Zoe Abeyta wants to fight isfet, which means that she wants to join the Bulwark and become a Thegn. Unfortunately, as far as anyone else is concerned, she's a nineteen-year-old from bumfuck nowhere who says that she's very good at killing things with a spear. If she wants to earn her stripes - and her credibility - she's going to have to make a name for herself in the Bulwark's annual test of skill: the Fracas. And there may be more going on underneath the Fracas' surface than she's aware...
The fish head did not taste that good.
It crunched under Zoe's teeth, small scales digging into her gums. Eyeball fluid leaked down the curve of her lower lips until she managed to lick it away. It was far too small to sate her hunger. But that was the worst part - that it wasn't even worth it for the taste. She swallowed, quickly, but the damage was done, and a mulchy, rotting sensation lingered on her tongue. She coughed, once, before sniffing and rubbing her nose, like that'd get the smell out.
Sighing, she turned her head, readjusting her position up against the wall. That stupid fish head was the only bit of food she'd been able to smuggle into this stupid cell. Why'd she even bothered?
An unhappy growl from her stomach saw fit to answer that question.
"...You know, me breaking out of here would probably spoil you guys' weekend," she called out. "I'd just let me go, already. I mean - if I were you."
From outside came the same stern, male voice that'd responded all the other times, too. "Shut up in there!"
That was, she'd quickly come to figure out, pretty much the extent of his responses. Sometimes he'd spice it up with swearing. Y'know - if she was lucky.
With nothing better to do than try and take her mind off things, Zoe craned her neck a little to examine her cell for the bajillionth time. It was all cobbled brick - like someone had hollowed out a massive ancient wall and then thrown her in into the hole they'd made. Which, for all she knew, was exactly what they'd done. They'd stuffed a bag on her head when they'd first grabbed her, and only taken it off a second before they'd thrown her in here and locked the door behind her.
That door. That teasing, taunting door. Solid wood with metal slats, a small barred window at eye-level, and a lock that just wouldn't give. And oh, had Zoe tried. From where she was now - sitting on the floor, back to the wall, trying to ignore both her hunger and the stink of rotten fish - she glared at it again.
The light in the cell bothered her, too. It wasn't what she was used to, was the problem. It was some kind of thing in the ceiling, made of... glass and electrics, she reckoned, and pale light was shining down on her from it. She'd seen those kinds of things before, like the electric torches that some people back home had used, but that didn't mean she was used to it. It felt interrogating, and it was much too pale. Looking up at it made her wince.
"Give me a nice, warm, orange perimeter fire anytime," she felt compelled to mumble out loud.
This time, her mouthy guard didn't see fit to offer a response, which was just fine by her.
If she was being completely honest, she was beginning to run out of patience. A little bit of imprisonment was fair enough, because they'd apparently had protocols in place that she hadn't known about. Okay, fine. Whatever. But when were they actually going to come and talk to her? Give her the chance to explain herself? She'd just come here because she'd wanted to take part in the Fracas! She hadn't known about the whole exclusive invite list. How she'd been supposed to know? She'd grown up in Melide. Half of her neighbours probably still sent mail via messenger raptor. There being a guest list for the Fracas was the kind of information that would not find her, and if she could just get a chance to explain that to someone-!
Suddenly motivated by the indignance of her situation, she stood up. What was she doing- just sitting here, waiting for hunger to claim her? Would that be her response to an unexpected obstacle - lying down and accepting it? No. She had respected her mistake and the rules that she had not known about for long enough. If nobody was going to come and give her a chance, then she would make her own.
The damn door was a few steps away. She pressed herself up against it - not with force, because she didn't want to make so much noise that she'd attract attention yet - and peered through the window. As with the other times she'd looked through it, she couldn't see much beyond. A tunnel made out of more cobbles, and more pale lights. And, to her right, there was an armoured figure, leaning on the wall that was the front of her cell. Her guard. Her only guard.
...Perhaps there was something she could do with that.
She started slow. Tapped her fingers along the door, and the bars of the window, moving them like a pair of sultry legs. Then, she leant as close to the turned-away head of the guard as she could, and began to murmur.
"Oh, a pity that I am stuck languishing in this foul cell~! What a shame that there isn't a noble, strapping man who could hear my pleas..." She scraped her fingernails up and down the bars, creating small, low, scraping noises. "Who could take me from this cell as surely as he could... take me other places-"
Abruptly, the guard turned around, and she met his wide, brown eyes with her own. There was a split-second in which she had time to judge his appearance - strong jaw, well-groomed moustache, admittedly attractive scar arching across his temple - before he opened his mouth and, to put it mildly, ruined it all.
"Your breath fucking stinks," he growled. "You wouldn't be worth a fuck. Quit pissing down my back and be quiet."
Zoe's jaw dropped. Of all the...!
"Fine!" she hissed, leaning away from the window. "Be that way!" Then, for good measure, she snorted and hocked a loogie at the back of the guard's neck. Her shot ultimately missed, blocked by the low rim of his helmet, but the look of disgust on the man's face pretty much made it worth it.
It was at that moment, of course, that a door just had to open. Not the damn door - another door. Zoe heard it, echoing through her cell and beyond, coming from what sounded like the end of the corridor. The guard turned his head, concealing his face through angles and shadow, and Zoe was once again left alone, in the way that mattered most. But that was fine - she was no stranger to being alone. She listened with eager ears.
First, there were heavy-booted footsteps. Then, there were the hushed murmurs and indignant whispers of two people having a conversation that they did not want her to overhear. Finally, there was decisive and glorious sound of a key turning in a lock. And not just any lock, but the lock of none other than the damn door.
"A-hah!" Zoe jumped up enthusiastically, spreading her arms wide in delight as her freedom alighted with a creak. A figure stood in the doorway, in-between the bright spots. A little annoying, given that it meant that Zoe couldn't actually see them very well, but she supposed that she didn't mind, given the circumstances.
The figure produced a piece of paper. They reached up to their face and adjusted something. Glasses, Zoe realised.
"You are... Zoe Abeyta?" they asked her, in a slightly raspy voice.
Zoe nodded. "The one and only. You've heard of me?"
"No," the figure responded. "That's just the name that you gave to our clerk. Before the fighting started."
There was a disapproving, paternal tone to the figure's voice that at once made Zoe's appreciation for them, and their appearance, curdle. She folded her arms. "I did not start that fight."
"Be that as it may, it happened, and your situation is the more tenuous." The figure stepped back and to the side, into the hallway, and half-out of Zoe's view. "Come. We have options to discuss."
"We have options to discuss" felt less like an offer of rescue and more like an offer to come and sign her own execution warrant. But, Zoe decided, for now, getting out of the cell was her biggest priority. If this was a case of out of the frying pan and into the fire, well... she'd just jump out of the fire. Somehow.
With a nod, she pushed off from the wall and stepped forwards, through the damn door. She didn't even spare it a final glance - stupid door that'd refused to be picked - but she did linger to stick her tongue out at her guard and his stupid outraged face before following the figure down the hallway. In the light, she could tell that they were wearing faded blue robes and big Bulwark crest on their back. The symbol, which Zoe followed down more than one stone twist and turn, helped to both satiate her distrust and reignite her glee. She was here. Whatever else happened, she was here - Invictus, beating heart of the Bulwark, and the place where all the greatest hunters of isfet and champions of humanity were based. Here, where the Fracas was being held, and she had the chance to distinguish herself in front of the people who were set to make her a true champion.
The room that she was led to was at once larger and colder than her cell had been. Not stone but metal, it was shaped like a long box, felt a little like stepping into a yawning chasm - or perhaps the mouth of some great beast. Zoe, for her part, had been waiting her whole life to fight such a creature, so she happily made her way to the table that was at the room's centre without so much as a prompt from the person leading her. Grabbing one of the chairs, she drew it back with a creak and settled in, clearing her throat and not even humouring the idea that she was somehow misreading the situation.
Her instincts were good. A second later, the figure took the seat on the other side of the table, opposite her, and leant forward, steepling their hands. Zoe leant forward too, if only to examine the person's profile in light for the first time. They had short, dark hair, except at the front where it was longer and hung around their face in strands. Their face was weathered, and their eyes sunken. Their forehead was a mess of frown lines. Their skin was pale, almost white when it was caught by the lights.
"Zoe Abeyta," they said again.
"You've got me at a disadvantage," Zoe said, tilting her head a little, resisting the urge to pull her own loose strands of hair back behind her ear. She hadn't re-adjusted her ponytail since getting thrown into that cell, and she'd only just realised that now.
Instead of doing what Zoe would've assumed to be the courteous thing, and introducing themselves back, the figure simply looked down at the papers they were still holding. Zoe tried to follow their gaze, but that was the problem with paper - you couldn't really read through it. Sighing, she settled for waiting patiently for this person to say whatever on Theia they wanted to say.
"...Are you here for the Fracas?" they eventually asked her.
Zoe bit her lip, doing her best to pin down her excitement. Yes! This was it! She was finally getting somewhere!
Clearing her throat, she sat up a little straighter in her seat - not fully straight, because she didn't want to look like she was trying too hard, but straight enough that she didn't risk words catching in her throat.
"Yes," she said, solidly. "I am. And no, I do not have a sponsor, and my entry has not been negotiated ahead of time, and I am not a Thegn in the service of their commanding officer." She gave the figure a winning smile. "I didn't realise I needed any of those things, you see! I'm from Melinde."
"Melinde," the figure echoed, and Zoe nodded.
"It's a town - well, I say town, really, it's just a village, no more than a dozen taverns - just on the tip of Tiamat. Not by the coast, but not more than half an hour away. I- if you gave me a map, I could point it out. And, you see, we never get any news around there, it's just travellers bringing word, and so the only time I heard about the Fracas was from a Thegn who was passing through maybe two years ago? I knew what it was, and I knew when and where it was held. That is to say, held every year." She gestured to the room they were in. "I thought that'd be all I needed to know. Evidently not."
The figure took their time in replying. That was nothing new, though. People often needed to take time when talking to her. It wasn't her fault that they couldn't keep up with her, of course, but that didn't mean she was about judge them for not being as quick about things.
"...You seem very well-spoken," said the figure, abruptly, "for a village girl."
"Village woman," Zoe corrected without thinking, before clearing her throat again. "Erm- yes. Well, I read. Not like there's much else to do in Melinde, aside from get drunk and fight." She snorted. "A lot of that, too. Give me twelve pints and a heavy shield, and I'll hold them both."
"So, you heard, independently, about the Fracas," the figure said, pretty much ignoring everything that Zoe had said - and no, she didn't know if that was a good thing or not - "and decided that you would attend."
"That I would join. Yes."
"And you came here. From... Melinde." The figure's eyes narrowed. "Tiamat is a long way away from here."
"Oh, yes," Zoe was quick to agree. "Months, if you sail across the Thins and walk the rest of the way." And that was saying nothing, she knew, about the dangerous country that a person would have to walk through. Invictus was in the heart of the continent, Galvlo'I, and there was a lot of land ruled by isfet between it and the coastline.
"Indeed," the figure agreed. "So... how did you get here?"
"Me?" Zoe took the opportunity to point at herself, as though she hadn't anticipated the question. "Oh, well, I sailed across the Thins and walked the rest of the way."
This time, Zoe thought, the silence from the figure was especially gratifying.
"...It must have been a long voyage," they eventually said. "Eastport is the first truly safe coastal city on the continent."
"Ah, but that is where you are mistaken, my friend," said Zoe to the figure, "for I did not travel that far. I landed in an outpost on Galvlo'i's underbelly and then walked to Invictus from there. I did not reach it from the east so much as I did from the south-east."
Another pause. The figure leant forward, staring at her with an intense, unblinking gaze.
"South Galvlo'i is the most isfet-thick region on Theia aside from the Khaos exterior," they said, in a harsh tone. "You expect me to believe that you simply waltzed your way up from there?"
"Oh," said Zoe, leaning back in her chair, "it was not a waltz. But, as you can see, I made it through in one piece."
"You fought isfet?"
"I fight isfet. It's my calling. It is why I came to the Fracas - to the Bulwark. I promise you, give me my spear, and put me into an arena with the meanest isfet monsters you can find." She rapped her fingers on the table, once. "And I will kill them."
It wasn't a boast, and she did not mean it as such. It was a statement of fact, and this person, whoever they were, could do with it as they liked.
The Figure neither nodded, nor shook their head.
"...And what of the incident?" they prompted her. "When you arrived, and tried to make your way in without invitation."
"As I said," Zoe quickly pointed out, "I hadn't known that I needed one-"
"You were to be escorted to a waiting point by Bulwark troopers," the figure continued, steamrolling her attempt to interject. "Instead, they had to manhandle you to a cell because you assaulted them."
"I assaulted-?!" Zoe paused, closed her mouth. It was the first time she'd lost her cool. She couldn't do that. Not when she had to impress this whoever-it-was. Drawing a line in the air with her hand, she cleared her throat once again. "Begging your finest pardons-" -or whatever- "-but I was assaulted first. Ah, I knew that they were escorting me, and I didn't plan on causing any trouble. The only problem with that plan was that one of them hit me in the stomach."
"Unprovoked?" the Figure was quick to ask.
Zoe shrugged. "I didn't hit first."
"But you hit back."
"Obviously." She didn't think, somehow, that lying would be a good call, here. "You hit me, I hit you back. Seems obvious enough to me."
"But, for all you know," the Figure pointed out, "the trooper was simply trying to move you along. It may have been a message - provocative, but not one intent to be answered with a reply."
What was this person spouting? Maybe she was forgetting herself a little, Zoe leant forwards across the table, meeting the Figure's sunken gaze and ensuring that she didn't blink.
"If that is the way of the Bulwark, or the way of the Fracas, then that's one thing," she said. "No-one told me, and the onus shouldn't all be mine; but that is one thing. If that was simply the way of the trooper? Then they're a fool, to not expect a reply."
The Figure leaned forward a little in reply. "You maintain that your actions were... appropriate?"
It felt like a trap. It probably was one. But Zoe wasn't about to back down. If there was one thing more important, in her eyes, than the opportunity of the Fracas, it was her own self. What Zoe Abeyta represented, did, and stood for. And that, she would not compromise. Not for anything.
"I maintain that I didn't start it," she said. "I maintain that no expectations were explained to me. And I maintain that if you hit me, I will hit you back." She felt her fingers twist, and consciously did not clench them. "I would assume that the Bulwark understands that."
The Stranger stared at her, face as implacable as ever, and for a horrible moment, Zoe felt her empty stomach drop. Suspicions flooded her mind - that she'd fucked up, and had said the wrong things, and was about to be thrown out of Invictus altogether.
And then, the Stranger broke the connection between them. Their glasses glinted. They looked away, shrouding their dark eyes in implacable shadow and leaving Zoe feeling as though she'd won and lost something at the same time.
"...Do you know who I am?" they at last asked her.
Zoe, for her part, didn't think it was a good idea to say that she hadn't the foggiest idea. She leant back with a shrug.
"An official, of some kind," she said. "I do not know your title. But I believe that your word carries weight."
Once again, she received no immediate reply. As she sat, waiting, in silence, she couldn't help but wonder if it was deliberate. If this person was trying to wear her down, somehow, or maybe get something specific out of her by elongating the silence. Were they hoping for a confession? For some fake truth? Or was it more a test of her character?
...Or maybe this person was just slow?
"...I am the Seneschal of Gate Invictus," the Stranger - the Seneschal - said. "This fortress is under my purview. This Fracas is under my purview. I answer to the Abernathy family."
The fortress - the Abernathy family - the Bulwark's line of Supreme Commanders! Zoe's instincts had been right. This person was important.
The question remained: what did they intend for her?
Zoe did not ask the question with words, spoken aloud. But she asked it, all the same, and there was something in the corner of the Seneschal's dark gaze when they glanced back over to her that made her think she'd been heard.
"Do you understand why," asked the Seneschal, "why you must have a sponsor to enter the Fracas?"
...A tricky question, given how little Zoe had apparently known going in. Was the Seneschal trying to throw her off? Were they hoping for a specific answer? She set her jaw. She was not going to let this one trip her up now - and she was smart. She could extrapolate, if she did not have an answer to hand.
"...Because the Bulwark is not amateur hour," she reasoned. "Because to be a Thegn and serve a Commander - or even to be a Commander - is a difficult task. If you allow people to enter the Fracas untested, the consequence may be..."
She felt the Seneschal's gaze remain upon her, even as her words faded. Even as she fell into memory.
She hadn't been the only aspiring warrior to come out of Melinde. Far from it. But her cohort had been young, and careless, and hadn't understood what they were doing. They'd made mistakes. And many of those mistakes had been dire.
"Better to be assured of a warrior's skill first, before letting them enter," she muttered. "It keeps them safe. And I presume that the best way to affirm that is from someone who has already established themselves - whose authority is trusted."
She looked back up at the Seneschal, the room's white lights suddenly bothering her eyes. She wanted to ask if she was wrong. She didn't.
The Seneschal remained silent.
After another few moments - and feeling her patience begin to thin - Zoe asked another question. "You said I had options?"
"Options," said the Seneschal, like a cave echo. "Yes." They reached into their coat and withdrew something - a slip of paper. Placing it on the table between them, they slid it over to Zoe, who caught and stabilised it before it could catch the air and fly off the table altogether.
"...What is this?" she asked, holding the paper up. She could read a little, but not very well - and a lot of the words before her now were unfamiliar. "A... contract?"
"A promise," said the Seneschal. "Given the circumstances from which you've come, there is no reason why lenience cannot be shown in this instance." They leant forward, propping themselves up with their elbows and half-shielding their face with steepled fingers. "You may be forgiven for the display you put on when you arrived, and allowed to enter the Fracas. In exchange, you must not cause trouble - and you must do as you are told."
Zoe lowered the paper. "Who would my sponsor be?"
"In technicality, myself. In effect, because of my own affiliation, you would be tethered to Abernathy." The Seneschal shrugged. "You can see why it would be important for you to be on your best behaviour."
"...That's very generous," Zoe mused, out loud. She wanted to be more grateful for the offer - really, it felt like the perfect answer to her problems - but the fact that she only half-understood the thing she was being asked to sign bothered her. She would've asked the Seneschal exactly what the paper said, only, she didn't think that admitting she could barely read was a good idea, either. She looked like enough of a bumpkin as it was!
"When you say "do as I'm told"," she asked, "would that make me... beholden to anyone?"
"To anyone who represented the Abernathy family," the Seneschal answered, frankly. "Then again, since they are the Commanding Lineage, we are all beholden to them, in a way."
"...And if I don't sign?" Zoe asked.
In truth, she was already planning on signing. But she wanted to see what her other options were.
Unfortunately, the Seneschal had little to offer her, on that front.
"If you don't," they said, shaking their head with a disappointed air, "then you'll be expelled from Invictus, and barred from entering the Fracas. Depending on how severely a retroactive tribunal might judge your actions, your bar could be a lifetime one. You may never be allowed to try and enter again."
Zoe could not stop the indignant flinch of her fingers that let to her crinkling the paper she was holding a little. "That seems harsh."
"We take our rules seriously. As you say, it is important to keep people safe."
Well, when they put it like that, it made some sense. Furrowing her brow, Zoe examined the paper again. It was definitely some type of contract, and it mentioned an oath. There was a long letter beginning with "A" that was, Zoe assumed, "Abernathy". But it was difficult to get through the whole thing. She'd always had this thing with words, where they'd jumped off the page as she'd tried to read them. Some people thought she'd been crazy when she'd told them that, while others had been more sympathetic - but nobody had been able to help her fix it.
Near as she could tell, she was essentially being asked to abide by the rules of the Fracas - which she had planned on doing anyway - and to not start any unsupervised fights - which she wasn't planning on doing, and that last one she hadn't even started anyway - and she was still a little wary, but this was it, this was her chance, so she swallowed her nerves and steeled her soul and nodded to the Seneschal. They flicked something her way. A pen. She caught it, spun it, and signed on the dotted line with a big, bold 'Z'.
"Very well," the Seneschal said once she was done. They raised their wrist, and pressed at something they were wearing - some kind of band with a button on it. At once, a soldier threw the door open, bursting into the room. Caught off-guard, Zoe was halfway towards pointing her spear at the doorway before remembering a.) this was a human, not isfet, and b.) she didn't have her spear anyway.
"This is our latest competitor," said the Seneschal, sounding completely unbothered. "See to it that her belongings are returned to her, and then show her to the Field."
"Ah..." the trooper stammered, before stiffening and nodding. "At once, Seneschal." He was wearing the customary pale, blue-accented armour of a member of the Bulwarks' rank-and-file. His face was broadly obscured by his helmet.
Zoe turned back to the haggard-looking stranger. Given how she'd ended up in their custody, a part of her was still wary - but she could recognise the opportunity that she was being offered, and she wasn't about to not acknowledge it.
"Thank you, Seneschal."
The Seneschal nodded.
"It does not behove me," they said, "to deny the possibilities of any combatant."
Before Zoe could ask any more questions, she was shepherded out of the door by the trooper that had been sent for her. She resented the shoving, but kept her hands to herself, given how she'd ended up in all this trouble in the first place. Thankfully, once she took her eyes off the mysterious figure of the Seneschal and began walking of her own volition, her pace was strong enough that the trooper apparently didn't feel the need to keep prompting her.
She was led to a new room - this one also brightly lit, but with an older feeling to it, more like her cell than the room she'd just been in. Dark metal lockers hugged the walls and cleaved the room, and Zoe was left kicking her feet as the trooper unsheathed a key and began to fool around with the one of the lockers. Her attention was quickly grabbed, however, by a full-length mirror that was placed in one corner of the room.
She couldn't help it. It was the first chance she'd had since leaving home to give herself a proper examination - to see herself in anything other than bodies of water. She stepped closer.
Her shirt, a beautiful shade of red, was ragged and unclean, which wasn't much of a surprise. She didn't mind how it made her look, but the smell was definitely noticeable. She hoped that she'd have the chance to wash it before being let into the Fracas proper. Her breeches, much more muted, were in a similarly bad way, and there was that big rip near her ankle that she hadn't had opportunity to fix yet... she tutted, as she continued to look herself over.
Her warm skin was blemished and marred, covered in some days' worth of muck. Leaning close to the mirror, she pursed her lips as she scratched away a speckle of blood on her neck that she hadn't noticed before. Then, another that was just on the side of her angular jaw.
The scratch, she noticed, wasn't healing that well. She'd been clawed at by an isfet creature the other day, and it had left behind a bleeder just above her left eyebrow. She'd tended to it as best as she'd been able, but she'd had no visibility and no medical supplies. The wound looked angry.
"Excuse me," she said out loud, drawing the attention of the trooper - for he was still hunched down in front of one of the lockers. "Is there a place I could get this looked at?"
She pointed to the scratch. The trooper - probably, though with the helmet, she couldn't say for sure - followed her gaze.
"...There's a clinic, set up special for the Fracas," he said. "And there're medics on site. You can chat to one of them if you're worried."
If you're worried. Like she was making a fuss over nothing! Zoe huffed. Infection was a killer, and there was no shame in being sensible.
With that established, she turned her attention back to the mirror, leaning in close as she looked further at her face. Her hair was a rat's nest - no doing anything about that now. Multiple strands had come loose from her ponytail, and they hung over her forehead like crooked tree branches. And the colour! She didn't think it had been possible for her hair to get any darker than its natural jet-black, but somehow, she could just tell that it was full of grime. Ugh.
She leant in further. Her brown eyes were bloodshot. God, but she was a mess.
It was the slam of a metal locker that alerted her to the trooper doing something behind her.
"Your supplies, ma'am. They- um..."
"Hmm?" Zoe turned her head to face him, realising in the moment just how intently she was leaning into the mirror - and remembering that she was wearing tight breeches. "What about them?"
She arched her spine a minute amount, and couldn't resist grinning at the sight of the trooper's head snapping away from her. She didn't need to see his face to know what he was thinking.
"Ah- they- here-" He stepped forward - blindly, with his head still turned away - holding out her things.
Abandoning her game, Zoe turned around and closed the distance in a hurry.
"Thank you," she said, sincerely, taking her things back. Her pack - her cloak - her spear! It was probably just because of how long she'd been travelling with only herself for company, but being separated from her supplies had left her feeling uncomfortably antsy. Now, as she bundled them up in her arms again, it was like releasing a breath that she hadn't even properly registered holding.
Her cloak was first. She spun it around her and let it float down behind her back, tying it round her neck and tilting her head as the familiar comfort (and slight itch) settled down upon her shoulders. A nondescript brown, this cloak had been the closest thing she'd had to a bed for a while, and she had much to thank it for. She was glad that it was back with her. Her pack, she slung over her shoulder, underneath the cloak. Her stomach growled again, and relief hit her at the realisation that she had a bit more food to her person, now - as well as the coin to buy more!
And, finally, her spear. She hefted its weight comfortably, spinning the shaft in her hands as she relished in its return to her. It was of the short and heavy type - she was not the type who liked to kill from meters away. From behind its long steel blade, two thick lugs stuck out from the spearsocket, so that anything she stuck couldn't work its way up the spear and retaliate. Its rear point was solid, so that she could dig it into the ground if she needed to hold the weight of an attacking isfet creature. When she held it straight up, it was taller than her, but not by very much.
Letting it fall still in her hands, she was forced to squint as the room's unnatural lights made the metal flash like she was holding it up in the sun.
"Thank you," she said again, let her grip fall into a casual hold and returning her attention to the trooper. "Where do I go from here?"
"Just through here," the trooper said, standing aside and indicating to a final door. There was a window in it, tinted, and through it, Zoe could see shapes and space and movement.
The Fracas.
With a stretch, she made her way forwards. Waving to the trooper, she slung her spear over one shoulder, and adjusted her pack, clinging on to the other.
This was it. She was tired, and she was hungry, and her mouth was still full of the taste of rotten fish. But this was finally it. Where she'd been trying to get for months.
She cracked the door open. Gleeful noise bombarded her ears. She stepped through in a hurry, without looking back, and without closing the door behind her.
It was past time for Zoe Abeyta to enter the fray.
A village. That was the best word that Zoe had to describe it. The Fracas was like a whole village.
Inside the walls of Gate Invictus was an enormous square, so big that she couldn't see the end of it. It had to be the size of multiple fields. Small buildings dotted out of the brickwork, hut-sized, as though they'd just naturally grown out of it one day. Smoke drifted into the air from some of the huts ahead of her. Banners hung from the huts, and from the towering walls themselves - most were emblazoned with the proud insignia of the Bulwark, although some were symbols that she didn't recognise.
A pair of men hurried by her, and only just turned her shoulder to let them by, walking slowly as she took everything in. Her boots dug into ground that might've once been grassland, but had long since been trampled into thick dust. In the heat of the day - a nice removal from the cold cell that she had just spent too much time in - a small dust cloud hung low, half-obscuring the ankles of every person that wandered to and fro. A woman walked into Zoe's path, and Zoe paused to let her lead a pair of gallis across her field of view by the reigns. Her eyes widened. She wasn't so sure that she'd ever seen a galli in-person, before. Tall and long as a human, their feathers looked unbelievably soft to the touch. She sort of wanted to reach out and do just that, but the moment, and the gallis, unfortunately passed her by before she could think to act.
"Shit on it...!"
It wasn't in her to be disappointed for long, though. Not when she was still being allowed to stumble across the field of dust, pack and cloak over her shoulder, without a guard to escort her. With a contract in the hand of the Seneschal, who was allowing her presence.
God. She'd made it. Where was she even going to start?
Her stomach rumbled, making her decision for her. Right. Yes. Food. She would find a place to sit herself down, and then she would eat. And then, perhaps she would find a clinic for her scratch.
Course of action decided upon, Zoe began to make her way through the abundant sea of people. The crowd was so dense that it was dizzying. Living, breathing bodies, tumbling against one another like pebbles carried by the waves of a river. Zoe weaved around person after person, doing her best to scan the environs. She wasn't sure that she'd ever seen so many people in such a dense space, before. Melinde's market days had nothing on this.
Finally spotting a break in the crowd, she ducked her way through, and came up next to one of the massive walls of Gate Invictus. The shadow it cast over her made her shudder, as she stepped into it from out of the light, but it also felt like wrapping a blanket around herself - there was comfort and security to be found in it. Over the noise of moving feet and shouting voices, she leant against the wall, undoing her cloak and letting its stained back fall between her and the ground. Then, the next step was to rummage in her pack. There was, she suspected, still some dried meat inside from the last border town she'd passed through-
"Oi! Oi!"
Registering that the voice was calling to her, Zoe looked up from her supplies to see a woman in greaves and a chestplate stomping over to her, looking unhappy.
"Yes?" Zoe asked, not moving. This person wasn't wearing the full armour of a trooper, so she didn't think that she was being arrested again. Besides, she had the Seneschal as a sponsor, now. What reason did she have to worry?
The woman stopped a couple of feet away, looming above her with an ugly expression on her face. She had a snub nose, and cheeks covered in freckles. "What are you doing?"
...Was it a trick question? "Eating lunch."
The woman shook her head. "This is a practice arena. You can't eat here?"
"...Practice...?" Zoe looked around. The space in the shade of the wall, where she was sitting, was a fairly broad open space between two of the buildings jutting out of said wall. There were a couple of wooden poles on sticks sticking out of the ground, but otherwise, it was just plain dirt and sad pieces of grass.
She looked back up at the woman. "This is an arena?"
"Obviously." The woman didn't sound impressed.
Zoe couldn't say that she was that impressed, either - but fine. There were obviously a lot of people here for the Fracas. There probably wasn't that much space, and people had to make do. That was fair enough. But then-
"So where is everyone?" she asked. "Shouldn't they be practicing?"
"They're eating," the woman replied with a scoff, as though this was yet another thing that Zoe was just supposed to know. "It's lunchtime."
Well, that made both a lot of sense, and no sense at all. "So... I can also eat lunch?" she asked, pointing hopefully to her pack - only to be disappointed by the shake of the woman's head.
"Not here."
So that's how it was.
Well, alright, she was the stranger, and this woman was probably the one in charge of this... practice arena. But she didn't much appreciate being given the boot before she'd even had the chance to have a mouthful of anything. She still desperately needed to get the stupid taste of rotten fish out of her mouth.
Standing, she gathered her things back up and then sighed.
"Alright." Walking past the woman, she nodded. "I'm gone. You see me? Gone. So fast, so far, you may never see me again. How's that sound?"
The woman just regarded her, unimpressed.
"Your breath stinks."
Well, fuck her too.
"Uh-huh."
But Zoe was just too polite to say that part out loud. She just nodded, flashed a smile full of teeth, and walked off.
Walk. Weave. Walk. Weave. It was unyielding, and in just about any other context, Zoe would have enjoyed it. What kinds of people were here, beyond the kinds that could lead around some of the most sophisticated mounts that any person could own and not even get a second look from most people? Legendary warriors? Thegns? Leaders and commanders? Who might she be bumping into, at this very moment?
But shit, right now, she was just hungry.
"'Scuse me," she muttered, pushing her way in-between a portly gentleman who was saying something to another portly gentlemen, and two people who were... well, technically, they had to have been kissing, but they looked more like they were trying to eat one another's faces off. Zoe wrinkled her nose as she squeezed past them. Love on the battlefield? "Comin' through."
The warmth was quickly turning to heat - probably because of the density of bodies. When Zoe finally got another window of space to herself, she began to cough at once, getting smoked out by the well, smoke, that was coming out of another wall-adjacent structure. Eyes watering, she saw a large figure hammering away at an anvil inside. Forge flames burned. Sparks flew. She wondered what they were making - that is to say, what weapon of war they were making, because that was the only sort of thing they would be making in a place like this, at a time like this. At least, that was what she suspected.
A growl from her stomach. Right. The hunger. She was meant to be fixing that. God, but her mind could wander sometimes...
It was the commotion that drew her over. Noises from not-so-afar. Moth to a flame, because curiosity hadn't killed her yet, she wandered through the crowd, pushing and shoving with the best of them until she was at the front, out in the open. There, she saw a pair of tall people, half-dressed in armour - a man and a woman - accosting someone shorter, with no armour at all. Her sympathies immediately falling in a specific direction, she watched to better understand exactly what was happening. They were taking it in turns, it looked like, to walk forward and shove him. Each time, he would stumble backwards, chest heaving and fists clenching, but not do anything about it himself. None of them were saying anything, but a lot seemed to be going unsaid in the looks that they were all giving one another. A lot of glares and sneers.
Really, Zoe should've stayed out of it. She intended to stay out of it. But intent did not always beget action, and she'd been pushed around enough already that day that she couldn't bring herself stand back and let it happen to someone else, so she stepped forward, slinging her spear over her shoulder and putting her free hand on her hip.
"What are you doing to him?" she asked them.
They all paused. In fact, the gathered crowd seemed to pause, too. It was like everyone was sat and holding their breath, waiting to hear and see what would happen next.
It was the woman who answered first. "Was that a serious question?" she asked Zoe, turning her full, broad form to face her directly. She had long blonde hair, tied into a braid and hanging over her shoulder.
Zoe shrugged. "In that case, why are you doing it?"
The woman placed of her own hands upon her own hips - like she didn't think that that was a serious question, either. It was the taller man, however, who answered her this time.
"Go home, outlander," he said, in a coarse voice. "This doesn't concern you."
Outlander? That was a new one. Zoe looked down at herself, her earlier self-consciousness raising its head again. It was probably obvious that she wasn't from Invictus, but was it really so obvious that she was from somewhere as remote as the term implied?
"What?" she asked, hiding the doubts somewhere remote in her heart. "Am I from the Lands of Out?"
"You're not from around here," the woman said, still staring at Zoe like she was a child who was acting out. She - Zoe - had been looked down on enough as a child to recognise that kind of disapproving disdain, and she couldn't say that she appreciated it. "You'd know not to interfere, otherwise."
"Agh..."
A grunt drew Zoe's attention to the smaller man - the one who'd been being picked on. He was clutching his arm, and one of his eyes had a red mark under it. And yet, he was looking at her plaintively.
"Don't..." he said to her, in a voice that was, to Zoe's relief, still strong. Evidently, he hadn't been hurt too badly by these people. "You don't need to. Just, don't worry about it. Please."
Perhaps the sensible thing to do would've been to take a cue from the person that she was trying to defend, and stay out of it. But Zoe trusted her instincts, and her instincts told her that she didn't want to let this one go. If anything, it just made her more curious.
"...Here," she said, beginning to rummage around in her bag. "How bad is your arm? I might have a scarf in here, if you need it-"
"You're not involved." Suddenly, the blonde woman was in her face, glaring at her. Not glaring down, though - she was large, but she was not all that much taller than Zoe when the two were up close. "Clear off, before you are."
Zoe paused. Bit her lip, resisting the urge to say something witty that would probably get her punched in the face.
"If you're going to involve me," she said, instead, "you're probably going to want to involve the Fracas authorities, as well. Or do you really think that picking fights with random fellow fighters is going to make you look good, to them?"
Her delivery had been a bit clunky, perhaps, but she reckoned that she'd been reasonably, well, reasonable in terms of what she'd actually said. If nothing else, she was drawing on her own experiences of the day - if the troopers on site picked a fight with you, and you fought them back, you were the one who would end up in trouble. It felt like a fair assumption that these people would end up in the same kind of trouble if they kept doing... whatever it is that they were doing.
Unfortunately, because of this confidence of hers, she was completely unprepared for when the woman punched her in the face.
"Augh." A grunt fell from her lips as the force of the blow to her jaw made her stumble. She dropped her spear, half out of surprise and half because the part of her that was still thinking clearly didn't want to use it on a person. Planting her foot in the dirt, she stopped herself from falling over, and took a moment to stare at the woman that had just hit her. Tried to control her temper. She'd just spent hours in a cell because she hadn't been able to resist the urge to hit back, and she didn't want to-
"Oof!"
Fuck it. She hit back.
The woman reeled and recovered quickly, but Zoe was already moving fast. Unclenching her fist, she dove forward and grappled her opponent. She didn't have the advantage in strength, but if she could just lock the woman down before she could really start swinging - treat her like she treated big isfet, and stop her from bringing her strength to bear long enough for... well, Zoe wasn't quite sure about that part. Normally, she'd find a way to shatter the core, but this was another person, not isfet, and in any case, she didn't want to kill her. Maybe she could hold onto the lock long enough for the Bulwark troopers to arrive, and then she could explain to them that this one definitely wasn't on her?
Unfortunately, none of what she tried to do actually panned out. When she tried to wheel behind her opponent to grapple her from the back, the woman just turned to face her, putting her back at square one. When Zoe tried to grab the woman's arm and twist it, the woman just broke her grasp and shoved her away. And then, when Zoe tried to regain her balance and go in again, the woman tackled her by the waist, bringing her down and knocking the air right out of her lungs.
Wheezing, Zoe tried to fight back, but one of her arms was quickly pinned down by the other woman's knee. With her free hand, she threw another punch, but her aim was off, and it thudded against her opponent's side without doing all that much. The woman raised her fist, evidently intent on hitting Zoe in the face again - it was only Zoe's reflexes that saved her, throwing up her free arm to take the hit instead.
"Shit!" she grunted. "Strength- anger issues-" she fielded another attempted punch from the woman, blocking it again. "Not a good combination."
The woman didn't offer a rejoinder. She just tried to hit her again.
Zoe was going to have to improvise. Maybe if she could just reach her spear - could bring the blunt end round to bear- Still squirming, she began to pull her arm out from under its pin. She needed the free limb to defend herself and grab her weapon at the same time. Unfortunately, sensing her attempts to break free, her attack responded by digging in with her knee, applying more painful pressure and stopping Zoe in her tracks.
"Nowhere to run," she hissed, "you little worm."
Well, that was just offensive.
Deciding in an instant to improvise in a different direction, Zoe took the opportunity of having her torso still unpinned to rear up, wheel around, and attack the leg pinning her arm with the most convenient weapon:
Her teeth.
"Aah!"
Luckily for her, the woman wasn't wearing armour on her thigh. It was there that Zoe bit down, feeling her attack dig into flesh below the thin layer of protection offered by the woman's trousers.
"Fuck!" barked the woman, her grip on Zoe loosening. "Get off! Get off me, you fucking psycho!"
She tried to roll away from the pain, but Zoe kept biting, taking advantage of her freedom to grab onto the woman's leg and hold it in place as she continued her attack. Her brain was awash in battle-thrill. Damn this woman, and her strength, and her cruelty! Zoe's jaw stung, and she let go for a heartbeat before biting back down. She would meet pain with pain!
And then, as they kept scuffling in the dirt, a new, powerful voice rang out.
"Stop!"
The woman stilled at once. Zoe kept attacking for a moment longer, until she realised that her opponent had stilled. Forcing herself to let go, she fell back on her knees, massaging her face. When her fingers brushed over her jawline, the stinging of her skin told her that a bruise would be appearing there shortly, and she suppressed an exasperated groan. And her nose was stinging, too-
"At attention, soldier!"
The woman that Zoe had been fighting leapt up at once, standing as tall as she could. Zoe took some gratification in the way her injured leg trembled. For her part, she was content to sit in the dust and try to blink away her blows to her head - only, a second later, she felt a pair of rough hands on her shoulders, dragging her up and onto her own feet.
"Shit," she grunted, trying to shrug the hands off. "I'm up, I'm up already." Stumbling, raising a hand to her pounding head, she leant forwards and broke free. The sun was too bright. When had it gotten so bright? Squinting, she turned to see what was behind her.
The crowd that was watching now - watching her - was bigger than the one that she'd pushed through. She saw various armour troopers in and around it, including one that had just pulled her to her feet, and her heart sank.
Most interestingly, there was a gap in the crowd, through which she could see a tall young man, blond-haired and dimpled, standing there with his arms behind his back. He looked very authoritive. He was wearing armour with Bulwark sigils embedded into seemingly every surface, but there was another insignia on his shoulder, too - one that she didn't recognise.
"You," he said, and Zoe flinched before realising that he was addressing the woman to her side. "Affiliation?"
"Field Army one-oh-one-six, Division fourteen, Regiment five, Platoon three, Squad three." The woman rattled the names and numbers off in what felt to Zoe like a heartbeat. Barely able to keep up, she watched as the blonde man nodded, before turning to the man.
"Same as her?" he asked, which prompted a nod.
Next to be singled out was the shorter man - the original victim. Zoe paid attention to him. He was thin, and a little willowy, but there was strength enough in him that he ought to have been able to hold his own in a fight. Now that she was taking a second to think about it, why hadn't he been defending himself?
"Field Army one-oh-one-five," he said, in a quiet voice. "Division five-"
"Say no more." The blond man's voice was firm. "I understand. The Baker-Li issue."
All of the people being addressed apart from Zoe seemed, to her, to purse their lips at once. Evidently, she had interfered in something... well, she wasn't sure what to call it, other than something, but it definitely was something.
"And you?"
The words were to Zoe this time, she realised. She blinked again. The light still felt too bright for her liking. Her nose and head were still throbbing.
"...And me?" she echoed.
The blond man huffed.
"Affiliation?" he asked her, same as the others, as though she had any idea what they'd even been talking about.
"Uh..." she scuffed her heel against the dirt. Affiliation... what would her affiliation be? "Melinde, I guess?"
It was a talent of hers, to be able to tell that she'd said the wrong thing as soon as she'd said it. The blond man's frown seemed to intensify.
"Who are you," he asked her, glaring daggers, "that you think to come to such an important event, and then not even deign to identify yourself to a superior officer?"
Zoe clenched her fists on instinct, but before she could say or do anything else that was even more stupid than what she'd just done, another voice answered the blond man's question for her.
"An outsider."
Turning, the blond man - and Zoe, by extension - saw another armoured figure through the gap in the crowd. He, too, was blond, although he was a little smaller than his counterpart, and a lot less imposing. He walked closer, protective plates clanking, and came to a stop besides the other blond man. He had, Zoe saw, an empty scabbard slung over his shoulders and down his back.
"Someone who has come from afar to participate in the Fracas - as is her right," continued the newcomer. "Strong as the Bulwark is, I don't think we're in a place to put down new blood."
The first blond man grunted. "Even if that new blood starts spilling old blood?"
All the talk of blood was getting to Zoe's senses, because now she felt like she could smell some. Snorting, her eyes widened as she felt something catch in the back of her throat, and quickly spat it into the dirt. A small, ironic clot of blood stared back up at her.
So that was why her nose felt so pained.
Instinctively, Zoe tilted her head up to try and hold back the flow that she now knew was coming. But, to her surprise, she felt a tug at her sleeve. Turning, she saw the smaller man that she'd stepped into help, holding out a cloth to her. It didn't look like a particularly clean cloth, but beggars couldn't be choosers, and at any rate, she appreciated the gesture. Giving the man a silent thumbs-up, she took it and placed it against her nostrils.
"Blood new and old both," the newest man was observing. Was it just her imagination, brain still knocking about in her skull from the blows, or was there a faint smile on his lips? "And spilled blood is the mark of a capable warrior."
"Or a wild woman," grumbled the taller man, folding his arms in front of him. "You know as well as I do that we have enough tensions to contend with without some stranger coming in and making everything-"
The newcomer held up his hand, and the tall blond's words dried up. Zoe decided, in that moment, that she liked him.
"See to the crowd," he said, softly.
With a huff, the big man turned around, and clapped his hands. The noise of his gauntlets hitting one another was like cymbals clashing. "Move back!" he thundered, projecting his voice and beginning to disperse the onlookers. "Fight's over, every get back to your duties. If you want to gawp at battle, do it with the sanctioned fights happening in the arena!"
There were murmurs, but overall, the crowd dispersed incredibly quickly.
The newcomer, meanwhile, moved closer to the parties that had been involved. First, he turned to the man and the woman who had really, as far as Zoe was concerned, started it.
"Take her to a clinic," he said. "I expect full reports on this incident from both of you submitted to my offices before first light tomorrow." He spoke in a low tone - a contrast to his counterpart, for sure - but there was an authority to him that made him sound no less stern. It was little surprise to Zoe that both of the instigators nodded, silently, before walking away. She took pride in the way that the woman had to lean on the man for support.
Next, he turned to the man that Zoe had defended. "And you? Are you injured?"
The man shook his head. "N- no sir," he stammered.
But the newcomer just smiled, wryly. "It does you no good," he said, "to keep things from a superior officer. Go and be seen to."
"Yes, sir," said the man, "at once, sir."
And then, he left. Zoe raised her hand, about to say- she wasn't even sure. You're welcome for the rescue? Thanks for the cloth? Do you want the cloth back? But he moved too quickly, and soon he was gone in the throng of the Fracas crowds.
And then, there was just her. The newcomer stared at her, and she couldn't tell what he was thinking. His expression did not change.
His taller, moodier counterpart stomped up behind him. He was holding her spear, she realised, with a jolt - he must have picked it up off the floor. Why hadn't she thought to do that first? "What about this one?" he asked.
"This one has a name," Zoe snapped, the sight of her weapon in someone else's hands agitating her. "I'm sorry, could I just-?" She reached out to try and take the spear, but the man yanked it out of her reach, glaring ferociously at her. She huffed.
"Yes," said the smaller man, catching her attention. "Zoe Abeyta, is it not?"
Zoe paused where she was. Her instincts told her that this was either really good, or really bad. "...That's me," she admitted, slowly. Her voice was muffled by the cloth at her nose - she could, by now, feel her own blood dripping into it.
A wan smile broke across the man's face. "My name is Cordion Abernathy. This is my brother, Duke. I think it would be best if you came with us."
Abernathy.
Well, that explained a lot. The authority, the self-assurance - probably also the armoured troopers that were still standing around, now that Zoe thought of it.
The family in charge of the whole Bulwark. The people that she was beholden to through the Seneschal and that contract, or whatever exactly the Seneschal themselves had said. The people that were currently keeping her spear from her.
Zoe didn't like being led around, but it was clear now that she didn't have much choice.
"Lead the way," she said.
The brothers turned and marched. Military men. Zoe struggled to keep up, holding her battered bag steady with one hand, and stemming her nosebleed with the other. Her stomach still complained of its emptiness. One of her feet caught a loose stone, and she only just caught herself before tripping onto the floor. All in all, it hardly felt like a glorious start to her attendance of the Fracas.
Hopefully she wasn't about to end up back in a cell.