Duffy
04-29-13, 06:37 AM
You As You Were (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hv36iHqJTec)
2943
Set following The Hand That Feeds (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25258-The-Hand-That-Feeds-(Solo)&p=206618#post206618).
This is a wager match.
It is open to two combatants in a team. That team must consist of two characters owned by a single person, posting under one name.
The wager is 500 experience from each character. You may distribute the spoils between your team after completion of the match.
If a team does not post once within 24 hours of the other, they are disqualified.
“I will not forget it,” Duffy said. His voice quivered with trepidation.
He lingered over the words, and the memories they inspired. It had been his final parting to Sei Orlouge. It was his only goodbye to the Hero of Radasanth. Despite all he had done for the mystic, it was all that came to mind. He had saved the man’s castle, and his family. In turn, Sei had given Duffy a new purpose, a new life, and a new reason to carry on.
It was funny how it all came full circle.
“Duffy, are you okay?” Ruby asked. She craned her neck to try to get a glimpse of his expression.
The bard turned away. His loose fitting white shirt flapped in the wind, open three buttons down and offering little against the cool breeze that swept over the moors. He did not want her to see his pain. She had worried enough.
“I was just thinking aloud,” he lied. He clenched his shaking hand about the hilt of his blade. It sang to him, at least in his mind. It was a clarion call to arms. It was a verdant chorus of war. He would answer it with a reprise in good time.
“Good,” she said flatly. She adjusted her brassiere, undid her hair clip, and let her greying mane loose into the breeze. It roiled as if alive, danced with light, and glimmered with allure. “I was beginning to think you did not have the stomach for it.”
“I always have the stomach for it,” he turned. In the motion, he wiped the tear from his cheek and narrowed his gaze. With masterful skill, he appeared to have simply caught the wind at a bad angle. “We must prepare, revitalise, and reinvigorate our bodies.” Death had drained both their strength. It had left them weak, unknowing, and alienated in their own skin.
The spell singer could not argue with that. They stood side by side at the heart of a barren landscape in silence. The heather beneath their boots danced. The clear blue skies, peppered only with streaks of ill-formed clouds shone bright beneath a glaring sun. The distant horizon remained hazy, as if the heat rising from moss and mire were searing. There was a faint aroma of lavender on the wind, and perhaps a hint of burning wood.
“I have not fought by your side in so long I have forgotten what it feels like,” she said kindly. For once, Duffy needed the encouragement. She double-checked the straps of her belt, her bandoleer, and the masterly wrought violin hanging over her shoulder. She was ready for whatever the Citadel threw at them.
Duffy smiled weakly. It was the first time he smiled and meant it in weeks. “Like the good old days, eye?”
Ruby nodded. The slight hint of a Scara Braen accent in his plucky catch phrase brought encouragement full circle. If he was willing to mock himself, and what they had been through, then he was perhaps ready after all. He would have to be, for what lay ahead of the troupe in the years to come.
“Hardship may be in our bones, Mr Brandybuck, but so is survival.” She pointed up to the sun. “As long as that shine, so too shall we. Our names and our honour and our deeds will burn for an eternity.” Her sense for the dramatic was ill timed. Duffy returned her grandiose words with a wrinkled smile and a raised eyebrow.
“Ruby…” he sighed. His brown hair flapped against his sweating brow. His heart was beating. His shin, still shattered by a curse, bled thick ichor into the brown cloth of his trousers. “We do not need to survive.” He unsheathed his sword. She dropped her hands to her side.
“Of course we do,” she retorted.
Duffy shook his head. “We do not need to survive.” He gestured to a distant door that had formed on the rise of a hill. Dandelions and marigolds frolicked at its feet. The ancient brickwork, clad in sandstone supports was instantly recognisable. “They need to survive.”
Ruby turned to meet the shifting portcullis. She instantly understood what he meant.
“Well yes,” she said, “I guess we could go for that approach too.” She sounded sheepish. Her admittance seemed foolish. “I did not mean to assume defeat.”
Duffy, finally, laughed as if he meant it. “We are more than used to that. It is understandable.” He approached her side, rested his hand on her lithe shoulder, and smiled compassionately. She looked down at him warmly. “Today, though, let us prove the odds wrong.”
The Bard and the Phoenix stood arm in arm, ready to take on the world.
2943
Set following The Hand That Feeds (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?25258-The-Hand-That-Feeds-(Solo)&p=206618#post206618).
This is a wager match.
It is open to two combatants in a team. That team must consist of two characters owned by a single person, posting under one name.
The wager is 500 experience from each character. You may distribute the spoils between your team after completion of the match.
If a team does not post once within 24 hours of the other, they are disqualified.
“I will not forget it,” Duffy said. His voice quivered with trepidation.
He lingered over the words, and the memories they inspired. It had been his final parting to Sei Orlouge. It was his only goodbye to the Hero of Radasanth. Despite all he had done for the mystic, it was all that came to mind. He had saved the man’s castle, and his family. In turn, Sei had given Duffy a new purpose, a new life, and a new reason to carry on.
It was funny how it all came full circle.
“Duffy, are you okay?” Ruby asked. She craned her neck to try to get a glimpse of his expression.
The bard turned away. His loose fitting white shirt flapped in the wind, open three buttons down and offering little against the cool breeze that swept over the moors. He did not want her to see his pain. She had worried enough.
“I was just thinking aloud,” he lied. He clenched his shaking hand about the hilt of his blade. It sang to him, at least in his mind. It was a clarion call to arms. It was a verdant chorus of war. He would answer it with a reprise in good time.
“Good,” she said flatly. She adjusted her brassiere, undid her hair clip, and let her greying mane loose into the breeze. It roiled as if alive, danced with light, and glimmered with allure. “I was beginning to think you did not have the stomach for it.”
“I always have the stomach for it,” he turned. In the motion, he wiped the tear from his cheek and narrowed his gaze. With masterful skill, he appeared to have simply caught the wind at a bad angle. “We must prepare, revitalise, and reinvigorate our bodies.” Death had drained both their strength. It had left them weak, unknowing, and alienated in their own skin.
The spell singer could not argue with that. They stood side by side at the heart of a barren landscape in silence. The heather beneath their boots danced. The clear blue skies, peppered only with streaks of ill-formed clouds shone bright beneath a glaring sun. The distant horizon remained hazy, as if the heat rising from moss and mire were searing. There was a faint aroma of lavender on the wind, and perhaps a hint of burning wood.
“I have not fought by your side in so long I have forgotten what it feels like,” she said kindly. For once, Duffy needed the encouragement. She double-checked the straps of her belt, her bandoleer, and the masterly wrought violin hanging over her shoulder. She was ready for whatever the Citadel threw at them.
Duffy smiled weakly. It was the first time he smiled and meant it in weeks. “Like the good old days, eye?”
Ruby nodded. The slight hint of a Scara Braen accent in his plucky catch phrase brought encouragement full circle. If he was willing to mock himself, and what they had been through, then he was perhaps ready after all. He would have to be, for what lay ahead of the troupe in the years to come.
“Hardship may be in our bones, Mr Brandybuck, but so is survival.” She pointed up to the sun. “As long as that shine, so too shall we. Our names and our honour and our deeds will burn for an eternity.” Her sense for the dramatic was ill timed. Duffy returned her grandiose words with a wrinkled smile and a raised eyebrow.
“Ruby…” he sighed. His brown hair flapped against his sweating brow. His heart was beating. His shin, still shattered by a curse, bled thick ichor into the brown cloth of his trousers. “We do not need to survive.” He unsheathed his sword. She dropped her hands to her side.
“Of course we do,” she retorted.
Duffy shook his head. “We do not need to survive.” He gestured to a distant door that had formed on the rise of a hill. Dandelions and marigolds frolicked at its feet. The ancient brickwork, clad in sandstone supports was instantly recognisable. “They need to survive.”
Ruby turned to meet the shifting portcullis. She instantly understood what he meant.
“Well yes,” she said, “I guess we could go for that approach too.” She sounded sheepish. Her admittance seemed foolish. “I did not mean to assume defeat.”
Duffy, finally, laughed as if he meant it. “We are more than used to that. It is understandable.” He approached her side, rested his hand on her lithe shoulder, and smiled compassionately. She looked down at him warmly. “Today, though, let us prove the odds wrong.”
The Bard and the Phoenix stood arm in arm, ready to take on the world.