Sunday, 24 July 2016

The Warriors Path



He waited.

It was the hardest thing he ever had to do but he would do it. Time and again, he would do it. 

For respect. For pride. For love.

He waited.


The next blow was a sweeping cross and though her feet carried her far, the weariness of the fight was taking it toll.

Catching her spinning form in the side it drove the wind from her and sent her tumbling to the ground with a sound that could only be ribs breaking.

With a warriors reflex she threw her weight with the impact and used its energy to roll herself clear of the follow up strike, which buried the weapon in the dirt. 

'Will you not help her?'

The question came from a warrior somewhere beside him. Whom it was who questioned did not matter and he could not, would not remove his eyes from her.

Rolling up to a crouch, she spat her blood upon the soil, and smiled a fierce and wild smile at her foe.

The warrior paused, confusion on his face to see her so unbowed by the pain she no doubt felt. 
Sweat streaked the fighters face and his breath came heavy to catch as he recovered his weapon. 

In his hesitation she struck. A lunge and roll had her close, pain fueling her rage and setting speed to her strikes.

On the back foot her opponent retreated.

'Will you do nothing? She might die?'

The Dagda's eyes never left the combat as his rumbling voice replied.

'She has chosen her fight and she is capable of seeing it through.

If this is the time of her death she will meet it gladly as a friend, unbroken by the world's tests. Resolute and dominant to her last breath.'

'Do you not care for her pain and hurt?'

Dagda's grip tightened to a white knuckled fist about the shaft of his deaths head club.

'Do not mistake my inaction for apathy. Should she fall this day then by my word, ruin will ride quick upon the heels of her last breath.

Until then, she has chosen this fight. Its challenge and consequence are hers alone.'

The warrior staggered backwards under the flurry of the blade dancer's assault, doing well to block many a killing stroke, yet taking many small injuries, set to sap his strength.

Dagda had seen her do this many times. Her skill turning the tide of any conflict, her stamina outlasting all but the must fit, her mind quicker than her blades.

Blowing out a big breath, the Chieftain relaxed his grip a little, as the Morrigan asserted her dominance over today's fight. 

'She walks a warriors path, and I wait because I believe in her.'



1 comment:

  1. The music of her blades escalated, ringing again and again on her opponents defence. Unlike many a warriors tale it was not a heated rage of the berserk that was upon her.

    Her mind was filled with cold fury and certain inevitability.

    Flickering back and forth, her thoughts captured, catalogued and categorized the details of the ongoing conflict.
    The shift of the soil beneath her toes. The sweat and breath of her opponent. The scent of his blood upon the air and the taste of her own in her mouth.

    True the pain was there, the blows had been hard and heavy and no doubt significant damage had been done her form, but what was pain to one with a Will such as hers.

    Most of all she watched his eyes.
    Pouring out her Will upon him.

    She was power. She was ruin. She was change.
    And she was patient.

    As his gaze locked to hers she gave him a glimpse of the doom that awaited him and, like so many before, the fear took hold.
    She saw it blossom in the depths of his soul and as it began to pour its icy touch into his muscles, she struck.

    Like the strike of a serpent she spat her blood into his eyes.

    Blinded her opponent let out a bellow and in the second that he staggered back, guard opening, she ended it.
    Pressing her body close, like a lovers embrace, she drove both blades in under his shoulders and into his arm pits.

    A hot fountain of red washed over her hands and as his life began to flow from him, she whispered into his ear of all of his life's failings.
    Fear turned to horror in her opponents eyes as he knew no songs would ever remember him and that his name would be lost to all time.

    As his last breath rattled out, carrying his soul to oblivion, She stood turning to meet the gaze of the only one who truly rivalled her, proudly displaying the threat of her blades and arms covered in the foe blood.
    Their eyes locked and held, a gaze that spoke volumes that no one but they two could read.

    With the faintest of smiles, he nodded His respect to her.

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