You walk over to the collection of slates and look them over, idly leafing through the names. There are some real fighters in here. This guy had twelve wins and no losses, this one went eighteen and two…{have won gladiator event: then there's you. The most recent entry on the most recent slate. You're in pretty esteemed company given how long these records go back – not bad, if you do say so yourself./else: maybe one day your name will be on here.}
[zo.fought|{PC has obtained the Silver Mask|Wait. There’s a name in here that you recognize. It’s two letters long.
Zo? <b>Zo</b> was a past champion of the Khor’minos arena?!
You walk back over to the ticket desk attendant.
"Do you remember all of these fighters?" you ask him, nodding at the accolade list.
"Sure do," he says. "Well, most of 'em. Some of the one-and-done wonders are a bit forgettable. Why, you see someone you recognize?"
“Yeah,” you answer. “The one name with only two letters.”
“Oh, her!” the attendant says, sitting upright. “One of the crowd favorites! This lupine woman wearing no armor and carrying a pair of sticks for weapons, doesn’t say a word, comes in from somewhere southwest and cleans the place up. She was one of the most unforgettable fighters we’ve ever had!”
It’s hard to believe. Zo? The reclusive monk living in a shack out in the woods? A part of you doubted that she even knew what the world <b>was</b> beyond her little space. Obviously, she needed to learn her techniques from somewhere–
“How did she fight?” you ask. “With a pair of sticks, you said?”
“I said those were her weapons,” the attendant corrects you. “Which, yeah, she used. Short range, and they weren’t going to hit as hard as cold steel, but she moved faster than anyone could see with them. But it wasn’t just the weird weapon – she used some weird zen techniques that you’d never think to see on the battlefield. She’d get into a stance, and she’d get this look on her face, and it was like no weapon could ever phase her. One time,” he continues, leaning forward, his eyes lighting up as he recalls it, “it was the weirdest thing – she points her hand at her opponent, palm forward, and the guy doesn’t just fall down, he <b>flies</b> backward. Doesn’t get back up. Like he was hit by a charging bull!”
That…
Sounds like Zo. That’s one of her more taxing, but powerful, techniques.
“How long ago was this?” you ask him.
“Oh, it would have been… maybe a year ago, now,” he says. “She’s not a regular. Like I said, she came from somewhere southwest of here. Came in, breezed through the colosseum like she owned it, then left. Nobody’s seen her since[silly|. She got quite the fan following, though, myself included! Some of us considered making the journey to the west to meet her again, but we never got around to it].”
The attendant leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. His eyebrows furrow as he looks up at you. “You seem awfully curious,” he says. “Do you know her, maybe?”
You look at the slate again, then set it down. Perhaps it’s best to keep your relationship with Zo a secret for now. “It’s just a unique name, is all,” you answer. Which isn’t a lie.
The attendant hums in agreement. “Definitely not from around here, that’s for sure.”
