Fate - First Reply The Price of Business

[Lyssia D'avore]

Thunder growled outside, and the girl looked up from the thin stack of cheap paper in front of her with a hint of nervous energy. It had been raining for three days now; one squall barely cleared the slate roofed city before the next was calved from the brooding clouds clustering around the mountain peaks to the east. It was spring, after all, and the shifting winds blowing from the south along this northern stretch of the Spine always brought storms.

Nervous energy. She had been cooped up inside for three days, and despite the false face she showed to the world - that of a youthful scion of a merchant House vying to gain a title - she really was still just a girl. That youthful energy could only be diverted in so many ways, and as her secret study of The Art had not been doing so well, she had tried to throw it all into the task at hand.

The room was smaller than she liked, but still far better than most of her accommodations had been recently. It was not long ago that she and her brother had been cooped up in a forgotten part of the castle, in a basement isolated from the rest by collapsed halls and stairs. Amazing, to have been so close to the enemy and yet remain unseen. Of course, she had been the cause of that particular loss; overzealous practice of a power she barely had any control over. The whole place had collapsed, and she had hurt herself and others in the process.

She stopped pacing, pale face faintly flushed in embarrassment at the memory. The hue deepened when she realized what she was doing. She looked at the window, and saw that dreary day still lingered on, and then forced herself back to the chair behind her desk. It would not do to let the mask slip, to let the world see the unworldly youth she really was,the girl only partly trained in the dealings of the court. She had to appear in control, calm, confident.

Instead, she felt sick

She wondered if the sum was enough. A couple silver a week was on par with well paid guards among the elite of the city, but it was hardly enough to attract heroes in shining armor with blazing swords in hand. Hazard pay for specific assignments mlm might offset that a bit, but she could hardly discuss such details openly without having a commitment to the job. To her, truth to tell.

She got up, oblivious, and started pacing again.

Their coffer was not infinite. They had some success against the powerful factions in the city, but only so much squeezing could be done. Ever since the last sword vanished, there had been only a handful of victories to speak of.

In fact, the building and her attire both represented a substantial amount of their take. They had purchased the building, an old disused manor of some old merchant family on hard times. Her brother had taken the few faithful retainers left to them,and worked to restore the place to a serviceable state. All of the public areas, at least, reeked of opulence befitting a fairly successful merchant without rising above that supposed station. The neighborhood was such that a varied crop of merchants owned homes here, all of different levels of wealth. Overlooking the river but below the estates of the gentry, above the squalid masses of the peasantry even if they themselves were still peasants.

Just rich ones.

She stopped midstride, cursed silently, and angrily stormed back to her desk, kicking skirts as though they were what made her flit about like some precocious child. She paused before a mirror, a quick glance to reassure her that she looked the part. The skirts were hemmed in red, as was the neckline. She wore only a simple gold chain, and no other jewelry.

Fiery red hair, a pale round face sprinkled with freckles, high cheeks and slightly tilted eyes looked back at her. Her bangs hung low and framed her face in red, and fire rolled down her back in a loose braid that swung with every step. The dress was of fine blue linen, thick enough to ward off the chill but loose enough not to hug the nonexistent curves of her body.

She looked, in truth, like a well off you lady. It had taken hours of coaching from tutors from outside the city to teach her the act of being that woman, and now that she vcd was on the hot seat, that training seemed very thin indeed.

"Will no one answer this silly ad?" Two days, and not a single respondent. Two days, tied to this house while her brother did manly things, and while she waited for some that could, and she quoted it to herself, 'keep her head attached to her shoulders'. As if she needed any help so long as she was here.

She settled back behind the desk, restless, and picked up the paper and went over the details in her head. Two silver a week plus room and board. Must be able to make quick decisions. Must be capable with a weapon. Must be willing to make the hard choice if it came to it.

The sound of rain thundering on a distant roof continued.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

- Water that fell from the sky, vibrantly colored flora, packs of animals grazing in the wilds- seeing the Summerlands brought with it only memories of stories told to him by his father. Hearing and experiencing were, naturally, two entirely different things, and since leaving Indeholm, Gylfi now had first-hand experience of a new part of the world. Many would consider nature beautiful, though the brash young man wasn't impressed. What was so good about the heat- having damp clothes cling to your skin? Or, having to squint through what seemed to be a perpetual downpour of rain.

Gylfi shouted a curse and swung his fist through the rain. His wet, long hair whipped about and slapped against his face. He profusely swore again, though the rain deafened his enraged voice.

Since embarking on his journey of "self-discovery", or so it was dubbed by his father, Gylfi found himself only to be irritated, and to no end at that. He had no coin, no knowledge of the lands he walked, and most importantly no goal to seek. What was there to discover about himself?

An opportunity for coin did present itself, however, in the town where Gylfi previously stayed. A single notice of possible employment. The flier was soaked through and crumpled in his hand; the ink scribed on it completely illegible. All the wandering Nordenfiir possessed were the clothes he wore and the sword on his back.

Structures came into view- far larger and more numerous than Gylfi had ever seen. His brisk walk turned into a jog. He'd somehow managed to find his way there on the verbal directions given to him in the last town. A considerable time passed before he arrived at the city, and even more time was wasted searching for the actual location of his potential employer.

After much asking- or interrogating if you were to ask the questioned, he'd finally found his way to the old manor.

He only studied the building's front for a moment before stepping forward and banging twice on the door. He felt the hinges shudder under his fist. He stood above the doorframe, and his clothes and hair tightly clung to his skin.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She got up to pace before forcing herself to settle back into the chair behind the desk several times over the long hours. There just wasn't anything else for her to do, intruth; if she tried to do any of the things she wanted to without a 'minder', as her brother called the posting, then she would get a tongue lashing from Alric that would only serve to sour her mood even more. If for no other reason than he was right, and she was completely incapable of handling herself if the chips were in the and cards were down.

She was just about to get to her feet again, to pace and kick her skirts angrily, when there came a polite knock at the door. She settled back, and waited while a man stuck his head into the room, eyes immediately locking on to her. He wore the attire of estate staff, even if he seemed a bit rough for the job. The scar did not really scream 'butler', but these men needed to fill their assigned rolls as though they were what they appeared to be.

Anything less was likely to end with a great deal of her assets dead, if not herself and her brother. The nobility had mostly forgotten about her, if they hadn't necessarily forgotten the bloody noses that her brother had delivered to them.

"My Lady," he said in a rough voice. She looked up, and tried to fix a stern look on her face without any idea how well it was coming across.

"Yes," she asked.

"Someone has come for the posting. Shall I see them in?" It was unclear what the man - Melford, if she remembered his name correctly - thought of the man. Likely not very much at all, as the few household staff they retained were fiercely loyal to the old House, and the others they picked up in the meantime had had their loyalty earned. And those were street thugs, mostly. Men who had held no loyalty before.

She was still not sure why they held any loyalty now.

"Please do," she replied. Melford dipped his head slightly in respect before backing out and closing the door.

The middle-aged man made his way back to the front foyer of the manor. It was not a long walk; the place was on the small side as manor's went. It place was sparsely furnished, and while most of what was there was of fine make, all of it was old. it was clear that the place was little used despite every effort being made to make it look more occupied and lived-in than it was. Wood was polished with beeswax, glass cleaned and cloth carefully tended to.

There was not much by in the way to show the opulence of a truly well-to-do House or merchant, but then there was only so much coin to go round. The mercenary's pay, paltry though it might be, was a necessary expense but not a cheap one.

"The Mistress will see you, now," he said. His dark eyes gleamed observantly, and as he moved to lead the youth back the way he had come, it was easy to see that the man was a fighter of some kind simply by the way he walked. "This way, if you please," he added.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

Gylfi found himself constantly blinking to keep the water from his eyes. The rain was unrelenting in its assault upon the young man's head. Water ran down the unkempt strands of hair that fell over his well-formed face, that of which he never cared to brush aside. Gylfi scowled at the door and, in his mind, pictured ripping the door from its hinges. It was a near-irresistible temptation, one he would no doubt gladly indulge in should he have to wait much longer.

As impatience culminated, a hand rose to latch onto the door's handle. Before he could latch on, the door creaked open. A man emerged and looked up at the warrior with dark, beady eyes.

"The Mistress will see you, now," he said.

As he turned and receded into the manor, Gylfi ducked through the doorway and followed. He swung the door shut behind him. It closed with an audible slam. A trail of water and mud remained in the dripping man's wake as he followed the servant. He was broad and tall, though not nearly as tall as Gylfi. He stared into the servant's back with a smug expression. His eyes flicked away only when something curious entered his periphery.

They continued in silence up until Gylfi was led to the room where the young lady waited. The servant knocked and entered; Gylfi followed, again having to duck under the doorframe to enter.

His eyes instantly fell onto the young lady- no, on the child.

"Small," he growled.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The liveried man looked at the massive Norden with a side eye, but said nothing. It was not his place to deal with this man unless ordered to do so, and it was unlikely that the Lady of the House would order any such thing.

For her part, her eyes narrowed. The man was absolutely massive, even more so than humans normally were. There was something about him that was inhuman in nature, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Regardless, she did feel intimidated by his presence and demeanor. It was something she had to step on, to crush mercilessly beneath her mental boot. It was something she was failing at right now, she was sure of it. A ball of ice formed in her guts.

"And there is something wrong with that?" There was a touch of heat in her voice, and she couldn't fathom how it got there. She was scared to her slippers, and yet the anger was as real as the fear. "Not all of the people of Arethil are lumbering giants such as yourself."

For a moment she entertained seizing the sweet power of magic. A moment only; it was a crutch at the best and a weakness at the worst. Plus, she had only a certain degree of control over it, and all of her skill tended towards supporting others. She wasn't sure she could strike this man down if he rushed her, not without possibly bringing the entire manor down on their collective heads.

"In any case, I am the one with the money, and you the one in need of it." That was a fact. She was proud of how steady her voice sounded. She did not do him the courtesy of standing. He was rude enough that she did not feel the least bit ashamed of returning the favor. "You are here for the job, yes?"

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

The lumbering giant often kept his father's parting words in the back of his mind.

The Summerlands are far different from our home, son. But, if you look deep enough, you will find beauty unlike anywhere in the tundras.

All he had seen so far left much to be desired. He grew up loving the vast expanse of white and tall, snow-capped mountains. In the Summerlands, all he had seen so far was drab skies and muddy earth. Rain was nothing but an annoyance, and the result of that annoyance was a pool of water that formed at Gylfi's muddied feet.

Her heated response earned a soft snort and raised brows from the young man; she was a small thing but defended herself regardless of that. Arethil echoed in his mind. Was that the name of this village?

Gylfi folded his large arms across his equally large chest as she spoke about money. He hadn't a single coin to his name and had only been getting by through sleeping in fields or forests. If not for the rain, it would have showed. The boy was far from clean, and the stench of wet animal clung to him as tightly as his drenched clothes.

He wordlessly showed her the crumpled and soaked flier hung in the previous town. It was a complete miracle that the paper lasted the entire journey. Anyways, it was absolutely illegible and a mystery as to why Gylfi still held the now-useless flier.

"Hmph," he offered a grunt of affirmation accompanied by a nod, "What is the job?"

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"Manners, for one," she said acidly. And then remembered that he was big enough to crush her like a bug. He certainly smelled like one, but she was not in any position to complain too much about that. Soap was a more recent acquisition after so long without.

She moderated her tone. There was no point in goading him into becoming violent, after all.

"My bro...," she began, then hissed in vexation. At herself. "I need protection. I..."

They had discussed this, her brother and herself, at length. It was difficult for her to understand the necessity of being so circumspect about the job itself. A bodyguard was only part of it. The silent war that raged between the ragged elements of her House that remained and those of the Great Houses that had seen their downfall had been relatively bloodless so far. So far, she had escaped the notice of the leaders of the Great Houses. That would not last for long.

A couple silver a week was a poor price to pay to step into the viper's nest that was her life. As of late, it had been calm...but it would not remain so. Eventually, she would be noticed. Eventually, the jog would be up. And then...then, the blood would flow. The mere thought of it made her sick to her stomach. Compared to that, the foul stench wafting of this ruffian in front of her made little difference.

"You will be my bodyguard. There may be other work that you must do, but primarily you will keep my skin intact." She leaned over the desk in front of her. It was sized to fit her kind - almost. Perhaps a dwarven relic from somewhere, it nonetheless allowed her to look less like a toy seated there and more like an adult, which she almost certainly was not. Twenty-five was adult by many species' standards, but the Sidhe were long lived, and she had already begun slowing. She looked like she was in her mid to late teens, despite the fact that she barely stood to this beasts' chest.

"It won't be safe work," she added. Alric had drilled this bit into her head. "We wish to make a place for ourselves in Mericet, perhaps among the lesser Houses. It will not be straight forward all the time. Knives in the back are popular these days." There was a touch of bitterness there. At least she felt like she was starting to adopt the role she had been given, however ill fitting it was. The ball of ice was still there, twisting her guts fiercely, but she could almost keep her voice steady now.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

The remark about his manners led to no great anger, though his upper lip did curl up in a snarl. When the girl calmed, so did he. He stared down at her in silence as she stammered and did not disagree that she needed protection. To be so small was a glaring weakness to the young man, and he hadn't considered any tricks that she might possess.

"Protect you," he echoed, "this, I can do."

Gylfi, in all of his arrogance, did not fret over her warning. He did not fear a knife in the back, but the thought of cutting down cowards that would attempt to skewer him elicited some excitement from the Nordenfiir.

Standing there soaked from head to toe, Gylfi looked even wilder than usual. His beast-like amber eyes prominently shone against his pale complexion. Were it not for his permanent scowl; one may find his features to be pleasing on the eyes. It was a strange contrast to his otherwise unnaturally large and intimidating frame.

"Safe work doesn't pay," he huffed. The Nordenfiir overlooked the Sidhe's ambitions, caring to only see coin pass from her hands to his.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Work that sees you dead doesn't pay, either.

She did not speak the thoughts in her head. The simple nature of this man would be intimidating enough to deter most from bothering her, but then again, his size and temperment might also attract unwanted attention. "I should like to have safety again," she said without thinking, and then cringed inside. There would never be any safety for her, no matter the outcome of this unseen war. She did not like feeling weak, not in front of this man or anyone else, but it was something she had almost learned to live with.

"Well, I might want to see-" she began, but she was cut off abruptly by much more firm words.

"What you might want to see, sister, is what I will require to see." The man that stepped into the doorway from the hall leading to the front of the house might have been a couple inches taller than Lyssia herself was, but in comparison to the Norden he was tiny. Despite this, he did not look to be the least bit intimidated by the youthful mercenary.

Alric was the second oldest of the House, or had been before the troubles began. he had a narrow and angular face with dark hair and eyes a wild red. His eyes, like her own, glowed ever so faintly with an inner light. He wore his hair long and tied behind his neck with a leather thong, and wore a coat that stopped just above his knees, an ornate white thing embroidered in silver and thread of gold. He wore dark trousers, and a thin bladed sword rested on his hip.

He looked the Nordenfiir up and down in a most deliberate fashion, and then looked to his sister. "An applicant?"

"Yes, Alric," she replied as in as level a voice as she could. Her brothers vivid eyes regarded the tall man critically for a long moment, weighing him on some invisible scale. His eyes lingered on the great sword he carried, but did not linger long.

"Surely you have other weapons than that oversized thing?" His tone was carefully neutral, but not out of any respect toward the mercenary. Lyssia was still very much being tutored when everything happened, but her brother had twenty years on her. He was still very young for a Sidhe, but he had been trained in statecraft from a young age, among other things. He held certain views about peasants and people of that station. "Your name, young man?"

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

Gylfi should have smelled the man coming, but he didn't. Perhaps the constant rain dulled his senses? An auburn brow cocked from the brother's entrance. Small, to, but he walked large. The Norden man could see the unease in the short girl, but the authority that she tried to show came naturally to the brother.

"No," he grumbled, holding back rising irritation at the comment, "it will suffice. Gylfi Runarsson."

The small man's sword was curious. Gylfi just couldn't picture the Sidhe fighting with his size. Perhaps it served as a deterrent? The Norden's oversized sword was inadvertently similar in that sense, though Gylfi actually used it with great skill. He assumed that the small man did not do the same with his.

The pool of water at his feet had grown considerably and water still dripped from the tall man. The discomfort of being completely soaked finally began to annoy the Norden. The arms folded across his chest tightened; the muscles of his bare arms danced as they flexed.

"Well?" his attention fell to the brother. While Gylfi had been taken to the girl, the manner in which Alric acted was befitting of one in charge. "Am I hired?"

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

"Certainly direct enough," Alric commented. He stepped further into the room, and started to walk around the Nordenfiir. "Not from around here, by your garb and by your accent. Northlands?"

Lyssia said nothing for the moment. She very uch wanted to be her own mistress, to not lean so heavily on others...but she also knew that Alric, as much of an arrogant jerk as he could be, would cut her off until he had come to terms with whatever thoughts were in his head, until he was at peace in his own mind. That, and the fact that he had been fighting this war while she was holed up and trying to stay alive on the streets for a year. She was better, but he was a veteran at this sort of thing.

"I do not know if you will be hired," he said suddenly. "You are certainly intimidating enough to look at, but are you competent or smart enough for the job? It is my sister's life that will be in your hands."

"I do not need you dot-" she began in mild protest, but the elder D'avore merely raised a hand, and she quieted.

"I know you do not like it, but that is tough. I do not need some scruffy vagrant being hired flippantly unless he or she is worth the money." Eyes shadowed, faintly glowing with their inner light, the smaller man turned and looked the Norden directly in the eye with an unwavering stare. "Well? Are you actually worth hiring, or are you a waste of my time?"

It seemed they could both be direct.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

Gylfi clenched his jaw and stared down at Alric. He imagined dropping one of his large fists onto the short one's head, though the concern of killing the Sidhe from doing so loomed. He lowered his folded arms and placed his hands on his hips instead. One finger rhythmically tapped against his hipbone.

"I can do what is asked," he glowered, "or must I be tested?"

If looks could kill, the ridiculously large sword wouldn't be necessary.

"Would you test me? Or him?" his head jerked back towards the man that showed him in. He wasn't one to prove himself through words, and even if he was, words would do nothing to prove his worth here.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The barest curve of his lips was the only immediate response that Alric gave the large man. "Melford," he said in a calm voice. "Please, go and get Alicia. Tell her to bring her kit, and meet us outside. The front courtyard will do."

Thunder growled, a reminder that it yet rained outside. "My Lord, are you-"

"Yes. Move along, please." He turned and faced the Norden again. If he seemed anxious about anything, it was well hidden. The diminutive man started to unbutton his coat in a very deliberate manner, that smirk still in his face as he did so.

"I do not need the help to do my work for me, Master Runarrson. I am more than capable of being my own judge." The way he said the wild man's name clearly indicated him as the lesser of the two. It was very much an affectation if many nobles.

"Brother," she began, standing up. For a long moment, she said nothing, and then shook her head. "Do not do anything reckless, Alric," she finished rather lamely in a low voice. She did not sit down.

"You, telling me?" There should have been a look of incredulity on his face, but there was not. The look on his face was...fond.

She did not say anything, only flushed under his scrutiny. He barked a laugh, then made an imperious gesture for Gylfi to flow "Come along, then. I will need to bathe after. Rain is fine, but I've been at work all day with some unseemly lowborn curs already."

He led the way back to the front foyer, and then out into the yard in front of the manor. Rain came down in sheets, cold and hard. Alric handed his coat to Melford, revealing a snowy white shirt beneath.

Lyssia came up into the doorway, skirts shifting uneasily as she pushed in alongside Alicia in a rather unladylike manner, ignoring the woman in rough woolens with a block face and a sour look. Both watched Alric step out into the yard, quickly being soaked to his skin. It begged how he was dry to begin with, if he had come from some work.

"Well?" He asked imperiously. Lyssia could not feel the charge of the Art, could not see the glow of magic being restrained. Alric stood without the Art suffusing him, and she thought him mad for that.

Trust.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

Gylfi once again found himself ducking through doorways as he oft has done since arriving in the Summerlands. He followed Alric out of the manor and back into the pouring rain. He’d remained quiet, though seethed under a composed exterior. A part of him considered his potential employer’s attitude to be arrogant, possibly from the assumption that because Gylfi was looking to work, the Norden would not dare harm his contractor.

That was not the case.

Though, another part of the young man was wary. His father always said to be cautious of those with confidence in themselves.

As Gylfi once again became the victim of rain, he ran a hand up his face and raked his fingers through his hair to pull the hair from his eyes.

"Well?" He asked imperiously.

Gylfi growled and mumbled profanities to himself, though the rain prevented any from hearing what he had to say.

In a fluid motion, he drew the large sword from his back and lowered his posture, though he held the sword over his left shoulder with both hands. He drew a long breath and flexed his entire body, his muscles dancing as he forced himself to flex all over. A deep, relieving sigh settled his tenseness.

With speed that should not belong to a man of his stature, Gylfi exploded from where he stood, kicking up mud and water behind him as he lunged towards the brother. He swung the sword down with no intention of stopping short.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

Such speed, Alric thought to himself as the bear of a man rushed him. It was a useful asset, as the Norden was about to discover; brute strength had a place, but such a raw show of power with an unknown opponent was at best foolish.

At worst, it was suicidal.

However fast the larger warrior was, he was not as fast Alric was. Her brother might weigh all of six stone, and the beast attacking at least fifteen or more. The Sidhe nobleman had trained with experts that had,of course, taught him to utilize the strengths he had. He did no try to directly challenge Gylfi strength for strength; that would have been foolish.

Speed for speed? Absolutely.

His cute little sword was out in a flash of bright steel, even as he faded to one side, lashing out with the tip in an effort to draw first blood. Nothing major, just a slice anywhere he could find exposed flesh, enough to sting without lasting damage.

Alicia cursed under her breath, looked to Lyssia, and then cursed again more vehemently, even as Alric completed his smooth fade, facing his enemy that towered over him with his blade held in one hand and ready to parry or strike,whichever proced fruitful at the moment.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

Gylfi's sword was large and heavy, but its craftsmanship was exquisite, especially its balance. That made it quite easy for Gylfi to wield, especially if the boy was smart with it.

His eyes were able to track the blur that was Alric, and his body, in turn, was able to follow the Sidhe. Gylfi's swing met nothing but air, though he quickly spun on his lead foot to face up his opponent. The glint of steel elicited a reflexive action from the Norden; Gylfi quickly brought the flat side of his blade up to parry the smaller sword away while taking a single bound back.

He bared his teeth in a fierce grimace at Alric, who had proved to be far more skillful than he appeared. Gylfi held his blade low and pointed the tip at the brother, opting this time to take advantage of his far superior reach.

The young man glared down the edge of his sword at his potential employer, then up to the small girl he'd first met. He found her eyes for only a moment before focusing back on Alric.

"Well?" Gylfi growled.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She wanted to flinch back from that fierce gaze, but kept her eyes locked to his for the brief moment they were looking to one another. She looked to Alric, who had not moved an inch from his previous stance.

The brother simply snorted at the potential bodyguard, eyes serious with that slight quirk to his grin. "Well, what? Did you expect me to do all the work?" He shifted his stance slightly; there was no way he was going to attack the Norden when the man was clearly ready for it.

Suddenly, Lyssia felt it. The spark of magic flaring to life within her brothers' heart. The older Sidhe did not move, still, only grinned at Gylfi insolently. "Are you going to just stand there and look pretty with that woodchopper of yours? Or do I intimidate a big bloke like you?" That power within her brother pulsed, flared, and grew suddenly. She felt a stab of jealousy at it; her brother was far better with the Art than she was. he'd had twenty years more practice, of course, and was in no way as good as Mother or Father had been, before...

She clenched her fist tight enough for the knuckles to crack.

"Come at me, cur," her brother demanded, imperiously.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

Gylfi's knuckles turned white as his grip tightened around the sword's hilt. His mind raced, as did his heart. A head-on battle such as this would favor Gylfi completely, yet Alric's attitude remained superior. The Norden was all too wary of it. He knew that recklessly diving in was what the Sidhe wanted. He knew that he would have to navigate the duel tactfully.

His temperament, however, bypassed any rational thinking. With a strained grunt, Gylfi stepped in and trusted the tip of his sword at Alric, though it was primarily to lure the small man into stepped on either side of the thrust so that he could knock him to the ground with the flat surface of his sword.

His focus on Alric's speed and finesse blinded him of the potential and more dangerous threat that Alric posed.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

She had always found her brothers way with the Art to be superior to her own, and though she had tried to emulate it, once, she had found herself incapable of the feats. He had a deft and dexterous way with the flow, drawing it from the wellspring of his own soul and forcing chaos into order.

Humans used a variety of methods to draw power and shape it, but for her and her kind, they were the force they were shaping. The luminous eyes only hinted at the swirling power that lay dormant, quiescent within. When called into life, if was wild and unruly, difficult to control. And powerful. Their magic could not be denied without denying their life, and their use of it was tempered by the way it was inextricably bound to that very same life.

Power flared brilliantly within Alric, and he wordlessly wove it into a pattern, forcing the chaos to do his bidding. Granting it elemental force as he did so. It was the very air itself before him that deflected the thrust of Gylfi's blade, turning to stone and diverting it to one side. The only purpose of this minor cantrip was to grant him easy access to the body of the larger warrior, to bring him in close.

In close, he would not be able to wield that great weapon of his as effectively as otherwise. There would be no room to swing, only to use it as a defensive tool or to use it or his own body as a weapon instead, which was certainly dangerous enough to the diminutive Sidhe.

Alric darted forward alongside the blade. The only way that Gylfi could use it would be to abandon the thrust entirely, and withdraw it. The patch of air that he had been denied was small, but large enough that he could not simply slide over the top. By necessity, it could not extend far forward or else risk getting in Alric's own way.

The young Sidhe attacked, this time, going for non-vital points; inside of thigh, arms. The risk was definitely not gone for him, but the only way to mitigate it was to force his opponent to defend.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

Of course, his blade veering off so suddenly shocked the Norden. The sting of a sword's edge pierced his skin, shallow cuts drawing blood. Gylfi was able to pull the sword back, though not before Alric's blade twice met its mark.

Gylfi was able to deflect the next blows with the sword's abnormally long hilt; with each parried blow, the young man forced himself forward, stepping closer and taking advantage of his size. He did not care about shallow cuts, for they healed quickly and with little scarring. As he stepped forward, the threat of whatever it was that deflected his blow lingered in his mind.

He wore a frightening grimace and shoved the hilt and guard of his sword towards Alric.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The smirk was gone. In its place, cold and emotionless determination reigned. Alric was by no means a master of the sword, or of fighting in general, and he knew it. He had been trained by some of the finest with a sword, but realistically he was too small, too light weight to pose a threat physically. His blows lacked the physicality of the other warrior.

His first mistake came swiftly enough; his opponent was coming to the realization that he could simply overpower the young man, and even though he could not use the blade as it was intended, he did not need too. Strike parried, and again; each strike narrowly missing hand or finger. Gylfi was skilled enough as a fighter, that much was clear.

He should just concede the fight. There was no way to test for other traits beyond throwing the man in the fire...and yet...

I can beat him! Pride was a weakness, and Alric succumbed to it.

From one moment smoothly in control into the next, spiralling out of control. Gylfi put more of his strength into a counter, and Alric was not expecting it. Thrown off balance, the youth stumbled,and then tripped. He landed badly, sword knocked from his grasp. Rolling, power flaring, he effortlessly crafted a shield of elemental wind, a swirling thing like a localized gale with the sole purpose of deflecting the singular blow he knew was coming.

He was dimly aware of his sister crying out in alarm. It was not important now. Cold resolve was all he had, for now.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

The shove proved to be far more effective than what Gylfi had intended. The boy wanted space, but knocking Alric to the ground exceeded his expectations. A downward swing came down towards the sidhe, and although Gylfi intended to pull the swing short, the shield of wind made that sentiment unnecessary. His sword skewed to the side and the edge of his sword buried itself in the mud mere inches away from Alric.

A fighter, Gylfi mused and flashed his teeth in a terrifying grin. He released his sword, leaving it stuck in the mud, and pounced on Alric. He leaned down, intending to seize the man by his shirt and lift him up from the mud.

By all means, the victor seemed apparent. Though, like the man in front of him, Gylfi became absorbed in the fight. The excitement that came with the small man's magical prowess lit a fire under the Norden.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

There was no time to react to the successful deflection; the force of the blow had shredded the careful pattern, and so the shield was gone. Even so, the blow had drove Alric further into the ground, so that the bones of his shoulders seemed to creak from the force of it.

The man was quick for one so large, and Alric himself had little chance of rolling away from him before he could reach. The commoner grabbed him by the front of his shirt and easily lifted his light form up. The intelligence of doing so was questionable, though.

"Stop! That is enough!" Lyssia's voice cut through the drumming rain, and a flash of lightning followed quickly by the roar of thunder seemed to punctuate her cries to cease. "You've done what you need to, brother!"

Alric did not listen to her. Instead, his head snapped up, lucid eyes staring up into the Norden without a trace of fear. Power flowed, quick and insistent with the beating of his heart. As quick as thought, he had cobbled together errant elements, and as the pattern fell into place, brilliant light shone out in the space between them. Lyssia yelped and turned away, but not quick enough to avoid having dazzling afterimages dance in her sight. She could only imagine how painful that had been from up close.

She tried to go out into the rain, to stop the pair, but Alicia grabbed hold of her arm and tugged her back. "Not wise, my Lady, to go getting in the middle of that." The words were flat and emotionless, and the woman was fixing the pair of men with eyes like daggers.

 

[Gylfi Runarsson]

"Agh!" Gylfi dropped Alric and stumbled back, his hands cupping his closed eyes. The brilliant flash of light temporarily blinded and disoriented the young man. It was an odd thing to feel pain without actually having a wound inflicted upon oneself. A second passed, then two. His sight had not returned, though his other senses heightened for a moment; the feel of his boots sinking into the mud, the sound of falling rain, and the smell of the man in front of Gylfi.

Gylfi stepped forward and threw a blind jab in the direction he thought Alric stood intending to get the Sidhe to move. The sound of feet splashing about in mud would do well enough for now, though the Norden boy was quite exposed and confused, and the blind jab served only as a desperate effort to keep Alric from taking advantage of the flash.

 

[Lyssia D'avore]

The key to effective utilization if the Art, rang a familiar voice in Alric's head, is to use as little as is possible to achieve desirable effects. The ham-fisted ways of the short-lived are as short sighted as much of their societal goals.

The old instructor's voice always played in the youths' head when he was in a spot of trouble. He knew he had made a mistake by not conceding the match after making his point. He had been tr as ined to fight only those battles that could be won, and to avoid those that could not be. Or to bring people that could win where he could not. He had also been trained to fight with his strengths and not his weaknesses.

He had not done this. His sword, while he could use it to effect, was merely ornamentation. There were not many people who could not outmatch him un a test of strength; he was quick, but small and the Sidhe were never much for physical violence.

I must do this right.

To Lyssia, her brother glowed like the sun for a brief moment. She could feel the effort the young man put into whatever it was he was doing - she could not follow the pattern he wielded, for her affinity was not the same as his.

It stopped raining. All around them it hammered down on rooftop and yard, churning gutters with muddy water...but here, though the thunder still growled and lightning stabbed from the sky, the water had ceased falling.

Alric jumped back and to the side from the wild punch thrown by the young Norden, not realizing the young man's plan. The lack of rain made it even easier for the Norden to track his movements in the eerie semi-silence.