The Promised Duel (Duma/Ravvus)

[Duma]

Well it's come down to this. The green haired swordsman thought. Here he was sitting down on a tree stump in the outskirts of town. His elbows on his thighs and his hands on his face. He was kind of hunched over with a bit of a bored expression on his face. It was here that he agreed to meet Ravvus for their fated duel. Perhaps fated wasn't the right word, more like an arranged duel.

The events of the job that brought the mage and swordsman together had been about two days ago. Duma had asked the young mage for a few days rest since he and the others were exhausted. He let out a sigh. First they would have to arrange the rules of the duel. The blonde mage in his opinion felt like the trickster type.

Why am I even doing this? He mused. Trying to figure out how he got roped into a duel with Ravvus. He had done the kid a favor by punching out the fat bandit. Right? Or did I violate some sort of customs thing? A culture thing? He scratched his head.

But he did owe the young mage. His plan to topple the tower was insane but it worked. The three men made it out of that ordeal with their lives. The bandits were punished. They were seen as local heros upon return to town. I just hope he gives me mostly a clean fight. Last thing I need is a crippling injury from a fist fight. He saw a tuft of yellow from the corner of his eye. That looks like him. Yep.

The swordsman waved the mage over.

[Ravvus Wiseau]

While Duma and Carmichal had been celebrating and resting, Ravvus had been honing his magical craft. The recent badnit run-in had given the blonde mage cause to re-evaluate his abilities as a mage. Though he was not yet capable of wielding an expert's tome, like thoron or fimbulvet, he was still quite, quite talented. The blonde man was more than capable of furthering his manipulation of fire magic. As such, he'd spent the two days training instead of resting. His efforts had brought him incremental advancement in the changing of his fireball's flightpaths. Indeed, Ravvus now had a novice's grasp of adjusting where his fireballs would fly once he set them loose. His fireballs no longer flew in a straight line, but could now curve at will.

However, that is a story for another time. Today, magic would be playing no role in his duel with Duma. Indeed, Ravvus had evaluated the pros and cons of setting the swordmaster ablaze. Or at least, trying to set the swordmaster on fire. At best, Duma would be infruriated and run Ravvus through with his sword. And worst, Duma would take his time cutting the mage to pieces. Neither of these were outcomes Ravvus wanted to experience just yet. Or ever.

Today, Ravvus intended to fight marginally fairly. Oh, he intended to use low blows and cheap shots. That much he imagined he could get away with. But nothing lethal. Duma was beyond him right now. And Ravvus neither desired nor believed he could kill the man in a fight.

"Duma!" He began cheerfully. Ravvus was glad that the swordmaster was keeping his promise. Not many men would have amused Ravvus' asinine and foolhardy request. "Having had a few days to consider, I believe the terms you provided initially are fair. No swords, no hidden knives, no magic, no death." The blond mage punctuated each of the 'nots'. "Just two men fighting each other with their bare fists. A display of raw strength. A simple man" Ravvus pointed to himself "to man fight." and then to Duma. "The fight will end when one of us yields... And, here, to show that I suggest these terms in good faith." Ravvus removed his orange cloak, revealing his leather armor. "I shall show you that I am protected underneath this orange facade. And..."He began to undue the buckles on his leather shirt. After fingering a few of the clasps, he loosened the amor and it fell to the ground. Ravvus, his chest bared, now stood before the green-haired swordsman. "have removed such protection so that I will not have an advantage over you." The blond mage folded his arms across his chest."Would you do me the same courtesy?" He pointed at the man's sword. "Place your blade upon the ground." Ravvus was being uncharacteristically chatty. He was excited. The adrenaline was already getting to him. He could feel it starting. The twitching in his arm. The twitching which only occurred when he really needed to clobber someone. The mage prayed they started soon. He couldn't contain himself for very long.

[Duma]

Duma listened to Ravvus speak about the terms and conditions of the fight. He was glad the young mage had taken into consideration the rules he asked for. Everything sounded fair. The green haired swordsman eyed Ravvus carefully. If memory served the young man held some resent ment over his initial proposal of the rules. He couldn’t see any hidden bits of metal upon the mage’s person. Ravvus had removed the armor that was on his chest and asked the swordsman to do the same.

“Would you do me the same courtesy?” Duma gave a small nod to the blonde mage. He got up. Duma casually tossed his bag aside.

“I shall.”

He stretched a slight bit before getting to work on removing his gear. First thing to go was his sash withheld his robe like garment to his body. Next was the robe like thing itself. He took a moment to fold it and set it on top of the stump he had been sitting on. Next thing to go were his armguards, then his gauntlets. He placed those on top of his folded garb. Finally he withdrew his scabbard from his belt and gently set it aside. His sword lay within its protective sheath. He gave himself a small pat down to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything important. From out of his boot he removed another sheath, this time to a small knife. Almost forgot about you. He let out a small sigh. Now that all of the extra weight was off of him he felt a little lighter. Duma was left in just his boots, sleeveless shirt, and pants. He cracked his knuckles, rotated his neck, and shoulders.

“I do believe that is everything.” He spoke in his calm casual tone. His mind slowly prepared itself for the fight at hand. He noted that the young man was literally twitching with excitement. He judged that the one arm that was twitching was probably the stronger one of the two. A mental note to watch out for hooks and jabs. Treat this like any other fight Duma. Calm yourself. Study his movements. Be careful. He wanted to trust Ravvus, that the mage would be true to his word. But something about the mage still irked him. He would have to figure it out as they fought. The swordsman slowly distanced himself away from the tree stump, turned and faced Ravvus. He held up his fists in a classic boxer’s stance. His gaze on Ravvus.

“Ready.”

[Ravvus Wiseau]

As usual, Duma was not much for words. Ravvus could not tell if this quiet demeanor was simply how Duma normally interacted with people or if the swordsman was being quiet because he didn't want to be there. He watched as the green-haired man removed his armaments. Funny. Ravvus almost chuckled. The swordsman removed a concealed knife from his boot. The swordsman Duma was also willing to fight dirty. Interesting.

The blond mage eyed Duma as the latter raised his fists in a defensive stance. His right and left fists were equidistant from his head. The swordsman seemed to have some knowledge of brawling. Had he received some training in the art during his youth? Were this the case, then it seemed that the two had something in common. Ravvus, too, learned how to fight in his youth. Nothing so 'refined' as what Duma opened up with, but it was effective nonetheless. As a brawler, the mage didn't pack much punch. He wasn't particularly fast either, but he kept his moves unpredictable. Feints, low blows, headbutts. Ravvus implemented anything and everything which could give him an edge.

Ravvus met the swordsmasters gaze. ”Our duel begins now.” He stated plainly and calmly. The mage began to leisurely approach the swordsman. His rested his hands firmly upon his hips. He displayed no immediate signs of aggression or violent intent. His arm had even stopped twitching. The mage continued like this for a few paces, until he'd closed half of the distance between him and Duma. Once he was more than a few steps away from Duma, the mage dropped his docile stance and sprinted forward. Ravvus quickly closed the remaining gap between him and the artist of blades. Hoping to draw first blood, the mage curled his hand into a fist and threw a right hook at Duma's head. In his current stance, the swordsman would most likely block this attack. Which is why it was a feint. Ravvus' fist stopped perhaps a foot or more away from Duma's body. And as it came to a halt, the mage's left fist came careening towards the swordsman's abdomen. Lets see how the green-haired warrior handled this.

[Duma]

Duma observed Ravvus’ movements. The blonde mage’s movements were … juvenile no carefree. At first. He displayed no signs of a serious attempt at the duel. Duma suspected this was a ruse of some sort. No man worth their pride would so openly show a display of blithe. Ravvus got closer to Duma. Duma had a feeling the boy would strike at him soon. And he did. Almost instantly the mage dropped the carefree attitude and sprinted at him. The swordsman braced himself. From the stance Ravvus took Duma could tell a right hook was heading his way. Instinctively Duma raised his left arm up so he could block the strike. But he stopped. Duma immediately moved his right arm down and blocked the mage’s incoming fist. Sneaky thing.

He shoved both of Ravvus arms away. And went for two small short range punches of his own. A simple one-two hit, which he would follow up with a right hook of his own. His intention was to hit Ravvus’ chest and knock the wind out of the young mage. He didn’t want to give the young man too much damage. After all this was a duel of sport.

Duma could barely recall the last time he was in a fair fist fight. Bar fights weren’t usually ever fair. Even while training with his extended family they used weapons. Blunted daggers to be specific. The swordsman tried to recall the movements and advice of his peers. Keep your guard up. Study your opponent. Don’t be afraid to hit. But without his weapon in hand he felt odd. Like he was naked. Duma made a mental note to practice fighting without his sword a mandatory part of his routine. He did not like this vulnerability.

[Ravvus Wiseau]

Ravvus had underestimated his enemy. Without flinching, Duma had observed the mage's approach, prepared to intercept his right feint, and then deflected his actual attack. He'd done it all in such a calculated manner. He was so calm and cool. Prepared for anything. Good. Oh, that was all too good. The twitching was back.

The mage felt his arms fly away from his body. Too eager. Too hasty. The blond man had been too aggressive in his assault. He'd gone all in, expecting to deal some damage, or at the very least catch Duma off guard. But the swordsman kept his composure, and countered, leaving Ravvus defenseless. The mage had done some incremental damage in striking Duma's right arm. But it was not enough to gain significant advantage. And if Ravvus didn't counter this next attack, that little progress would quickly become negative.

Duma readied his fists, preparing to strike Ravvus' chest. The swordsman had succeeded in redirecting the momentum from Ravvus' left fist. However, the right one hadn't been moving at all when Duma pushed it out of the way. Ravvus would be able to block one of the incoming attacks, but only one. Narrowing his gaze, the blond mage began to bring his right arm back.

Ravvus felt Duma's right fist score a direct hit on his left pectoral. “PAH!” The blond man shouted, creating a small shock-absorber. The left fist came quickly after the right one, but Ravvus was able to counter this one. His right hand sloppily collided with Duma's left fist and redirected the swordsman's attack. Though it granted a momentary reprieve, the swordsman followed up with a right hook to Ravvus' head. By this point, the momentum in the mage's left hand had died out and the arm was once again usable as a means of defense. Again, sloppily, the mage moved his left hand to intercept Duma's next punch. Shifting its course slightly, Ravvus managed to adjust the attack so that it only grazed his nose. His head moved slightly, following the force of Duma's fist. Ravvus leapt back a step, assessing the damage done to his person. His nose felt a little funny, but was otherwise undamaged. His left pectoral felt a little sore, but was otherwise also undamaged. It seemed Duma hadn't intended to cause any significant damage with that attack. He was holding back.

The mage curled his fists and stood his ground. Neither fighter had inflicted significant damage on the other yet, but Duma held the advantage. He was faster than Ravvus and had more combat experience. Ravvus had to rely on his own spontaneity and make progress one inch at a time. He couldn't give Duma another opening like that.”Don't hold back” He chided, waiting for Duma to make the next move. ”I implore you.”

[Duma]

OOC: I am super rusty in writing fist fights.

--

Don’t hold back? The swordsman thought to himself. But I have no reason to. My life or the life of my charge is not in any danger. Ravvus’ train of thought confused him. The mage wants to take unneeded damage in a duel of sport? The swordsman furrowed his brows lightly. His face carried a small soft frown.

“I’m sorry… I don’t… I mean, no offense but, I see no need to.” He closed his eyes. Sometimes it was hard to shake off his thoughts of honor. He shook his head then sighed.

“Alright. Alright. If you insist.” He had to adjust himself mentally. The trick was trying to see Ravvus as a threat rather than a dueling partner. But he found it hard to do so. The mage had proved himself capable during the job. And it was thanks to his idea that the job even moved forward. It was hard to shake off that sense of companionship. He was able do duel Vincent without problems due to the fact that both had a sword in hand. Both men were armed. So it felt more like a “true” duel against an opponent then it did now.

He returned his expression back to a bit of a serious face. He needed to focus. Ravvus wants this to be a no holds barred battle. He had to at least try to oblige. Duma couldn't shake off the feeling of vulnerability, which upset him. Push it back. No hesitation. Hesitation can cost you your life. He started to fall into his usual mental battle mantra. Without warning Duma charged forward, he had his left hand in a tight fist and was aiming to plant it into Ravvus’s face. He had his right arm up in a defensive position to shield himself from Ravvus counter. Duma wanted to keep himself engaged with Ravvus in close proximity.

[Ravvus Wiseau]

OOC: All good. Think this is my first time even writing a fist fight, so you're among friends.

.....

The swordsman seemed to be having some trouble complying with Ravvus' demands. He stumbled over his words in protest, visibly uncomfortable with the thought of causing the mage serious harm. Ravvus had not expected this of the quiet swordsman. Duma had never shown him any signs of animosity, but he also had never exhibited outward signs of kinship or favoritism to the mage. At least, none that the mage recognized. The two didn't seem to understand each other.

Ravvus wanted to see the Duma who had so efficiently dispatched the pudgy the brigand. The one who referred to the fat man as swine, as little more than an animal. He wanted the beast which lurked in Duma. The killer.

Duma spoke again. ”Alright. If you insist.” Perfect. Duma stood there for a moment and then jumped forward, erasing the distance. Ravvus got a glimpse of Duma's face as he sprung forward. He had a previously unseen stern look. It was fierce-some. Cold. A cold, calculating facade to match his analytical mind. Duma was right upon Ravvus now. The swordsman planted his feet and held his right arm close to his body. Out of the corner of his eye, Ravvus could see Duma preparing a haymaker. The green-haired warrior was moving faster now, almost as fast as he did whilst sword fighting. Ravvus brought his right arm to bear against the incoming assault. Just for good measure, the mage reinforced this defense with his left arm. He placed his hand securely at the center of his right arm, so as to ensure that it would endure the hit. Duma's fist collided with Ravvus arm. His left arm screamed in pain. ”YES!” Ravvus shouted out of excitement and pain. Duma was hitting hard enough to break the bone now. The mage's body staggered under the weight of the blow. He felt his body shift slightly to the right. He was really starting to feel it now. The minor blows to his nose and pectoral were nothing to this pain. He'd have to be careful not block so much. Redirecting Duma's attacks would be the only way to avoid breaking an arm.

Ravvus took a step back and readied a counter with his left arm. If he could get a solid jab in, he could knock the wind out of Duma and follow up with an upper-cut. The mage was impressed with Duma's fighting ability. Despite being visibly uncomfortable with the fist-fight, he hadn't made a single mistake yet. Sure, that haymaker had been very aggressive. If Ravvus had been less concentrated on making Duma give it his all, and more concerned with winning, he could have found an opening during that attack. Regardless, Duma had been very on point with his offense and defense.

A fist came flying towards Duma's gut. ”Yes! That's what I want to see. Show me the Duma who robbed me of my vengeance!” The mage was raving now. He was getting too excited, too caught up in the heat of battle. If he didn't start being more careful, he'd lose this fight within the next few blows.

[Duma]

Duma was almost taken aback by Ravvus shout of what sounded like pleasure. Almost. He packed a good amount of strength with that punch. The force of the punch would leave Ravvus with a large ugly bruise on his arm. Ravvus wanted more of Duma's rage. Or at least what he perceived to be rage. The blonde mage was partly right. Whenever Duma faced bandits of any class he feels some sort of anger. His anger is subtle in the battlefield though, usually preferring to let his sword arm slice through the flesh of his enemies in painful ways. If he's feeling merciful or pressed for time he'd ignore the bloody part and deliver them a swift painless death. If Ravvus wanted to feel the full extent of Duma's rage, Ravvus would have to do something truly horrific for no good reason in front of Duma. Ravvus hadn't done that. So what the mage was experiencing was more of Duma's "professional" mentality then the full on rage one. He lacked his sword so he wondered what sort of subtle rage he would express with his fists.

The mage took a step back and prepared himself for a counter attack. Duma's experience made all the difference in this. Ravvus was strong and confident with his fist fighting but he was also too emotional. This led the mage to be at least part way predictable. Duma knew a counter of some kind was coming, when he saw the fist heading to his gut he was prepared for it. Quickly, he grabbed the incoming fist with his free hand. There was a hard smack between Ravvus fist and Duma's open palm. He kept a firm grasp on Ravvus's fist. Duma took a step forward, pulled Ravvus close to him and kneed the young mage in the gut. He then shoved Ravvus hard onto the ground.

If this wasn't a duel of sport Duma would have continued the assault by kicking Ravvus while he was down. For a brief moment his mind flashed to that wimpy looking bandit who tried to knife him in the forest. He shook his head. No. Duma. Ravvus isn't that bandit. Instead he simply approached the mage and kept a boot pressed firmly on the back of his neck.

"I see no more reason to continue. If I had been an enemy out in battle you would have been dead. I will admit you are better skilled at fighting hand to hand then I am. But you are too easily guided by your emotions. That is your undoing." He backed away and offered his hand to help the young mage up.

"I.. am actually curious to see you fight with a tome in hand. But perhaps that will be for another day. Come on i'll buy you a drink."
--

OOC- you have no idea how long I sat here debating between kick or toss.

[Ravvus Wiseau]

It was ironic. Just when Ravvus was getting ready to really fight, the battle ended. He didn't know what happened. One second he was counterattacking Duma, the next his face was in the dirt. In his head, he recounted what had happened. First he felt the wind knocked out of him. Duma had intercepted his attack and then countered, leaving him stunned. Then, he threw the mage to the ground. Then, while Ravvus was enjoying a meal of dirt, Duma placed a foot on his neck. Funny. That had been the first thing he'd noticed. The foot. Not the knee or the throw, but the foot.

Ravvus hurt all over. His gut was sore, his left arm had a nasty bruise, his neck had a very uncomfortable boot pressing down on it. And still he wanted to fight. Still, he wasn't done. The swordsman lectured him for a short while, instructing him on his strengths and weaknesses. Ravvus dug the fingers of his right hand into the dirt. The battle-craze which had overtaken him had been dulled when Duma struck him, but it was still there. His mind was half frenzy, half sane. Ravvus moved his head, so that he could see Duma with his left eye. That eye was on fire. It stared with a burning intensity on Duma. On this man who had so easily dispatched him. Oh. What exquisite ire. What unrivaled fury. He wanted to set into that man even more now. Beat him into the dirt, and dethrone him from his position of power. This man in front of him. He reminded Ravvus of someone.

Duma reminded him of Eagle.

But now was not the time to let passion overcome him. Ravvus had lost. That much was clear. He would fight Duma again some day. Perhaps then it would be an equal playing field. Perhaps the two would even use their weapons of choice. Duma's sword. Ravvus' book. But today was not that day. The fire in Ravvus' eye subsided. The mage tried to push himself off of the ground with both of his hands. A sharp pain shot through his left arm. Ravvus quickly realized that the arm was useless. The pain in his gut wasn't much better, and Ravvus realized that he couldn't stand, not immediately at least. With only his right arm as support, Ravvus pushed himself up so that he was sitting on the dirt.

“You'd be surprised. Emotion can serve a man very well in battle. Make him do things he'd never think himself capable of doing. Unbelievable things. Horrible or terrific. If you ask my... cough.” Ravvus was suddenly interrupted by a rough cough. Maybe he shouldn't be talking. He'd stop in a moment. “erm... If you ask my opinion, you won because you're a better fighter than me. I know my way around a fist fight... but you're... you're” The mage's head wobbled. He was still dazed. “Faster. Among other things.” Ravvus pinched the bridge of his nose and blinked twice. “Haha... Yes... some day. I fear we might actually hurt each other if we used our real weapons.” The mage groggily stood up, trying his best not to fall over. “I suppose I could go for a drink.” He took a step forward and nearly toppled over. “Oooh... Lend me a shoulder of yours. I might need some help walking.” Ravvus slunk his unwounded, right arm across Duma's shoulder.

[Duma]

Duma obliged and gave Ravvus his shoulder. Slowly, he guided the mage over to the stump where he had placed his things prior. He kicked over his belongings to the side and let Ravvus sit and rest. He had a look of concern on him. Did I really hit him that hard? He crouched down to Ravvus level and gave him a bit of a once over. He was beaten yes but thankfully not too damaged. Duma sighed softly. He grabbed from his bag a small pouch of liquid and handed it over to Ravvus.

"That will help dull some pain. Beware. It tastes terrible." He spoke with a bit of a smirk.

"Emotions are a powerful thing. They allow us as humans to do great things, both good and bad. But they... are a distraction in battle. When I fight, I do my best to suppress my emotions. As a means to focus solely on the battle. As a mercenary there are times where I have to guard the lives of others. I cannot let myself be blinded by emotions. That could lead to death or injury of either myself or my charge." While Ravvus recovered Duma began gathering his things. Slowly putting everything back in their proper place. His sword found it's home around his waist. Good to have you back old friend.

"I find it odd that you who are so full of emotion in a battle.. can be a caster of magic. My sister was one. And I was her training dummy. I have seen her cast fire when she was angry, sad, or happy... and the fire would respond to her in kind." He shook his head. Trying to shake off the feeling of nostalgia.

"Lets just say some.. of those responses from the flame... were not always good." He recalled a particularly bad incident involving Mila being very upset over something, a barn, and her magic. Part of him wondered if the barn back at the guild still had the image of the bird burned into the barn wall. Another moment where she nearly set herself on fire and would have had not their father intervened. Perhaps these would be stories he could tell Ravvus later. It had come to his attention that he had not befriended many mages during his travels.

"Ah. I'm sorry. This isn't really time for a lecture. Are you feeling better?"

[Ravvus Wiseau]

The two warriors traveled a short distance before Duma set Ravvus down. The swordsman handed him a vial of liquid. In turn, Ravvus reached a hand out to it. The blond did not move to accept the pain-killer, but to deny it. ”I don't want it...erk...” The mage was interrupted by another cough. ”I enjoy the pain. Or rather...” The mage's voice traveled off, as he searched for the right words. ”I respect it. Yes, I respect it. I think its important for a man to feel the brunt of his trials, be they physical, emotional, or mental.” Ravvus smiled as he spoke. He turned and looked at Duma's face, wondering if he should say more. The swordsman had Ravvus' respect, that much was certain. But his trust, his confidence? No. The mage was not likely to open up to another person so readily.

While Ravvus had decided to speak sparingly, the swordsman began revealing more about himself. Cannot be blinded by emotions? The two really were opposites. Where Duma sought restraint, Ravvus sought freedom. To Ravvus, battle was all about fulfilling his desires. He loved the thrill of it. He loved that exquisite sense of desperation one experienced when faced with overwhelming force. But what he liked even more was subverting that force. Defeating it. Proving one's own worth by undermining something greater. That was what Ravvus liked about fighting. That was why he fought. Dut Duma... Duma fought for others. He did not fight for himself. He fought to protect, fought to survive. Perhaps that was why they had such different fighting styles. Duma was highly concerned with maintaining his physical health. As such, he fought conservatively. Ravvus was interested in pleasing himself, and as such fought more haphazardly.

The mage smirked at Duma's observation. He made a good point. The roguish sort and the bookish man were contrasting, even opposite, character types. “What can I say? I have a knack for it.” Ravvus shrugged. Duma stood there lost in his thoughts, for a while, before speaking again. Using his right arm as a support, Ravvus pushed himself up from the stump. He took a few moments to readjust to standing. He felt a little funny, but so long as the mage moved slowly, he wouldn't start tripping over himself. “Feeling a little better.” He muttered in response, as he walked towards his own belongings. “To be fair, fire is a good starting tome for the violent tempered.” The mage's voice trailed off, as he realized the implications of what he just said. “Well, good being a subjective word. I suppose what I meant to say was that it can come easily the hot of head. While the basis of the magic is 'fire and forgot', the art of casting fire is subject to one's emotional intensity.”

“Honestly, I'm quite fortunate that fire is the basis of most magic. If I had to begin my magical career with fimbulvetr, I fear I would have given up immediately. I am easily swayed by emotion. The calmness and adaptability required to use water magic is something I lack.” The blond man closed his eyes and smiled. How amusing. He'd steeled himself, so as to avoid opening up to Duma, but here he was about to tell the man one of his dreams. But perhaps the mage's intention was not to deepen the intimacy the two shared, but rather to brag about his goals and aspirations. This is what the mage told himself at least. “That is why I intend to the learn art of ice and water magic next. If I can control the element most opposite to myself, then there's no telling how far I can go.” The mage stood there, beaming about his aspirations. He looked back at Duma, and suddenly realized he was embarrassed. He hadn't been bragging. He'd been sharing. The mage rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and shrugged his shoulders. "Lets uh... lets go get that drink."

[Duma]

The swordsman put away the small pouch of drought he offered. Duma continued to offer his support to Ravvus as the pair slowly made their way back to town. Ravvus appeared to be fine moving at his own, in his own slow pace. Duma mused over Ravvus explanation for his fascination with pain. The mage respected it as a means to gauge the intensity of personal trial. This was something the swordsman could understand. But there were still bits of it where he simply did not understand. He saw too many errors in simply seeking out pain from strangers just to measure one's own worth. He feared one day the mage would go out and seek someone who did not share Duma's patience. Someone whom would simply kill Ravvus and be done with it. Things started to make more sense when Ravvus let slip about his personality. A hot head. Ah.. yes I see it.

"Perhaps not all fire magic is simply to fire and forget. I once saw a circus troupe who used fire to create elaborate shapes with the flames. That took a large amount of concentration. But the dragon he made from the fire was breathtaking."

Duma had met his fair share of "hot heads" in his line of work. Some would call them stubborn. He gave a small smirk. Ravvus had a nice goal for himself. He also had a point. For a brief moment he could see the ambition in the mage, as well as his embarrassment.

"That... Is a worthy goal. And one I believe you will accomplish someday." He paused for a moment.

"You have already acknowledged one of your faults. Your inability to contain your emotions. It is a step in the right direction. The next step would be finding some means to try and get a handle on them. I hope the duel we had could serve as an example." He kept walking with Ravvus.

"I consider you to be a comrade since we have fought together and with each other. I do not want to see myself pouring wine over your grave as an offering should you piss off the wrong person." There was a small frown to his face.

"If there be something more I could do within reason... to help you with your goal. Simply ask. I will see what I can do." Duma spoke calmly and sincerely. The town and it's pub were within eyesight.

[Ravvus Wiseau]

As the two warriors began to leave the enclave of trees, Ravvus recovered his stuff. Lying on the ground were his trusty cloak, leather armor, and travel satchel. The mage examined the bruise on his arm. At least whilst he wore armor, he didn't have to worry about accruing such physical inhibitors. Ravvus donned his armor and cloak. The bruise might stay with him for a while, but at least nobody would be able to see it. His pride would remain intact. Lastly, the blond man grabbed his travel satchel with his left arm. A slight pain shot through his arm, as he grabbed the belongings. He winced as he placed it over his right shoulder. The mage went to join Duma.

The swordsman was right. Not all magic was 'fire and forget'. However, the most basic of spells fire spells tended fade within seconds of being cast. Ravvus surmised that this was most likely a safety precaution. No telling what damage you could do while playing with fire. The mage's eyes widened as Duma spoke about the circus act. “Now that is truly impressive. Most mages I've run into can barely keep a fireball in existence for more than seven seconds, let alone seven minutes. My personal record is a little over thirty seconds. That performer you witnessed must have been truly talented. Nothing less than an experienced sage, I imagine.”

The blond mage shied away as the swordsman acknowledged the nobility of his goals. Curses, he knew he shouldn't have opened so much to Duma. A crimson flush sought asylum in the mage's cheeks. The mage desperately avoided eye contact as the swordsman spoke. His candid, yet caring words, were not something Ravvus knew how to react to. It might have been for the best then that Ravvus didn't hear half of what Duma went on to say. That sentiment about pouring wine over his grave would have caused him to blush even more. However, the mage's ears did pick up again when Duma offered to lend the mage his help. An interesting proposition. What could the swordsman do for him? “Hmm.” The mage began. “Well...” Ravvus' voice traveled off. He was still feeling a little embarrassed. “Those uh... fimbulvetr tomes do cost a pretty penny. If you ever happen across one of them, I'd be happy to buy it off you. For a fair, discounted price of course. And...” Ravvus right hand stretched forward as he went to open the tavern door. ”If you know any mages, or sages, who could help me master the arts of ice and water, I would like to meet them...” The mage propped the door open with his foot, and tapped his chin with the finger from his good arm. ”This doesn't necessarily pertain to my pursuit of magic, but I am a member of some adventurer's guilds situated in Ilia and Etruria. The one in Etruria is called The Pathfinders, while the Ilian one is The Pale Compass. We travel all over. And we could always use an extra hand, especially for the more dangerous expeditions. You know, ones which take us to places like Valor or the Bernese mountains. ” His hand now cupped his chin. ”All of that to say that there are multiple ways you could lend me your assistance if you so wished.”

[Duma]

“Yes I do believe that Circus man was a sage. I was too young at the time to take any real notice to his class.” He shrugged slightly. And too sick. I knew me and Mila should not have eaten that grilled kebab.

The pair continued on into town. There was a small smirk on Duma as Ravvus began explaining how Duma could “help” the mage. Propositioning to help him acquire an expensive tome or using him to establish some sort of connection to other mages. Neither of which Duma could do. The last good sage he knew was his own father and he had passed away.

“Clever Ravvus. But I asked if I could help you achieve your goal within reason. Not to be your personal salesman.” He spoke with a bit of a joking tone.

“Besides I have no need for books of magic. Even if I were to come across one of the rarer ones it would be donated to an academy or something. Other wise it would simply be extra unneeded weight.” He nodded towards Ravvus as the mage held the door open to the pub.

“Unfortunately I do not know any sages or other mages. No. That’s not entirely true. I used to know two. But both are unable to help the living where they are now.” He spoke with a bit of a serious expression. He took his seat at the bar and offered Ravvus the bench next to him. Duma pulled out some coin and ordered two drinks from the bar. The barman placed down two frothy mugs of ale infront of him. Duma passed one mug over to Ravvus.

“Though if I do meet and befriend one among my travels… I will see if they would be willing to offer you a lesson.” He took a sip of his drink. It left him with a bit of foam over the top of his lip. Mm.. bitter. He hid his distaste for the drink out of courtesy. Pulled the mug away from his lips and wiped his face clean with his sleeve.

“Now. The adventurer’s guild. That is something I would be interested in. Provided it does not interfere with a job I happen to be on. I would not mind joining for a few missions in my off time.” He leaned his back towards the wall making himself comfortable.

“The name Pathfinders rings a few bells. I do believe that at one point my ‘uncle’ may have taken a few missions for your guild. Or there may have been some friction between them. To be honest it has been so long I do not recall.” He took another sip. His mind rolled with memories of home. The good parts of home before the prophet came into power and threw the country into chaos.

“I come from Etruria. My family’s guild is established in the Pot Luck Pub. I do not know how many have heard of the place outside of Taras. We mostly do work in Sacae though since Taras is the city that divides both territories. Though, with Etruria the political mess that it is, I have chosen not to go back home.” He spoke with some firmness in his casual voice.

“So it seems I will not be helping out the Pathfinders. As for the other guild, the Pale Compass… I have had no qualms with Ilia as a nation. So.. I will be looking out for them next time I happen to venture to the territory. Is their any city in particular that they are stationed?”