- - - Radasanth, Corone - - -
“That was a serious battle. It’s a shame you missed it.” Storm took a long swig of his drink and savoured it. Storm’s side of the story was brutal in its own right, but it was interesting to hear how Aratmus finally fell. Sorian watched Storm working it out, clearly thinking about his own position during these events. “I honestly came pretty close to dying myself. I’ve carried scars with me for many years, but this one event ended up giving me more than just one or two. Waitress! Another craft beer please!”
“Battlefields like that are no longer my strong point. At this point though, I had my own problems to deal with.”
“I’d love to hear that. As currently, while I’m fighting for my life, Elite was killing Aratmus… YOU were taking it easy out of the way. Not only was I having to mightily slay demons much bigger than I, I had projectiles flying overhead that could have landed on me at any moment.”
Sorian chuckled, “I guess I should explain.”
“Waitress? Alina?” Storm’s brow furrowed in frustration. “I need another beer!”
- - - The Demon Gate, Alerar - - -
“Of course he’ll need me. I’ll never leave him in a situation where he doesn’t need me.”
“Well. I guess you’re sorted for life then. As long as you are happy to watch thousands of others die on your path to prosperity.”
Cazri took a step towards him and then took another juicy bite of her favourite fruit, leaning right in his face to added effect. “I don't care.”
Sorian squinted as the juice almost sprayed his face. Beginning to walk away he paused by the entrance in thought. “You know. You never seem so enamoured with him. Not like the rest. You’re not blind like they are. You, as you say, don’t care.”
Cazri didn’t respond, taking a seat on a foldable chair she leaned back and indulged in the large fruit. Hoping her loud, obnoxious eating would deter him from conversation. Sorian looked her up and down, her cloak now hanging off her as she draped herself over the chair. That’s when Sorian noticed it, hanging off her belt was not just a sword in scabbard, but a small horn, normally hidden beneath her cloak. It was something she probably never expected anyone to ever think twice about. After all, it was just a horn.
“Tell me Cazri.”
“Tell you WHAT, Sorian?” She huffed with frustration. “How I managed to get this lucrative position? How I managed to get you and the Skeleton up here? Well, when I ask, I get. That’s just the way this works. I can talk anyone into doing what I want. I earned that, I’ve earned that over years and years of hard grafting and establishing my name within not just Alerar, but the known world. I’ve beaten everyone, and now, I’ve beaten you.”
“How about, how do you have an ancient horn attached to your belt?”
Cazri’s demeanour changed as quickly, she dropped the fruit, stood up and straightened her stance. Her silver eyes glared back at him through the loose strands of her blonde hair. “This isn’t funny anymore.” She responded sternly.
“You know exactly what I’m talking about, and you have the horn…Not many know about such relics, not many understand exactly what you can do with them. I’m starting to build a picture here. Do you see the same picture?”
“It changes nothing.”
Sorian drew his sword. “My dear, it changes everything.”
“You’re making a mistake. You need to back off.”
“No. No mistake. You’ve planned all of this. And you have not beaten me.”
“Since you’re forcing my hand…” Cazri rolled her eyes and let out a sigh. “It’s a shame a demon made its way up here and killed you. Elite will be disappointed, but he’ll kill them all to ensure he avenges you.”
“Well since you’re going to kill me. Do me a favour of explaining how you did this?”
“Do you a favour? I don’t give to charity.” Cazri flung off her cloak and out slid her longsword. Gripping in her right hand the wavy blade was mpressive to look at as she paraded it before him; it was more fearsome looking than Sorians straight edged blade, but just because it looked scarier, didn’t mean it was.
Sorian raised his trusty blade up defensively, the tip of his blade tapping on the end of hers as they squared off. They had both threatened each other in the past, but now, for the first time they would follow through, and one of them would die.
Cazri lunged first, attacking from the left, then the right as her blade clashed against the defence of Sorians. Once a master swordsman, his reflexes were not what they once were, but he retained his knowledge enough to be better than average. She had just shown she was quick, and Sorian now knew he was not going to have it easy.
Cazri lunged again, viciously but not recklessly. Sorian blocked and countered with a controlled slash across the sternum, forcing Cazri back, uninjured.
She laughed. “You’re slow, old man.”
Sorian didn’t waiver, ignoring her goading remarks.
She stepped into a crouch, slicing one handed across the shin of his forward foot. Sorian stepped over the attack and immediately drove his sword down upon her. Cazri deflected with her raised sword and again dodged to one side.
Attempting a quick response, she replied with another arcing swing as she retreated, the tip of her blade cutting through Sorian’s old cloak and drawing blood. Cazri smiled with success.
Sorian held his shoulder for a moment, the wound was very shallow and not enough to hamper him, but it was a warning.
They circled for a moment in the yurt, the circular design of the rug beneath their feet leading them round as they judged the next moment of attack. Then, as Cazri stepped within range, Sorian went on the attack back, thrusting his sword at her gut and forcing a reactive block. As she moved back he spun round and turned into a second lunge, forcing her to the edge of the tent. She tripped as she met the boxes against the tent wall, the heavy heel of her damascus boots catching on the box hinge. Sorian’s blade crashed against hers as he went for the kill, managing to slice across her body as she fell backwards over the boxes of tools and food.
“You old, fuck-faced bafoon!” Cazri exclaimed in shock of her injury, she scrambled to her feet once more. “A coward's way of forcing me over the boxes. I thought you were a swordsman?”
“Your spatial-awareness is weak!” Sorian retorted.
“Fine! I’m not playing games anymore!”
Cazri flicked her fingers as a deep purple hue of gas wrapped around her hand, suddenly hardening into a thin glass bottle of purple liquid. She glared at him with great anger, almost hissing like a snake as she flashed her teeth, then threw the bottle into the ground between them. The tent filled with purple smoke, expanding like an fiery explosion; it engulfed them both before Sorian could see where she went. Now the dark tent was filled with a bitter tasting smoke that made him cough with discomfort. His vision, now poor, could not make her out as he pulled his shirt up over his mouth to protect his throat. Worse, it really stank in here, the distracting smell was like rotten fish, enough to make many a man puke.
“A coward’s way?” Sorian called out through the fabric of his top.
No response.
Sorian could feel his heartbeat nervously, now that he could no longer see his adversary he was at a clear disadvantage - assuming she could see him.
Carefully and quietly he moved around the smoke, the different purple shades of cloud crossing over itself again and again in a confusing and distracting manner. He could only hope she was equally distracted.
Then, a spark of energy flickered beside him, Sorian didn’t hesitate, taking a quick step to one side he attacked with all of his might, his blade tearing through fabric as he did. Yet no blood was spilled.
“ARGH!” Sorian yelled out as he dropped to one knee. Cazri’s blade slipped across his leg. The brutal wound was enough to stop him from standing once more. His fingers trembled as he grit his teeth to take the pain, but she had landed a cruel blow.
Stepping on the hilt of his blade as he knelt, Cazri put her weight into it to crush his fingers. “Let go, old man.”
Sorian had little choice, scraping his trapped fingers free from between the sword and rough rug; he may have paid more attention to this had his leg wound not been so painful.
“Did you forget who you were fighting with? I'm an alchemist, not a soldier. A master of the arts, though my sword skills are somewhat efficient.” She held the tip of her wavy sword to his throat. “Your sword is mine, and your life, I can take it whenever I want to. I would torture you, but I’m not giving that skeleton further reason to disobey me. No… I’ll just enjoy watching your facial expressions as I gut you like a wild animal.”
“Elite won’t believe it.”
“He’ll have to. I’m not wasting my time with you anymore.”
“Shame. I thought you’d want me to know how you out-smarted me?”
“Sorian. Tsk, tsk. Always looking for answers.” She lightly cut a gash on the side of his neck to tease him. “Maybe you’ll get to meet your skeletal friend in the afterlife.”
Taking what felt like his last chance Sorian grabbed her sword hand with both of his. Pulling and tugging he tried to pull the blade free. Cazri wobbled off balance, her blade swinging wildly as they fought for it, a few light, clumsy blows may have landed in the scramble, but in Sorian’s desperation he felt nothing of the little cuts that marked his skin.
Forcing him back, Cazri pushed him to the floor. Saddling him for control, Sorian pushed the blade up overhead, the wavy blade stabbing into the rug clumsily. Both their eyes glanced up at the blade, and then down to each other. The surprise and panic was clear in that moment, he had caught her napping with arrogance.
Letting her blade go with one hand, Sorian reached down, grabbed his small dagger and then thrust it into her gut. She gasped, her eyes strained out in pain and she froze in agony as she felt the blade of the dagger stab deep into her gut.
Feeling the warm blood drip over his fingers, he pulled it out and stabbed back into her one more time. She squealed in pain and Sorian pushed her off, and onto her back.
He took a moment to recover as they both lay there, side by side, both panting in pain, staring up into the purple haze of smoke.
“I told you. I’m a swordsman, I always have a second weapon.”
Cazri continued to gasp in pain, holding her wound with both hands; she didn’t move on her own accord.
Sorian sat up awkwardly and looked down at her. Her silver eyes panicking with a desire to live, and yet unable to stop the life that was draining from her. Looking down at his own leg wound, Sorian was not entirely sure he would survive this, but he wasn’t about to let her know that.
“Looks like I’m going to make it. So tell me. You did all of this didn’t you? I can only imagine how you found these items,” Sorian pulled the horn, much smaller than he imagined, from her belt. Wonky but beautifully crafted and marked with ancient kings signature “And you planned how best to use them. To cause this war. To plan the death of so many people.”
Cazri glared at him with no response, her face just filled with anger and hatred.
“If you tell me. Even if you just nod with no explanation.” Sorian knocked the blonde bangs from her face with his bloody hand; a few smears marking her above the eye and cheek. “I have the medical knowledge to save you.”
Cazri lay there for a moment, still riving in pain as he looked down on her. “I’ll never… give you the satis…faction… of hearing those words.”
“That is a shame.”
Suddenly Sorian drove his dagger down into the neck of Cazri. Severing any arteries and quickly ending her life. He didn’t look as she bled out, and left the dagger embedded in her as looked away. “We always knew one of us would end up killing the other. I’m glad it is I, that got you.”
