“You’ll have to try harder than that!” cried out a loud, masculine voice. It held the tone of a man who was very prideful. A man who was very accustomed to being the center of attention, and well, as expected he was verily the center of attention at this moment. He danced along effortlessly with another, much younger man following his every step, yet always a step behind which frustrated the younger male as they continued to prance in the ring of spectators.
“I will get you yet Arlix!” The younger male cried out as he took a swipe at the elderly male’s abdomen, though ever skilled and only a ripe age of 38, Arlix dodged. It hardly deterred the younger male though. That was how their dance had been playing out the whole time. With Arlix dodging, and the younger male, Isej by name pursuing like a rabid animal eager for one little snip of blood.
People gasped at the reference of Arlix’s first name. Arlix was the chief of the tribe. It was unorthodox to hear him referred to so casually, especially by a youth merely in his second decade of life. Of course, the elder of the two only laughed heartily at the casual reference made by Isej, his eldest son of three children. He truly didn’t mind the calling of his first name, but he was in a respected position in his tribe, and it was expected that Isej, as a youth, would know his manners and not refer to his father, and thus chief so casually. Arlix knew he could not let such a slip go unpunished, and though he had little desire to strike out at the youth, he figured that a little humiliation could go a long way in humbling the younger male’s tongue.
He swung the scimitar expertly around his arm, for they were both wielding blunted scimitars. The gods forbid should anything happen to Arlix, for he was worshipped like a god by his people. Battle hardened muscles in his arms flexed as he pulled the blade around so it curved to his arm like the steely caress of a lover, then he skidded forward into the younger male’s range, and then beyond it for he was too close for the scimitar to hit anything more effective than an awkward slice, and with blunted blades that would do very little for the younger male.
With what seemed an effortless sweep, the hilt of the scimitar came down in a narrow swoop to crash hard against the younger male’s temple, causing Isej to stagger back and then wit the play of a skilled actor, Arlix flipped the scimitar around so the point stabbed deeply into the ground and with a small step forward, pushed two fingers against Isej’s chest.
Already staggered from the initial blow, Isej couldn’t help but fall back even under the slightest pressure, making the situation look rather comical to the spectators as a burst of laughter erupted about all of them. Arlix could see the younger male’s face reddening as his consciousness came crawling back and humiliation came quick into play.
“Remember your lessons Isej,” the older man said firmly as he knelt down to offer the younger male a hand up. “Respect your elders. Especially your chief,” he reprimanded, his voice still full of an elderly man’s pride as the boy gripped his father’s arm securely and was pulled up to his feet, still a little dazed, but hardly any worse for wear. However, with the lesson of humbleness done and over with, he then held up the younger boy’s arm high above their heads in the form of a salute for the pair of them and the customary cheers erupted. Patting the younger male on the back, he pushed the boy gently towards the side lines of the circle. “Go get that looked at,” he offered in a low whisper, and with a bewildered smile, Isej nodded and wandered off as directed.
It was then that attendants suddenly were beside Arlix, one took the sword, another offered him a towel to wipe the sweat from his eyes for rest assured, the exhibition had been arduous on both him and his son. It was Kahler, his most trusted advisor who came to his side then and Arlix greeted him with a broad smile and a hug shared in the nature of brotherhood though they were in no way connected by blood.
“May you be excused, High Chief?” Kahler quizzed, glancing all around and Arlix nodded with a flourish of his hand to take Kahler’s arm in his own grip and lead the advisor off where they would be able to converse on their own.
“Of course, what is it Kahler?” Arlix questioned, his view taking in the other male with a sparkle that despite his elder age of 37, for people rarely lived past sixty in their culture, resembled that of a young lad.
Kahler couldn’t help but offer a wry smirk, for he knew Arlix’s curious nature. A trait that he had possessed since he had taken up the position of high chief. “I bring news for you Arlix. We have a guest.”
“A guest?” The other male replied, seeming suddenly interested as he passed the towel he still held from hand to hand, very anxious to hear the news.
“Yes, high chief. A guest.” Replied Kahler, leaving Arlix to wonder what manner of guest this was. For prisoners and visitors alike were viewed as mere ‘guests’ until Arlix decided otherwise about them, and the high chief of the tribe was more than willing to make that judgement. Guests were always an excitement for him.
(The OOC thread can be found here: A Guest? OOC -Tsardel)