"well, shit."
Traibel coughed, staggering to his feet. Looking around, he found himself in a crater embedded in the ground, surrounded by swirling dust clouds.
What happened? he thought, looking around for his sword. The last thing Traibel could clearly remember was clashing with Malik, and he had felt he was getting the better of the older man. Seeing a glint of metal in the dust, Traibel stumbled over, feeling very off-balance as he did so. As he got closer, he saw that it was his saber, embedded in the ground tip first.
That's gonna be a bitch to repair. groaned Traibel inwardly as he pulled the sword from the ground, stumbling as he did so.
And WHAT is wrong with my balance?! He demanded to himself, nearly face-planting as he began to stumble through the dust. Thinking back, Traibel tried to recall what exactly had led to him being hit with a meteor, or something similar in size...
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As the crowd surged back filling the air with shouts and gasps, Traibel landed before Malik, bringing his curved saber down with shocking force. Malik blocked, angling his own straight sword as to force Traibel to turn with his momentum. As Traibel twisted, Malik brought his blade around in a hack aimed at Traibel's exposed side. But Traibel, showing speed that could barely be seen, twisted fully around to interpose his blade between Malik and his own vital, all to choppable, bits.
"Wow, you Are serious!" Exclaimed Traibel, darting his left hand forward in a jab that Malik caught. Twisting Traibel's arm, Malik brought his blade around like a windmill, aiming to disarm Traibel. Literally.
Turning with his arm, Traibel kicked at Malik's arm, the one holding his, aiming at the elbow joint. Hitting it forced Malik to let go, allowing Traibel to spring back, all his pieces still attached. Even as his feet were hitting the ground, Traibel swung his blade in a tight arc upwards, driving back Malik who had charged forward to keep the pressure up.
As the two continued to exchange strikes, the soldiers who had been attending the examiners gathered in a group at the edge of the massive crowd that surrounded the two fighters.
"Sir!" barked one soldier, his upper face covered by the visor-like helmet of the Zachar Home guard. "Should we attempt to subdue the attacker, Sir?"
An older soldier, his face uncovered, let out a short laugh. "Ha! You want to get in-between those two, be my guest. Malik alone is worth two squadrons of our best soldiers, and He's fifty years old! This other guy, I don't know who he is, but he's younger and still keeping up with our best champion!"
Another soldier spoke up, his face hidden as well, but clearly younger than the others by his lack of stubble and higher voice. "But, Malik WILL win, right? Sir?"
The older soldier sighed, and ran a hand down his stubbled face. "I don't know. Ten years ago, I would have said certainly. I've fought beside Malik, in the border wars with Marchibald, and I've sen him do the impossible. But I've also seen him slow down. Age gets all of us, you, me, even 'Malik the Monster.'"
Shaking his head, the soldier tightened his grip on his sword handle, and drew the blade.
"For now, make sure that the crowd stays back. If anyone tries to get close, stop them, even if you have to use force. It'll be easier to justify some roughed up peasants, rather than some chopped-up peasants."
As the troops spread out to follow orders, the older soldier looked back to the flurry of blades that was Malik and the unknown assailant. "Just how much of a monster is this man, to fight on even terms with a man with a lifetime of fighting experience?" He muttered, an uneasy feeling in his chest. Turning from the fight, the old soldier moved to help hold the crowd back.
Meanwhile, Traibel and Malik were still exchanging blows, but while Malik was visibly tiring and had some cuts and bruises, Traibel appeared fresh and untouched. He wasn't even breathing hard, Malik noticed, feeling the same sense of despair he had felt every time his joints popped as he got out of bed. There really is no reversing time, huh? he thought bitterly, springing back from Traibel to try and catch his breath.
Traibel, on the other hand, was impressed. Interesting. At his age, most fighting men are too stiff to move, or have lready retired. Yet here he is, doing his best to divorce my head and neck.
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"I am honored to have fought with you, Ser Hizzer. Truly, no man your age, nor even a man ten years younger, could claim to possess the skills you do. But I'm afraid the time to end this has come. Don't begrudge me my victory, alright?" Called Traibel, smirk in place and sword in hand. Taking a new stance, saber held loosely in his right hand, Traibel folded his left hand over his heart and began a low, incomprehensible chant.
Malik felt a shiver roll down his spine at that. What ever the brat was doing couldn't be good. He would never admit it, but Malik was hard-pressed to even match Traibel at this point, let alone overwhelm him. If Traibel used magic, or some other combat technique, Malik was sure he would not be able to stand against him much longer. Quickly drawing upon his mana reserves, already depleted from using "Rock-Skin" to block Traibel's blows, Malik began throwing up the best personal shield he could create on short notice.
So, he's trying to shield himself? Not a bad idea, if he doesn't know what I"m planning. Thought Traibel continuing his chant. Focusing his attention on Malik, Traibel finished his chant and prepared to attack, when a flicker of power licked at him. Recognizing the signs of a spell, Traibel instantly shifted his focus, looking for killing intent or any other sign of attack.
He found it in abundance.
Feeling enough killing intent to bring down a house, Traibel made the split-second decision to fuck off and try to save his ass, rather than continuing to attack Malik. Yet even as he turned and began to run, he felt the unknown attack closing in on him. With mere seconds left to him, Traibel uttered what could possibly have been his last words. "I really hate mages."
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Pausing in his drunken stumbling, Traibel realized something was missing from the world around him. Kicking a chunk of rock blown from the ground, Traibel figured it out- Sound. "Damn, must have blown my ears out." He groaned, resuming his stumble in the direction he remembered the walls had been. As he stumbled along, he considered just how skillful the unknown mage would have to be. To not only cast such a powerful spell, but to redirect such a spell after it had already been cast spoke of skills beyond the norm. Traibel wanted to finish his match with Malik, but he knew that trying to go toe-to-toe with the more experienced older man would be suicide now, what with his ears blown and his balance gone. And what was worse, he couldn't even ambush the man because he had a damn mage on over-watch! Traibel knew the mage had to be high up, because that was the only way they could have seen the fight with enough accuracy to keep targeting Traibel even after he moved.
Cursing the mage internally in as many ways as he knew how, Traibel finally saw a massive shadow rising in the dust before him. Reaching the base of the wall, Traibel knelt and placed a hand against it. From this close, he could see that it was made of large blocks of some dark stone, held in place by mortar. The spacing between the rocks was as wide as a large thumb, and Traibel had to wonder just how much work had gone into making so much mortar.
Shaking the useless thoughts from his head, Traibel looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of any threats in the noticeably thinner dust. Seeing none, he sheathed his saber and tightened the straps on his luggage. Standing to his full height, he turned to the wall and folded his hands over his chest, reaching out with his will towards the life force in his core- his Chi. Drawing on his chi, Traibel spoke quickly "Shad-Es-Conce," and flashed his hands outwards.
Almost as though a god had reached down and plucked him up, Traibel seemed to vanish. And the dust, like water filling a void, rushed in, filling the spot where Traibel could previously have been seen.
Having concealed himself, Traibel drew more heavily on his Chi and focused his will on his fingers. Reaching up, he placed his right hand against a line of mortar above his head. Tensing his fingers slightly, Traibel drove them into the mortar, almost as if it were dry sand, yet when he put more weight on his hand it only moved down to the edge of the rock below it before stopping. Mirroring the action with his left hand, Traibel braced his boots against the wall and began to climb.
Traibels face was as still as a mask. A mask showing death.
"Just wait right where you are mage. I'm coming to have a little chat with you."