Duchess Altina Freya Bastille & Duke Sev Willowsteel
At Hathforth Castle, Throne Room, The Hearthfire Gala, on 14th Hearthfire, 1402
Tsk. Altina would mentally click her teeth at Lady Haliel's suggestion. To punish the alcohol-addled duke was not her intention. Rather, she sought to simply dissuade the man from drawing a bigger target on his back. Altina saw a potential ally in him, and a formidable one too, if swordsmanship were the only metric in her estimation of him. Alas, with Lady Haliel's interjection, what Altina had intended to do was all but hopeless. Perhaps she would still be able to turn the situation around somehow. Make the duke see sense through the clanging of steel. He was in a precarious situation, made even more precarious by the penalty that was set should he lose. In his impaired state, perhaps he did not fully grasp the depth of the hole he had now dug. Unfortunately for the duke, Altina would not be the one losing their duel. She would make sure of that.
This rabid dog needs to be defanged. Another thought flashed in her mind. And then, just maybe, Her Majesty would show him some lenience.
As the Duke of Nordor lunged at her, his sword poised to arc across her body, Altina met the blade with her own.
Schwing! Her steel glanced ferociously against his, locking them in a stand-off, with the edges of their blades practically a hair's breadth from both of their faces.
Then, her voice as if a candle in the wind, Altina would whisper, "Fool. Clear your mind and think." Increasing the force behind her blow, "Your dagger will not reach her throat. Not now."
She would leave him with this. "So be patient."
It was no secret that the duke was an accomplished swordsman. Even while inebriated and charged with emotion, Altina could still clearly observe it. His stance... It was typical of the sword style the duke and his people practiced. More importantly, it showed no signs of compromise. Which meant Altina had to take him seriously, lest she be outmaneuvered by the man.
"You will win our bout, you say?" Altina quipped.
The handsome duke would be wrong on that front. Exerting strength far beyond her stature, she would quickly shift her weight forward. Schwing! She intended to push the duke back. To send him careening to the wall behind him. You cannot reach her right now. So sit still and wait for the right time.
As skillful as the duke was with the blade, he was someone Altina was confident in overpowering.
She would smirk, her blue eyes shimmering with an untainted confidence. One could call it arrogance, even. "Was that strike the best you've got, Duke of Nordor?" An obvious taunt. "I am disappointed. I expected more from Nordor's finest." Now Altina would enjoy herself. Duke Willowsteel was a prideful man. She knew he would not take this lying down. He would fight back, surely. And Altina would be more than ready to retaliate. She gripped the hilt of her blade in anticipation.
The Duke sucked in a breath as he was thrown back, glaring hot at the duchess. Even with the alcohol, it was clear, evident, that she was trying to save him.
Girl, it's too late for me, for us as a people. She digs her claws into us, and never lets go.
His gaze wandered to the Wizard Queen, his jaw setting firm. What awaited him after this? He had already spoken far out of turn. The Queen would surely hang him for it.
But the pain under this oppressive regime had its fair share of cracks. He was just a product of the system. More would replace him.
His eyes glanced over the Duke Rhinecliff.
More like him would lead them, and finish this sorry tale.
Raising his blade again, the duke narrowed his eyes. The alcohol in his system put him at a severe disadvantage. His reflexes were slower than normal. At least he'd dream peacefully, if the Wizard Queen allowed it when this ‘farce’, as Duchess Bastille put it, ended.
“You're lucky these blades are dull, Duchess. Else I'd surely have finished this already!” He boasted back, allowing himself a crooked smirk.
He spun the blade in his hand, tip pointed directly at Altina's heart, before he dove forward again. He feinted left at the last instance, before redirecting course and rolling right, aiming to jab her shoulder above her breastplate by surprise, giving her little in the way of reaction time.
Altina followed the duke's motion as he rose up from her attack. Her expression soured. And so you yield? Just like that?
She tossed her heels to the side, and her facade along with them. Her true emotions now shone in her eyes. Disgust. Disillusion. But most of all, pity. All this defiance over your pride and yet none of it directed at your true enemy?
With the way she stared at the man, it put to question if she still required her sword to harm him. Her eyes might as well have been weapons themselves. You are no duke. You do not deserve your people.
It didn't take long for Duke Willowsteel to recover. In fact, the man was already prepared to strike at her.
Altina would take on a defensive posture.
The duke was frustratingly deft, even with the poison that was Gold-touch wine dulling his senses. She watched as he lunged, once again, with dangerous speed at her, his blade settling into a jab.
In that split second, Altina could vaguely tell he was avoiding another head-on clash. Or so she assumed.
If Altina was proficient in anything, it was gripping her opponent's blade, and getting the best of them in a direct engagement. Given a thrusting attack, however, there would be nothing for her to engage — unless, of course, she wanted to risk getting stabbed.
The duke, whether consciously or not, denied her her greatest advantage.
Perhaps the duke was fully aware of her game. She wouldn't put it past the swordsman to have already studied her techniques in the past. He was clever. And she needed to be careful.
A step back. Then, a vigorous arc upwards. Clang! The edge of her blade would meet with the tip of Duke Willowsteel's.
Altina could not read the trajectory of the duke's feinting, which meant her best choice was to avoid him entirely. The duchess would not tempt fate by attempting to guard, and this decision would save her.
With a committed jab, it was not only Altina who the duke would be putting in harm's way, but himself as well. He was in prime position for a counter from Altina, and through a well-timed swing, Altina would serve him a sobering reminder.
She would attempt to brush his blade to the side, and in the best case, leave him open for another attack. In the worst case, she would force him to guard haphazardly, allowing her an opportunity to sink her fangs.
A drunken, mad scramble. Sev had his momentum committed to his jab, and with his trajectory launched off-course, he was still careening towards the duchess. He attempted to right himself, but he could already feel his reaction timing slow down, his feet crossing in an unsavory way.
His gaze glanced to the duchess, and he attempted to bring his blade back to defend, but he was going to be a second short. A crucial second short.
Altina's blade would stop just before it would deliver another slash at Duke Willowsteel. The blade would sit flush against his neck but for a brief moment. Ultimately, Altina would lower it, tossing it unceremoniously to the ground.
"Well, well, well. A valiant effort, dear duke." She wrapped an arm around him. "But alas, this is the outcome."
Facing the audience that had formed around them, she stretched out her hands, as if to preach, "You see, my fellow constituents, had our duke actually been of the right mind, then he would have been able to raise his sword in time. Needless to say, of the right mind, he was not."
Turning her gaze to the red-haired court jester, "Miss Britesong, allow us to offer our deepest apologies." She would force Duke Willowsteel to bow. "Though it is certainly no excuse for his actions, even the most disciplined of men can fall prey to vices."
She then spun around to face the queen, "Your Majesty, I hope we kept you thoroughly entertained,” and performed a little curtsy. “He is all yours.”
Live to fight another battle, or die like a coward. Whatever the duke's next actions, Altina would leave his fate in his hands. She would abet him no more.
The Otter
Estylwen
Fetzen
Noctis
Izurich
Lildear18
