Fall 11, 512 AV
“So tell me about Fyreden.”
“Not much to say. Have you considered living on the sun? Maybe living on the moon?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then you’ve never considered living on Fyreden. You flesh bags would evaporate or freeze in an instant.”
“Charming place.”
“The tourism alone gets us through the toughest times.”
The two men circled each other, one brandishing a long dagger and the other with a rapier. Wren tested Zan’s poise, stepping forward and bringing his rapier across the distance between them, thrusting at the familiar’s heart. Zan pushed out his dagger, redirecting the blade away from him, but maintained his distance. Both smiled, circling in a measured dance of thrusts and parries.
“What does one do on Fyreden? How does one pass the time?”
“Through interpretive dance,” Zan teased, striding in and swinging the long dagger across, up toward Wren’s face. The wizard slipped the rapier between them both, sliding it up so that hilt locked hilt, “But we have been known to play conqueror on each other and design petty alliances. Personally I dreamed of becoming a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Stepping in, Wrenmae aimed a kick at the familiar, but Zan had already danced out of his reach, disengaging the dagger and circling again. “I find that hard to imagine.”
“I can’t be held responsible for a limited imagination,” Zan responded, “But to be serious, I don’t know any of my people who DON’T want to get off that world. Shyke, I shacked up with you, after all.”
Wrenmae leaped in for a thrust and Zan batted it away again, both twisted in the movements of combative dance, Zan slashing out with the dagger and Wrenmae catching it with the rapier, pushing it aside and stepping in to deliver a blow to Zan’s face. The familiar stumbled back, hand to his jaw, grinned, and leaped back into the fray. His movements were better, had been getting better the longer they practiced. Some of Wren’s skills were rubbing off on the familiar and now they both could improve each other, training and sparring. The familiar mirrored Wren’s movements and so they both used different weapons.
Zan struck thrice, sweeping the dagger wide at Wren's midriff, quickly received and deterred with his blade, a high slash, ducked, and a stab at his side, narrowly avoided as Wrenmae strode in fast, Zan's thrust too wide to catch his body. Up close, Wrenmae delivered a short but brutal punch to the familiar's stomach, staggering him. The whole aspect of the duel was two part, both endurance and training. Wren also felt the staggering blow to his own stomach, gritting his teeth and breathing harshly through his nose, bellowing like a bull.
The wizard noticed his partner was not quite as fast or sure as he, as if there was still a distance between their full immersion. Still, he had grasped the ability they’d seen so long ago in Alvadas, a replicant form.
And this form carried possibility.
“So tell me about Fyreden.”
“Not much to say. Have you considered living on the sun? Maybe living on the moon?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then you’ve never considered living on Fyreden. You flesh bags would evaporate or freeze in an instant.”
“Charming place.”
“The tourism alone gets us through the toughest times.”
The two men circled each other, one brandishing a long dagger and the other with a rapier. Wren tested Zan’s poise, stepping forward and bringing his rapier across the distance between them, thrusting at the familiar’s heart. Zan pushed out his dagger, redirecting the blade away from him, but maintained his distance. Both smiled, circling in a measured dance of thrusts and parries.
“What does one do on Fyreden? How does one pass the time?”
“Through interpretive dance,” Zan teased, striding in and swinging the long dagger across, up toward Wren’s face. The wizard slipped the rapier between them both, sliding it up so that hilt locked hilt, “But we have been known to play conqueror on each other and design petty alliances. Personally I dreamed of becoming a doctor.”
“A doctor?” Stepping in, Wrenmae aimed a kick at the familiar, but Zan had already danced out of his reach, disengaging the dagger and circling again. “I find that hard to imagine.”
“I can’t be held responsible for a limited imagination,” Zan responded, “But to be serious, I don’t know any of my people who DON’T want to get off that world. Shyke, I shacked up with you, after all.”
Wrenmae leaped in for a thrust and Zan batted it away again, both twisted in the movements of combative dance, Zan slashing out with the dagger and Wrenmae catching it with the rapier, pushing it aside and stepping in to deliver a blow to Zan’s face. The familiar stumbled back, hand to his jaw, grinned, and leaped back into the fray. His movements were better, had been getting better the longer they practiced. Some of Wren’s skills were rubbing off on the familiar and now they both could improve each other, training and sparring. The familiar mirrored Wren’s movements and so they both used different weapons.
Zan struck thrice, sweeping the dagger wide at Wren's midriff, quickly received and deterred with his blade, a high slash, ducked, and a stab at his side, narrowly avoided as Wrenmae strode in fast, Zan's thrust too wide to catch his body. Up close, Wrenmae delivered a short but brutal punch to the familiar's stomach, staggering him. The whole aspect of the duel was two part, both endurance and training. Wren also felt the staggering blow to his own stomach, gritting his teeth and breathing harshly through his nose, bellowing like a bull.
The wizard noticed his partner was not quite as fast or sure as he, as if there was still a distance between their full immersion. Still, he had grasped the ability they’d seen so long ago in Alvadas, a replicant form.
And this form carried possibility.
Keep it up!