Vel Cirak
Amell Quillon
Olvir's foot shifted.
The blade flickered left.
Sparks flew.
Each beat of the heart was less than a second passed. Each thunderous sound within his ear was another moment that seemed to skip forward. Adrenaline surged through his veins. Pulsing, pumping. Fingers felt slick on the hilt of his sword, sweat pooling on his palms as he darted to the right. A curse echoed from his opponent, but it was already too late.
Ollie's sword seemed to shift in an instant.
It darted upward, and then suddenly swung down as his whole body moved into a pivot. The blade swung, and then with a clatter of armor smacked against his for once, twice, and then a quick third time. There was a loud thunk, and then the armored man in front of him fell onto the ground. Stunned by the solid blows he'd managed to land.
"Yes!" The young Noble called, thrusting up his hands in victory as the tournament judges blew their whistle and declared him the victor. The crowd gathered around them let out a cheer, though more than a few of the Guardsmen in the audience jeered as the young Noble overcame their fellow. Ollie ignored them, practically beaming.
The Sword Tournament of Vel Cirak was a well known event all over Anirian Lands.
Not quite as famous as some of the bouts in other cities, the tournament in Vel Cirak was nontheless a qualifier for the Championship in Vel Anir later this year. That was why Ollie was here. He had missed out on the other competitions, and this was his last chance to actually make it. So far he had won two of his five fights, and would need to win two more in order to qualify.
Something he was well on his way to doing.
With a smug look on his face the young Noble strutted from the field, beaming wide as a woman from the sidelines threw her lingerie from the crowd. Fingers snatching the bolt of cloth from the air with a wide grin.
Amell Quillon
Olvir's foot shifted.
The blade flickered left.
Sparks flew.
Each beat of the heart was less than a second passed. Each thunderous sound within his ear was another moment that seemed to skip forward. Adrenaline surged through his veins. Pulsing, pumping. Fingers felt slick on the hilt of his sword, sweat pooling on his palms as he darted to the right. A curse echoed from his opponent, but it was already too late.
Ollie's sword seemed to shift in an instant.
It darted upward, and then suddenly swung down as his whole body moved into a pivot. The blade swung, and then with a clatter of armor smacked against his for once, twice, and then a quick third time. There was a loud thunk, and then the armored man in front of him fell onto the ground. Stunned by the solid blows he'd managed to land.
"Yes!" The young Noble called, thrusting up his hands in victory as the tournament judges blew their whistle and declared him the victor. The crowd gathered around them let out a cheer, though more than a few of the Guardsmen in the audience jeered as the young Noble overcame their fellow. Ollie ignored them, practically beaming.
The Sword Tournament of Vel Cirak was a well known event all over Anirian Lands.
Not quite as famous as some of the bouts in other cities, the tournament in Vel Cirak was nontheless a qualifier for the Championship in Vel Anir later this year. That was why Ollie was here. He had missed out on the other competitions, and this was his last chance to actually make it. So far he had won two of his five fights, and would need to win two more in order to qualify.
Something he was well on his way to doing.
With a smug look on his face the young Noble strutted from the field, beaming wide as a woman from the sidelines threw her lingerie from the crowd. Fingers snatching the bolt of cloth from the air with a wide grin.