Fight! 1

Tihr Tournament

Volknar Grimgurt swung at his foe with his mighty sword, a blow that would have cleaved a man in two, but his adversary was agile in his movements and sacrificed his shield. Volknar had spent most of his years in the company of Sea Raiders learning their trade; pillaging. He picked up how to use a great sword and had been a menace to rival gangs up and down the coast. He was quick on his feet and bore a great influence that cowed many a man. He was also an honorable man who pitied the women and children, but he was no fool. When he heard of the lords patrolling for miscreants around their respective territories, Volknar disappeared like the wind. He had joined the tournament for the riches and the hope that it will buy him out of the life of savagery and boost him to a status of vassal.

He continued an onslaught of thrusts and swings at his opponent who, despite having lost his shield, deftly parried every blow. Volknar, enraged, continued to push his opponent to the arena's wall. How could this decrepit old man survive this tournament until now? How was he able to defend so well against everything he was dealing?

Volknar's arms tired. Hell, he was breathing heavier than a dog in the sun. But, looking at his opponent, he noticed the old man wasn't even sweating in the least bit. In fact, he was smiling. Smiling like all of Volknar's efforts was sport to him. This old man didn't understand the fact that he was losing. It would only take one mighty blow from his sword and he would lose. If only he could hit him.

The sea raider suddenly felt his opponent's strength weaken. The old man was also slowing down. 'He should've stayed home in bed, the old fool,' Volknar smiled. He braced himself, his muscles bulging. He took a stance, raised his sword, and with a mighty roar brought it down on the old fool with the strength of ten bears. His blade soared through the air like lightning, hot and fast.

But, it missed its target. To Volknar's horror, the old man only feigned fatigue and jumped to the right. He brought the flat of his sword down on the sea raider's hands with a thunderous WHACK!

Volknar dropped his weapon and he realized the match was over before it even began. This old man was no fool, but a master schooling a pupil in the proper ways of dueling. His worthy foe spun and brought the full weight of his sword's pummel down the back of his neck. Volknar knew no more for that day as he fell to the sandy floor. His hopes and dreams vanished as his consciousness ebbed from his grasp. His last memories of the tournament would be the crowd shouting the name of the victor.

"Kradus!"