The Roses of Deathby MogMaster
Chapter 2Siegfried shot up in bed, sweat pouring down his face. He looked around his room, examining it all to make sure it was real. His room was actually very small. No more than five meters by five meters. By comparison to the rooms that champions at the Colosseum usually had, it was tiny. The floor was solid brick, a dull grey color. The ceilings weren't all that high either. A man that was three meters tall, (not that there were many of them,) would have to stoop his head. At the end of his small, stone bed, was a large painted chest. It had a pattern of blue and green lines. Where the lines drew close to the sides they turned into dragon heads. Across the room was his hang man dummy, twirling in the wind coming through the small window.
Siegfried got up and walked to the end of his bed. He produced a large iron key and used it to open the chest. From within the depths of the chest, he produced a long shimmering sword. As he turned it, the moonlight coming through the window reflected off the blade. It was long milky white steel.
Very nice. It never seems to lose its edge.
Siegfried patted his sword as if it was an old friend before putting it back into it's scabbard and closing the chest with it in it
Later that day as the sun rose overhead Siegfried found himself once again in arena B. The blood was gone from the day before. Probably just covered with more dirt by one of the hundreds of Colosseum personnel. Siegfried only fought when the best of prizes were offered. As a champion he would never reduce himself to the level of scum like Chumpon, who would fight for a tonic. When the announcement had come that a one ton gold dragon statue was up, without looking to see who the opponent was Siegfried immediately threw in a wager nobody could beat of a Graedus knife. There were only three in existence and Siegfried knew a loss would cost him a great asset to his armory. Needless to say he didn't intend on losing. With a grim look in his eyes he walked in his long strides to the center of the ring. As he walked he surveyed his opponent.
Hm, Long velvet cloak...no visible scars...sword with a ruby hilt...brown hair...throws kisses to the crowd.
Siegfried sighed to himself.
Another rich little lordling who fancies himself a fighter.
As the announcer began to shout the noise from the crowd began to dull. Siegfried, like him or not, always seemed to draw a crowd. Whether it was because he was popular, or a champion, or just the fact that he never allowed an opponent to yield, who could say? But they came. They always came.
The announcer shouted, "The Dragon Neck Colosseum is proud to present, the man, the legend, the unstoppable fury! SIEGFRIED!"
Mixed jeers and cheers came from the crowd.
The announcer began to shout again.
"And his opponent, Hailing from the town of Jidoor! A self proclaimed warrior and ladies man! Gerold Swizter!"
Gerold threw a flower to a girl in the crowd amidst the flood of applause.
The words fell upon the two combatants, and each of them knew that their life was about to get richer or end in a matter of moments.
Siegfried however was elsewhere. The world seemed to slow as he watched the flower fly through the air from Gerold's hand.
Red. Like the other ones....
Then the world came back to him. Gerold had drawn his sword and was trying to circle around him. As the good looking boy moved in his sword came down upon Siegfried in a death arc, only to be stopped by a milky white blade, which appeared as quickly as anyone could blink.
Gerold leapt backwards out of its range, and began to circle again. Siegfried watched and followed him with his sword. This time he feinted low but Siegfried seemed to see it because he blocked the cut as it came high. The clang of metal was heard throughout the arena. As the boy tried to leap back again, Siegfried produced a second sword and began to press the attack. Left, right, left, low, high. The blows rained upon Gerold from all sides. He was barely able to keep up it seemed as he was pushed back towards the arena walls. Siegfried knew his swords went where he wanted them to. He didn't even bother to check his blows. It was instinct by now. Instead he watched the boy as he began to sweat, and his neck and face turned red with exasperation. Fear was in his eyes now where there had once been arrogance and invincibility.
Gerold seemed surprised as he backed up into the walls of the arena. With nowhere to go he desperately turned blows as best as he could. He managed to unarm Siegfried of one of his swords. Grateful for the relief in pressure Gerold seemed slightly more at ease.
Now for the game.
Gerold pushed back at Siegfried and gained some ground as he pushed a counter attack. Siegfried watched with lazy eyes as he parried blow after blow. Siegfried seemingly lost his footing and fell to one knee. A gasp ran through the crowd. Gerold's sword flew up and then down connecting with naught but the dirt where Siegfried had been a moment before. Siegfried rolled backwards to one knee and threw his hand out in front of him. Before the crowd knew what had happened a stream of red was flowing from the boy's neck where the point of a large metal star had sunken into the soft flesh of his throat.
As the crowd watched horror struck, Siegfried had already turned toward the doors to claim his prize.