Trial 4, Part 1
Tristan stumbled as if he'd suddenly gained fifty pounds. He clutched the arm that had been fitted with the magic-draining device as if he'd been wounded, and looked down at it in shock.
Was this what life was like for the Anti-Magic King? Every single day? He clenched and unclenched his fists, and shifted from one foot to the other. He remembered the feeling of when he'd first gotten his grimoire, how a whole new sense for magic had opened up for him, but he had never been
magicless. Being weak wasn't the same as not having anything--this felt as if one of his senses had somehow been completely cut off, like he was blind while still seeing or like the air had lost its flavor.
But there was the signal! The crowd lurched awkwardly---many of those who had considered themselves shoe-ins were now filled with sudden doubt. Some of those who feared vengeance for their actions in the third trial now had their heads on a swivel. Yet, amidst the boom of a magical shell that came down somewhere to their rear, the applicants managed to get moving--and began to pick up speed.
Just getting out of the ditch was the first challenge. Tristan was practically crushed among the throng, but dug in his heels--and his elbows, in the case of one set of ribs--and managed to follow the flow up the slope. Then he started running.
This was absolute chaos! The ground next to him exploded as a fireball whizzed past, and despite choking in the smoke he managed to keep his feet. He saw someone get splashed with an orb of water that arced through the air like a catapult shot, and wondered if
non-lethal still applied in this new trial. His heart was already pounding in his ears.
Up ahead it looked like things were getting crowded again--apparently, some kind of invisible walls kept people from going around the field of barbed wire, so everyone was getting bottlenecked after sprinting across the field. Tristan recognized the material as something farmers used to keep strong-willed cattle from breaking through their fences. He pulled off his cloak, and tied it around his waist--it was inevitably going to snag, he figured, but he didn't want it pulling at his throat or face when it did. Steeling himself with a deep breath, he dropped to his belly and began to inch along.
It's like a bramble bush, it'll hurt more if you go slow...they already healed us before, might as well take the scrapes and try to get it over with as fast as possible... The cold mud was already soaking the front of his shirt and pants. He dared to lift his head a few inches, just enough to keep the muck out of his eyes and nose--
@Xaltwind And, just up ahead of him, happened to see a rather shapely pair of legs attached to a swaying rear that was just
barely avoiding the prickly bits of the spiraling wires above them. His face immediately went hot, and he had to resist the urge to check for a nosebleed with his mud-covered hand.
What do they FEED these noble girls?! Focus! Fooooocusssss--No, there was no way. She was
in front of him, there was absolutely
no way to focus on anything else. He could practically hear the steam coming out of his ears.
They finally made it out, one after the other, and the girl commented to herself that this was "most certainly not splendid." Tristan was in complete agreement, but started running again while she seemed to be cleaning the mud off herself. His neck had to work
very hard to keep him from turning back to watch her do it.
The next obstacle reminded Tristan of when he and the other village boys would climb trees, or play on old rope swings. He had the upper body strength, but the real challenge was the mud that now coated his arms, and that left behind by other competitors. He rubbed his hands together, and then tried the only technique he could think of--
"Hawk-tuah!" The blacksmith's son clapped his palms together after spitting on them, then leaped and grabbed the first bar. His shoulders protested the movement after all that sword swinging he'd done in the previous round, but his grip held firm! With a rock of his hips and a kick of his legs, he was off. By the time he made it to the other side his palms were red and burning--but he actually made it without falling!
Amidst a shower of magical pebbles, he landed on the other bank and covered his head, running serpentine towards the climbing wall. Again, his significant upper body strength helped him here. His feet slipped more than once, and he had to let go on purpose once to avoid a barrage of snowballs that splattered the tower structure--he wasn't sure what was worse, the icy slush or the mud. People passed him up--and at one point, he paused.
@Remram@SilverPaw A pair of people, somewhere up higher, were talking to each other as if they were working together. Tristan squinted, and tilted his head to try and see around other bodies in the way--and almost lost his balance. But, as he secured his grip again, he shook his head.
"Ludo? Haven't heard from him in ages...Would he really be here?" Tristan and his father had been to the Liszt family inn many times over the years, traveling to markets or shipping goods to and from their smithy. But on their last few trips, the innkeeper's son hadn't been seen--Marco Liszt had fallen badly ill at one point, and the last Tristan had heard, Ludo was working somewhere else to try and pay the bills. Was he trying to become a Magic Knight for the money?
Not that I'd have a problem with that...I just never really figured this kinda thing would be up his ally. Although I guess I did hear Ludo's magic was really strong...Of course, more than that, Tristan knew he didn't have the right to question anyone else's motives. He himself was only here because...well...what else was he supposed to do, with something like Sword Magic?
It was that moment of distraction that saw his grip slip, coming down the other side of the wall--not because he got hit by the projectiles, or because someone pushed him. He just...faltered. Luckily for him, he had already passed over it, and was only a few feet from the ground. Still, coming down on one's rear end, with no magic to reinforce the body, was an unpleasant impact. With a groan, he picked himself up and kept going.
Leaping between the pillars marked his first fall, as only three logs into it he stepped in someone else's goopy footprint, and down he went. The plunge was cold enough it nearly took his breath away. But, as he swept the fresh coating of muck away from his face, he noted two more familiar faces--Bryce, the Coral Magic user, and that guy who'd tried to take his head off before--Mack Fuely, or something of that nature?
"Ha! Got you too, huh Red?"
"Brudda Tris, take mi hand!" The mage with dreadlocks reached out and helped the commoner dislodge himself from the mud, and the two of them headed up the ramps. Tristan pulled his arm away from Bryce, tensing as he stared Mack down.
"Hey, hey, no hard feelings, yeah?" Mack shrugged, holding his hands out and empty as a sign of peace. "That was then, this is now."
"And what
is this, then?" Tristan asked, as the three of them now proceeded back to the top of the pit and examined the antagonistic course anew. "Are you guys working together?"
"Ain't nobody said we couldn't!" Mack pointed at some of the logs in sequence. "Look, some of 'em are closer together than others! Me and Dreads here have fallen twice now, but the second time we, uh...ran into one another by accident."
"Ya grabbed mi sleeve, ya bumbacl--!"
"I was
falling, it wasn't like an intentional thing--!"
"But because of that, you figured out that if you had multiple people standing on the closer pillars, you can reach each other?" Tristan crossed his arms as Mack nodded, eager to re-focus on this apparent plot.
"Yeah! With three of us, it's like that old riddle with the fox and the boat or whatever! One of us goes, then he reaches back to grab the next guy, and helps him to the next pillar, then the first guy goes again and the second guy grabs the third guy, and the third guy holds the second guy steady so
he can go again--!" Mack's arms moved in confusing patterns as he tried to demonstrate his logic.
"Right, right. I don't think we have time to rehearse it all." The redhead looked at the bronze-skinned boy and the ruffian for a moment, sizing them up, then nodded. "But I'm game to try it at least once."
"If dis dun work, I may have anudda idea..." Bryce tilted his head, and the other two boys looked in the direction he indicated. They saw a huge youth (Maverick) accompanied by a smaller, much better dressed one (Isvelt). Only, the big guy was laying down at the moment...using his enormous frame like an actual bridge, feet hooked around one pillar and arms gripping another for dear life.
"You're doing it, Maverick! You're amazing! Tremendous!" said the poncy git as he carefully walked across the other boy's backside. "Just make sure you squeeze those glutes! I need a firm surface!"
"Muh, Mr. Isvelt...A-a-are y-you sure y-you'll be able to, uh, p-pull me up afterwards?" said the carrot-topped giant, clearly straining to support the other boy's weight as his back sagged.
"W-well, you know..." Isvelt pulled at his collar as he chuckled nervously. "N-nothing's impossible with, um, the power of friendship! Or whatever." He lackadasically waved one hand.
"...What an asshole." Tristan muttered under his breath, completely unaware that insulting royalty could very well get him a fine or even a prison sentence.
"Right?" Mack said, with a surprisingly empathetic expression for someone who'd tried to cave Tristan's head in earlier. "Guys like that, their day's comin' sooner than they think..." The blacksmith's son blinked at that comment, but then the punkish young man grabbed both him and Bryce by the shoulder and dragged them towards one side of the pit. "Now c'mon, let's go!"
It was touch and go, teeter and totter, for an uncomfortably long time. But somehow, Mack's plan
actually worked! Tristan was the second one across, and both he and Mack held their hands out, leaning precariously over the pit from the other side. Both of them eyed each other warily--if there was ever a time for betrayal, it would be now.
But Bryce leaped, and both of them caught his arms, and all three of them fell onto solid ground.
"Hahaha! We did it, bruddahs!"
"Hell yeah! When Mack Fuely makes a plan, he's gonna see it through!"
"...Good work, everyone." Tristan couldn't help but smile. However, they were only halfway done. "Now, hopefully we see each other at the finish line!"
Once again, they had to cross the field between mini-trials amidst a hail of explosions and raining debris. Tristan lost sight of his two conspirators as a fist made of stone sprang up in front of him, forcing him to leap-frog over it, and then dodge under a rolling cloud of mist. He saw someone else get caught in it, and somehow they ended up running in the complete opposite direction--which caused them to collide head on with another applicant, and sent both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. The commoner picked himself back up, was nearly knocked back down by someone charging into him shoulder first, then again made his way towards the next test.
"Oh, great! It's THIS guy again, fellows!" Tristan narrowed his eyes and growled between clenched teeth.
Pompadouche.
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