The Setting

[The Amazing Nova]

This story will be a standalone, post-only tale of the road less travelled. The Arena as you know it will not be present here.

-----

Seven years ago, on a hot July night, the duels were in full swing. Thirty-two people were in the Arena that night. Those thirty-two people became the only witnesses to the end of Rhydin.

No one is certain how it happened, but around 11 pm, an explosion tore through central Rhydin towne. Whether it was magical, technological, or something in between, no one was ever able to discern. The only witnesses to the act report being blinded by a brilliant flash of light - the next thing they knew, they were staring up at a hazy, night-darkened sky. The Arena was in tatters but largely intact; however, the Red Dragon Inn above and, indeed, most of the city was razed to the ground, nothing but a mess of rubble and fire.

The Ward had saved them all, but the stresses of protecting thirty-two people from such a massive explosion caused it to fail. To this day, not a trace of its power remains.

Rhydin was not rebuilt - there was no one left to carry on. Though people came from far and wide to search the rubble for survivors, they returned to their homes, whispering of the destruction, telling of the nightmare scenes they had no wish to see repeated. The rubble was cleared, the dirt remained barren for many years - all that was left was a series of basements once shielded by the houses above them. Most of these holes were filled in with rubble and covered with dirt, some were used as tombs, others became the homes of wayward animals or beasts of other natures.

The Arena stood silent, an open-air amphitheater like something out of a history book. But, due in part to the obstinance of human spirit, people began to gravitate back to the duels - a way to remember, a way to forget. This new Arena, open to the stars above, became a place to find friends and loved ones for each and every duelist, to make sure everyone was okay ... and to mourn those that could not be found. Naturally the duels began again, tentative at first, but soon the first challenge was issued and things fell back into place.

When it was discovered that the Ward was no longer in place, the mages of the isle, brothers and sisters to those of swords and fist, worked hard to find a solution, to somehow reactivate the ward in order to restore some semblance of normality. A solution could not be found. Some volunteered to remain on hand to heal whatever wounds they could, but it soon became understood that this was no longer a blood sport, but a duel of blunted blades, where a tap would replace a thrust forever.

Forever would not last very long. Two years to the day of the great disaster, a Commoner was killed in the ring, victim to a rising star by the name of Tamar Allarand. The outrage was instant and very, very loud. A public apology was issued by Allarand, a brief suspension and a very hefty fine was levied, and the duels returned to normal for a while. However, it would not be long before another death would occur.

The Commoner, whose name has been lost by the standings keepers of the duel history, was not without friends. Marc Adamas, a warlord of three months standing, sought out Allarand in a duel and, without a word, killed him within two rounds. Again the people of the duels cried out for justice, but this time their cries would find no answer.

The Overlord, Adamas's friend and mentor, Jon-atun Kasen, had recently been named Coordinator for the Arena. He refused to issue censure on the grounds that the death was well-deserved and, as Overlord, defied anyone to attempt to sway him in the ring. Should he lose, he would also excuse himself as Arena Coordinator, should he win, he may find it necessary to do what he sees fit within the ring.

For some, this vigilante attitude soured the dueling experience. A mass exodus occurred. Many of the Arena's oldest and most respected duelists turned away in disgust and never looked back. Two duelists stepped up to challenge. Both died. Kasen had proven his absolute power. Still more duelists fled.

The Arena began to be frequented by a new type of dueling enthusiast. Blood sportists, each thrilled by the prospect of excelling with the blade ... or dying in the pursuit of excellence. Those old-Arena duelists capable of healing themselves remained an oasis of sanity, holding fast to baronies and pressing challenge to as many blood thirsty title holders as they could. Kasen was toppled and, though he was left alive, was told to leave and never return.

Though the inciter of the violence was gone, the mass psychosis remained. Some that dueled still died by their fellow's hand, no matter how hard some would try to stop it. There was nothing that could be done. The Arena had changed, seemingly forever.

Meanwhile, the land that had once been Rhydin had slowly undergone a change. Some of the new duelists were building homes, hiring servants, farming the land for whatever they could coax from the earth. With the Arena as its crown, a new kingdom arose. It was not long before the Overlord was elected to govern it and he, in turn, divided it amongst the thirteen baronies. Though the overlordship and the baronies would change hands, the laws and progress always remained, the bloodshed began to fade under the weight of responsibility, and a new era dawned for the Arena.

But bloodshed would once again taint the land, this time in a spat amongst barons. Armies were raised and barons, rather than settling their differences within the Arena, met upon the battlefield and slew their enemies, taking with it their lands and their rings. Panic once again flared within the old guard as opportunity gleamed within the eyes of the new.

A power play was launched by the four barons who now controlled two baronies each. The Overlord was assassinated and the baron's council voted a new Overlord into power ... by a margin of 8-5. The new Overlord: Marc Adamas, one of the first precipitators of Arena violence. A career politician and longtime duelist, the new Overlord elevated his loyal supporters to the status of Duke, giving each of them domain over the ten remaining baronies. The empty rings and land were filled by tourney. Each Duke held domain over three rings and answered only to the Overlord - the tenth ring remaining forever renegade to the crown, the sporting seat for whosoever would try to remove the Dukes and Overlord from power.

This is where the story begins. It has been seven years since the great disaster, four years since the installation of duchies to govern the baronial lands. There are whispers of a great army amassing in the Lands Beyond, ready to march against the bloody kingdom of the Overlord and put an end to the heinous practice of bloodsport and assassination that has once again overrun the lands of the Arena. There are fewer than 80 duelists remaining on the official standings - and only a small fraction of them hold tight to some aspect of morality within the sport. A small group of duelists has joined forces with the advance guard of the Lands Beyond, hoping to somehow remove every blood sportist from the Arena, even if it means closing the Arena's doors forever.

These are the Dark Ages of the Duel of Swords. It was never meant to be.