“If my tier fours can follow my colleague here, we’ll get you sorted soon.” He waved his hand and several folks started to filter out of the room, including one of the servants.
“Next, my threes!” The process followed for this group as well as the next group of tier twos. Now it was just the six tier one fighters, two servants, and the announcer left in the room.
Barry and Beleg were, of course, among the elite competitors, as was the fighter they had dubbed “the Champ”. Also in their illustrious group was the robed man that had entered early on, a tall man wearing an outfit made from black and white striped skins, and a thick, tangled mass of muscle and hair. If Kre hadn’t known any better, he would have believed that the last was a dweorvkin save for his taller height.
The other servant was one of the older ones, and it was now clear that he belonged to the champion. Kre was now able to see things he had missed before, when the room had been full, such as the fact that the other servant bore tattoos all over his arms and the visible portion of his chest and that his ears were slightly elongated and pointed.
“He’s Ylveryan,” Kre whispered. “An Ylveryan slave.”
Beleg nodded curtly and waved for Kre to be silent as the announcer was beginning to speak again.
“Our highest rated competitors,” the colorful man began, “I salute you. You will be spread amongst the tournament bracket so as to ensure you don’t face each other until the semi-finals at least. Out of respect to the current and reigning champion, he will be our odd man out, leaving an ideal complement of thirty-two competitors.”
The champion grunted and shook his head, clearly unhappy with that decision.
“Don’t fret sir,” the announcer said hurriedly, “you will fight. We’ve planned some exhibition matches for you with those that lose their original match. Anyone that you deem worthy during any of your bouts will be given one more chance at the big prize.”
This seemed to please the champion, and he waved for the announcer to continue. “In the next room is the armory, where our sponsors have procured quite the collection of weaponry for your use. As our tier one fighters, you’ll have first pick and so I’m sure you’ll find something to your liking and that matches your preferred style.
“If you please,” he said with a flourish, gesturing to a door nearby the water table. The Champ and his man led the group through, followed quickly by the announcer, with Beleg and Kre bringing up the rear.
In the armory were rows of tables adorned with a wide variety of weapons, which wasn’t terribly unexpected given the purpose of this room, but what Kre didn’t expect to see where the dozens of shackled and barely clothed Ylveryans behind each of the tables.
“More slaves,” he muttered to himself angrily. He couldn’t bear to look at any of them for very long before shame flooded his face and forced him to look away.
He could tell that Beleg had the same reaction to seeing the prisoners. The large man’s body tensed and Kre could see his fist shaking ever so slightly, as if he wanted to reach for a blade and free the lot of them. “You may choose any weapon you wish,” the announcer said. “First come, first served. If two of you have hands on the same weapon, we’ll decide with a coin flip.”