“Slow down… Please just slow down!”
Tirian tried his best to stop Lucille in her tracks, the onslaught of speedily spoken sentences continued to rain down upon the red-haired warrior. Finally the quick-spoken female stopped with the incredulous speed of questions with a look of embarrassment accompanied by a dark shade of red to her cheeks. Lucille looked away from Tirian, as an uneasy and awkward silence fell over the pair, Tirian smiled and broke the silence with a question of his own.
“If you don’t mind me asking, where did you learn to fight like you did? Relentless and fast. You attacked with minimal openings, only the best of opponents would find them.”
Lucille turned icy eyes to the red-haired man, a slight grin crawling across her face. Smugness was apparent in the composure that she held, and even more so with the following answer she would eventually give Tirian. Lucille held the soldier in anticipation for a long while before finally answering him.
“Self-taught mostly. I do give credit to Master Fordring for taking me in as a child and molding my skills into what they are today.”
There was a slight pause in her words, icy eyes looking for some sort of reaction from Tirian. The reaction did not surface and caused Lucille to scrunch her nose up with a bit of confusion in her eyes.
“Impressed?”
Tirian shrugged, the name Fordring did not rang a bell in his knowledge of the western continent.
“A shrug? That’s it? Do you even know WHO Master Fordring is?”
“Nope.”
Tirian shook his head with a solid stare into Lucille’s eyes. Lucille scoffed with disbelief at the situation, a soldier as strong as Tirian not knowing this man almost seemed like a direct insult.
“Then let me ask you this ginger. Who trained you.”
The question came out more as a demand, the patience of Lucille fading fast in the face of Tirian. The red-haired man held in a small laugh at the underhanded insult and opted to answer the question honestly to further avoid pissing off the motor mouth of a girl.
“Tyrande Pherae of Durandal. My father, and then later my mother.”
Icy eyes widened for a moment, Lucille’s mouth opening slightly at the new information being provided. Tirian spoke with a low tone just in case anyone was eavesdropping on the conversation, giving Lucille the appearance of caution.
“I’ve heard the stories…”
Silence fell upon the pair of warriors once more, the obvious fact that this conversation would be necessary in private quickly forced any more transferring information to cease. Tirian held out his hand with a shifting smile, his posture sinking for a moment.
“Another time maybe. The group is staying the Bronze Lantern Inn. Feel free to meet up there tonight. Be careful of the dwarf though. He can be a bit… Touchy.
Lucille took the hand with a firm handshake and easing up the smugness in her smile.
“Note taken. See you there ginge.”
The handshake was quick and just like that both Tirian and Lucille disappeared into the crowds. Tirian checked the sheet and sighed at the next opponent he’d be faced against. Broxigar Farsight. The red-haired warrior entered the waiting room and tried to calm his mind of the flowing memories of a past life. Just mentioning that name was enough to trigger every memory of pain and agony. The soldier drew in a deep breath, just as his name was called to enter the arena. Tirian broke through the light into the arena, to a roaring crowd that had begun chanting his name and Broxigar’s as well. The orc waiting patiently on the opposite of the arena with a welcoming smile, a massive axe in one hand.
Tirian burst forward with his blade drawn without a moment’s hesitation, thrusting forward into his opponent. The orc quickly sidestepped the thrust and lunged forward with a huge swipe of his axe. Red hair whipped around as Tirian rolled forward to evade the deadly axe, then hopped to his feet in time to clash with cold steel of Broxigar’s plated bracers. Tirian pushed the massive arm away and used his momentum to spin into a powerful kick that landed gracefully into the sternum of his opponent. Broxigar let out a roar of excitement, pushing away the red-haired soldier like a flea in the wind. The orc rushed forward, swiping and slashing forward with intricate movements. His axe screamed forward as if it weight next to nothing with enough force to cause dust the blow from the ground.
Tirian ducked a fierce horizontal slash, only to feel the might of a powerful knee with enough force to send the soldier flipping into the distance. Tirian hit the ground cold and lifeless, a victory to Broxigar. The crowd immediately fell to silence at the sight of Tirian unmoving. Broxigar dropped the axe and rushed to the aid of his friend, worry plaguing the orcs eyes. Tirian coughed loudly and rolled over with a smile on his face.
“No magic I thought, Broxigar.”
The orc laughed loudly, picking the warrior up with a single arm and helping him stabilize his balance.
“Sometimes, we orcs get lost in the battle.”
Tirian rubbed the side of his cheek, feeling the power of earthen magic flow freely through the bones and muscles. Tirian raised the hand of his opponent with a wide smile, never the one to take wins without rightfully earning them.
“Next time Broxigar.”
“Next time indeed Tirian.”
The crowd roared to life once more at the sight of friends and rivals sharing a moment of victory and defeat together.