2002: Dran Fenala III
Note: This was originally posted on the short-lived uo-europa.com official page, rather than on uo.com.
It has been scarcely two weeks since my drunken trip to Jhelom. It took me almost two days to negotiate means of travelling off the island, but ‘tis a town of fighting men, and I felt quite at home amongst the townsfolk there.
I frequented the Horses Head Tavern most nights, and the rather inexpensive Morning Star Inn offered me adequate shelter on the wind-swept island. The people of Jhelom are perhaps not the most friendly folk to be found in Britannia, but they do have respect for those who can fight well, and that I can… .
One evening I turned a dark street corner and bumped into two rough looking young fellows, Jake Lumeheart and Oliver. They both scowled at me, and with a belly full of ale I was in no mood to accept such treatment, and so looking them both in the eyes I promptly challenged their action….
“What, may I ask, do you find so interesting about me?” I asked.
“Your sword” Said one of them, pointing to my sheathed blade.
“Tis a sword of honour” I commented bluntly.
As I went to move past the two men came together, blocking my way. I had sobered up rapidly realising that this was a challenge, and a situation I would mayhaps not walk away from should I turn my back upon such men.
The one called Jake pointed to the nearby fighting pits, of which Jhelom is famed. I nodded knowingly before tredding slowly toward entrance to the sunken arena, slowly drawing my blade as I did so.
The pits are open to the public, and oft during the day freelance fighting trainers are to be found within, offering basic combat training in exchange for a few gold pieces.
‘Twas late at night however, and I was in no doubt we would be alone down there, and well out of ear-shot of any town guards.
I was confident, they did not have the look of warriors in their eyes, and their movements as they walked behind me showed they were ill at ease with this situation. My sword, nor myself for that matter, would be no easy quarry, and they knew that well.
There is an honour among even ruffians such as this in Jhelom, where fighting ability is deemed more worthy of respect than any form of academic achievement. Unlike many towns Jhelom has a notable lack of thieves, the agile fingers of a cutpurse would swiftly be removed should they choose the wrong victim, and in a town such as this almost everyone knows their weapon well….
The three of us trod slowly down the wooden steps, and swinging open the large wooden doors we stepped onto the loose dirt of the pit. The smell of sweat was still hanging in the air, and the soil beneath our feet was dark with blood.
“What fool of a man would enter the pit against two men half his age?” Commented Oliver.
I did not respond, just traced my sword in the dirt, etching a line which seperated us.
“Whomever oversteps this mark, I will accept as my first challenger, and will be struck down.” I spoke with authority, trying to give no hint of the nerves that hollowed my stomach.
