All Duels Come Full Circle

The Mhun had been looking forward to this duel.

There was no denying that the fast-flowing rhythms and brute strength of physical combat were not her forte. Her place was not on the front lines, and as a rule, she tried to avoid ever being within arm’s reach of danger. Why put yourself in harm’s way when you can strike from a distance? That had ever been the Naga way, with few notable exceptions. The House may exist no longer, but its philosophies had never yet steered her wrong.

Ritual combat, though, was another story. While isolated incidents of the practice had surfaced throughout the centuries, she had been the one to give it format and structure — painstakingly refined with a close ally in this very courtyard — and launch it as a new global movement. Now duelists from all over Sapience flocked to austere Sabarian Hall, home of her brand of ritual duelling, and all derivatives of the art were founded on the traditions she created.

She enjoyed the nuance and artistry of ritual duelling. The unpredictable outcomes of each duel were thrilling enough, but with the right partner, it could be elevated into a clash of theatrics, creativity, and — yes — skill. One needed to be well-versed in their capabilities to be a versatile duelist of any kind, ritual included. Plus, since death was rarely ever the result, this practice proved far more effective for outreach and engagement.

There was a strange sense of familiarity as she stared at the seven-foot-tall Troll Infernal before her, standing between the enclosed courtyard’s stone columns in a battle-ready position. Centuries ago, her erstwhile Infernal partner had stood just so, too, brimming with near-identical self-assurance as a smirk played on his lips and his fingers curled around the hilt of his rapier.

But reality soon returned. While the battleground remained unchanged, her opponent today was not that Tsol'aa Infernal, and this duel was not that duel.

Quirking her lips faintly at her challenger, the Mhun withdrew a single gold coin from a pouch at her side. “The toss is your call, Dynamis.”

The Troll’s blue eyes narrowed in thought momentarily. “Tails,” he declared, his voice resolute.

A flick of her thumb sent the coin somersaulting through the air, and they watched it land with a clink on the cobblestone floor to reveal…the heads side facing up. Her smirk widened to reveal twin fang points, and he gave a rumbling chuckle, shaking his head. “Off to a roaring start, I see,” he conceded wryly.

She nodded sagely. “A good one indeed.” Slowly, she sank into a slight crouch, balancing upon the toes of her dark boots as she regarded him. “For the thrill of battle, then,” she called across the courtyard, the words punctuated only by the serene trickling of water flowing from the giant fountain between them.

“And the rush of challenge,” he responded, completing the ritual saying as he mirrored her ready stance. Good. He knew the words.

So the battle begins.

With a thought, the Mhun willed her ever-present shadows to intensify and thicken around her, forming a tenebrous whirlwind that concealed her soundless vanishing act. She was just in time, for a split second later the Troll lunged, blade-first, at where she’d been moments ago. His broad-bladed sword cleaved through the shadows just a hair’s breadth from her shoulder, but — thankfully — met only open air.

Safely hidden, her lips quirked upwards at his apparent confusion, and she watched him slice through the tendrils again before shaking his head in frustration and abandoning the effort. His free hand lifted a pipe to his lips, the distinctive aroma of burnt skullcap drifting upon the air towards her as he drew in a quick puff. A familiar aura of rebounding materialised around him, but she wasn't fazed by the sight. It wouldn't help him.

She watched him carefully as he turned in wary circles before the fountain, searching for her. As he put his back to her again, she slipped quietly out from her hiding place, soundlessly shadowing his movements in an invisible dance that only she knew they were dancing. She needed his eyes for her next move, but he was too tall. Stopping, she rubbed her gloved thumb around a nondescript ring on one finger, which glowed in response; an invisible current of air carried her upwards silently, and suddenly she was face to face with him as he turned around.

Wasting no time, the Mhun widened her eyes and allowed the hypnotic magic of the Serpent to flow through her storm-grey gaze, never breaking eye contact as she bored into his own sapphirine eyes. “You will lower your sword,” she whispered to him, her silken words laced with a soothing, mesmerising quality. “You will angle it towards your chest. You will stab it through-“

She broke off abruptly as the half-dazed look in his eyes sharpened to one of keen awareness. Damn Infernals and their ability to sense life. She twisted sharply out of his reach before he could react, but cursed inwardly as she felt the carefully crafted hypnosis break.

Time for a change of plans, then.

With her element of surprise now lost, she shot through the air to land on the red-black shoulder of the marble Infernal atop the massive fountain. [Appreciate the support, father.] In one smooth motion, she drew her trusty bow from her baldric, notched a black-fletched arrow from her quiver, sighted down, and fired straight at the Troll’s heart.

The arrow flew fast and true, but the Troll — somehow — was faster. He whipped his broad sword up just in time to deflect the arrow with a loud ‘CLANG’, and in the next breath sent it hurtling across the courtyard with a dismissive flick. Their eyes met, and she whirled around to escape, but once again speed was on his side. A sharp, burning agony lanced up her thigh as he lunged swiftly, bloodthirsty blade finally finding its mark.

She hissed in brief, uncontrollable concession to pain, and was already moving as she uncorked a vial with one hand, spilling earthy mending salve over her bleeding wound. The split flesh knit together almost instantly, but the action cost her seconds she couldn't afford. Out of the blue, a gauntleted blow — charged with familiar necromantic essence — struck her with thunderous force, flinging her clear across the courtyard to crash into the cobblestones before the bathhouse.

The strength of her impact sent the bathhouse's silken curtains fluttering wildly, as if in distress. Her head spun and her ears rang. Pain blazed up her side — not unexpected, since she'd just about carved a furrow through the ground with her body. Her scalemail had taken the worst of it and no bones appeared to be broken, but by the Gods, it still -hurt-. She rose slowly, trying to shake off her disorientation, uninjured hand rising to grip her battered shoulder. “By tournament rules,” she said, blinking to focus on him, “you have won the points and the duel. Well fought, Dynamis.”

She would have only seconds to make her next move. Hidden behind her shoulder, her gloved fingers flexed and curled in a practiced pattern as she exhaled a soft incantation, trying to make her lips move as little as possible.

Illusory light wove itself imperceptibly over her head just as concealing shadow streamed upwards from her feet. Working in tandem, truth and falsehood met and melded, and it wasn't long before a flawless lightweaving of herself ensconced her shadow-shrouded form. When she was certain the glamour was realistic enough, she carefully extricated herself from behind, taking slow steps backwards towards a stone column even as her opponent approached her decoy.

Would he guess? Safe for now behind the column, she used the last few seconds before potential detection to uncork a vial and down a few much-needed mouthfuls of spicy healing elixir. Almost instantly, the throbbing pain subsided to a dull ache as the restorative properties activated. She chanced a peek around the column to see if her cover had held.

A few steps away, the Troll inclined his head in a respectful nod to what he thought was her. Light caught his sword as he raised it to his brow in a formal salute. “It was a pleasure, Lady,” he said to the lightweaving, his voice echoing in the courtyard. “You did not state, however, that you submit.” With a grin, he sank back into a fighting stance, his gaze falling expectantly upon her unmoving likeness.

She exhaled in a sigh that was equal parts rueful and amused. How annoyingly observant of him. Well, it wasn't for nothing he'd earned a place in this ancestral keep.

The opportunity for redemption presented itself, and she made her mind up in a split second. Taking a deep breath, she stepped out, praying her concealing magics held long enough for what she needed to do.

Again she faced him.

Again she flew.

Again, grey eyes met blue.

Again, the hypnotic spellweaving began anew.

This time, she eschewed style for brute force, her lips moving rapidly as she layered every known affliction she could think of upon him in an intricate net. He would -not- escape her grasp again. The entire process took only seconds, but felt like an eternity.

Finally — -finally- — she completed the fateful seal. The hypnosis held, and would continue to hold until she desired otherwise. Gleeful, she drifted invisibly back to her lightweaving. Evidence of her satisfaction showed in the smirk she flashed him as light and shadow collapsed around her, returning her to visibility and, to him, apparent action.

“You are correct.” She snapped her fingers up at him.

An impatient snort was all he had time for before his eyes widened, feeling the chain of hypnosis take effect. She watched as his large body stiffened in the throes of paralysis; then, demented panic overtook his features at some imagined threat; after, his head lolled through sudden lethargy. Nostalgia swamped her briefly, the sight of him wracked by constant affliction conjuring memories of her once-signature Naga greeting — but sentiment quickly dissipated as he began to speak, making her start in alarm.

“A good trick,” he rumbled through gritted teeth as he took a laborious step towards her. “B-but it’s a trick I used to know as well.” She stared, wide-eyed, as he took another step, then another, until — against all odds, and still fighting the effects of her hypnotic chain — he was fairly barrelling towards her across the courtyard. Unholy energy crackled down the curved blade of broken chains in his large hand, and only instinctive speed saved her as she barely sidestepped his deadly arc. Had not timely clumsiness caused him to overextend at just the right moment, the duel would have ended right there.

Incredible. That Troll constitution was positively ridiculous. She would need to throw everything she had at him.

The Mhun's ring flared bright again as she shot up into the air, past even the towering statue of the knight, to hover far above the Troll's head. Below her, he righted himself and took a quick drag from his pipe to alleviate her web of afflictions, resuming a sturdy defensive stance as he scanned the courtyard for her.

“You may know that trick,” she called down to him, and his head jerked up at the sound of her voice. “But do you know -all- my tricks, Dynamis?” She spread one arm out wide, and multiple illusions of her formed out of thin air in an eyeblink, each perfect down to the last detail. As one, they mirrored her movements as she drew her bow and fired. A rain of arrows plunged down with apparently deadly intent towards him — the greater majority largely harmless, of course, save for one.

But that was the only one that mattered.

Distantly, she watched her unerring missile strike home through the Troll's arm, but she didn’t pause to celebrate. A flick of her hand dismissed her illusions before she hurtled towards the ground, aiming for a spot behind him. As her feet silently brushed stone, her clones reappeared by her will, making it look as though she was everywhere in the courtyard — upon the fountain, by the chapel, near the baths. It didn't matter that he’d stumbled to one knee on the arrow’s impact and was too busy wrenching it painfully out of his flesh to take real notice. A little insurance never hurt.

Necromantic energies lurked threateningly on his sizeable gauntlets as he tossed a magnesium chip into the air, swallowing it quickly to neutralise the paralytic curare coursing through his veins. Seeing his power on display evoked unpleasant memories of earlier suffering, and she furrowed her brow slightly. She could not allow a repeat of that performance.

There was no time to waste. Capitalising on his distraction, she uncoiled a leather whip from her steel belthook and sent the end hissing through the air with a deft flick of her wrist, watching in satisfaction as the iron tip curled and tightened neatly around his thick throat. Instinctively, her arm jerked backwards, pulling the makeshift noose taut just as a wry thought occurred: could she really choke out a Troll twice her size?

Too late to question herself. If she let go now, she might not escape his reach in time.

Well, there was nothing for it; one way or another, she was committed. She widened her stance to brace her heels against the cobblestones and threw all her strength into the pull, her slight frame bending backwards — almost doubling over, in fact - with the effort.

Caught unawares, the Troll coughed and choked at the end of her lash. Her slender arms strained painfully as she fought to hold him there, heart thumping a powerful rhythm to aid her exertion. Every muscle in her body pulled taut, making her feel as though she were an extension of the whip itself, a solitary anchor holding it firm against an enormous catch. With every drawn-out second that passed, she was beginning to regret this audacious choice of action.

She didn't know quite what it was, but whether he was disoriented by her back-to-back strikes, or because he was flustered and not thinking straight, he didn't seem able to recover his composure enough to throw her off. The dark miasma around his gauntlets flared, then flickered, and eventually sputtered out. Finally, before her disbelieving eyes, he raised a hand and tapped rapidly at his throat — the universal sign of submission.

Just as well, because her strength was about spent, too. She exhaled a relieved sigh and let her body go gratefully slack. Without her hold, the now-loose coils of the whip slipped easily off from around the Troll’s throat, trailing on the ground before she coiled it up neatly. He coughed and rubbed at the collar-shaped, slowly purpling bruise left in the leather’s wake.

She walked over to him, tilting her head up as he pressed down on the cobblestones and slowly got to his feet, soon towering over her once more. “I rather think you went easy, as they say, there,” she commented dryly, arching a dark eyebrow at him. For who would believe that a barely five-foot Mhun nearly strangled a seven-foot Troll?

He shook his head in denial. “Hardly easy,” he rasped, voice rough. He coughed again and reached into the pack behind him for a canteen of water, gulping down a few mouthfuls before clearing his throat and stowing it away. “Just a series of ill-timed manoeuvres on my part,” he continued with a wry smile, sounding a little less hoarse. “The only fights I take ‘easy’ are when training novices. And even then, I make them earn it.”

She snorted once in amusement, briefly wondering if he was including her in that novice bracket. Did it really matter though? She decided it didn’t. After all, a win was a win, no matter how it was achieved. “I will have to take your word for it,” she told him, stepping away and back to her starting position across from him. All duels, she thought, must come full circle.

“It was a very close fight, and I enjoyed it. Perhaps one day we will have a rematch in a more interesting environment, such as the geyser field.” She'd had some memorable contests upon Sabarian Hall's intense, unpredictable geysers. Was this Troll as nimble in the air as he seemed to be, surprisingly, on the ground? Perhaps she'd find out. Her grey gaze met his as she favoured him with a slight dip of her head, her concession to the concluding ritual bow. “You are skilled, of that there is no doubt.”

Twin swords still in his hands, he returned the gesture, never breaking eye contact as he straightened. “I strive to be counted amongst the best in everything I do. Occasionally, I manage to make progress towards that goal. It’s quite the rewarding feeling when all the pieces fall into place after positioning them -just- so,” he said.

A strange rejoinder to her comment. The Mhun turned the words over in her mind, curious. “Was this a piece that fell into place, then?”

He smiled slightly. “Having this duel?” he asked.

She lowered her gaze fractionally in a deadpan stare, though she couldn’t quite mask the quirk to her lips. Despite an abundance in choice of opponents, he'd challenged her in particular for some reason. She had, obviously, acquiesced. “Perhaps I should say more the outcome of this duel.”

“I demonstrated competence to one of the ones that introduced ritual duels to Sapience,” the Troll answered. “That was the key piece of this encounter that I wished to make reality. After that?” His smile turned feral, the expression made more so by the large tusks protruding from either side of his mouth. “Then it was for the joy of getting lost in the duel.”

She chuckled faintly at the words, the melodic sound barely audible against the fountain’s trickle. She knew well the unique satisfaction that came from crossing blades — or bow and whip — with a creative fighter. That had always been the primary goal of ritual duelling for her, and she found herself pleased that he shared her inclinations. “I did think I liked you, Dynamis. We are of one mind in accomplishing varied objectives in one action.” She studied him more intently. “So, your goal is thus achieved. What will you aspire to next?”

“Next?” The large Troll pondered the question, evidently giving it some thought before he shook his head under the weight of her expectant gaze. “Best left unsaid, for now.”

How interesting. A secret.

She furrowed her brow slightly at him. “Why? Afraid you might jinx your aspirations?” If an interrogation was about to begin, she decided, she was too far away to be effective. Her boots scuffed quietly upon stone as she made her way across the courtyard, passing the fountain as she drew close. Eventually, she stopped about arm’s length away — always just barely out of reach — as she looked up at him. “Secrets are difficult to resist, for Insidi.”

“Jinx?” He shook his head. “Hardly. That’s for Shamans, and I know how to recognise one of those. Plans and plots proceed, and I imagine I shall see -their- culmination prior to the next year’s end as well.” He shrugged briefly, and only then seemed to realise the weight of the swords still in his hands. He sheathed them both in smooth motions. “It would just spoil the surprise to speak on them too soon.”

A challenge. Had she the time, she would have patiently coaxed the secrets out, one way or another. But a glance at the pitch-black sky told her it was deepest night. They had been fighting for hours. Even the courtyard was now barely more than firelight and shadow, illuminated only by the bracketed torches upon the columns and the wan, fog-touched light of the moon. She sighed inwardly. Her inquisition would have to wait, for rest beckoned them both.

“I prefer doing the surprising than being the surprised, but very well. I will let you keep your secrets close for now,” she acquiesced. For now. “I have kept you too long, I fear. Do not feel as though you require to linger on my account.”

The Troll nodded slightly. “Perhaps a touch too long,” he conceded. “And I appreciate the consideration towards my secrets.” Straightening to his full height, he offered her a precise, perfect salute of farewell. “By your leave, Lady, I believe I will be off to my rest.”

She nodded once, watching him turn to depart between the columns. “In Strength, Dynamis. Until our paths next cross.”

A promise and a threat both, though he might not hear the latter in her innocuous words. Either way, she would keep one or the other. All duels, after all, must come full circle.

And no one had submitted yet.