In the Shadow of a God: Sorahn vs. Hreark Lorespinner

[Sorahn]

The stone face of Ronah looked down with a strong gaze which peered straight into Sorahn's soul, even though it was only a statue. The noble figure stood proudly in the center of the temple, with his wings spread wide and mighty spear in hand. Sorahn knelt directly in front of the statue, near the pool which surrounded it. He marveled at the detail of the statue, as well as the likeness. Being probably the only Ranoan still living who had seen Ronah in person, he was overwhelmed by the accuracy of the depiction, as memories of his personal encounter came rushing back. The ancients must have had direct contact with him. It's the only way they could know what he looked like. If only he would present himself that way now...

Quickly he lost himself gazing into the carved face of his god. His thoughts drifted to his pledged devotion to Ronah, as his chosen warrior. His gaze fell, as a feeling of inadequacy rushed over him. He was charged with the duty of carrying the banner of Ronah, a great honor, and he felt undeserving. Not only because of his relative insignificance in the grand scheme of Ranoan history, but also because so far he felt as though he wasn't doing a good job of it. He sighed heavily, wishing he knew what to do.

Looking down a little further, he saw his own reflection in the crystal clear waters of the pool. He looked foreign even to himself. Then he saw the words etched into the stone at the edge of the water. He slid his knee out of the way to read the High Ranoan writing. It simply read “Ronah mahnethas.”, “Ronah provides.” The waters of the pool were fed by an underground spring, ensuring it was forever full of fresh, cool water, symbolizing how Ronah cared for the needs of his people and provided for them.

Grinning slightly, he scooped the water up in his hands and drank it, feeling the cold, refreshing water rush down his throat. Instantly he felt revived, reveling in what had to be the best water he had ever tasted. Looking back up to the face of Ronah, he felt better; with renewed confidence that Ronah would provide for him in time.

In the meantime, however, there was work to be done. As a warrior he was pledged to the continuous advancement of his art, and it was his duty to practice as often as possible to ensure he remained in his top form. A challenger approached even now, seeking to claim his title by defeating him in battle. No... not today...

He stood, waiting patiently for his opponent. His tail swished idly as he surveyed the temple. Centuries of dormancy had taken its toll, and the great hall was falling to ruin. The roof had caved in, leaving rubble in scattered areas around the room. The great pillars which once supported it crumbled, and now stood at fractions of their former height. Only a small portion of the temple retained its roof and pillars, standing proudly as a testament to what the others had looked like. Each was covered with intricate carvings and patterns, and were massive at four feet in diameter. All along the hall ornate moldings covered the walls and ceiling, as well as large arches which still spanned between the taller columns. Even in dilapidated state, the room was massive: standing about 100 yards across and 100 feet high, only the smallest of the pillars didn't tower above his head.

Sorahn looked up above the 70 foot tall statue to see a starry night sky, framed by frayed edges of the former ceiling. Though it was night out, torches mounted on ornate sconces were affixed to every pillar, providing a warm glow to the room. Amazingly, these torches only burned at night, though there was no one to light them or extinguish them, and they never burned out.

Sorahn turned his gaze to the huge and very heavy wooden doors directly opposite the statue. This was where his opponent would enter, and where their battle would begin.

[Hreark Lorespinner]

A story is a beautiful thing, journal. Tales are told all over the world, and the best ones are told once and many times. Even moreso those which are true, in part.

And I went to the Pagoda for a story to tell. In part.

~~Personal Records of Raconteur Hreark Lorespinner

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I had heard that some of the greatest warriors of our age could be found in Scara Brae, an island nation nestled in the western edge of the Great Eastern Ocean with little to boast. What it did boast, however, was the Dajas Pagoda, a house of Ai'Brone monks who, like their cousins in the Citadel, were devoted patrons of the art of battle. Unlike their cousins, the Dajas Ai'Brone preferred a hierarchy of combatants engaged in as much in-fighting as defending their ranks from challengers.

And what tales of battle came from this Pagoda! Every town I have visited of late still tells its own account of the legendary battle between Godhand Striker and Teric Bloodrose. It was only natural that a great orator like myself should want the chance to weave his own account of battle with these hierarchs.

But one cannot simply watch the hierarchs, and herein lay the problem. I am no great soldier, and only a passable hunter, truth be told. Still, even a Lorespinner must dance with the dragon to steal a scale. And so, when my challenge was accepted by the Ranoan battlemaster, Sorahn, I breathed a sigh of relief and utter terror.

Gazing about the ruined temple that day, each and every hair on my lupine body standing on end, I knew I would likely die there.

But what's a good story without the promise of death?

[Sorahn]

Sorahn's tail swished idly behind him as he simply stood, waiting patiently for his opponent. The yellow flames reflected brightly off his white fur, illuminating him and distinguishing him from the darker statue which loomed directly behind him. Focus, Sorahn... He thought as he mentally prepared himself for imminent battle.

Finally the massive mahogany doors swung open with a loud creaking. Sorahn stood completely motionless – save for his tail – as the silhouette of his challenger approached through the doorway. The mighty doors closed behind him with a loud clunk. As the figure stepped into the light, Sorahn finally got a glimpse of his opponent.

He was a wolf-like creature; with sharp features and dark brown fur. No doubt he draws stares, just as I do. Even in a melting pot such as Corone, I'm considered odd. It's nice to see another fur-covered sentient being.

Sorahn's ever working warrior mind instantly began sizing him up. The first thing he noticed was his opponent's muscular build, and that he carried an axe and a dagger. I'll have to avoid that axe. His swings must be quite powerful. He also noticed his opponent had a great height advantage over him, by about two feet. Judging just by these observations, he concluded that this beast must be strong but slow. This is where the Ranoan truly shined; allowing his speed to give him the upper hand.

However his instincts brought him to a realization far more important. He's a novice. This was something he just knew. As a battle hardened warrior, he could tell when an opponent lacked experience. He could see it in their eyes, and the way they carried themselves. He had no doubt that with training and the trial-by-fire of combat, this wolf could become a force to be reckoned with. But not yet. Today Sorahn had the huge advantage.

He had to quickly force the thoughts from his mind. Arrogance and overconfidence breed mistakes. Plus there is always the possibility that I grossly misjudged this man. It wasn't likely, but it was possible, and if there was one thing Sorahn hated, it was arrogance. No, he determined to treat this opponent with as much caution and ferocity as he would any other.

“I am Sorahn un' Rohnahmeh.” He said finally; his own deep voice sounding strange after the long silence. It echoed softly against the stone walls and great pillars. “Are you the one who has challenged me?” He was confident he already knew, but he wanted to hear the words spoken.

He stood proudly, looking straight at his opponent with his fierce blue eyes, awaiting a response.

[Hreark Lorespinner]

"Hreark," I said, my voice coming out as a barking affirmative, "is my given name. And I look forward to this bout, great warrior."

I crouched then, grasping the hilt of my dagger in my left hand while my right fell naturally to my hip and my axe. With a moment of focus, I found my people's feral instincts rushing out and filling me. I was me, but a different me. A stronger me. A wilder me. A low growl rumbled from my throat as my lip curled back in a snarl. My tail twitched in anticipation. Tension grew in my legs, greater and greater, until I leapt forward with a burst of savage speed, blades in hand.

Click, click, click, my nails tapped the rhythm of my run against weathered stone tiles. Teeth bared, I rushed in at my foe, where he stood at the lip of the pool. Fear surged through me at what this felinesque warrior could do to me, and I focused that into my paced run, taking careful note of where, and when, I would need to strike.

Wolf Fang is a detailed combat style meant to be adapted to one's surroundings for full effectiveness in skirmish battle. While I am far from experienced, I remember the teachings of my tribe's hunters well.

"In a pack, the wolf tears his prey to the ground, that his brothers and sisters may join him in the feast. The lone wolf dies this way, instead leaping into and past his prey, ever out of reach of retribution."

My lupine instinct guided me into this fight, and my axe flashed out when I was nearly to the Ranoan. My hope was that this would draw his eye as I sliced into him with the knife and passed him unharmed and into the shallow water. My hope. Only fools hope.

[Sorahn]

Sorahn nodded to the wolf. He at least had the decency to give his name and he addressed Sorahn with respect; both things the Ranoan did not take lightly. Honor was held above all else in the Ranoan tradition, and respect would be returned in like kind.

He watched as his opponent readied his weapons. Rather than drawing his own weapon, he simply slid his left leg out, and assumed a fighting stance, standing ready for whatever the beast would bring. Some would've considered it foolhardy to remain weaponless on the verge of an attack, but Sorahn simply wanted to feel his opponent out first, and leave his blade as more of a surprise later.

His opponent launched toward him, a rush of fur and steel running at full sprint to close the distance. The experienced Ranoan warrior saw what was coming before it even happened, and a slight grin crossed his tattooed cheeks. His eyes were focused on the two blades in Hreark's hands, knowing what they would soon do.

Suddenly, the axe flew toward him, singing as it sliced through the air. But Sorahn watched it pass by harmlessly as he gracefully leapt to the right. As soon as he gained firm footing, his toned leg muscles contracted, launching him into the air. He sailed directly over his opponent, flipping forward as he did to clear the extremely tall man. His feet hit the stone floor hard, causing him to drop slightly as he absorbed the impact with his knees.

Dust still hung in the air as he spun, just in time to watch his opponent plow into the sacred pool with a great splash. The grin he once held was quickly replaced with a frown. He simply watched as Hreark regained footing in the waist-deep water, the waves surging throughout the pool, causing it to splash up onto the floor.

“You've desecrated the waters of the Temple of Ronah.” Sorahn said vary calmly, in a low voice, but the slightest hint of both disgust and anger crossed his face. “Even worse, you are now half submerged in water. Its weight drags you. I can attack you now and you would not be able to leap out of its way.”

His eyes narrowed. “Yet I refuse to further soil the waters with your blood. So I will let you climb out and attack me again. But know this.” He leaned forward slightly. “You have angered me, and this time I will not be as nice.”

Suddenly a dark spear appeared in his hand in a cloud of black smoke. It was the spear crafted by Ronah himself from Sorahn's pain and suffering. Bearing ancient Ranoan writing and floating black blades, it was a menacing weapon that felt like an extension of his arm.

He brought the spear to the ready as he slid back into his fighting stance, standing light on the balls of his feet.

“Now come at me, fellow beast.”