“How’d it go?”

Pavel flattened himself against the wooden wall, taking his place beside Jo once more. Next to her, Cruck’aa still looked irritated beyond belief.

“You didn’t watch?” Pavel yelled over the crowd.

“No, I could barely get through!” Jo nodded towards the people in front of them. “Besides, Cruck’aa didn’t want to move!”

Pavel nodded. He couldn’t blame them. After all the congratulations he’d received, it had taken him far too long to wade back through the packed hallway. Going out to watch him probably meant having to give up their spot. Which, of course, would have only irritated Cruck’aa more, and neither of them wanted that.

“Why didn’t you get that checked out?” Jo asked, jerking her chin towards Pavel’s face. It took him a moment to realize what she was referring to.

“Just a cut, nothing bad!”

“They have healers though!”

“I’m fine!” Behind Pavel, the crowd roared as the next fight came underway, though he missed the announcer stating who was fighting.

“That’s a bit stupid!”

“It’ll be fine!”

Jo rolled her eyes and turned away, leaning over to Cruck’aa as he grabbed her attention again. His brows were furrowed, beak twisted into a frown, but that was a normal look for him these days.

Pavel wiped the blood from his face with the back of his hand, cursing silently as he smeared it. Though the wound didn’t bother him much, having blood caked across his face wasn’t ideal. He’d have to head over to the healers and see if they could clean it off for him. He would have gone over there in the first place had it not been for –

Pavel elbowed Jo, a little too hard. She jerked and shot him a look, before returning to her conversation with Cruck’aa. When she finished, Jo flipped her head back to Pavel, offering him a look of irritation.

“What?” She yelled. Pavel leaned in.

“The person I fought, Morris Tull?” Jo nodded. “I got him on the ground and flipped him over, and his face changed.”

Jo stared at Pavel as though he’d just told her that the planet was flat.

“He was a doppelganger!” Pavel clarified.

“What?” Jo asked.

“He looked just like the ones from Simont.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive! His face was grey and smooth and…weird looking, and it changed back after I punched it!”

“Why didn’t you say anything to the attendants?”

“I did, they didn’t believe me!”

“And you didn’t go after it?!” Jo gestured towards the other side of the arched hallway, towards the city beyond the arches. She jerked as she almost slapped someone upside the head, though they luckily didn’t notice.

“I’d be disqualified!” Pavel replied.

“Does that even matter?!”

“Yes!” He shifted and crossed his arms, leaning in closer towards Jo as the hallway became louder. “He didn’t do anything like the ones in Simont! I was surprised too but it’s just one! Seems like he just wanted to be in the tournament or something, I doubt he’d do anything after!”

“You don’t know that though!”

“You’re right, but I have a feeling!”

“So, you’re just going to let a doppelganger run free in Waterdeep?” Jo pulled away and stared at him. A look of flabbergasted disbelief was etched on her face. “Pavel those things are dangerous, you need to go tell someone!”

“After the tournament!”

“Why?!”

“Because the harm one doppelganger can do is probably the same as any thug in some alleyway.” Pavel shrugged. “Plus, he disappeared in here! He could look like anyone now!”

Jo sighed – inaudible over the noise – and leaned her head back against the wooden wall; she waved a dismissive hand at Pavel and closed her eyes. Cruck’aa tugged on her arm to get her attention, but she refused to give him the time of day.

Pavel looked back towards the crowd, eyeing a commotion that was occurring near the front. He understood Jo’s frustrations, he did. Doppelgangers could be dangerous if left unchecked. But one in a place as large as Waterdeep could only do so much. Not to mention that it was just one. Some typical thief could probably do more damage than that thing. Not to mention that, now that it had fled, it had probably shed its original look as Morris. Tracking it down now would prove to be difficult. Even trying to convince the guards that a doppelganger had participated in the tournament would be near impossible.

Pavel cocked his head. He was surprised Jo had even listened to him in the first place. There remained no reason as to why a doppelganger would be in a tournament. More than likely, he suspected many would refuse to believe him. Perhaps their previous shared encounter made up for that.

He glanced to the side and frowned. Cruck’aa had managed to snake around Jo, and now stood directly in front of Pavel, beak still curved into a frown. Behind him, some of the other contestants noticed and inched away, giving the Aarakocra slightly more room.

“When is this mess over with?” Cruck’aa spat, feathers bristling.

“When the tournament is over!” Pavel shouted back. “Or if you get knocked out early!”

“So, lose, and be humiliated, or win, and continue to suffer back here?”

“Well, that’s one way of looking at it!”

“And do you know how completely idiotic that sounds!?” Cruck’aa yelled.

Pavel rolled his eyes as Cruck’aa launched into another one of his tirades. Now he understood why Jo had stopped listening to him.

…

“Ah – ah – damn it!” The man yelled, squirming as the cut on his bare arm began to sizzle. “Can’t – ow! – can’t you fucking do –”

“No.” Serena signed with one hand. Underneath the other, she felt the man’s skin beginning to reform. When it was finished, skin no longer sizzling, she pulled her hand away to reveal nothing but clean skin, as though the man had never been cut in the first place.

Without a word, he shot up and stalked off down the hallway, mumbling as he rubbed the spot Serena had healed. She rolled her eyes and stood up from her kneeled position. The audacity to mock her signs and then complain about healing that might be a little painful was just ridiculous. But she hadn’t expected much.

All around her, doctors and clerics and healers bustled about, tending to the combatants that had exited the sands. She’d lost count of how many fights had already occurred, too busy helping those who’d needed healing. Which, unfortunately, was quite a large number. The ones who’d had it the worst went to the more experienced healers, but with the constant stream of wounded coming in, Serena had her fair share of injured – and ungrateful – contestants.

Serena planted her hands on her hips and leaned back, grunting – the sound emanating from her hands – as she stretched her back. Though she was happy to help, all that healing took it out of her.

Glancing around the crowded benches, peaking through the gaps between figures hunched over beds, Serena spotted her friend from earlier. He sat on an empty bench that stood next to a pillar, right in the middle of the hallway, looking tired. Her gaze flicked around and, seeing no one else that needed help, Serena began to weave her way through the crowd, towards the bench.

Her friend smiled and nodded at her as Serena plopped down next to him. A bit of sweat shined on his forehead, and with the slump of his back, it seemed as though he’d gotten a higher workload than Serena had.

“You know,” Serena signed, after tucking her long skirt around her legs. “I don’t think I ever got your name.”

“I…huh. I believe you’re right.” He looked at her. “Sosem. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Serena, and same to you.”

“Well, Serena, I’m glad that, at the very least, there’s enough of us that we can sit down for a bit.” Sosem said, rubbing one of his palms. “I’m not so young anymore. All this healing makes my hands sore.”

“Really?” Serena asked. “My hands never get sore when I’m healing someone. But I don’t always use healing magic, so maybe that’s why.”

“And pray, what magic do you normally use?”

“Fire.” Serena grinned. Sosem chuckled and shook his head. “What?”

“I’ve meant plenty of young folk who like that field of magic.” He said. “Something about throwing a fireball just speaks to so many people.”

“It’s fun! Makes me feel powerful!” Serena accentuated her words with twin flames that burst from her palms – Sosem jumped, then laughed as she snuffed them out.

Afterwards, silence fell between them. Serena leaned back against the pillar and began to watch the healers and doctors bustle about, attending to the patients that occupied the beds and benches. Sosem leaned forward and rested his arms atop his legs, though his attention was towards the opening in the wooden walls. While they couldn’t see the fighting from where they sat, the roar of the crowd still bled through. Each round of cheers and screaming bothered Serena’s ear, though she was mostly used to it by now. And every time a round concluded, a single fighter – sometimes two – would stumble in through the cutout, screams of the crowd trailing behind them, louder than usual. Various wounds would be etched across their bodies, armor and weapons painted red like a children’s drawing. Luckily though, no one seemed grievously injured, and the only truly serious wound that was brought to them was a cut that touched the bone. But even that was healed in an instant. Many, then, were simply stuck waiting, the healers and doctors watching closely for anything else that might go wrong. Though nothing ever did.

And for a time, that seemed to be the way of things. Serena watched as a round would end, and new contestants stumble in, all clamoring for anyway to dull their pain. So many came through the cutout that she’d lost track of what round the tournament was even on. And of course, her and Sosem’s numbers were never called, regulating them to sit in silence for what felt like hours.

Serena fidgeted on the bench and smoothed out her skirt. She stuck a hand into her pocket and fingered the pendant on her choker – still cool to the touch. Perhaps she should put it back on. She doubted anything else would happen with it, but it never hurt to be safe.

Unable to decide, she turned back towards Sosem and pulled her hand out of her pocket. She didn’t mind sitting in silence, so long as it didn’t drag on.

“So would you say the Castle Ward is the best ward within the city?” She asked, grasping for a topic.

“What?” Sosem straightened up, back popping audibly, and rested his hands on his legs. “Oh, what we talked about earlier? Surprised you want to continue that.”

“Just trying to fill the silence.”

“A feat for you, considering you don’t talk.”

Sosem chuckled as a blush crept into Serena’s face – she couldn’t argue with that.

He waved a hand at her.

“Bah…and yes, I’d say the Castle Ward is one of the better places to live right now. Housing prices are rather high though, but that’s to be expected. The Sea Ward is far richer though, and I suppose you could argue that it’s better to live there than the other wards. But I don’t believe that. Whoever is in charge of Castle Ward does a better job of running the place than the Masked Lord in Sea Ward.” He rolled his eyes. “Because the one in Sea Ward is, of course, doing it to get rich…before you ask.”

“I figured. But the one in Castle Ward doesn’t care about being rich?”

“Not particularly. Too busy ranting about the way the city runs inspections on carts once they get through the gates. They’ve had a few scandals before, but nothing horrible…not compared to the others. Although…” Sosem thought for a moment. “I do remember, ah…few years back, that the Masked Lord was caught in something sticky with one of their servants. I’m fuzzy on the details but it involved that fraudulent bill that got passed – evidently the servant that the Masked Lord used the most was in on it and ended up committing suicide over it. Came out later that there was a bit more going on between the two than just servant and master, though nothing ever came about it because…well, the servant died. Masked Lord didn’t make a public appearance for a year after that, but they’re back now.”

Serena frowned. “What was the fraud though? Why’d the servant commit suicide?”

“Oh ma’am, it’s been a few years and my memory is getting hazier by the day.” Sosem shook his head. “I think it had something to do with distributing money out to the poor but the way it was supposed to work didn’t pan out. Evidently, the companies that the money went to were shells. Whole vault of gold disappeared over night. Something like that. That servant was in on it, I think. He was doing something. Quite a shame too, he came from a grand old line of servants that worked for the Masked Lords. Sent them all out of business overnight, that did. Dreadful.”

“So –”

Serena jumped as the booming voice of the Masked Lord pierced the walls.

“Contestants! When you hear your names please enter onto the sands as quickly as possible! Our next fight! Simon Cain going up against Johana Eagleton!”

“Oh!” Sosem said, as Serena shot off the bench. He slowly stood up and followed her through the crowd, towards the cutout in the wall. “Simon is the head of the City Guard! Quite the fearsome fellow, so I’ve heard. Is he fighting a friend of yours?”

Serena shot a thumbs up towards him as they pushed their way to the front, getting a clear view of the sand and roaring crowds. Down the way, Jo stepped out from the contestant side, looking fierce in her leather armor.

Fighting the captain of the guard seemed like a tall order, but Serena was sure that someone like Jo could easily best the man. After all, how much of a fighter would he truly be?

…

Jo halted just outside the cutout as the roar of the crowd washed over her, filling her ears with the screams and howls of bloodthirsty people.

She whistled, though she couldn’t hear it. It almost matched up with how she imagined it.

“Bit much, huh?!” someone said behind her. Jo turned around.

The man looked more put together than most of the contestants she’d seen already. He wore similar leather armor as Jo over a pair of matching black tunic and pants. A red cloak hung from his board shoulders, marking him as a member of the City Guard, and a high-ranking member at that, if the twin golden bars on his tunic sleeve were any indication. He looked important, and his strongly built body, evident even through his armor, only added to that image.

The man shaded his eyes as he looked at Jo. His narrow face broke into a warm grin, and he stuck out a weathered hand towards her.

“Simon Cain, Major Captain of the City Guard!” Simon yelled over the crowd; despite the noise, Jo could hear him clearly, as though he’d had experience shouting over others.

“Johana Eagleton!” She shouted back, grasping his hand tightly and shaking it. “Decommissioned Sargent!”

“You’ve been in the military before?” Simon asked. He unclasped his cloak, folded it, then dropped it somewhat away from the cutout in the wall.

“Mercenary company!”

“Ah, respectable, so long as you’re on the right side!”

Jo chuckled. She’d heard that one before.

Simon gestured towards the center of the sand. Jo turned around and fell in line with him as they made their way over together. The crowd began to die down, waiting for the match to start.

“Aren’t we supposed to hate each other or something?” Jo asked as they stopped in the middle. For the moment, she didn’t have to yell as loud.

“Well, I see it more as respect.” Simon walked in front of her and halted, hands resting on his belt. A single short sword was strapped to it. “We’re giving everyone a show, doesn’t mean we really have to kill each other.”

“So, you’ll go easy on me then?”

“Oh no.” Simon chuckled. “We have healers for a reason, may as well utilize them.”

“In that case,” Jo smiled. “I better not get harassed by your men after this. Beating the…Major Captain of the guard is quite the feat.”

“Oh sure. And you know, I’ve always felt that to be a stupid title. Doesn’t really roll off the tongue.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

Simon smiled, flashing his teeth, and reached out to shake Jo’s hand again as the attendant strolled up to them. As she gripped it, she felt genuine warmth come from Simon’s eyes, as though he truly meant what he said. Jo didn’t doubt him, but in a tournament such as this, men like him were rare.

The attendant began to run through his speech, though Jo barely listened. She and Simon had already backed up properly after their handshake, thus the only thing they needed to hear were the rules. Which, of course, were simple enough to understand.

A low buzz began to fill the packed stadium as Jo and Simon removed their weapons. Jo gripped her rapier tightly, while Simon held his short sword at his waist, looking relaxed.

She frowned and adjusted her stance. She never liked when her opponents got too confident.

The attendant raised his hand.

The crowd went quiet.

Jo adjusted her grip. Simon twirled his sword once.

The hand fell, and the crowd roared back to life.

Jo leapt and crossed the distance, meeting Simon in the middle.

She twisted her body around the point of Simon’s extended sword, moving to the side. She lashed out, aiming for his exposed throat.

Simon jerked and jumped back, landing a foot away in the sand. Jo stepped forward and thrust again, aiming towards his chest.

Simon twisted out of the way and thrust back at Jo, who side stepped and thrust back again – they mirrored each other as they danced in a circle, dodging and thrusting, neither able to land a blow.

The crowd roared.

Simon leapt forward, fist aimed at Jo’s cheek. She dodged and stuck her leg out to trip him, only for Simon to hop over the sweep, thrusting again with his sword.

It bit into Jo’s side as she tried to dodge, pressing against her ribs. She grunted and leapt back, then leapt again, making space.

Simon ran after Jo, giving her no chance to breath, and leapt into the air, sword aimed at her throat.

Jo ducked and leapt forward, nicking Simon’s calf, then tucked into a roll past him. She hopped to her feet and flipped around, only for Simon to remain where he had landed. Blood trickled down his leg from the cut, though he seemed unfazed.

Jo lowered herself into a crouch. That was probably the way to beat him. Too fast to hit hard, but small nicks might be enough. Should keep him at a distance.

She turned her body to the side and pointed her rapier, elbow bent, towards Simon. He smiled and gestured at her, though his words were lost in the roar.

He began to advance slowly, sword gripped with both hands – his eyes flicked about.

Jo stepped and thrust; Simon parried. Her wrist twisted, arm retracted, and she thrust again – and again – and again – forcing a cursing Simon back with each parry.

Jo continued her assault and forced Simon back towards the wall of the coliseum. Each of his moves, each of his attempts to sidestep, she followed, thrusting again and again until finally his parries couldn’t keep up.

Blood began to trickle from his face and arms as Simon halted at the edge of the sand. He gritted his teeth, smacking away every other thrust, as he accumulated cuts across his body.

Jo’s arms began to burn, her breathing now ragged. Each thrust sent a jolt through her shoulders and chest. Though it was working, she couldn’t continue it for long. It took her more effort to thrust than Simon to parry, and she wasn’t sure how long he’d last. If she could just –

She hesitated, catching her breath.

Simon leapt forward and slashed her arm at the joint between the leather. White hot pain shot up it.

Jo cursed and leapt back but Simon followed, picking up his own assault, closing in and slashing back. Too close to parry properly, Jo kept running backwards.

He landed too many hits – across her arms, some on legs, and once across her face. He forced her back to the middle, pain blossoming across her body. Each cut was shallow, pain barely there, yet with so many of them together, they were unbearable.

The screaming of the crowd deafened her as Simon slashed the back of her hand; Jo yelled without hearing it and dropped her rapier.

Simon lunged, forcing Jo back and away from her weapon. She raised her fists, guarding her chest, watching for a second strike. It never came as Simon remained standing over her rapier, some paces away.

They both stood in place, panting, watching the other. Blood stained Simons shirt and sleeves – cut to shreds – mirroring the crimson that stained Jo’s armor and arms. She tried to wipe the blood from her face but smeared it instead, the faint smell of rust making her stomach churn.

She wasn’t in the best situation. Without a rapier, there wasn’t much that could be done against Simon. Sure, Jo knew how to throw a punch and where, but she couldn’t really hit hard, and against Simon’s sword –

He dropped it.

Jo blinked as Simon’s shortsword fell silently to the sand. He shot his arms forward, shaking them out, and raised them into a guard.

He raised an eyebrow.

Jo could only stare in return. Was he challenging her to a fist fight? If so, she could possibly maneuver her way around and go back towards the rapier, which would –

She shook her head, eyes still glued on Simon. This wasn’t a real battlefield. If anything, a fistfight would look flashy for the crowd, more so than her trying to sneak back to her weapon. And being flashy was the whole point, after all.

Jo gave a thumbs up at Simon, who smiled. Whether from excitement or for the prospect of smacking her in the face, Jo couldn’t tell.

She approached Simon as he stepped towards her, meeting him back in the middle. For a moment, neither of them moved.

Jo swung first, aiming at Simon’s face. He raised an arm and blocked it effortlessly. His own fist shot out and smashed against her chest.

Jo let out a grunt as the wind was almost knocked out of her.

This was a mistake.

She shot out two quick jabs – both blocked – then twisted and kicked, smashing her heel into Simon’s side.

He jerked, then dodged the second kick. He shot forward and punched Jo square in the gut. Despite her armor, she doubled over from the impact.

Simon grabbed her and shoved Jo onto the ground. He reared back and cracked her in the head.

Stars exploded in her vision, her head smashing against the sand. Simon punched again – more stars, blood flying from her mouth as Jo bit her tongue. He raised his fist for a third strike.

Dizzy and lightheaded, Jo tucked her legs against herself, planted her feet against his chest, and shoved, sending him back.

He arched his back, extending backwards enough to plant his hands on the ground into a back flip, landing on his feet as Jo leapt up.

Her vision swam as she raised her guard, head throbbing horrendously. Blood trickled from her mouth, and she spat it onto the sand, staining it red. From all around her, the crowd screamed, making the throbbing in her head worse.

“I’m a fucking idiot.” Jo grumbled.

Simon charged across the sand and slammed his shoulder into Jo, throwing her back onto the ground. He leapt on top of her once more, but before he could throw a punch, Jo threw her hands over her head.

“I’m done!” She shouted.

“The fight goes to Simon!” The attendant – who had stood well away from the pair – yelled over the crowd, voice booming. The stadium erupted into cheers.

Simon blinked, looking surprised. He stood up from Jo and offered her a hand, which she gladly accepted.

“Lasted a bit longer than I thought!” He said, slapping her on the back as she regained her footing – a feat with how dizzy she was.

“Should have given in when you wanted to fist fight.” She mumbled.

“Nah, you did well!” Simon grinned. “Doesn’t help that I’ve won a few tournaments with these fists though.”

“You rat bastard.” Jo grinned despite the pain.

“Oh of course. They don’t check for that.” Simon brushed some of the sand off her. “But seriously, are you alright? I didn’t do anything permanent, did I?”

“Probably have a fucking concussion. Suppose we’ll find out when you drag me to the healers.”

“That we will.” Simon said, as he began to drag Jo to the healers, on the account of her inability to walk straight. “Good work on all those cuts by the way…they sting.”

“Good.”

They both laughed as they made their way across the sand, and over to the arches.