Lit.Org - a community for readers and writers Advanced Search

Average Rating

(0 votes)

You must login to vote

Tyrael lunged with both blades together, then slashed across as his opponent hopped to his right to escape the attack. The dragon warrior kneeled to one knee and braced his swords against the strike. Steel clashed as the blades struck each other and blue electricity sparked.

The king disengaged from the parry and spun his entire body left doing a complete circle and coming down powerfully with both swords. The dark haired elf laughed and jumped out of the way, his reptilian eyes flashing as he saw an opening. Blindingly fast he struck with one long elven mithral blade.

But the king had already raised his swords in a defensive “x” formation. As his opponent stabbed at him he took Spell Mist and Tyrelax and locked the pommels together between Deathwing’s outstretched blade.

In a quick practiced motion, he twirled his blades and the surprised dragon lost his grip on his mithral sword. It went flying into the air and landed in the grass.

Tyrael smiled at the overwhelming advantage.

“FOOL! I will destroy you the way the elves of old did their enemies. A fitting way to defeat the Chosen of Corellon,” his opponent hissed and Tyrael again saw the razor sharp teeth of his enemy.

The dark haired elf gazed angrily at Tyrael and the cavalier knew this fight wasn’t over just yet, despite the advantage he had gained using Kelanen’s impressive double cross parry. The golden haired elf rolled his head, stretching his muscles but kept his eyes upon his foe.

The yellow orbs seemed to burn a hole through him, and Tyrael felt the hate emanating from his gaze. His foe began to twirl his blade in front of him in a strange but definitely elven tradition.

Is he that well versed in the ways of ancient elven combat? Tyrael bit his lip in apprehension, did the dragon even know bladesong? The elves of old were masters of the blade and were legendary for the one handed style of combat.

This should be interesting he thought to himself.

Tyrael watched as his foe moved gracefully through an attack routine. It looked deceptively slow, but he knew the movements were ancient and from the very playbook of his ancestors. How did the black dragon know? Why was he obsessed with all things elven?

The evil warrior smiled and narrowed his eyes at his prey. He brought the blade up to his face between his strange orbs. “Yes, a fitting duel indeed. How sad it is that no one is here to witness your fall foolish elf. I will enjoy defeating you with an ancient elven style of swordsmanship,” his foe grinned.

“I suppose this is still a battle of swordsmanship then?” Tyrael tightened and loosened his grip on his trustworthy blades. He had to stay loose, alert and ready. His blue orbs focused on the task before him. His foe was skilled and devious, but he would not lose as long as he had the favor of Corellon Larethian.

“Of course,” the black dragon laughed gleefully. “With my powerful draconic spells, I would easily defeat you. My true power dwarfs your own cavalier,” Deathwing spat.

“Then come prove it. We will see who is more worthy of following the ancient ways of Myth Drannor,” Tyrael beckoned with a nod. With a snarl, his foe rushed him with his enchanted elven blade leading; his dark brown hair flowed after him.

The king swept Tyrelax out wide to parry the blow but surprisingly quick, the cunning warrior lowered his blade to pass underneath his parry and Tyrael awkwardly brought Spell Mist around to block and the two elven blades went up high.

Sensing the danger, Deathwing smirked and Tyrael twirled his second blade and tried to strike him in the hip. Using his agility, the lithe elven warrior jumped up and back, then came across with a diagonal slash. Tyrael blocked with Tyrelax and his foe rolled his blade on top on his in a cunning maneuver.

The king cursed as the elven blade scrapped across his forearm, thanking Corellon for his plated armor. Gritting his teeth, he brought Spell Mist around and slashed across at his foe’s hip. He scored a glancing hit as his agile foe danced away and laughed evilly.

“How many times will your plate armor save you?”

Tyrael gritted his teeth. He was losing his wits. He had to calm down, he had an advantage but was making mistakes. Ancient elven style of combat or not, he should be able to defeat a foe with just one blade. Kelanen, the Prince of Swords had taught him the Immortal Fierce Blade, something that could only be mastered by the gods themselves or their Chosen servants. As far as he knew, he and Kelanen were the only ones who knew the deadly fighting technique.

I can’t lose.

The golden haired elf took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a second to calm himself. He had to focus on winning. He was the Golden Blade of Corellon Larethian, Champion of the Seldarine.

I am Chosen, I will win the cavalier thought to himself.

Tyrael opened his eyes and focused his blue orbs on his opponent who stood easy, smirking at him. “I am ready servant of darkness.”

“Ready for death? How quaint,” Deathwing Blackspitter hissed and the king saw a two pronged tongue.

In a rush of movement, his opponent leaped forward, his single blade leading. Tyrael backpedaled and parried the attack with Tyrelax, bringing his opponents sword out wide and he simultaneously stabbed at his foe’s belly with Spell Mist.

The dragon warrior jumped and twirled to his right, freeing his blade and Deathwing came back around; sword coming across aiming at Tyrael’s shoulder. The king quickly spun left in a circle dodging the attack and stabbed outwards with two both swords.

His opponent brought his elven blade low and came up, parrying both of his swords and bringing them up high. Deathwing hissed in glee as he started to reverse his parry and turn it into an attack; knowing Tyrael couldn’t possibly bring his weapons to bear in time.

The cavalier cursed and knowing his devious opponent had a clear shot on him, he kicked out with his left foot. The blow landed squarely in the chest of his foe.

Deathwing was much lighter, and skipped back a few steps with a grunt. “I admire your quick thinking foolish king. Next time you will not be so lucky,” the agile warrior narrowed his yellow reptilian eyes at him.

Tyrael focused on controlling his breathing. His foe had indeed grown in power since they had last battled. Still, he was confident that he could win this duel.

His black armor wearing foe snarled and danced towards him. The cunning warrior feinted three times and finally Tyrael saw the true strike, a low slash. The king smiled as he saw through the fake strikes and parried the blow with Spell Mist.

Deathwing tried to roll his blade over Tyrael’s in a devious counter to his parry, but the cavalier was having none of that. He twisted his blade to stop the attack and he came in with Tyrelax, trying to hack his enemy.

He connected with Deathwing’s black Zodar armor, black and blue sparks showered. His foe grunted in pain as he retracted Tyrelax, revealing an ugly gash in the armor. Tyrael went for a second strike but Deathwing had his elven blade free from his parry and it whizzed towards him.

Tyrelax came across with a parry and Spell Mist came in low. The dragon warrior hopped over the low blow and bounced back, getting some distance from him.

Deathwing’s seedy yellow slits narrowed as his free hand held the wound in his side. Black oozing liquid started to cover his hand and spread to his armor. “Playtime is over king,” his foe grunted.

“I agree,” Tyrael gritted his teeth and settled into a defensive position.

Now he is going to rely on spell power. Luckily, I’m no novice to fighting mages Tyrael thought to himself. But what will the ancient wurm pull out of his repertoire?

Removing his hand from his wound, the dragon began to chant in harsh tones, he could only guess they were draconic in nature. He gripped Spell Mist tightly, knowing it was his main defense against offensive spells aimed at him.

A long moment passed by and a sudden wind blew. His opponent shouted out the last syllable of his spell and pointed towards the blue-eyed elf. A dark mist exploded from the fingertips of the fake elven warrior and spread out towards the awaiting cavalier.

He stood up straight and pointed Spell Mist towards the black magic. As he had done so many times, he created a small circular motion with the point. The dark mist touched the sword and Tyrael felt the blade become hot, like molten metal. His elven blade shook mightily as it fought against the draconic spell. He began to see large red cracks in the sword appear, and then nothing as the spell bounced off and pushed him back.

Tyrael fell back and steadied himself as the dark mist shot towards its creator. “NO!!” his foe hissed in disbelief as the magic engulfed him.

The king blinked as a shockwave hit him and he fell to one knee, a strange noise filled his ears like wrenching metal. A flash of blue light would have blinded him if not for his magical visor, and he thanked the Seldarine for it.

He looked at his foe as large wispy lights were released into the air from all around Deathwing; who was sitting on both knees with an agonizing expression.

Did I win?

Then, the silence was back and all he could hear was his own labored breathing and the weird hissing noises coming from his enemy. Shakily getting back to his feet, he felt extremely warm. His helmet suffocated him and Tyrael stuck Tyrelax into the ground to free a hand and remove it.

He felt relieved as the cold air hit his face. He threw his helmet to the left and grabbed Tyrelax, wielding both of his blades once more. The king looked to his foe who was sputtering and hissing to himself. What in the nine hells had the dragon tried to unleash on me?

The black dragon in disguise just looked at the ground, and fell to all fours. Moving cautiously, Tyrael stepped closer to his enemy. Deathwing Blackspitter didn’t notice him at all, it seemed as if the spell had broken his will to continue.

Tyrael thought back to the spell. Those lights, it had been the weave. Now that he was schooled in the arcane arts, he could not only see the weave when he tapped into its power to cast a spell, but feel it around him. The weave had been plucked like a harp, and he had yet to discover what exactly happened.

He looked to his foe, and noticed the strange auras of power were no longer active. The battle spells were completely gone; he looked at his arm and still saw his protective spells active. The king shrugged, he would have to find the answer some other time. It was time to rid the world of an evil dragon.

Tyrael stepped towards his foe and felt a strange twinge of guilt. Can I really kill him like this? A disarmed foe, so clearly defeated and broken?

The decision was made for him and a sly figure emerged from the shadows. Tyrael tensed and his blades moved into a practiced defensive position.

The figure was human, short and with devilishly handsome features. He had green eyes and long black hair that went to his shoulders. The human wore black chainmail over a blue tunic. The mysterious foe looked at him gleefully and he rubbed his small moustache.

“Quite a combat. Unfortunately, Deathwing Blackspitter is not going to die here. He has further use to my master,” the human smiled as he approached the dragon from behind.

“Who are you? And who are you to decide anything?” Tyrael narrowed his blue orbs at the newcomer. He had never seen this human before, who was he? What master, and what secret agenda did this foe have?

“Sorry, allow me to introduce myself. I am Zaxin, general and servant of the great Lord Talamius,” the dark haired human bowed slightly as he stood next to the incoherent Deathwing Blackspitter.

“Talamius?” Tyrael gritted his teeth in anger. He had heard enough, whatever connection his foe had with Talamius, he would have to puzzle it out later. Anyone who worked for Talamius was up to no good, the demigod Talamius ruled the Great Kingdom. He was the one who brought war upon him and his friends.

The king suddenly leaped towards the two figures, Tyrelax and Spell Mist ready to bring the new foe to justice. Even faster, the human giggled and crouched down, slapping the prone figure on the back. Tyrael watched as the two enemies disappeared instantly, and his blades sliced nothing but air.

He cursed in frustration. This new development was quite disturbing. How did Talamius and his long time enemy know each other? Did the Great Kingdom really have that kind of knowledge on him and his friends? Was Korrin safe? Kelanen?

The sun began to beat down on him and he remembered he still had things to do. He was still king, and he didn’t have time to take care of personal mysteries.

How is Eliwood faring on the battlefield? Was his attack successful? No answers came to him, and Tyrael sighed as he retrieved his helmet. He sheathed his trusty blades and rushed off to find Eliwood.


Related Items


The following comments are for "Blades of Destiny9"
by HavocTheDemon

Add Your Comment

You Must be a member to post comments and ratings. If you are NOT already a member, signup now it only takes a few seconds!

All Fields are required

Commenting Guidelines:
  • All comments must be about the writing. Non-related comments will be deleted.
  • Flaming, derogatory or messages attacking other members well be deleted.
  • Adult/Sexual comments or messages will be deleted.
  • All subjects MUST be PG. No cursing in subjects.
  • All comments must follow the sites posting guidelines.
The purpose of commenting on Lit.Org is to help writers improve their writing. Please post constructive feedback to help the author improve their work.