Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Aug 3, 2015 23:34:03 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Aug 3, 2015 23:34:03 GMT -6
Cen's head hit the ground hard, blood filling his mouth for the second time in this fight. This was the third time he had hit the ground in this, the first 'round' of the bout. The man hired to call the fight looked at Cen, a look of thinly veiled contempt in his eyes as he asked, "Give up?" Cen spit a bit of blood onto the packed dirt that was the floor of his particularly spacious cellar, then shook his head, and rose. He raised both of his fists, his left forward for jabs, his right held closer to his face. He nodded at the man who was his opponent, and the man nodded back.
The man was huge, a miner if Cen remembered correctly. His gut hung over his trousers, but his chest and arms were tight with thick muscles. His neck was as wide as a horse's rear end, and it had to be to hold up his enormous head. His left eye was swollen just so that he couldn't see, the lime haired boy had given him a good right before falling the second time. Both men would walk away from their fight covered in bruises and swells of skin and tissue. The man moved in, and threw a right cross. Cen moved to his left of the man's fist and threw a right hay-maker over it, easy considering Cen was maybe a foot taller than the man. Putting his whole weight behind the punch, Cen toppled the man for the first time in the fight.
The man did not rise on his own. The man watching called the fight, and all the men watching clapped, except the man who'd hire the miner. Cen walked over to the slumped form, and helped the man to his feet. The man was still dizzy, so Cen put his arm around the short man, and helped him to a seat. The man groggily patted Cen on the shoulder, and the young man smiled with bloody teeth at the man, then walked back toward his employer.
Normally, Cen would have preferred something other than this type of world. A fighter in an illegal ring was far from something the rider would elect to do if times were good. However, as the theme seemed to be with Cen's life, times were not exactly good. Instead, times were rough, not just for him, but for everyone across Lycia, and probably Elibe. Mercenary work was everywhere, but well playing mercenary work was not. So Cen turned to something fairly similar, hitting things until they stopped wanting to be hit. With whatever he was supposed to use.
The man who had called this little event spoke up. "That makes three wins for the men Maxwell brought, two for Jebedi, and none for Martin. Jebedi, I think you have another fighter right?" One of the four men dressed ornately in the cellar nodded. "Fantastic, then this will be the last fight." Cen didn't move to leave the ring, but the fighter brought by this man Jebedi whispered with his employer.
Jebedi said, "I'd request this fight be done with whatever weaponry the fighters choose. To death or forfeit." Osmant, the man who'd gathered the even chuckled slightly and said, "If Maxwell agrees." Cen's eyes darted to his employer, who said, "Absolutely." Cen hurried over to the other fighter hired by Maxwell, this one was a hunter, who'd won one match with knives and the other with fists. When he'd fought the miner, he'd been knocked unconscious, and Cen had placed his sword next to where he'd sat the man. Cen lifted his sword, and pulled it from its scabbard. He turned, and walked back to the thin outline of a circle that made the 'ring.' He took an offensive stance across from a lithe swordsman who looked to be from Ilia. Time to bring the ruckus.
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Aug 5, 2015 21:51:58 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Aug 5, 2015 21:51:58 GMT -6
The lithe man made the first move against Cen. He whipped his sword with lightning speed at Cen's shoulder, but Cen managed to throw his own blade in the way of the mans. He registered a bit of shock in the man's eyes at the fact that Cen could move so quickly. Cen was not some gangling oaf that had never held a sword. He had been taught while in Laus, and had fought more than a few times with his lance. This was as simple as changing the angle.
Cen quickly drew his sword back, pushing his shoulder blades together in preparation to stab forward at the other man. This was a learning moment for Cen, a moment wherein he learned that you could not in fact use a sword just like a lance. The man ran his blade across Cen's chest, creating a thin red line. Cen's eyes were the ones that betrayed him now. His fear flared up, and the man could surely see it. Had his opponent been willing to end it, Cen would be disemboweled. Luckily the man had decided to leave him in tact.
The former squire swiped his sword at the man underhand, aiming for his ribs. The man was forced to dance back out of the way, then shifting his feet so that he could make a downward swing at Cen. The rider sidestepped, and in an instant had a revelation. This man was a far better and quicker swordsman. Cen would not be able to win with swordplay, and if he won, his purse would almost double. So, Cen didn't try to win with swordplay.
The rider rammed his shoulder into the swordsman's throat, with enough force to knock the man back and to stunt his breathing. Cen then brought his sword forward in a quick swing that cut the swordsman's pants leg and drew a bit of blood from the skin underneath. The man pedaled back to try to avoid Cen, but the rider pressed forward, and kicked the man in his left shin sharply. The man stumbled, and Cen hurried closer to him, sacrificing his range as the shorter man could not retaliate now that Cen was in close. He rapped the hilt of his sword against the back of the man's skull, and the man slumped to the floor. Cen spun and pointed his sword at the man's neck, but the man lay on his chest, unconscious. The man watching called the fight once more, and Maxwell rushed over to Cen and patted him on the back.
Cen coughed, as all the men in the room with money began to laugh and chat with each other, while Osmant rose and said, "Well, that would make Maxwell tonight's winner, congratulations, Maxwell, you picked some good ones as always. Gentlemen, you will find your winnings upstairs with my Valet." The men collected their fighters, and began to walk up towards the cellar door. Maxwell quickly produced a heavy sack of coin, and placed it in Cen's hands. After a few moments, Cen, blood trickling from his chest wound and Osmant were the only ones left in the cellar.
Cen limped over to where he'd left his things. He supposed he could clutch his shirt to his chest, but then he'd be walking around the streets of a city, without a shirt on. That was a good way to be labeled a pervert by the locl populace. luckily, Osmant seemed to have a solution for him. He turned his head, and placed a cupped hand next to his mouth, "Desmond! Bring the kit!" A few seconds later, a confused Cen was pushed into a chair by Osmant's very broad valet, who quickly cleaned up Cen's blood, and delicately stitched Cen's wounds. "I can have a cleric heal you some time soon, Cen is it?" The Cornwell lad nodded. Osmant said, "Well, Cen, I have an offer for you I think you'll appreciate. I'll have Desmond here bring you to my manor once you are done." Like a shadow covered in perfumes and ornate jewels, the man was gone from the room in a flash. Cen coughed, "So, must be a fun job."
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Aug 7, 2015 20:12:47 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Aug 7, 2015 20:12:47 GMT -6
The lime haired youth was helped in sliding into his shirt. He was then similarly helped, his arm over the valet's shoulder, up from the cellar, and out the abandoned house that served as the setting of these fight nights. Cen and Desmond exited the house to a paved street in the artisan district of Badon. Desmond was the strong silent type. Cen was maybe one of those things, "Uh, it's a beautiful night, isn't it? Did that sound flirty? Because I didn't mean it to sound flirty. I'm not.. I'm not that way." Cen's eyes widened and he quickly tried to pull the foot from his mouth, "Not that there's anything wrong with that." The man shot Cen a look, and Cen realized that he needed to get off of this subject. He grasped at ideas of what to say to make both of them feel less uncomfortable. Of course he could always say nothing at all.
"Ya know, they always say that Badon is a smaller city, but if you ask me it's pretty big. Cornwell, now that's a small place to be. That's where I'm from, Cornwell. It's a pretty place, but it's nowhere near an ocean. So while a place like this smells like, you know, the ocean; Cornwell smells more like trees, or animals. That's one thing they never really tell you about cities when you don't live in them, they have a very different smell from small places. More people, ya know?" Cen looked at the valet, who appeared to be very seriously considering letting Cen fall to the ground. He let out a deep sigh from both his nostrils and mouth.
"If you talk much more, you might disrupt your stitches, best for you not to talk." Cen nodded and said, "Makes sense." The man shot Cen another look.
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It was only a few block before the two reached Osmant's manor. Cen didn't really know what to expect when he had been told he was heading for a manor. The road was practically part of the manor. It was lined with alternating flowers, a red rose, then a Lilac. Before entering the manor grounds, there was a massive bronze gate, pulled open by two guards when Desmond and Cen arrived. There were several lanterns lighting up a massive garden. Next to every path was a hedge that came up just barely to the rider's knees. There was a path that led straight forward, which the Valet and Cavalier took. On either side of the middle of the walkway jutted two more, perpendicular to the one they walked. It created four separate sections that Cen could barely see the details inherent due to the lanterns. One had a small pond, filled with strange fish and lily pads, and surrounded by odd leafy plants. Another was filled with flowers of all different colors, while the other two had different trees all in delicate rows. Cen's eyes were like dinner plates. He had never been around such wealth in his entire life. The door was a cherry red, with a golden knocker. Desmond lifted the knocker, and slammed it three times. After only a few seconds, the door began to open. As did Cen's mouth.
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Sept 13, 2015 17:25:50 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Sept 13, 2015 17:25:50 GMT -6
Candles lit the mansion's lobby, and a few went out at the opening of the door. A few decently dressed men, presumably servants quickly struck a match and began to light the candles that had gone out quickly. The room relit, Cen was helped into the massive room, and was able to make out its finer qualities. The room's floor was marble by the look of it, and though the light of the candles did not provide the greatest light, the rider could see that they were quite clean. For a moment he considered asking Desmond if he needed to take his boots off before walking in, but decided against it as the man simply began walking forward, dragging the former squire along with him.
There were a few beautiful paintings hung up around the wall, most appearing to be members of Osmant's family. What was odd, was that, they weren't grandparents, or even parents. The paintings looked contemporary, and were of what looked to be his brother's and his children's families. Cen's immediate assumption, that if he were a tactician he would follow through as the right answer, was that the man did not come from money. Had this been an ancestral home, he would have likely had paintings of the previous owner's hanging. The fact that there weren't could imply that there were no previous owner's. Osmant could be a self made man. A self made man with curtains hanging on his windows that were probably more expensive than Cen's family farm.
The two got to a flight of wide stairs. Desmond sighed and looked over at Cen. He didn't want to disrupt Cen's stitches, but honestly, the boy should be able to make it up the stairs. "Come on." He led the rider up the slick stairs, towards a hallway that went both left an right. At the top of the stairs was a looming glass window, from which Cen could see much of Badon, even in the darkness. Desmond turned toward the left portion of the corridor, leading Cen to a large cherry red door at the end.
Desmond pushed the door open, and Cen found himself in Osmant's office. The man had a desk of mahogany in front of him, and on it was nothing but a large platter, with two wine goblets and a bottle of red. "Hello my young friend, we have much to discuss."
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Sept 29, 2015 18:44:55 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Sept 29, 2015 18:44:55 GMT -6
Cen took a seat in a large comfortable chair as Desmond left the room. The noble took the bottle and poured them both a generous amount of wine. He put one finger at the base of the goblet, and slowly pushed it over to Cen. The rider took it, "Thanks." He took a quick sip, then sat the goblin back down. He'd always liked wine, but it was best he didn't drink too much of it. That was the drink's biggest problem, you couldn't taste yourself getting drunk. He didn't want to lose his wits, and with it his manners. Lose your manners with a noble, and you could lose a hand. Or a head. Or worse. Cen took another sip, more than a sip maybe. That was it, he wouldn't take another.
The man smiled at him. It was a predatory smile, not like he was going to kill Cen, more like he saw something useful. No more than a few seconds after he had bared his teeth was he speaking, "I bet, my young friend, you're wondering why I brought you here. What it is I wish to discuss with you. Well, I saw something of myself in you, as you rose in your fight tonight. When I was your age, I was as determined. If coin was on the line, I'd pull through anything. I needed it, my family needed it. This house was built because I persevered when my head hit the dirt." Osmant borught his wine up to his lips, before drinking he said, "Metaphorically." He sat his goblet down as Cen picked his own up. The man was staring at him, and he didn't want him to think he didn't like the wine. That was going to have to be the last drink he took, he needed to keep the shoes on the horse as the saying goes.
The man continued, "I made my fortune, by working on a ship as a young man. By the time I was twenty, I was able to buy a ferry, with that I started trading spices along the rivers, and started to make a cozy enough profit. A few years later, I bought a boat, and began selling spices and wine in Etruria." Cen quickly took another drink. The man had made his money off wine, clearly he hadn't poured it for Cen to leave in his glass. As Cen sat the goblet back on the desk he hung his arm over the arm of the chair. That was the last of the alcohol he should drink, or he'd regret it. "A few years later still, I had four boats, and began to sell many things, in many places. Then, I bought land in the Western Isles, growing Sugar, Tobacco, anything there was coin in. Without a single soldier, I have forged an empire."
Cen's throat became dry under the man's hot glare. He took another drink, and realized he'd emptied the goblet. That was good, it meant he couldn't drink anymore. Osmant poured him another glass. "I will not be forging you an empire, but I have found a way we can help each other. There is an event coming up, the Festival of Badon. With that, the Arena will be hosting the biggest fight of the year. I would like you to be my fighter." The rider lifted the goblet to take another drink.
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Oct 25, 2015 21:00:37 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Oct 25, 2015 21:00:37 GMT -6
"So, ya want me ta be a -hcupp- a prize fighter?" The rich man laughed at Cen, but quickly corrected him, "I want you to be a Gladiator my boy. Imagine it! You standing in the center of the arena, men and women shouting your name. Ladies begging you to take their favor before your fight. Lords coming to you and begging for you to join their court as a royal knight. Think of it Cen, think of how powerful you can become, and all you need do, is fight your hardest to make sure another man does not put you down." Cen took a long drink, spilling a bit of the delicious wine on his chin.
He spoke, his voice quiet at first, then too loud, "well, when you puddit like THAT it sounds like it could be a kindofagoodsortofidea. But see, but see, I'm not really sort of you know, a guy who goes out and is always lookin' fer a fighty fight swordy boy hittin' stuff, y'know what I mean. I don't know if fighting people for funsies fer people to watch is so much of a good-duh thing." Cen nodded about four times, but it could have been more than that, he wasn't really paying much attention to his body. His body felt great actually, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to sit down and have a nice drink without The Fox sending somebody after him to try and kill him. If he didn't know better, he'd think that Sacaen tracker they'd hired would just burst out of a closet and tackle him. An angry voice flared up in Cen's mind at the thought, Yeah, and I'd break his damn nose again! Cen laughed a little at that, he had really broken that broad man's nose the last time. Of course the time before that, one of his fingers had been broken, but that was just the natural give and take of things. You break a man's fingers, he breaks your nose. Say lava, as the saying goes.
Osmant smiled, "I simply think you overlook your prospects son, you could be something if that lance and sword of yours was more often used for your good. I hope it's not too invasive, but I know a bit about you Cen. I am fully aware of the kind of man you are. Tell me, if you die of starvation for lack of funds, how will you protect anyone?" Cen drunkenly stared at the man in silence.
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It was a few days later that he had his first fight working for Osmant. The lord was attending a party with his lady wife and his children, and Cen was brought along behind them. He and another fighter, a much older man with a massive axe marched fifty paces behind the nobles, but the walk was not too long. Soon they had arrived at a mansion, a bit smaller than Osmant's and the two of them had been shown a back entrance. They were shown to a small room with gray walls, and Cen got to better know the man with him, Orlando was his name, and he was a former Ilian mercenary turned prize fighter, who'd seen some s**t as he put it in the bandit war. He was a nice guy, he seemed concerned for Cen, and even offered to carry the younger man's lance when they walked out. He said it would intimidate Cen's opponent, thinking this older fighter respected the young rider enough to carry his lance for him. Cen was in the middle of a hard laugh at a joke the man told him about women in Etruria when a well dressed servant opened the door and said, "It is time, follow me."
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Oct 30, 2015 13:43:48 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Oct 30, 2015 13:43:48 GMT -6
Orlando took Cen's lance in his hand, and nodded at the lime haired rider. Cen walked out, following the servant. He threw his shoulders back and held his chin up. He was entirely unsure on what to do with his hands, so he balled them into fists. The servant eventually led the pair of fighters to an oak door. He thrust the door open, and a wave of music hit Cen. As he entered a large room, he saw that a group of minstrels were creating the noise, but he also saw a large conglomeration of aristocrats, wearing the ridiculous trappings of the days high fashion. Walking in from a door opposite Cen and Orlando came two other fighters, trailing another servant. Cen made eye contact with the man in the front. He was a tall man, almost as tall as the young fighter. He was much broader however, with arms that seemed to Cen to be completely unnecessary. On his back was strapped a greatsword, and he wore a mail shirt. His eyes weren't particularly hard, almost like a bakers, or a minstrel. He was built like a smith, but moved like a much less physical man.
An old man with red hair that looked to be turning gray spread his arms and said, "Ah! Look everyone, the entertainment is here! We have fighters representing Osmant and Bruckner. A group of fearsome combatants to be sure. Osmant, Bruckner, please introduce us to these champions!" He slapped a man Cen didn't recognize on the back, and the man stepped forward at the same time as Osmant pushed his way through the crowd of aristocrats. Cen noted there were a few harsh glances thrown at Osmant by the other aristocrats, a few of the assembled lords and ladies seeming to drip with disdain as he passed them. Osmant opened his mouth to speak, but Bruckner quickly jumped in over him.
"My fighters are a fine pair, one a mercenary from Tuscana, the other a veteran of the Bandit war from Etruria. Kwain is my first fighter, and he is a man who specializes in the use of his massive blade." The man who had stared into Cen's eyes stepped forward, and dipped his shoulders just a bit in a sort of bow. Osmant spoke then, "Yes, and my fighters are of a good stock. I bring you tonight, Ced the Long and Orlando the Axe." Cen's eyes widened at the false name. He hadn't been told he would be fighting under a pseudonym, but he quickly made his face plain again. "My first fighter is Ced the long, a former bodyguard who came into my service while fleeing the wrath of a lord. The man hated him not for failing to guard his daughter, rather, Ced guarded her too well, if you catch my meaning." That was odd. He used a false name for Cen, but did tell a true story, or at least, part of it.
Osmant walked up to Cen, and held his lance just so that Cen could take it. Cen grinned, trying to pass himself off as cocky, then Osmant walked over to the wall, as did the other fighter under Bruckner. The man with reddish hair clapped as both fighters set their feet. "The fight will be to the pacification of a fighter, by death, knock out, or forfeit. Begin!" Cen lowered his left shoulder, and placed both hands on his lance. He was a shield, but sometimes a shield needed funds to fix its straps or mend its splintered edges.
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Nov 3, 2015 1:00:12 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Nov 3, 2015 1:00:12 GMT -6
Kwain drew the massive sword on his back. It was big, really big, but then so was the man. Cen didn't give him much time. As he burst forward, his eyes darted about the room taking in the surroundings. All the on lookers were to the fighters' right, in between two shallow lanes of water. The water was impractical, sitting in the middle of a stone floor. Maybe it was pleasing to some people aesthetically? Cen had no clue, he was no interior decorator. The rider dashed to the left of the man. Left of the fighters' were a quartet of minstrels, a lute, a lyre, a flute, and some weird thing Cen couldn't identify that probably had some odd name that made it sound like something that played intricate elegant music, when it in fact made weird noises that would sound funny in any song other than the one it was in. The minstrels were silent now. Cen shot his lance out, trying to just barely graze the man's ribs. He didn't want to kill the man, and anything he could do to prevent it, he would.
The man seemed to hold the same aversion. He swung his sword at Cen's head, but at an odd upwards diagonal angle from Cen's left. Simply by darting to the right, Cen avoided the blow, even though it rendered his own useless, losing the momentum perhaps required against the chain mail. Instead of backing up, Cen forcibly pulled his weapon back, grating its head against the mail on the man's torso. It still seemed like nothing. Kwain, holding his sword with both hands, tried to bash Cen in the head with the pommel of the sword, but Cen leaned back, managing to stay far away from the blunt blow.
Backpedaling, Cen observed his opponent. He hadn't seen much battle, he might not have even killed a man yet. Kwain held the sword like he had some idea of how to use it, but from the looks of his grip and his footwork Cen could assume he had never had an actual lesson. As the man attempted a lunge at Cen's shoulder, an odd move, but one probably intended to maim Cen just enough to get him to quit, Cen began to speed around the giant b*****d. He could have had a dad, Cen had no real way of knowing. Also, giant in the sense that he was large, not that he was massively a b*****d. There weren't varying degrees of not knowing who your father was. This guys mom was really not married to his dad. No, this man was just very very big.
Once behind the man, Cen had to think fast. There were a lot of things to consider though, about how he would affect this man's life. If he stabbed him in the calf, the man might not be able to work for the rest of his life. He was probably only fighting to feed his family, and Cen wanted not to deprive them of food. So instead, Cen swung his lance horizontally, cutting a shallow wound on the man's upper right calf. Kwain spun about, swinging his sword violently and clumsily as he came on. His sword managed to give Cen a small wound along his own left forearm. The rider then moved within, too close for either of their weapons to be used effectively. He shoved his spear, butt first, into the man's chest.
One thing the man made clear with his eyes, was that he was trying to focus on Cen. So he wasn't focused on the layout of the room. He didn't realize that one of the lanes of water was behind him, and he stumbled into it, his colossal frame tumbling to the ground, his weapon slipping from his grasp. He hit his head on the stone, the force not weakened by the water. While he was recovering from the pain, Cen kicked his sword away, and pointed the tip of his sword at the other man's neck. The man managed to let out a choked, "I yield." Osmant laughed while all the other nobles clapped, "Let him up then Ced." The boy obliged, a wave of relief washing over him.
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Dec 16, 2015 23:49:16 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Dec 16, 2015 23:49:16 GMT -6
Cen moved the tip of his lance away from the throat of the man on his back, and heard as all the frilly dressed began to hoot and holler and clap their heavy hands together. The lithe rider didn't care for it. He didn't care for any of this, fighting for entertainment, or the way that people were so entertained by it. Fighting was something you did when you needed to protect yourself or others, blood was not a genre of drama to be seen in the theater. It was brutal, and the reason they enjoyed it so was because they'd never have to taste of it. If their city were invaded, their sons would not be at the front, making sure people in their homes could be safe. They were all cowards. Cowards with money, but cowards.
Leaning down, the rider offered the other man a hand. The swordsman on his back pushes the hand away angrily, and then attempted to rise on his own. He slipped in the water, and a few of the young women clustered together watching began to laugh. Cen lowered a hand to the man again, this time the broad man taking the assistance. The Cornwellian gave a slight twist of the corner of his mouth. As the other walked away, the lime haired youth looked over at Osmant, who motioned for Cen to join his family. However, as Cen walked over and stood behind the man's sons and daughters, Osmant stepped forward along with Bruckner the other man who'd brought his fighters.
The other spoke first once more, "My next fighter is Jericho, a veteran of the War of Bernese aggression." Cen felt a pair of eyes burning into the side of his head. He must not have been a pretty sight at that moment. His clothes clung tightly to his skin with the sweat drawn up in his fight and his hair was in tangles. Cen looked over to try and get a few more inches in his periphery, and saw the pair of eyes locked on him. It was a young woman, maybe a few years older than him, with light pink hair. She smiled when she saw him looking, but Cen quickly looked away.
Osmant presented Orlando, "This is my second man, Orlando the axe. He is a veteran of the bandit war, and if I remember correctly, the War of Bernese Aggression as well." The host spoke once more, "Begin." Cen peeked over at the woman who had been looking at him, and almost a second after he did, she looked at him as well. Orlando spoke as he took his big axe off his shoulder, "Bern war, what side wereya on?" The man laughed as he lifted his own axe. "The winning side, you?" Orlando put both hands on the haft of his weapon, "The right side." Once more, Cen and the woman made momentary eye contact, this time however, the woman smiled.
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Mar 8, 2016 16:25:57 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Mar 8, 2016 16:25:57 GMT -6
Where Cen's fight had been dramatic and exciting with all the trappings of a fight from a romantic ballad, Orlando's fight was brutal. It was far longer than the one between Cen and his opponent, but there was less variety in the way they fought. One burly fellow would go on the offensive and the other would begin to give ground, but only for a short time before the tables turned and the other burly fighter had his opponent on the run. Cen knew that for him to make any noises in cheer would be to embarrass Osmant, which wasn't something he'd consider to be a good thing. It was a neutral thing at best, and an awful thing at most. He assumed that if he did any damaged to Osmant's less than positive reputation, he'd certainly not get paid. That was if it was a neutral thing.
As Orlando managed to avoid a harsh strike from his opponents single handed and single bladed axe, Cen looked over once more at the young woman with pink hair, but she was once more watching the fight. Right, of course. She probably just looked over at him after the fight out of curiosity, and when she looked over again, she had only been checking to see if he was still looking at her. It was simple, he just wouldn't look at her the rest of the night, that after all would make her uncomfortable he was sure, her being a nobleman and he being a gladiator, now coated in sweat and grime. So he'd simply stare at the fight that simple.
Orlando almost lost his upper hand as the other man blocked a powerful overhand strike from Cen's partner, but the thick Bernese man slipped out of the man's range with a speed one wouldn't expect from one his size. Then they were right back at each other. Cen assumed that his friend would be fine, and decided that for the hell of it, he'd glance over at the woman once mire. There it was, she was looking at him the same way as he was looking at her. This time they both quickly looked away. Right as Cen looked back at the fight, Orlando's wicked axe cut deep in the flesh of the other man's arm. The man dropped his axe with a cry, as blood sprayed the floor and began to trickle down his side. Orlando looked at Osmant who shook his head. Orlando nodded and walked over to where Cen stood, and took up position beside him. As the big man went, the nobles clapped for their entertainment.
A servant appeared to lead the other man away. Cen had seen axe wounds like it before, and knew that if it wasn't treated fast enough the man could lose his arm. Then the host rubbed his hands together, and strolled to the spot he'd spoken in before. "Well! After that ripping entertainment, let's see about passing some drinks around, hearing some beautiful music, and engaging each other in conversation. Enjoy yourselves everyone!" As all the nobles at the party rushed off to start speaking with each other, Osmant and his family did the same, leaving Cen and Orlando simply standing next to each other, not knowing where to move to. "You alright?" "Aye." As the duo stood, a group of women, some of the nobles wive's and daughters approached them. Cen scanned them to see if the young woman with pink hair was there, but she wasn't. This didn't look like it would go well for him.
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Mar 12, 2016 3:30:56 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Mar 12, 2016 3:30:56 GMT -6
"Dear do you know what these men must eat to grow to this size-" "how on Earth do these gentlemen get involved in things like this." "What a ghastly display!" "Lord, how can you find men like this? Where does one go to find men so poor-""lord Dianna the tall one is handsome isn't he?" "Just how long do you think these men have to train?" "did you see the way this man moved." "-he must be Sacaen to have hair of that color and his eyes to look like that." "Helena dear don't get so close one of them might have the pox." "Wasn't your husband planning to bring his own fighters tonight Marietta?"
"You fight very well, sirrahs." At once Cen and Orlando both snapped their necks, and saw a bit off the side of where all the women stood was the woman with pink hair Cen had jousted with over stares only minutes ago. Orlando didn't say anything, and all the woman had grown quiet at one of their status actually speaking to a pair of common ruffians. "You watch very well, lady." What? What did you just say? What did you just say Cen? When did you decided you wanted a lord to throw you into his dungeon and forget about you Cen? A few of the women raised eyebrows, but the young woman only smiled. She was beautiful, in an odd way. She didn't look wholly Lycian, she looked as if perhaps she was part Bernese. Her features were very sharp, her chin and nose were pointed, with her nose being particularly striking to the young Cornwellian. She looked, to the best of Cen's descriptive ability, like her face was trying to pick a fight with him. For some reason he found that particular threat very attractive.
"How does one watch well, sirrah?" She shifted her weight and crossed her arms, but her smile changed with her body language, and through her thin dark lips Cen made out a flash of teeth. As she moved her hair shifted across her shoulders in pink curls that seemed to roll like waves, and Cen had trouble remembering her question. Already in deeper than a level headed man without rushing adrenaline would like to be, he said, "With eyes like yours, any watching is well, lady." One of the women in the crowd covered a smile while a few of the younger women actually seemed quite entertained. A few of the older woman looked visibly put off by the exchange but looked to make no effort to distance themselves from the conversation. Her eyes were brown, dark brown, so dark that they almost looked black around her pupils. "Eyes like mine? Do my eyes have some wondrous quality that makes them far better to look on at great events compared to some other pair of eyes?" "Of course, lady." Her tone still biting with sarcasm, the woman asked, "And what might that be?" "They are your eyes, lady." The woman's smile suddenly slipped, and was replaced with a far less assertive one, and with one that seemed to be involuntary on her part. Orlando grinned at Cen, and even the older women seemed to be a bit less contemptuous of him, though they were still the slightest bit offended that a commoner would talk with a noblewomen in such plain words.
However, a hand clamped his shoulder, and Cen turned to see Osmant, standing next to an older couple. The man was clearly higher nobility with old money, and Lycian by the look of him, from his thin nose to his graying red hair. The woman was Bernese, with sharp features and light pink hair, just the same color as the woman Cen had been fli-. Ah. Oh. Oh. "I think, boy, you overstep your station."
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Mar 13, 2016 20:43:43 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Mar 13, 2016 20:43:43 GMT -6
With only one aide to help them find their way back to Osmant's manse, Cen and Orlando were made to briskly leave the party through the servant's corridor. As Cen had left, he had looked over his shoulder, and the woman with pink hair had given a small wave. Not small enough that her father hadn't seen however, and Cen saw the man lean in close to begin whispering something to her. Then however, he had looked ahead, and made his way out of the house that was likely more expensive than any money his family had made since opening the ranch however many generations ago the first Cedidale had lost his knighthood.
As they made the track out of the older district of Badon and over towards where Osmant lived among the other merchants, Cen continuously apologized to Osmant, who assured the young Cornwellian that if they'd stayed he'd have said something far worse than any of Cen's flirting, and probably gotten them killed rather then simply expelled. He also began to refer to the young man as "Lady Killer" which Cen wasn't sure how to take. It felt like a compliment, but it could just as well of been a joke. Orlando's grisly voice didn't make it quite easy to tell either.
When they arrived at the house, they were taken to their room, a small section of the servant's quarter had been converted to hold Osmant's fighters. There were four rooms, each built to house two people, and all were in use, though the fourth only had one resident, and that was Orlando. Cen bid the man a good nights rest, and entered his own room, where his bunkmate Brocktree was already asleep. He began to disrobe, but as he was putting his shirt he had been using to sleep in, the aide who'd walked Orlando and he home entered the room. Quietly the man said, "Lord Osmant instructed me to tell you that he's going to wish to speak with you when he returns. I would suggest you wait in his office.
Great. Just great.
The young rider had sat in the office for what felt like hours. It probably felt like that because it had been. Two, if Cen was a betting man. Then however, as Cen was beginning to drift off sitting in the large chair that Osmant had in his office, the doors opened, and Osmant stepped in. Great.
The man didn't say anything as he walked over to his side table, and taking a bottle of wine poured a goblet. Turning, he walked over and sat the drink in front of his fighter. Cen opened his mouth as he took it, but the man threw up a hand to let him know to stay quiet. Then he poured himself a goblet, and sipped it as he walked over to the window. Looking out at the moving lanterns used by the various people of Badon, he was quiet for a long time. Finally he said, "I bet you're expecting me to stop letting you fight for me? Or tell you that if this thing happens again you'll be killed?" Cen gulped and said, "Something along those lines sir." Osmant snorted, "I'm not a military man Cen, do not call me sir." He paused.
"I am not going to kill you, I am not going to expel you. What you did tonight..." Osmant turned around, and under the lantern light saw that the rich man had a broad smile across his face. "Was fantastic! Do you know what all the people in town will be speaking of?" Cen merely shook his head. "They will be speaking of the young gladiator who flirted with a noblewoman from a family who's been in Badon nearly as long as the Marquess himself! You're a story my young friend, and one the people will love to tell. When you fight, the prize will be higher, because the people of Badon will be cheering for you. You've only made yourself a hotter commodity. So do not worry my boy, your coin is protected, and I believe I will be able to parley our situation into your entry into the arena all the sooner." He came over and took his seat on the other side of his desk.
"There is one other thing, we will now be using your real name." Cen's eyebrows shot up. "While you made your debut under my name, Desmond had a meeting with a man who worked for our mutual friend the Fox. Your 'debt' has been paid, and you may now once again travel Lycia as a free man." Cen's face had never shown such shock. "Now get some rest, we've got big things ahead of us son. Big things."
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Mar 14, 2016 18:54:43 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Mar 14, 2016 18:54:43 GMT -6
It was a misty morning, there was a nip in the air that Cen could feel even through his thick coat. The mist rolled in, from the beach that was about a mile South of the little fishing village Cen now stood in. They had arrived the night before, and rested at the Inn. Osmant had gotten the nicest room of course, while Cen had shared a small room with only a bed and a cot with a thin swordsman named Martin. Both men had offered to take the cot, but Cen was insistent. So he'd gotten less than stellar sleep on the cot, and now it was a cold morning, he was wearing a coat he'd borrowed from Orlando, standing in the town square on the fishermen of the village's day of rest. He stood next to Martin, the pair shoulder to shoulder behind Osmant. Well, not shoulder to shoulder, more like shoulder to just below the chest. Martin was incredibly short, he was barely five feet, if that. Still, he had a long history as a capable gladiator, and his title was a testament to that. He had won it, in a death match from the man who'd held it before he did.
Osmant stepped forward, and said, "Gentlemen, I am here today because you are without entertainment. So many of the nobles in the city have elected to hold their own private fights away from the eyes of the public, depriving the common people from seeing the sport which has long been their right in its purest form. The fights you have been shown in the arena are shams, fighters with no skill or spirit playing at the contests of yesterday to placate you. I say no more! So today, I have brought you two fighters of my own, and convinced my dear friend Bartholomew to supply the same, and today you shall see a bout of titans to rival the finest matches in the world!" The men roared, some clapped, some shook their friends. A servant of Osmant was walking around, ready to start taking bets when the fighters were announced. Cen doubted many of the men could afford to lose, most wore cloaks full of holes, or coats that were more patch than original fabric. Still, they seemed more than ready to watch blood be shed in front of them.
Bartholomew stepped forward and said, "That is correct! We are here to give you a show, and so let it begin. My first fighter, Wallace! The greatest swordfighter from the icy north! The teacher of the Winter Lion, he once dueled the Crimson Demon to a standstill!" Well, there was no way any of that was even a little bit true. Many of the men hooted as the older swordsman stepped forward. Osmant then began to speak, and said, "And for my fighter, I offer an assassin from Etruria who once took out an entire battalion of the Prophet's soldiers in one night. However, he's not all stealth folks! He's the champion of over twenty bouts to the death, here he is, Martin The Warrior!"
Martin stepped forward, and people started placing there bets, Cen was willing to bet most of them would be against the small man, who drew a pair of long daggers.
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Mar 15, 2016 1:44:10 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Mar 15, 2016 1:44:10 GMT -6
Before the two men clashed, Cen looked past them to the small cover next to the inn they had stayed in. It was a nervous tick almost, but he wanted to make sure Thunder was still there, and still okay. The horse had his old trusty lance, as well as his quiver of Javelin hanging on either side. The young rider had of course not left his weapons on the horse all night, but he didn't quite care for the town. He had no fear for his life from the townsfolk, but he'd never been fond of the smell of fish. If they could get out seconds after his fight, that was fine with him. For that, he had packed right before they'd made their way to the 'arena' of the day, and was ready to move whenever. He wore a bit of his armor today, both pauldrons and his full breast plate. He wore his leather waist guard, which he thought may prove foolish when the fighting actually began. His arming sword was at his waist, and Cen was feeling ready to use it. Anything to get him away from the fish smell after all. Now however, it was Martin's fight.
The other man had drawn a scimitar, and set his feet far apart, his left in the front. Martin positioned his arms in a similar way, his right one forward, and his left back near his body. Without warning, the older champion rushed forward, and brought his Scimitar in a wicked arc at about neck level of the short swordsman in front of him. Martin however, brought his thicker left dagger over to block the scimitar, and though it did not stop the blade, it gave the short man enough time to move back out of the way from the scimitar. Then he flashed into the man's range, and dragged the dagger in his right hand across the other man's ribs. As blood was flung from the wound and created a thick line across the ground in the ring formed by the spectators, the men watching all cheered. However, the other swordsman's age bellied his speed, and he turned incredibly quickly and brought his own blade across Martin's back.
Martin grunted at the pain, and spun on his heel, then ducked to narrowly dodge another blow from the snow haired man. He backpedaled then, making sure to keep a distance with the other fighter, and the man simply followed him. Martin came in, and both speedsters danced a bit, their iron meeting each other, and the men's feet exchanging strain. However, after three or so exchanges of advantage, Martin ducked under a blow from the Scimitar that may have ended his life, and with a quick flick of his wrist drove the dagger in his left hand into the other warrior's shoulder. The man cried out in the way that only a man who'd seen at least twice the years Cen had could, and dropped his sword. Martin quickly held his dagger at the other man's throat. The men watching roared, and the very few who had bet on Martin began to collect their winnings from Osmant's man.
Cen took a deep breath, and gave Martin a quick smile along with a curt nod as the man came back to stand beside him. Here it came. Showtime.
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Cen
Cavalier
Cowards die many deaths, the valiant taste of death but once.
Posts: 196
Profession: Bodyguard
Affinity: Light
OoC Alias: Selibas
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Bravo
Mar 19, 2016 20:15:34 GMT -6
Post by Cen on Mar 19, 2016 20:15:34 GMT -6
Rolling his head to either side of his neck, Cen tried to prepare himself. It was always hard, readying himself to fight a battle for the entertainment of all these screaming men, and by proxy the women watching from a bit farther from the circle. The few children he could see trying to catch a glimpse of the duel made it worse. If he'd been fighting for some other reason. Justice, self defense, or the protection of someone who couldn't protect them self, he could maybe have prepared himself quicker. For fun though? He doubted he'd ever be really ready. Still, Osmant stepped forward to introduce him, and that meant he'd have to be. Both Osmant and the other wealthy man stepped forward, and the other man began his introduction.
"People of Totnes! How was that for a match?!" The men in the circle roared and threw their fists in the air. The man who could buy all their homes easier than most of them could buy a new cloak continued, "Then let's not waste anytime! For your last fight, I give you my champion, Doran of Etruria!" Cen looked over at the man's fighter then, and realized he had made a mistake. The man was holding a lance. Cen had his arming sword. One of the men had an advantage, and it was not Cen. His natural range could be almost rendered moot, having to contend with Doran's lance, but Cen would have to make some kind of effort to get inside, which he wasn't used to. A lance in his long arms meant Cen could be as far away from an enemy as he liked, and that was usually as far as he could be.
The former Squire was pulled from his thoughts by Osmant stepping forward and beginning his own introduction. "Well, this is it. The final match. And how better to end it, than with the next Titan of the Badon Arena? So, without further adieu, I give you the scarlet tongued Cen the Long!" Scarlet tongued was a part of the image Osmant had been spreading, of a love affair between a young noble woman and a gladiator. It was a bit silly in Cen's opinion, to spread it as such when all Cen had done was say a few nice things to the woman. Still, if it got Cen in the arena faster, he wouldn't mind too much.
Both fighters stepped forward, the other man setting his feet and gripping his spear with both hands, and Cen widening his stance and drawing his sword. He needed a shield. The Cornwellian nodded, and Doran moved only a second later. He came at Cen slowly, cautiously, moving one foot at a time. Cen didn't move, he held his ground. Doran made a thrust at the young man's shoulder when he was in range, but Cen shifted his weight and bent away from the spearhead. Then the young squire came in at the man, bringing his sword back to aim a slash at the man's arm. However, before the rider could bring his sword to the otherman's side, the man brought his lance up in a crescent, and rammed the shaft into Cen's unprotected throat.
His breath became heavy, and Cen stumbled to his side. He'd fought men with lances before, but never had a man do that to him. As he moved further to the man's side, Doran moved further away, creating more space between the two, then tried to rake the spear across Cen's ribs. He succeeded, though he did not make deep contact. Though a shallow cut, Cen still cursed under his stunted breath, and the spear point still drew blood. He straightened his back then, and backed up. Doran came on again, and this time Cen didn't stand still. Despite his curt breath he rushed in, and when the man brought his lance toward Cen's chest, the squire stopped, and bent away from the lance on instinct. It wasn't enough, he realized, and with the speed of a desperate man, rammed his blade against the spear, and the lance moved enough that it made no contact with the riders skin.
The lime haired man sprinted in then, and wrapped his left hand just above the right on the hilt of his arming sword. However, he did not swing, he just lowered his shoulder enough, and rammed it into the now retreating man's face. It sent the man reeling back, and as he moved, blood trickling from his face, Cen cut a long line on the man's right arm which held the lance. Reacting to the pain, Doran dropped his weapon, and the tall rider stepped on its shaft. He pointed his sword at Doran, and the man lifted both of his hands. Cen looked back at Osmant, and the wealthy man nodded. The former squire bent down, and handed the man his lance, then made his way to stand next to Martin, as the crowd cheered. He noticed that far fewer men had actually bet on him than had bet on Doran, and it seemed Osmant was cleaning up. Though Cen gripped his side, he felt a man move his hand away as soon as he was next to Martin and behind Osmant. He looked down, and saw Desmond holding a brown cloth to his side, that seemed to be spreading a balm of sorts across Cen's side. "Thanks," grumbled Cen.
As the men talked about the fights, smiles on their faces, and Osmant shook the hand of Bartholomew, there came a wretched sound. The scream of a small child.
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