The Duelist

[Airan]

Name: Elliot
Species: Fox
Gender: Male
Age: 40

"Shut up and let the blades do the talking!"

Thoroughly taken aback, Elliot shrugged as if to say, "As you wish."

Rather than taking the long sword at his side Elliot chose the rapier, then a stance was taken to mirror his opponent.

A younger opponent.

The hare gestured to his two companions and they backed off, corralling foot traffic quickly gathering to watch at either end of the stone bridge.

Like coiled snakes, both duelists remained still. Then without warning, blades were met. The hare gave no quarter, but the fox gave no ground deflecting blow after blow.

The attack only relented when a gash appeared above Elliot's shoulder. He paused to inspect the tear to find his arm intact, but the jacket ruined. He sighed, acknowledging the beast's skill with a nod of his head.

Tauntingly the hare saluted Elliot with his rapier before attacking again.

A new dance began. The duelists circled each other now, but Elliot continued on the defensive until a pattern was created, and then destroyed as Elliot sidestepped and thrust.
The hare withdrew to clutch his wounded shoulder. When he realized where he was hit and that he was bleeding, the hare growled at the fox.

Elliot just tipped his hat and saluted with his sword.

They came at each other again. No more measuring of one's skill. Sparks flew as steel viciously clashed against steel with blows aimed only to kill.

Pressing the attack, Elliot forced his enemy against the stone edge of the bridge. With nowhere else to go the hare rebounded off the wall with a desperate and deadly lunge.
Elliot wished he could see the look on the young scoundrel's face as he pivoted on his heel casually dodging his 'surprise' attack.

Momentum carried the cottontail past the spinning fox and exposed his back to the edge of Elliot's Grim Reminder.

Elliot's blade tasted only metal however, clashing against the sword of the hare's companion. Rather than attack, Elliot rolled to one side, narrowly avoiding the attack of the third hare as he too joined the battle.

The fox scowled as he was thrown on the defensive, batting away a barrage of strikes of increasing accuracy.

When one interloper leaped behind the fox, Elliot dashed forward, sliding between the beasts and keeping them attacking from only one direction. If they got behind him. . .

Then came the thrust. All three swords at once.

Throwing Grim Reminder to his left paw, he parried from the side. All his might pushed against one opponent, forcing their blade to cross paths with the others and binding them together against the wall.

With a feral grin, Elliot's free paw drew the long sword from his side, smashing the heavier blade against his enemies'.

All three rapiers snapped in half.

Elliot leveled his weapons at the main challenger, catching them all in a mid terrified gasp. "Our blades talked, but mine found the conversation to be rather dull."

With a flick of his wrists, the swords were sheathed. Walking past them, Elliot only paused to say, "Next time you come for my title, bring more friends. The gravedigger needs the business."

The crowd parted for the fox, and it wasn't until he was out of sight did he finally lean against a market stall, fur bristled and muscles sore.

"You're too old, too fat, and far too lucky for your own good, Elliot." He continued to the nearest tavern with as much dignity his shaky paws could muster.

[Airan]

Name: Fiyero
Species: Cat
Gender: Male
Age: 27

"Flash! Slash! CRASH!
The song of the blade!
What I sing is true,
I cut him right in two!
O yes, the Beast!
The Bracken Beast of Summer's Glade!"

Fiyero held the final note of his song until he could draw breath no more. Finished, the cat collapsed into a deep bow.

"Hurraaah!" cried the crowd of beasts in Higglesnout's Tavern, laughing and clinking together their tankards full of amber broth. A few of the beasts tossed coins at Fiyero's feet. Grinning ear to ear, the cat collected the earnings.

"You're all too kind!" Fiyero beamed, jangling the gold in his hands. "I believe this many coins can buy another round?" Another cheer erupted from the patrons, and Fiyero turned his attention to the barkeep, tossing the coins his way. "Well, you heard them, my good beast! Let's get another round going!"

As the rat got to work, Fiyero reached for his own tankard of neglected ale. His paw barely brushed it when a young rat shouted from the most jovial table in the place.

"Oi, I can't believe you killed the Bracken Beast!" he cried. "Ain't you said he was two badgers high?:

Fiyero spun towards him and grinned. "Aye, he sure was! I won't lie, it was not an easy ordeal.  It was a spectacular skirmish, a fantastic fight! Oh, it is a song I shall sing until I can't sing anymore! Which, I must say," Fiyero winked to the rat. "Is an impossibility."

"How'd you get past 'is axe?" the rat whispered. "You said he had an axe!"

"That part was simple!" Fiyero laughed, and leapt onto the table with arms held high. "I'm known as the Dancing Flash for a reason!" The cat suddenly burst into blurry movement, prancing and weaving his footpaws between the full plates and glasses all across the table in expert fashion, clapping as he went. Not an ale was spilled nor plate displaced, and everybeast erupted once more into cheer for the performance. That is, all except one.

"So, you're the 'Dancin' Flash' now, eh?" A pine martin rose from a table in the back. Fiyero slowed his footpaws, and when his eyes fell upon the dissenting beast, his smile faded. He noticed the martin's paw resting upon their weapon.

"I remember when you were callin' yourself by another name," the martin said.

'I don't know what name that could be, I've only ever owned one," Fiyero replied, trying to salvage his smile.

"So, you're sayin' 'Soren the Silver' ain't familiar to you?"

Fiyero stared daggers at the beast, giving up on grinning. "No."

"I find that interestin'," the martin continued, nearing Fiyero. "'You see, two seasons ago I was at a tavern named Mooneye's, and there was a cat callin' himself Soren the Silver, singin' the same words you were singin'. So if you're sayin' that cat wasn't you, then either Soren's lyin' about slaying this 'Bracken Beast'...or you are." The tavern fell dead quiet. All eyes turned to Fiyero. The cat grit his teeth, and took a deep breath. He knew what had to be said.

"Or, perhaps...you're the one who's lying."

"What did you say?!" The martin finally drew his cutlass, and the tavern erupted into shouts and cheers. In seconds, all camaraderie was thrown out the door, too easily replaced with frenzied betting on the newly promised violence. Fiyero's heart sank. He wouldn't be singing again anytime soon.

"I'll cut that tongue right outta your mouth!" the martin bellowed, and charged at the cat.

"You'll never get close enough to try!" Fiyero hissed, drawing his saber at last.

Flash!

Slash!

CRASH!

[Airan]

Name: Bihto Snowridge
Species: Greylag Goose
Gender: Male
Age: 29

The town of Hafnaross was nestled between two mountains, about as far north as beasts could stand to live. The aurora shone green and purple above the buildings, illuminating the ever-dark sky. This part of the Northlands rarely saw the sun this time of year.

Bihto blew into town, landing on main street and waddling towards the brightly-lit pub. He heard a raucous crowd within. Hafnaross was known for its fights, and Bihto had come to make his name.

The Snowridge flock was peaceful, and Bihto had never had an easy time fitting in. It seemed he was always getting into one scrap or another. His mother soon despaired of taming her son's wild impulses, and he had left home as soon as his wings could carry him over the mountains.

Hardened by his many seasons of travel, the grey goose had found his way through the northlands, making just enough as a fighter to stay alive. And his body showed the seasons of abuse. But Bihto was tired of just scraping by, and everybeast in the fighting circuits knew that Hafnaross was the place to go.

As he stepped into the pub, Bihto let the familiar sounds and smells wash over him. The balcony was full of beasts shouting encouragement to their favorite fighter. Many of them had betting slips in their paws. Stale beer and the sharp tang of blood assaulted his nostrils. The goose breathed deep.

After the last fight of the night, Bihto approached the booker, an ermine with a hobbled leg.

He leered at the grey goose. "Never seen ya before."

"Just flew in. When's the next fight?"

"T'morrow."

"Sign me up. Name's Bihto."

The booker looked him up and down, taking in the scar along his eye, his twisted beak, his missing feathers. "Never had a bird before. Y'look like ye'll do fine, though. Tomorrow's yer try out. No winnings. And no betting on yerself, neither. If th' crowd likes ya, ya can stay. Name's Zruse."

Bhito nodded and got a room for the night.

*****

He found himself across from a snowy wildcat named Elyenora Smoothclaws. She was clearly a crowd favorite, and entered the ring hissing and snarling. She was favored to win seven to one.

From his corner, Bihto hissed back. The cat's eyes momentarily widened in surprise, but she hid it well and squinted again.

The old badger referee stepped into the center of the ring; his voice rang out above the din of stomping and booing: "FIGHT!"

The goose spread his wings, circling the wildcat. She was a fury of movement, whirling and dodging as she approached the greylag.

Elyenora took a swipe. Her claws raked his chest. Bihto hissed in pain.

The two fighters circled some more. Bihto stabbed forward with his beak. He hit the wildcat's eye.

"You beaked me!" she shrieked. Elyenora came at him in a swirl of claws, teeth and fur, but with one eye swelling shut, her aim was off.

Bihto easily sidestepped the cat and hit out with the leading edge of his wing. She growled deep in her throat. The crowd was going wild. He turned to them, raising his wing high. The din grew.

While he was turned, the wildcat pounced, landing on his back.

"ONGK!" Bihto honked,flapping and writhing until she slid off of him.

The bird stepped back, steeling himself.

Elyenora spat angrily, her movements sloppy with emotion. As she approached, Bihto boxed her ears with his wings. The cat collapsed, dazed.

The referee vaulted into the ring to raise Bihto's wing. "Tonight's winner... Snowridge!"