Varanne sat in her workshop, humming a verse as she shaped the gemstone in her hand. The cutting wheel whirred away, almost as if it were in tune with her song. The air sparkled with fine gem dust as the morning sun shone through the window. Today would be a good day in her quiet little town.
Some time later, there was a knock on her door. Varanne raised an eyebrow. She rarely had early morning visitors. She was about to ignore it and go back to her work when the knock rang out again. She sighed, setting down her tools and the gem on her workbench.
“I’m on my way, just a moment!” she called, hauling herself out of her chair and marching over to the door. Upon opening it, she found herself so surprised by what she saw that she simply forgot to greet her visitor. The man before her was dressed in formal government clothes, the dust on them betraying a recent journey. He presented her with a letter, and spoke with the monotone voice one might expect of someone who has had to repeat various official statements for many, many years.
“Varanne of the Carvers’ Guild, you have been summoned to The Rings of Cinder to witness a dispute as an independent third party. The dispute is to be settled through trial by combat.
Your travelling expenses will be reimbursed upon your arrival at the capital, and you will be provided with accommodation. You will receive compensation for your time regardless of the outcome of the trial.
You are duty-bound to witness the proceedings to ensure that neither party nor their champions act in any way to jeopardise the integrity of the trial. You are hereby expected to depart for the capital with the utmost haste.”
She stood there, somewhat stunned. Trials like these were rare, and she certainly had never expected to see one, let alone be directly involved with it. She roused herself from her thoughts, took the offered letter, and nodded.
“I will heed the summons and leave for the capital as soon as I have made my preparations.”
He nodded in turn, adding, “Should you be ready to depart by the afternoon, you may join my caravan for its return journey. You will find us by the northern road leading into the town.”
He then turned to leave, his own duty now fulfilled. Varanne headed back inside, scrambling to pack and make ready for the journey. After a frantic few hours of activity, she made her way to the messenger’s caravan in time to join them for the trip to The Rings of Cinder.
The journey was long, if uneventful. Good weather and untroubled roads brought them to the capital on the sixth day of travel. Once there, Varanne ensured that her armour and formal wear were in good order. She was nervous, yet curious. As was customary, she hadn’t been informed what the dispute was about, but she figured she’d know soon enough. She sat down with her letter, practising the various things she may be required to say.
The day of the trial finally came, and she arrived at the arena alongside the two disagreeing parties, a man and a woman, as well as their respective champions, each with a Bruizer. The guards by the entrance ensured that they were all unarmed, and then allowed them entry.
She went to the spot on the grounds where a raised stone platform indicated where she and the disagreeing parties were supposed to stand, and the champions took up theirs, opposite each other and twenty paces apart. They appeared relaxed, which made sense. This was more or less just another day at work for them.
She cleared her throat and mustered as much authority as she could in her voice.
“I, Varanne of the Carvers’ Guild, will hereby oversee the trial by combat to settle the dispute between Tregg and Gunnvyr, both of the Delvers’ Guild. I swear to act with impartiality and to serve my duty in the proceedings. Champions, you may begin.”
As soon as she had given the go-ahead, the two Bruizers commenced their battle with fervour, their heavy limbs delivering thunderous blows and violent strikes, the arena resounding with the din of combat. Their trainers egged them on, guiding and advising their Bruizers through the fight. It was a sight unlike any that Varanne had ever seen before.
Something else managed to catch her attention. Through all the forceful spectacle, two voices grew louder and angrier, and eventually, Varanne couldn’t help but listen in, still watching the battle as she did.
“How could you possibly think I wouldn’t recognise my own handiwork!?” screamed the woman.
“You can’t be serious! You cannot mean to suggest that you simply own something so fundamental to our profession!?” the man shouted back.
“Oh dear.” Varanne thought, wondering if one had stolen something from the other.
“Don’t you even start!” the woman roared back, grabbing the man by his coat and shaking him around. “I know my own damn sweet roll recipe when I damn well see it!”
That last sentence echoed in Varanne’s head. Surely, she must’ve misheard? Her doubts faded as the woman continued.
“My ancestors created the first sweet rolls, it is a family tradition! Our family tradition, not yours!” she roared, the man’s previously reddened face growing ever paler, anger replaced with concern. Perhaps even fear? “You can’t just show up in town and duplicate them! You are no baker, you are a thief!”
Varanne couldn’t even begin to believe what she was hearing. Had she been dragged from her work, across the land, spending over a week travelling and making preparations, just to preside over a case of pastry recipe imitation?
As the two kept arguing, she couldn’t help but stare at them with a mix of confusion, anger, and sheer disdain. How could something like this possibly escalate to the point of having two noble creatures of the earth pummeling each other in order to determine who was right or wrong?
This went on for a long, long time until a particularly loud thud caused her to snap out of her somewhat annoyed reverie and return her gaze to the bout, the arguing pair not having noticed her staring during all that time. Gunnvyr’s champion, or rather his Bruizer, lay defeated on the arena floor.
Varanne quelled her emotions, once again mustering all of her authority, along with her composure.
“Having witnessed the bout, I hereby declare that Tregg’s champion has bested Gunnvyr’s representative, and henceforth, the dispute is settled in Tregg’s favour. The battle is ended, and you may bring your companions to the menders for care.”
Scarcely had she finished speaking before Gunnvyr screamed again, so loudly and furiously that Varanne couldn’t actually understand what she was trying to say. She tried to grab Varanne, but the guards swiftly apprehended her and dragged her away, still shouting all manner of obscenities.
Varanne turned to Tregg, her disgust must’ve been apparent on her face as the man shrank away before her.
“Really?” she asked.
“Well…” he swallowed nervously, seemingly ashamed. “It seemed righteous at the time…”
“Right.” she sighed, turned, and left. She wanted absolutely nothing more to do with any of this idiocy.
Outside, she was surprised to find the man who had delivered her summons. It seemed that he’d been waiting for her, though this time he wore civilian garb, presumably off duty.
“Varanne, I would like to personally apologise for this whole mess.” his tone was courteous, but there was a hint of smouldering annoyance in the man’s voice.
She spoke before he could continue. “Apology accepted, but I’m off to have an ale and head home.” She gave him a polite nod and left; it wasn’t his fault after all. Still, she had no interest in spending any more time on any of this nonsense.
Through her irritation, she couldn’t help but think it was all a bit funny. All this pomp and circumstance, protocol, and a battle on the arena floor, all for something so incredibly mundane. She chuckled to herself as she headed for the nearest tavern, pushed open the doors, and ordered herself a well-deserved drink.