Existing since before the Realm had been founded, the great bastion cities had been established for the singular purpose of combating the endless tide of outsiders that spawned in the various Wastes. In the earliest history of the Realm, that meant housing the facilities needed to support a large number of high level individuals engaging in constant combat. Outside of Arsilet, the early bastion cities had more in common with permanent military encampments than residential villages, packed with the artisans, healers, mages, quartermasters, and bureaucrats needed to provide for the predecessors to the modern day skirmishers and sentinels.
Even then, space around the Wastes was too operationally valuable and potentially vulnerable to be viable for the cultivation of food. Farming and ranching villages were instead founded farther from the Wastes to provide for the needs of the fledgling cities. These small settlements would become the earliest roots of the heartlands.
Over time, the once sparse, functional cities began to evolve. People need more than bare essentials to survive and to thrive in the face of constant conflict, and canny business people were eager to meet those needs. Taverns, breweries, game halls, brothels, and even theaters began to crowd in around the edges of the established encampments. Then, in recognition of their service, King Lyon II, the third King in Arsilet, established the first order of sentinels and made their pay a responsibility of the Realm. In the mineral-rich northern hills, mining villages were established to produce the metals to both outfit and pay the newly-named order.
As sentinels found themselves rewarded for their bravery, luxury stores run by jewelers, goldsmiths, weavers, and other fine artisans opened throughout the bastion cities. The most successful of those who fought in the Wastes soon had the wealth and power to buy or build their families lavish, comfortable homes. Soon thereafter, skilled fighters began to retire from the Wastes to instead train the next generation of young sentinels. The endless fight in the Wastes became not just a responsibility, but an obligation - and one rewarded with both wealth and privilege. The Realm’s nobility would forever after be intertwined with the duties of the sentinels.
Despite the many changes the generations brought to the bastion cities, the Wastes and their dangerous residents remained at the center of their purpose. It was decided early on by the King and his Dukes that the political games inevitable to the nobility would be allowed, so long as there were always sentinels standing guard against the outsiders that threatened the Realm. A noble family could only increase, or even retain, their standing so long as they produced just as many skilled fighters as charismatic courtiers.
It was amongst these conflicting expectations that Oliver Dennan had been born and raised.
#
Oliver frowned as he paced through the halls of the arena. His stance bordered on belligerent, his body language practically simmering with the violence he was desperate to unleash on someone. Given that he was about to go in front of the assembled court and put his family’s name, as well as his own reputation, on the line, “aggressive” would usually be the ideal mindset, but in this particular duel, it would hinder more than help him.
This wasn’t just a duel for honor or reputation, it was a trial duel, undertaken in the hopes of earning a gift from the Warrior. Aggression might help him if he wanted the gift of the brawler, but his father would never forgive him if he earned any gift besides the fencer. As the Warrior gave its gifts based on combat talents and fighting style, the coming duel would require Oliver to fight with precision and control in order to receive the correct gift.
Of course, especially for a teenage boy, calming down wasn’t as simple as just noting that his anger was counterproductive. In fact, the struggle to do so just made him more frustrated. Almost as frustrating, in fact, as the taunting voice that spoke up behind him.
“What’s with that face, Dennan?”
Oliver spun around. “Shut up, Allid!” He turned his hottest glare on the other boy, but Allid’s cocky smirk was unphased.
The two boys were more similar, physically, than either wanted to admit. Both stood a few inches shy of six feet; both wore carefully tailored outfits that highlighted the careful fitness regimens that had shaped both of their bodies; both had the well defined, angular features of high nobility. However, Allid’s dignified composure, even while taunting his frequent rival, contrasted noticeably with Oliver’s obvious brooding demeanor. Allid was the first-born child of the wealthy Gerrot family, and he wore the arrogance of that position like a mantle.
Though they wore similar outfits, Allid wore the fine clothes like a second skin, perfectly comfortable in them, while Oliver couldn’t help but feel uncomfortable and awkward in them. He longed for the looser-fitting practice clothes he normally wore when working on his sword techniques, but such simple garb wouldn’t do for his trial duel. They had both grown their hair out slightly, as was the style, but where Allid’s Arsiletian golden locks fell in perfectly parted ringlets that served to emphasize his fine features, Oliver’s brown hair was perpetually messy, despite the time he spent trying to tame it.
As the heir of the Gerrot family, there was every chance that Allid would one day rule Ellinvel. While there had yet to be a Duke crowned since Ellinvel’s founding, Allid’s father was already Expert level and one of the dominant forces in the city’s politics. Once he reached Master, he was likely to finally seize the title, which would position Allid as his successor.
Oliver, meanwhile, was merely the third-born of the far lower-ranked Dennan line. His family was inarguably noble, but it had nothing like the wealth or power boasted by the Gerrot’s. Oliver’s own father was an Adept, but he had never distinguished himself in his time as a sentinel, and now he had reached his limit. He would never advance to Expert without a high-level artisan to enhance his own ensouled item.
They may have both been nobles, but that only meant anything to those who stood outside the cutthroat politics of the High Court of Elliven. In bearing, wealth, and rank, Allid was as far above Oliver as the stars, and they both knew it.
Not that Oliver had ever held his tongue because of it.
“Don’t you have some sycophants to go lord over?” Oliver spat at the boy he would soon be facing down in the dueling ring. “I’m trying to get ready.”
“Oh, I can see that,” Allid teased. The other boy’s hand strayed down to his belt, where a fabulous brass rapier sat ready. It was just one more reminder of the differences between them. Even at his best, Oliver had little chance at winning the coming duel, but Allid’s ensouled weapon turned “little chance” into “no chance.”
“Keep brooding, Oliver. Get yourself all riled up. It’ll make this that much easier for me.”
Apparently deciding he had done enough, the arrogant boy pushed off of the wall and walked away without so much as a look back. Oliver glared daggers at the boy anyways until Allid turned a corner, then he practically deflated.
With his father having reached his limits, House Dennan’s only chance at improving its place in the court was through Oliver and his siblings. His eldest sister was already out in the Wastes more often than not, working with a sentinel cadre to raise the strength of her own gifts, while his brother was well on his way to being an artificer of no small skill. While they were climbing in levels and prestige, however, the Dennan family needed someone to navigate the turbulent political waters of the Court itself. To indulge in such frivolous manners as balls and honor duels and such. By process of elimination, that duty fell to Oliver.
No matter how poorly suited he was for it.
That was how he ended up forced to spend his time with self-obsessed idiots like Allid, and why he was being expected to go out and win a duel with the useless twig of steel at his side. While Oliver needed to earn the respect of the Warrior, it wasn’t proper for a dashing young courtier to have a crude gift like the brawler. No, he was supposed to get the gift of the fencer, a suitably subtle and distinguished fighting style for a court noble, and one that would aid him in earning the gift of the duelist from the Noble archetype at Initiate.
Of course, even that pitiful and mediocre fate required him to make a good showing at his trial duel. The Warrior offered its gift to any who could prove their skill in a trial duel before a recognized armsmaster. The archetype didn’t even demand victory, just a show of combat ability through which it could provide an appropriately aligned gift. Unfortunately, it was unlikely that Oliver could even manage that with Allid armed as he was. It was no secret that the Gerrot family had bought their scion an ensouled rapier, and that he had gained the gift of agility from it. A perfect compliment to the gift of the fencer, a pairing that would make Allid all but untouchable on the dueling floor.
Oliver had no such advantage. Certainly, his father would never allow him a relic that would limit his advancement the way his own had. It only proved the Gerrot’s confidence in their coffers and connections that they would risk giving their eldest scion such a weapon. But to not even let him go to a Primal Hall? Oliver could’ve at least completed one of the survival challenges to get an elemental gift. But no. His father insisted that getting his gift from the Warrior first was proper, that leaning too hard on another gift might keep him from showcasing the skill necessary to be recognized by the Warrior.
His sister had done her trial without another gift, but Alyssia had received the gift of the skirmisher. Her trial had been in a complex arena, designed to facilitate a dynamic fight where each competitor could showcase their stealth and mobility. Even then, she hadn’t won, but she had plenty of time to make the sort of showing necessary to win her gift. Allid’s taunting had made his goal clear. He intended to use the gift of his ensouled weapon to defeat Oliver before he could even fight back. Oliver would need to wait another year for a chance at a trial duel, and even if he succeeded then, his reputation in the Court would likely never recover.
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The first bell sounded, and Oliver jumped in place. He was due in the ring in just five minutes, and he would likely be back in this hallway just minutes after that, burdened with the kind of shame he would never live down. This was it. This was the beginning, and the end, of the rest of his life.
“Are you okay?” The voice was so gentle, and cautious, that even the upset Oliver couldn’t bring himself to bristle at the question. He turned slowly to see a woman he didn’t recognize.
She was more fair-skinned than Oliver, and her hair was a brilliant shade of blonde, like spun gold, worn long, so that it reached halfway down her back. Her face was more cute than beautiful, with a soft chin and rounded cheekbones, but a prominent bump on her nose spoke of an old break that contrasted with her almost delicate appearance. She wore a simple white dress belted with a silver sash, but Oliver could see the definition in her arm and lower legs. She was a fighter of some kind.
Overall, she was quite simply gorgeous.
Oliver instantly flushed an incandescent red at her attention. “Oh! Um, yes, I’m sorry, I… I mean… uhm…” Oliver abruptly realized he didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. It wasn’t like he was doing anything wrong. She had approached him!
The woman gave him a reassuring smile, and her eyes slid from him to the nearby door. “You’re about to have your trial duel, right? And clearly you’re no Gerrot, which would make you… Dennan?”
Oliver blinked in surprise. “Uhm… yes. Oliver, actually. Oliver Dennan, I mean.” He trailed off before asking, “How did you…”
“I try to keep an eye on all of the trial duels. See if there are any bright stars worth catching.” The woman frowned thoughtfully. “So you’re going up against the Gerrot boy, Alan or whatever it was.”
Oliver smiled. Whoever this woman was, he was liking her more by the second. “Allid, yes.”
Her lips parted in a wordless acknowledgement of the correction. “Ah. I think I understand your consternation then. You expect him to embarrass you with that gaudy brass toy his parents bought him, yes?”
Oliver frowned, the reminder of his situation threatening to send him plummeting back down into his brooding torpor. “Basically, yes,” he admitted.
She rolled her eyes. “Nobles. Can’t even trust their pup enough to send him off to a trial duel without buying him a gift.”
Oliver smiled slightly at her tone, but he felt compelled to add, “I wouldn’t stand much of a chance even if he didn’t have that gift. I’ve never been much of a fencer.”
The woman’s eyes slid back to him. Oliver hadn’t noticed their shade before - they were an odd metallic color, almost silvery in the dim light of the hall. Her gaze was intense enough that he had to suppress a little shudder, but he couldn’t bring himself to look away from her.
When she finally spoke, she sounded oddly amused. “That is exactly what I wanted to hear.”
#
When Oliver strode through the doors into the dueling ring a couple minutes later, he looked like a whole different person. He felt like a whole different person. The angsty boy from the hall was nowhere to be seen. With his frustration cleared away, his etiquette training took over, and Oliver greeted the assembled noble witnesses, the armsmaster, and his opponent with a smooth, confident bow. In one hand, he carried the reason for his confidence - a longsword of shimmering steel that seemed to catch the light around it no matter how it was held.
Allid’s eyes went wide at the sight of it, then narrowed suspiciously. In the stands assembled to either side of the straight, narrow dueling strip, Oliver heard mutters of surprise. This had been agreed to be a match between two hopefuls for the gift of the fencer, but Oliver was making a show of carrying a sword noticeably broader and heavier than the rapier he was supposed to be armed with.
“Allid! I hope you don’t mind a small change of plans,” Oliver called brightly to his confused opponent. He very purposefully didn’t look at the stands. He could imagine the look of his father’s anger well enough. “You and I both know I wouldn’t stand much chance against you with a rapier unfortunately. Why, that fight might’ve been over before you could even prove your ability to the Warrior! I’ve always been better with a long blade, so I thought it was just the thing to make for a more interesting match.”
Oliver’s words were delivered with the perfect amount of self-effacing humility, as if his change in arms was a simple favor for his opponent. Oliver might not have loved being a courtier, but that didn’t mean he had simply ignored the political lessons of a lifetime. His phrasing left Allid no choice but to graciously allow the change in weapons. To do anything else would be to undercut his own abilities.
The surprised boy looked to the stands, clearly seeking direction from his own father. Oliver continued to resist the urge to do the same, refusing to look even to see Lord Gerrot’s reaction. Whatever it was, it couldn’t have been ideal, as Allid looked sharply back at Oliver and spat, “Fine then. Arm yourself however you want. It doesn’t matter.”
Oliver grinned at the lack of graciousness in Allid’s response. He had retained his own composure while shaking his opponent’s, the exact reverse of their exchange in the hallway earlier. Allid had embarrassed him in private, however, while Oliver had scored his point in front of some of the highest members of the Court, including Allid’s own father. It was a minor victory, but ultimately, a win was a win.
Allid brandished his own weapon, the brass rapier’s finely honed tip shining. Oliver raised his own sword in a matching salute, holding the blade parallel to the ground and pointing it straight at his opponent. The longsword was significantly heavier than Allid’s slender blade, but the other boy already had an irreconcilable advantage in speed. Oliver had trained with all the classical weapons before his father had decided his path for him, and while he didn’t have as much experience with the longsword than the rapier, he also knew Allid hadn’t practiced anything other than fencing.
The armsmaster looked between the two of them with a frown, clearly not liking what he was seeing - but the trial of the Warrior didn’t demand any specific weapon. It was only court politics that expected both combatants to fight in the same way, and Oliver suddenly found himself unwilling to entertain traditions that would’ve left him beaten and humiliated for the sake of elevating a boy who already had every advantage. The armsmaster had no right to stop the match, and so he held out a red cloth, and deliberately dropped it without a word.
The cloth hadn’t even touched the ground before Allid had flashed forward. His speed, already boosted by his gift of agility, had clearly been further enhanced by some sort of special attack. The highborn boy all but flew at Oliver, his rapier poised to slip past his opponent's sword and end the duel in a single move. If he had been wielding a rapier, Oliver would’ve been helpless against such a blindingly fast attack. The dueling strip didn’t give him enough room to dodge, and he could never have gotten off a clean parry against such speed. Fortunately, Oliver’s new weapon provided a new answer to the attack.
The sword the mysterious woman had given Oliver wasn’t an ensouled weapon, one of those precious weapons imbued with sufficient magic to grant a gift. Rather, it was a runeblade, a product of clever artificing and skilled crafting. Allid was fast, but he had ten feet to cross to reach Oliver. All Oliver had to do was move his thumb a couple inches, to tap the rune carved in the base of the longsword. Allid’s dash attack had projected him forward in a straight line, and Oliver’s salute had pointed his sword straight at Allid as the duel started. He didn’t even need to adjust his aim.
The moment he triggered the rune, a wave of near-invisible force ripped from the tip of his sword. It didn’t quite catch the other boy head on, but it did clip him on his left side. With the speed and force involved, his graceful dash turned into a clumsy sprawl so quickly that even his enhanced speed couldn’t save him. Oliver was moving even as Allid got to one knee, trying to end the duel as quickly as his opponent had planned to. Unfortunately, even at Novice level, the other boy’s gift was an advantage no simple artificer’s trick could fully compensate for.
Allid’s rapier flashed up from waist level and caught Oliver's sword in a neat parry that turned into a riposte with liquid smoothness. Oliver was ready for it and stepped back to dodge the counter, but that only allowed Allid the chance to get his feet underneath himself once more. Oliver frowned. He knew the force rune was a one-time trick, and that if Allid had the chance to seize the initiative again, he would end the duel just as easily as he had planned to in the first place.
With hesitation, Oliver stepped in with another brutal cut, then another, milking every advantage out of having the heavier blade. Allid’s rapier was a fine example of its kind, but the light, slender sword simply wasn’t up to trading blows with a longsword. He had to block using the very base of his slender blade, the thickest part of the rapier, which prevented him from managing any effective ripostes or maneuvering his weapon to a more advantageous angle.
The two boys danced back and forth for half a minute, but with every second, Oliver could feel his advantage slipping away. Without space to use that dash attack, Allid’s gift couldn’t end the duel in a single moment, but the boon it gave to his speed attribute was slowly beginning to tilt the odds back in the arrogant boy’s favor. Neither had the breath to banter or taunt each other now. Oliver was under no illusion that he would last more than a few seconds once Allid took the offensive, and even as he fought, he searched desperately for another advantage.
The best he could come up with was a frantic trick. On his next strike, instead of swinging his sword down as he had been, Oliver took a step back and lowered his sword, as if he was going to attempt a stab. Allid began to move his blade into a guard position, a smirk crawling up his face. A straight thrust was the perfect attack for him to parry and would open Oliver up to a duel-ending counter. Which was why, rather than stabbing at the other boy, Oliver tapped his thumb against the rune at the base of the blade.
Allid yelped in surprise and fully disengaged, dancing a few steps back and bracing for the expected wave of force. But as the woman had explained when she gave Oliver the sword, the force rune required a lot of charging to work properly, and the energy generated by their blades clashing had only produced enough for a feeble flicker of energy, barely enough to flutter Allid’s clothes.
But the feint had put Allid’s blade out of line for a proper parry. His entire stance had been ruined when he prepared for the force attack, and he was unable to adjust in time as Oliver actually did thrust forward. It was as perfectly executed as any such thrust he could’ve managed with a rapier, putting the full weight of his body behind the tip of his longsword. Still, Allid’s speed showed its value. Though he couldn’t block the attack, the other boy managed to dodge to one side, so that Oliver’s blade left a long, bright cut along his ribs.
Despite his dodge, Allid no longer looked like the dignified and composed one between the two of them. His fine features twisted in a snarl of rage, and he twisted his sword in a sudden sinuous movement Oliver had trouble following. However he had done it, the maneuver sent a pain shooting through Oliver’s hand and sent his runeblade spinning through the air. Allid’s arrogant grin returned to his face - just as Oliver’s now free hand swung up and took the Gerrot scion under the jaw.
That was finally enough for the armsmaster. Even as the shimmering runeblade clattered to the ground, the man sprung between them with his Initiate level speed and forced them apart - only for each boy to suddenly go stock still as they were struck by the same sensation.
For Oliver, it was like the world had gone still as the words appeared in front of him.
The Warrior has recognized your courage and tenacity, and has offered you the Gift of the Vanguard.
Do you accept?
Yes / No
Once accepted, gifts can never be relinquished.
Novice gifts: 0/2
Oliver grinned despite the pain in his hand. “Yes.”