Uphill [Solo]
Nov 30, 2016 21:27:25 GMT -6
Post by Selibas on Nov 30, 2016 21:27:25 GMT -6
The saber of the Khan was expertly made, forged by a master smith of unbreakable metal. It could sunder magic, cutting through flame and darkness like hot butter. In the hands of the Khan who wielded it until recently, the sword was near useless. He had been literally like a child, wielding the sword of an entirely different style, trying to fight in a way that fought against his every instinct on the battlefield, it was as if he’d never wrapped his fingers round a hilt.
It was practically true, he had learned with Shahlizen in his left hand to keep the Sacaen style separate. Before then he had only used his left hand to wield his massive dragon render, so this was an all new experience for his left hand. Until he’d made the decision to fight amongst his people as one of them, his left had not been a tool in the art of war, now it firmly held a brush with reasonable confidence.
Selibas was walking beside a large pond with only two guards and two blood riders. He had Khasar and Barude with him, and the guards were named Ogul and Sechen. He and Khasar were planning to spar, and he had wanted to do it away from prying eyes. This was good, the pond added some level of tranquility not present in the camp of the Sacaens.
The guards began to stroll about, looking around while Barude leaned on her spear. Selibas and Khasar didn’t even need to speak with each other, the bloodrider knew the drill. They put a degree between them, and drew their swords. It bothered Khasar to use the saber he’d learned originally, but he was still an expert swordsman and an excellent teacher. Selibas was catching up to him at a snails pace.
Both wore their Lamellar armor, Khasar quite liked it, and it felt to Selibas like it was somehow more Sacaen than wearing his plate. So the two took their stance, and prepared to clash. However, they were interrupted, when an arrow sailed through the sky and took Barude in the chest.
The other four Sacaens were immediately on edge, their eyes darting around the plain. That was when Selibas saw him, a familiar face. One of the men who’d indoctrinated the Khan into a desert cult while he was drugged in his youth. Lowering a bow, ‘Gray’ stood thirty yards away, just over the crest of a hill. The old swordsman’s true name was Beckett, and he was the third highest ranking member in the little group that had long thought Selibas dead. Clearly Selibas escaping them twice was three times too many.
Barude moaned behind him, and Selibas called out, “Olug, Sechen, take her back, get her treatment with the Chaklai or anybody else.” Olug sheepishly began, “My Khan-” The Little Wolf cut her off and said, “If he can kill me and Khasar you think the two of you can stop him?”
The man and woman looked at each other, then they hurried over to the bloodrider and took her arms over their shoulders. Beckett’s eyes followed them, as his teeth glared in his friendly half smile. “So, Little Wolf. You’re hard to put down.”
“Yes, I am, hard enough that you b******s should stop trying.” The man laughed as he sat his bow down, “Now now, you know that we can’t just let you go away. You know where we are, you know how we operate. And now you’ve killed a good portion of our treasury. Mercenaries and assassins don’t come too cheap kid.”
Selibas gritted his teeth, he felt Khasar tensing beside him. Beckett had picked the right day to fight Selibas, who was at his worst with his weapon not fitting his experience. However, he was facing a master in Khasar, who was more terrifying than all of his other bloodriders save Bekter when he held a saber. If he could put down Selibas, he was still dead.
“Operate? A group of thieves in the middle of nowhere hiding in a cave. I couldn’t give a s**t. If you cretins would leave me to fight my war you’d be free of me.” The lithe older swordsman’s hand flickered to his falchion hilt, but he did not free his sword. “Careful now wolf, I’m not some blade for hire, I’m here not for coin but for pride. I’m here to kill you.”
“Then come on, shoot me.” It was a bluff, though Selibas believed in his lightweight armor he might be able to dodge a bolt. The man’s half smile returned, shining through his gray scruff. “No boy. Hear you’ve gotten pretty good with the sword, not like back in the desert when you just swung it around.”
The Khan clenched his right fist at his side, “Good enough.” The man nodded casually, “That’s right. Good enough. I’d like to see.”
Khasar finally spoke up, yelling, “YOU WANT TO SEE? TRY ME!” The man’s smile remained as he shook his head. “No kiddo, I’ll get to you. I want my duel with the pup there. Then, then I’ll see your mettle little man.” Khasar looked over at Selibas, his eyes the most serious they’d ever looked. If the Khan had nodded, Beckett would be dead. He was tempted.
But he shook it, and the swordsman stood down. Selibas stepped forward, and set his feet, thinning his form and pointing Shahlizen at the old swordsman. “Let’s go.” A full smile tore the man’s face, and he pulled the falchion free of its sheathe, and once it was free, the blade erupted into flame. Much to the gray fox’s chagrin, the little wolf didn’t flinch. Beckett sprinted for the young man, and Selibas began to pedal himself to the right. When the older swordsman aimed a swing at Selibas’ throat with frightening speed, the Khan managed a successful parry.
As soon as Shahlizen’s edge touched the metal of the burning falchion, the flame went out.
It was practically true, he had learned with Shahlizen in his left hand to keep the Sacaen style separate. Before then he had only used his left hand to wield his massive dragon render, so this was an all new experience for his left hand. Until he’d made the decision to fight amongst his people as one of them, his left had not been a tool in the art of war, now it firmly held a brush with reasonable confidence.
Selibas was walking beside a large pond with only two guards and two blood riders. He had Khasar and Barude with him, and the guards were named Ogul and Sechen. He and Khasar were planning to spar, and he had wanted to do it away from prying eyes. This was good, the pond added some level of tranquility not present in the camp of the Sacaens.
The guards began to stroll about, looking around while Barude leaned on her spear. Selibas and Khasar didn’t even need to speak with each other, the bloodrider knew the drill. They put a degree between them, and drew their swords. It bothered Khasar to use the saber he’d learned originally, but he was still an expert swordsman and an excellent teacher. Selibas was catching up to him at a snails pace.
Both wore their Lamellar armor, Khasar quite liked it, and it felt to Selibas like it was somehow more Sacaen than wearing his plate. So the two took their stance, and prepared to clash. However, they were interrupted, when an arrow sailed through the sky and took Barude in the chest.
The other four Sacaens were immediately on edge, their eyes darting around the plain. That was when Selibas saw him, a familiar face. One of the men who’d indoctrinated the Khan into a desert cult while he was drugged in his youth. Lowering a bow, ‘Gray’ stood thirty yards away, just over the crest of a hill. The old swordsman’s true name was Beckett, and he was the third highest ranking member in the little group that had long thought Selibas dead. Clearly Selibas escaping them twice was three times too many.
Barude moaned behind him, and Selibas called out, “Olug, Sechen, take her back, get her treatment with the Chaklai or anybody else.” Olug sheepishly began, “My Khan-” The Little Wolf cut her off and said, “If he can kill me and Khasar you think the two of you can stop him?”
The man and woman looked at each other, then they hurried over to the bloodrider and took her arms over their shoulders. Beckett’s eyes followed them, as his teeth glared in his friendly half smile. “So, Little Wolf. You’re hard to put down.”
“Yes, I am, hard enough that you b******s should stop trying.” The man laughed as he sat his bow down, “Now now, you know that we can’t just let you go away. You know where we are, you know how we operate. And now you’ve killed a good portion of our treasury. Mercenaries and assassins don’t come too cheap kid.”
Selibas gritted his teeth, he felt Khasar tensing beside him. Beckett had picked the right day to fight Selibas, who was at his worst with his weapon not fitting his experience. However, he was facing a master in Khasar, who was more terrifying than all of his other bloodriders save Bekter when he held a saber. If he could put down Selibas, he was still dead.
“Operate? A group of thieves in the middle of nowhere hiding in a cave. I couldn’t give a s**t. If you cretins would leave me to fight my war you’d be free of me.” The lithe older swordsman’s hand flickered to his falchion hilt, but he did not free his sword. “Careful now wolf, I’m not some blade for hire, I’m here not for coin but for pride. I’m here to kill you.”
“Then come on, shoot me.” It was a bluff, though Selibas believed in his lightweight armor he might be able to dodge a bolt. The man’s half smile returned, shining through his gray scruff. “No boy. Hear you’ve gotten pretty good with the sword, not like back in the desert when you just swung it around.”
The Khan clenched his right fist at his side, “Good enough.” The man nodded casually, “That’s right. Good enough. I’d like to see.”
Khasar finally spoke up, yelling, “YOU WANT TO SEE? TRY ME!” The man’s smile remained as he shook his head. “No kiddo, I’ll get to you. I want my duel with the pup there. Then, then I’ll see your mettle little man.” Khasar looked over at Selibas, his eyes the most serious they’d ever looked. If the Khan had nodded, Beckett would be dead. He was tempted.
But he shook it, and the swordsman stood down. Selibas stepped forward, and set his feet, thinning his form and pointing Shahlizen at the old swordsman. “Let’s go.” A full smile tore the man’s face, and he pulled the falchion free of its sheathe, and once it was free, the blade erupted into flame. Much to the gray fox’s chagrin, the little wolf didn’t flinch. Beckett sprinted for the young man, and Selibas began to pedal himself to the right. When the older swordsman aimed a swing at Selibas’ throat with frightening speed, the Khan managed a successful parry.
As soon as Shahlizen’s edge touched the metal of the burning falchion, the flame went out.