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Saga of Daie d'Malkin 4- Duel


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#1 Guest_Daie_*

Posted 22 April 2005 - 07:11 PM

Daie woke early, and headed down to the lake to wash. He put on a pair of old breeches, and leapt in. He swam out to the other side and then back again. He quickly searched through the bag he’d left beside the water, before pulling out a small bar of soap.
Daie quickly washed himself, stood up, and muttered a cantrip which Aesine had shown him. When it didn’t work, he frowned. He tried again, and it didn’t work. He towelled himself dry instead.

When returned to the camp, he found that the company had split into their numerous sections, and were donning their weapons.
Expecting trouble, he drew his swords. Raven laughed softly, and shook her head. “Sparring practice.”
Daie looked at the edges of his weapons “Isn’t that dangerous?”
Raven shook he head again, and threw him a pair of wooden poles. He caught them, and checked their weight and balance. Not bad, he thought. A little light, but I’ll manage.
“No full force striking, but don’t hold back either. We’re all adults, except maybe you Daie.” She smiled, taking the edge from her words “No dirty hits, and no magic.” Raven stressed the final two words, and cast a black look at Aesine, who shrugged. “All clear?”
Daie nodded.
“Split into pairs, and begin.” She announced, loudly, before facing off against Minstra.
Daie looked around. Everyone seemed taken, so he made to sit this one out, but a hand caught his arm, and spun him round.
“Going somewhere, handsome?” Maron asked, smiling mischievously. She raised a mace, and wooden shield, and saluted him.
He raised his own weapons, and saluted her, before settling into an en garde stance, with both swords held far from his body, inviting attack.
She leapt at him, and swung her mace at his ribs. His first sword easily deflected the attack, and his second lashed out at her chest, barely parried by her shield.
She tried another attack, and again, his parry riposte was almost too fast to counter. Maron’s mind aced as she tried to work out how to beat him. He was obviously a superb fencer, far better than her, but he was used to the rules of fencing, whereas she had combat experience. The innocent sylvan didn’t know how to use his every advantage in combat. She grinned as she worked out how to beat him.
Daie was oblivious to her plans, and in fact had began to slow his attacks, giving her a chance. She lunged, swiping at his head. He parried, but then her foot snapped out, knocking him backwards. He tried to regain his balance, but cannoned into Minstra, knocking her over.
He was immediately back on his feet, and helped her to hers, apologising.
“Forget it.” She grunted, before leaping off, avoiding an attack from Raven.
Daie turned, straight into Maron’s attack. The wooden mace wasn’t particularly hard, but it still knocked him from his feet. Again.
As he lay on the floor, Maron put a foot on his chest, and pointed her mace at his face. “I win.”
“That was hardly fair!” he spluttered.
“You think the enemy fights fair? You knew you could easily have beaten me. Why didn’t you? Orcs don’t fence, Daie, and they won’t give you a second chance. If you can beat someone, then do it. Don’t hold back on me. Ever.”
Daie nodded, and accepted her hand as she offered it.
“No hard feelings?” she asked.
“None.” He replied, shaking her hand.
They stood, chatting, while the others finished their matches. He was offering her several pointers on where she had let her guard down, and in return, she showed him a few tricks she had learnt in combat.
After a few minutes, the sound of wood on wood ceased, and everyone swapped partners. Maron waved goodbye as she faced off against the halfling quartermaster.
“Ready, darthiir? “a sultry voice asked.
“Oh no.” he muttered “Not Raven. Don’t make me hit her.”
He turned, and she smiled at him.
“I’ve been interested to see how good you are with your weapons. Shall we dance?”
Her wooden sword was pointed straight at him as she stalked forward. Daie remembered Maron’s words, but was unwilling to act on them. It didn’t seem fair to him. He hated the idea of striking a woman in all honesty, and this sparring left him very uncomfortable. The idea of hitting Raven left him uncomfortable.
They exchanged a few wary blows, taking stock of each other, then Daie leapt forward, and knocked her sword from her hand. He stepped back, and pointed to her sword. She frowned at him, and picked it up. Again their weapons clashed, and she bared her teeth at him. “Stop holding back. Hit me. It won’t hurt. Look at you. Think a child like you can harm me?”
“I’m not a child.” He muttered.
“You are. Afraid to hit a female. Weakling. Hit me.”
“No.” he said quietly, knocking her weapon arm away from her body, opening up the line of attack.
“HIT ME YOU CHILD!” she screamed, lunging.
Daie snarled, his blade rolled over hers, and slid across her throat, from foible to forte.
He dropped the wooden weapons, panting, a fierce look of wounded pride on his face. “I am not a child” he repeated, silently.
Raven was panting herself. She hadn’t expected him to do it. “No, you are not a child.” She agreed. “You are a man.”
He turned away, angrily.
“Daie?”
A hand gripped her arm, and stopped her going to him.
“Leave him.” Minstra advised. “Speak to him later, when he has calmed.”

Daie picked up the pretend weapons, and left the group of women behind him. As he stamped from them, a figure stepped in front of him.
“Master Vanya, my name is Dranald.”
Daie looked up, and up, into the face of the figure. Obviously male, with small tusks poking from his lower jaw, and a large, slightly green face. A half-orc.
“I saw you face our esteemed leader. You fight well. Might I challenge you to a bout?”
Daie looked into the man’s eyes. No mockery there.
“Very well.” He replied. “En garde.”

He assumed his usual stance, one weapon held behind him at arm’s length, the other before him, arm bent, point aimed at his opponent’s face. His body was held sideways, offering little to the enemy.
Dranald drew quite possibly the largest mace Daie had ever seen. Even made of wood, it was enormous, larger than Daie’s head. He gulped.
“Don’t worry, I doubt I could touch you with this.” The half-orc remarked, his voice taking a soothing tone.
Dranald cocked his head questioningly, and Daie nodded. He leapt at the elf, swinging his mace from Daie’s left. Daie made to parry, but Dranald changed the direction of his attack, and the mace flew towards the sylvan’s face. He back-pedalled, and riposted, but Dranald took the hit on his weapon, and lunged again. Daie pirouetted past him, and lashed out backwards, just catching him on his shoulder.
Dranald stopped, and turned to face him. “A good hit sir. Shall we continue?”
Daie nodded again, and jumped at him. His weapons came in at Dranald from opposing directions, but he parried one, and took the other on his forearm, ignoring the heavy blow. Dranald laughed, and kicked sand into Daie’s face, blinding him, and then lunged. Daie almost tripped as he attempted to block the mace headed toward him at breath-taking speed. The mace caught him in the stomach, and knocked him back several feet. As he bent at the waist, retching, the half-orc stepped forward. “I believe I win.” He calmly announced, and made to tap Daie on the head with his mace. A wooden sword snaked out, and struck him in the groin. He collapsed, and moaned.
Daie tried to straighten up, and wiped the sand from his eyes. “That was a dirty trick.” He spat.
Dranald slowly got to his feet, and stared at Daie murderously. The red mist descended, and he screamed as he swung his greatmace at the slender elf. Daie parried his left blade, but it snapped into several pieces under the demi-human’s great strength.

“Dranald, Daie, stop!” called Raven from somewhere behind Daie. A quick glance behind showed him that the entire company had stopped to watch their fight, and were circling the two men, effectively barring them in.
Raven entered the circle, and tried to grab Daie’s weapon, but he yanked it from her grip, and knocked her from his way with his hip.
She snarled at him. “Impudent male. Do as I tell you!”
Minstra stepped up next to them. “Raven, let them settle this.”

Daie heard none of this, all he could hear was the pounding of his blood in his ears. His youthful pride was wounded, and he felt a rage well up within him, dark and terrible. He wished his blade were true, so he could stain the soil with Dranald’s blood. He had never killed another in combat, but the desire to do so was controlling him, forcing him to fight.
The force of Dranald’s last attack had shaken his left arm badly, and he could now barely lift it. It felt sprained. He clasped it to his side, and adopted a more defensive stance, favouring his right side. Dranald wasn’t in top form either. He was limping, and tears flowed from is eyes. That hit to the groin was crippling him.

“This isn’t fair; Daie doesn’t have the strength to beat Dranald!” Maron cried.
“But he’s faster.” Minstra remarked.
Raven still fumed. She knew Dranald was the best fighter in the company. Or had been. Although young, Daie certainly had the skill and talent. He had potential. She hated to see that wasted, and hoped he Dranald wouldn’t cripple the elf. She also felt something else, something she had never experienced before. She found herself hoping Daie would win, or at least that he would be unharmed. As the sylvan took another blow, something within her sank, and she felt sick. Why did she feel like this?

Daie was running rings around Dranald, striking him repeatedly, but, as Maron had pointed out, he lacked the strength to bring the half-orc down. Whereas, each strike Dranald landed on Daie slowed him considerably, and the elf was tiring. Dranald had more stamina too.
Daie felt the fatigue make its way past the rage, and knew, with a sinking sense of resignation, that he was going to lose. Not only lose, but he was in severe danger of being seriously injured. The resignation brought a sense of calm to him, and as the rage dissipated, he began to try and think his way out of the fight. He couldn’t beat Dranald into submission, he wasn’t strong enough. Therefore, he needed to even the score-strike Dranald were strength didn’t matter. But where? He had already struck him in the groin, and that had just made him angrier. It also made Daie feel ashamed. That was too dishonest for his sensibilities. He dragged his mind back to the task in hand. He needed to incapacitate the half-orc, render him unconscious to end the fight. It seemed the best target was the base of his skull.
With a new target in mind, Daie faced off against Dranald. They stood several feet apart, and watched each other. Suddenly, Dranald began to sprint at Daie, his head lowered, attempting to crush him under his bulk. Daie ran at him too, and a moment before they struck each other, he leapt. He flew upwards and forwards. He felt himself begin to descend again, and planted a foot on Dranald’s lowered forehead, and pushed up again. As the half-orc fell, Daie span, and lashed out, smiting him where his neck met his head.
Dranald crashed into the ground, and passed out.

Daie landed lightly, behind him, and let the sword drop from his hand.
The clearing was silent for a moment, before the company erupted into cheering and clapping.
Daie felt his knees began to sag, and was glad when Maron and Minstra caught him, and half-carried him out of the circle of cheering humanoids.

Raven stood watching them, pensive. He was indeed a most capable fighter, and now the best in the company. She was glad she had recruited him. But, also, she felt relieved as she watched him being led away. She felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She felt proud of him as well, for some reason. Wrestling with these new, unknown emotions, she followed the crowd away from the unconscious Dranald, attending by his cronies.




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