Post by krisz on Feb 15, 2008 20:22:22 GMT -5
The Duel
Leaves continued their lazy spiral down to the ground, making a soft tap-tap noise every time they struck the wooden roof above Whist Redroad’s head. He nimbly darted forward, thrusting forward the rapier he held firmly in his right hand with a twist, attempting to penetrate his opponent’s defenses. However, his blonde-haired opposite easily countered, twisting his own blade to knock Whist’s aside. Growling, Whist feinted to the right, shifting his weight, however, to the left – once again, his attack was seen through, and the man opposite him chuckled menacingly, easily stepping backwards and avoiding the awkward blow.
The two began to circle, raven-haired Whist and his opponent, Whist probing his opponent’s weaknesses cautiously, his brows furrowed and his whole body hunched forward a little so as to present less of a target.
“You’re weak, Whist. Give it up. You know you’ll never beat me,” the blonde-haired man murmured arrogantly, never for once taking his gaze off of Whist.
“Get stuffed, Laird,” came Whist’s quick and sharp reply.
“I’d make a better trophy then you would.”
Growling soundlessly, Whist danced forward again, provoked into an attack, his rapier thrusting towards his opponent’s middle in the hopes that a sudden attack might leave him vulnerable. No such thing happened – once again, Whist was easily rebuffed.
‘Oh, horse shit… I’m in trouble,’was the only thought crossing the young raven-haired warrior’s mind, and the only thought that had time to register before Laird took advantage of his distraction and launched a lightning-quick riposte, disarming Whist with amazing ease.
Laird stepped into what would’ve been inside of Whist’s guard, and with his free hand, snapped a punch at the other duelist’s face. “Hah!” he crowed out triumphantly, although this crow quickly became a startled cry as Whist hooked his foot around Laird’s leg, pulling the over-confident blonde duelist down onto the ground, his rapier clattering free of his hand in surprise.
No recovery Laird could have pulled off was fast enough, as Whist quickly recovered Laird’s fallen rapier and placed the tip unwaveringly at the other boy’s throat.
“Yield.”
“Never,” Laird spat back.
“… Master,” Whist uttered quietly with a sigh, rolling his eyes at Laird’s all-too-common display of arrogance.
The before quiet man standing behind the two in the training room stepped forward, his hands folded behind his back in a posture of ease.
“Submit, Laird. Whist has defeated you.”
“It wasn’t fair, master!” Laird sputtered, already, Whist knew, knowing his case was lost.
“Combat rarely is fair, Laird. This is something you must learn. Whist has picked up on it admirably. Why you cannot do the same is beyond me.”
Growling, the blonde-haired youth pushed Whist’s blade aside and staggered to his feet, storming to the doors of the training room, throwing them open, and then stomping out. The doors swung for a moment, making not a single squeak, and then slowly came to a stop, closing out the sunlight from outside.
Whist sighed quietly, looking down at his sword, and carried it over to the sword-case, placing it carefully back where he had taken it from earlier.
“He is not the only one who needs to grasp better control of his emotions, Whist.” The older man spoke quietly, but with a tone that said he knew he’d be listened to.
“I know, Master…”
A quiet sigh accompanied Whist’s acknowledgement that his master was correct. ‘I wish he knew how hard it is for me to even fight Laird, with everything that’s happened… I wish I could tell him to stop pairing me up with him. But… that’s an idiot’s thought, I guess. I need to conquer –‘
“Then why do you continue to play the fool? You let him goad you into striking – if he had not been overconfident, he could easily have defeated you.”
“But, master –“ He tried, speaking up, knowing that his denial was as pointless as Laird’s earlier denial had been.
“No, Whist. In battle, you cannot let yourself be overcome by feeling – there is room only for you, the sword, and your opponent… or opponents.”
‘I know he’s right… I… I just wish… forget it.’ Whist’s errant thoughts were cut off, as he realized there was no point in continuing with them, and he simply nodded to his master, his eyes showing that he realized it.
The older man’s brow crinkled, and he nodded in response. Some compassion crept into his voice as he spoke again, his voice still holding that same commanding note as before. “Take the rest of the afternoon off, Whist. Meditate some, if it helps. I will find a Novice to do your chores for you.”
His master’s show of kindness startled Whist, and the older man smiled, as he could obviously see the confused expression on Whist’s face.
“You have earned some time to yourself, Squire,” the older man offered up in explanation, then his voice changed, becoming sharper, and he waved Whist along. “Now go, before this old man changes his mind.”
“Yes, master!” Whist quickly ran off out the same doors Laird had left through earlier, leaving the older man standing alone in the middle of the training room.
“They’ll both be fine swordsmen, some day…” The older man quietly murmured to himself, stepping across the room to stare at the sword case, almost wistfully, remembering his days as a youth, and allowing his mind to wander, a luxury he seldom afforded himself.
Leaves continued their lazy spiral down to the ground, making a soft tap-tap noise every time they struck the wooden roof above Whist Redroad’s head. He nimbly darted forward, thrusting forward the rapier he held firmly in his right hand with a twist, attempting to penetrate his opponent’s defenses. However, his blonde-haired opposite easily countered, twisting his own blade to knock Whist’s aside. Growling, Whist feinted to the right, shifting his weight, however, to the left – once again, his attack was seen through, and the man opposite him chuckled menacingly, easily stepping backwards and avoiding the awkward blow.
The two began to circle, raven-haired Whist and his opponent, Whist probing his opponent’s weaknesses cautiously, his brows furrowed and his whole body hunched forward a little so as to present less of a target.
“You’re weak, Whist. Give it up. You know you’ll never beat me,” the blonde-haired man murmured arrogantly, never for once taking his gaze off of Whist.
“Get stuffed, Laird,” came Whist’s quick and sharp reply.
“I’d make a better trophy then you would.”
Growling soundlessly, Whist danced forward again, provoked into an attack, his rapier thrusting towards his opponent’s middle in the hopes that a sudden attack might leave him vulnerable. No such thing happened – once again, Whist was easily rebuffed.
‘Oh, horse shit… I’m in trouble,’was the only thought crossing the young raven-haired warrior’s mind, and the only thought that had time to register before Laird took advantage of his distraction and launched a lightning-quick riposte, disarming Whist with amazing ease.
Laird stepped into what would’ve been inside of Whist’s guard, and with his free hand, snapped a punch at the other duelist’s face. “Hah!” he crowed out triumphantly, although this crow quickly became a startled cry as Whist hooked his foot around Laird’s leg, pulling the over-confident blonde duelist down onto the ground, his rapier clattering free of his hand in surprise.
No recovery Laird could have pulled off was fast enough, as Whist quickly recovered Laird’s fallen rapier and placed the tip unwaveringly at the other boy’s throat.
“Yield.”
“Never,” Laird spat back.
“… Master,” Whist uttered quietly with a sigh, rolling his eyes at Laird’s all-too-common display of arrogance.
The before quiet man standing behind the two in the training room stepped forward, his hands folded behind his back in a posture of ease.
“Submit, Laird. Whist has defeated you.”
“It wasn’t fair, master!” Laird sputtered, already, Whist knew, knowing his case was lost.
“Combat rarely is fair, Laird. This is something you must learn. Whist has picked up on it admirably. Why you cannot do the same is beyond me.”
Growling, the blonde-haired youth pushed Whist’s blade aside and staggered to his feet, storming to the doors of the training room, throwing them open, and then stomping out. The doors swung for a moment, making not a single squeak, and then slowly came to a stop, closing out the sunlight from outside.
Whist sighed quietly, looking down at his sword, and carried it over to the sword-case, placing it carefully back where he had taken it from earlier.
“He is not the only one who needs to grasp better control of his emotions, Whist.” The older man spoke quietly, but with a tone that said he knew he’d be listened to.
“I know, Master…”
A quiet sigh accompanied Whist’s acknowledgement that his master was correct. ‘I wish he knew how hard it is for me to even fight Laird, with everything that’s happened… I wish I could tell him to stop pairing me up with him. But… that’s an idiot’s thought, I guess. I need to conquer –‘
“Then why do you continue to play the fool? You let him goad you into striking – if he had not been overconfident, he could easily have defeated you.”
“But, master –“ He tried, speaking up, knowing that his denial was as pointless as Laird’s earlier denial had been.
“No, Whist. In battle, you cannot let yourself be overcome by feeling – there is room only for you, the sword, and your opponent… or opponents.”
‘I know he’s right… I… I just wish… forget it.’ Whist’s errant thoughts were cut off, as he realized there was no point in continuing with them, and he simply nodded to his master, his eyes showing that he realized it.
The older man’s brow crinkled, and he nodded in response. Some compassion crept into his voice as he spoke again, his voice still holding that same commanding note as before. “Take the rest of the afternoon off, Whist. Meditate some, if it helps. I will find a Novice to do your chores for you.”
His master’s show of kindness startled Whist, and the older man smiled, as he could obviously see the confused expression on Whist’s face.
“You have earned some time to yourself, Squire,” the older man offered up in explanation, then his voice changed, becoming sharper, and he waved Whist along. “Now go, before this old man changes his mind.”
“Yes, master!” Whist quickly ran off out the same doors Laird had left through earlier, leaving the older man standing alone in the middle of the training room.
“They’ll both be fine swordsmen, some day…” The older man quietly murmured to himself, stepping across the room to stare at the sword case, almost wistfully, remembering his days as a youth, and allowing his mind to wander, a luxury he seldom afforded himself.