Hey, this is my first fanfic, so help me out here. Please criticize.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything that appears in this story. (At this present time in space.)
QuickFact: I wrote most of this before I had even heard of Fanfiction, so almost all of it is original. However, I decided to have it take place in Alagaesia to have it be more interesting to you Eragon fans.
It was an ugly day. Rain poured down on the house owned by Samuel. The home was newly refinished and looked recently built. It's white paint shone through the rain, giving it an almost radiant presence. In the large front yard, two figures could be seen through the driving rain in a sparing position. Each held a dull sword made from burnished steel. The oldest of the pair seemed to be of advanced age. He had long, immaculate white hair, which at the moment was tied back. His white beard flowed down to the middle of his chest. He jumped forward at an incredible speed, deftly swinging his weapon at the second with both hands. The younger, about twenty, with vibrant, deep blue eyes and blond hair, whipped his blade up at almost the same speed and parried the blow. He then flipped the hilt from his right hand to his left, catching it upside down and spinning on his left heel. The steel whistled through the air and clipped the tip of his opponent's blade. However, the rain had lubricated the metal, and it grazed off and landed flat in the mud. The older man twisted his claymore up and drove it forward. The younger man doubled over backward, reaching for his broadsword at the same time. Closing his fingers around the leather-wrapped hilt, he finished into a back flip, and landed crouched, defensive. The old man smiled knowingly and held his own weapon across his chest, pommel to the right.
"It won't work this time Zadok," he said.
The younger prepared for his attack. He leaped forward, swinging his sword up and to the right in a diagonal slash. As his opponent slowly brought his blade around for the parry, the twenty year old suddenly changed direction and curve the sword strait down. Caught off guard, the old man could only watch helplessly as his opponent clipped both his legs in the same swing. Feeling pain, he fell back and landed heavily. The victor twirled his blade around in one hand, bringing it slowly to point at the old man's neck. The savage gleam in his eye quickly turned humored as he laughed and dropped his broadsword. The old man chuckled too, and extended a hand for help up.
Still laughing, the young adult pulled the man up.
"How was that, Samuel?"
As he stooped to pick up the claymore and his own broadsword, he said, "I finally get this one back. I can't believe it took me seven spars to get it!"
The old man chucked again. "Ah, I will miss that one. It was my favorite of your blades."
"As it was mine. I couldn't believe it when I lost it to you."
"Well, guess I'll have to wager the cutlass next time!" replied the old man heartily. "Though you will have to fight less brutally. Nearly cut of my leg you did!"
The young man snorted. "I could never cut off your leg. It's too thick and I don't have the strength. However…" he trailed off as he jabbed at the man's leg with the tip of his reclaimed claymore. He laughed again as the old man retreated.
"Besides," he continued, "if your enemies won't soften their blows, why should I?"
"Hey, that's my line," complained the old man good-naturally.
"Well, let's at least get out of the rain. The only reason I fought today was because I really needed that claymore. I know how you are with 'the rules'. I have a tournament tomorrow and I planned to fight with it. Because of Rule 2, I almost lost hope."
The old man smiled. The two of them and the younger brother of the Zadok belonged to a group by the name of Sword. Samuel was a strong advocate of "the rules".
"Ah yes," said Samuel. "I had hoped to fight with that, but you have won it fair and square."
"Who says you can't?" piped up a second voice. "I might be able to win it for you."
The grandfatherly gentleman glanced at the young man standing on the porch leaning against a support beam and chuckled. "Ah, but if you could Abiathar. I mean you no offence, but Zadok has all the moves I have and even some I don't. He is becoming a fine warrior, and will soon know The Secret. I can raise him to a level 5 by the end of the tournament."
"Well, thanks Samuel, but I don't know if I'd go that far," replied Zadok gratefully.
"Well, I'd still like to try," said Abiathar, "I need the experience if nothing else. How about… my saber against your claymore."
"That sounds reasonable, though I would like to offer the 7th. I'll toss in a scimitar. How does that sound?"
"You'd do that?" cried Abiathar in an unbelieving voice. "That rarely happens these days."
"He's right you know," cut in Samuel. "Some say it violates Rule 1."
"No, they don't think that. It's just an excuse to get out of offering a blade when fighting an obviously lesser opponent. How are they going to get better if they have no swords and they're dejected because they lost so many times"
"If your sure," said Samuel.
"I am," said Zadok, "he's my little brother, and he only has two swords anyways."
"Thanks Zadok!" cried Abiathar. "I'll be right back."
He soon reappeared with his prized saber that he kept locked in his room. He possessed another sword, a once elegant rapier (suspiciously like that of a level 5), but it was old and tarnished from many years of use. He kept that in the basement in his chest. Samuel and Zadok also had their own chests in which to store swords. The two stood in the middle of the yard and prepared. They both locked into fighting stances and waited. Abiathar attacked first, swinging his gleaming weapon over his head. He twirled it once, then brought it down in a tomahawk chop. For being the youngest of the organization, he had credible strength in his limbs. Zadok parried the blow sideways, and then effortlessly spun the claymore in his palm. As it whipped around toward Abiathar's side, Abiathar neatly twisted his saber upside down and deflected it. Taking advantage of the brief breach, he spun the sword right side up and followed through toward Zadok's left arm. Dropping his weapon, Zadok flipped back and landed crouching. He slowly stood and waited. Abiathar ran forward again, driving his sword toward Zadok's chest. The tips were blunted and had rubber tips, so there was nothing to fear, but it would count as a loss. Abiathar was just steps away when the older jumped. He completed a front flip over his opponent's head, scooping up his fallen blade as he somersaulted back up. Spinning to face him again, Zadok pointed the sword at Abiathar and drew his left hand back. As Zadok beckoned to him, Abiathar coiled up, ready to pounce. He danced forward, striking in random places like a snake. Zadok held the claymore with one hand and parried every blow. As Abiathar stepped forward to take another strike, his foot hit a mud slick and he fell on his back. Zadok pointed his claymore at Abiathar's chest and then withdrew, helping him to his feet. As the younger of the two fumbled in the mud for his saber, Zadok retreated to the basement to return with a scimitar. The sword wasn't especially stunning, for it had been used before, but it was still in fairly good condition.
"I don't even know if I lasted twenty seconds, let alone thirty," said Abiathar, disappointment seeping into his voice.
"Wait, wait," said Samuel, "yep, you did. Thirty-three seconds. I timed the match."
"Here you go," said Zadok. "My scimitar. I'll have to get one from someone else now."
"No doubt you will!" cried Abiathar. "I've never seen anyone do a flip like that in driving rain. Speaking of which, let's get inside."
The three of them entered the house together. The cozy house wasn't very big, but it was comfortable nonetheless. There was a high backed bench up against the east wall and a homemade rocker to the south, Samuel's make. A small stand made of ash sat directly across the room from the chair, a bright red ruby resting on it. An older gentleman around the age of seventy sat in the chair, snoring comfortably. Zadok and Abiathar looked at him fondly.
He was there grandfather that had taken care of them ever since that fateful day when their house was destroyed. Their parents were missing, and they were only kids when the police announced that there was no evidence to prove that the adults were dead or alive. The house had been completely demolished and there was nothing left. No items, possessions, or even human remains. So their grandpa Trover watched over them. However, he had been recently evicted from his house, and had nowhere to turn. So Samuel, who had been a neighbor and a family friend, sheltered them.
The trio went into the kitchen and had a bite to eat. As Zadok poked at his chicken and a lump of corn, Abiathar admired his newly won weapon. A few minutes into the meal, Samuel brought up the tournament.
"I'm definitely in," said Zadok. "I hear the winner gets to take on Aries."
"I don't like him," put in Abiathar, "or the Elder."
"Well, he's the best in the club," said Zadok, "I want to fight him just to see what I can do."
"Be careful when facing him though," said Samuel in a tone that hinted he knew more than he was saying.
"I know-" he started to say, but was cut off by a crash coming from the great room. The first one up, Zadok dashed into the room, broadsword drawn. Trover stood backed into the corner, unsuccessfully defending him self with a broken table leg. The ruby that was resting on the ash stand (now crushed) was being held in the arms of a black robed figure whose face was shrouded in a dark hood. He held a short iron sword and was beating Trover with the flat sides of the blade. Enraged, Zadok ran into the room swinging his own blade wildly. He engaged the attacker with vicious swings and fought him for a good ten minutes. When both realized they possessed equal skill, the burglar hurled the melon-sized stone at Zadok. It met his shin with a bone crunching report. The black shrouded man ran out the door, now hanging on one hinge, un-pursued by anyone in the household. Zadok sat blinking back tears. The area where the ruby hit was already swelled and bruised. Samuel examined it.
"Looks like it damaged the bone, though it doesn't seem to be broken. You'll have to stay off that leg for a while."
Zadok was horrified. "But then I can't compete!" he retorted. "I trained for months to see if I'd get in."
Samuel frowned. "I'm very sorry Zadok, but you can't fight like this. It may cause permanent injury."
Zadok growled. But then Trover cut in.
"May I suggest something?" he asked timidly.
"Be my guest." Samuel replied.
"I don't know much about this Sword, or whatever it's called, but are there anything in the rules about entering the tournament under another name? Like a 'tournament name' or what not?"
Samuel's face twisted in thought. "You know, I'm on the committee of elders, and I do not believe there is such a rule. Why, what are you getting at?"
"Well, I've seen Abiathar fight. If he entered for Zadok, under Zadok's name, what would happen?"
All three faces lit up. "Nothing," said Samuel, realizing what Trover meant. "Zadok would get the prize, Abiathar the credit, and no one would be the wiser. And best of all, it's perfectly legal. It's even been done before, if I recall correctly."
Zadok looked hopefully at Abiathar. "Will you do it?" he asked.
"Of course," Abiathar said.
"Then it's settled," Samuel cut in. "Tomorrow, Abiathar will face off in the championship tournament."