Vencian studied the Gage-rings strapped to his upper arms. Polished bronze, about three fingers wide, with ceremonial etchings along the rim. Break both of an opponent's rings and they were out. Get both of yours broken and you were done.
Simple enough in theory.
He flexed his right arm. The ring sat snug but not restrictive. The weight felt deliberate, a reminder that this wasn't real combat. No one died in Ritus Lineae. You just lost.
Losing, however, wasn't something Vencian planned to do.
"Positions," Rapheldor said, voice cutting through the prep chamber. He stood at the center of their seven-person team, arms crossed, already wearing the confident bearing of someone who'd grown up watching his father command armies. "We've got three markers to defend. If they take all three simultaneously, we lose. If we break all their rings first, we win. Time limit is not something we're going to depend on."
