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My names Jacob and i live in a castle way up almost in the clouds. just like how a shaolin monk monastery might look. but this is no ordinary castle. This castle holds fights in the center out in the open, to see who can better equip and maneuver their weapon of choice. I have black hair, not too long. not too short. There are those here who think looking clean shaven, good looking wearable fabrics are genius inventions you know (so that they aren’t cold at night). But i am not that fine handsome boy, I am dirty, rotten, scarred by tough battles, torn clothes any synonym. Why? Do i even need to say.
This particular day, i was watching these beetle-hounds battle it out, causing a ruckus from the crowd. Slashing and hitting each other with broomsticks, sharpened. I walk over the battle on the sidelines of the castle. Once i got to a certain point, a big gentleman and his partner, much younger and thinner, stopped me and asked me if i could substitute one of the fighters up next. I humbly agreed and we approached the end of the battle between the two goons. Then i start out walking to the corner. I enter not knowing what i had gotten into. After a little applause, this behemoth creature like a big scorpion animal but deadlier appeared out of the shadows into the playing field. I bet i looked disciplined and well-mannered when that certainly wasn't the case.
He strikes with fury and fast motions but nothing i do to block is sufficient.
I end up beating him, but simple bullets don't grow on tumbleweeds. out of breath, my sword to his throat, i offer surrender. He says, “Yes."