Private Tales A Duel of Circumstance

[Morgan]

The weather had held out surprisingly well for the third day of the tourney.

This was a pleasant surprise to the young half-elf, who had made the lengthy journey from the portal stone to Vel Anir’s south. The imposing fortress-city stood tall and daunting upon the horizon, and its outer walls were silhouetted perfectly by the early evening sun. Morgan used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow, pulling himself back out of his sight-seeing to focus on the task at hand.

He was proud. Well, more proud than usual, which was itself remarkable. It was that day that he’d travelled for, after all, considering the previous two days of the lords’ tournament had been dedicated entirely to the more glamorous of hastiludes. But with all the jousting and mock-battles over with, the third day had been left in its entirety to the half-elf’s chosen craft of dueling.

He’d managed to best the three opponents he’d faced thus far, but the day was growing old and the cut his latest opponent lashed across his wrist was crying out in pain. The other competitors had grown tougher, too, and Morgan was no longer certain he could withstand whatever challenger came next. So, with little else to do, the half-elf found himself contended to wait on his end of the dueling green, on the lookout for whoever his next opponent should be.

 

[Ermengarde]

What a long day, and it was to be only longer. The tournament was already taking it's sweet time and the one armed duellist was quick to catch the gazes of many during her spars. Most unexpected were the vistories of the armless lass.

The preliminary bouts were over and as her name was called out, she stood up and gazed upon the location of where her next duell would take place. Ermengarde stood and walked over, she was a woman with a single arm, while she by no means was an exceptional duellist, she certianly had an advantage in the mental front.

She bowed in a semi-dainty manner to the half elf.

 

[Morgan]

Morgan watched Ermengarde upon her approach, head cocked ever so slightly in an assessing gaze. The blade at her hip denoted her to be a competitor, but she was by far the most interesting one he'd been up against thus far.

His expression went from calculating to friendly in the blink of an eye, and his smile was entirely disarming. Win or lose, the young man was certain their fight would be interesting. He met her bow with one of his own, a deep, fluid motion he'd copied from his first opponent of the day.

As the half elf rose to meet the woman's gaze once more, there was a charming tilt to his head. He looked as though he were about to say something, but a barker of a man interceded to the dueling green between them.

"Awlright," the portly looking human who stepped between them said, "We all know the rules. Win an exchange by disarming your opponent or landing a good hit on 'em-- and I don't want to see any blood-!" The man grimaced at Morgan's wrist, which had been noticeably bandaged after his previous round. "So keep all blows beneath the collar an' above the cuff. I'd hate to disqualify you this late in the day."

Content with his rulings, the judge stepped back off of the dueling green. The small crowd gathered to watch the match muttered to themselves in a susurrus, and the half elf squared his shoulder to Ermengarde, one hand on the hilt of his sabre.

At least this will be interesting, he thought as the judge called out the start of the round.

 

[Ermengarde]

The judge would raise his hand to have the duellists prepare. Ermengarde unsheated her guarded blade, the tip padded to prevent injury. (as how it is custom in tournaments at least)
With a sharp wave of his hand downards and the call of his voice the bout officially began.

As soon as it started, Ermengarde twirled her blade tip is circles, closing in towards Morgan but never attacking, teasing more like.

 

[Morgan]

Morgan similarly loosed his blade, keeping the padded tip pointing to the ground until the judge gave his signal for the match's start. In a well-practiced motion, the half-elf raised his sabre between himself and the one-armed woman, crossed diagonally between them in a guard across his torso.

Beneath the quilted pads of his gambeson, the muscles along his upper arms tensed like steel cables, storing up enough energy to place his guard wherever it was needed. Overall, Morgan's stance was wholly defensive, and his gaze swept his opponent casually to gain a bead on her style. As his eyes reached hers, he donned a dashing and- most importantly -disarming smile. He made no move towards her, however, simply strafing to his right and letting her close the distance with her teasing gait.

 

[Ermengarde]

Ermengarde would play into him, not too concerned over the fine smile the flattering lad sent towards her. Her eyes were set on the center point of his body, on his movement, on his speed-
But more precisely, her speed.
In a brisk dispaly of movement, the woman lunged forward like a serpent, hit or not, she would retract back on her feet as quickly as she stretched out.

 

[Morgan]

Morgan's guard flashed downwards in a blur of movement, parrying the woman's thrust to her left and trying to rend her blade from her hand. The disarming smile dropped from his features, and he flashed forwards with a single step, sweeping the blunted tip of his blade towards her chest.

Should he fail, the placement of his feet hardly allowed for backwards movement, and she'd almost surely be able to pull his forward position into her favor.

 

[Ermengarde]

Clever manuver from him. Her tip deflected but she retracted back as she disengaged, just as her adversary began his riposte.
Instead of actively deflecting his blade, she suddenly turned her body fully sideways, initiating an in quartata, dodging the tip fully as it swing past her and aiming her tip at his torso.

 

[Morgan]

Morgan could only let out a startled sound that was somewhere between a yelp and a grunt as he ran hip-first into Ermengarde's blade. He hopped a bit and hobbled back to his starting position as the judge called out the woman's point. His hand carefully rubbed the new tender spot on his torso, though he was thankful that the swords had been blunted prior to these bouts.

At the start of their next exchange, Morgan shunted his previous defensive strategy and went in for the first attack. His saber swung low before coming up towards the woman's chest, hoping to get past her guard and land him a quick point.

 

[Ermengarde]

For as fast as his exchange was, Ermengarde simply flicked the blade away from it's trajectory towards her chest.

 

[Morgan]

Morgan saw Ermengarde's guard move before he felt their blades connect, letting her flick his saber away to prevent her from getting a strike on him. His arm wound back elegantly, turning his blade parallel to the ground between them before giving a thrust towards his opponent's abdomen. "Just step into this one, will you?" His voice rang out just as much to his own surprise as that of the onlookers, and he hoped the break of customary silence might throw the woman off her guard.

 

[Ermengarde]

As much as this situation was odd and bewildering, the sudden time the man found to chitchat would add to it just as much.
Instead of stepping back she too extended her arm to thrust at Morgan at the same exact time.

 

[Morgan]

Their blades clinched into one another's torsos in nearly the same instant, causing Morgan to blink in shock. He'd managed to miss her movement entirely, and their exchange would have been a photo-finish if such a concept existed. The judge called out Ermengarde's victory, inciting the audience to applaud. Morgan, meanwhile, blinked incredulously-- Well, of course he would have lost eventually, but taking a close out defeat like that stung his ego quite a bit.

He stood silent and nearly slack-jawed for a good few moments. Then, with all the grace of a noble and automation of a golem, he spun his sword about and placed it back into its sheath, giving his opponent a shallow but respectful bow.

 

[Ermengarde]

Normally there would have been three bouts to decide a winner, but two victories were deciding. The decree of the judge came as a bit of a srurprise to the duellist, alas, she'll take it if it meant conserving energy in the long run.
Removing the blade from active duty, Ermengarde bowed to her competitor and then judge before aproaching him for a handshake. »Formidable.«

 

[Morgan]

The half-elf rubbed at the knot of bandages hanging from his wrist. Seeing his opponent approaching, Morgan put a stop to the soothing motion, instead meeting her hand halfway in a quick, respectful shake. "Same to you. Shame they called the match early, but I suppose it is getting a touch late."

The man managed an easy smile in spite of the growing pain of his cut. He'd need to visit an apothecary before the day was over, and he already despised the cost such a trip would bring. "I am Morgan," he said, blinking once in silence before remembering most nobles list their bloodline as well. "Morgan Beauregard, that is." The surname, of course, was a fabrication- He'd never received a family name in his youth given his bastard status, but nobody had put forth the effort to verify a two-bit duelist's heritage.

 

[Ermengarde]

»Perhaps we'll have another chance. The name's Ermengarde. « the woman deemed determined before pasing the man. She had other duels to attend to now. Halfway passing him she stopped and briefly grinned.

»How much will you bet I will win the tournament?«

 

[Morgan]

Morgan took two steps of his own before Ermengarde spoke again, believing their interaction to be done as they both left to never see the other again. Instead, he stopped in his tracks and half turned towards her.

"Well, the other combatants will no doubt underestimate you," he said, brow creasing in thought. "I'd give you two to one odds." His eyes swept up from where he'd been staring at the ground, meeting hers as a better's smirk crossed his features. "Two Anirian silver. That's how much I'd be will to bet. Or, you know, a couple rounds of drink if you'd prefer." He flashed a wink, then, though it was so brief that onlookers may have missed it. His tone was hardly one of flirtation, though, instead inflated with a fair bit of cheek.

 

[Ermengarde]

The duelklist chuckled before proceeding to the next match.
and after that yet another. And another untill she faced some grizzly looking man. Everyone was rather tired by now but even him she defeated...though narrowly. Loosing the first and winning the second and third.

Droplets of sweat would still be on the forehead o the woman as she let out quick gaspes. The fights did end up taking a toll with how many highly intense fights were formed the longer the event progressed. These were not two second bouts were the lesser got excluded quickly.

She swept her hair aside, before giving the man and the referee a handshake and the first thing she'd do after that is gaze upon the crows to see where Morgan was at.

 

[Morgan]

Morgan sat dead-center of the crowd, peering over the gathered mass of onlookers from a way's back into the fold. He gave a sharp nod, smiling broadly at Ermengarde's continued victories and giving her a wave. If nothing else, watching other competitors lose to the one-armed duelist helped the half-elf's pride to heal.

After all, if they couldn't best her, he didn't feel half as bad about his own loss.

 

[Ermengarde]

There was a small victory ceremony but as soon as it ended The Diellist would seek out Morgan. »So.. « She tilted her head to the side and instintively would try crossing her arms. But her right would just awkwardly skip the air before resting at her side instead. »I think i'll go for the drinks.«

 

[Morgan]

Morgan met Ermengarde's awkward fumble with a charming smile, one eyebrow cocked. His dominant hand rested gracefully at his hip while his other arm hung loose at his side, not unlike the other duelist's.

"Oh? I thought I bet in your favor, but..." The half-elf trailed off, slowly staring to nod. After the ass-whooping she gave him, a round of drinks on his tab was in order. It didn't hurt Ermengarde's case that she had a rugged charm about her, either. "Alright, a round of drinks on me, but you get to lead the way. I'm rather new to these parts, so the tavern is your poison to pick."

The young man fiddled casually with the peace-tie on his saber, prepared to follow the one-armed woman wherever she chose to lead him.

 

[Ermengarde]

»How does the Giant and the Fae sound like?« Ermengarde pondered as she turned and began walking towards the city propper. »Heard they have good home brew and the best chicken roast.«

 

[Morgan]

"That, my friend, sounds marvelous." The young duelist had managed to shrug off his hunger for much of the day, but as the sun got lower, his body's needs got harder ignore. The promise of chicken roast, let alone the best chicken roast, was enough to make him pick up the pace as they went off towards the high walls of Vel Anir.

"So," he said after a few moments of silence had passed. "You're gifted. Might I ask what made you take up the art of fighting?"

 

[Ermengarde]

The promise of good food was indeed tempting. The inn was not too far, but still a good walk away. The high sun would slowly dip downwardsm nearing the upper edges of the walls. »Oh, that just comes from being the only daughter between seven sons. It's really about proving your worth and I wanted something more of my life than marry a low noble just to retain some semblance of face.«

»What about you?«

 

[Morgan]

Morgan gave a long, high whistle as Ermengarde recounted him with the tale of her upbringing. Raising seven sons must have been hard on her parents, but being raised with seven brothers must have been its own kind of hellish. "Well, I'd wager you made the right choice. Noble's sons tend to be, ah... How can I put this without coming off as crass? 'walking, talking natural disasters'? No offense towards your brothers, of course, but I'm certain you know what I mean."

"As for me, well, I had only a few options." His hand left his hip as he counted on his fingers. "First and foremost, work an honest trade. Respectable, but not exactly the daring life I would've hoped for. Secondly, find a low noble's daughter and gain face through marriage." The smile he gave her was sheepish, and he mouthed a quick 'sorry' before continuing. "But that was unlikely given my, ahem, muddied heritage."

His carefully drew back his hair, flashing the half-pointed ears Ermengarde had no doubt noticed. "Or, third and final, I could keep on fighting, getting into bigger and badder scraps. Eventually, an old guild fighter saw me work my way out of what should've been a one-sided beat-down, and the rest is history."