Exit the Dragon

[Rattrap]

The beast was huge, an elegant body covered in plate-like scales the color of light indigo, shading to darker down its powerfully limbed body. Bony plates ran down its back, running toward its narrow, wide-mouthed head with only one golden eye. It had blasted flame, firey liquid brewed by some unknown process deep inside; it had thrashed, slashed, thought to strike the man as it was attacked. It took to the air, even, in amazement as the tiny, insignifcantly small being began outmanuevering and defeating the beast - but there was no escape. The beast took the man with him, and it wasn't long before enough blood had poured away for the creature to give up its life.

It came crashing down to earth, blank gold eye staring at the shaken old man standing a few dozen meters away, wearing priestly robes.

The man who had brought the beast down landed, softly, as if his mass was some impossibly small value that permitted little effect from gravity. The six-foot ranseur gleamed by its own metallic surface and the blood covering it. The man wielding it, considerably shorter than his weapon, smiled at the old man.

"You see, Father? Your angel sought to destroy me along with the power I had gained. But all he succeeded in doing was severing me from the master that controlled that power. Father - your angel made a poor mistake."

The short fellow grinned with malice, stepping over to the dragon's still gazing eye. He patted the flesh just above the golden orb and imagined just what sort of price it would bring in.

"This is the best find I've had in a long time," remarked the dragon hunter.

[Rattrap]

The sun's glare beamed off the silvery polearm, held propped against one shoulder with the crook of an arm to keep it there. Only the absence of the other arm doing the same stopped the image of a shackled prisoner, though the short, under five and a half foot man certainly didn't look like much of a prisoner, anyway.

In fact, he looked fairly happy with himself.

It was amazing, what money could buy. And amazing what money some creatures brought in. The rogue had heard there was even quite the market for vampire teeth, though the brown-haired man always found vampires to be a pain to hunt. They were often too smart, and ran too much.

Damien was fast, there wasn't any doubt; but he still lacked flight or powers to turn into bats, though he wasn't sure if he ever wanted such powers.

The ranseur spinned against his shoulder, the shining surface offering little friction. The tips, sharpened fairly regularly, shined a little less, somewhat covered in a rusty color. Far from rust, though, as one might imagine from it only appearing at the business end of the weapon. The path was wide and empty, running off to distant cliffsides and bluffs. Somewhere beyond those lay Myrken Wood, a place he knew, unlike this Xanth Grange area. Damien didn't even know how he managed to get here.

Suffice to say, he paid an extrodinary amount to have mages construct a crossbow, and the rogue wasn't about to let some punk angel show him what for and take it.

...but man, was it hot.

[Rattrap]

"Well weeeeeell well. It's the land of the chumps!"

The five and a half foot tall man stood at the end of Devil's Ridge, looking down at the foresty Myrken Wood. The shining ranseur gleamed in the sunlight above the misty haze not far below, stretching horizontally across his shoulders to measure a greater length than he himself stood.

In that, perhaps, Damien was not always taken seriously.

A wind struck, tugging on his vest and other looser garments. There was a parting of fabric where the small arsenal Damien kept caught some of that sunny gleam, as well; he used to carry around a short sword, six daggers, a magical crossbow, and the polearm - he wasn't found of all the weight, however, so he tossed most of the daggers and...well, lost the crossbow.

It didn't matter all that much. It didn't strike Damien as dragon season, but he was looking for a fight. And Myrken Wood had never disappointed him - at least for finding fights.

Shame that Audmathus wasn't still around.

[Rattrap]

Shinji took his stance, holding his katana forward to meet with a similar blade that belonged to his brother. While they were not twins, one could easily see the resemblance in their faces. But it went beyond the biological; Shinji and Shuya had lived and traveled together and trained together as soon as they were able to lift a sword.

This spar was simply the most current of the great number of spars they had done before.

Of course, as one could imagine, sparring with such a familiar opponent lacked several important elements - both men were aware of this. They found other challenges when they could, but for here, and now, there was only each other.

Shinji struck, feet sliding forward for a quick hit on Shuya's right shoulder. Shuya turned to his left and parried the blow, and so the spar had begun. Being brothers, they were of about the same average build. They had practiced with the sword for about the same amount of time - for Shinji and Shuya, their katanas were virtually extensions of their own bodies, like any life-long sword master. The weight and inertia of the weapons were no more alien to them than the weight and inertia of their own arms.

Spars like these between the brothers often didn't go very far, with Shinji or Shuya striking a few minor blows on the other. If nothing else, the physical activity kept them in excellent shape.

Today, however, a particularly strange man had interrupted them. "Hey, look what we have here! Y'know, three makes a party..."

Shinji and Shuya stopped, turning to study the stranger. He was short, and excessively armed, by their standards. The ranseur, especially, looked obnoxious in contrast to the shorter man. They ended their spar, sheathing their blades as the man approached, not understanding his expression. "No, no! Don't stop now. C'mon, let's go..."

The ranseur shifted from its resting spot into the man's hands, and Shinji was the first to detect the familiarity with which the man wielded his own weapon - if ridiculous it seemed. Shuya glanced at Shinji before speaking to the stranger: "You...misunderstand. We are only sparring."

The stranger nodded and continued to hold the ranseur in a ready position. "Well, let's spar then."

The brothers glanced at each other with some confusion, wondering what the man really wanted - or if he was foolish, or if there was some trick to this. It seemed like a seriously uneven match, even if the other man was a master of his weapon. The two didn't have much time to think, however, as the ranseur was thrust at Shinji. Shinji was quick, though, drawing his katana with a flash and clash of steels to knock the point away. He paid close attention to the weight of the ranseur when his own blade struck it and was surprised to feel it to be rather light - it would move faster than they would have expected on glance.

Shuya drew his own blade and Shinji disengaged from the ranseur. They took to stances while the stranger grinned, exclaiming, "Now that's more like it!"

The brothers advanced, Shuya stepping in first to knock the initial prod of the ranseur away. Shinji slid into the opening, preparing a quick strike for the stranger's shoulder. The stranger was fast, however, as was his weapon - the ranseur slid in his grasp, placing his hands no longer at the blunt end but the center. There was a staff-like quality to his defense against the blade with the blunt end of the ranseur. Shuya wasted no time engaging, and the next brief moments were a flurry of clashing and impacts.

Shinji realized how correct he was about the stranger almost instantly; the ranseur moved with such ease to always create a straight line between each of their attacks, parrying and blocking two blades simultaneously. Shuya had an even more troublesome time trying to attack the man as he was dealing with the pointed end, which the stranger was manipulating so well to try and catch Shuya's katana in.

The stranger's speed was almost unreal, and Shuya imagined if there weren't two of them, he would probably overwhelm one or the other of them with a weapon that should have been slower than their own swords.

Shinji disengaged and started circling the man while Shuya held his attention. The stranger's stance changed seamlessly, turning to fight both opponents on either side of him. After Shuya took a blow to the hip from the blunt end, Shinji quickly moved in to re-engage. They found the results were not much different.

Shinji and Shuya got creative, mixing their attacks to come at the stranger from high and low, staggered or not, kicking a foot out every once in a while. The short man took them all in stride, hopping and ducking when necessary. It was...ridiculous. "You...fight impossibly!" Shuya exclaimed.

The short stranger simply grinned. "Aren't you glad I'm not trying to kill you?"

The stranger spun the ranseur in a low arc aimed for Shinji's knees and at the same time leapt from the ground, keeping the twirling hand and his arm at the focal center, cartwheeling the rest of his body over. Both feet were aimed for Shuya then, the first catching and knocking aside the blade of his katana, the second connecting with his cheekbone.

Shinji hopped over the spinning weapon and stepped back as the stranger landed and arced the ranseur all around him with the excess momentum of his spin. The blow to Shuya had not been damaging due to the stranger's lack of weight, but the blow and the maneuver in itself had been a surprise that stunned him for only a flicker of a moment - but that was all it took. He tried to slide out of the ranseur's range, but it struck him above the hip with the broadside of the three spikes, knocking him off his feet. A larger man or a heavier weapon would have broken something, which Shuya realized the moment he hit the ground.

Shinji stepped in with a quick thrust with the man turned away from him, but the stranger was too quick - the ranseur didn't move, but instead the short man drew his own short sword just halfway out of its sheath, turning his body into the thrust so his blade deflected away from flesh. "You are not human," Shinji observed.

The stranger shook his head, turning to Shinji: "No, but I used to be!"

In the meantime, Shuya rolled to his stomach and reached out for the short man's ankle, tugging sharply. The foot gave out, leaving the stranger to fall backwards. The stranger used the ranseur to save himself by planting it behind him. The ranseur bit into the ground just around Shuya's arm, rather luckily missing any actual flesh. The spikes did, however, pin him in that position.

The moment the five and a half foot tall man had started to fall back, Shinji rushed forward and drew his sword up in a vertical down-top slash, but he discovered the stranger had no end to remarkable...acrobatics. As the short man had planted the ranseur, he was using it to pull himself up, like some sort of handicapped back flip - his feet rose just above the blade, striking out to deliver a swift kick to Shinji's jaw. The stranger didn't stop, though, and continued to flip completely over - landing right on Shuya's back. Shuya was unable to roll over to avoid it with his arm pinned, but he was surprised at how soft the stranger had fallen. A fair deal of air escaped his lungs anyway, but again - a bigger man, and he might've damaged an organ or even broken Shuya's back.

Then the ranseur was pulled free and the stranger was no longer on Shuya's back. Shuya took the opportunity, rolling quickly and springing from the ground into a readied stance, sword retrieved in mid-roll. Shinji shook his head. "We are done with you. Your abilities are inhuman."

The stranger grinned, replacing the ranseur on its resting shoulder. He appeared rather proud of himself, like any man with an ego larger than he. "Well, I have to say, you two are pretty quite reasonable! You must not be from around Myrken Wood. The name's Damien, by the way - tell all your friends. I could always use a good fight!"

[Rattrap]

The Broken Dagger had its quiet days, just as it had its noisy. Today was a quiet day, and a strange time for the events about to unfold. Inside the tavern were but two people and the tender; a middle-aged fellow and a rather pretty young lady. The young lady was a simple farmer's daughter who wondered perhaps too far for her own safety. The middle-aged fellow was a discharged soldier who was quiet content with his plans to have his way with her, with or without her consent. As things were going, it would seem without.

"Let's go upstairs for a little while, hmm? It's a nice view up there."

The young lady shook her head, looking worriedly between the fellow and the door. "No...I'm...not sure what I'm doing here. I think I'd better go." She started to stand from the stool, but the fellow latched onto her wrist.

"We're going upstairs, young lady. Don't worry; it's really a lot of fun..." The fellow stood from his own stool, grabbing on to the young lady's other arm. She tried to pull away, but to no avail; the ex-soldier was twice her size.

The bartender, of course, would not simply be idle during this process - action was unnecessary, however, due to the intervention of a fourth individual who said his hello by knocking the ex-soldier on the noggin with a long metallic shaft. "Why don't ya leave the lady alone and pick on somebody yer own size, eh?"

A mixture of quickly building rage and surprise allowed the girl's release, and she was quick to take it as her chance to escape. The young lady fled from the tavern.

The ex-soldier turned to his assailant and burst into laughter. That rage momentarily melted away, as the man who had taunted him was by no means his size. The ex-soldier probably had a foot and a hundred pounds on him. And that weapon seemed so unfitting...

Rage and surprise returned in a flash as the ranseur snapped out again; rage at once again being hit in the face, and surprise that the polearm could move so fast.

"Less laughin', more fightin', chump."

Now the ex-soldier was furious. His long-sword was drawn and he wasted little time lunging at the little man. But the little man just hopped back. The ex-soldier lunged once more, and again the little man shifted back. The ex-military man could tell there wasn't any way to get close; the ranseur outranged his sword by a lot, and the little man was unnervingly quick. One of those midget martial artists, perhaps. That didn't explain how he moved that weapon so deftly...

The ex-soldier stepped forward once more, taking note of the table to the short man's back. He figured he could press in close at any hesitation of bumping into the table, but he found the little man didn't hesitate - rather, he fell back onto the table and rolled across, aligning his weapon with him and rolling with it. The short man dropped off the far side and stood, grinning with his ranseur.

"I don't know who the hell you are, little man, but I am going to do things to you far worse that death...!" the ex-soldier growled.

His response came in a flying chair. The short man dropped to one knee, just out of sight on the other side of the table. Later, the ex-soldier would figure he used his knee as a fulcrum and hook a chair with his ranseur, but at the time he was far more focused on dodging the furniture than thinking about how it was done.

When the ex-soldier recovered, he saw the short man had jumped on the table. The ex-soldier made another run, keeping low to try knocking the table over. That ranseur came quick though, sweeping down past the edge of the table. The man slid to a stop just in time to avoid getting the business end of the polearm and watched the short man's swing take the spikes right into the rafters.

The ex-soldier grinned and stepped in to take the opening. The short fellow lept straight off the table without so much as rocking it, hanging off the rafters. He pressed his weight into the shaft of the ranseur, sending the bottom end into the ex-soldier's face. On impact, he kicked off to swing out on the rafter, just missing the business end of the ranseur as it came free - but on the return swing, he reached out with his right foot to hook the shaft just below the spikes and kicked off the center spike with his other, spinning the ranseur vertically. It was an awkward spin at best, being performed by feet at the wrong places along the shaft. But it did the trick, righting the ranseur as it and the man who wielded it fell.

When the short man landed, the ranseur was held ready and waiting. The ex-soldier looked at him with terrible amazement, mouth slightly agape as blow started trickling from his nose. Several different things crossed his mind; how the short man was moving, how he was using the cramped quarters to his advantage, how his balance was been...it was incredible.

Still. He had a threat to make good on, so he advanced, raising his sword. The ranseur beat him to it, though, connecting with his face before he could raise his blade. The ex-soldier tried again, anyway, still advancing and trying to raise his sword. Once again, the ranseur moved quick and struck his face. All the while, the short man had been backstepping, making his way around the table that he'd just used.

A third attempt was made, but it seemed the ex-soldier would not even be able to raise his sword. The ranseur shot out once more, striking the same place on the man's face.. So many repeated blows were starting to wear on the ex-soldier, and he wasn't convinced he could see clearly anymore.

"...damn you..." the ex-soldier muttered. The long sword was raised one more time, and actually succeeded. The cost he paid for it was a fourth blow to the head, this time from a baseball bat-styled swing from the ranseur. The ex-soldier picked up sideways, landing halfway on a table. The table rocked, and the middle-aged fellow slid to the floor.