"I have determined that there will be an epic duel between myself and this Traveler from another land, just as you were hoping to see!" Lady Furina guffawed through a declaration that set the crowd abuzz with excited mutterings and cheers, even as their God was quick to raise her hand for their silence and quickly continue speaking, "Or, as I must clarify, between myself and my chosen representative."
"For, alas, though this brave challenger may be renowned for their incredible martial prowess, no mere skill with a blade could grant them the ability to even disturb the air enough to ruffle my attire. Such is the difference in majesty between a mere mortal and a God!"
Her theatrical splaying of her arms, her whimsical yet snobby delivery, though it all left the Traveler clenching their teeth in immediate irritation; from the buzz of muttering and the energy of the onlookers, they had to admit that the Hydro Archon certainly knew how to work a crowd,
"Hey! What is she even blabbering about anyway? You've fought Ei before! There's no way she is comparing herself to the Raiden Shogun in a fight." Paimon crowed in outrage off to the Traveler's left side. Said Traveler, having almost drawn their blade at the threat of combat, remaining in a ready stance even as they flicked their golden gaze to their silver companion. She was, somewhat unsurprisingly, delivering her diatribe from the relative safety of behind them.
It almost put a little smile on their face, but they quickly allowed their gaze to turn to the woman. Vision drifting from the one exciting the civilians to the other, oozing danger from across the harbour.
Tall. Her eyes were bright, sharp, and cold, crackling with a purple hue only a touch dimmer than the glow of the Electro Vision nestled just above her sternum. Wrapped in stark whites, dark blues and trimmings of gold and silver (sporting a similarly styled and shaded hat.) Style, danger, and murderous intent radiated from her like an invisible cloud of promised death.
The Traveler's blade fell into their hand, and instructions, firm and unrepeated, had Paimon reluctantly flitting off to hover beside their new acquaintances. They snuck a peak to ensure she would be overseen by the pair whilst this... incident was dealt with, and it was through Lyney's suddenly widening eyes that the Traveler saw the first attack of the bout…
Clorinde was a woman of both tremendous martial skill and extensive battle experience. She faced those willing to throw their very lives onto the line in the name of freedom, striking at her in life-or-death bouts again and again and again. She fought foes at their most desperate, their most deadly, their most deranged; the Champion Duellist only truly duelled those at the absolute best of their ability, where they had no choice but to give it their all.
In the eyes of the masses, even amongst her impressively talented contemporaries, there was little doubt that she stood head and shoulders above even the most battle-hardened of swordsmen and duellists. She was the chosen blade of the Hydro Archon herself and a warrior unlike any other.
So, when she lunged down Romaritime Harbour to deliver the swift and decisive blow that would end her Archon's interest in this ridiculous endeavour, only to have the deafening clang of the Blond Traveler's blade blocking her own reverberate through her entire body, she was instantly aware of the situation was in.
She had just lost.
She stood maybe a foot taller, and she would surmise she had weight on the dainty-looking Outlander. Though initial impressions were deceiving - up close, Clorinde did note wiry muscle and calloused hands, but nothing she saw could explain this unmoving block, as if she had just struck a mountain rather than a human being.
This strength was unnatural.
They were not moving. Not a shake, flinch, or even a minor adjustment of their grip. They had met her strike – the speed and power of which had been briefly augmented by the power of Electro itself – head-on, and the one who had been shaken was her.
And they knew it.
Shove. The Traveler stepped forward, their blade pushing against Clorinde's own until her arms buckled and she was forced to retreat. The sound of steel scraping steel put teeth on edge as Clorinde was forced onto the back foot.
Recovering, she parried her opponent's blade aside with a small flourish and peppered in a barrage of lightning-fast thrusts. The mix of feints and proper sword thrusts were replied to in kind. The Traveler's sword weaved across their own body like a stream, her foe in motion as they directed her blade to pass them harmlessly. Her riposte shut down at every stage.
Those golden eyes were locked with her own, not her weapon, and they rolled onto the balls of their feet as their jaw was set.
Clorinde braced herself before immediately realising she shouldn't have; there was nothing on the line here; she should have conceded. Thus, she faced the full force of her adversary's counterattack.
Blistering and merciless. Despite the deceptively dull look of their blade, the Traveler's unrelenting onslaught cleaved smooth paths through her cuffs, sleeves – and the initial layers of skin beneath them – when Clorinde failed to block or dodge them. This was often, as the Traveler fell unto her like a storm, their blade whistling through the air faster than the sound of disturbed wind could keep up with.
The Traveler's style was wild yet precise. They flowed effortlessly between single and double-handed strikes, flowing between strikes and movements without missing a step. Seemingly before it was made, any attempt at a counterstrike was responded to with the most effortless (bordering on uncaring) movement, block or parry that Clorinde had ever seen.
With the sun at the Traveler's back, catching in their hair and making it glow like a cascade of spun gold, whilst their narrowed, sharp eyes conveyed the inherent hardness and coldness of that very metal, Clorinde was only allowed a single thought beyond her need to ensure her immediate survival,
"Gorgeous."
If the initial contact had pushed her onto the back foot before, this was a true titanic shove backwards, and she could barely stand. Under the force of this barrage, the smooth parries and ripostes of her typical style weren't possible. This left her blocking, weaving, and backtracking to an almost desperate extent. Anything remotely looking like a hole or opening in the Traveler's guard was a trap rewarded with an even more aggressive counter.
Accepting injury as a foregone conclusion as she remained on the defensive was a wound in of itself. Her ankles ached from narrowly avoided stumbles. Her arms were shaking under the strain. Her chest burnt with the exertion, and her head felt slightly lighter.
Mercifully, the Traveler seemed to understand this. Their annoyed yet determined gaze visibly softened, yet their retaliation lost little steam. Their blows were still bruising and unspeakably quick, but they no longer threatened to shatter her blade on impact.
And it seemed they saw fit to follow her initial strategy of ending this bout quickly.
Clorinde's only warning was the briefest rush of air across her knuckles before it made contact. The Traveler had turned the momentum of their last parry into a full-body spin that (combined with the smallest of hops) had their feet briefly leaving the ground. Their blade sliced up from their hip, across their body to strike at the guard of her sword. Less than an inch further down and Clorinde would have lost fingers when the Traveler's blade made brutal contact.
Fortunately, she was just disarmed. The duellist dared not look as her blade spun out of her grip and off into the aether, for the Traveler was far from finished. It was their next strike that decided the duel.
They landed without a sound, blade in their front hand and angled to guard across their body whilst their backhand cupped the air. An air that began to coalesce in that very hand.
She was being dragged towards it, the vortex. A darkened vortex of Anemo swirled, coiled, and roared in the Traveller's other hand. From the soles of her feet to the frills of her outfit, all the way up to the cap on her head, Clorinde felt the inescapable tug on her form of the Traveler's Anemo power long before they stepped forward. The Traveler's hand lanced forward and struck Clorinde with a force unlike any other.
The resultant strike dragged the air out of her body and pushed her off her feet. Faster than she had come, Clorinde was smashed back up the nearly full length of Romaritime Harbour, colliding with the back wall with a smash that had her seeing stars and blinking away the dangerous black spots of unconsciousness.
It took several seconds before she could breathe correctly, left sprawled out and unable to exhale in the immediate aftermath as her body slowly began to inform her body of the intense pain in her back, legs, and skull.
Absently, she also noted that (though fortunately her decency was not compromised) her corset and blouse were very much ruined, with her Vision hanging on by a thread. Her opponent stood completely unruffled, straight-backed on the other side of the line of attending Officers between them.
Some dialogue occurred between the Traveler, Lady Furina, and the Traveler's companion. She paid little attention to it as she sought to recompose herself as much as possible, almost missing the timely intervention of the magician, the stammering and stuttering of her God and how the magician's assistant slipped by the Officers to return her blade to her.
She used it to rise to her feet against her better judgement and to the protests of Lady Furina's entourage. She smoothed down the front of her outfit as much as was feasible and left the scene with a straight back when Lady Furina retreated herself. She offered a stiff nod to her opponent's mildly concerned gaze before she left.
Only as she took her place on the aquabus, and a member of the detail sheepishly offered it to her (drenched but intact), did she realise that she had exited the encounter without her cap...
. . .
Paimon was fussing. Excitable and worried, she was both incredibly proud of her companion for the decisive victory whilst beyond outraged at the battle for occurring in the first place.
They sensed a string of ugly nicknames for the God of Hydro and her chosen champion in the near future...
The crowd was now dispersing, mutters, shouts, and points directed towards the quartet with a kaleidoscope of emotions on display: awe, outrage, fear, and fascination.
Absently, the Traveler remembered that the office of the Steambird was located somewhere within Fontaine and that the paper had already covered some of their adventures. A growing weariness settled into their body at the thought of how this whole escapade would affect their time in Fontaine, seeing as THIS was now their first impression to the public, narrowly avoiding arrest for the world's most made-up offence after having battered the Hydro Archon's chosen minion in a decidedly one-sided duel,
'She was fairly powerful.' The Traveler mused, even if they couldn't help but agree with Paimon's emphatic declaration that her initial strike at their back was definitely cheating.
They also hoped she was alright; they did not mean to hit her that hard. Though, with how poised and elegant she was before, during and after their bout, this was likely just another day for her. Despite the damage to her clothes, she didn't look particularly ruffled at all.
She was a dangerous one, no doubt.
They mused amusedly – as they tuned into the mile-a-minute conversation Paimon was now holding with Lyney – if this whole debacle, and that particularly deadly opponent, wouldn't be something that Childe would have found fun?
'I wonder what trouble he's getting up to?'