Meeting of Blades

The forest was covered in moonlight, its predators lurked through the undergrowth, their prey trying desperately to hide. The atmosphere was broken only by the meeting of two weapons, in the middle of a small clearing.

The duo danced around a fire, with slashes, dodges, thrusts and sidesteps. One was a giant among men, clad from head to toe in heavy armour, blue as a sunlit sky. The other was smaller, but much more nimble, watching his opponent from behind an ivory mask.

The giant brought down his weapon in an overhead swing, but his foe managed to sidestep just in time and retaliate, aiming at his neck. A loud clang could be heard throughout the forest, as the wood struck armour.

He watched as his partner threw away the lengthy stick and bowed:

"A good match. Your strength is great, but your armour slows you down."

"The results certainly agree," he casually cast aside the small tree trunk he had been using, "I shall practice further, then."

"Superb," a heavenly aroma filled their surroundings, "oh-hoh."

They turned to the campfire. The boar just above it seemed fit for a king.

"Time to feast, my friend."

"Indeed."

They chatted between bites. Sven had lifted his helmet, while Yumero could never be seen taking a bite, yet the meat in his hands somehow disappeared, piece by piece. Finally, with their bellies stuffed and their hearts content, the knight asked:

"Can you take first watch?"

"Yes."

"Thank you."

He lied down and was in dreamland shortly afterwards. The other's eyes remained fixed on the fire, as his mind was filled with memories, all of them ultimately painful. Even so, his senses remained sharp, and heard steps. Several sets of synchronised legs, deathly silent, on the very edge of hearing. In the end, the creature decided to trouble them no more, though, he had a feeling they would meet in the future.

Sunlight finally woke him. As soon as he shook off the drowsiness, he noticed his companion, in the very same position the other had been left the evening before, save for the two furless hares already being prepared on their fire.

"Breakfast shall soon be served."

"Hahah, you spoil me!"

Finally, they were back on the road, a simple dirt path leading to the fate of the world. The sun was briefly eclipsed by a winged monstrosity sporting two heads. Even from such a distance, they could hear an argument over directions.

"Many are heading towards the fateful battlefield."

"Indeed. Perhaps they seek honour."

"Maybe. We all have our reasons."

"What are yours, Sven?"

After a brief silence, the knight answered:

"I wish to prove my code. To the whole world."

"Is your order small?"

"Nay, I have none. My code is my own."

"Your arms bear sigils. Are they stolen?"

"Yes and no. I earned them first," he chuckled, "but I should start from the beginning..."

His father, seldom mentioned, a knight. His mother, a wild woman. And the kindest person in the world. Always prepared to lend a helping hand, to smile and console another, be it friend or stranger. Always encouraging him to improve his swordplay, his reading, his stance. And then, one day, a foul sickness struck her. No shaman could aid her and she died under his care.

As soon as his tears dried, he decided to do the one thing he had always been forbidden to do. Read father's book, the only evidence of his existence. The words within shocked him. The way they damned so-called heathens. The way they described them burning in the afterlife set a fire within his own soul. He gathered what he had and journeyed to their fortress. He was greeted warmly. He was dressed in their robes, educated in their arts, taught from their scriptures, all the while hiding his burning hatred. He shaped up to seemingly one of their finest and, on what was supposed to be his greatest day, he finally went rogue.

"I shattered their sacred blade, burned their scriptures, cut down several of their so-called finest, and fled on a steed of my choice. I took only one vow that day. To never let any teachings stand in the way of true honour."

A silence filled the dirt path, broken only by the distant roar of some monstrous bear. Finally, the Juggernaut started:

"I, too, fought injustice..."

Their ruler had been driven mad with power and ambition. He gathered an army to wage war on man and god alike, blinded by his ego. Yet none dared to oppose him, for any such fool was swept aside. Much like him.

He rose in revolt, a lone swordsman, against many lackeys. They posed no challenge as he cut through them, yet they served their purpose. To exhaust him. By the time he reached the throne, he was weakened and the tyrant was able to beat him in a duel. Beaten, humiliated, the laughter of the ruler's parasites bit into his bones like a blade. He was not even given the peace of death, rather, he was disgraced and exiled from his home, as ultimate punishment. Seemingly, in any case.

The greatest blow was struck a few days afterwards, as he was still planning to repeat his attempt. Magic, immensely powerful and wrathful, rose around the Ivory Isles. Flame, wind, earth and water, all united in a single display of destruction. By the next morning, nothing was left, not even rock or dust.

"I have been travelling since then. I help uphold laws when I can, I duel, I perfect my skills. Most of all, I seek peace. One way or another, this battle will grant me my wish."

"May it be in victory, then, my friend."

"I wish you the same."

"The question remains, for whom?"

"There is no question. One force seeks only to increase their power. The other has at least some understanding of honour."

"Hahah, my sentiments, exactly."

Just as the smaller bladesman was raising a water-filled jug to his lips, a chimera suddenly charged across the road, part man, part horse. Startled, they assumed a battle stance, but the beastman paid them no heed and charged into the distance. Yumero gazed down at the ground, at his shattered jug:

"Unfortunate."

"People these days."

"Truly."

Finally, after several hours, they reached their destination. The entrance to the sacred battlegrounds, besieged by several dozen lesser merchants, none of them with the courage to venture further. They sold their wares to passersby of any size, shape or race, as long as they had enough coin.

Yumero stood next to one such vendor, this one specialising in bottles, both simple and ornamental. His gaze was fixated upon one with the motif of a mask:

"Hmmmm, should I buy a new jug, or not?"

"Hahahah," Sven immediately chuckled.

"Why do you laugh?"

"Say that last part again."

"What?"

"Just say it."

"Jug, or no... ah, I see," his tone remained unchanged, "humorous."

"Now come, I hear the ones they sell on the battlefield are enchanted to rejuvenate both strength and spirit."

"Fascinating."

They approached the entrance. The wood on one side was teeming with life, the other was withered and weak. With a look at each other, the two swordsmen entered, ready to fulfil their destinies and, in turn, decide the fate of the world.