Lor'Themar came at Varrus with slow, steady strokes, yet each of them contained power and precision.

Varrus twitched, as he was accustomed to wielding a sword beyond the most rudimentary of maneuvers. He then raised his sword as he was forced to defend himself.

His wrist stung from Lor'Themar's forceful impact, and he almost had the blade wrenched from his grasp.

“Is this the hidden phoenix that stunned everyone at the battle of the beach? Relax your grip, you are too tight!” Lor'Themar criticized.

Varrus loosened his grasp, then went on the offense, feinting a stab into a cut.

“Sloppy footwork, your chest is completely exposed, position yourself sideways, limiting the amount of area the enemy has to attack!” Lor'Themar instructed as he easily batted away Varrus’ failed maneuver, then moved in close to deliver a crunching elbow into Varrus’ sternum.

Feeling the air woosh out of his lungs, Varrus took a step back, and attempted to block Lor’Themar’s next punch, only to catch the flat end of Lor’Themar’s sword on his temple.

The dull pain worked Varrus up into a frenzy. Gritting his teeth, he wanted nothing more than to use his magic and blast this old man into the wall, or finger flick him with telekinesis into the wall.

Yet…this training was actually worthwhile!

A prompt from the Skyrim UI proved that this beating was actively leveling him up. Only five minutes had past, and already his One Handed leveled from 29 -> 30. He supposed receiving training with others was a viable option to level up his skills, but he had never thought of it before. In Skyrim, the player simply paid an NPC some gold, and the skill went up.

It never crossed his mind to get his arse beaten bloody by a millenia old man to level up his skills. It was so bloody obvious. Not!

Varrus mentally complained to himself as he took a pommel to the chin, then a kick to his midsection, planting him squarely on the ground.

Wiping dirt from his chin, Varrus ran at Lor’Themar with an overheaded swipe.

“Simply barbaric.” Lor’Themar chided, shaking his head in disappointment.

Varrus chuckled as he dropped to his knee, and pivoted sideways so that he could elbow Lor’Themar in the groin.

The elder Elf gripped the elbow, and flipped over Varrus like an acrobatic, he then twisted Varrus’ arm, and kneed him in the back, planting Varrus’ face into the sweat covered dirt of the training ground.

“Hitting below the belt, I like that. Many an Elf cares about their image, and their so-called armor. They are the ones who play pretend. If you’re not fighting dirty, you’re not fighting to win!” Lor’Themar laughed from behind, then lifted Varrus up, only to toss him down like a wrestler straight out of the WWE.

Varrus summersault rolled out of the throw, and sprang to his feet. His eyes scanned the elder Elf from head to toe, cautious of his every movement.

Lor’Themar lunged forward, only to halt after a foot of movement.

Varrus swiped at the air in front of him in defense, only to come up short. Realizing that the Ranger General was toying with him, Varrus rolled his eyes, and lunged at Lor’Themar using his entire body like a spring so that he could travel the most distance.

The point of his sword carried a powerful momentum, and forced Lor’Themar to parry the attack to the side.

They then began to trade a few hits here and there, with Lor’Themar correcting the position of Varrus’ blade or feet on more than one occasion. Whatever the Ranger General taught, Varrus would pick up after seeing it two or three times. Whenever he didn’t understand, the repeated demonstration by Lor’Themar served as a catalyst for his One Handed skill, and caused Varrus to level it up by quite a little bit. The more his skill level went up, the more Lor’Themar’s lesson was making sense.

After half an hour of going back and forth, Varrus was absolutely drenched in sweat from head to toe, and was regretting his meager 100 Stamina at the moment. High Elves excelled at quick, precise movements, but damn if he didn’t gas fast!

“Good, you are improving! Your potential is terrifying! It is time to pick things up, no? Show me what you’ve got Vandercross, on guard!” Lor'Themar praised, then at the same time dropped low, and drop kicked Varrus in the stomach.

Varrus took the hit, and summersault-rolled on his back, losing grip of his blade in the process. His momentum didn't stop until he hit a rack containing armor.

His body didn't hurt much given his HP was in the hundreds, but he had been hit enough times today that he was beginning to grow tired of it. .

“A warrior mustn't ever release hold of his weapon, or he is lost. Pick it up.” Lor'Themar commanded, kicking the blade with the toe of his boot.

Claiming the sword as it fell midair, Varrus wasn't given much time to react as Lor'Themar was upon him.

It didn't take long for the elder Elf to begin shallowly poking and slicing at Varrus’ flesh. The more he did it, the more intrigued he seemed to become.

“Fascinating. The ritual you conducted to harden your flesh is astounding. Even after learning of your terrifying talent, I had been going soft in fear of seriously injuring you. I can see, however, that this is unnecessary.” Lor'Themar said, lips twitching in an effort to control his grin.

Varrus, for his part, was not having a good time. His blade was battered aside in nearly every engagement, and he repeatedly took elbow jabs, and bare knuckle punches to the ribs.

Bruises began to accumulate on his exposed chest. Superior vitality or not, he was starting to feel the internal injuries as they accumulated.

Sweat poured from his body, dripping onto the training ground, and his pristine blonde hair was frazzled in a mess.

Varrus couldn't do much as Lor'Themar upped the ante, and increased his speed by more than double.

Once Lor'Themar was about to actually draw blood, the automatic defense of Ebony Flesh finally registered the attack, and covered Varrus from head to toe, blocking Lor'Themar's attack.

“Are you so quick to give in?” Lor'Themar said, disappointed.

Varrus thought about explaining himself, or reconciling somehow, but decided to own it.

This crazy old bastard was going to draw his blood! Fuck that noise!

He had practically been bending over backwards to get this guy's approval, and to do that, he would have to let himself get beat up?

No way! Varrus appreciated Lor’Themar for his guidance, but he wasn’t some sensei or father figure. He was his colleague! And Varrus wasn’t about to let himself get pushed around like some kid getting hazed in the gym.

“I am not the only one who's mettle is being tested here, Ranger General. I may desire your participation in the Convocation, but that does not mean I am easily pushed over!” Varrus replied angrily, and ‘magically’ equipped his enchanted equipment from his inventory.

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The Restoration perk, Warrior's Flame coated Varrus’ body, bolstering his spirit, and draining Lor'Themar's stamina at the same time.

Various perks triggered at the same time, reducing Lor'Themar's armor rating, magic resistance, draining his mana regen, and negating any spell casting.

Lor'Themar seemed to smile for a split second, then wordlessly drew his second sword, and cut down at incredible speeds.

Varrus Blinked out of the way into the other side of the training hall, then cast Tumble Magnet.

Lor'Themar was a step away from chopping into his Ebony Flesh, but was pulled back a step, causing his swords to miss by an inch.

The man-sized magnet slowly spun in the center of the training room, constantly tugging at Lor'Themar.

Any ordinary Human would be struggling to move like he was walking in molasses. Lor'Themar, however, was moving like a character from a video game, moon jumping off the floor, and criss crossing his swords at Varrus’ throat.

Casting the channeling Alteration spell, Longstride, his speed-which according to the spell text should've only increased by 20%-was increased by 200% due to the Spell Power enchantments on his gear.

Moving now at the same speed as Lor'Themar, Varrus was constantly chugging Mana Stones to match the consumption of Longstride.

However, the Ranger General stopped chasing him in favor of grabbing a bow off the walls, and began shooting magically enchanted arrows at him. One arrow struck the Tumble Magnet, shattering it upon impact.

During the rain of arrows, Varrus had been blindsided as one arrow was hidden in the shadow of another, and he took an arrow to the knee.

In that moment of carelessness, Varrus felt his entire shield shake.

Summoning three Frost Atronarchs in quick order, Varrus used them as temporary shields. Their large frames served to block Lor'Themar's vision of Varrus as he thought about how he was going to safely defeat Lor'Themar within this relatively confined space.

Obviously neither of them was trying to kill one another. If that was the case, Lor'Themar would be attempting to speed blitz him even more than he already was, to prevent Varrus the 2-5 seconds it would take to cast a Master spell. And Varrus would be turtling up, blasting the ground with massive AOE spells, and destroying the entire building around him.

Each of them was trying to prove the strength of their will, yet neither was willing to give in.

Analyzing his surroundings, Varrus began to have a plan take shape in his mind.

The training room was about as big as your average high school gym + basketball court. It was mostly open, with racks full of weapons, and cabinets pressed against the wall.

Varrus looked over his spell list quickly, and a slow smile began to form on his face. He knew how he wanted this to end.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lor'Themar hadn't strained himself all too much, but the mana expenditure was beginning to take its toll.

Without the power of the Sunwell, or a Mana Stone in hand, he was weakening much faster than he ever had in the past.

Furthermore, young Vandercross seemed to have a spell that was constantly draining Lor’Themar of his energy.

The longer this fight progressed, the more likely he would find himself gasping on his back, drained of his stamina.

Now that was an embarrassing thought.

It almost made Lor'Themar chuckle at how creative Varrus was. Sneaky like his father, and possessing the same charisma and guile, Lor'Themar didn't want to like the kid, but Lor'Themar had to admit, young Vandercross had style.

Vandercross didn't ask for his permission or consult with him at all when he charged head first into the Troll’s left flank.

Lor'Themar hated people that broke protocol. Battlefield communication was one of the keys to success, and he had not given the lad his permission. However, the chaos of the sudden Troll invasion and his sudden elevation to battlefield commander had him give Vandercross the benefit of the doubt. Barely.

If Lor'Themar truly did join the Convocation, if he did, then he was going to have to educate this young Elf on proper tactics and strategy. To reel him in from his more bombastic, and youthful ideas. Not every High Elf was as merciful and understanding as he was.

Vandercross was young, powerful, and had already established himself a large following.

Youth and power was a very dangerous combination. If he had no one to counsel him, then Lor'Themar could imagine a world where Quel'Thalas suffered for his arrogance.

He had been young, brash, and cocky at one point. It was a phase many Highborn never grew out of…with his father deceased, the younger male would be in need of a firm male figure in his life to guide him. Lor’Themar had to find his way through life with both his parents dead. It was none too easy for him, and he could only imagine what kind of pressures were placed upon the child’s back. The follies of youth were all too tempting, and Lor’Themar could very easily see Vandercross fall to the dangers associated with them. .

Yes, Vandercross had great potential. Potential that was worthy of his advice.

As much as it pained him, perhaps Vandercross was right. Perhaps it was time for him to leave the old scars behind.

If sitting on that damnable council would see him reign in Silvermoon's two most promising geniuses, then for the good of the nation, he would do what must be done.

Smirking to himself, Lor'Themar dodged an icicle from one of the elementals, and returned fire.

Shooting the last arrow stored in his quiver, Lor'Themar shattered the last ice elemental into a cloud of white dust.

The boy Vandercross had been summoning them three at a time for the last two minutes in some bid to buy time.

Lor'Themar was curious what Vandercross’ ploy would be. However, that didn't mean he would be content to sit still and snipe the elementals. This was a trial after all.

Advancing forward, Lor'Themar attuned his mana to his bow, and began shooting arrows made of pure mana. With every shot he took, he would scan the area for any hint of movement, or to see if he could peer past the ice elementals, and lock onto the mana permeating Veandercross' body with his mana sight.

As he drew close, Lor'Themar dropped his bow, and swept the frosty cloud that the ice elemental created upon death away with a sweep of his sword.

Ears twitching, Lor'Themar heard a set of footsteps, and based upon thousands of years of honed instincts, reacted instantaneously.

Swishing towards his back, he swiped downward with his twin blades, leaving a large furrow in the ground.

While cracks formed all around his feat, the enemy was nowhere in sight.

Steadying himself, and straining his ears, Lor'Themar’s muscles were taught as he prepared to move at a moment's notice.

The tell tale crack of teleportong sounded from behind, forcing him to spin once again to meet an attack.

At this close of a range, Lor'Themar shoved his enchanted swords forward, almost completely piercing through the boy’s magical shields.

He was stunned by their sturdiness, but felt that if he attacked fast enough in the span of 5 seconds, he could overwhelm them, and attack Vandercross directly.

However, Lor'Themar was never given that opportunity as the last thing he saw was a bright, green flash of light.

Taking the blast to the center of his chest, Lor'Themar lamented that his magically protective amulet had lost most of its charge in the fight with Zul’Jin.

Lor'Themar felt his muscles seize upon impact of the spell, then he slowly tumbled over, like a felled tree.

“Timber!” Varrus said while holding his hand up to his mouth.

When Lor'Themar face planted onto the sweaty, ruined floor of the training ground, he heard the all too familiar sound of a magic orb taking a picture.

“I’ll announce the good news at the funeral later today.” Varrus clapped his hands, then walked away to open the door.

“Should we help him get up, or heal him, Highlord?” Rho'dan said as he peered into the room.

“No amount of healing salve is going to fix that one, my friend. Besides, our Ranger General likes scars, according to him, it builds character. Come Rho'dan, I have a surprise in store for the good people of Silvermoon, and I require the aid of Grand Magister Rommath.” Varrus chuckled as he walked away.

“Yes, Highlord!” Rho'dan saluted, then closed the door behind him.

Lor'Themar wanted to blink his eyes, shout or jump to his feet, yet the paralysis spell was too strong, and he couldn't move whatsoever.

All that came out of his mouth was a muffled chuckle.

He couldn't remember the last time someone had pranked him this good! Ah, to be young again.

Yes, Vandercross had much to learn, but there was potential for greatness.

The first lesson Lor'Themar would teach him was thus: never prank an Elf who served with the military for 3,000 years.

Experience would be the lad's best teacher, Lor'Themar thought to himself as his paralyzed lips twitched into a small grin.