Certamen celeri - the competition of speed
Certameni Dormitor - the conquerer of the games
Chapter viii: Certamen Celeri
The Arena was as grand as its name suggested. Situated next to the Lake of Tears, the great sturcture stretched nearly two hundred feet along the shore, and was four levels high. The craggy gray stone used to build this had centuries worth of weather upon it, from small tuffs of weeds growing in between cracks to the dust of the degrading rock which no matter how often the locals cleaned, would never be removed completely. Yet this was just what could be viewed from the standpoint of the Mourfair; upon following the entrance lane to within the stone edifice, it is revelaed as merely half a building, an august and delicately carved stadium with many rows of seats and flights of steps. The rows were elevated, and before the first, a great six foot flagstone wall sparated the structure from the actual arena.
The outstetching shore filled the entire field, making a natural flooring for athletic play. Equipment of various training purposes hung from wooden racks scattered around the field, some of which were currently being used by brawny mortals. In the center of the arena, a lone tanned man dressed in nothing but a leather pair of trousers stood and watched all the trainees, his back towards the entranceway.
That man was quite taken aback when he heard a deep euphonic voice behind him. "Are you the Head Taskmaster? Tell me of the event that will take place here."
The Taskmaster did not turn, his dark eyes as cross as his arms were across his chest. "Ye don't know, do ye? It has only been happening every four years for the last millenium!" he snooted. Yet, sighing, he knew that some of the athletic types needed to be reminded. "This is the Arena," he began, punctuating with his arms, "and every four years an event called Certamen is held for five days. On each day, a different skill is tested: the first day is speed, the next is strength, then agility, constitution, and finally, wisdom."
The voice behind him pondered these words and answered, "Where do I go to participate?"
Once again, the Taskmaster snorted. "Are ye kidding? Certamen is tomorrow; Participants signed up weeks ago! It is too late," he spat as he turned to meet this fool, "ye big, overgrown, son of a-"
Instead of the likely dull features of a mortal, the Taskmaster found himself staring directly into another man's quite well-built pectorals. His brow furrowed; the skin was wrong. Instead of the deep tan that all athletes carry, his skin could be considered pale behind the olive tones. He slowly traced the man with with his eyes as he began to visually scrutinize him. Broad shoulders toted a red scarf thrown back on the right. Strong enough to hold the weight of the world, he mused. He continued to survey, up the powerful yet graceful neck and onward. The Taskmaster's dark eyes widened in fear. Molten gold orbs met his, glowing in ire, accommpanied by a cruel face, lines and creases tracing an unhappy expression. A regal mane of the purest silver framed this visage, lightly dancing on the lake breeze.
"What was that, human?" the vampire lord acidly spat as he hauled the frightened mortal up to his face. The Taskmaster's bowels released.
Sour expressions crept over the lieutenants' faces as the smell reached them. "This one took longer than most," Rahab mused.
Kain dropped the mortal in disgust. "Are you keeping count?" Zephon snickered at this remark, but was sharply silence by his master. Smiling, Kain turned his attentions to the Taskmaster, still on the floor and curled upon himself.
The first day of Certamen had finally arrived, and every able-bodied mortal in the area packed themselves in every row. The field had been cleaned of its equipment from yesterday, and instead a great track was carved into the sand, stretching from near the entranceway for the athletes into the field, along the stone wall, just before the waterline of the lake, and back again. A sturdy man dressed in robes of scarlet and with a laurel crown protruding from his flowing ebony hair, stepped forth onto the field, and in a grand ceremonious march, he reached the center where a wooden step squatted in the sand. With a flamboyant whirl of his vestments, he stood upon it and cried out in a booming voice, "Let Certamen begin!"
The great multitude cheered, throwing colorful ribbons and other celebratory baubles into the wind.
"This sacred competition of peace as been held since the second reign of the Sarafan, and in honor of our heroes and heroines of old, we continue in this celebration of skill. Today," the man continued, "our champions will endure a challenge against time as well as each other. Each man must run this path within the allotted time, lest they be disqualified. The faster this task is completed, the more points given; as it is known, the man with the most points claims the title of Certameni Dormitor," the man announced as he took the crown from his head and held it high, "and claims this sacred laurel."
The man turned to his right, where three workers were assembling an oversized hourglass, except this one operated on water. As the man spoke, the clock was completed and set for the appropriate countdown time. "Only twelve minutes is allowed to complete this track of two miles." With a sweeping motion of his arms, he called, "And now, it is time to meet our champions!"
Once again, the mortals of Nosgoth gave rowdy joyous exclamations, anxious to see their heroes.
"Lancet, hailing from Noctelville!" A slim young man with cropped black hair stepped from the competitors' entranceway and gleefully waved at the cheering crowds. "He single-handedly defended his beloved village from the attacks of an acid demon." Lancet adusted his simple shirt and trousers and took his place at the starting line as the scarlet robed man continued. "Shade, hailing from the northern mountains!" Burly and slow, the tanned older man sauntered next to Lancet in a deerskin loincloth, ignoring the audience. "A mountainman, he has survived in the wilds of the mountains alone for forty-five years. Alisa, of Meridian." A lithe woman wearing a tight pearly blouse entered, her light blue skirt ending about halfway down her thigh, and strode confidently to the line, her curly blonde hair catching the breeze. "This beautiful huntress is said to have chased a werewolf through the forests and killed it. Darnek, hailing from right here in Mournfair!" A tall and liverspotted bald man stepped forth, his wrinkles clearly seen even from a distance, wearing a simple white robe, the trademark of a Mournfair scholar. "This warmage has been reputed as the wisest mortal alive."
The announcer took a deep breath. "And last, but surely not least, already a great man, and the Master of us all. He has solved countless puzzles, won even more battles, and is said to have the ability to escape even the most terrible of situations imaginable with his life, if not victory." The audience began to murmur to themselves, asking each other if they had even heard of such a man. "Give a grand ovation to the divine, the invincible," his arm trembled as he guided the audience's gaze to the athlete's entrance, "Lord Kain!
The overlord stepped into view from the darkness of the stone entranceway. Glancing to the audience, he noted that cheers only came from the special seats reserved for the nobility, currently occupied by his six sons. Raziel stood irate, noticing what his sire did, as his brothers continued, and icily glared from left to right.
"Well?"
The mortals finally resounded elations, which Kain knew were feined, and he took his place at the starting line. The other competitors looked upon him in shock and awe as he voiced a velvety greeting.
The announcer recognized this as the time to start the race, yet he could not do it, for the audience still elated and cheered, afraid to stop lest they face their vampiric lord's wrath. Raziel, now noticing the announcer's predicament, once again stood and glared at the surrounding humans, and they quickly silenced themselves.
Taking his cue, the man in the scarlet vestments raised his arms in a theatrical display. "Let us begin!" The three workers positioned themselves around the great water-clock, two working together to start it, the last watching the time. "Upon my proclamation of the start of this race, each competitor must follow the track around the field to the finishline in twelve minutes. Failure to stay within the track or complete the race in the allotted time will result in automatic disqualification. Also, use of any magic, bodily force, or anything else not dealing with your feet, in hinderance to any other competitor, or for your own sake, will result in disqualification."
The announcer now addressed the competitors. "Are the champions of Nosgoth ready?" Each mortal took their starting positions to maximize their speed, while Kain just casually glanced about the Arena, rubbing his thumb against his claw. "And... GO!"
The humans shot from the starting line, with Alisa in front and Shade far behind. Kain finished his contemplation of a passing cloud, and decided to begin. He obviously was not straining himself to win, and was passing Shade and Darnek with ease. As he approached the conclusion of the first bend in the track, and Lancet, Kain realized in the time it took to start this race, the tides of the Lake of Tears had flowed out further onto the shore, completely covering the track. Realizing he could not jump the entire distance, he stopped to assess his options as Darnek passed him.
There was none. Unless he decided to use his magic or dark gifts, he could not stay upon the track without burning his feet, yet using such abilities would disqualify him; how embarrassing it will be if he was disqualified for cheating in a mortal competition! Kain would not accept defeat, for surely he would formulate a plan and proceed.
Shade finally passed Kain, at a slow gallop. Looking ahead and realizing he was only ahead of the stationary opponent, he decided to quicken. As he tried to gain speed through the flowing and ebbing of the waves, he lost balance and fell face first into the surf. Kain had found his chance. He lepped into the air, and with vampiric precision, he planted both of his cloven feet onto the back of Shade's rather large skull, burying his face in the wet sand. Using him as leverage, he sprung himself back into the air, rolling into his landing , and rebounded himself upright and back into his stride at the beginning of the last bend. Shade pulled himself from the mire and cursed.
As he passed Darnek and the last bend, he greatly quickened his pace, shooting past a very surprised Lancet. Kain's stride became longer, his gallop resembling that of a gazelles. Soon he found himself running beside Alisa, whose body was almost parallel to the sands as she stretched her arms out behind her. She looked to the vampire overlord with a clear message within her baby blue eyes.
You may be a vampire and our lord, but I will fight for this!
Kain responded with a nod, and smiled to himself.
The finish line was fast approaching, and Alisa pushed herself beyond what she thought possible, to speeds she never knew she could reach.
She was just fast enough to keep in front of the dust cloud behind Kain.
The audience gave a great cry of excitement as he skidded to a halt, digging a claw into the sand for extra friction. Alisa collapsed onto the track, exhausted from strain. Eventually all the competitors finished the race, and even Shade made it across with a few seconds to spare.
Once everyone had finished, the announcer exclaimed excitedly,"Lord Kain wins!" The crowd still roaring from the race, the scarlet clad man continued his assessment. "As first place, Lord Kain receives one hundred points! Our second fastest champion, Alisa, has scored seventy-five points; Lancet, fifty points; Darnek, twenty-five; and finally Shade, who received zero points." Shade cursed again.
"Amazingly, none of our competitors have been disqualified, so tomorrow's task should be quite the spectacle!"
Lancet, deciding to be the gentleman of the group, carried Alisa, and the five champions exited the field through the same tunnel they used to enter, while the crowd threw ribbons and confetti into the air.
Great race, Kain!
Kain: You did not actually believe I would lose to mortals, did you?
R&R!