08-17-2016, 07:44 PM
Thankfully, cooler heads prevailed long enough to relocate the two combatants into a more proper arena: the marketplace. It took all of a five minutes for stands to be removed to make room for the massive crowd, and all the while, Ballad and Dane never looked away from each other. Despite the gunsmith’s obvious itch to harm the old dwarf, the leader of Nierhin did not lift a single finger in harm against him. The arena wasn’t ready, after all, and there was no honor in that. Instead, all he did was stare, a devil’s eye to match the devil’s horns on his helmet.
Before long, everything was ready. The two fighters were surrounded by the villagers of Nierhin, illuminated only by the glowing orange light of the torches that some held in their hands. A torrent of snow rained down upon them all, black clouds darkening the world around them. The grey-bearded pygmy took his spot in front of the statue of Odin. The one-eyed god loomed over the warriors like a judge, its singular eye gazing upon them with as much disapproval as any judge would; it held its staff like a gavel in the midst of being pounded upon a table, ready to silence its dissenters.
The green-skinned man lifted his pickaxe, taking care not to place it on his injured shoulder. He glared at the dwarf, his glowing eye lighting up the bandaged portion of his head. Dane held his axe in both hands, lowering his head until only the horns on his helmet were visible. The gunner, however, would not be surprised if, through the shadows of his helm, the dwarf was locking eyes with him, ready to see whatever emotions he would display once he buried his axe into him.
Seconds ticked by as a single female dwarf walked into the middle, a megaphone like object in her hand. She raised it to her mouth, speaking into it.
“Before we begin, it is custom for both combatants to agree to the terms presented prior to the duel. That way, both members are satisfied with the outcome no matter what happens.”
She turned her head towards her leader.
“Sir, Executioner Ballad demands that, if he wins, ya must sign a recruitment form permitting his acceptance into the dwarven military. Do ya accept?”
After a few moments of silence, he replied.
“Yes.”
She turned towards Ballad.
“Ballad, our leader demands that, if he wins, ya must leave the Frozen Fields and never return. Do ya-”
“I realize the consequences of failure, o’ referee. Allow us to pulverise each other until our limbs have been removed and our bodies covered in life essence and perspiration.”
“Right..." she said, “may the best fighter win.”
She lowered her megaphone, walking towards the leader of Nierhin. She patted him on his shoulder, whispering something to him, a reassuring smile on her face as she slid into the crowd.
As soon as she did, without a single moment of hesitation, they charged at each other, weapons raised to the sounds of a harrowing snowstorm.
---------------------------
They met head on, right in the middle of the ring. Pick and axe collided head on as they swung, the dwarf stepping back to compensate. Ballad struggled against Dane’s strength, pain shooting up his back as he pushed against him.
The grey-bearded leader shot his axe upwards, throwing the pickaxe off of it. He then rammed into the taller opponent, his horns piercing right above his pelvis. Loud gasps erupted from all around them, shock in everyone’s eyes.
The winter-bred inventor slid back a bit, just managing to keep from falling down. Pain as hot as a thousand knives filled his abdomen, blood dripping from his two new wounds. He yelled, gripping the back of his opponent’s head before bringing up his right knee, smashing it against his face multiple times. He then let go, lifting his left leg up and pressing it against the top half of his enemy’s body. As the dwarf raised its axe to counterattack, he kicked forward, dislodging his helmet from his self and sending the dwarf to the ground.
He moved his hand to his wound, clutching it with all the force he could muster. He stepped away from the pygmy as he stood back up, blood flowing from the tips of his horns down onto the hairs of his beard. Underneath the darkness of his helm, however, he saw blood cascading from his mangled nose and reddening his clenched jaws.
The sharpshooter ran forward, swinging his weapon like a barbarian would swing a club at a wild animal. The dwarf parried, and continued parrying as the green man’s rapid assault continued. Every attempt to riposte was prevented, and he found himself backing up towards the statue. Soon enough, he was but a few steps away from it, and he knew it. Ballad’s barrage of strikes had led him into a situation he couldn’t get out of.
In a final attempt to escape, he moved his axe into an overhead arc. Just as he slammed it down, though, the gunner kicked him again, sending him crashing into the copper statue. He banged his head against the metal structure, groaning as he set the tip of his weapon onto the ground. He looked up, seeing the sharp end of a pickaxe poised to strike.
“I expected no less from the mentor of Danish…” the green man said, not moving a muscle.
“GO TO HELL!” Dane shouted, arcing his axe in such a way that its blades sliced his enemy’s axe arm. Blood shot out of his newfound gash as he dropped his pickaxe, an array of curses soon following. A loud battle cry rang out from the dwarf as he whipped his weapon around, knocking Ballad’s feet out from under him.
The gunsmith fell to the ground, his left leg cut open. He glanced up, seeing the dwarf about to bring his weapon down on top of him. He rolled to the side, trying to reach his pickaxe.
“A slanderer like ya doesn’ deserve to be a soldier!” he screamed, his axe hitting snow as his enemy continued to dodge his attacks, “ya insult Danish so ya insult me!”
He slammed his weapon down one more time, connecting. The axe blades ram into the gunner’s back, cutting open his bandaged wound.
A thunderous howl emerged from him as Dane pulled out the axe; he was almost paralyzed from the pain coursing through his body. He felt a forceful grip turn him over: the silver-encrusted glove of the axeman. He panted, staring up into the black void of his helm.
“Fer that… I send ya back to the Nexus..” he said, lifting his weapon to end the whole thing. He did not notice Ballad’s eyes shift from yellow to white.
Time seemed to slow down. All Ballad could ponder was… why? His death must have caused great pain, but enough to deny someone with his talent a chance to assist them? Why?
Then, with the force of a tidal wave, he saw something.
A father taking care of his son, watching him grow up. Feeling the warmth and hope of a son reassuring his father, reminding him that no, he had not failed. Despite not achieving a single thing in his life, he had not failed. He had a son who could achieve anything.
The joy of soldiers-in-arms, the sense of comradery already strengthened by blood.
Then disappointment, as the son strayed from his course. A rune just like the one that Danish wore at all times. A feeling of dread, of fear, before turning into despair.
“He was your son…” Ballad said.
Dane flinched, letting out a pained groan as he stepped off of his opponent’s body, grasping his forehead. Murmurs erupted from all around the village, wondering what had happened.
It was only then did the gunsmith process all the information he could, and his confusion was replaced by incredulous anger.
“He was YOUR SON!” he shouted, standing back up.
He limped towards the dwarf, whom had let out another cry as he spoke his words. Before he could react, the green man kicked into the dwarf’s arm, knocking away his axe, leaving them both without a weapon to fight with.
“What in- what have ya done?!” the dwarf shouted, sweat filling his beard.
“What have I done? What have YOU done?! How could a father send his son to DIE?!”
“I didn’!”
The gunsmith launched his fist forward, careening it into the dwarf’s head. He backed up, discombobulated with the combination of the punch, and of his reminder.
“That’s why you sent him with me! You knew your son was a terrible soldier, yet you thought him helping me would make you feel better about yourself, you worthless fuck?!”
Dane did not respond. Rather, the crowd responded for him. Cries of “What?” “He’s out of line…” and “He’s a true dwarf!” filled the air around them as Ballad’s opponent punched back, hitting his abdomen wound. The two traded blows, each person stumbling back before moving forward for more. The whole time, the gunsmith retold all that he saw, and as the crowd’s shouts became a loud uproar, the dwarf’s anger soon gave way to desperation.
Soon, the two were just capable of standing as they limped towards each other, preparing for one final punch.
That’s when Ballad spoke again, with Dane bracing for another mental assault.
“Danish didn’t want this life, you know… he never did. He didn’t want to be in this war; he hated it so much..”
“That ain’t the point, ya dumbass…” the dwarf responded, his voice cracking, “he’s a dwarf… a soldier...”
“And a soldier who didn’t want to fight, who couldn’t fight, and died because he fought.”
They got closer, raising their fists, with Dane’s in particular being rather shaky.
“Sure, he hated me… had every right to…but he knew I was sincere in my desire to end this war… he wouldn’t want you to deny your kingdom that chance, would he?”
For a long moment, everything was silent. No words were spoken. Instead, the only thing that was audible was the dwarf’s rapid intakes of breath. The taller foe squinted, seeing tears in the old man’s eyes.
“He hated this war, just like me. For the love of God, Dane, for his sake and your peoples… just stop.”
He clenched his fist, time slowing down as he swung it forward.
Dane made no movement.
He felt the crunch of metal as his fist flew into Dane’s helmet, knocking him to the ground. He laid in a heap, his whimpers as soft as the snow itself as tears flowed from his eyes. The green man looked down upon the old dwarf, sighing.
“I believe…. I have won…”
Before long, everything was ready. The two fighters were surrounded by the villagers of Nierhin, illuminated only by the glowing orange light of the torches that some held in their hands. A torrent of snow rained down upon them all, black clouds darkening the world around them. The grey-bearded pygmy took his spot in front of the statue of Odin. The one-eyed god loomed over the warriors like a judge, its singular eye gazing upon them with as much disapproval as any judge would; it held its staff like a gavel in the midst of being pounded upon a table, ready to silence its dissenters.
The green-skinned man lifted his pickaxe, taking care not to place it on his injured shoulder. He glared at the dwarf, his glowing eye lighting up the bandaged portion of his head. Dane held his axe in both hands, lowering his head until only the horns on his helmet were visible. The gunner, however, would not be surprised if, through the shadows of his helm, the dwarf was locking eyes with him, ready to see whatever emotions he would display once he buried his axe into him.
Seconds ticked by as a single female dwarf walked into the middle, a megaphone like object in her hand. She raised it to her mouth, speaking into it.
“Before we begin, it is custom for both combatants to agree to the terms presented prior to the duel. That way, both members are satisfied with the outcome no matter what happens.”
She turned her head towards her leader.
“Sir, Executioner Ballad demands that, if he wins, ya must sign a recruitment form permitting his acceptance into the dwarven military. Do ya accept?”
After a few moments of silence, he replied.
“Yes.”
She turned towards Ballad.
“Ballad, our leader demands that, if he wins, ya must leave the Frozen Fields and never return. Do ya-”
“I realize the consequences of failure, o’ referee. Allow us to pulverise each other until our limbs have been removed and our bodies covered in life essence and perspiration.”
“Right..." she said, “may the best fighter win.”
She lowered her megaphone, walking towards the leader of Nierhin. She patted him on his shoulder, whispering something to him, a reassuring smile on her face as she slid into the crowd.
As soon as she did, without a single moment of hesitation, they charged at each other, weapons raised to the sounds of a harrowing snowstorm.
---------------------------
They met head on, right in the middle of the ring. Pick and axe collided head on as they swung, the dwarf stepping back to compensate. Ballad struggled against Dane’s strength, pain shooting up his back as he pushed against him.
The grey-bearded leader shot his axe upwards, throwing the pickaxe off of it. He then rammed into the taller opponent, his horns piercing right above his pelvis. Loud gasps erupted from all around them, shock in everyone’s eyes.
The winter-bred inventor slid back a bit, just managing to keep from falling down. Pain as hot as a thousand knives filled his abdomen, blood dripping from his two new wounds. He yelled, gripping the back of his opponent’s head before bringing up his right knee, smashing it against his face multiple times. He then let go, lifting his left leg up and pressing it against the top half of his enemy’s body. As the dwarf raised its axe to counterattack, he kicked forward, dislodging his helmet from his self and sending the dwarf to the ground.
He moved his hand to his wound, clutching it with all the force he could muster. He stepped away from the pygmy as he stood back up, blood flowing from the tips of his horns down onto the hairs of his beard. Underneath the darkness of his helm, however, he saw blood cascading from his mangled nose and reddening his clenched jaws.
The sharpshooter ran forward, swinging his weapon like a barbarian would swing a club at a wild animal. The dwarf parried, and continued parrying as the green man’s rapid assault continued. Every attempt to riposte was prevented, and he found himself backing up towards the statue. Soon enough, he was but a few steps away from it, and he knew it. Ballad’s barrage of strikes had led him into a situation he couldn’t get out of.
In a final attempt to escape, he moved his axe into an overhead arc. Just as he slammed it down, though, the gunner kicked him again, sending him crashing into the copper statue. He banged his head against the metal structure, groaning as he set the tip of his weapon onto the ground. He looked up, seeing the sharp end of a pickaxe poised to strike.
“I expected no less from the mentor of Danish…” the green man said, not moving a muscle.
“GO TO HELL!” Dane shouted, arcing his axe in such a way that its blades sliced his enemy’s axe arm. Blood shot out of his newfound gash as he dropped his pickaxe, an array of curses soon following. A loud battle cry rang out from the dwarf as he whipped his weapon around, knocking Ballad’s feet out from under him.
The gunsmith fell to the ground, his left leg cut open. He glanced up, seeing the dwarf about to bring his weapon down on top of him. He rolled to the side, trying to reach his pickaxe.
“A slanderer like ya doesn’ deserve to be a soldier!” he screamed, his axe hitting snow as his enemy continued to dodge his attacks, “ya insult Danish so ya insult me!”
He slammed his weapon down one more time, connecting. The axe blades ram into the gunner’s back, cutting open his bandaged wound.
A thunderous howl emerged from him as Dane pulled out the axe; he was almost paralyzed from the pain coursing through his body. He felt a forceful grip turn him over: the silver-encrusted glove of the axeman. He panted, staring up into the black void of his helm.
“Fer that… I send ya back to the Nexus..” he said, lifting his weapon to end the whole thing. He did not notice Ballad’s eyes shift from yellow to white.
Time seemed to slow down. All Ballad could ponder was… why? His death must have caused great pain, but enough to deny someone with his talent a chance to assist them? Why?
Then, with the force of a tidal wave, he saw something.
A father taking care of his son, watching him grow up. Feeling the warmth and hope of a son reassuring his father, reminding him that no, he had not failed. Despite not achieving a single thing in his life, he had not failed. He had a son who could achieve anything.
The joy of soldiers-in-arms, the sense of comradery already strengthened by blood.
Then disappointment, as the son strayed from his course. A rune just like the one that Danish wore at all times. A feeling of dread, of fear, before turning into despair.
“He was your son…” Ballad said.
Dane flinched, letting out a pained groan as he stepped off of his opponent’s body, grasping his forehead. Murmurs erupted from all around the village, wondering what had happened.
It was only then did the gunsmith process all the information he could, and his confusion was replaced by incredulous anger.
“He was YOUR SON!” he shouted, standing back up.
He limped towards the dwarf, whom had let out another cry as he spoke his words. Before he could react, the green man kicked into the dwarf’s arm, knocking away his axe, leaving them both without a weapon to fight with.
“What in- what have ya done?!” the dwarf shouted, sweat filling his beard.
“What have I done? What have YOU done?! How could a father send his son to DIE?!”
“I didn’!”
The gunsmith launched his fist forward, careening it into the dwarf’s head. He backed up, discombobulated with the combination of the punch, and of his reminder.
“That’s why you sent him with me! You knew your son was a terrible soldier, yet you thought him helping me would make you feel better about yourself, you worthless fuck?!”
Dane did not respond. Rather, the crowd responded for him. Cries of “What?” “He’s out of line…” and “He’s a true dwarf!” filled the air around them as Ballad’s opponent punched back, hitting his abdomen wound. The two traded blows, each person stumbling back before moving forward for more. The whole time, the gunsmith retold all that he saw, and as the crowd’s shouts became a loud uproar, the dwarf’s anger soon gave way to desperation.
Soon, the two were just capable of standing as they limped towards each other, preparing for one final punch.
That’s when Ballad spoke again, with Dane bracing for another mental assault.
“Danish didn’t want this life, you know… he never did. He didn’t want to be in this war; he hated it so much..”
“That ain’t the point, ya dumbass…” the dwarf responded, his voice cracking, “he’s a dwarf… a soldier...”
“And a soldier who didn’t want to fight, who couldn’t fight, and died because he fought.”
They got closer, raising their fists, with Dane’s in particular being rather shaky.
“Sure, he hated me… had every right to…but he knew I was sincere in my desire to end this war… he wouldn’t want you to deny your kingdom that chance, would he?”
For a long moment, everything was silent. No words were spoken. Instead, the only thing that was audible was the dwarf’s rapid intakes of breath. The taller foe squinted, seeing tears in the old man’s eyes.
“He hated this war, just like me. For the love of God, Dane, for his sake and your peoples… just stop.”
He clenched his fist, time slowing down as he swung it forward.
Dane made no movement.
He felt the crunch of metal as his fist flew into Dane’s helmet, knocking him to the ground. He laid in a heap, his whimpers as soft as the snow itself as tears flowed from his eyes. The green man looked down upon the old dwarf, sighing.
“I believe…. I have won…”
Quote:Quest: Into the Halls
Word Count: 1804
Dwarf Champion defeated! I have now finished the quest!
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