Medievia Mudslinger

May 20, 2000

The Duel - By Cybian

Kalintor sat quietly on the edge of the fountain just above the arena, watching people pass by. The streets bustled with Medievian guardsmen and journeymen. Oh how he hated journeymen. The only good one was a dead one. Just the sight of their pathetic non-stop grin made him uneasy. "I'll wipe that grin off your face", he thought to himself. The sturdy warrior reminisced to the days when he killed journeymen, just to see if he could do it. Yes, that was long ago. Now here he was preparing for a fight to the death, not with an annoying journeyman or a pesky janitor, but with a member from a rival clan. Niemek had been a member of Kalintor's clan for many years and had since left for another clan. There was bad blood between the two adventurers.

Niemek had been spreading word of the "weakling clan and the arrogant goblin lovers that populated it". Kalintor vowed that today was the day that this outrage ended. He had waited a long time to silence the tongue of this backstabbing fiend. In the distance Kalintor heard the town crier yell, "It is now Twelve o'clock in Medievia, and all is well."

"All is well indeed," he mumbled under his breath. "But it will be better after the gutters run red with the wretched blood of a certain swine."

Twelve o'clock, that was when they agreed to meet. Where was he? Where was the despicable spawn of the Darklord himself? Just then he heard unmistakable sound of hooves on cobblestone. He arose to see a man dressed in white robes riding a warhorse. Behind him was a mob of people. Apparently, word had gotten out that there was a fight taking place today. Citizens of Medievia never missed a fight.

"Impressive entry," mocked Kalintor, "You always did know how to look majestic, even for a foul son of a mandog."

"It is time to put an end to this foolish show of false bravery," Niemek retorted.

"Indeed today this will end, but by the gods, it will end with your head on a pike."

As if they were coming out of the woodwork, more and more citizens began to fill the streets. Entering the Central courtyard of the Quarter of Arms. The likeness of a warrior in the fountain seemed to foreshadow the outcome of this battle, or so Kalintor prayed. The swordsman slowly walked down the incline to the arena. All around, he saw rolling hills. This would make a perfect sight for the slaughter that would take place.

Kalintor drew his sword from its scabbard as Niemek slowly dismounted and slapped his steed on its hindquarters, sending it running down the narrow street. Then he followed Kalintor down the slope. For a moment they just stared at one another. Their concentration drowning out the shouts of the crowd around them. Niemek clutched his warhammer tightly and uttered something under his breath. Suddenly a white aura enveloped him, then slowly faded. His stare became a taunt as his lips curled into an evil grin.

Niemek closed his eyes and mumbled again, and out of the sky flew an image of a giant raven. It dove straight for the cleric and flew into his body. Kalintor saw his chance and charged after the so-called 'holy man'. The young healer opened his eyes in time to see a shoulder plant itself in his ribs. The bash sent Niemek sliding across the ground as he tumbled down a hill. Kalintor struck with lightning speed at the dazed cleric. A spray of blood painted the slant of the hill as the mighty blade merely opened Niemek's eyebrow. The healer chuckled with twisted glee. A tremendous growl of outrage filled the arena as the warrior witnessed his own pathetic use of training. In a flurry of agility and skill the white clad healer was on his feet and retaliating with a crushing blow to the side of Kalintor's head. Blood ran profusely from the open wound on the warrior's temple.

Unfazed by the blow to his head, Kalintor spun, delivering a skillful kick to the face of the cleric. Niemek stepped back and caught some of his own crimson life source on his hand. With a few words and a flash of light, the wound was healed and the holy man was ready to take on his unforgiving adversary. Niemek pointed his cudgel at the warrior's feet; suddenly the ground heaved and threw Kalintor onto his back. His head struck stone with amazing force. Enraged by many years of hatred toward the warrior, Niemek ran toward him. He grabbed him firmly by the face; "IN CORP!"; the cleric's shout of rage shook the ground. Kalintor screamed in agony as the flesh on his face began to shrivel away.

The continually growing crowd cheered and shouted in delight at the morbid scene that played out below them. Kalintor arched his back and sent Niemek tumbling off. The warrior rose and turned, sword in hand. Bits of skin and muscle hung from his cheek. Niemek stood up facing Kalintor. Both men gasped for air as the labors of the battle took their toll on each of them. The cleric raised his hammer to the sky and began to utter some arcane words. But before he could finish, Kalintor's razor-like blade laid open his chest. The magnificent sword of ice glowed brightly as a beacon of light passed through Niemek's body. The once mighty healer fell to his knees in weakness. Without hesitation the warrior followed through with a powerful swing, ending the battle with the headless body of the cleric falling to the ground. Covered in blood, the warrior wiped his blade on the white robes of the twitching holy man. Slowly he turned to look at the crowd ecstatic about the grotesque show. Jaded, he walked up the hill toward the road. He bumped his way through the gathering masses, exhausted from the bloodbath he had survived.

In the background he heard the familiar sounds of the Necromancer performing his ghastly duties on the corpse of the young clergyman. Finally he had avenged the honor of his clan. At last he had silenced the forked tongue of this betrayer. His clan could hold their heads up in pride from this day forth. A smile made its way, wearily, to the mouth of the warrior. By the gods of Medievia, today was a good day.