Thaidakar the Ghostblood

hey guys! here is a sample of a draft of a rewrite of a chapter in one of my books I'm writing with my co-writer. it is titled the Magmation.

Clang!

Sparks flew as the two thin black blades clashed with each other. Marek grunted. He had to win this competition, if he didn’t he would not be able to advance in the tournament.

“Scared?” grunted the other magmation. Marek and his opponent were magmations, specially trained ones at that. 

Clang!

The two exchanged another blow. 

“You wish,” said Marek. 

The two dueled in a musty arena in the ash filled forsaken land of Eugethal. Eugethal was far away from any civilization, it had to be that way or the elves wouldn’t have sent them here. 

Marek wiped sweat off his brow as he readied his katana in one hand. Both magmations wore obsidian armor made by the blacksmith of their separate clans. Every piece of armor was ornately carved, a fact which each and every magmation was proud of and showed off every moment they could. 

The crowd ooed as Marek jumped up and began to bring his sword down on the other magmation’s armored head. Marek shivered as he looked at the wicked curves of the spikes on his opponent’s helmet.

The sword hit the helmet with a clang and the crowd went wild. The other magmation grunted in pain. Marek had forgotten the big oaf’s name, it was probably Urag the strong or something like that.

Marek jumped back as Urag (or whatever his name was) swung his sword at Marek’s legs. Urag was three times taller than Marek and far more mean than him too, two aspects which Rulak, who was the chief of the Ilin clan, looked for more than speed, agility, skill, etc. Marek’s father, who was the chief of the Flaren clan, knew better when he selected Marek. 

Clang!

Marek and Urag met in the center of the ash covered arena. The ash came from the large volcano named Flaria. Urag said, “Flaren scum, I will be the one to claim the glory of winning the tournament in a week.”

Marek rolled his eyes, “no matter how many times I tell people that they are going to lose they insist they have to win.”

Urag growled in response. They broke away and exchanged a few more blows. The ash on the ground reminded Marek of the past. The elves, the dwarves and more had sent the Magmations away from the continent of Tarlin for a reason. They had hated the magmations so much that they wanted to send them to the ash covered land of Eugethal. But that was a hundred years ago, even the elders who had been alive then did not understand why they were sent away.

But now was not the time to ruminate on the past, now Marek was being attacked by the largest ruffian Chief Rulak of Ilin could find. 

Urag swung at Marek’s shoulder. Marek was barely able to block with an overhead side defense that his swordmaster had taught him long ago in his first lesson. The current match, magmations had come from all across Eugethal and from many different clans and were now sitting in the benches. 

Marek pushed his katana forward but failed as his opponent had the advantage of having two times more muscle and strength than Marek. Marek frowned as Urag pushed hard into the clash forcing Marek downward and towards the wall.

Urag smiled as he pushed forward, “looks like I got you now Flaren scum.”

Each time Marek tried to get out of the clash Urag would brutally beat Marek into submission. They were now right up against the wall and Urag began laughing hysterically, “you are surely beat now Marek, it seems you are no match for the mighty Urag, your apparent skill is just for show then. You don’t have real skill, just luck!”

Marek smiled. Urag cocked his head, “why are you smiling? You are about to lose!”

Marek chuckled, “sorry Urag, it is just that it is very humorous that you think I am going to lose, when in truth it is you who is about to lose.”

Urag groaned, “I misspoke-”

“As you apparently do a lot, it does seem hard to think in that thick head you have there,” said Marek nonchalantly, “oh, continue, I didn't mean to interrupt.”

Urag growled, “I misspoke, your skill seems to be angering your opponents and then doing basic moves to get them to underestimate you.”

Oh no, thought Marek, apparently Urag was actually smart in some ways. 

Urag smiled as he pushed even more, making Marek block faster and faster, wearing him out. Urag pushed his katana into Marek’s and slammed the two into the wall making them fall away from their masters.

Marek cursed. The crowd booed. Urag swung his arm in order to punch Marek in the gut. Marek ducked quickly making for his sword. Urag kicked Marek in the back, making Marek roll towards the sword instead, which was a much slower way to do it. 

Urag followed him and stepped on Marek’s foot. Marek growled as he grabbed Urag’s leg and tried to make Urag stumble which worked. Marek began to stand up but Urag slammed his large arm into Marek’s legs making Marek crumple. 

The crowd booed, ooed and got very confused. As they kept making each other stumble, Jarom Fellowmancer, Marek’s brother, sat in the stands next to his father, Yerald Fellowmancer. Jarom and his father sat in the top box where three of the other chiefs sat with their second sons. Magmation law dictated that it was the second sons who got the right to be chief after their father. 

The top box was far above the arena in the center which should have prevented ash from getting into the arena but did not. The height had long ago scared Jarom to death, but by now he was used to it. He had had to since his own brother was his clan’s champion. 

Jarom put his hand on his helmet which stood on a small table next to them. The top box had a glass floor and walls which allowed them to see through and watch the game. Yerald Fellowmancer sat in a chair of a similar style to Jarom’s chair. Yerald was a muscular man who had a faint wispy mustache and a mess of graying dark hair on his head. The other chiefs were younger and fitter, especially Chief Rulak who had organized this fight with Yerald. 

Filak Wallomtar sat next to Jarom, Filak was a good friend even if he was the second son of the Toron clan. Filak was a good duelist and even Marek said so. Down below Marek kicked Urag in the shins making Urag whine in pain.

“He’s doing well,” said Yerald softly.

Jarom nodded, “he is, the training is paying off, the extended time with Master Kaliel worked.”

Yerald smiled, “that boy loves his sword more than his father, not that I blame him,” Yerald sighed sadly, “I was the one who encouraged him to spend his time earning our clan glory.”

Down below Marek slammed the pommel of his katana which he had gotten back into Urag’s helmeted head. When had they gotten their katanas back? Thought Jarom, he should pay more attention. 

Meanwhile, Marek pulled off his helmet, the sweat was getting too much. Urag tossed his aside as well. Marek grinned and rushed, his katana held forward.

Urag slammed his katana into Marek’s shoulder then swiftly moved it to Marek’s side. Marek blocked the side blow and then lunged for Urag’s shoulder. Urag wasn't able to block as Marek’s sword was above Urag’s. Urag instead jumped aside and swung at Marek’s legs. Marek blocked and swung his blade at Urag’s head. Urag hastily blocked.

Urag moved his katana back and went into obsidian stance, a defensive form with his sword out front. Marek thrusted and Urag smoothly blocked and threw Marek out of his stance and sent his sword forward.

Marek swiftly blocked and moved into volcano stance, but just as he was about to slam his sword into Urag a horn sounded and the crowd clapped. Urag sighed, “that’s time.”

Marek nodded, he took off his helmet and held it in his hand. Urag did the same, revealing his squarish purple face and gray hair. Marek shook Urag’s hand reluctantly as an official came onto the field.

The official had a long beard that masked scars