Almost immediately the other tier one gladiators spread out and started putting hands on weapons, feeling their weights and balances, and seeing how they compared to their own tried and true blades. As they did so, Kre noticed that many of the weapons were very different from those he had seen in recent weeks, almost exotically so. The robed man was testing out a metal staff that, with a flick of the wrist, separated into five sections linked by a thin chain and with hooked blades jutting from both ends. How one could wield that without hurting themselves was already a mystery to Kre, but the robed man seemed to be handling it well enough.
Further ahead of them was Barry, running his fingers along the haft of a long pole weapon with double axe heads at both ends. The weapon was at least ten feet long, but for men of Barry’s and Beleg’s size, it looked like it might just suit them well
“Well,” Beleg said with a shrug, “might as well get this over with.” He started for one of the unoccupied tables on the other side of the room when he paused and cocked his head, as if listening to something.
“You okay?” Kre asked in a whisper, nudging his friend slightly.
“Hmm?” Beleg responded absently. His hand casually pushed away Kre’s nudging elbow, and he started to make his way to the other side of the room.
Kre hurried along to catch up and noted a strange odor coming from the table that Beleg was headed towards. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t entirely repulsive either. It was somewhere around the scent of a freshly baked pie made from rotten apples. Something comforting with a sickening edge to it.
As they drew closer to the table, the odor got stronger until Kre was certain that it came from either the copper-colored great sword, intricate and wicked looking, or from the Ylveryan standing impassively behind it.
Beleg reached his hand out to touch the blade and Kre found himself grabbing his friend’s wrist, preventing him from doing so.
‘Do not touch the blade,’ rang out the voice in Kre’s head.
“Do not touch the blade,” Kre intoned softly, echoing the thought without hesitation.
A strange look crossed the large man’s face, one of shock and anger, and it would normally have frightened anyone that it was directed towards. Kre felt no fear, however. At that moment, he seemed to feel no emotion at all.
‘That weapon is not right,’ the voice hissed.
“That weapon is not right,” Kre repeated, his voice low and monotone.
Stubborn and determined, Beleg angrily pulled against Kre’s grip but could not seem to move his arm very much at all. As he reached out with his other hand, Kre yanked sharply and pulled Beleg from the table forcefully.
“It is not… right,” Kre repeated, though this time it seemed that his own voice had now synched up perfectly with the words floating in his head.
Beleg’s face grew red, and his teeth clenched tightly, and the part of Kre that seemed to understand what that meant grew fearful. Just as the large warrior was about to do something, whether it was to yell or to strike at Kre, Barry stepped in and shoved the two of them to one side.
As soon as Barry’s hand rested upon the hilt of the sword, Beleg seemed to snap out of whatever rage seemed to have taken hold of him.
“Yes,” Barry called out creepily. “Yes… this will do nicely.”
“The gentleman has chosen a fine blade,” the Ylveryan said softly. “The Master believes the blade to have been known as Cormordean. It was the most recent one that he found, and he believes it to be the oldest of the collection.”
Barry seemed to pay him no mind, but he did repeat the name as he held the sword for a closer inspection of the blade’s edge. “Cormordean…”