Uphill

[Odachi]

Closed

"This will be your next battle, Kaze, but before you go in..." The monk turned to the familiar warrior with a hesitant look. Kazejin was honestly surprised, for never before had any of the monks bothered speaking to him more than what was necessary. His servitude here as an unwilling arena fighter was unfavorable for both parties, and they had just resigned to treating each other politely at best. Now the boy had a slight blush on his face, too embarrassed to speak. Reaching out one arm the old man grinned at the boy and patted him on the shoulder.

"I am willing to face what ever may be put before me, here in the Citadel or in the battlefield. Worry not."

The boy looked up at the old man, a strange and undefinable expression on his face. He raised up one hand as if to speak, but already the old warrior had shrugged and stepped through into the room. With the steel door closing rapidly, the monk tried to shout to him at the last moment.

"You're going to lose this fight!"

- - -

A calm breeze slowly swept through a beautiful orchard of cherry trees. In full spring blossom, all though the days counted towards winter outside, soft white petals gently drifted to the ground. Carried in the wind, loose travelers with no true destination, they made for a calming and peaceful scene. Kazejin's feet stepped down into the soft green grass, barely noticeable under a light cover of petals. It was almost springy, as if it had recently rained, and there showed no sign of anything else other than the trees. His competitor had yet to arrive, so the warrior took his time and sat down cross-legged and viewed the place he would be fighting in. Barely a clearing, the cherry trees were spread out in a random natural order and were obviously not planted by man. With never more than ten feet between trunks, the battle would be very confined and required careful timing for Kazejin to ever draw his Odachi. No advantages or disadvantages seemed to be gained from the landscape, unless his opponent would be troubled by obstacles such as these thin plants.

Breathing deeply and allowing his body to relax, preparing for the coming battle, Kazejin's eyes drifted skyward. No sun could be seen, nor clouds, yet it was a beautiful bright day. A few birds flew by, chatting as the avian kind liked to. Caught up in the sheer detail of the battle grounds, the old man forgot he was waiting for an opponent. His mind began to dream and eyes slide shut when he heard the creak of a door opening. Not bothering to open his eyes to his challenger, Kazejin introduced himself with the soft elderly tone of a master.

"Welcome, you may call me Ookami-sama. I am to be your opponent, and this to be our battle grounds. I hope for a honorable and challenging fight."

[Lord Anglekos]

"Ah, Lord Anglekos. Back again, I see." The woman behind the desk snapped sharply even before he could open his mouth, scribbling away with an ink-dipped quill upon parchment with a speed that should have set it afire. Eric blinked in mild surprise as the now-familiar secretary as she peered up at him from over her spectacles and hawkish nose. Her rust-colored hair was in even more disarray than the last time he'd seen her, it seemed, and her mouth was still set in that firm, prim line of disapproving impatience. "What do you want?"

Even after two years...Eric thought to himself with a wry, inner smile as he stepped forward, one hand resting casually on the hilt of the long sword at his side. ...Some things never change. "Just a room please. It's been a while, and I don't want to get rusty."

It was amazing that they could even hear one another in the hall of the Citadel lobby. The place was filled with individuals of all shapes, sizes, races, genders...all entering or leaving the strange doors circling the walls constantly. And with those individuals came the inevitable assault of noise as a thousand different conversations reached his ears. In this spire of battle and blood, it seemed there was no room for silence, he thought a bit poetically to himself as tired blue orbs gazed over the assortment of warriors that streamed into and out of the Citadel. Yes, even though he hadn't visited this establishment in two years, it was as if his last visit had just happened yesterday. Some things never change indeed.

"I'm surprised you still remember me." He chuckled as he leaned forward towards the older woman as her quill made contact with a new sheet of parchment, writing so fast that he could almost smell the stench of burning. "So is there a--?"

She cut him off with an impatient wave of her other hand, and almost casually he saw a myriad of scars decorating it, like a collection of bugs upon a wall. "Yes, yes, there's a room available for you as we speak. You!" She snapped her fingers off to the side, and through the throng of people a monk seemed to materialize out of nowhere, bowing slightly.

He was a younger monk, looking to have just recently gained the robes as they had not the signs of age and experience upon them that Eric had noticed upon others. Still, he addressed the older woman with professional respect as the afternoon's light gleamed off his bald pate, face set solemnly. "Yes, m'lady?"

"Bring this one to--wait, does Garean's charge have an opponent?" She darted a quick glance over to the monk.

He lifted his head up, tilting one ear as if listening to some instruction from above before looking back at her with a serious expression. "No, m'lady. He was just sent."

She snapped her fingers again in that sharp, impatient way of hers again, and Eric had to repress a smile at the exchange between the two. In some ways, the workers here were more interesting than the warriors themselves. "Bring him to that one, then. Kill two birds and whatnot." She muttered irritably.

"As you wish, m'lady." The young monk turned to the swordsman standing by and nodded slightly in acknowledgment, a pair of pale eyes assessing him even as he was addressed. "If you would please follow me, Sir."

"Sure thing." He turned to the hawkish lady at the desk. "Thank you for--"

But she was turned away from him, already addressing the next person, a blue-skinned woman with a poleaxe upon her back and irritation plain upon her alien face. With a bemused shake of his head Eric followed the monk away from the confrontation starting at the table and to the one behind whatever door he was drawn to.


~+~


The words that greeted him were confident; full of age and experience, they drawled forth with an easy grace that fit the form from which they poured from. They were confident, yes, but they were kind as well, with a tone that Eric would expect from a teacher telling a student how to write a sentence correctly or a blacksmith telling his apprentice how to hammer a metal-form down into the shape of a sword. They flowed over the swordsman like soft hands, massaging his tense body into ease as he stepped forward, his enchanted armor causing the movement to be silent amongst the quiet setting.

The wind blew softly around Eric, caressing the folds of his cloak with a gentle strength, and there was a slight physical touch as a white petal as smooth as silk brushed his cheek. He chuckled slightly at the touch, but even though he tried to keep his voice soft it felt like a guttural intruder, and with it he winced before responding in kind to the man sitting before him. "Ookami-sama, eh? Well, you certainly picked a beautiful place t'fight, that's for sure."

A bird twittered overhead and flew from it's perch into the air, taking flight even as his icy eyes tracked it momentarily before returning to the figure upon the ground, taking in the folds of clothing and the hat the man wore. They were quite familiar; Eric had seen others wear similar clothing. An Akashiman, eh? He thought to himself. That means...ah, there we go. As he thought, the man carried a weapon of the same orientation. Even though it was disguised as a staff at his side, Eric had seen plenty of such weapons and knew what to look for; the slight line where hilt separated from sheath was thin, but evident if one was examining it.

The thing that bothered the swordsman was how the man before him was going to wield the weapon in this small orchard. The blade was at least five feet long itself, far beyond the standards of ordinary katanas; how was this guy going to swing such a monster in such a closed clearing? Following that reasoning, plus adding in the fact that the warrior before him had chosen such an arena, the only thing that Eric could come up with was that the other had some other way of fighting, or hidden weaponry. In either case, he decided as his hand drifted to the hilt of his own sword, the locks of Amalia's hair caressing his fingertips, he'd have to stay on his guard.

"I guess the polite thing t'do would introduce myself as well." He sighed as he walked forward and brushed back his brown locks from his face, exposing a youthful face and harsh eyes. "Sebastian's the name."