The Ultimate Showdown
In the coming months, my daily schedule was all about throwing knives and hand-to-hand. We even had a more mechanically minded Saddle Arabian set up a mechanism that moved the minotaur dummy that I was training with around, both erratically and in patterns. I knew it still wasn't a perfect substitute for the real thing, but I trained enough that I was pretty accurate with it. But as they say, practice makes perfect, so it got to the point where I was pretty flawlessly accurate with the knives in relaxed conditions, which hopefully meant I could be deadly with them when under stress too.
The six months came and went faster than I would have liked. I'd tell more of them, but there isn't much to tell aside from the fact that, every single day, I could be found practicing whatever I was recently taught or polishing up the skills I already had. I didn't drop my job with Turgis, but that was only when he was too busy to tend to the blacksmith on his own... which in fact wasn't that rare: true to his guess, he did get a lot of business when people started figuring out that he was arming both sides.
There was one thing that I couldn't shake no matter what I did, though, and it was the increased feeling of dread. I don't know if any of you can possibly relate to this, but the more days that went by, the more I started to get this sneaking suspicion that... well, that I wouldn't be getting out of the match walking. I mean, yes, if I was going to get in a fight with a band of Diamond Dogs again, I'd win. Easily. But Purgle wasn't exactly a slouch in the fighter's department, and not as stupid as a dog that gets confused by an imitation of a film skit.
But Lord knows I had to try.
It was the evening before the fight that I was starting to really get worried. Bludworth and I were reclining against one of the walls of the training area that Turgis had set up, silent for the most part. Oswald was asleep snuggled up next to my stomach, leaving me to brew what I had in my head. It was Bludworth that broke the silence first. "I shouldn't even bother asking if you're nervous about tomorrow, should I?"
I half chuckled, half scoffed and poked at the ground idly. "No. Not really. You know darned well I am, probably the best out of everyone. The way things are going, I'm gonna freaking die tomorrow; cut down at the age of..." I scratched my head. "Well, I'm not sure how long I've been gone, but I think I'm about twenty-three or twenty-four."
"How long does your species generally live?"
"Round about seventy-five to eighty. A hundred if we're really lucky, and almost never in very good health." I shrugged and picked up Reginald. A new carving representing me fighting Purgle's posse had appeared. It'd probably have a brand new one tomorrow if I survived. A small smile, not born of any real humor, crossed my face. "What do you think are my odds?"
"The betting odds for you are two-fifty to one. It'd probably be worse, but nobody is sure what a human is capable of."
I laid my head back with a grimace in my face. "Wonderful."
"Everybody in my clan did place bets on you, though." Bludworth copied the smirk I felt growing on my mouth. "If you do win, we'll be the richest clan in these parts."
I chuckled. "I'll try to win, then, for you guys."
Neither of us were really quite sure what to say after that, and we both knew that any banter we shared wouldn't help my nerves very much since all it would come back to in the end was my impending doom, so Bludworth and I just sat there in silence.
Our palpable quiet was broken when we heard somebody coming towards us. That somebody turned out to be Turgis. I gave him a two fingered wave and a grunt of greeting. "Lyin' around like a dog, are ye?" he grumbled. "You 'n Bludworth here talkin' 'bout yer feelin's like a coupla pony mares?"
"You have absolutely no idea how many mares I know that would take offense to that, old man," I threw back at him. "But we're just relaxing, really, I think we have a right after showing some results." I tapped Reginald on the ground at the same time that I lifted a finger to a pair of knives stuck halfway to the handle on the minotaur dummy.
Turgis scoffed. "Ah see, 'en. Well, if ye wanna 'ave an advantage on th' morrow, Ah'd suggest ye follow me. Ah've been makin' somthin' Ah think ye'll like."
Curious, I stood up and followed him into his shop, which at this point was brightly lit with both torches and the fire from the forge. And lo and behold, right next to the forge, there was a set of armor. One that looked like it would fit... me.
The armor was a combination of leather and more lightweight metalwork, a majorly hardened leather chestpiece covering a mail shirt. The lower half was made up of roughly the same setup except it had some metalwork protecting the front of my legs. The arms were protected by a leather shirt with metalwork down the length, capped off with leather gloves. To top it off, a lightweight helmet. I raised an eyebrow and turned to Turgis. "When did you find the time to make this?"
He walked up to his creation. "What, it's not like Ah made it all at once. Plus, there are obviously parts tha' Ah had ta import." He tapped on a leather glove. "Leather ain' really mah specialty."
I raised an eyebrow as I walked to his side. "So... you just made this for me?"
Turgis snorted, bathing the helmet he'd picked up with steam. "Don't ye be daft, laddie. Ah know yer givin' me lotsa business, but it's not like Ah'm just gonna give ye a full set of armor like this. Ah've been taking the cost outta yer pay since you accepted this death match." He tossed the helmet in my direction with a smirk, and I caught it with ease: it was surprisingly light. "But once again, once the people around 'ere see that Ah made this, it'll be great for business."
I returned his smirk. "You're going to have to find a new apprentice, though, one way or the other."
"You're not staying in Schunie if you win?" Bludworth questioned.
I snorted myself and shook my head. "No way, no how. The only reason I've been here for more than two months is because I didn't want to run into Purgle out there." I plopped the helmet onto my head. I was delighted to find that it was just as lightweight in my head as it was on my hand, and it felt sturdy, too, without hindering my vision much. "I suppose that, since you've been taking this out of my pay, I get to keep it?"
"It'll still cost a little more for that. Maybe another five 'undred dinars."
I shrugged and began inspecting the rest of it. "As far as I'm concerned, we got a deal."
"Yes, very well,” Bludworth cut in, “but how are you going to carry it? It might be lightweight during the match, but walking potentially hundreds of miles with it on is a different story."
I jerked my thumb behind me towards the city proper. "There's a unicorn out there who does extension spells on bags. I can fit all of this in my backpack and it won't affect the weight as much." I snorted and took the helmet off again. "Because magic, I guess.” I never thought an empty bag for cutie mark would be something so awesome. My smile fell and I put the helmet back on the stand with a sigh. "Of course, that's all depending on whether or not I survive tomorrow."
Turgis clicked his tongue and took the helmet back in his hands. "As Ah said before, laddie: if'n ya can't win out there, make 'im regret enterin' the ring wi' ye."
My smirk returned. "That I can do."
* * * *
The next morning arrived far too quickly for my liking, but I got a sleeping potion beforehand, so I was very well rested by the time the match was set to begin. Turgis brought my armor to the fighting arena and helped me strap all of it on. True, it wasn't quite as strong as Purgle's plate, but the light weight meant that I wouldn't be encumbered and losing the speed that I had over him.
I tightened my grip on Reginald with one hand and checked my knife belt with the other. Everything was as set as it could be. I closed my eyes and breathed deeply to calm my nerves while the two of us walked to the arena exit that I might... no, that would be coming out of. Turgis noticed and patted me on the back. "Yer gonna do fine, boy. If ye do get in a position where yer about ta lose, Purgle'll make it quick. If yer down and he draws it out, he's gonna lose a lotta respect."
You may think that was a depressing piece of information, but in my state, it was actually reassuring. "Well," I cracked my neck and started jogging back and forth to get a feel for the armor's weight while I was moving, "that isn't going to happen, is it? I don't know if I have it in me to kill him, but I did not come this far to die for his ego."
I received another slap on the back as Turgis chuckled. "That's the spirit; yer gonna do fine out there, laddie. Just remembered what ye learned, and ye'll be fine."
I gave him a thin smile. "Thanks. Just..." It faded as I looked up to the stands. "Make sure Oswald is taken care of, if... if things don't go so well, okay?"
"Yer bird is gonna be fine," Turgis assured me. "Purge ain't gonna get his hands on it, Ah can promise ye that. If'n ye do die, which ye won't, Ah'll jes' say ye left me the bird. He can't have it then as per Schunie's law, because it wasn't yer property."
I adjusted my helmet. "Thanks. Still, I don't think Oswald would go for being his pet anyway. I don't think that's what phoenixes do."
A loud blast from a horn broke through our conversation, meaning it was time to begin. Turgis gave me a nod and walked away to go take care of Oswald. We had to make sure that he wouldn't fly into the arena: this was strictly one-on-one, and outside interferences wouldn't be tolerated.
With Turgis gone, I began walking through the gate on my side of the arena. I was met with the deafening roar of the crowd gathered inside the stadium: minotaurs, ponies, griffins, diamond dogs, and whatever other species bothered to show up were on the stands, cheering on their feet or hooves, roaring their excitement. Later, I found out they numbered at thirty thousand in all, while at least five thousand more were outside the stadium. There were reporters with non-flash cameras in the audience, too, and I imagine they would be set up for quite a while with the pictures they took.
But that wasn't important to me at the time: what was important was my opponent, Purgle, who was strutting out of his end with a mud-munching grin on his face. His chest was so puffed out I imagine there was strain on his spine from it, over one shoulder was his gigantic battle axe, and in the other was a crossbow almost as large. I had heard from Turgis that crossbows were allowed and considered honorable, but completely relying on it was frowned upon, particularly if it was a killing blow.
I remembered the words to a song my grandfather was particularly fond of that I think applied well right then: "O Lord, you delivered Daniel from the lion’s den, also delivered Jonah from the belly of the whale and then, three Hebrew children from the fiery furnace so The Good Book do declare. Now Lord... if you can't help me... for goodness sakes, don't you dare help him." Sure, it had my own twist on it, but that's life.
The two of us stopped in the middle of the arena, about four feet apart. Purgle noticed me peering down at his crossbow and widened his smug smile. "Do you like it, human? I made it myself. It's twice as large and packs twice the power as the average model." He motioned to his back and, I swear to you, he winked at me. "I have one of those too, actually, just in case."
We were soon joined by another minotaur, who was wearing a sort of shirt on his upper half with the emblem of Schunie on it – a pair of bull horns in front of a balled fist – with a unicorn by his side. The two stopped beside us and Purgle gave them both a curt nod. The minotaur gave signal to the unicorn, who ignited his horn, and a flash of light appeared around the minotaur's throat.
When he spoke, his voice boomed across the whole stadium, but without making all of us in the arena deaf. "Good morning, everyone, and welcome to the six hundred and thirty-seventh Schunie death match!" The crowd erupted into cheers, but the minotaur, who I now recognized as a referee, waved his hand, and they quieted down. "Today's match is between Chieftain Purgle of Clan Banag and TD Harrison Powell of Clan America!"
I have to admit, I almost laughed out loud at the "Clan America" thing, but I wasn't really sure what else to tell when I was asked, so I went with that. It was close enough.
"Now," the ref continued, "before we move on, the two combatants must shake hands as a sign of respect." He motioned to the two of us. "Go ahead, please."
Purgle put down his crossbow and his hand snapped out, that smirk never leaving his face. I took a deep breath and, to the surprise of both the ref and Purgle, folded my arms.
"No."
The entire stadium 'ooooh'ed, and the drone of small talk from before was replaced by an almost palpable silence. I imagined that more than a few jaws were on the floor: Purgle's surely seemed to be going that way.
The referee, was the first one to recover from his shock after a few seconds, moved to clean his ear with his little finger. "Er... I'm sorry, what was that?"
"I said no. I'm not going to shake his hand."
"But it's the proper way to do things!" the referee insisted. "It shows that you respect him even in your fight to the death!"
"And there lies my reason," I replied calmly. "I don't respect a thing about this guy.” I folded my arms again. "In fact, he doesn't respect me in the least either, so it would be essentally useless on both ends. To him, I'm sport: he doesn't respect me any more than he respects a hog he'd kill for dinner." I turned my head back to Purgle, who was still frozen in front of me with his hand extended. "So no, I will not be shaking his hand. If he wants somebody to shake his hand, he'll have to do it himself."
Purgle's shocked expression melted away, being replaced by a growing, controlled fury. He lowered his hand and balled it into a fist. "So be it," he growled as he leaned his head in a few inches closer to my face. "I will enjoy watching you beg for your death, human."
My eyes narrowed as well and I copied his gesture, almost to the point where our noses were touching. "In. Your. Dreams."
Purgle snorted steam at me and turned around. I did the same, moving towards the small table that had been placed on my end of the arena, where weapons could be stored and backup weapons had been provided. Purgle had one of his own in his corner. On my table, there were a pair of throwing axes, a spear just a little shorter than me with a barbed tip – more of a harpoon, really – and a short sword. Now, I hadn't been trained to use any of those, but if push came to shove, I could improvise.
Knowing I was set for the moment, I turned around to see Purgle setting not only his giant crossbow down, and a smaller one like he said he had as well. I sighed, since I knew what a crossbow bolt could do if it hit, and how little attention it paid to armor. If he got a shot in with the larger one, the bolt would most likely not be found in my body. Purgle adjusted his axe in his hands and turned back to face the center of the arena. His smug grin had returned – I think he figured that this one wouldn't be a long, drawn out battle.
Well, I planned to make him wrong about that.
I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and grasped Reginald in my hands. I glanced down to check the throwing knives and looked up just in time to see him jogging my way.
The death match had officially begun.
The roar of the crowd returned as I charged him in response. I knew that these first few seconds were going to be critical, maybe even deciding the outcome of the battle all on their own. At least it would set the tone for the whole thing and give us a hint of just who had the advantage here.
As we neared each other, Purgle raised the axe high up and swung it down where he predicted I'd be. I sidestepped to the right and swung Reginald upwards at his head, connecting with his horn, and he howled in pain, giving me a few precious seconds to adjust my grip on Reginald and sweep at his tiny legs.
He went tumbling to the ground, and that's when I started wailing on him.
Purgle was down and obviously had no training to fight like that, so I was allowed to slam Reginald into him as hard as I wanted at my leisure. Each swing sunk into the joints of his armor, and each thrust practically denting the plate. I'd learned that a Clovevellian staff is even tougher than the average metal alloys smithies use for armor in Schunie, and that was an upper hand I was quick to press. When he tried to roll to the side, I smashed one of his horns again. The blow clearly hurt, as he moved to grasp his head again, but he still had enough presence of mind to push off of the ground, shoving me off as consequence, and roll away from me.
Purgle swung the axe at me from very close with one hand, and I barely dodged the shaft in time to get away without a fractured cranium, though he did leave a long, shallow gash on the back of my armor with the rear tip of the blade. He used those few seconds to jump back up on his hooves, and then he began swinging wildly. The blows to his horns had disoriented him a lot, but his strength or the edge of that axe naturally weren't affected, so I backed off. With each slash, I took a step back; occasionally I tried something like moving to the side or charging between sweeps, but he adjusted to what he saw and swung wider or faster, which prevented my moves.
Unfortunately, I failed to watch where I was going and felt my back hit the wall behind me. Purgle pressed his advantage and swung down at me with all of his might, and I dodged to the left just in time to duck under the swing and avoid being cleaved from my left shoulder to my right hip. A loud thunk filled my ears as his axe buried itself in the wood of the wall.
He realized his error and tried to pull it out, giving me precious seconds to stab Reginald at one of his heels. He grunted in pain, but stayed upright, and did something I should have predicted: he slammed the fist not holding the axe handle into my chest. I was sent off in a low arc, and even with the leather and the padding serving as a cushion for the blunt force, it did hurt a mite. Reginald went flying much farther, though, leaving me without my primary weapon.
Purgle cackled and, before I could recover, he grabbed me by my head and lifted me into the air. To make matters worse, he began slamming his other fist into my gut, repeatedly. The armor took the worst of it, but it still hurt a lot on top of the fact that I couldn't breathe with his palm in my face.
I would lose if I didn't do something soon, I knew it.
In a quick moment of clarity, I remembered what else I had, and reached behind me for my flint knife, thrusting it full force into the center of wrist holding me as soon as my fingers closed around the handle, right where the bones of Purgle's forearm met, and he dropped me with a scream.
I rolled forward to counter the velocity of my drop, and leaped onto his back at the end. He snarled and snorted just like an angry rodeo bull and began slamming me against the back wall, but I was near the back of his head, in a good position to hold firm. If I could do what I was thinking of, it would give me a major advantage. I quickly scanned his armor, and found just what I was looking for: a small opening on the upper back of his breastplate, underneath which were the straps that held it firm against his body.
Bingo.
I slammed the knife into the crack, relishing how good of a job Turgis and I had done when upgrading this, and it slid inside no problem. When I pulled down, it severed the straps, and the armor detached, leaving him with his breastplate hanging awkwardly off of him. Now it was a hindrance that would restrict his movements.
As you might expect, I couldn't hang on forever, something Purgle proved when he grabbed me with his good hand by my arm around his neck and tossed me to the ground... but not before I hooked my other hand's fingers under the back of his helmet: as I went down, the whole thing came off, leaving him without it. I didn't land perfectly well with how I'd been tossed, so while I recovered, he pulled his breastplate off.
I used the little time I had to throw the helmet away from the arena, towards the stands, at a place he couldn't reach to put it back on. Remember when I said there was no interloping allowed? Well, if the helmet was that far, the only way for Purgle to get it back would be if one of the spectators threw it back in the arena, and that counts as interference.
Unarmed, almost naked and with only one good hand, Purgle began running back towards his table. I knew that there was only one thing he could be going for: his crossbows. I couldn't get to him in time before he got to it, and I couldn't throw a knife into his back, all of which left me in a rather unsavory position, so I did like him and ran back over to rearm myself – in my case, that amounted to picking Reginald back from the ground. Just as I did, he picked up his giant crossbow, threw the front of the stock over his injured forearm, pointed it at me and pulled the trigger. I threw myself back first at the ground, and the bolt whizzed over my head. It embedded itself halfway into the wood wall; it would have gone clear through me if it had hit, probably without even a change in its trajectory.
I leapt to my feet, already pulling one of the throwing knives from my belt. Purgle just sat where he was, holding what remained of his trump card: the wood it was made out of couldn't handle all the tension of such a powerful crossbow, and so the string's sheer force snapped the front bow clean off.
I raised my throwing knife just as he recovered, and threw it as hard as I could. I scored a direct hit into his shoulder, but sadly, it was the one on his bad side, where I'd already messed his hand up.
With a howl, Purgle grabbed at the knife, allowing me to run forward with Reginald and thrust it headlong into his stomach. He curled into himself, out of air, and I used the other end to smash his nose in. I felt his upper lip cut on the inside from the blow when it was crushed between the stick and his teeth. But as you know, good things don't usually last, and he caught Reginald in his hand during my backswing and pulled it out of my grasp. I dropped my focus on the staff, though, since I knew using it relied a good deal on a level of agility that Purgle simply didn't have, and pulled a second knife out.
At that moment I didn't care if I was being outright lethal about it. It was Purgle or me: either I died on that stinking arena, or he did, and I was definitely not going to be vulture food, trophy room decoration or grave filler. That was the only thought in my head as I gripped the knife, jammed into the side of his stomach with all the force I had, and pulled it towards the center. Had it been a creature with softer skin, I'm sure I would have disemboweled him, but alas, that's not what happened: the blade just wiggled inside the puncture. Minotaur skin is tough, and I mean tough when I say it.
It wasn't enough to keep Purgle off guard, though: I felt an elbow hit me in the back and a hoof kick me forwards. The impacts sent me reeling, dazed, and I only recovered in time to see him pointing the smaller crossbow at me.
He fired.
Pain shot through my body, right on my stomach in particular, and the force of the bolt knocked me on my side. Turgis' craftsmanship showed in that most of the bolt's energy was dispersed through the padding, but as it was, the bolt had lodged itself almost all the way into my gut. if I hadn't been wearing armor, that would've been my end, easily. Even then, I almost found myself keeling over. It freaking hurt, a lot more than the time I had been stabbed by that Diamond Dog, Watt. That rat hadn't smashed through two of my ribs when he stabbed me.
At the very least I could breathe – Purgle hadn't hit my lung. That would have been an instant incapacitation for sure.
Gathering the last of my strength, I pushed myself to my feet and grabbed another knife. Purgle was clutching at his own wounds, giving me time to throw the knife at him with my right hand. It connected just under his collarbone, but my weakened state meant that it didn't go in as far.
It didn't matter.
I pulled another knife and threw it. It grazed his arm. Another knife missed entirely. I reached behind me for my final knife and, as hard as my wounded body would allow, I threw it vertically. That one did the trick: instead of being stopped by Purgle's ribs, it sailed between them. I don't know what I hit, but he fell to the ground all the same, and that was enough.
I groaned in agony and, shuffling like the living dead, moved to pick up Reginald, then turned around to walk back to the tunnel I had come out of. Even if Purgle was still able to move, my own pain and blood loss meant that I was done acting out. My only hope would be to outlast him, wait for him to fall unconscious first.
I'd nearly reached the entrance when I felt another sudden, sharp pain shoot through my back, and I toppled forwards. I was vaguely aware of the audience gasping.
"… shot him in the back!"
"… low blow..."
"… no honor... chieftain anymore..."
The chatter came in and out, and most of the time I couldn't hear them right. Not that I was focusing on it: my concern was something else entirely. "Don't... don't fall asleep, TD," I muttered weakly to myself. "S-stay... awake..."
* * * *
To my surprise, my eyes fluttered open. I felt that my armor was off, and I was lying in a comfortable, warm bed, and when I tried to shift my body, pain shot through me, so I wisely decided not to move.
I heard a snort beside me. "Ah, the fearsome warrior has awoken."
I glance to my side to see a smirking Bludworth sitting next to my bed, straddling a chair with his arms crossed over its back. I cracked him a weak smile. "So fearsome, he's completely unable to move a finger. I'm surprised I'm alive at all."
"I understand. It was pretty touch and go for a while. Another minute and you would have bled out." He motioned beside me. "That's quite the bird you've got there. He's weepy, but he's something else."
Something squawked happily and nuzzled the side of my head. I turned to see Oswald perched on my bed post. I chuckled and scratched his head feathers. "How are you doing, buddy?"
He chirruped.
"Boy am I glad I found you." I try to sit up, but more pain comes with that. "Geez, you'd think that the pain would be gone with his tears," I say through clenched teeth.
"Phoenix tears only do so much, it seems. They stopped the bleeding and mended your ribs, but getting the quarrels out needed surgery." He held up his hand, revealing the two crossbow bolts that almost killed me.
I gingerly took them in my own. "It's odd, holding something that just about killed me... even if it's not the first time." My gaze flickered over to Bludworth. "Speaking of that... Purgle?"
He shut up completely, a subtle action that said all I needed to know. I nodded and handed the bolts back over to him, and he put them in my backpack's front pocket.
"When can I get out of here?" I asked.
"From what the doctors tell me, you're going to be up and about in three days. You should be all fine then.” He zipped the pocket shut and turned back my way. “Your hospital bills have been taken completely out of your bank account, as have the cost of the repairs to your armor, its purchase price and that of the throwing knives as well." He smirked at me. "You only have about sixty dinars left."
"I'll just exchange them for some gryphs when I get out of here." I took a deep breath and leaned back against my pillow.
~~~~
I put my backpack on the table and open one of the flaps, reach inside and pull out the two bolts. "These are them. Not the most pleasant experience, I tell ya."
Twilight ignites her horn and levitates the two items over to her. She stares blankly at them, as do the other ponies around her. "Wow," she whispers. "The way they're barbed at the end..."
I snort. "Especially made to cause even more damage when pulled out. Imagine what it's like to be shot by two of those."
Twilight turns a little green at the prospect, hurrying to give them back to me. "I'll pass..."
I chuckle, but my gaze lands on Applejack, who is frowning with her forelegs crossed. "Ah don't get somethin'. If this Purgle feller was all 'bout honor and that kinda stuff, why would he shoot ya in the back like that, 'specially when he knew it'd hurt his clan?"
I sigh and shrug. "If I had to guess it's because he knew that he had already lost. If he was going down, he was taking me with him. In terms of his clan, well, he most likely didn't care. He was going out and wouldn't deal with the fallout of killing me like that." I shrug again. "That's the best I can figure, anyway."
~~~~
As per the doctor's guesses, I was out of bed in three days, completely rested, healed and ready to go. I decided to wear my chain-mail shirt underneath my regular clothes, just as an added level of protection: it wasn't too heavy and I didn't know what I'd be dealing with, so it was good to have it on.
Bludworth walked me to the gates of Schunie after I was ready to go and had exchanged my money for gryphs, cash that the griffins would take once I got there. Turgis would have tagged along, but he said 'Ah ain't shuttin' down fer a half-hour ta deal wi' some dumb goodbye speech.'
Fair enough, I guess.
When we reached the front gates, we stopped and turned to each other. "Well, I guess this is goodbye." I extended my hand and Bludworth shook it. "Thanks. I couldn't have made it without your help."
Bludworth smiled lightly at me. "You be careful out there. Don't get some griffin hunting party to go after you for the same reason Purgle did."
I went stiff at Purgle's name, and my jaw tightened. Bludworth must have noticed, because his face fell too and he looked away uncomfortably. "Just take care of yourself, okay?"
"I didn't come this far to die now."
With one final two fingered salute, I adjusted my grip on Reginald and walked out of the city.
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Omg yes!
As im reading im thinking what if jack of blades was fighting lol fable ftw
Good chapter mon, keep em commin no matter how frequent.
epic, dude is becomming more famous then celestia or the mane six if he keeps this up
This chapters name, The Ultimate Showdown, immediately I went to youtube and typed:
The Ultimate Showdown of Ultimate Destiny. Success!
By the by, shouldn't he get a lot of fame and money?
I really enjoyed this update! Just to be clear, Purgle did die right?
3006798 Well he didn't be on himself and most of his money went to hospital bills and his armor anyway. On top of that, he's not really a 'fame' kind of guy. he wanted to slip away relatively unnoticed from the start.
3006812 What do you think?
That chapter title...
THIS IS THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN OF ULTIMATE DESTINY!!
It's finally here, the new chapter.
Chapter: IT'S ME, BRONIES! ("Oh, son of a bi-WHAT?") IT'S ME, BRONIES! IT WAS ME! ALL ALONG, BRONIES!
Your minotaurs have inspired me and managed to solve an issue I had when planning out something for my fics, heh... heheh. Thank you for inspiration.
Actually, a chain mail shirt is incredibly heavy. I know. I've worn them. They are heavier than a breastplate. Then again, a breastplate usually leaves the lower stomach unprotected, while a chain mail shirt goes down to your knees usually. Plus all the weight rests n your shoulders as opposed to being mostly spread around the areas they cover (depends on the straps on the breast plate). It would make more sense for him to wear the leather armor, bracers, and greaves.
Yay violence!
I would like to edit for you, however, I'm afraid that I would prefer reading the story and not knowing what might happen.
So what happen to Purge? did he got exile or something?
I did not see the Godzilla, nor Batman, Chuck Norris, Abraham Lincoln. Nor this is Tokyo.
I want my money back.
3006847 Well, TD did say that it was light, and these are minotaur smiths in an alternate dimension...
A cop-out? Maybe, but this is the land of magical talking ponies.
3006874
Of course:
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3006880 I know. What's worse is that I've gotten conflicting information about that. I've been told by some that it's light, and some that it's the opposite. Having never worn it myself (and it's really too late now to change it and would make no sense) I can only go off of what benefits the story the most. Also keep in mind that TD is WAY stronger now. It would be easier for him to ear it than, say, me.
I would love to have more Wanderings chapters to come out, It is my second favorite universe by you The other one being The secret life of rarity.
...maybe I shouldn't have suggested a crossbow in the last chapter...
So... he won. Which means Purgle's dead. Good riddance. I'm surprised the others didn't make TD the clan chief, as that's how it usually works.
What a gruesome chapter! Well done, my friend.
3006894 yeah, because that's something that TD would go for.
3006889
I fight in full armor twice a week if not more. I sorta kinda know the weight of average chainmail, along with other pieces of armor. Hell, I could probably defeat TD at his current stage of combat readiness, assuming I have just the fighting kit I own now. Then again, he has not fought against shield and sword techniques. Nor an armored opponent who is used to taking heavy hits from round wooden objects, duct tape wrapped or not.
Then again, some types of chainmail are RELATIVELY light, but offer a lot less protection vs. cutting implements and none vs. bludgeoning implements...
Probably too late. But I can do being your editor.
Damn. I hate being spoiler but I know a heck of a lot about commas :/
Hmmmm, Saddle Arabians, their culture isn't decvled into often. Any chance we'll be seeing those horses?
3006903 I didn't me he'd go for it, just it means he's stronger, and they'd appear stronger with him a clan leader.
Still, that f[Buy Some Apples]ing c[Buy Some Apples]k sucking s[Buy Some Apples]g deserved it.
Great chapter!
Yes, more Wanderings! Also, is Gilda going to be showing up?
Since you don't have an editor anymore, does that mean we will have to wait even longer for the next chapter to come out?
3006926 A little.
3006942 Certainly not.
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Damn, that was an awesome fight.
... At least Purgle's pushing up daisies like the pansy he is...
That was freaking badass and now that they totally jinxed it at the end, TD is sooo bucked when he encounters griffins.
As for more frequent updates? BUCK yeah! I'm totally burned out on tragedy tag stories and a light hearted adventure like this one really hits the spot.
Dat title!!
New chapter so soon?! Well now, that certainly cheered me right back up!
ahhhhhh i was hoping for a highlander/ barbarian crazy ass warrior entrance!!!
I freakin love that song.
Ah...to be an editor for an awesome story. I wish I had the attention span for that. But alas, I'm a lazy bum.
Another great chapter, BW. Looking forward to more from you.
3006840 More like "The Ultimate Showdown Of TD's Destiny".
So people seem to have liked the fight sequence. That's good
Consider it a good-bye present, fillies and colts.
3006865hes kinda worm food... =/
3007345 Bad profile picture!!
Seriously creepy...
The minotaur died then?
I'm probably too late, but I'm free to do some editing.
I'm fine with being an editor. Also, yes, we need more frequent chapters and more badass TD.
3007385 What do you think?
Yes!!!! And just when I was running out of stories to read, this chapter came out. Can't wait for the next chapter
Fucking. Awesome.
Looking forward to next one...