Baron was she granted a grace period and it was about the Senior Baron that she thought briefly.
He had been her boss first, employing her at the surf shop a summer prior. It had been a good use of her time and skills. She could teach others how to ride, spend plenty of time on the water, and got a discount on the products she would have otherwise paid full price for. It gave her an opportunity to simply exist without expectation.
A rare indulgence in this day and age.
That she had developed a crush on the tiefling Baron was a surprise to her. And when it was reciprocated, she knew not how to handle it. So she simply elected to pretend as if it wasn't a thing, as if the quiet comfort between them wasn't a palpable occurrence. She kept her distance, not wanting to be caught in the middle of something so complicated. But that only made him more appealing.
When her handlers advised it would be best for her brand if she appeared unattached, she had been disappointed, but took it as a sign from the universe. Better to not drag him down with her and the press that enjoyed following the young dueling upstart, waiting for her to do something newsworthy, good or bad.
The last thing she wanted was to cause any sort of scandal for him. Not to mention, it would have put the Senior Baron in an awkward position. So as she guarded those private interactions like the most precious of gems, she too found the wall between being rebuilt. If she could distance herself from the comfort she felt around him, then perhaps it would make it easier to stay away.
It was a hard lesson to learn. She was young. Inexperienced when it came to anything beyond a surface level relationship.
It was far easier to take comfort in the carnal indulgence offered by faceless suitors found on the plethora of hookup apps offered in the perfectly contained environment of her phone. When she didn't feel up for company, she simply turned it off. But when she wanted any company but her own, it could be found a few swipes away.
Even on a ship like this.
She didn't want to be alone. She wanted to love. She wanted to be free.
The song was still echoing in her head. The words were burned into her mind. Aching and raw. For now though, she settled for the easy. The light knock at the metal door of the utilitarian space she had called home for the past week told her that her next easy fix had arrived.
"Come in."
The door opened. A handsome face and a strong build entered. Already she had forgotten his name, not as though it mattered. They were all interchangeable. She got to her feet to greet him, taking from his grasp a bottle of wine he had brought along. It was set upon a metal desk, upon which paperwork and requisitions were scattered in haphazard fashion. Once her hands were empty, she filled them with a grasp of a soft shirt stretched taut over hard muscles. He looked her up and down, as if to say something.
Rather than let him, she leaned up on her toes to touch her lips to his. The soft meld of mouths turned into a hungry exchange soon after as he kicked the door shut behind him. For a few hours, she could forget everything. She could even forget him after she kicked him out in the early hours of the morning, locking the door in his wake and returning to her sweat-limned bed to try and sleep for a little while before the day broke fully.
But it was never long enough.
Days passed, weeks did too. A month and a half for her first defense, a month and a half after that for the second. By the third, she wondered if the stream of challengers would ever end. The winner of Madness came to challenge too, and so she notched a third defense and at last thought she might have time to rest before another came calling. Instead, a promise made months ago came back to haunt her.
"I beseech you to uphold your generous offer of waiving the grace period, as per the conventions of our honorable sport."
It was a matter of putting her money where her mouth was. She could only hear her mother's voice from beyond the grave.
"Your word is your bond."
And so it would be. Far away as she was, on another world entirely, she requested a hasty missive be sent and posted without hesitation, lest the challenge be marked invalid by her lack of confirmation for the waived grace.
I waive whatever remains of my grace after my defense against Ettyn for Lupton and Lupton alone today.
The post script, a smartassed comment about needing the number for the Emperor's son should the traitorous man still be amongst the living by the end of the Emperor's reclamation of his throne. In truth, she didn't care.
Not about Lupton's bid to take back his kingdom. Not about getting his son's number. Not about what it would mean if she won or if she lost.
She had trouble caring about any of it. It was all a trivial distraction in the grand scheme of everything.
There were only two things that mattered to her.
One, ensuring she was never again separated from Royal.
Two, doing whatever it took to forget the echo of the Nothing that seemed to reside at the edge of her consciousness, waiting to strike any time her guard was down.
She was an Overlord, now. She could do both. Between dueling, her work with the gleaners, and her other professional and personal endeavors, she had very little time left with which to think. Or overthink, as it were.
There was no room for uncertainty in her life. There was no room for fear.
"I don't want to die. I want to live.
I don't want to be alone. I want to love.
I don't want to be afraid. I want to be free."
The poem lingered in her head as she closed the screen on her tablet and tucked it into the bag at the food of her bed. The carrier was on its way back to Gateway Station, but it would still take time to reach their destination. In the meantime, she was left to her thoughts. How she would face Lupton, what she would do if she lost, what her handlers would say after she waived the paltry grace she had earned by virtue of having just enough loyal barons to force it. She didn't even have a majority. Only thanks to the Senior Baron was she granted a grace period and it was about the Senior Baron that she thought briefly.
He had been her boss first, employing her at the surf shop a summer prior. It had been a good use of her time and skills. She could teach others how to ride, spend plenty of time on the water, and got a discount on the products she would have otherwise paid full price for. It gave her an opportunity to simply exist without expectation.
A rare indulgence in this day and age.
That she had developed a crush on the tiefling Baron was a surprise to her. And when it was reciprocated, she knew not how to handle it. So she simply elected to pretend as if it wasn't a thing, as if the quiet comfort between them wasn't a palpable occurrence. She kept her distance, not wanting to be caught in the middle of something so complicated. But that only made him more appealing.
When her handlers advised it would be best for her brand if she appeared unattached, she had been disappointed, but took it as a sign from the universe. Better to not drag him down with her and the press that enjoyed following the young dueling upstart, waiting for her to do something newsworthy, good or bad.
The last thing she wanted was to cause any sort of scandal for him. Not to mention, it would have put the Senior Baron in an awkward position. So as she guarded those private interactions like the most precious of gems, she too found the wall between being rebuilt. If she could distance herself from the comfort she felt around him, then perhaps it would make it easier to stay away.
It was a hard lesson to learn. She was young. Inexperienced when it came to anything beyond a surface level relationship.
It was far easier to take comfort in the carnal indulgence offered by faceless suitors found on the plethora of hookup apps offered in the perfectly contained environment of her phone. When she didn't feel up for company, she simply turned it off. But when she wanted any company but her own, it could be found a few swipes away.
Even on a ship like this.
She didn't want to be alone. She wanted to love. She wanted to be free.
The song was still echoing in her head. The words were burned into her mind. Aching and raw. For now though, she settled for the easy. The light knock at the metal door of the utilitarian space she had called home for the past week told her that her next easy fix had arrived.
"Come in."
The door opened. A handsome face and a strong build entered. Already she had forgotten his name, not as though it mattered. They were all interchangeable. She got to her feet to greet him, taking from his grasp a bottle of wine he had brought along. It was set upon a metal desk, upon which paperwork and requisitions were scattered in haphazard fashion. Once her hands were empty, she filled them with a grasp of a soft shirt stretched taut over hard muscles. He looked her up and down, as if to say something.
Rather than let him, she leaned up on her toes to touch her lips to his. The soft meld of mouths turned into a hungry exchange soon after as he kicked the door shut behind him. For a few hours, she could forget everything. She could even forget him after she kicked him out in the early hours of the morning, locking the door in his wake and returning to her sweat-limned bed to try and sleep for a little while before the day broke fully.
But it was never long enough.
Re: So You Think You're an Overlord
May 30th - Overlord Island
"After twenty-four long rounds, Lupton outlasts Reign and ties up the challenge at one match apiece!"
The Emperor-in-exile caught her once more with his blade and it forced her into a stumble and a fall to her ass in the sand. Unmitigated bleeding, excessive energy expenditure, after twenty-four rounds in one match and another nine in the first, she was spent. She felt eyes upon her. So many eyes.
"I need..." She held up a finger, still sitting in the sand. Only to, a moment later, slump over with a shake of her head. "Fuck."
She heard someone say her name, Droet perhaps. But it was the challenger's nearby comment that actually registered.
"I think it might be prudent if we continue this another night."
"Do I lose if I do?" She asked in a mumble.
She never quite received a direct answer. But Alasdair's amplified commentary cut through the sanguine fog that had clouded her mind. Long of the short, he suggested a postponement for the final match, to which both she and Lupton agreed. He encouraged them to let the wards do their job.
Which was fine for Lupton.
Reign, on the other hand, would have had to spend the better part of twenty-four hours to allow just a trickle of healing magic to knit her wounds. By then, she likely would have bled out.
"Amazingly well fought, Overlord. I never thought this would be easy."
"Dethroning an Overlord is easy..." She told Lupton without looking back. "An entitled child on your throne? Different story. We'll talk soon."
Royal and Droet were going to help her escape the Arena so that her sister could give her stitches and put her back together again. The cameras were a heavy weight and she could only imagine what the commentators were saying.
Would they blame her for the postponement? Would they think her weak?
What would her Loyals think? Or her Renegades, for that matter?
Not as though there wasn't already unfair pressure on her for the match, considering a woman had been kidnapped to try and extort her challenger politically. So even if she won, it was bad press. What was she supposed to do, roll over and hand it over to Lupton for the sake of Jewell being freed?
If she went easy on the man, it would cheapen the victory and, considering his son had been watching remotely, it may not be enough to free the woman. So she did what she could to make it fair and even, opting not to test and instead giving him a best of three against her directly. Thirty-three rounds later, she had wished it had been a single shot.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
To her credit, she didn't pass out until Royal stitched her stomach back together.
When she awoke the next morning, it was to a delivery of lemon ice cream to the front door of the Overlord Isle manor. How she had eventually ended up on the isle, she wasn't quite sure, but with the staff on-hand, it meant her caretakers didn't have to stick close and she was sure at least one of the staff had direction to keep Royal in the loop as to how Reign was doing once she woke.
So she savored the ice cream on a sunny patio in the rear of the manor, surrounded by the distant lapping of waves on the shore and the slowly shifting shadow of the lighthouse as it played sundial upon the isle. The buzzing of her phone interrupted her peace and she readied herself to grumble at Royal about how she was okay, only to peek at the screen and sigh at the name displayed.
"Hey, Shaw. What's the haps?" She asked with a quiet groan, settling back in her seat. For the sake of not finagling a top or pants over her bandaged wounds, she had elected a sports bra and athletic shorts for her lounging. They kept material from rubbing but did little to insulate against shifts in positioning and the wicker on the patio, even cushioned, wasn't the most gentle.
"Just wanted to check in on you and make sure you're doing okay." Shaw replied, the sound of his voice making her smile despite her pain. "Last night was pretty brutal."
She could hear the concern in his tone, though she suspected he was mostly just trying to make small talk before delivering the edict of the powers that be, which she appreciated. It was rare that anyone cared about her well-being beyond her being a pawn to be used for their gain. Gabriel Shaw, also known as her primary handler, was often no more than a mouthpiece for the people that cut both of their checks. But after a year of working together, they had built at least a working rapport. She fought the fights and signed the autographs and posed for the pictures and Shaw managed the schedule and handled the press releases and gave her guidance as to just what she had to do in order to fulfill her never ending contract.
"It's not so bad... Royal put me back together again... I should be alright by the time we schedule our continuation." She answered.
"About that... are you in any condition to keep going after that last match?" Shaw asked.
"Yeah, of course I am." Zero hesitation, she answered instantly. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"We all saw how you looked when they took you out of the ring." He pointed out gently.
"I walked out of the ring on my own." She protested with a pout, poking at a mound of ice cream with her spoon.
"Barely." He countered. "When were you going to tell me that the wards don't work on you?"
There it was.
The truth.
They didn't work, that much was true. Or at least they worked so poorly that it was often a better idea to simply seek conventional medical aid for bad enough injuries.
"I never hid it." She told him. That was also true. She hadn't actively hid the fact, it just was never a subject of conversation or she was able to walk off her injuries well enough that it wasn't noticeable.
"Lying by omission is still lying." Shaw told her with all the gentle chiding of a disappointed parent.
"It's not lying and it's not an omission. I just haven't had any fights or challenges that long for it to matter. It was a non-issue." Reign jabbed the ice cream hard, splitting it down the middle and squishing lemon cream further into liquid.
Shaw sighed. "Well, now it is. Because I can't guarantee you'll be able to get back up after the next one."
"No, you're right. You can't." She agreed. "So what are we going to do?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Reign wondered if he had taken the phone away from his ear in order to talk to someone else. Maybe the boss? That would be the kind of thing she'd do. But eventually, Shaw spoke.
"You know there's no way to pull out of this fight." He stated bluntly. "Not without forfeiting and pissing off a whole lot of sponsors. But you can't put yourself back in for another twenty-some odd rounds for another fight like that."
She shook her head. "I don't want to forfeit. I'll just have to suck it up."
"Suck it up?" Shaw repeated. "Like you've done before?"
"Yes, like I've done before." She answered.
Shaw didn't reply. He simply sat there as if he was waiting for something.
"What?" Reign asked. "Are you going to tell me how you're going to help me heal up faster? Because that would be really helpful."
"If you want us to look into designating a doctor for your matches, we can. Or a healer for your... whatever it is that makes the ward not work for you." He offered.
"Having a doc there would make me look weak." He couldn't see her, but she was definitely scowling so hard it made it into her words.
"You're only human. You don't look weak." He countered. "But I get your point. So, what do you need?"
Reign paused. "A bath."
He laughed. "That's not exactly what I meant. What do you need to feel better?"
"That's a long list you can't fulfill, Shaw." She snorted.
"Try me."
Reign sighed. "How about you let me worry about that? I'm not asking you to cure me of all my problems. Just make them more manageable. I have to be ready for the next fight, and I'm not feeling the greatest right now."
"Your wish is my command, m'lady."
"Lose the fedora, Gabe. It wouldn't be a good look on you. Can you just... sort out scheduling with Lupton's people and maybe, like, set up some catering or something?" She asked, looking down into the plastic bowl.
Shaw thought about it. "Done. If you're sure you don't need anything else, I'll go ahead and make those arrangements."
"Thanks, Shaw." Reign replied, feeling much better. "How's the press on it?"
"Mixed... that's to be expected. The whole challenge was... a debacle." She could hear the grimace in his tone.
"Anything I need to be aware of? Give me the teal deer." She requested, pushing herself upright fully with a wince.
"Some were favorable, lauding your stamina and ability to go toe to toe with such an established name for so long. Others were... ambivalent, wondering if it was all for show and if the thing with that faerie woman and Lupton's son wasn't a hoax. And then, the gossip mills talking about you naming that baron as your second but not using him to test... or that you might be aligned with Lupton's son... that you're putting sports above someone's life... you know, the usual doom and gloom."
"So... a colossal pile of bullshit all around." Reign huffed, rising to her feet next. The stones beneath her bare feet were pleasantly warm and the impending heat of summer had her yearning not for the dank Arena's rings but rather the sun and sea spray of a board carving through waves. A dip in the salt right now would require she break out her wetsuit or risk getting her... numerous wounds wet. With salt water nonetheless.
"Don't worry too much about it. We have the usual threads being worked to ensure that you're spun into a favorable light. Win or lose, it may present a number of new opportunities for you professionally." He said, his tone light as if it might cheer her up.
She smiled. "You do your job well, Shaw. I appreciate it."
"Why else would they assign me the most troublesome, pain in the ass as my primary client? I'll be sure to keep my eye out for any interesting opportunities for you. Just... keep your head on straight, Reign. And eh, try to close it out a bit quicker in the last match, alright?"
"No promises. I'll do my best."
When the call ended, she returned her ice cream bowl to the kitchen and slid into a pair of flip-flops to go take a walk about the isle. Perhaps a chat with the Gondar Memorial would prove fortuitous.
Or it was wishful thinking.
Who knew.
"After twenty-four long rounds, Lupton outlasts Reign and ties up the challenge at one match apiece!"
The Emperor-in-exile caught her once more with his blade and it forced her into a stumble and a fall to her ass in the sand. Unmitigated bleeding, excessive energy expenditure, after twenty-four rounds in one match and another nine in the first, she was spent. She felt eyes upon her. So many eyes.
"I need..." She held up a finger, still sitting in the sand. Only to, a moment later, slump over with a shake of her head. "Fuck."
She heard someone say her name, Droet perhaps. But it was the challenger's nearby comment that actually registered.
"I think it might be prudent if we continue this another night."
"Do I lose if I do?" She asked in a mumble.
She never quite received a direct answer. But Alasdair's amplified commentary cut through the sanguine fog that had clouded her mind. Long of the short, he suggested a postponement for the final match, to which both she and Lupton agreed. He encouraged them to let the wards do their job.
Which was fine for Lupton.
Reign, on the other hand, would have had to spend the better part of twenty-four hours to allow just a trickle of healing magic to knit her wounds. By then, she likely would have bled out.
"Amazingly well fought, Overlord. I never thought this would be easy."
"Dethroning an Overlord is easy..." She told Lupton without looking back. "An entitled child on your throne? Different story. We'll talk soon."
Royal and Droet were going to help her escape the Arena so that her sister could give her stitches and put her back together again. The cameras were a heavy weight and she could only imagine what the commentators were saying.
Would they blame her for the postponement? Would they think her weak?
What would her Loyals think? Or her Renegades, for that matter?
Not as though there wasn't already unfair pressure on her for the match, considering a woman had been kidnapped to try and extort her challenger politically. So even if she won, it was bad press. What was she supposed to do, roll over and hand it over to Lupton for the sake of Jewell being freed?
If she went easy on the man, it would cheapen the victory and, considering his son had been watching remotely, it may not be enough to free the woman. So she did what she could to make it fair and even, opting not to test and instead giving him a best of three against her directly. Thirty-three rounds later, she had wished it had been a single shot.
Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
To her credit, she didn't pass out until Royal stitched her stomach back together.
When she awoke the next morning, it was to a delivery of lemon ice cream to the front door of the Overlord Isle manor. How she had eventually ended up on the isle, she wasn't quite sure, but with the staff on-hand, it meant her caretakers didn't have to stick close and she was sure at least one of the staff had direction to keep Royal in the loop as to how Reign was doing once she woke.
So she savored the ice cream on a sunny patio in the rear of the manor, surrounded by the distant lapping of waves on the shore and the slowly shifting shadow of the lighthouse as it played sundial upon the isle. The buzzing of her phone interrupted her peace and she readied herself to grumble at Royal about how she was okay, only to peek at the screen and sigh at the name displayed.
"Hey, Shaw. What's the haps?" She asked with a quiet groan, settling back in her seat. For the sake of not finagling a top or pants over her bandaged wounds, she had elected a sports bra and athletic shorts for her lounging. They kept material from rubbing but did little to insulate against shifts in positioning and the wicker on the patio, even cushioned, wasn't the most gentle.
"Just wanted to check in on you and make sure you're doing okay." Shaw replied, the sound of his voice making her smile despite her pain. "Last night was pretty brutal."
She could hear the concern in his tone, though she suspected he was mostly just trying to make small talk before delivering the edict of the powers that be, which she appreciated. It was rare that anyone cared about her well-being beyond her being a pawn to be used for their gain. Gabriel Shaw, also known as her primary handler, was often no more than a mouthpiece for the people that cut both of their checks. But after a year of working together, they had built at least a working rapport. She fought the fights and signed the autographs and posed for the pictures and Shaw managed the schedule and handled the press releases and gave her guidance as to just what she had to do in order to fulfill her never ending contract.
"It's not so bad... Royal put me back together again... I should be alright by the time we schedule our continuation." She answered.
"About that... are you in any condition to keep going after that last match?" Shaw asked.
"Yeah, of course I am." Zero hesitation, she answered instantly. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"We all saw how you looked when they took you out of the ring." He pointed out gently.
"I walked out of the ring on my own." She protested with a pout, poking at a mound of ice cream with her spoon.
"Barely." He countered. "When were you going to tell me that the wards don't work on you?"
There it was.
The truth.
They didn't work, that much was true. Or at least they worked so poorly that it was often a better idea to simply seek conventional medical aid for bad enough injuries.
"I never hid it." She told him. That was also true. She hadn't actively hid the fact, it just was never a subject of conversation or she was able to walk off her injuries well enough that it wasn't noticeable.
"Lying by omission is still lying." Shaw told her with all the gentle chiding of a disappointed parent.
"It's not lying and it's not an omission. I just haven't had any fights or challenges that long for it to matter. It was a non-issue." Reign jabbed the ice cream hard, splitting it down the middle and squishing lemon cream further into liquid.
Shaw sighed. "Well, now it is. Because I can't guarantee you'll be able to get back up after the next one."
"No, you're right. You can't." She agreed. "So what are we going to do?"
He didn't answer immediately.
Reign wondered if he had taken the phone away from his ear in order to talk to someone else. Maybe the boss? That would be the kind of thing she'd do. But eventually, Shaw spoke.
"You know there's no way to pull out of this fight." He stated bluntly. "Not without forfeiting and pissing off a whole lot of sponsors. But you can't put yourself back in for another twenty-some odd rounds for another fight like that."
She shook her head. "I don't want to forfeit. I'll just have to suck it up."
"Suck it up?" Shaw repeated. "Like you've done before?"
"Yes, like I've done before." She answered.
Shaw didn't reply. He simply sat there as if he was waiting for something.
"What?" Reign asked. "Are you going to tell me how you're going to help me heal up faster? Because that would be really helpful."
"If you want us to look into designating a doctor for your matches, we can. Or a healer for your... whatever it is that makes the ward not work for you." He offered.
"Having a doc there would make me look weak." He couldn't see her, but she was definitely scowling so hard it made it into her words.
"You're only human. You don't look weak." He countered. "But I get your point. So, what do you need?"
Reign paused. "A bath."
He laughed. "That's not exactly what I meant. What do you need to feel better?"
"That's a long list you can't fulfill, Shaw." She snorted.
"Try me."
Reign sighed. "How about you let me worry about that? I'm not asking you to cure me of all my problems. Just make them more manageable. I have to be ready for the next fight, and I'm not feeling the greatest right now."
"Your wish is my command, m'lady."
"Lose the fedora, Gabe. It wouldn't be a good look on you. Can you just... sort out scheduling with Lupton's people and maybe, like, set up some catering or something?" She asked, looking down into the plastic bowl.
Shaw thought about it. "Done. If you're sure you don't need anything else, I'll go ahead and make those arrangements."
"Thanks, Shaw." Reign replied, feeling much better. "How's the press on it?"
"Mixed... that's to be expected. The whole challenge was... a debacle." She could hear the grimace in his tone.
"Anything I need to be aware of? Give me the teal deer." She requested, pushing herself upright fully with a wince.
"Some were favorable, lauding your stamina and ability to go toe to toe with such an established name for so long. Others were... ambivalent, wondering if it was all for show and if the thing with that faerie woman and Lupton's son wasn't a hoax. And then, the gossip mills talking about you naming that baron as your second but not using him to test... or that you might be aligned with Lupton's son... that you're putting sports above someone's life... you know, the usual doom and gloom."
"So... a colossal pile of bullshit all around." Reign huffed, rising to her feet next. The stones beneath her bare feet were pleasantly warm and the impending heat of summer had her yearning not for the dank Arena's rings but rather the sun and sea spray of a board carving through waves. A dip in the salt right now would require she break out her wetsuit or risk getting her... numerous wounds wet. With salt water nonetheless.
"Don't worry too much about it. We have the usual threads being worked to ensure that you're spun into a favorable light. Win or lose, it may present a number of new opportunities for you professionally." He said, his tone light as if it might cheer her up.
She smiled. "You do your job well, Shaw. I appreciate it."
"Why else would they assign me the most troublesome, pain in the ass as my primary client? I'll be sure to keep my eye out for any interesting opportunities for you. Just... keep your head on straight, Reign. And eh, try to close it out a bit quicker in the last match, alright?"
"No promises. I'll do my best."
When the call ended, she returned her ice cream bowl to the kitchen and slid into a pair of flip-flops to go take a walk about the isle. Perhaps a chat with the Gondar Memorial would prove fortuitous.
Or it was wishful thinking.
Who knew.
Re: So You Think You're an Overlord
(18+ for Adult Themes)
September 3rd - Outside of the Outback
As she left the Outback in a rush, the chiming of her phone signaled a new message and prompted a draw of the device in the dark of the street. The message illuminated there carried with it no small amount of bold cheek and cockiness, paired with the app emblem of one of several on her phone that linked her to faceless suitors intent on temporary dalliances.
Instead of responding, she looked to her texts to find Gabe had messaged her. She chewed at her bottom lip then typed out a quick message asking him to meet her.
"I'm staying at the Ritz, come join me for a drink." His response read.
She caught a cab to the Ritz, freshening up along the way, wiping the tears from her eyes and doing her best to resolve the puffiness beneath them that said she had been crying.
Still, when she entered the hotel bar and locked eyes with the suited man, she knew he could tell something was wrong. He held her gaze, the set of his jaw as firm as ever. He didn't say anything, though, just slid his hand into hers and led her to a quiet table.
She ordered a drink and sat back against the leather of the chair, her shoulders sagging a little as she exhaled.
"You wanna talk about it?" He asked gently. Reign shook her head.
"Rather drink about it." She mumbled and did just that.
He nodded and rather than probe further, drank with her.
They stayed at the table for a long time, talking of nothing important. It was one of the few things they'd always done well together. They could talk about anything, even when it was difficult, and still remain friends.
But tonight, she felt like more.
"Are you gonna fight tomorrow?" He asked finally.
Reign considered his question carefully.
"I don't know. I don't want to. Rather take a long, hot bath, fuck someone I shouldn't, and stay in bed for a few days." She sighed. Beside her, Gabriel Shaw arched a brow.
"I don't think that's what you need." He murmured.
She sighed again and leaned back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know what I need anymore. I just...feel like shit."
He nodded slowly. "Well... whatever I can do to support you..."
She turned her head to look at him sidelong. The line of his chiseled jaw, shadowed with stubble. The kind, grey-blue eyes that watched her with intensity. The strength in the muscles beneath his perfectly tailored suit. She bit her bottom lip.
"Are you staying here tonight?" She asked.
He nodded, and caught her eye. "Yeah, what'd you have in mind?"
"A nightcap in your room?" She asked quietly, tilting her head.
He smiled slowly. "Let's go."
He led her from the bar and guided her to the elevator that sent them to the penthouse. A swipe of a key admitted them into the opulent abode. The room was dimly lit, but still bright enough for them to see each other clearly. His hands were on her waist and she could feel the heat radiating off of him.
"Drink?" He offered as the door closed behind them. She bobbed a little nod and he reluctantly let her go for the sake of attending a bar cart laden with bottles and glasses and a bucket of ice recently refilled. "What'll you have?"
"Surprise me."
He did, making her a vodka martini with lemon juice.
"Very dry," he told her as he handed her the glass.
She sipped the clear liquid. It burned, but the tartness of the lemon juice cut the edge.
"Good," she murmured.
He watched her, his own drink in hand. She took another sip, enjoying the way the alcohol warmed her insides.
"You wanna tell me what you're running from?" He asked.
"Myself, really." She admitted, almost sheepish.
"That's a loaded answer. Do I need to be doing any damage control?"
"No, I waited to cry until I got in the cab."
"What were you crying about?" He prodded gently.
"Nothing... and everything."
"I can't help you if you keep me in the dark. Is it work? Dueling? Too much pressure?"
Reign bit at her bottom lip and shook her head. "You're gonna laugh at me."
"I promise I won't. Or if I do, it'll be very quiet and mostly hidden." He tried to break the tension with a small smile as he stepped around the bar cart back to her.
"I liked a guy... a lot... have for a long time. But he's got numerous girls always flocking to him. That whole 'poly' thing or whatever. I thought I might be able to... I dunno, be okay with it and date him too but I just... can't. And tonight, I ran into him with yet another chick and I just... I feel like I'm destined to be alone."
He reached out to cup her cheek, thumb stroking across her skin. "You're not alone, Reign."
She nodded a little, eyes drifting closed at his touch. "I know. It's not that... I just... want someone for myself. Without having to share... I just want to be someone's only one... I mean, I don't think ill of people that balance it well and are happy with it... it's just not... me."
His eyes softened, and his voice was a little quieter as he responded. "Reign, you deserve the world. And whoever that special someone is, he's going to see that. He's going to see that you're worth ten, a hundred, a thousand girls. You're special, beautiful, talented, intelligent, strong, and independent. If he doesn't realize that, it's his loss. And whoever gets to have you is the luckiest person alive."
She laughed and looked down, blushing a little. "That's sweet of you."
"I mean every word," he insisted, tilting her head up with a finger beneath her chin. "I know it's not the easiest thing to hear, but it's the truth. And the sooner you believe it, the better off you'll be."
"Thank you," she murmured.
He stroked her cheek again, then bent his head and kissed her softly. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she just narrowly remembered to hold on to her drink. When he came up for air, he did so with softly sighed words. "You know I'm probably not that person either, right?"
They had their professional relationship to consider before all else. And Reign couldn't imagine being managed by someone else. Gabriel Shaw was the perfect amount of "leash" for a wildcard like her.
"I know," she breathed, lips brushing his as she spoke.
"But maybe just for tonight..." he kissed her again. The rest of the night devolved quickly from there without protest.
They didn't speak of that night again after that.
September 3rd - Outside of the Outback
As she left the Outback in a rush, the chiming of her phone signaled a new message and prompted a draw of the device in the dark of the street. The message illuminated there carried with it no small amount of bold cheek and cockiness, paired with the app emblem of one of several on her phone that linked her to faceless suitors intent on temporary dalliances.
Instead of responding, she looked to her texts to find Gabe had messaged her. She chewed at her bottom lip then typed out a quick message asking him to meet her.
"I'm staying at the Ritz, come join me for a drink." His response read.
She caught a cab to the Ritz, freshening up along the way, wiping the tears from her eyes and doing her best to resolve the puffiness beneath them that said she had been crying.
Still, when she entered the hotel bar and locked eyes with the suited man, she knew he could tell something was wrong. He held her gaze, the set of his jaw as firm as ever. He didn't say anything, though, just slid his hand into hers and led her to a quiet table.
She ordered a drink and sat back against the leather of the chair, her shoulders sagging a little as she exhaled.
"You wanna talk about it?" He asked gently. Reign shook her head.
"Rather drink about it." She mumbled and did just that.
He nodded and rather than probe further, drank with her.
They stayed at the table for a long time, talking of nothing important. It was one of the few things they'd always done well together. They could talk about anything, even when it was difficult, and still remain friends.
But tonight, she felt like more.
"Are you gonna fight tomorrow?" He asked finally.
Reign considered his question carefully.
"I don't know. I don't want to. Rather take a long, hot bath, fuck someone I shouldn't, and stay in bed for a few days." She sighed. Beside her, Gabriel Shaw arched a brow.
"I don't think that's what you need." He murmured.
She sighed again and leaned back against the chair, staring up at the ceiling. "I don't know what I need anymore. I just...feel like shit."
He nodded slowly. "Well... whatever I can do to support you..."
She turned her head to look at him sidelong. The line of his chiseled jaw, shadowed with stubble. The kind, grey-blue eyes that watched her with intensity. The strength in the muscles beneath his perfectly tailored suit. She bit her bottom lip.
"Are you staying here tonight?" She asked.
He nodded, and caught her eye. "Yeah, what'd you have in mind?"
"A nightcap in your room?" She asked quietly, tilting her head.
He smiled slowly. "Let's go."
He led her from the bar and guided her to the elevator that sent them to the penthouse. A swipe of a key admitted them into the opulent abode. The room was dimly lit, but still bright enough for them to see each other clearly. His hands were on her waist and she could feel the heat radiating off of him.
"Drink?" He offered as the door closed behind them. She bobbed a little nod and he reluctantly let her go for the sake of attending a bar cart laden with bottles and glasses and a bucket of ice recently refilled. "What'll you have?"
"Surprise me."
He did, making her a vodka martini with lemon juice.
"Very dry," he told her as he handed her the glass.
She sipped the clear liquid. It burned, but the tartness of the lemon juice cut the edge.
"Good," she murmured.
He watched her, his own drink in hand. She took another sip, enjoying the way the alcohol warmed her insides.
"You wanna tell me what you're running from?" He asked.
"Myself, really." She admitted, almost sheepish.
"That's a loaded answer. Do I need to be doing any damage control?"
"No, I waited to cry until I got in the cab."
"What were you crying about?" He prodded gently.
"Nothing... and everything."
"I can't help you if you keep me in the dark. Is it work? Dueling? Too much pressure?"
Reign bit at her bottom lip and shook her head. "You're gonna laugh at me."
"I promise I won't. Or if I do, it'll be very quiet and mostly hidden." He tried to break the tension with a small smile as he stepped around the bar cart back to her.
"I liked a guy... a lot... have for a long time. But he's got numerous girls always flocking to him. That whole 'poly' thing or whatever. I thought I might be able to... I dunno, be okay with it and date him too but I just... can't. And tonight, I ran into him with yet another chick and I just... I feel like I'm destined to be alone."
He reached out to cup her cheek, thumb stroking across her skin. "You're not alone, Reign."
She nodded a little, eyes drifting closed at his touch. "I know. It's not that... I just... want someone for myself. Without having to share... I just want to be someone's only one... I mean, I don't think ill of people that balance it well and are happy with it... it's just not... me."
His eyes softened, and his voice was a little quieter as he responded. "Reign, you deserve the world. And whoever that special someone is, he's going to see that. He's going to see that you're worth ten, a hundred, a thousand girls. You're special, beautiful, talented, intelligent, strong, and independent. If he doesn't realize that, it's his loss. And whoever gets to have you is the luckiest person alive."
She laughed and looked down, blushing a little. "That's sweet of you."
"I mean every word," he insisted, tilting her head up with a finger beneath her chin. "I know it's not the easiest thing to hear, but it's the truth. And the sooner you believe it, the better off you'll be."
"Thank you," she murmured.
He stroked her cheek again, then bent his head and kissed her softly. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she just narrowly remembered to hold on to her drink. When he came up for air, he did so with softly sighed words. "You know I'm probably not that person either, right?"
They had their professional relationship to consider before all else. And Reign couldn't imagine being managed by someone else. Gabriel Shaw was the perfect amount of "leash" for a wildcard like her.
"I know," she breathed, lips brushing his as she spoke.
"But maybe just for tonight..." he kissed her again. The rest of the night devolved quickly from there without protest.
They didn't speak of that night again after that.
Re: So You Think You're an Overlord
December 15th - Rhy’Din City
Ever subject to the ebb and flow of the tabloids and paparazzos, it was no surprise when the OverReign trackers doubled down on finding her whereabouts after long stints away from the city. They may have been unable to follow her out into the expanse on jobs, but the moment she was back, it took very little time for their drones to be circling overhead.
Most of the time, the footage was lackluster; a ducked head, a high hood, dark sunglasses and a hand in the camera to keep the flash out of her face as she maneuvered from the Stars End port to a private car back to the city. But on a brisk winter's day, the press hounds were shocked to realize the Overlord wasn't alone when she returned from Stars End. Never one to keep a security detail, it was odd for her to be accompanied by such a hulking human being.
The man walked in step with her, or sometimes half a step ahead, not touching her save for the occasional hand to her back to guide her through the crowd. He was more than a head above the crowd, clocking in above the seven foot mark. In his mid to late twenties, he had white-gold hair streaked with black, half pulled up, half left about his shoulders. He had a surly air to him, like a general wariness of the world and a dislike of it to match. Full lips, long eyelashes over golden eyes, the rest scars and scowls and crooked cartilage. Beautiful and dangerous, as things so often were in Rhydin. He wore dark colors, tactical gear for the most part, with two heavy bags on his back.
The Overlord was a slight figure in comparison, though the pair of swords strapped to her back were intimidating. Her face was largely covered by a scarf and a pair of sunglasses, and she looked none-too-happy about being trailed. The man with her seemed to be the one to handle the press and the crowds, clearing a path with his sheer presence and size, and ushering his companion into the waiting vehicle before climbing in himself.
Rumors abounded and never quite abated.
Who's the new man?
When did the OverReign get a bodyguard?
What does the Overlord need with a bodyguard?
What does the Overlord have that is worth guarding?
How did they meet?
Is he single?
Is she seeing anyone?
Are they sleeping together?
What is his name?
Who is he?
The answers were not forthcoming.
The mystery man had a habit of being seen around town though never without Reign, lending credence to the rumor he may have been a bodyguard. It was impossible to determine how long he had been her companion. And while his name was never disclosed, the tabloids had taken to calling him the OverReign's Overlord, or simply OROL for short.
The nicknames were not appreciated by the aforementioned OverReign.
The two disappeared from the public view not long after an article questioned just what it was that Reign got up to when she wasn't fulfilling her duties and contractual obligations as the Overlord of the Duel of Swords. It was a question she had no intention of answering, but the tabloids had begun to catch wind of her leaving the city in the middle of the night and coming back a day or two later, or sometimes as long as two weeks later, with her mysterious companion.
And it was those disappearances that sparked a renewed interest in who and what this new man was, and just how long Reign had been seeing him.
Was he the reason for her recent absence from the dueling circuit?
Did she have a new lover?
Did she no longer have the time or desire to compete against the common folk of the dueling venues?
Was he a distraction?
How did her sponsors feel about it?
And what about her fans?!
All questions unanswered, much to the chagrin of the busybodies.
As a result, the two became even more enigmatic, and the mystery only further fed the rumors.
The OverReign's Overlord.
The duo's secret trysts and clandestine meetings were kept hidden behind closed doors and locked windows. Their relationship was a well-guarded secret.
So it came as a bit of a surprise when the pair was spotted in public one afternoon, strolling through the market district with linked arms. He was dressed as plainly as ever, a leather jacket slung over his broad shoulders, dark cargo pants, heavy boots, a beanie hat hiding his long hair and a pair of sunglasses that hid his face from the public's prying eyes. She wore her hair loose and her own shades.
It was a rare time anyone saw her with her hair down and free from the confines of braids or a ponytail. It fell in soft, rose-blonde curls to her shoulder blades, framing a lovely face that was made lovelier still with a shy smile. The man at her side seemed a bit more relaxed, less guarded, and far more open with her. It was the first time the public saw him smile, and a shock to see the pair so intimate and unguarded.
Their outing was uneventful, a simple lunch, but it was enough for the tabloids to run rampant with their speculation.
Were they an item?
Was it true love?
Could this be the end of Reign's loneliness?
Was this the new love in her life?
What about other men she had been seen with, like the Baron of Seaside?
What did this mean for her and her future as a duelist?
The couple's private lives remained a mystery.
The tabloids were no closer to discovering his identity or anything more than that Reign and the mystery man were in fact involved, though no one had been able to get an interview with either of them or any of their associates.
Not for lack of trying.
But the OverReign remained unflappable in the face of the reporters and their questions.
"So is the new guy your boyfriend? What's his name? Why is he following you around all the time?"
"He's my friend." She replied coolly, the picture of indifference.
"A friend you take everywhere?"
"Yes, a friend I take everywhere. We enjoy each other's company."
"Why all the secrecy?"
"There's no secrecy, I'm a busy person, I don't always have time to give interviews and explain my life to you."
"Is he a duelist?"
"No."
"Who is he?"
"A friend. That's all."
"Where'd you meet him?"
"At work."
"Why does he always follow you?"
"Because he wants to. Why do you ask so many questions?"
"He looks scary. He's very big. Are you sure he's a good friend?"
"Of course, he's very nice."
"Does he always wear sunglasses?"
"Sometimes."
"Why does he walk behind you?"
"Why do you care?"
"Are you two sleeping together?"
"None of your business."
"You are! Is it love?"
"I didn't say that."
"Have you met his parents? Do they like you?"
"I haven't had the pleasure."
"Do they know you're dating?"
"We aren't dating."
"Then what do you call this?"
"Two friends having lunch. I suggest you focus on someone else."
"What does the Baron of Seaside think about your new boyfriend?"
"He's not my boyfriend, and you'll have to ask the Baron."
"Are you sure it's not love? He looks pretty devoted to you."
"He's a friend."
"But-"
"Enough!" She snapped finally, shoving a hand in the camera's lens. "Stop filming me! I'm not answering any more questions."
She turned and stomped away from the reporter, disappearing into a nearby shop, the mystery man close behind.
"She's very protective of him," the reporter remarked to the cameraman.
"She's not going to give us anything, is she?" The cameraman asked, a bit frustrated.
"I guess not." The reporter agreed.
"This is the sixth time she's been caught with him."
"And not once has she admitted they're anything other than friends."
"Maybe it's true. Maybe they are just friends."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Like hell."
Ever subject to the ebb and flow of the tabloids and paparazzos, it was no surprise when the OverReign trackers doubled down on finding her whereabouts after long stints away from the city. They may have been unable to follow her out into the expanse on jobs, but the moment she was back, it took very little time for their drones to be circling overhead.
Most of the time, the footage was lackluster; a ducked head, a high hood, dark sunglasses and a hand in the camera to keep the flash out of her face as she maneuvered from the Stars End port to a private car back to the city. But on a brisk winter's day, the press hounds were shocked to realize the Overlord wasn't alone when she returned from Stars End. Never one to keep a security detail, it was odd for her to be accompanied by such a hulking human being.
The man walked in step with her, or sometimes half a step ahead, not touching her save for the occasional hand to her back to guide her through the crowd. He was more than a head above the crowd, clocking in above the seven foot mark. In his mid to late twenties, he had white-gold hair streaked with black, half pulled up, half left about his shoulders. He had a surly air to him, like a general wariness of the world and a dislike of it to match. Full lips, long eyelashes over golden eyes, the rest scars and scowls and crooked cartilage. Beautiful and dangerous, as things so often were in Rhydin. He wore dark colors, tactical gear for the most part, with two heavy bags on his back.
The Overlord was a slight figure in comparison, though the pair of swords strapped to her back were intimidating. Her face was largely covered by a scarf and a pair of sunglasses, and she looked none-too-happy about being trailed. The man with her seemed to be the one to handle the press and the crowds, clearing a path with his sheer presence and size, and ushering his companion into the waiting vehicle before climbing in himself.
Rumors abounded and never quite abated.
Who's the new man?
When did the OverReign get a bodyguard?
What does the Overlord need with a bodyguard?
What does the Overlord have that is worth guarding?
How did they meet?
Is he single?
Is she seeing anyone?
Are they sleeping together?
What is his name?
Who is he?
The answers were not forthcoming.
The mystery man had a habit of being seen around town though never without Reign, lending credence to the rumor he may have been a bodyguard. It was impossible to determine how long he had been her companion. And while his name was never disclosed, the tabloids had taken to calling him the OverReign's Overlord, or simply OROL for short.
The nicknames were not appreciated by the aforementioned OverReign.
The two disappeared from the public view not long after an article questioned just what it was that Reign got up to when she wasn't fulfilling her duties and contractual obligations as the Overlord of the Duel of Swords. It was a question she had no intention of answering, but the tabloids had begun to catch wind of her leaving the city in the middle of the night and coming back a day or two later, or sometimes as long as two weeks later, with her mysterious companion.
And it was those disappearances that sparked a renewed interest in who and what this new man was, and just how long Reign had been seeing him.
Was he the reason for her recent absence from the dueling circuit?
Did she have a new lover?
Did she no longer have the time or desire to compete against the common folk of the dueling venues?
Was he a distraction?
How did her sponsors feel about it?
And what about her fans?!
All questions unanswered, much to the chagrin of the busybodies.
As a result, the two became even more enigmatic, and the mystery only further fed the rumors.
The OverReign's Overlord.
The duo's secret trysts and clandestine meetings were kept hidden behind closed doors and locked windows. Their relationship was a well-guarded secret.
So it came as a bit of a surprise when the pair was spotted in public one afternoon, strolling through the market district with linked arms. He was dressed as plainly as ever, a leather jacket slung over his broad shoulders, dark cargo pants, heavy boots, a beanie hat hiding his long hair and a pair of sunglasses that hid his face from the public's prying eyes. She wore her hair loose and her own shades.
It was a rare time anyone saw her with her hair down and free from the confines of braids or a ponytail. It fell in soft, rose-blonde curls to her shoulder blades, framing a lovely face that was made lovelier still with a shy smile. The man at her side seemed a bit more relaxed, less guarded, and far more open with her. It was the first time the public saw him smile, and a shock to see the pair so intimate and unguarded.
Their outing was uneventful, a simple lunch, but it was enough for the tabloids to run rampant with their speculation.
Were they an item?
Was it true love?
Could this be the end of Reign's loneliness?
Was this the new love in her life?
What about other men she had been seen with, like the Baron of Seaside?
What did this mean for her and her future as a duelist?
The couple's private lives remained a mystery.
The tabloids were no closer to discovering his identity or anything more than that Reign and the mystery man were in fact involved, though no one had been able to get an interview with either of them or any of their associates.
Not for lack of trying.
But the OverReign remained unflappable in the face of the reporters and their questions.
"So is the new guy your boyfriend? What's his name? Why is he following you around all the time?"
"He's my friend." She replied coolly, the picture of indifference.
"A friend you take everywhere?"
"Yes, a friend I take everywhere. We enjoy each other's company."
"Why all the secrecy?"
"There's no secrecy, I'm a busy person, I don't always have time to give interviews and explain my life to you."
"Is he a duelist?"
"No."
"Who is he?"
"A friend. That's all."
"Where'd you meet him?"
"At work."
"Why does he always follow you?"
"Because he wants to. Why do you ask so many questions?"
"He looks scary. He's very big. Are you sure he's a good friend?"
"Of course, he's very nice."
"Does he always wear sunglasses?"
"Sometimes."
"Why does he walk behind you?"
"Why do you care?"
"Are you two sleeping together?"
"None of your business."
"You are! Is it love?"
"I didn't say that."
"Have you met his parents? Do they like you?"
"I haven't had the pleasure."
"Do they know you're dating?"
"We aren't dating."
"Then what do you call this?"
"Two friends having lunch. I suggest you focus on someone else."
"What does the Baron of Seaside think about your new boyfriend?"
"He's not my boyfriend, and you'll have to ask the Baron."
"Are you sure it's not love? He looks pretty devoted to you."
"He's a friend."
"But-"
"Enough!" She snapped finally, shoving a hand in the camera's lens. "Stop filming me! I'm not answering any more questions."
She turned and stomped away from the reporter, disappearing into a nearby shop, the mystery man close behind.
"She's very protective of him," the reporter remarked to the cameraman.
"She's not going to give us anything, is she?" The cameraman asked, a bit frustrated.
"I guess not." The reporter agreed.
"This is the sixth time she's been caught with him."
"And not once has she admitted they're anything other than friends."
"Maybe it's true. Maybe they are just friends."
"Do you really believe that?"
"Like hell."
Re: So You Think You're an Overlord
December 28th - Hyperion Terminal, IPS 72C, Ursa Proioxis
"Transmission incoming from a G. Shaw."
"Patch it through."
The screen in the cockpit lit up with an incoming message and a face Reign recognized.
"Gabriel, hey, what's up?"
"Just checking in. You on schedule?"
"A little behind, but only by a day or two. Why?"
"Ebon Ilnaren won the Overlord Challenge grant in the ART. He issued challenge yesterday."
"Already? Guess I lost track of time."
"Can you be back in time to fulfill it?"
Reign glanced aside to Dust to see. Dust looked instead to Apollo for an answer.
"Sec." He held up a thick finger and went to swiping and manipulating three-dimensional models projected over the console in front of him.
"Yeah, we can. It'll be tight, but we can be there. You know, we could always skip the rest of the trip, turn right back around and be home in a day and a half."
"No, we're going the whole route, then back again. That was the deal."
"Well, shit, I was just kidding. No, we'll make it back."
"Good." Gabriel paused a moment, looking aside and frowning a little.
"What's wrong?" Reign frowned a little too.
"Nothing. I was just thinking."
"About...?"
"How much you've been gone lately."
"You know where I'm going. Why are you suddenly being all mopey about it?"
"I'm not mopey."
"Sure, you're not." She smirked.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"It's okay to miss me," she teased.
"Don't let it go to your head." He scoffed, and Reign laughed.
"Okay, okay. So what else is going on?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to check in. I'll let you get back to... whatever you're doing."
"Oh, I see, you're jealous I'm on a spaceship with three guys."
"Very funny."
"I thought so."
"See you when you get back."
"Sure thing."
Gabriel ended the transmission and Reign shook her head a little.
Apollo swung his chair ninety degrees so he could look her way with a cheeky grin.
"This'll be what? Defense number six?"
"Something like that," Reign grumbled.
"Is that a lot?" Dust asked, his gaze rising without a lift of his head.
"Eh, it's alright."
"Alright?! In like... a month, you'll be on the list for second longest reign in the history of the sport." Apollo protested her humility.
Dust's brows lifted as he looked between the two. Reign couldn't help the flush of warmth in her cheeks as she turned her seat back toward the console.
"It's nothing."
"Uh-huh." Apollo didn't buy it. "I know you've got a chip on your shoulder, but you should give yourself some credit, kid. You've accomplished a lot in a short amount of time."
Reign shrugged.
"What's the record?" Dust asked.
"Like twenty months." Apollo answered. Reign had no clue.
"And how long have you been dueling?"
"In swords? About three years officially." Reign answered, though her experience ran much deeper.
"And the unofficial stuff?"
"A few years before that."
"Apollo's right. Give yourself more credit." Dust lowered his head and went back to work. Reign watched him sidelong for a few moments before hiding a smile with a smothering of her hand.
"Told ya."
"Shut up. I gotta defend this one first... and before I can do that, we gotta get back to Rhydin first."
"Transmission incoming from a G. Shaw."
"Patch it through."
The screen in the cockpit lit up with an incoming message and a face Reign recognized.
"Gabriel, hey, what's up?"
"Just checking in. You on schedule?"
"A little behind, but only by a day or two. Why?"
"Ebon Ilnaren won the Overlord Challenge grant in the ART. He issued challenge yesterday."
"Already? Guess I lost track of time."
"Can you be back in time to fulfill it?"
Reign glanced aside to Dust to see. Dust looked instead to Apollo for an answer.
"Sec." He held up a thick finger and went to swiping and manipulating three-dimensional models projected over the console in front of him.
"Yeah, we can. It'll be tight, but we can be there. You know, we could always skip the rest of the trip, turn right back around and be home in a day and a half."
"No, we're going the whole route, then back again. That was the deal."
"Well, shit, I was just kidding. No, we'll make it back."
"Good." Gabriel paused a moment, looking aside and frowning a little.
"What's wrong?" Reign frowned a little too.
"Nothing. I was just thinking."
"About...?"
"How much you've been gone lately."
"You know where I'm going. Why are you suddenly being all mopey about it?"
"I'm not mopey."
"Sure, you're not." She smirked.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"It's okay to miss me," she teased.
"Don't let it go to your head." He scoffed, and Reign laughed.
"Okay, okay. So what else is going on?"
"Nothing. Just wanted to check in. I'll let you get back to... whatever you're doing."
"Oh, I see, you're jealous I'm on a spaceship with three guys."
"Very funny."
"I thought so."
"See you when you get back."
"Sure thing."
Gabriel ended the transmission and Reign shook her head a little.
Apollo swung his chair ninety degrees so he could look her way with a cheeky grin.
"This'll be what? Defense number six?"
"Something like that," Reign grumbled.
"Is that a lot?" Dust asked, his gaze rising without a lift of his head.
"Eh, it's alright."
"Alright?! In like... a month, you'll be on the list for second longest reign in the history of the sport." Apollo protested her humility.
Dust's brows lifted as he looked between the two. Reign couldn't help the flush of warmth in her cheeks as she turned her seat back toward the console.
"It's nothing."
"Uh-huh." Apollo didn't buy it. "I know you've got a chip on your shoulder, but you should give yourself some credit, kid. You've accomplished a lot in a short amount of time."
Reign shrugged.
"What's the record?" Dust asked.
"Like twenty months." Apollo answered. Reign had no clue.
"And how long have you been dueling?"
"In swords? About three years officially." Reign answered, though her experience ran much deeper.
"And the unofficial stuff?"
"A few years before that."
"Apollo's right. Give yourself more credit." Dust lowered his head and went back to work. Reign watched him sidelong for a few moments before hiding a smile with a smothering of her hand.
"Told ya."
"Shut up. I gotta defend this one first... and before I can do that, we gotta get back to Rhydin first."
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