Out of Character:
Saladin shifted in the large throne, minor boredom itching at the back of his mind; he had taken more of a back seat in recent years, letting Zerel deal with most of the decisions usually left to the ruler of Kelante. Eventually Saladin would have to step down and his son would be left the responsibility of keeping both Guilds in check and maintaining the peace that had reigned for more than a millennium on the planet whose history was so steeped in violence and war.
"I think that is enough, don't you?" Baritones pierced the air of the round throne room in the Tower of Peace and feet shifted on the green marble floor. Saladin's boredom was easily portrayed and all eyes turned to their silver-haired leader.
Zerel turned to his father with an obvious question in his eyes. Saladin addressed his son with all the authority expected of someone who rules a planet, "You've heard more than enough to pass judgement, Simti. Make your decision."
Zerel nodded and addressed the aged men in front of the two thrones. "Arrangements between the Guilds will remain unchanged. There's no reason for Warrior patrols to be reduced, even close to the Sorcerer's Guild School."
Saladin nodded and the men in front of him bowed before leaving the throne room. Zerel turned to his father once more, "What's wrong?"
"It's been too long, I need a fight." Saladin stood and picked up the golden-handled katana. The black-cloaked, faceless Guardians tensed and tightened grips on their weapons; their job was to protect the Simtar, and honour dictated that the responsibility was taken seriously, despite neither the Simtar nor Simti needing any protection at all. Saladin waved a dismissal and a white aura flashed around the black-clad warrior.
He channelled the Source and a vertical white bar appeared before him. It seemed to turned as a window to another world opened in front of the seven foot two inches tall ruler of Kelante. He stepped through and waited for the inevitable opponent that he would face today.
The world was barren and a hot wind blew Saladin's long hair. He was stood atop a massive column and as azure eyes looked around, he noticed that he was in a field of columns, roughly four feet across and two feet apart, with a drop that seemed to be endless.
Dust made it hard to see further than about ten feet, but Saladin was sure that the columns carried on for several miles.
The Simtar sat down, cross-legged on his column and waited for his opponent. He was calm, even in the sweltering wind: He had faced worse environments, even as a teenager, and the temperature was no hotter than the Kelantan desert he'd spent many years in while studying at the Warrior's Academy as a teenager.
In over two thousand years, he had lost only a handful of fights, and not one of those were within the last five hundred years, and he wasn't about to let himself lose today.
Out of Character:
