10th day of Fall, 518 AV
"You want to what?"
Alistair looked up from his wooden opponent and into the face of the Ravokian. The ruckus of the Vitrax training yards were as emphatic and rowdy as ever, with the sound of steel clashing against steel, fisting striking wood, bodies colliding, sweat dripping, and blood being spilt. It was the telltale din of combat and its beautiful execution in every practical form. The men and women of the Ebonstryfe were often tireless in their quest for excellence, and today was no different. They fought, they trained, they honed themselves for the time some hoped would come that they would one day put such skills to the use, while others were simply going through the motions, doing what they were expected to do because they were expected to do it. Yet, for all the variety of reasons that may have lured these chaos blessed souls to the combat grounds, there was one thing that seemed to bind them all in single unity that day;
Curiosity.
It felt as if every eye in the building was on the man Elias had now approached, and now that he was speaking to him, neary an eye was not on him as well. Most had the decency or the lack of spine to pretend they weren’t gawking, but many more stared openly, either with inquisitive glances or outright hostile glares.
Still, it didn't matter much the young stryfer, Elias liked to think he was far too infamous at this point for his reputation to fear suffering anymore scandal. Of the one he now addressed however, there seemed already an abundance of rumor and gossip abound, and from what Elias had heard amidst that rumor and gossip, the man had been here for only a few weeks now. It seemed rather unfair if he had to say so. Elias had spent the better half of his entire life getting to his current despicable and loathsome place within the ranks, and he’d worked hard at it too! For anyone to march in and threaten to dethrone him from his seat of shame was definitely worth taking an interest in, at the very least.
"A spar?"
"A spar, yes." The mage repeated, holding up the sword in his hand. "Do they not have those where you come from, Sylrian?"
Watching Alistair Valmont stir was like watching a mountain begin to quake, which was fairly apt, Elias thought. The man was nearly seven feet of broad, toughened sinew, the very definition of goliathan. The pale swordsman wasn’t accustomed to looking up at anyone anymore, not since he’d grown out of his swaddling clothes. It was uncomfortable even for him to be so instantaneously reduced in such a way by sheer size difference alone.
"Not interested." Alistair muttered in his queer southern drawl as he turned back to the helpless wooden dummy he’d been demolishing earlier. "I’ve entertained enough idiots today, and yesterday, and the day before. I’ve no care to do so anymore..."
Elias immediately thought of Caiden as the old man raised himself up to his full height, cracking stiff neck muscles and reaffirming his grip upon the massive warhammer he called a weapon. He watched as each muscle was stretched and popped in turn, from shoulders down to his feet, and he was not alone.
A half dozen or so initiates who made up the bulk of those practicing nearby watched with interest as well. Elias noted most of them were his. Tannen was among the recruits, as was Eris, the latter seeming more bored than ever despite the ruthless potential frothing around her from every direction. Honestly, sometimes he didn’t understand that girl at all. He’d figure this of all places would be her preferred haunt, for where else could she satiate her rampant battle and bloodlust more readily than beneath this roof?
Well, if the crazy little spaz was lacking in entertainment, then she was in for a lovely surprise. Elias rarely took ‘no’ for an answer, and they were due some sport.
"I meant no offence, ser knight. Merely thought that you had the look about you, is all.” Elias cooed in an altogether overly informal and uncomfortable tone. The kind that was either mocking, or suspiciously sincere.
“The look?” Alistair grumbled through the gray and white bristles of his beard, though still not bothering to turn and face his new friend again. The man was unkempt, surprisingly so. His salt and pepper beard was a tangled mess that hung low on his chest, and his hair was even worse. He seemed tired, or ill, or both. Ravok had a way of eliciting such reactions when the initial charm wore off and the reality of things beneath the veneer were revealed.
“Hmm, the look.” Elias affirmed nonchalantly. “The look of a man who is in dire need of… release. Nothing quite accomplishes such ventilation like a good fight, I find. I merely wished to offer my services, as a friendly gesture between two scions of Rhysol’s holy-”
“You know the sound of thunder, boy?”
Oh, don’t call me that... Elias mused darkly, his brow furrowing at the sudden question. “Of course.” He managed a courteous reply, despite his shifting demeanor.
“Can you imagine that sound in your mind now if I asked you to?”
Elias had been thrown off his game by this odd turn, and the look on his face clearly said he wasn’t all too happy about it, but he played along none the less. He’d put too much effort into this already to be turned away by some mere banter.
“Yes I can, ser.”
“You aint the first to swagger up here all full of piss and gusto thinkin’ it’d be a fun idea to ‘test themselves’ against the old Syliran knight, and I told them all quite plainly they’d best turn around and walk back the way they came before I sent them back crawling. Well each and every one of them left on their hands and knees by the time all was said and done, and that’s my fault, because I didn't say what I said in thunder.” The giant turned, locking his gray eyes with that of the stryfer’s and made quite plain his intent with merely a look. “Listen to me now, boy. Listen to the thunder.”
There was a pause. An air of apprehension and uncertainty as palpable as the stink of sweat and the weapon’s oil about them…
God… you’re perfect. The Caldera resolved.
Elias shook his head as the lumbering knight -no, that was the wrong word. Even as big as he was, this one moved smoothly and gracefully, economically, bending down to retrieve an upsettingly large waraxe from the floor. Evidently crafted for one of his size, the blade was as thick and hefty as the mage’s own longsword yet the knight held it aloft in one hand as easily as a dagger. The sight of the of sharpened steel left Elias feeling an unfamiliar thrill of trepidation.
Spar or not, if a full-bodied blow from that monster struck him, it would cleave him in two like a pig carcass. And even knowing that, he felt adrenaline and anticipation rush through his veins.
Too long. He thought. Too long since I’ve known this sensation.
There was a hiss of steel pulled free from a leather sheath, and the knight inspected his weapon. He was clad only in common, light attire, the fresh Fall breeze bereft of the chill that had assailed them all for months now outside the city. Only in Ravok could one find so many comfortably unclothed this close to winter’s icy reach, and that was even when Morwen wasn’t on sabbatical. More than a few were happy for the weather’s reprieve their god granted them, embracing it with bare chests and arms. Elias was outfitted in his usually armored regalia however, breastplate of blackened metal and all. It made him stand out like a sore, black thumb amidst the rabble.
The towering giant looked him up and down with a shrewd, appraising intelligence when he noticed the much younger soldier was still standing behind him, yet to respond to his oh so eloquent request to petch off. Elias's chilling blue eyes glinted, and his lips twitched into a momentary smile. A brain too, this one, to match his brawn. Such a challenge... Such a prize. He knew his vision had not led him astray.
This man was the one.
"Are all you Ebonstryfe as hardened and daft as the next," Alistair said slowly as he turned to face the pale mage, the ground between them suddenly shifting into an arena as the tension built to a boiling point, "Has it not occurred to you that, if I were so inclined, I might accidentally kill you in such a contest, and thus spare those of mine I once served your intolerable idiocy in the future?"
Elias considered this silently, and then answered with a shrug.
"I had considered."
"And?"
Elias smiled, showing the Syliran his collection of false gold teeth and tightening scars as he drew forth Cinder from the holster upon his back. He spoke just one word that made even the taciturn knight grimace.
"’Might.’"
Thus it was decided, and the fight begun.
Alistair looked up from his wooden opponent and into the face of the Ravokian. The ruckus of the Vitrax training yards were as emphatic and rowdy as ever, with the sound of steel clashing against steel, fisting striking wood, bodies colliding, sweat dripping, and blood being spilt. It was the telltale din of combat and its beautiful execution in every practical form. The men and women of the Ebonstryfe were often tireless in their quest for excellence, and today was no different. They fought, they trained, they honed themselves for the time some hoped would come that they would one day put such skills to the use, while others were simply going through the motions, doing what they were expected to do because they were expected to do it. Yet, for all the variety of reasons that may have lured these chaos blessed souls to the combat grounds, there was one thing that seemed to bind them all in single unity that day;
Curiosity.
It felt as if every eye in the building was on the man Elias had now approached, and now that he was speaking to him, neary an eye was not on him as well. Most had the decency or the lack of spine to pretend they weren’t gawking, but many more stared openly, either with inquisitive glances or outright hostile glares.
Still, it didn't matter much the young stryfer, Elias liked to think he was far too infamous at this point for his reputation to fear suffering anymore scandal. Of the one he now addressed however, there seemed already an abundance of rumor and gossip abound, and from what Elias had heard amidst that rumor and gossip, the man had been here for only a few weeks now. It seemed rather unfair if he had to say so. Elias had spent the better half of his entire life getting to his current despicable and loathsome place within the ranks, and he’d worked hard at it too! For anyone to march in and threaten to dethrone him from his seat of shame was definitely worth taking an interest in, at the very least.
"A spar?"
"A spar, yes." The mage repeated, holding up the sword in his hand. "Do they not have those where you come from, Sylrian?"
Watching Alistair Valmont stir was like watching a mountain begin to quake, which was fairly apt, Elias thought. The man was nearly seven feet of broad, toughened sinew, the very definition of goliathan. The pale swordsman wasn’t accustomed to looking up at anyone anymore, not since he’d grown out of his swaddling clothes. It was uncomfortable even for him to be so instantaneously reduced in such a way by sheer size difference alone.
"Not interested." Alistair muttered in his queer southern drawl as he turned back to the helpless wooden dummy he’d been demolishing earlier. "I’ve entertained enough idiots today, and yesterday, and the day before. I’ve no care to do so anymore..."
Elias immediately thought of Caiden as the old man raised himself up to his full height, cracking stiff neck muscles and reaffirming his grip upon the massive warhammer he called a weapon. He watched as each muscle was stretched and popped in turn, from shoulders down to his feet, and he was not alone.
A half dozen or so initiates who made up the bulk of those practicing nearby watched with interest as well. Elias noted most of them were his. Tannen was among the recruits, as was Eris, the latter seeming more bored than ever despite the ruthless potential frothing around her from every direction. Honestly, sometimes he didn’t understand that girl at all. He’d figure this of all places would be her preferred haunt, for where else could she satiate her rampant battle and bloodlust more readily than beneath this roof?
Well, if the crazy little spaz was lacking in entertainment, then she was in for a lovely surprise. Elias rarely took ‘no’ for an answer, and they were due some sport.
"I meant no offence, ser knight. Merely thought that you had the look about you, is all.” Elias cooed in an altogether overly informal and uncomfortable tone. The kind that was either mocking, or suspiciously sincere.
“The look?” Alistair grumbled through the gray and white bristles of his beard, though still not bothering to turn and face his new friend again. The man was unkempt, surprisingly so. His salt and pepper beard was a tangled mess that hung low on his chest, and his hair was even worse. He seemed tired, or ill, or both. Ravok had a way of eliciting such reactions when the initial charm wore off and the reality of things beneath the veneer were revealed.
“Hmm, the look.” Elias affirmed nonchalantly. “The look of a man who is in dire need of… release. Nothing quite accomplishes such ventilation like a good fight, I find. I merely wished to offer my services, as a friendly gesture between two scions of Rhysol’s holy-”
“You know the sound of thunder, boy?”
Oh, don’t call me that... Elias mused darkly, his brow furrowing at the sudden question. “Of course.” He managed a courteous reply, despite his shifting demeanor.
“Can you imagine that sound in your mind now if I asked you to?”
Elias had been thrown off his game by this odd turn, and the look on his face clearly said he wasn’t all too happy about it, but he played along none the less. He’d put too much effort into this already to be turned away by some mere banter.
“Yes I can, ser.”
“You aint the first to swagger up here all full of piss and gusto thinkin’ it’d be a fun idea to ‘test themselves’ against the old Syliran knight, and I told them all quite plainly they’d best turn around and walk back the way they came before I sent them back crawling. Well each and every one of them left on their hands and knees by the time all was said and done, and that’s my fault, because I didn't say what I said in thunder.” The giant turned, locking his gray eyes with that of the stryfer’s and made quite plain his intent with merely a look. “Listen to me now, boy. Listen to the thunder.”
There was a pause. An air of apprehension and uncertainty as palpable as the stink of sweat and the weapon’s oil about them…
God… you’re perfect. The Caldera resolved.
Elias shook his head as the lumbering knight -no, that was the wrong word. Even as big as he was, this one moved smoothly and gracefully, economically, bending down to retrieve an upsettingly large waraxe from the floor. Evidently crafted for one of his size, the blade was as thick and hefty as the mage’s own longsword yet the knight held it aloft in one hand as easily as a dagger. The sight of the of sharpened steel left Elias feeling an unfamiliar thrill of trepidation.
Spar or not, if a full-bodied blow from that monster struck him, it would cleave him in two like a pig carcass. And even knowing that, he felt adrenaline and anticipation rush through his veins.
Too long. He thought. Too long since I’ve known this sensation.
There was a hiss of steel pulled free from a leather sheath, and the knight inspected his weapon. He was clad only in common, light attire, the fresh Fall breeze bereft of the chill that had assailed them all for months now outside the city. Only in Ravok could one find so many comfortably unclothed this close to winter’s icy reach, and that was even when Morwen wasn’t on sabbatical. More than a few were happy for the weather’s reprieve their god granted them, embracing it with bare chests and arms. Elias was outfitted in his usually armored regalia however, breastplate of blackened metal and all. It made him stand out like a sore, black thumb amidst the rabble.
The towering giant looked him up and down with a shrewd, appraising intelligence when he noticed the much younger soldier was still standing behind him, yet to respond to his oh so eloquent request to petch off. Elias's chilling blue eyes glinted, and his lips twitched into a momentary smile. A brain too, this one, to match his brawn. Such a challenge... Such a prize. He knew his vision had not led him astray.
This man was the one.
"Are all you Ebonstryfe as hardened and daft as the next," Alistair said slowly as he turned to face the pale mage, the ground between them suddenly shifting into an arena as the tension built to a boiling point, "Has it not occurred to you that, if I were so inclined, I might accidentally kill you in such a contest, and thus spare those of mine I once served your intolerable idiocy in the future?"
Elias considered this silently, and then answered with a shrug.
"I had considered."
"And?"
Elias smiled, showing the Syliran his collection of false gold teeth and tightening scars as he drew forth Cinder from the holster upon his back. He spoke just one word that made even the taciturn knight grimace.
"’Might.’"
Thus it was decided, and the fight begun.
WC - 1548
