The Knight struck left, and the Paladin struck right.
Ever their blades clashed in open air, greyed steel against burnished silver.
The Knight raised his blade with a practised desperation, his movements born of nerve and regimen as he stood alone against the Paladin- the exhausted rockwall against a rising tide. With every blow that the Knight landed, thrusts with the precision of a surgeon drew the Knight back as he struggled to maintain his footing upon the ashen earth, digging his heels into that which was scarred by void, battle, and time.
But he was not dead, yet.
Rippling seas of steel surrounded the Knight and his opponent, a moving mass of man and elf in combat that taunted his peripheral vision; certain death would be sure to follow, if he would but focus on it for even a moment. High above their duel, storm clouds gathered at the spot where gods and legend had battled moments prior, the smell of ozone wafting through the air towards those on the field. At his back, cannonfire skipped across the onyx-black waves of the ocean, and to his right, a river of blood and water bereft of clarity greeted him with fervour.
Greyed steel met burnished silver once more, a vicious diagonal cut aimed for the Knight's left shoulder that would have cleaved him through, had he not responded in kind. A grunt left the Ailor at the blow- the force of a hurricane seemingly channeled into the sword's edge as he did what he could to defend against it, catching the shimmering silver of the Paladin's sword with his own, between blade and crossguard. He followed with as much speed as he could muster, bending his knees as he tried to slide across the Paladin's blade with his own, hoping to angle for a thrust as steel bore into steel with a tooth-grinding rasp. The Paladin gave no reply at all, it seemed; no breath escaped the blackened void beneath the visor where a face should have been, nor did the sounds of pain as the Knight slid his blade across a gap between what he thought to be elbow and forearm.
A trickle of blood, as black as the faceless gaze of the Paladin's helm, was all that would be granted as reward for his efforts. It was all he could do to crouch low as his foe responded, sliding its blade out of his bind with an effortless pull and aiming a crippling blow for where his neck had been moments prior. Alas, this too brought him no respite as the Paladin strode forwards, blade angled towards the ground at its side as it lifted the Knight with a single hand by the neck, flinging him backwards with an almost casual air. Plumes of ash fell about him as he landed on his stomach, a dozen feet away from where the Paladin now stood, looming. The air about him mingled and danced with the flecks of grey- staining his helm, his sword. His exhausted breaths fell heavy, the weight of fear heavier still as the Paladin began its silent, final approach. The rippling sea of men and elves in combat grew sluggish, then silent. Ash suspended in the air, no longer weaving its elaborate fabric, and for a moment all was still as the battlefield took a new, familiar, form.
The form in which it took was one that was mostly known to him. However, a cloud of mystery and forgotten detail clung to each detail of the scene- an odd concoction of the past and the dreamt before his waking eyes.
Desert winds blew upon his face, the cool afternoon air mixing with the smells of smoke and food and ale. He looked himself down, then up, then down once more. Gone was the greyed steel of his plate and mail, replaced with the soft white tones of an open linen shirt, and a blue sash tied about his waist in a lazy fashion. Soft leather boots adorned his feet, and about him there were soldiers of a different kind- drunk and dancing and happy.
A hand slipped into his own as he stood in place, watching about the scene. The touch was familiar to him, but with the same hint of forgotten detail that lingered on everything he saw, and felt. The hand gave a small squeeze, as if sensing his daze at his surroundings. His gaze panned to the right with that- past the tents flapping in the wind, and past the thirsty mercenaries beside kegs of ale.
He stepped left, and she stepped right.
No Silver Tear Paladin greeted him as he turned to face her. Burnished silver had been replaced by an odd combination of a dress and pants, the gorget and helm of the paladin's armour taking a new form- of a white scarf about the woman's throat, and blonde hair flowing freely in the wind, much like the folds of the tents around them.
Eyes of grey mirrored his gaze as he peered at the woman's face, but they were distinct from his own; a glint unmarred by void and battle and time was present as the face scrunched into a clear smile.
"Well?" she said suddenly, giving his hand another squeeze. Confusion formed on his features at that. With it, she followed with an airy laugh- the sound clear and free, and cutting through his confusion as he went to respond.
"..Well?" I don't-"
She rolled her eyes at that, the smile remaining. Her free hand met his as she went to reply, the lilt of a northerner lingering on her words.
"We were dancing, hm?"
She began to sway with that, to emphasise her point. In time he began to sway in turn, though the movement was not wholly of his own- as if he were a passenger, with another controlling his movements.
And so they swayed, for a time. Music floated through the air, though he hardly paid attention to it as he kept his eyes on the one before him. The beat of the music quickened, and his dancing partner did the same, in turn. Her feet came forwards, then back, every movement of his own to the dance returned in kind with a greater poise and grace than he could muster.
The music continued growing in speed, as did the tempo of their dance. She stepped back, releasing a hand and bringing the other one up, only to spin about him, returning her hand to his once more. Soon he found himself doing the same, the two of them spinning and turning in an intricate dance that only they seemed to know.
All at once the music seemed to slow, returning to a swaying rhythm. His hands moved with an intent of its own, his right moving to her waist, and the other remaining in hers, oriented vertically with his fingers up. They had danced for hours, it seemed; the faint glimmer of stars in the night sky behind her indicated as much. Yet, ash began to drift in the air about the campsite, and he knew he had little time. The music slowed, as did the people around him, and the delicate balance between dream and memory tipped more into the former. A hand moved to his shoulder.
"I know, Will."
He wondered how she could. She was but memory. Memory laced with dream, perhaps. But memory, all the same.
"..Know what?" he responded.
She looked him up and down for a long moment, at that. A glint of understanding appeared in the blue flecks of her eyes for a brief moment, before sinking away as she sighed, then responded.
"You have been practising? I see it in your turns."
He considered his next words carefully with that, focusing on the specks of ash falling for a long moment, before replying.
"Just-- one more thing to do, Eira. I'll be with you, then."
A sad smile graced her features, with that. Her gaze kept on his, but seemed distant- as if she were focusing on something far away, behind him. Her reply came slow and measured, the lilt from her voice fading somewhat as her tone shifted to something quieter, and more severe.
"You already are."
His response came desperate, a sharp contrast to her measured response. The ash grew closer, the night sky darkening as the scene began to slip from him. A figure clad in hellish plate began to appear at the corner of his vision, and he shifted to face it, drawing a deep breath for what was to come. With that, the hand on his shoulder moved to his cheek, shifting his gaze back to eyes of grey-blue. His grip on her tightened as the figure loomed ever-closer.
"This is memory. A dream."
The smile remained on her features as she mulled that over, shifting the hand she held down in a quick motion, removing the steel band that rested over his ring finger, to set it in his palm. A small shift of her feet obscured the view of the approaching Paladin as she leaned in, glancing over the band, before back up at him, the sad sort of smile reforming.
"Is it?"
He had no response, for that. Soft sand and dirt beneath him shifted slowly back into void cursed soil, the ash seeping into every detail of the scenery about him. Soft smile shifted into a look of resolution, as she leaned closer, her voice moving to a whisper.
"Then find me. Get up."
She crossed the final distance between them, a forehead coming to rest against his own. A hand closed his open palm as the battlefield about him ripped back into reality. Armour reformed, the firing of cannons resumed, and he found himself back on the ashen earth once more. He glanced to his once-open palm and found not a ring, but his blade. His gaze shifted upwards, and the Paladin continued its approach, slow and graceful.
Her words lingered on his ears- drowning out all the sounds of horror and war for a brief moment as he took a knee, and then a stand, his body screaming in protest. He stood, nevertheless. He bent his knees, and readied his blade as he'd done a thousand times before. A grim determination took him as the Paladin moved within striking distance, raising its blade and bringing it down vertically upon his own. The Knight's own blade met it horizontally in air, groaning at the impact on his exhausted arms.
Ever their blades bound together in the sulphur-filled air. The Knight's chipped and rolled along its edge, and the Paladin's resplendent and scratchless as they pushed against one another. Yet there was hope, for the Knight's blade caught the afternoon light through a gap in impossibly grey clouds. For a moment, he too bore the same perfect silver of his opponent, the length of his weapon inflamed with the sun's light.
His eyes squeezed shut, the blade in his grasp lowered from its parry, and the Knight stepped back, and then spun about the Paladin, in an intricate dance that only he seemed to know. The Paladin turned right, and the Knight struck left, through plate and mail and flesh as his blade cleaved through the throat of his foe. Even in death, the Paladin remained silent, collapsing without a sound as he pulled his sword free. The Knight looked upon the heap for a long, silent moment, before shifting his gaze upwards, swivelling around the field.
And he would swear to his final days that a figure, white scarf about their throat, faded into the swirling sea of soldiers as he did. But perhaps it was only the light.
Indeed, he was not dead. Yet.
(Hope you fellas enjoyed, it was definitely fun to write. This story is an expansion upon my character's mentioning in one of the final Kathar War progressions, https://forums.massivecraft.com/thr...ost-but-that-the-heavens-fought-part-4.79995/, in specific.)
Desert winds blew upon his face, the cool afternoon air mixing with the smells of smoke and food and ale. He looked himself down, then up, then down once more. Gone was the greyed steel of his plate and mail, replaced with the soft white tones of an open linen shirt, and a blue sash tied about his waist in a lazy fashion. Soft leather boots adorned his feet, and about him there were soldiers of a different kind- drunk and dancing and happy.
A hand slipped into his own as he stood in place, watching about the scene. The touch was familiar to him, but with the same hint of forgotten detail that lingered on everything he saw, and felt. The hand gave a small squeeze, as if sensing his daze at his surroundings. His gaze panned to the right with that- past the tents flapping in the wind, and past the thirsty mercenaries beside kegs of ale.
He stepped left, and she stepped right.
No Silver Tear Paladin greeted him as he turned to face her. Burnished silver had been replaced by an odd combination of a dress and pants, the gorget and helm of the paladin's armour taking a new form- of a white scarf about the woman's throat, and blonde hair flowing freely in the wind, much like the folds of the tents around them.
Eyes of grey mirrored his gaze as he peered at the woman's face, but they were distinct from his own; a glint unmarred by void and battle and time was present as the face scrunched into a clear smile.
"Well?" she said suddenly, giving his hand another squeeze. Confusion formed on his features at that. With it, she followed with an airy laugh- the sound clear and free, and cutting through his confusion as he went to respond.
"..Well?" I don't-"
She rolled her eyes at that, the smile remaining. Her free hand met his as she went to reply, the lilt of a northerner lingering on her words.
"We were dancing, hm?"
She began to sway with that, to emphasise her point. In time he began to sway in turn, though the movement was not wholly of his own- as if he were a passenger, with another controlling his movements.
And so they swayed, for a time. Music floated through the air, though he hardly paid attention to it as he kept his eyes on the one before him. The beat of the music quickened, and his dancing partner did the same, in turn. Her feet came forwards, then back, every movement of his own to the dance returned in kind with a greater poise and grace than he could muster.
The music continued growing in speed, as did the tempo of their dance. She stepped back, releasing a hand and bringing the other one up, only to spin about him, returning her hand to his once more. Soon he found himself doing the same, the two of them spinning and turning in an intricate dance that only they seemed to know.
All at once the music seemed to slow, returning to a swaying rhythm. His hands moved with an intent of its own, his right moving to her waist, and the other remaining in hers, oriented vertically with his fingers up. They had danced for hours, it seemed; the faint glimmer of stars in the night sky behind her indicated as much. Yet, ash began to drift in the air about the campsite, and he knew he had little time. The music slowed, as did the people around him, and the delicate balance between dream and memory tipped more into the former. A hand moved to his shoulder.
"I know, Will."
He wondered how she could. She was but memory. Memory laced with dream, perhaps. But memory, all the same.
"..Know what?" he responded.
She looked him up and down for a long moment, at that. A glint of understanding appeared in the blue flecks of her eyes for a brief moment, before sinking away as she sighed, then responded.
"You have been practising? I see it in your turns."
He considered his next words carefully with that, focusing on the specks of ash falling for a long moment, before replying.
"Just-- one more thing to do, Eira. I'll be with you, then."
A sad smile graced her features, with that. Her gaze kept on his, but seemed distant- as if she were focusing on something far away, behind him. Her reply came slow and measured, the lilt from her voice fading somewhat as her tone shifted to something quieter, and more severe.
"You already are."
His response came desperate, a sharp contrast to her measured response. The ash grew closer, the night sky darkening as the scene began to slip from him. A figure clad in hellish plate began to appear at the corner of his vision, and he shifted to face it, drawing a deep breath for what was to come. With that, the hand on his shoulder moved to his cheek, shifting his gaze back to eyes of grey-blue. His grip on her tightened as the figure loomed ever-closer.
"This is memory. A dream."
The smile remained on her features as she mulled that over, shifting the hand she held down in a quick motion, removing the steel band that rested over his ring finger, to set it in his palm. A small shift of her feet obscured the view of the approaching Paladin as she leaned in, glancing over the band, before back up at him, the sad sort of smile reforming.
"Is it?"
He had no response, for that. Soft sand and dirt beneath him shifted slowly back into void cursed soil, the ash seeping into every detail of the scenery about him. Soft smile shifted into a look of resolution, as she leaned closer, her voice moving to a whisper.
"Then find me. Get up."
She crossed the final distance between them, a forehead coming to rest against his own. A hand closed his open palm as the battlefield about him ripped back into reality. Armour reformed, the firing of cannons resumed, and he found himself back on the ashen earth once more. He glanced to his once-open palm and found not a ring, but his blade. His gaze shifted upwards, and the Paladin continued its approach, slow and graceful.
Her words lingered on his ears- drowning out all the sounds of horror and war for a brief moment as he took a knee, and then a stand, his body screaming in protest. He stood, nevertheless. He bent his knees, and readied his blade as he'd done a thousand times before. A grim determination took him as the Paladin moved within striking distance, raising its blade and bringing it down vertically upon his own. The Knight's own blade met it horizontally in air, groaning at the impact on his exhausted arms.
Ever their blades bound together in the sulphur-filled air. The Knight's chipped and rolled along its edge, and the Paladin's resplendent and scratchless as they pushed against one another. Yet there was hope, for the Knight's blade caught the afternoon light through a gap in impossibly grey clouds. For a moment, he too bore the same perfect silver of his opponent, the length of his weapon inflamed with the sun's light.
His eyes squeezed shut, the blade in his grasp lowered from its parry, and the Knight stepped back, and then spun about the Paladin, in an intricate dance that only he seemed to know. The Paladin turned right, and the Knight struck left, through plate and mail and flesh as his blade cleaved through the throat of his foe. Even in death, the Paladin remained silent, collapsing without a sound as he pulled his sword free. The Knight looked upon the heap for a long, silent moment, before shifting his gaze upwards, swivelling around the field.
And he would swear to his final days that a figure, white scarf about their throat, faded into the swirling sea of soldiers as he did. But perhaps it was only the light.
Indeed, he was not dead. Yet.
(Hope you fellas enjoyed, it was definitely fun to write. This story is an expansion upon my character's mentioning in one of the final Kathar War progressions, https://forums.massivecraft.com/thr...ost-but-that-the-heavens-fought-part-4.79995/, in specific.)
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