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He leaned forward, propping himself on his knees by his hands as sweat made its way from his brow to his chin, then to the floor. Wait, he was undead, how was he sweating?
Oh, that’s not sweat, that’s the blood of his fallen comrade, Charlie. Poor Charlie, he was so close to graduation. Nog would make sure to write his parents. He died a hero, after all. Wait, no, he’s fine, just a broken nose. He’ll probably be out for the rest of the game though, damn. Nog needed all the troops he could muster, and they were running out fast. Too fast. At this rate they would be outnumbered 3:1… oh, never mind, make that 4:1.
Fuck.
He had to think of something, ‘come on, how can I salvage this match…’. His honor was on the line, let alone his potential humiliation in front of his whole class (love interests included of course). and then it clicked. They had more troops than Nog’s team, true, but they only had one leader—Carla, a werebadger. Tough bastards were they, with limitless grit and boundless stamina and strength. Speed wasn’t a strong suit, however. It wasn’t necessarily for him either. Nog had taken the literal fall for his classmates’ hyjinx numerous times when some limb or another fell off in the heat of the moment. Trouble as it may be, there was only one logical choice ahead of him.
Challenge Carla to a duel.
One on one. Face to face. A classic tactic of historic leaders. He just hoped it would work for him. And so Nog did, loud, grandiose, and much like whenever one of their more eccentric classmates would challenge some poor soul for absolutely bullshit reasons.
Well, he’ll be damned—if he were to have a second death—it worked, Carla accepted. Now came the hard part of actually figuring out what the hell he was gonna do. Fortunately it wasn’t a down and dirty fist fight, because despite his natural strength, Nog would lose. Hard. Instead, he was going to capitalize on hisspeed, agility, and timing. All of which he had plenty of thanks to his regular enjoyment of Monster Dance Graveyard Smash Supreme(™), or DG-Double-S to the more dedicated players. Nog, however, wouldn’t be caught dead admitting he was the local reigning champion. Well, he already was kinda dead, but the point remained.
The boss battle, battle of the bosses, was brutal. Dodgeballs indiscriminately leveled innocent bystanders, producing more casualties than continuing the actual match would have. Literally limbs went flying, including Nog’s left arm. Good thing he was right handed… or not, that arm went too. Coach didn’t care though. He was just happy the students were “having fun and staying active”, as he later reported to Principle Giant Spider.
What was he to do now? No arms, a massive Oni before him, and no balls on his side of the court. Carla bared her teeth with a wicked grin, slowly winding up the kill shot. Nog was done. His life was over. He would die (again) and carry the shame of defeat for the rest of his life, never to regain his honor. It was then, however, in that brief moment his opponent let her ball fly, that he remembered a move from DG-Double-S—a move he doubted he could pull off—but desperate times called for desperate measures. Nog leapt vertically, amazing his classmate with his feat of sheer strength and agility, and spun. Not as Nog the Student, no, but rather Nog the Sick and Wicked Dancemaster. He spun, becoming the essence of a dodgeball, and landed on his head like a top, using his legs to deflect the attack back onto the attacker herself. Never before had there been a more dramatic rebound.
The ball landed dead center of her chest right above the collar bone. Carla’s head flew back as if obliterated by a far too overpowered rifle (was there truly such a thing? Not for Nog to say, but he was inclined to answer ‘no’). Friend and foe alike looked on in a chaotic mix of shock, horror, and awe. A fangirl or two may have swooned. Or maybe that was just his dizziness.
Slowly, the two of them rose, oddly at the same time. Carla looked like a wounded, grizzled soldier. Nog looked like an armless zombie, dazed and confused. His senses were slowly returning to him, but he began to doubt that when Carla walked up to him. Ok, it was more of a limp. Not at all aggressive though. She stopped not too far in front of him and bowed. The combatant expressed her admiration of his skill, which he obviously returned. No other opponent had required him to change into his secondary (but far from final) form. She went to shake his hand but… well, y’know, so they decided on taping their foreheads, which was oddly more personal. It certainly felt more sincere than a handshake would have and was welcomed by the two of them. It was shortly after that Carla clapped her hands twice in quick succession and…
A manservant promptly appeared on the court. Huh?
Said manservant held a cloth bound item in his hand, roughly four and a half feet long, maybe five. Long, pointy, and once unbound it proved to be a sword. It looked like it had seen more than a few battles, what with all the blood stains. Carla then revealed that it was a heirloom passed down through her family for generations. Dongsever, as it was known, had partaken in countless wars, from the depths of hell to the heights of heaven.
And it was now Nog’s. She explained that he had bested her in proper combat, something no one had done before. Carla felt it was only fitting. Nog wasn’t gonna say no, of course, but he was armless (ironically enough). So, in his stead, a member of his own team graciously accepted on his behalf as another began sowing his arms back on.
Nog gained +1 Magic Sword Heirloom, +5 Mutual Respect, and +1 Ally to call upon in his most desperate hour. Those may not be actual stats, but they’re valuable all the same—plus the sword is wicked cool.