KAZAMIR NJAL
"The Champion"
The crowd had gone almost completely silent. A hushing sensation that made Kazamir Njal's ears ring with intesity. His bloodied face and pounding head finally made him realize the blows he had taken while in the open stadium, his vision blurred and darkening in one eye as it swelled shut. His sword had pierced is opponent straight in the chest, the man falling to his knees, grasping at the sharpened steel with intent to begin begging.
Kazamir pulled out the sword, bloodied and heavy in his left hand, the body falling limp face-down in the sand. Kazamir turned to the crowd, the ringing only beginning to increase more as the loudness of the people cheered and hollered. The sight was one that not many saw - and Kazamir had fought his way to experience it, though not for himself. His mother - a woman with barely anything to live for - had requested this of him.
"Fight like your father," she would say. "Fight truthful and penalizing."
The words replayed in his head.
He had finally done it.
"Kazamir Njal!" A booming voice echoed, the crowd clamor silenced. "The King's Champion!" The man exclaimed, raising his hands in the air as if to notify the people to begin cheering again. Kazamir knew that if it had been his opponent, they would be doing the same. He was aware of the opportunity of living to be a Champion and the excitement it brought, but he also was aware of the obvious fact that he could easily be replaced at next year's tournaments.
This would only be the beginning.
Moments later, Kazamir found himself in a medical-like room. Filled to the roof with books and elixers, the smell of rosemary and flesh permeating the air, Kazamir felt a stinging sensation.
"Your eye will heal in a couple of weeks," the shaman spoke gently. Her words were quite soft, like a pillow after a long day of training. Kazamir nodded, squinting at her with his good eye.
She appeared to be roughly his age, perhaps a little younger, with raven dark hair and bright green eyes. Her skin was tanned and clear like a summer's day with no future forecast.
"Thank you," he finally returned.
The woman placed a few more bandages on Kazamir - his eye and his shoulder in particular. His opponent was not afraid of a fight, and he admired him for that. It was good entertainment when two fighters could put on a show, but Kazamir always asked himself the same question; at what cost? His mother would be glad to hear the news, yes, but it would not help her. He would not be able to get her out of the hole that he had left her in almost a decade ago. Outside of the kingdom, she was simply a nobody, and furthermore, her postion of being a nobody would not allow her to reach what she wanted - a life.
The woman rose from her seat next to Kazamir, his shirtless frame bruised and scratched, beaten and battered. He looked at her - the best he could - as she returned with a small glass bottle of a black liquid.
"This is a tea," she said. "Drink it every few hours. It will help with the pain." She handed it to him, Kazamir holding it in his hand. He inspected it for a moment before setting it on the wooden table beside him, seemingly handmade with care. He slide his undershirt on gently, slightly groaning at the pain that radiated throughout his body, especially his abdomen.
"Thank you," Kazamir finally repeated again before he would leave the room, standing alone in a long corridor of the northern wing of the kingdom. It was where mostly the servants lived - other places like the library and shaman's quarters were there as well. Places untouched and unseen, not many would come wandering. He knew that he was better off to stay in place, but Kazamir had a place to be - his new bed.
A smaller older man had approached him. He was frail and hunched over, his back obviously not one to age with him.
"Boy, boy," he said. He grinned, most of his teeth missing. Kazamir appeared like a giant in front of him.
"This way. The King and Prince wants to talk to you," he said. He gestured, beginning to walk in front of him. Kazamir clenched his jaw, appreciating the words that the royalty was pleased enough with him to talk only few hours after his fight, but he craved - no, longed - for a bed and rest.
Kazamir didn't say anything and followed behind the man, watching him closely. He was skeptical of him for some reason, but couldn't quite place a finger on why. Kazamir brushed the thought off, thinking of it to be adrenaline and his tired brain.
The man had finally stopped at large, heavy doors, two guards placed outside on either side. He raised his hand to knock, Kazamir glancing at the two knights. They nodded, almost bowing in a way, towards the Champion. He didn't say anything, but instead heard the doors creak open. It had been the meeting room, filled with maps and artifacts of war and adventure. Inside was a long table, tall chairs on either side and ends. Kazamir swallowed, walking inside. The doors were heavily shut behind him, slammed almost, causing him to slightly jump.
In front of him were the King and Prince.
"Your majestys," Kazamir said gruffly, nodding his head as a sign of respect. He looked around for a moment, appreciating the details of the room before his gaze landed upon the two nobles in front of him.
Spring Month: 1 
Day 
Heavy Rain
