Post by Zane on Feb 16, 2024 22:03:08 GMT -5
Mist and metal. One hung low over the grass as if it was anticipating its demise under the heat of the morning sun and trying to sneak away. The other sat in the hands of separate protectors. One was statuesque and dignified in appearance, draped in fine livery with a large rose crest on his chest. The second could barely hold the gleaming weapon in his hands as he struggled against its weight and gravity and their combined deleterious effects on his thin person. The Seconds stood a few steps from their Firsts. One was young and lithe, with brown hair and an air of superiority about him. The other was a large, hulking, and brutish-looking man with a scarred face that was almost defined by the exhaustion it displayed.
“It is time, my Earl,” the Second with the rose crest stated, matching the contemptuous sneer of his master.
“Indeed it is my friend,” the young Earl replies, pulling his blade with a flourish before he looks it over and nods approvingly. “This will do to dispatch…him…and claim what should’ve been mine long before now.”
His Second nodded and took a step back.
His adversary looked at him, his face drawn with exhaustion. His face almost masked its slightly sunken, yet angry and determined eyes. His Second cast a nervous glance his way.
“Are you sure about this,” he asks anxiously. “This is a battle you have won before. Why again?”
The large man’s jaw clenches momentarily, giving him the appearance of a sneer.
“Sometimes my friend a small act of combat becomes a point of honor,” he answers calmly. “He believes himself to be in that position. This will settle matters.”
“Are you certain,” his jittery Second inquires.
“No,” he replies. “But it’s what there is, and a statement must be made.”
A Short While Later
The challengers stood a few feet apart, only separated by a man in cornflower blue attire with a simple, but well-worn-looking cudgel in hand. He appeared to want to be anywhere else.
“Do us all a favor, Blot. Let the rich putz run you through,” he grumbles. “Judge Bob has places to be and he resents you wasting his time.”
“That’s not his name,” the skinny Second yells back.
“Quiet, lest Judge Bob introduce your skinny ass to Sir. Louis,” he sneers, gesturing to his cudgel.
The fair-haired young man responded with a Bronx Cheer.
“You both know the rules. This isn’t to the death. We don’t want to pay the insurance on you.”
“Blot” rolls his eyes. “How touching.”
“Shut it,” Judge Bob snaps. “The first to cut the other wins and gets the prize. Now get going.”
The two men walk to the middle and salute each other, raising their blades before their faces. They lower them and step back.
“Show him what the Black Blade can do,” the Earl’s Second calls.
“He’s still Champion of the Cross and Hemisphere,” the large one’s Second calls defiantly.
The Earl leaps forward with a seemingly wild thrust. His opponent moves to parry it, realizing almost a second too late that it’s merely a feint, and barely intercepts the actual strike with a loud “clang.” The Earl steps back and smiles slyly.
“That was merely a test,” he gloats. “A warning that I can end this whenever I like. You may be a champion of many days and accomplishments, but I am the Black Blade, and I will not be denied that which should already have been mine.”
The Champion smiles. “Were that so, you’d have claimed my title the last time we battled. As we both know, that is not how matters are resolved.”
The Black Blade waves his sword with a dismissive flourish. “That situation is soon to be rectified. I have learned from my errors. They shall not be my downfall again.”
“We’ll see about that, Meaniehead,” comes the squeaky retort.
“Silence, Barry,” Judge Bob bellows.
The Champion looks at the Black Blade and adjusts his grip. “You were a worthy challenger then, and I doubt not that you are still. The simple truth, young one, is that my mission isn’t ended, and it shall not be concluded by you.”
The Black Blade lunges again, going for a straight thrust at The Champion’s sword arm. It fails to land as it’s swatted away before ever nearing its target.
“You outwitted my Trap before,” The Black Blade returns. “You shall not do so this time. I may yet mindbreak thee, and thusly shall you fall to my Gambit.”
The Champion angles his head ever so slightly as if to reevaluate his challenger.
“Mine is not a mind easily broken. It has been broken many times ‘afore, and I know what to anticipate now. There is no stronger a man, than one who has fought himself more than all others.”
“Yet you will still lose this day,” The Black Blade replies. “The Cross and Hemisphere shall have a new, more worthy champion.”
The Black Blade launches another storm of attacks, striking for The Champion’s sword arm first, then his other arm, his chest, and finally for his face when the previous strikes are all deflected. He takes a step back, hoping to assess the situation. The Champion provides him no such opportunity, launching into an immediate counter with an attempted slash of the leg of the Black Blade. It and all other attacks are quickly swatted away, prompting his younger opponent to dance around on the balls of his feet tauntingly.
“Too slow, Champion,” he mocks. “Your age and battle damage betray you.”
The Champion smiles. “Yet you, young challenger, have yet to best me. What you have in youth and guile, I have in experience and knowledge. We shall which one wins the day.”
The Earl’s Second taunts. “Surrender to he who is your superior and allow the status of ‘Champion’ to pass to one more deserving.”
“Be quiet, Meaniehead,” The Champion’s second retorts.
“Silence, Barry, or Ol Judge Robert shall have you removed by his Slugger, Sir. Louis of the Ville.”
The duel resumes with another flurry, although The Champion appears to be tiring. The Earl notices.
“You seem winded,” he taunts. “Would you like a moment to rest?”
The Champion scowls at his young challenger but does not reply. Ol Jude Bob directs them back to their starting spots…rudely. They do so and are ordered to resume. Another furious round of back-and-forth blows rings out.
“You continue to show your age, Champion,” the young Earl mocks. “You know the end is near. Why do you continue to embarrass yourself, your legacy, and those you champion for?”
The Champion responds with a wry smile, but his exhaustion is clear.
“The game is not decided yet, young one,” he replies. “I am proud of my accomplishments, and I will do everything I can to continue to honor my station.”
“You could not beat ‘The Wolf,’ or ‘The Raven,’ his Second chides. “Perhaps you fear animals?”
“Both humiliating defeats,” The Earl adds. “To that add a near loss to The Son of Cashe, and your odds look poor this day.”
The Champion grins. “All displease me,” he responds. “But all are different. I take none as a pattern. Bad days, all, but indicative of nothing in total. Draw no solace from them, young one, and quell the impudence of your Second. He does you no honor with his infantile caterwauling.”
“He is merely expressing the obvious,” The Earl replies. “An obviousness your shirt displays.”
True to his words, The Champion’s attire is indeed naught but rags, while those of The Earl look mostly untouched. The Earl observes this with a smug grin. The Champion is unphased.
“Yet your goal has yet to be accomplished,” he replies calmly. “And a shirt can be mended or replaced.”
The Earl suddenly lunges forward, aggressively charging his opponent with a flurry of steel. The Champion gives ground. The blade flashes but catches air. The Champion continues to give ground, but The Earl can’t get through his defenses to draw first blood. He finally breaks off, storming away angrily.
The Champion remains where he’s stopped, huffing tiredly.
“The game is almost concluded,” The Earl chortles. “You wheeze as the aged afore their death rattle. It’s the death rattle of your time as Champion I hear! It’s time to put the old man out of his misery!”
The Earl finally tires of toying with The Champion. He dashes in with a mighty yell, raising his weapon high for the “kill” shot over the exhausted Champion. He brings it down forcefully, aiming for The Champion’s crown. Just as it appears that The Champion is about to get his wig split, he deftly avoids the strike, spins, and smacks The Earl on the kiester with his blade, rending his trousers open and leaving a small, bleeding cut on his derriere. Judge Bob growls.
“The Champion wins,” he sneers. “Bravo. Go get your cut looked at, Rich Boy. Ol Judge Bob is outta here.”
The Champion looks at his crestfallen challenger.
“Your time as Champion will come, young Earl, but the sun has not set upon mine,” The Champion remarks. “Be patient, and this honor shall be yours in time. Use your scar as a lesson now, and the scars from later will hurt less in their creation.”
He smiles. “It’s easier than constantly losing your shirt...”
“It is time, my Earl,” the Second with the rose crest stated, matching the contemptuous sneer of his master.
“Indeed it is my friend,” the young Earl replies, pulling his blade with a flourish before he looks it over and nods approvingly. “This will do to dispatch…him…and claim what should’ve been mine long before now.”
His Second nodded and took a step back.
His adversary looked at him, his face drawn with exhaustion. His face almost masked its slightly sunken, yet angry and determined eyes. His Second cast a nervous glance his way.
“Are you sure about this,” he asks anxiously. “This is a battle you have won before. Why again?”
The large man’s jaw clenches momentarily, giving him the appearance of a sneer.
“Sometimes my friend a small act of combat becomes a point of honor,” he answers calmly. “He believes himself to be in that position. This will settle matters.”
“Are you certain,” his jittery Second inquires.
“No,” he replies. “But it’s what there is, and a statement must be made.”
A Short While Later
The challengers stood a few feet apart, only separated by a man in cornflower blue attire with a simple, but well-worn-looking cudgel in hand. He appeared to want to be anywhere else.
“Do us all a favor, Blot. Let the rich putz run you through,” he grumbles. “Judge Bob has places to be and he resents you wasting his time.”
“That’s not his name,” the skinny Second yells back.
“Quiet, lest Judge Bob introduce your skinny ass to Sir. Louis,” he sneers, gesturing to his cudgel.
The fair-haired young man responded with a Bronx Cheer.
“You both know the rules. This isn’t to the death. We don’t want to pay the insurance on you.”
“Blot” rolls his eyes. “How touching.”
“Shut it,” Judge Bob snaps. “The first to cut the other wins and gets the prize. Now get going.”
The two men walk to the middle and salute each other, raising their blades before their faces. They lower them and step back.
“Show him what the Black Blade can do,” the Earl’s Second calls.
“He’s still Champion of the Cross and Hemisphere,” the large one’s Second calls defiantly.
The Earl leaps forward with a seemingly wild thrust. His opponent moves to parry it, realizing almost a second too late that it’s merely a feint, and barely intercepts the actual strike with a loud “clang.” The Earl steps back and smiles slyly.
“That was merely a test,” he gloats. “A warning that I can end this whenever I like. You may be a champion of many days and accomplishments, but I am the Black Blade, and I will not be denied that which should already have been mine.”
The Champion smiles. “Were that so, you’d have claimed my title the last time we battled. As we both know, that is not how matters are resolved.”
The Black Blade waves his sword with a dismissive flourish. “That situation is soon to be rectified. I have learned from my errors. They shall not be my downfall again.”
“We’ll see about that, Meaniehead,” comes the squeaky retort.
“Silence, Barry,” Judge Bob bellows.
The Champion looks at the Black Blade and adjusts his grip. “You were a worthy challenger then, and I doubt not that you are still. The simple truth, young one, is that my mission isn’t ended, and it shall not be concluded by you.”
The Black Blade lunges again, going for a straight thrust at The Champion’s sword arm. It fails to land as it’s swatted away before ever nearing its target.
“You outwitted my Trap before,” The Black Blade returns. “You shall not do so this time. I may yet mindbreak thee, and thusly shall you fall to my Gambit.”
The Champion angles his head ever so slightly as if to reevaluate his challenger.
“Mine is not a mind easily broken. It has been broken many times ‘afore, and I know what to anticipate now. There is no stronger a man, than one who has fought himself more than all others.”
“Yet you will still lose this day,” The Black Blade replies. “The Cross and Hemisphere shall have a new, more worthy champion.”
The Black Blade launches another storm of attacks, striking for The Champion’s sword arm first, then his other arm, his chest, and finally for his face when the previous strikes are all deflected. He takes a step back, hoping to assess the situation. The Champion provides him no such opportunity, launching into an immediate counter with an attempted slash of the leg of the Black Blade. It and all other attacks are quickly swatted away, prompting his younger opponent to dance around on the balls of his feet tauntingly.
“Too slow, Champion,” he mocks. “Your age and battle damage betray you.”
The Champion smiles. “Yet you, young challenger, have yet to best me. What you have in youth and guile, I have in experience and knowledge. We shall which one wins the day.”
The Earl’s Second taunts. “Surrender to he who is your superior and allow the status of ‘Champion’ to pass to one more deserving.”
“Be quiet, Meaniehead,” The Champion’s second retorts.
“Silence, Barry, or Ol Judge Robert shall have you removed by his Slugger, Sir. Louis of the Ville.”
The duel resumes with another flurry, although The Champion appears to be tiring. The Earl notices.
“You seem winded,” he taunts. “Would you like a moment to rest?”
The Champion scowls at his young challenger but does not reply. Ol Jude Bob directs them back to their starting spots…rudely. They do so and are ordered to resume. Another furious round of back-and-forth blows rings out.
“You continue to show your age, Champion,” the young Earl mocks. “You know the end is near. Why do you continue to embarrass yourself, your legacy, and those you champion for?”
The Champion responds with a wry smile, but his exhaustion is clear.
“The game is not decided yet, young one,” he replies. “I am proud of my accomplishments, and I will do everything I can to continue to honor my station.”
“You could not beat ‘The Wolf,’ or ‘The Raven,’ his Second chides. “Perhaps you fear animals?”
“Both humiliating defeats,” The Earl adds. “To that add a near loss to The Son of Cashe, and your odds look poor this day.”
The Champion grins. “All displease me,” he responds. “But all are different. I take none as a pattern. Bad days, all, but indicative of nothing in total. Draw no solace from them, young one, and quell the impudence of your Second. He does you no honor with his infantile caterwauling.”
“He is merely expressing the obvious,” The Earl replies. “An obviousness your shirt displays.”
True to his words, The Champion’s attire is indeed naught but rags, while those of The Earl look mostly untouched. The Earl observes this with a smug grin. The Champion is unphased.
“Yet your goal has yet to be accomplished,” he replies calmly. “And a shirt can be mended or replaced.”
The Earl suddenly lunges forward, aggressively charging his opponent with a flurry of steel. The Champion gives ground. The blade flashes but catches air. The Champion continues to give ground, but The Earl can’t get through his defenses to draw first blood. He finally breaks off, storming away angrily.
The Champion remains where he’s stopped, huffing tiredly.
“The game is almost concluded,” The Earl chortles. “You wheeze as the aged afore their death rattle. It’s the death rattle of your time as Champion I hear! It’s time to put the old man out of his misery!”
The Earl finally tires of toying with The Champion. He dashes in with a mighty yell, raising his weapon high for the “kill” shot over the exhausted Champion. He brings it down forcefully, aiming for The Champion’s crown. Just as it appears that The Champion is about to get his wig split, he deftly avoids the strike, spins, and smacks The Earl on the kiester with his blade, rending his trousers open and leaving a small, bleeding cut on his derriere. Judge Bob growls.
“The Champion wins,” he sneers. “Bravo. Go get your cut looked at, Rich Boy. Ol Judge Bob is outta here.”
The Champion looks at his crestfallen challenger.
“Your time as Champion will come, young Earl, but the sun has not set upon mine,” The Champion remarks. “Be patient, and this honor shall be yours in time. Use your scar as a lesson now, and the scars from later will hurt less in their creation.”
He smiles. “It’s easier than constantly losing your shirt...”
2013, '18, '23 
2013 
