IK vs PA (Round 2) 1v1

[Enigmatic Immortal]

This battle begins at Midnight Monday evening!

The following match up is:

Arden Janelle vs Lionheart!

[Enigmatic Immortal]

You have two weeks, GOOD LUCK!

[Arden]

Unleashed at last, Arden Janelle set his sights onto the plains of Corone. From the beleaguered, crumbling, and corpse strewn battlements of Radasanth the swordsman surveyed his battleground. He had waited, quite patiently, in the confines of Ixian Castle during the opening gambit of the civil war. He had pleaded with Sei Orlouge, nigh begged the mystic to be let lose upon the Phoenix Ascendant. According to the commander of the Knights, the blood mage would serve a higher purpose in the grand scheme of the war. Somehow, his talents were required for a particular assignment, an objective as worthy as it was important.

“This was not quite what I had in mind…” he grumbled.

His lip curled with self-doubt at the prospect of the coming confrontation. The winding road that leads up to the grand gates on the eastern wall was dusty, busy, and churned into a row of farrowed troughs. Wagons had travelled back and forth between the main settlements of Corone repeatedly over the last few weeks, servicing the embattled garrisons of the Corone Rangers, the Empire’s guard, and the two would be saviours of the embittered island’s population.

It was early morning, and the sun rose over the northern mountain range with a speed that was blinding. The golden rays, mingling with the auburn, red, and citrus halo of the sun rose high into the horizon’s scope. A soft breeze, scented with soot and ash rolled in from the sea, carrying with it a history of the embattled fleets out to sea, clambering and cumbersomely toiling for control of the nautical by ways that connected the island with the other principle kingdoms of Althanas. Resting his gloved hand onto the edge of the parapet, Arden leant over the wall and outlined the guards at the gate.

“If a man must be stopped, however,” he mused, “then I guess I can see Sei’s logic.” An assassination had been part of Sei’s plan from the beginning, according to the mystic. Arden had been retained to reserve his strength, his allegiance, and his stamina. Now, the Hound was unleashed onto the field of war, and his fangs were poised to tear at the flesh of the young paladin who gave hope, strength, and reverence to the ranks of the Phoenix Ascendant.

“James Alexander,” he whispered. His pallid skin shone with the sunlight, and the folds of his crimson cloth tunic glowed with a vibrancy befitting a blood mage. On the heights of the city, he was unmistakably present. He flicked the lengths of his fringe from his forehead, and tucked them behind his ears. With a casual flick of his hood, he set it straight before he pulled it up over his head. He pulled it down so that it cowed his face, and covered all his features bar his lips and chin from view. He turned to his left, and advanced to the watch tower that flanked the northern edge of the gatehouse.

Arden had no fear or reservation about the man’s pious nature, but he had to question Sei’s view of him if he had been selected, from all the ranks of the Ixian Knights, to complete an objective such as this. The swordsman checked that Kerria was positioned comfortably on his right hip before he folded his arms across his mithril hauberk. The wrought metal, shaped into pouncing wild cats was polished to sheen, and left resplendent to strike instinctual fear into those that would oppose Lord Tiger. He bowed to the guard as he approached, and the youth stepped out of the way as the Ixian Knight stooped to dive into the spiral stairwell within the ventricle of the tower.

The song of the Kami filled Arden’s heart as he strode out into the wilderness of the plains. He bowed to the guard at the foot of the tower, and began to weave his way around a caravan which was breaking out into the open rolls of the countryside. From the look of the canopy, drivers, and horses, it was a fresh load enroute to Gisela. In recent weeks, battles had raged all over the country between the many factions that now vied for the diplomatic price worthy of war – control of the island. Flames had raised high, smoke curled into thick black clouds, and storms had flourished in the hearts off men in the name of biased freedom and political ideals.

“Captain Arden, climb aboard!” said a young man, clad in simple leather armour and donning a red hat. He waved the swordsman towards the lead wagon and disappeared behind the curve of the red and white striped cloth. A wave of chatter washed over the crest of the caravan, and Arden recognised the chorus of voices as those belonging to the young guards that had saved him from death at the hands of Jebb Remi during the much forlorn night of debauchery.

“Gladly,” he clucked, as he realised Sei had positioned him with the 32nd Garrison. He was to engage in the ruins of the Phoenix’s Outpost on the edge of the Concordia forest surrounded by those men that he trusted the most amongst the ranks of the Ixian Knights. “How goes it, Jackson?” he chirped as he leapt up onto the wagon’s frontage, his heavy boots clashing against the withered, cut, and varnished pine planks that made up each and every one of the Ixian Knight’s supply trains.

The youth turned to his left, smiled a toothy smile, and cracked his reigns.

“It goes well, Captain! We are here, alive, and fighting for freedom-” he paused for though, before he straightened his moustache and adjusted the lapels of his simple white shirt, “with you in our ranks once more, we will eradicate the Phoenix outpost from the road, giving our caravans right of way once more!” he smiled even more broadly than Arden was comfortable with, but the enthusiasm served to break the ice on their journey. Naturally, Sei had given Arden little in the way of details about what was waiting for them at the camp. He had merely instructed him to seek out James Alexander, destroy him, and do whatever harm they could to the operations of their enemy along the way.

Arden crossed his heavy boots, sighed, and leant back against the wooden palisade that divided the driving segment with the guard laden canopy.

“That we will, Sergeant that we will.” With eyes sparkling, and a cool wind blowing, Arden took leave of his doubts. The Oni in his heart roared, eager to taste blood, and ever ready to spur it’s host to greater heights of carnage in the name of war.

[Lionheart]

“Oi! Head’s up.”

The words got James’ attention with just enough time for the Amran knight to catch the battered tin cup hurtling towards his head. He turned it over briefly, examined it like it was some strange alien artifact as the cup’s previous owner dropped heavily onto the makeshift log seat beside him.

“Wine, Ser James?”

James scowled distastefully at the words but made no further signs of displeasure. The teasing, he knew, was simply the young adventurer’s way of trying to bond with him and it would do no good to push him away over an unintentional slight. Plus he had brought wine.

“My thanks to you Jayden,” James held the tip cup out while his young companion filled it from the fired clay jug he carried. While disparaging words were often used by Phoenix Ascendant’s more experienced members to describe Jayden Thrace, every title of ‘brash’ or ‘impulsive’ could have been applied to them as well at one time or another. And while there was a certain youthful inexperience to the lad, James knew that it was only masking an uncanny enthusiasm.

“Y’edda’s tits it’s hot today,” Jayden muttered. James cocked an eyebrow at the young Phoenix adventurer which the man studiously ignored, preferring instead to pour a cup of wine for himself.

“I’ll never understand your people’s fascination with your goddess’ bosom,” James sighed. He lifted the half full glass of wine and took a long draw, grimacing at the sour taste of the warm libation. “Or the swill that passes for wine around here.” Jayden laughed, handing the flask to the young knight. Despite his words, James didn’t hesitate to take it and refill his cup.

While James didn’t necessarily approve of the young adventurer’s blasphemy, the effect of his statement held true. What had started as a pleasant morning in Concordia had rapidly become a sweltering mid-day. Even the shaded rest area around their worksite wasn’t doing much to offer relief to the outpost’s oppressed workers.

A minute of silence passed between the two Phoenix as they passed the wine bottle back and forth in a desperate attempt to slake the powerful thirst they had worked up. “I can’t believe we’re taking the outpost down after all the work we put into building it,” Jayden finally said, breaking the silence.

Next to him, James sighed. The sentiment was one he had heard several times from several people since arriving to oversee checkpoint’s breakdown, and the reply he gave Jayden was the same one he had given to all the others. “We’re not going to be able to help much against the Ixian Knights if we have the Empire attacking us as well as them.” James tugged at the collar of the half-open blouse he wore, pulling the sodden material away to allow some air flow in. Sadly, while the sensation was pleasant, it did little to actually cool him off.

The Amran knight would have much rather have been inside on a day like this, enjoying a fanned breeze and something chillier to drink than Jayden’s wine, but a final ultimatum from the Empire’s messengers meant that that comfort was just a dream. While the villagers of Hurth had erected their checkpoint along the Imperial Road to stop Ixian shipments, the Empire brooked no challenge to their authority and had threatened to divert one of their division to burn the checkpoint down if it weren’t immediately dismantled. It hadn’t been James’ choice to oversee the dismantling of the makeshift blockade rather than rejoin efforts against the Ixian Knights, but his run-in with Sei Orlouge and his daughter only a few days before hadn’t left the knight in much of a state to do anything else.

“We’ve got wagons coming,” one of the Hurth villagers yelled, eliciting a chorus of excited murmurs from the rest of the workers.

“And we’re not to delay them,” James countered, rising to his feet with a groan. His body ached in a dozen places despite the healers’ efforts to fix him up and all the hot weather and heavy lifting wasn’t helping. It had been good to get off his feet for a while but all good things had to come to an end.

“What if it’s the Ixians?” another villager asked, pushing the idea.

“Then we’re definitely not going to delay them,” James said. “A dozen farmhands and one sun baked knight aren’t going to do anything but die if we try to attack a military caravan. I know you built this thing because you wanted to aid your country but getting yourself killed isn’t the way to do that.” The villagers weren’t happy with the orders but they complied, returning to their work dismantling the heavy wooden barricades and carrying the pieces off road.

James nodded approvingly and then reached for his broadsword. He understood their frustration but also their limitations.

“What about us?” Jayden asked excitedly.

“Us?” James laughed. “I’m going to make sure these fine citizens don’t get the wrong impression about our little work force and start something we don’t want. You,” James pointed to Jayden and then to the other villagers, “are going to get back to work.”

“And I brought you wine,” the young adventurer pouted. James couldn’t help but smile as he heard the lamenting but knew it was for the best. Youthful inexperience indeed, he thought, turning towards the approaching caravan. He reminds me of someone.

“Sorry about the mess,” James called out, standing off to one side of the road and waving the caravan around the area that he and the villagers had already cleared. “We hope it's not too inconvenient and wish you nothing but a safe and speedy journey down the Imperial Road.”

[Arden]

“Stop slowly…” Arden said softly, barely moving his lips beneath the cowl of his hood. The journey from the city had been full of bright conversation until that point, but the sudden appearance of the camp as the road curved around the spiked skyline of the Concordia forest took the joy from the two men’s long awaited reunion. “Play it polite, cool, and well-mannered,” he added. Though the Ixian Knights were well recognised on the island, they could ply the opportunity to arrive at the camp innocently to their advantage.

It was Sei’s idea to travel in unmarked wagon.

Arden, Lord Tiger, only hoped his appearance and reputation did not precede him.

“It is quite alright, sir, no harm done!” the captain roared back, cracking the reigns with his remarkably unshaking hands. It did not take long for Arden to tap four times on the wagon’s bench with his left hand, loud enough for the movement to be heard. The captain understood the secret signal, and cracked the reigns hard a final time to bring the horses careening to a whinnying halt. “We are just on our way to Gisela, any sign of trouble from those bastard Ixian lot?”

The caravan train rattled to a halt, and the horses, guards, and unseen occupants of the rear wagons shifted nervously. Birds scattered up out of the tree line in wide patterns of furious wing beats and crooked beaks. Even though the sound of construction work continued behind the blonde haired and enigmatic man, the silence around the wagon and the edge of the road was deafening.

Whilst Arden awaited the outcome of the captain’s line of questioning, he examined every detail of the outlay of the construction. There was a purpose in the broken planks, hammered nails, and the development of well-trodden mud, broken ground, and saw dust furrows. Though the man seemed friendly enough, Elisdrasil had given the swordsman a warning about the man’s tenacity in the field. His golden hair, steel armour, and the plucky zeal had all been marked out as primers for identifying Arden’s target.

“Ask him if we can help in anyway,” he whispered. Though he expected the camp to be as occupied as it was, he had not expected it to be practically in ruin. He also noted that the steel armour, ‘that shone like the sun’, was not worn by the man that he had come to kill. “Seem keen,” he added. He traced the man's working pants, rugged boots, and half-buttoned blouse.

The captain stood up from his seat, and shielded his eyes from the glare of the sun as he leant out of the canopy.

"Keen, or keen?" the captain chuckled.

"Vomit inducing," Arden could not help but curl his lip into a sickeningly bemused smile.

“Can we help, good sir? We have able bodied men, and anything that helps keep the road open in these troubled times is a boon for our spirits!” the application of a second question so soon after the first, or so Arden hoped, would buy him enough time to observe the man’s response, decide on a plan of action, and then instigate it.

[Lionheart]

“You make quite a generous offer, my friend,” James called back, giving the caravan master a thankful smile. He nodded politely to the man while turning back to wave off Jayden and the others. Their eyes were firmly fixed on the knight in willful ignorance of his orders to get back to work, and he could almost feel them holding their collective breaths. They were good people, though perhaps a little too zealous for their own good, who’s only real fault was a desire to defend their country. James just needed to make sure that they knew there would be no trouble with the caravan.

Sadly, the ill feeling he had told him that it wouldn’t be, because the caravan master wasn’t quite right.

There was no one single thing that jumped out at James about the man with the red hat. It was a combination of the way he paused between sentences, the half turns of his head, and his overly friendly demeanor. He would never say that the caravan master wasn’t fluid. In fact in another situation James would have called the man a natural actor. But before coming to Corone James had been praised as one of Amra’s foremost tactical geniuses, something one didn’t achieve that without an astute attention to detail.

“I don’t think your help will be necessary though,” the knight continued, turning his attention back to the caravan. Trying to appear as inoffensive as possible he leaned back against the nearest portion of barricade and reached up to tussle his sweat soaked hair with his sword hand. “After all it’s just a minor misunderstanding that we’re taking care of.” He laughed lightly, though he was probably not nearly as convincing as the caravan master, “If it weren’t for this cursed heat we’d have this whole thing broken down and hauled away for scrap by now. As it is we’ll be done early tomorrow.”

Keeping his sword hand up James gestured towards the opening that the villagers had cleared. His biggest problem was that he couldn’t tell was who the caravan represented. It was just as likely that the wagons were filled with Ixian soldiers as Imperial ones, though he supposed it was possible that they were filled with supplies. Not likely though. His best opportunity to get everyone out of here alive, he knew, was to let the whoever it was running the caravan know that these people were no threat to either side of the war effort.

“The road to Gisela is long enough without wasting unnecessary time pulling nails out of boards. Your wagons look like they might have to cut off the road slightly but I think we cleared enough room to ensure that no traffic will be hampered on the road.”

Despite the burning heat, James found himself wishing that his armor wasn’t being repaired right now.

[Arden]

Arden had expecting nothing less than tact and diplomacy from James Alexander. He was, after all, a knight. The swordsman did not exactly understand what the blonde haired man was a knight of, but the pious, moral, and indignant nature of those inclined to order and tradition had an endearing quality all of its own. The compassion in the man’s dedication to his station only started to make Arden’s task of ending his life all the more difficult.

“The rugged terrain might not halt our advance, good sir,” Arden rose in the front of the wagon, awash with the flowing crimson tide of his Akashiman silk garb, “but cretins, fools, and charlatan hinder our every trundle towards the dawn of tomorrow.” Throwing away the garb of niceness, common decency, and etitquite, Arden leapt sideway to the left of the horses and landed with a grunt onto the autumnal foliage of the rotten road. The core of industry in Corone had been abandoned in the years following the outbreak of the civil war. Road and trestle, bridge and rise had all been left to the advances of time in favour of political games, skirmish, and deadly gambits of power.

“Lord Tiger?” the captain asked, watching the swordsman with keen interest as he circled the wagon and broke out over the rode, down the verge, and across the wild meadow towards the construction site. “What of us?” there was a pleading tone in his voice.

Arden paused, some fifty feet away from the lead wagon. He turned to trace the shape of the curbed canopy, and took in the red and white cloth that covered the secretive contents within. He smiled, a warm, salacious grimace of forthcoming conflict, and then then turned back to James.

“I thought I could pretend we were mere circumstances colliding,” Arden took a hold of Kerria; his bloodied blade, and gripped the hilt on his right hip tightly. The scabbard scraped against the metallic folds of his hauberk, waist guard and upper leg plates with a raucous cacophony and malicious intent. “However, my acting ability has become somewhat stale in these long years if fighting for causes ignorant and blind.” He pursed his lips when he came to stand some two hundred feet from the knight. This was Arden’s time to shine, and not merely with light, love, and flame; he wanted to glow resplendent with irony, hatred, and treachery, too.

James sighed with a reserved contention. This, to him, was anything but a game, “I know who you are, or rather, who you work for.” He flicked his mop of hair behind his ears, and made silent gestures to the group of workmen, farm hands, and peasant sons that swarmed like ants over the dwindling outpost. The shaking trees behind them continued to sway, twitter, and rustle in the rolling breeze that swept over the dancing plains of the Imperial Island.

Like the tiger of his namesake, Arden snarled.

“You do, do you?” he half wished he had the nerve to shrug, but his cold, cool, and tempest façade forbade him from being so callous. “Then let us dispense with the pleasantries, trickery, and politics.” He abandoned his stance, and unsheathed the single-edged blade from the sheath on his hip. With the flow of his red cloth, and the singing of his enchanted sword, the atmosphere on the road side weakened. The density in the air broke apart, and in its wake, vibrancy formed with clasps of light, sounds of potential, and drums of war.

“To war, hounds of freedom!” with a triple circle of his sword, Arden incited the occupants of the wagon to abandon their acts of secrecy. From the six wagons came eighteen guards. The cadre was made up of fifteen swordsmen, the captain, and a man wearing black robes and brandishing a blade made of the purest, most refined glass from Fallien’s glittering dunes.

“To Lord Tiger!” they roared in unison, the thunder of their boots forming a battle cry as they advance like scuttling beetles to form a half circle behind the crimson, silent, and well prepared swordsman.

Though the war between the Phoenix Ascendant and the Ixian Knights was well underway, as far as Arden Janelle was concerned, the conflict started here, with the snarl of The Hound’s great fangs. He clenched the hilt of his sword so tightly his knuckles turned white, and turned it in his hand to test its weight.

“James Alexander. You have been marked by the shadows, and the Hound of the Scourge shall smother you in darkness.” With the ancient edict and traditional wording in play, in echo, and in place, Arden was free to be the animalistic, instinctual, and expert killer he had become in recent years.

[Lionheart]

“Ser James!” Jayden cried, reaching for his sword. The other villagers reacted much the same, reaching for their wood axes or sharpened farming tools, oaths to “Hurth” or “Corone” spouting from their lips.

“No!” James roared, holding up a hand to stop them. All pretense of play fell from the knight as the righteousness of the warrior priests of Amra flowed fully through him.

“You there,” he gestured back to Arden, “these men have no fault other than a desire to protect their homes. Assuming there is anything to the title of ‘knight’ you see fit to bestow upon yourselves, regardless of what you believe about your cause, they are the innocents you claim to seek to protect.”

James eyed the man in front of him carefully, noting the flowing red, the keenness of his blade, the meticulous intricacy of his armor. He knew this man’s type well, dangerous and full of himself. He knew the man would care little for those who held no interest for him.

“I offer you myself in exchange for the lives of these men.”

“What?” Jayden cried in shocked disbelief. “James you can’t …”

“Enough,” James barked in a tone which brooked no argument. “You will all put your weapons down, return to Hurth, and forget about this war.” James nodded towards the caravan master, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on Adren. “As my friend here noted, they have able bodied men to finish up here when they’re done, unless they wish to see the Empire burn Hurth down along with it.”

James allowed his hand to rest on the hilt of his sword.

“These are my terms. Do you accept?”

[Arden]

Arden shook his head, “I am sorry to say sir, but I do not accept your terms.” Long ago, Arden would have been fazed by having to diminish a man’s attempt to save his life. Now, however, after a century of civil war, spiritual aggression, and personal affront, the neglect of a man’s plea was second nature to the assassin.

“Captain, what are your orders?” the youth asked, plucky, waiting, and present. He held his simple steel short sword in front of his hauberk clad torso and waited. “We await instruction.”

Arden paused, glanced up at the fractal tree line of the Concordia forest, and then looked over his shoulder. The man that had been so enthusiastic to converse with him at the gates to the city of Radasanth was anything but now. The swordsman remembered the languishing moments a top the battlements of the city wall with a fond relish.

“Stand your ground, young one, and match the aggression of our would be aggressors.” He nodded forwards, and in the same motion, he clocked James’ expression once more.

“Very well,” the captain confirmed, his voice rang in tune with the unsheathing of his blade. Whilst the members of the Ixian Cadre possessed nothing more than simple steel blades, the officer brandished a gold laced, and single-edged blade of master craftsmanship and providence bound in artistry, malice, and haughty self-opiated ignorance.

“I am sorry,” Arden turned to the knight, “but I am merely a sword for hire in a war I care nothing for.” He shrugged, with a genuine conviction. “I have been contracted to kill the individual called James Alexander.” Kerria traced the infinity symbol in the air, cutting a silver symbol through the enticing air of the countryside.

“By whom?” the knight asked, and rightfully so.

“The party that hired me, sir, was the Ixian Knights.”

James nodded with a sombre reluctance that echoed his stoic, calm, and professional nature. Arden could not help but admire his nature. Even when he had been at his peak in terms of performance, he had only half the charisma, resilience, and endurance of his would be opponent.

“I assumed as much," he sighed again.

“Yes,” Arden spat, showing his first sign of weakness, anger, and emotion, “assumption is a pejorative term. I am not a servant of the people you assume - I am a free agent.” The swordsman refused to believe that he was a slave to the mystic’s strange and calumnious ideals. He did not think that his role in the civil war between idle factions would have an impact, but he loathed the ideal that he was being played like a pawn in some grand game of chess between deities. “I am paid,” he set his blade on a kilter to afford him the freedom of movement to pat his coin purse. “I complete my objectives,” he shrugged. “Can you fault me for that blind, traditional, and utter loyalty?” there was a sombre tone to Arden’s voice. He did not think his question would strike a chord with the knight, but it was all he had to levy against the man before he levelled his sword properly against the unarmoured individual and completed his assignment.

“No.” James replied.

Silence reigned.

Arden began to run forwards, is heavy greaves weighing his feet down so they smashed into the dirt, and his heart began to race with the song of ages. The scent of iron, blood, and carnal fluids smothered the clearing, and the civil war reigned supreme over Corone yet again.

[Lionheart]

Steel sang as James’ sword leapt from its scabbard. He was far from his prime, dirty and worn from hours of hard work in the sun, but his grip on the hilt of his blade was unwavering. He held the blade firmly out towards his charging foe, calmly matching Arden’s fury.

“Very well,” he roared. “Then I shall match you and sell my life to protect the innocent unlike the Ixian pretenders who call themselves knights.”

“James,” Jayden cried out.

“Run!” James turned his head back slightly to yell to his men. They wavered for half a second before paying heed and fleeing, last of all Jayden.

“I won’t forget you,” the young adventurer whispered before he too ran, knowing that he would never see the young knight again.

James turned his attention back to Arden just in time to swat aside the assassin’s opening thrust. He would fight his damnedest, against Arden, against the ambushers, against the entire Ixian army if need be, to give the villagers the time to escape.

[Arden]

Arden curled his lips into a self-satisfied smile. He had been left behind by Duffy Bracken, his brother in arms and leader, for this precise moment. To pick apart a war, a man had to sow seeds before he could cut chords and sever cloth. He had sewn doubt and loyalty in equal measure protecting Sei’s family. Now he was free to scythe through cotton, silk, and open blouse. James Alexander was the reward for his long and silent servitude.

“I never said I was a knight, good god no.” He rasped, his words pious, yet full of self-loathing. He was anything but, and further still from the ideals a knight was supposed to uphold, be it for good or evil ideology. “I am a mere swordsman for hire, an assassin in the dark, a lord of spirits and tigers,” he smirked even wider, “and demons of old.” The oni around his heart burnt his soul, and he felt his self-control loosen, his reservation waver, and his calm shatter.

He began to retreat a few steps from the tip of the steel blade that his prey had drawn in his defence, and traced its simplistic design with keen observation and patience. He licked his lips, swung Kerria in a wide arc, and set the single-edged blade, bound in the blood of ages in a forwards grip. He held it in his solitary but firm right hand, leaving his left to tuck back into the small of his spine. It was a duellists’ stance, befitting for the spar to come between servants of higher ideals and misguided fools.

“Well parried sir,” he cocked his head to the left, so that his auburn hair fell over his left eye. “I so morosely hoped I did not have to run you through without at least some enjoyment.” He was not a murderer, after all. This man had placed his allegiance with one of many political entities in a war, and war gave men a higher power over the common laws of the lands they devastated.

“Your orders captain!” the caravan guard began to form a half-circle behind their crimson superior, and fanned out to encompass the road side edge of the deconstructed camp. They watched the rest of the Phoenix Ascendant flee at their master’s behest, and began to edge forwards like eager hounds still tethered to their owner’s leash. They wanted to hunt. They wanted to kill. Their loyalty blinded them against morality, and it left a sour taste in Arden’s throat.

“Let them run, let them watch from afar as their supposed leader dies for his unseen progenitor.” Kerria folded back, and its blade set with a soft chime against the left leg guard of the swordsman’s mithril plating. “Today, a man will die, by all means.” He whistled, and the birds and the frogs in the forest replied in kind. Nature surrounded the battleground, ignorant of the man-made ruin that rose up behind the knight. “But with his last breath, hope and resilience will die with him. This is coming to a close,” he looked back at the captain, smiled, and then advanced into James’ guard once more.

However he delivered the killing blow, he had to ensure blood caught the tip of Kerria, so that his treachery, and his defiance of Sei Orlouge could come to fruition.

[Lionheart]

It appeared to James that his initial assessment of Arden had been correct. The assassin was certainly a man drunk on his own self of self. After only making a single failed attack Arden retreated so that he could have the room to speak his flowery, poetic words. Words that left James’ mind as soon as the knight heard them and decided they held no value. In his experience, words in combat should be limited to giving orders, not making speeches. Such things were the purview of men who entered combat for all the wrong reasons.

Fighting between true warriors was different. When a true warrior attacked you they didn’t stop to exchange pleasantries, they attacked until one or both of you were dead or had relented. Failing to pursue an enemy that retreated without yielding went against all of James’ training, but the Amran reminded himself that this day he was acting the defender, not the warrior.

And so he let Arden retreat without pursuit and let him spew his meaningless words at both James and the other Ixians. Every second that James could drag this conflict out meant another few feet that the young men of Hurth could put between themselves and their ambushers. And then when Arden charged back in, instead of meeting him blade to blade once again, James rolled back over the partially deconstructed wooden road block at his back. Not wearing his armor might have afforded him less protection, but without the weight he felt lighter and more mobile than ever. Using the makeshift barrier in place of his missing shield, James brought his blade firmly back on the defensive, eyes locked in a hard stare at Arden.

[Arden]

"I would have thought a nice, good sir, would be more willing to engage with his oppressor." Arden spat, and when he closed his lips, he let his sharpened front teeth rub abrasively against his lower lip. The flash of pain, comforting to the sycophantic swordsman, kept the blade keen in his hand, and the fight ahead firmly on his mind. There was a plan in motion, and he had to be very careful to not let his temperament, righteous, angry, and full of zeal destroy all the hard plotting and planning that had brought his mithril laden form to this curve in the road.

"Captain," he glanced over his shoulder to his colleague, and made several hap hazard signs to the youth. He nodded in agreement, seemingly understanding the archaic instruction, before he and each and every one of the other guards turned their backs on James Alexander.

When Arden turned his neck back to the swordsman, there was no warmth in his smile, his soul, and his demeanour.

"I do not wish to kill you, James Alexander, Sir and Knave and paladin of ideals I cannot comprehend." He did not see the point in lying, or grandiose gestures and promises. "I have been, instructed," he licked his lips, and then spat his contempt to the curled grass and lemon scented blooms, "to terminate your life." Arden the assassin had been many a time in his long, illustrious, and highly successful career as a contract killer. Even when he had become more morally obligated, the money had not stopped rolling in, and the heads had not ceased their motions in his sword's wake. "However," he tried to smile, but fell short of the mark.

"Cease this prattling; I stand before you for the good of my men." The curled locks, as golden and blonde as the sun bobbed with the man's rattling words. They rebuked Arden's efforts with ease, and the charisma took the swordsman quite by surprise.

“Put your blade,” Arden spat again, too eager to demean the man’s integrity with uncouth motions, “where your heart is.” He levelled Kerria, his sword, flat against his left palm, and then cut it softly through his skin. He flinched as the blood began to flow, and then slapped the back of his shoulder with his wounded limb.

As the bloodied wing rose from his torso, his smile curled more wickedly, and his heart raced.

“Let us make a show of your death, but let me take your blood with my blade, and it shall only be temporary.” There was suggestion in his phantasmal voice, a suggestion which Arden only hoped James understood. He lurched, danced forwards, eschew, bloodied, and maddened.

His sword swung wildly, strongly, and with conviction.

[Lionheart]

Arden’s words poured out at James once again, claiming with mock humility that the mythril clad assassin was nothing more than a hired blade in Sei’s hand, a neutral party working only for the call of the coin. But despite Arden’s impassioned claims, James had been High General of Amra during the Sorcerer’s War and had made his name on the front line at the battle of Illium Fields. If there was one thing the Amran knight could be said to know by heart it was soldiering, and the way the Ixians leapt to instantly obey Arden’s cryptic signals and muttered words betrayed his hold over them.
No soldiers would be so familiar or quick to obey the slightest move of a mere assassin unless they had no further stake in him. While Arden may have only been sent to claim James’ life, he had been equipped with a personal force to do so. All James had to do was down the assassin and draw that personal force’s attention to ensure the safety of Hurth’s villagers.

James realized that the feat was easier said than done as Arden’s sanguine spell took effect.

Another damned magic user, James’ mind reeled inwardly. Being an astute and open warrior, he hadn’t completely ruled out magical intervention from the assassin or his cadre of warriors, yet he had not expected it to appear in such a savage, visceral manner. He was still half caught off-guard when Arden came at him once again, but thankfully the assassin’s penchant for flowery dramatics gave him enough time to reset his guarding blade to meet the sharp Kerria.

Also thankfully, while Arden was faster than James, his wild attack made him easy for an experienced swordsman to read and counter. The ring of steel against steel once again called out as the two men’s blades clashed over the wooden palisade, only this time James rotated his blade around to engage the assassin rather than pulling away in retreat. He wasn’t sure what game Arden was playing, and he certainly wasn’t goaded by the man’s childish taunting, but if it was a straight up fight that he seemed to be so desperately yearning for, then that was what James would give him.

For all Arden’s speed it seemed that he was evenly matched to James’ strength. This, the Amran knew, was the typical show for assassins, and such men were their deadliest when allowed freedom of movement. Defeating them wasn’t as simple as denying them such, but it went a long way. With their blades locked together, it was easy for James to slide the forte of his blade into a position to gain better leverage and he angled his opponent’s blade downwards, hoping to use the momentum of the wild swing to trap it against the wooden barrier between them.

This was the position where James would offer some quip to Arden had their roles been reversed. Instead, the knight simply brought his free arm around in a hook cross aimed at Arden’s nose.

[Arden]

The blow connected with Arden’s nose with all the ceremony of a raucous wedding. Blood was married with kinetic force, and the reception was just as riotous as the untethered circumstances that lead to the iron tainted conclusion. He stumbled backwards, taking it all in his stride, and looked down.

“It is a pleasant sight, is it not?” he asked, with far too much enthusiasm, rhetoric, and callous snipes at his target. When he looked up, nose crooked, blooded, and bent, he took on the mantle of a beaten shark, deflected with a well time blow. His scent for death faded with the pious man’s zeal.

“What is?” he asked, pleasantly, though he brought his blade back up on the offensive.

“Blood,” Arden replied, cutting off the knight’s chance to speak freely with floral decals forming in the air. “It is,” he wiped his wrist across his nostril, and took a deep breath. The guttural snot and sound of inhalation gone awry rang through the clearing, and sent shivers down the turned backs of the dutiful caravan guard. If the Phoenix Ascendant had remained by their commander’s side, they too would have felt the audible, physical, and ever real discomfort strike their pallid, tepid, and fearful skin. “Curious.”

“Only to those,” James snipes, turning on his heel into a roll. “Who are weak,” Arden, bewildered by word and wound continued back several feet. There was no resistance, no defence, and no parrying motion in response to the knight’s continued onslaught.

It was then that the knight knew he had been too brash, hasty, and careless in his presumptions.

Before the third, untimely, and perilous rotation could strike, Arden hopped to the left, brought Kerria up in a slicing arc, and caused James to leap back out of the upward strike that would, for most mortal man, deliver a decision, crushing, and authorities strike. Fate it seemed, however, had other plans for the man with curls that could swoon even the angels.

“Stop!” the swordsman roared. The carnal wing, held aloft by spirit, providence, and fate, quite simply disintegrated. The booted assassin retreated, cowardly, perhaps, but wisely in his estimations. His earlier keenness was undone, and he felt threatened, at least as far as his reputation went. Though there was no risk to his mortality here, he weighed out his solution slowly, keenly, and with little consideration for James’ patience.

“I was asked to kill you,” he cocked his head so that his long, black, and lacquered hair fell over his brow and eye line ominously. The steel blade of his single-edged sword struck the dirt, and even though it was soft, farrowed ground, it sparked against the smallest of grains of gravel.

“By whom in the so called 'Ixian Knights'?” the knight replied, with just as much vigilance.

“Sei Orlouge. Why would a hero ask a pious man with as much faith as the gods themselves to lay low to my blade?” he shrugged, entirely non chalant, entirely covered half in his own blood and that of long dead victims, and tired of his charade. He hoped to kill James, send a message to the Phoenix, and yet resurrect the man into the service of the Scara Scourge. Now all he had to fall back on was the faintest of hopes that James Alexander, the man with the heart of a lion, had enough strength left in his beating ribcage to amount a betrayal and a salvation with one fell strike.

“Tell me why, and I Will spare your life,” Arden cut Kerria across his midriff, took a deep draught of the spring air, the thick peaty environ, and the damp skyline, and set his gaze sternly on the golden locks, the unwavering ignorance, and the pious need to free Corone.


Due to time, energy, and lack of opportunity, I cannot edit for bunnying consent before the round ends..

I therefore, unless Lionheart objects, forfeit.

Sorry!

[Enigmatic Immortal]

Due to Arden dropping out as a forfeit, the PA WINS!