Bora took a cautious step forward. He moved slowly and with purpose, his movements calculated. He held a slender sword out in front of himself. It's single edge glinted menacingly with the faint light of the fire behind him.
Across from him stood a foe who was equally, if not more so, confident in their own sword skills. His opponent held his blade hilt with both hands. Bora saw a flash of amusement in their eyes from behind their helmet.
They circled one another like two feral alley cats. Each waiting for the other to lapse in their attention. Seconds stretched out in to what seemed like an eternity, till finally a faint scream from the depths of the burning city called out.
It was then that the helmeted opponent lunged forward with the grace of a life long swordsman. Their blades met, sending sparks flying outward. Though the fire through out the city raged, it seemed like the only sounds to be heard now was the sound of their swords coming together. Bora parried an over hand slash, returning the strike with one of his own. His blow, in turn, was blocked. Back and forth they went testing the limits of their sword skills. They fought each giving up a bit of ground only to retake it momentarily after. Bora flew through all his forms, his Plummeting Sparrow meeting with a Coiled Serpent, only to be immediately followed by Stone Strikes Wood. His foe blocked with the simple, Tortoise In the Shell and followed up quickly with the impossibly difficult Wind Strikes the Mountain. He missed, thrown just slightly of balance but not enough for Bora to end the duel. Their fight from the outside looked like a graceful dance between two master performers.
Sweat began beading about their furrowed brows. Bora slipped in to Karp Jumps The Brook, sliding across the stone paved street on one knee and coming up with his sword in his out stretched hand. The blow mostly missed, mostly. The tip grazed across the helmed mans exposed underarm. Not enough to make the man drop his sword but enough to cause him to step backwards. Bora capitalized flowing in to Bull Charges and then in to Cat Pounces, a difficult form that ended with Bora spinning clockwise and striking the man in the neck, severing his head completely off.
The now headless body crumpled to the ground immediately, lifeless. Bora straighted and then wiped his bloodied sword on his slain foes undershirt. He searched around for the next enemy to face but all around him was void of life.
"I guess that's, that" He said satisfied. He started toward where he had last seen his allies fighting. The helmed foe had been the captain leading the defense of the city. With him dead the city was as good as theirs. He dispatched any enemy that still fought and let the cowards flee, they would be delt with eventually so he had no need to chase them.
He was covered in cuts and minor wounds, as one is in a prolonged battle. No soldier, no matter how skilled could escape a battle with out a wound or two and though Bora was master he still had much to learn about the sword.
That was the mark of a true master in anything, it was the understanding that no matter how skilled they were there would always be someone more skilled to fight, so you never stopped learning, never stopped improving. A lack of learning would eventually lead to your death, as the helmed captain would vouch had he still had his head.
It was another half hour before he found his allies standing outside the main throughfare of the castle in the middle of the city. They stood at attention watching as a siege engine battered at the thick metal doors that protected the entrance to the castle. Behind those doors was their goal, the rebel King and what was left of his army. Once the false King was captured, or more likely slain, Bora could finally return home to his family.
It was nearly four years since he had last seen his wife and sons. Boro, his oldest had been only six when the war horns were sounded across Galaos. His youngest had been just a babe still suckling at the teet, he didn't even know the childs name yet. Raina, his wife, had begged him not to leave to war, even with the threat of death to all those able bodied men that refused. She suggested that they run. The blasted woman had wanted to travel to Fallion to escape the head hunters that would surely have come after him. She didn't know that there would be no escape, no matter where they went, if he deserted. He was Bora the Bold, one of the greatest Swords Masters in Galaos, desertion would mean a life staying just a step a head of the Kings hunters. No matter how great a swordsman he was they would catch and kill him, or worse his family, eventually. So he had packed and left to the capital that same day leaving his family in the safety of his lands.
Now his campaign was nearly at it's end, he could almost smell Rainas lavender scented hair in the wind. He looked on at the metal gate slowly but surely beginning to give under the barrage of strikes. He allowed himself a small smile, happy to finally be nearing the end.
His smile vanished almost as soon as he had made it. The ground under his feet shook violently. The very earth began to split and bouts of jet black flames spewed from the gapping holes. The stone paved road he and his army had been standing on began to rise and fall. Whole swaths of his men falling in the the jet black flames billowing from a dark abyss. He heard heard the shill screams of men falling and burning or burning and then falling. He lost his own footing tumbling to the ground. He barely caught the edge of the crevice that opened up under him. He felt a sharp pain in his arm, he dislocated his shoulder and yet he still held on for dear life. He felt a burning pain running up his legs to his chest. In the seconds before he would have fell into the blackness he saw Raina and his two sons as he last saw them, standing on the edge above him, and then he saw nothing, his eyes closing to life forevermore.
A graduation ceremony was held at hilight, when Tullus, the third moon, was at its peak in the sky over Korone. It shone bright yellow, casting an almost sinister light on the fifteen students in Boro's graduating class. He remembered when he had first started at the academy, his class had numbered in the mid-fifties. Over the course of the last four years that number had slowly dwindled down. Students left when the training became too intense. On a few occasions students had been severely injured, twice students had been killed. Both times had been declared accidents but Boro still wondered about the truth to the rumors. He glanced out of the corner of his eyes seeing Mika standing there looking smug. One of those deaths had been at his hands. One of the people killed had their neck broken with a wooden practice sword. The other had b
Boro and Mika stood in the sand circle as the two finalists. The animosity between the two was so thick in the air it was almost palpable. Boro stood in the ready form, Crane In The Water, standing perfectly balanced on one leg, his sword held out before him. Mika stood in a form that Boro didn't recognize. Boro prided himself on knowing all the forms of classical, and modern, sword art, the fact he didn't recognize this one was puzzling.This must be a form of his own making, He thought with both surprise, and unwillingly, respect. The form had Mika crouched low to the ground, his own hand and a half sword held upwards in front of him.When the call to begin was shouted, Boro took a cautious step forward and was immediately on defense as Mika struck at him with nearly blinding speed.&
Three days later found Boro, with his travel pack, saying farewell to his few friends at the Academy. With his letter of apprenticeship and gold emblem, he had no more need to stay at the Academy. His goal, to be the greatest swordsman of all time, would not be accomplished by staying any longer. So he found himself waving farewell to Nila at the end of the town surrounding the Academy. In his heart he yearned to stay and build a life with her. She wanted to take more time to study and hone her own sword skills, but Boro suspected that she was also looking to receive a letter of apprenticeship as well. This sheet of vellum was worth more to an aspiring sword master than an entire sack of gold royals. Most master swordsmen were employed by a Lord and as such made plenty of money. With the title of Sword Master, one could be a personal b
Before Boro left the town he asked around for anyone selling a horse and was pointed to a stable just outside of town on the west road. What good luck I have, he thought to himself smiling and chuckling lightly to himself. So Boro left the small town, continuing on his way westward along the thin dirt road. He felt refreshed after the night spent in a real bed and fresh rumors of Tutija Pale Sword. He even went as far as whistling happily as he walked the road. He still had more several hundred leagues left to go but hopefully the stable man would have a good horse to help cut down the time to travel the daunting distance. The sun had not yet reached its peak from behind the forest trees when Boro saw the trail of smoke and the fresh scents of manure and hay in the air. He picked up his pace a bit, excited and hopeful. He saw the brightly painted red stable and two boys wheeling out the freshl
Boro launched himself up onto his feet, his sword whipping around to catch two of the bandits' throats. They fell to the ground, one letting out a choaking sound, the other grabbing his sliced throat as if trying to hold it together with just his hands. They would both be dead in seconds. A quick assessment told Boro that there were still five men surrounding him with drawn swords. They began to react now, each moving in to try and kill him. They were many, but they were uncoordinated, and Boro was able to slip past two of their guards and get out of their ring of death. Boro spun himself around their backs using Wind Kisses The Valley, and sliced two of their ankles cutting through flesh and bone. One fell to the ground at once, clutching his wound and howling in pain and terror. The other tried to turn and found his injured leg unable to hold his weight up, he followed his wounded ally to the ground, hi
It took Boro a few hours, and he lost his way once, but when he finally got back to where he had left his horse he noticed that the bodies of the men he had slain earlier were still lying abandoned on the forest floor. With a sigh he began gathering stones to make a large cairn for the fall bandits. He muttered angrily to himself about his stupid honor not allowing him to leave more bodies behind for the forest creatures to eat, but he did not stop gathering the stones. It was nearly night time again by the time he had finished laying the last stone on the pile of bodies and he was completely exhausted. Still, he did not lay down to sleep. It was not out of fear for himself that he lit a lantern and walked his horse back to the road and began his long trek again. He was worried that stupidity would bring the rest of those men back here
Boro looked up at the parapets to the tall stone wall that encircled the city of Helfa. The wall itself was about 70 hands tall. Guards patrolled the top of those fortifications, their colorful plumed helmets and halberds peeking over the merlons of the wall. Boro rode through the open gates of the bustling city. The city of Helfa has a long history, existing as a relatively large town for nearly one hundred and fifty years before falling into the capable hands of Jetir Triem. Lord Triem was gifted the town about fifty years ago after helping the current King unify and stabilize Galaos. He turned the town into a sprawling metropolis of trade and entertainment. The city itself was grand, with most buildings standing with at least two floors. The roofs of the buildings were a rainbow of colors that added to the majesty of the city. Upon entering Hel
Without waiting for his friend's hand to fully drop, Littume lunged forward intending to end the duel quickly as he always did. They traded just a few quick blows, in those exchanges Boro learned everything he needed to win. Boro took a step and half spun to his left, avoiding a stab and followed it up with a quick slash using Plowing The Wheat to his exposed body. The young lord dropped his rapier and fell to the cobbled stone road. Boro's strike had left a shallow gash across Littume's finely embroidered shirt and chest. Blood slowly began to soak into the silk of the shirt, spreading over it, ruining it forever. It was the quickest duel Boro had ever been in.So much for this Blade Master, Thought Boro, as he smiled internally.Littume held his bleeding chest, wailing like an infant. His friends ran to him, one lifting him from the ground and carryi