Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-3293219-20160801233042/@comment-5543592-20160802012531

"Me and Daireg both attended the same Hall of Virtues of War, in Taneth, the place where they teach ya the 'Way of the Sword'.  I was privileged.  Daireg grew up on the streets from birth.  Way I heard it, his own mother took one look at 'em, and then left 'em in a waste basket.  He was raised in an orphanage, and ended up on the streets from 'ere-- he aged out of the orphanage.  Master Ishien found 'em in the gutter outside the Hall, scavenging for food, and took pity on 'em, gave'em a place to live.  The Master taught daoreg the Way so that he could make a life for 'imself.  But Daireg's idea fer use of the sword was'a bit different from the Master's.

"I got Daireg kicked out, caught 'im tryin' ta steal from the Hall, and the Master sent 'im back out onto the street.  Only Daireg was a master swordsman now, and had it out for me.  He had never been a good kid, he's one of those fellas born with a block of stone where 'is heart should be, only 'is stone was bigger and pointer than anyone's I ever met.  You think of someone bad an' he's, well, badder.  He's fricking smart, makes ya almost wonder who 'is parents really were.  And he doesn't do any ov' what he does fer money.  It's just whatever strikes 'is fancy.  Fer example, he burned down the own orphanage that raised him.  And if that wasn't messed up enough, it gets worse.

"Daireg joined the Alik'r Coterie.  Bunch of assassins and you can bet he found his way to the top right quick.  He instagated a revolt in Taneth, which is what drew me out, and created this," he gestured to himself, "the Crimson Archer."

"But fighting styles, they're like finger prints.  Daireg knew who I was the instant I drew my sword, and he got a plan.  Daireg doesn't believe killin' his enemies is bad enough, ya see.  He prefers ta leave 'em alive, so they can suffer.  And so he aimed his biggest attack on Taneth with the intent ta draw me out..."

8 years ago…

Taneth burned, smoke choking the sky. The gold domes, tiled roofs, and elegant architecture was cast over by a cloud of black, which rained ash down upon the city and even past the city walls. Riots raged in the streets, estates were abandoned as furious peasants overran them, and all the while the Hall of the Virtues of War, Taneth chapter, was forgotten. The white tower seemed to be alone in how it rose against the dark sky, poetic in how it stood for the Once Ways when all but a few had forgotten them.

“I’ve got him.” The Alik’r swordsman said, watching from the window. “He’s heading towards the tower.” More of the Alik’r watched from other windows or rooftops, covering this path as they waited for their target to arrive. The desert assassins were called to watch this place alone, in preparation for the battle to come, between their master and the Archer.

His spyglass locked on the man in a red cloak, which was used to obscure his form as he dashed down the side street. A dozens eyes and bows were fixed on him, keeping a close lock on the Man in Red: the Crimson Archer. The man who had successfully thwarted almost all of the peasant raids on estates since the start of the uprising, which had been allegedly started by their master to draw him out in the first place.

“Keep him in sight.” A man in the room behind him said. He was a lieutenant of the Alik’r forces, and this room was their command post.

The red cloak flew down the street, its wearer fast-footed as he kicked up ash from the fires that raged through the city. He suddenly skidded to a stop and turned into an alley, out of view.

“Wait- damnit, I lost him.”

“Don’t worry,” the lieutenant said, “he won’t escape what’s coming.”

On the main street, which ran parallel to the side street and visible out an opposite window, a lone horseman galloped onto the scene, his own red cape billowing out behind him. The stallion kicked down the street, throwing up ash. The man on its back was a Redguard with a worn face and a powerful body, dressed in the robes of a Coterie assassin. The rogue swordsman known as Daireg, and allegedly the deadliest killer of the Alik’r Desert.

The clip-clopping of the hooves echoed of the pathed streets as Daireg dashed down an alley after the Archer, cutting across streets towards the tower. The horse neighed as he came bursting onto the scene in the open space in front of the tower, and he hopped down.

The Archer stood there, head bowed slightly, hooded up, and mask on, revealing almost nothing of his face. His scimitar was in his hand, held out at his side.

Daireg stared across the empty ground at his opponent. The Archer lifted his eyes to meet Daireg’s.

“Don’t think I don’t know who you are under that mask.” Daireg called, taking a few steps forwards, pulling off his gloves and throwing them aside. “You can’t hide yourself from me.”

“Who’s hiding?” The Archer replied, his voice having a muffled, metallic quality. He reached up, pulled the mask from his face, and tossed it aside. It rang as it hit the ground, rolling on its edges several times before falling flat.

Daireg smiled devilishly, like that move had been important to him, before charging across the field towards the Archer, drawing his sword as he went and unbuckling his belt so that it fell away.

Crimson raised his blade and advanced as well, meeting Daireg halfway across the field. Their blades changed against each other, as fast the wind, barely visible to the untrained eye. There were moves and counter moves, chops towards the shoulder that were deflected by upwards blocks, and feints followed by a slice to the side that was repelled by crossing swords at the hilt.

Daireg parried a blow, and used the force to lock blades with Crimson and shove the Archer away.

“You say you answer to some kind of authority.” Daireg said, swinging at Crimson’s head. “But they only want me gone because I’m an embarrassment, because I do what they can’t.”

“That’s not at all how it works.” The Archer replied, ducking and stabbing downward towards Daireg’s thigh, attempting to hamstring him. “There is law and order for a reason and you don’t follow either!”

Daireg managed to bring his sword down in time to knock the blow away, by Crimson suddenly struck upward with the pommel, catching the assassin underneath the jaw. Daireg’s teeth snapped together and he stumbled backwards.

“If it’s not me, then it’ll be someone else.” Crimson told him, dropping into a defensive position again.

“Oh really?” The Alik’r said, locking eyes with Crimson as he wiped blood from his chin, “Who do they send after you?” He asked with a smug smile. Crimson’s expression darkened and he attacked, raining two overhead chops down on Daireg, both of which were easily rebuffed.

Daireg stepped back, sword held close to his body, pointing towards the sky. “It’s amusing you think you can stop me. I’ve always been better than you. I’ll always be better than you.”

He swung for Crimson’s neck, but the Archer stepped around it, the edge of the blade missing skin by barely more than an inch. But that was by design, in the flow of battle you only moved as much as was needed, no more, no less.

Daireg cut to the side, trying to catch Crimson, but the Archer gracefully avoided the sweep, and stepped inside Daireg’s guard. Holding his sword in one hand—it was too unwieldly for close quarters—he delivered a swift jab first to Daireg’s left shoulder and then, after stepping around a retaliatory swing, sent another jab to the Alik’r’s tricep, before stepping back.

Daireg attempted to bring both his hands back to his sword, but his left arm hung loose, useless.

He frowned at his lame arm, confused by why it wasn’t responding, but not concerned. “I see you’ve learned some new moves— but so have I.” He acknowledged, turning back to Crimson and raising his sword into a tight Walled Consequence. “It wasn’t me who spent the last four years wasting away in this hole of a city.”

“Knowing you, it was probably spent torturing small animals.” Crimson replied, before taking two quick steps and lunging at Daireg. The Alik’r easily blocked the attack, Crimson’s blow sliding off his blade, and drove a knee towards the Archer’s thigh. Crimson grunted, his weight going out from over one of his legs, and lost his footing, dropping to a knee. Daireg swung a swift chop at Crimson’s head, but the Archer rolled under it and away, ending on his feet. The fight had brought them gradually and gradually closer to the tower and Crimson now stood right up next to it. He faced Daireg and raised his sword, his back to the wall.

“That was it, a kick?” Crimson asked. “Daireg, you and I need to have a serious talk about your sense of dra-”

He was cut off as Daireg suddenly came at him, yelling a warcry, and swung in broad strokes, forcing Crimson back. The Archer stumbled up against the wall and steadied himself just in time for Daireg to ram his left shoulder into Crimson’s chest. The flimsy wall of the tower gave way, and Crimson crashed through it, tumbling head over shoulder onto the floor.

“Urgh…” The Archer groaned, lying on his stomach, as Daireg walked through the hole in the wall. Crimson spun on his hands and in one acrobatic move was on his feet again. They locked eyes, and engaging once again.

The fight continued through more walls, as they tore apart rooms and furniture. Crimson overturned a table into Daireg, and in response he leapt over it and kicked Crimson through a wall. The men were both at their physical peak, and evenly match. Daireg held his own surprisingly well with only one arm for most of the fight, but he regained control of it soon enough and they were back on even ground.

They fought up flights of stairs, Crimson taking the high ground as he fended off attacks, always retreating. They knocked each other through more of the thin walls, until finally coming to a room Crimson recognized.

“The sword room.” He whispered, briefly entertaining the notion that Daireg had guided the fight here. It was empty now, the precious weapons it had once held moved somewhere else, but Crimson recognized it.

“You ruined my life here.” Daireg said, slicing sideways, his strokes increasing in ferocity.

“You ruined your own life, Daireg.” Crimson told him, bending his elbows upwards to hold his sword horizontal, deflecting the strike.

“By stealing?” He laughed. “I’ve done a lot worse than theft over the years.” He placed his feet and sliced low, for Crimson’s ankles, his off-hand going behind his back. “It’s that I don’t like to lose, princeling. And to you, I lost everything. I’m afraid that can’t stand.”

Daireg shouted aloud as Crimson leapt over the slash, and threw himself at the Archer when the latter was in the air, sending Crimson to the ground in a hard fall.

“I said I’d take everything from you, and I have.” Daireg said harshly, standing over him. “And now I will destroy you.”

He swung downward, but Crimson easily knocked the attack aside and launched back to his feet. Daireg gave a weak stab for Crimson’s stomach, and the prince slapped it aside with the flat of his scimitar, sending the sword flying from Daireg’s hand.

Crimson had overcompensated for strength when he swung, opening his guard up, but with Daireg disarmed there was nothing the Alik’r could do. He was surprised by the sudden turn of the tables, and hesitated to strike a final blow.

Daireg held out his left palm, flat, and blew a reddish-brown powder from it directly into Crimson’s face.

Crimson inhaled a large portion of it, hacked and coughed, inhaled more, and stumbled away, sword dropping from shaking hands.

He collapsed against the wall, and then slid down it, too the floor, falling onto his hands and knees.

“It wasn’t easy, Crimson.” Daireg said, kicking the ebony scimitar across the floor. “It took years and cost a fortune to make. Luckily I had both.”

Crimson hacked and spat, trying to get whatever he had breathed in out of his mouth and lungs, to no avail.

Daireg slugged him across the face, causing Crimson to collapse onto his back, still struggling for air.

“You’re feeling it now, aren’t you? What the rest of us live with every day: your own mortality. Don’t worry, you’ll survive, at least for a while. The corprus will work its way out of your lungs soon enough, and into your blood. You should know that it’s completely incurable. Morrowind taught me many things, but this was the most important of them—how to harvest the infection from the ash, and use it as a weapon.” Daireg explained, brushing the powder from his hands, its sandy color reminiscent of the ashy Morrowind soil.

Crimson made a noise, and seemed like he was about to say something, but Daireg kicked him upside the head first, causing him to cry out and roll onto his side, struggling to rise again.

Daireg grabbed him by the lapels of his uniform, lifting Crimson’s limp form off the ground. He stood over the Archer and spoke directly into his eyes, as the prince struggled for breath.

“But I didn’t have to go easy on you. A different binding agent, a stronger mix. I want you to remember that. I wanted to remind you to stay out of my way. In all the years to come, in all your most private moments, I want you to remember the one man who beat you.”

Crimson coughed, and choked out two words. “Not yet.”

Daireg made a disgusted face and shoved him back down, knocking Crimson’s head against the ground.

The Alik’r walked from the room, picking up his sword as he left, but stopped halfway, surprised to hear Crimson chuckling quietly behind him, as if the Archer knew some private joke.

Daireg shook his head and left, wondering if the corprus was working faster than he’d thought. It didn’t matter. His revenge was more than this one, small step. Once Daireg had gone, the chuckling stopped, merely a show. So, Crimson lay there, choking on his own breath, too weak to move, wondering how he got here and where to go from it.

"So if I come back, Taneth will be at risk again.  I don't know how far he'll go and I won't be able ta stop'im.  He's better than I am, much better, and I admit a tad smarter too.  No magic can stop'em, he knows how ta defeat a magic, and bows don't pose a threat to him.  I don't know where he got his evasion training, but it's like he's made of the darn wind.  The only way ta hurt'em is by getting in close with the sword."

He gave Miri a serious look.

"But I think you can beat him.  Yer a Master, I've seen ya fight.  No one 'ere works a sword like you do."