Quetzalli has blood on her hands, no matter how justified the cause or what she had to do in the coliseum. There’s nothing to be done about the path she chose and it’s too late to start again. But she can at least give that chance to the people of Vesuvia or die trying.
“With bloodstained hands
I make amends
Stars always seem to fade
It's a little too late to start again” - “the End” by the Warning
First quote from “Warriors” by Imagine Dragons
background from the Arcana game with some light editing
I had a lot of fun making this little gladiator fic for @heartofnopal. If you haven’t already, go check out her blog and amazing comics/art of Quetzalli’s journey. Hope to write some more for this apprentice in the future!
Support: Buy Me a Coffee
***
A Shining Glimpse
~ 1k words
The ozone in the air was strong enough to make Quetzalli ignore the cruelty of the sun. No matter how much it scorched the stacked tiers of the concave arena, it was not meant to last.
The one thing Quetzalli could not ignore, however, was her opponent. He was massive. Like everything else, Quetzalli protected her anxiety behind an armor of stoicism. Let the audience keep believing that she was unfazed by the sheer girth and unnatural height of this barbarian warrior.
She tried to focus on what brought her comfort, what felt right in that moment. Things like the weight of her macuahuitl as she shifted the handle in her grip in an effort to subdue her spiking adrenaline. Quetzalli passed her tongue over her bottom lip, catching delicate charged particles that whispered of rain.
The hype-man gave his spiel, introduced Quetzalli by her official title – The Annihilator, followed by her opponent, The Hatch. A strange name for a rather hulking figure. Quetzalli would have expected something more like The Mountain, or the Pillar, or something equally large and imposing.
But wasn’t a hatch supposed to be a door? Quetzalli reassessed the barbarian. A door to what?
As if he could sense her scrutiny, The Hatch’s lip twisted into an ugly grin under the shadow of his craggy helm. Usually, Quetzalli would have stepped forward and shaken his hand as a show of respectful rivalry, but this brute was already swinging his spiked club.
Quetzalli quickly forgot about formalities as she dropped into a low stance and leveled her macuahuitl, fluttering the obsidian edge in a show of intimidation. As if this was the spark needed to activate the particles trapped in the air, thunder cracked uproariously from above and the sky unloaded its contents.
The sudden darkness, the hot, warm downpour, that sticky wave of mist – this wasn’t unlike the conditions under which Quetzalli learned how to fight. For that she gave thanks to her gods.
The roar of the audience, who longed for bloodlust, blended in with the slop of rain against the sand and the thunder booming overhead. Apparently, The Hatch believed it would be enough to distract Quetzalli while he attacked head on. Muscle memory kicked in; Quetzalli angled her weapon so that the flat wooden surface faced outward and easily glanced off the downstroke of the club. Her opponent barely lost his balance, but Quetzalli capitalized on his miss anyway, defending with her small shield and flipping the macuahuitl back, up, and over until it smacked against his shoulder.
Then she danced away, her heels struggling a little to gain purchase in the wet sand. The Hatch didn’t seem to care that her blow had landed and his had not. But why would he when he was covered in armor and under that, muscle and hardened meat? It was going to take many well-timed hits for this brute to go down.
He blundered toward her again, wasting precious breath on his laughable idea of a battle cry. Quetzalli dropped lower into the cloud of mist – practically under it – and slithered toward his ankles. She prepared to use the macuahuitl’s obsidian edge this time.
Oh, but she was too slow. The Hatch also knew how to dance. He must have expected her to go lower, to the place where his frame shrunk, if only barely.
An eager, frustrated battle cry tore itself from Quetzalli as she chose to advance instead of retreat, plunging the macuahuitl’s blunt edge under his chin.
Even she was not deaf to the laughter echoing off the crowd as The Hatch choked and ungracefully stumbled backwards. Quetzalli didn’t let down her guard completely, but she took the opportunity to relax her shoulders and grant the crowd a casual, but boastful gesture. Half of these fights were all about one’s swagger and insufferable arrogance. In other words, giving a good show. Quetzalli rarely allowed herself to indulge in the performance. But why couldn’t she have a little fun every now and then?
The Hatch gurgled something mean and unintelligible before hooking his arm faster than Quetzalli would have ever thought him capable of. The club shot out of his hand and hurtled in her direction like an axe. There was no time to dodge.
Quetzalli did her best to protect her vitals with her shield and her helm, but it didn’t stop her from seeing stars . . . quite literally.
Some faceless god drew a blanket over her head, one quilted in the pattern of a starry night. Though her skull throbbed, she found the pinpricks of lights winking down on her soothing.
“What . . . is control?”
Under the roar of thunder, someone was speaking. The sky rattled on over the voices that came from everywhere and nowhere.
“That which you cannot tame . . .”
The roar blasted right next to Quetzalli’s temple, making her flinch and cry out. She felt her eardrum might burst!
“. . . will control you.”
It was then that she realized those sounds were not coming from the thunder. It was the sound of . . .
A wheel?
The earth was too fine and soggy for the wheels of any sort of contraption to be making such a ruckus. So then how could they rattle and skip and grind with such reckless fervor? How did they manage to sound louder than the torrential sky itself?
“Have you chosen?”
Quetzalli covered her ears against the racket and screamed, “Have I chosen what?”
Something caught her eye again. Shining and golden. Not the stars this time. She reached out and felt . . . fur? Though her eyes could not be trusted, she thought she sensed something sphinx-like in the design.
“Your direction.”
Lightning flashed. True thunder struck up above.
Quetzalli blinked.
She was kneeling, still in one piece.
The Hatch was standing his ground, far away, thankfully. Perhaps still recovering from that blow to the throat. Quetzalli noticed his club was lying beside her. She checked her grip on the handle of her macuahuitl before grabbing the club. Its weight was asymmetrical and distorted, but she gathered it up anyway. She knew that by the time she returned it to its master, she would have better control over how to wield it against him.
This was an incredibly fun piece to do, it challenged me to go out of my comfort zone and I ended up learning something new from it!! I absolutely adore @heartofnopal’s Quetzalli, from her design to her character, I just love her and had fun drawing her with Artemis!!!
I once again borrowed the background from @thearcanagame 💜💜💜💜
Chapter 6! We get to follow along with @theroyalmage ‘s Kit Hunter in this one! It’s a little short but all leading up to good things!
Story ft. Asra Alnazar, Nadia Satrinava, Portia Devorak, Julian Devorak, Lucio Morgasson, Muriel of the Kokhuri, Andi, Cleo Rosehyn, Godiva “Goldie” Köhler, (TheRoyalMage’s) Emrys Trevellyn/Satrinava, Kit Hunter, @heartofnopal ‘s Quetzalli
Catch up here:
It’s finally here!!! Chapter five!!! It’s always when I’m excited about writing something when my health goes back downhill 😅 but I’m fine!
Bound By Ash and Smoke: An Arcana AU
Chapter Five: A Key
To say that Kit Hunter had an interesting past would be a gross understatement. In his relatively short life, Kit had managed to experience more than most citizens of Vesuvia did in their entire lifetime. Not that he was prone to say, bragging or anything.
So when he found himself in the elevator of the capitol building on his way to help his secret agent brother uncover a plot that threatened the Prime Minister by using his extensive illegal skills, let’s just say he wasn’t too surprised. He shifted the motorcycle helmet to perch on his hip as he double checked that he’d brought all his gear. Once he was satisfied, he checked his hair in the reflective surface of the doors. As they opened he prepared to throw some witty line out at whoever he met first but just as his mouth opened... his voice failed at the sight in front of him.
The outer office was clean and stylish which was boring but over in one corner color seemed to explode. Plants, candy dishes, Knick-knacks, and photos spread all over the reception desk but it was the woman sitting behind it all that rendered him speechless.
A gorgeous fiery looking redhead smiled up at him with a mischievous sparkle in her eye. Kit felt like his heart wanted to jump out of his chest. A striped red headband kept her wild hair back but some still fell in front of her face but didn’t block the beautiful blue eyes looking directly at Kit.
Oh.
Looking... directly...
Panic shot through him and Kit tried to laugh as he leaned against the desk. He tried again for something witty or smooth, unfortunately it didn’t come easily.
“Hi, Uh, what in the Arcana is a girl like you doing in a place like this?”
If the world could have opened up and swallowed him, he wouldn’t complain.
The woman just laughed though and leaned closer to him.
“Well, someone has to provide the chaos around here.”
Kit felt like a cartoon character who’s eyes popped out as hearts.
“You must be here for Agent Trevellyn, he’s right through that door. Unless you need someone to show you the way?”
She teased as she pointed to the door only a few steps away. Kit smiled and gave an exaggerated sigh.
“It looks like such a long harrowing journey but no, I must be strong. I must go on!” The woman laughed again and he would have gladly sat there all day listening to her.
Emrys had other plans though.
Little had either of the two noticed, the door had opened and Emrys was staring his brother down. Kit felt his gaze and turned to see Emrys raise his brow just slightly.
“Hey, br- Agent. I’m here to solve the case!”
Emrys shook his head but had a small smile as he gestured for Kit to come look at the door.
Kit bounced over with a small wave back to the woman at the desk.
As soon as he sat down in front of the door, it was all business. He ran his fingers over every inch of the door looking for even the smallest sign of tampering but found none.
“Is that a Magician’s lock?” Kit mostly mused to himself but Emrys nodded anyway.
That changed the game. The lock showed no signs of damage or even tampering and a quick inquiry to Emrys ensured him that the PM had no trouble opening it when she came in.
“Well, I know exactly how they did it,” Kit stood up and paused so Emrys could humor him.
“And?”
“I’m glad you asked,” Kit noticed the Secretary had leaned over the desk to listen too. “They...... had a key!”
The silence that followed was anything but comfortable. Emrys narrowed his eyes at his brother, the Secretary raised her brows in confusion, and the PM herself walked over to give him an incredulous stare.
“.... they had a key?” Emrys said slowly.
“Yep, no one is getting into a Magician lock without serious noticeable damage or a hammer. This baby is top of the line security and they’re known for being tricky.”
Kit was confident, no one was cracking this lock so cleanly.
Emrys went quiet again and Kit could see the gears whirling in his head as he refocused his approach.
“Understood. Thank you for your assistance and that will be all.”
Kit frowned slightly, of course Emrys was kicking him out as soon as things got good. All he’d done was look at one door and state the obvious, boring.
“Maybe I can-“
“No.”
Kit suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.
“Fine, I’m going.”
Kit packed his little toolkit back up and slipped the packet back into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Emrys and the PM were discussing putting together a list of new potential suspects.
“Ahem,” a small cough came from behind him. The Secretary had come out from behind her desk and held out a small paper bag to Kit.
“Thank you for your help, Mr...?”
Kit took the bag and opened it to see a freshly baked muffin that smelled like what hopes and dreams are made of.
“Oh no, please, my brother’s name is Mr. Mine is Kit, Kit Hunter.”
She smiled.
“Pleasure to meet you, Kit. I’m Portia Kocourek and I’m sure we’ll see each other around again.”
Happy Birthday @heartofnopal! I’ve been sitting on writing something for Quetzalli and Alec basically since that kiss drawing but finally finished this up last night. I hope you like it!
Title: Raise Hell by Brandi Carlile
1.1k words
CW: mention of blood
***
The roar of the Coliseum was loud, louder than anything Alec had ever heard before, though the sound of her heart hammering in her chest was a fair contender. Bouncing nervously on the balls of her feet, she watched the fight below through her fingers, equally torn by fear and curiosity as to how it would end.
In the center of the Coliseum—kicking up sand and dust into the air—two opponents fought each other, both brandishing their own weapons fearlessly.
The challenger of today’s match was a nobody from nowhere, at least as far as Alec was concerned. The announcer said they were from Zadith, or maybe he said around Zadith, she couldn’t remember. They were called The “something” Fist. Whatever it was, the name had caused Jamil to laugh roughly from his spot in the crowd next to Alec, but she promptly forgot. They had on a flashy outfit—complete with a ridiculous amount of leather straps— but save for the occasional glint of the sun off of their gauntlets, Alec barely saw them, her attention solely on the reigning champion.
Like most of the crowd around her, she was captivated by the performance of Quetzalli, The Annihilator of the North. The woman seemed to dance effortlessly in the sand, dodging blows left and right while attacking without hesitation with her macuahuitl. It was a hot, unbearably hot day, and Alec was sweating just from standing there, yet Quetzalli hardly seemed fazed. If anything, she almost flourished in the heat.
With a guttural cry, the challenger swung out at her, frustration apparent on their face, but Quetzalli just side-stepped the attack, knocking their knees out from under them. She left them sprawling on the ground to face the crowd, cocking her head back. She was met with a raucous cheer, the crowd chanting her title as she paced the arena. They were loving the fight, loving her, and a part of Alec agreed, though she mostly remained silent as she stared. Behind Quetzalli, the challenger was quickly stumbling back to their feet. Alec could feel their rage from where she was standing and stared in horror as they advanced towards their opponent again.
“Watch out!” Alec cried, knuckles white against the railing in front of her, almost falling over in her haste. At first, she didn’t think the other woman had heard her—her voice blending in with the crowd—but the small smirk and wink cast in her direction told her otherwise.
Barely ruffling the feathers on her cuacalalatli, Quetzalli let the challenger swing and miss, though one of their clawed fingers grazed her arm at the last moment. Alec bit back a gasp as a few ruby red droplets of blood hit the sand, anger flashing in the champion’s brown eyes. The challenger had taken first blood, and though the crowd went wild, it wasn’t a good sign for them.
It only lit a new fire inside of Quetzalli, who took advantage of the close quarters to force the end of her macuahuitl into her opponent’s side. They flew backwards, landing in the sand with the rough sound of bones cracking. Alec shuddered, her hands on her face again, knowing what was about to come.
Quetzalli barely seemed to notice the cut on her arm as she raised the macuahuitl high. She swung, Alec closed her eyes, but the obsidian blades scraped against one of the challenger’s gauntlets as they defended themself. Half the crowd sounded disappointed, calling for the champion to finish them off. The other half was pleased they were getting more of a show, stomping their feet louder than ever. Alec was torn. Jamil sighed impatiently next to her, but she barely made a sound.
It seemed that even from the ground, the challenger was putting up a valiant fight. But the gauntlets clearly weren’t designed to withstand repeated blows from obsidian, and within a moment the armor had shattered, leaving the challenger defenseless.
Quetzalli looked a little out of breath, but she still delivered the finishing blow with a terrifying ease, and Alec squeezed her eyes shut as the crowd erupted into cheers. When she opened her eyes again the champion was facing the crowd, facing her, and gave a dramatic bow to the audience before being swept away by the Coliseum guards.
Alec let out a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, and quickly turned away from the arena. “I’ll meet you at the shop later,” she said to Jamil, but he was busy collecting bets. Rolling her eyes, she climbed down the steps and made her way underground, where Quetzalli was being kept, resting up from her big fight.
The guards threatened to stop her, but with a bat of her eyelashes—and maybe a magical display of power, but none they could prove—Alec was let inside.
She stepped past other contenders, some nursing their wounds, others preparing for their own fight, but her blue eyes were looking only for her friend. A familiar voice called out to her, and she whipped her head around until her gaze landed on Quetzalli, sitting nonchalantly against a wall, wiping her face clean of blood and dust with a rag.
Alec wanted to hug her, but she was wary of the wound still untreated on her arm, so she settled for squeezing her friend’s hand, fussing over her. “I knew you were strong, Quetzalli, but I was severely underestimating you. That was… terrifying.” When Quetzalli raised an eyebrow, Alec rushed to finish. “Amazing! But also, terrifying.”
“I know,” the other woman said, giving Alec a self-satisfied smile. “I was happy to see you though.”
Alec fought her blush, focusing on trying to clean the wound with water before she could wrap it up. “Probably could have done with another good-luck kiss, hm?”
Quetzalli laughed, putting her free hand on Alec’s cheek. “I’d settle for a ‘congratulations’ kiss, if you’re offering.” Her eyes stayed on her lips, and Alec swallowed. “In fact, I think I’d be more incentivized to win if I had a prize waiting for me every time.”
Laughing, Alec brushed her hand aside. “Maybe once we’ve finished cleaning you up.” She fixed the champion in a serious stare, remembering her earlier fear. “But if you keep being so reckless, you won’t get any kisses from me.”
Her friend seemed to think that over for a moment, eyes flickering over Alec’s face. Finally, she sighed, lips curled into a resigned smile. “I make no promises, but I’ll try to tone it down.”
“I suppose that’ll have to do.” Alec smiled, shaking her head. She pressed a quick kiss to Quetzalli’s cheek, but tutted when the other woman turned to look for more. “I’m still wrapping this up, will you be patient?”
“I don’t really have a choice, do I?”
Alec shook her head, preparing some bandages to wrap Quetzalli’s arm. “Better get comfortable.” Quetzalli’s answer was a sharp laugh through her nose, and they fell into a comfortable silence, the Coliseum still thundering around them as the announcer brought out the next two contenders into the arena.
Couldn’t resist their lovely charms and this turned out so stunning! Hard to pick which one too with the little changes but wow, I’m amazed and so happy with this! They even included her scars, an easy thing to miss.
Despite her slightly warlike and active nature, Quetzalli loves finding precious little things to add to her crafts, whether she’s repairing her shield with woven feathers or simply making charms. The beach has shells, seagull feathers and sea glass so there’s no way she can resist! And she usually has marigolds somewhere to invite the spirits of her fallen friends, and they look lovely in her hair. ^^
