Nanowrimo Experiment

[elril]

I loved the beginning of it, with the action. I am enjoying the character building, but I am feeling a bit lost about the world. So far I see three nations, heard of four and wondering how they all fit together. Another problem with having the host of characters is I only really know what one of them looks like, even after learning about their character.

[edonil]

Thanks for the comments, Elril! I have to admit, world building is by far my weakest point as a writer. I'll try to work some more on it, unfortunately I'm not really sure where to start... And I'm sorry about the lack of description of characters, I'm working on limiting my perspective to one character at a time, and have been struggling to fit in ways to describe the characters in that setting. Still, I do appreciate the criticism, it gives me a place to start working on improving! I'll try to sneak in some descriptions of people later on, although I'm betting I'll move them around in revision.

[TheOneWhoFell]

Just caught up!

The story still seems a little... fragmented... but it the pieces are strating to fall into place. I'm really enjoying it

I know I've PMed you on this point, but I wanted to just mention (in case anyone else is looking for similar advice) that one of the hardest things for a writer to do is have a character describe themselves. It's difficult because we want to talk about all the details. Unfortunately, when you try to do that, it makes the character come of vain and self absorbed. Most people, when they look into a mirror see the whole picture (I look good, this top is great, my hair is fantastic), and they use short words that aren't too egotistical. Then they start to pick themselves apart (is that a zit? these pants are too big...; look at the bags under my eyes, my chapped lips, my dry skin, my belly, my thighs, etc). They are more likely to focus on things they don't like.

It's why a lot of writers describe their characters from the POV of another character, or throught their actions (The girl tossed her long red hair over her shoulder, the light causing it to shine like burnished gold).

edonil, I really like your writing style. It's quick, clipped, and has just the right amount of detail. I rarely feel overwhelmed by the volume of information you're giving me, and I always want to know more. Good job!

[edonil]

Thanks Fell! I'm sorry about the fragmented feel to it...I'm sorta discovering the plot as I go along. I have an idea of where things are going, but it's not super detailed. And I'm glad you like the style! I must admit, I intend to go back through things once I hit 50,000 words (or the end of that scene once I get past that mark) and revise things, adding in more description and details, so it may not stay so concise. In the meantime, here's the next section:

Faulkner smiled as he looked out from the wall. The rain had continued all through the night and the next day at the Dragon’s Teeth, and he was incredibly grateful for that. The Drasvarians weren’t about to risk their flyers in the storm, and that meant the enemy would be fighting without their traditional advantage in the air. It was going to be an old fashioned siege, the colonel thought with satisfaction.

“Wall batteries, prepare to open fire!”

The four artillery pieces were the one advantage the defenders had over their attackers. The Drasvarians were so used to their air support, they had never developed a true analog to the large guns of the other nations. Normally, it wouldn’t matter, Faulkner knew. But today it most certainly would make a difference.

True, the cannons at the wall were a far cry from the largest, or even the newest, of the designs Victrix had available to them. With luck, though, the guns would punch a few holes in the army arrayed outside the walls. Faulkner could see the front lines of his enemies through his spyglass, moving from cover to cover in spread out groups up towards the wall.

He raised his hand, and threw it forward. “Fire!” The wall batteries roared, flashing in the dim light. Moments later, explosions lit downrange as the shells slammed into the rocky terrain. Even before the shells hit, the gun crews were reloading, keeping a continuous rate of fire going. Faulkner watched the Drasvarians fall back, dragging wounded with them, and he smiled. So long as the artillery kept up their bombardment, the enemy wouldn’t be able to advance.

“Colonel!” a panicked voice called out. “Sir, something’s climbing the sides of the pass!”

“What?” The colonel turned his eye to one of the natural walls, and quietly bit out a vicious curse. He could see a handful of metallic creatures, shaped like large cats, climbing up the rocks with great dexterity. Just what they needed, he thought, a new weapon from their foes.

“Batteries one and four, retarget toward the cliff walls!” he called out, not letting any of his bitterness show. Even in the worst possible conditions for his enemies, they had found a way to outmaneuver him. Changing the coordinates for the artillery was going to cost him men, and he knew it. Two batteries couldn’t cover enough ground or fire quickly enough to keep the enemy from reaching them.

“Soldiers of Victrix,” he roared, drawing his sword and holding it aloft. “They’re going to be coming for us soon. We’re outnumbered, we’re outgunned, but we will not run! This is our home, and we’ll make them bleed for every step they take!” They yelled back in reply, lining the walls with their rifles as the rain poured around them. He looked at them all sadly, whispering, “They deserve better than this.”

“Aye sir, they probably do,” Waechter said, appearing next to Faulkner. “In the meantime, you’ll do nicely. Just wanted to let you know, the Hunters are off varminting. Try not to lock the door behind us, eh? I ain’t keen on being stuck out there with some thousand-odd angry Drasvarians sitting at the gates.”

“We’ll keep the back door open,” Faulkner promised with a grim smile. “Good hunting, Waechter,” he added, slapping hands with the older man. The captain grinned like a loon, threw an extremely casual salute, and walked off. Faulkner shook off the voice in his head that wondered if he’d ever see the Witch Hunter again as he turned back to survey the battlefield.

The exchange between colonel and captain had taken only minutes, but in that time the Drasvarian infantry had managed to move forward. Not many of them, but more than sufficient to start a real assault on the fort. The artillery commanders had already begun shifting their aim, and he urged them on silently. If they weren’t quick enough, the shells would land behind their targets, leaving the enemy infantry unharmed.

----

The machine crawled up the mountainside, its metal claws scraping on the rock. The rain bouncing off its metal skin sounded like a peal of bells as it stopped to look at its target with glowing red eyes. The fort walls were massive, several dozen feet in height, and connected directly to sides of the pass. The machine growled softly as it felt the presence of its master in its simple mind, urging it on.

Silently, it started running, and could see its pack members doing the same. The pack had been split by the artillery shells, but it couldn’t comprehend that. All it understood was that the master had given the pack orders, and it knew what those were.

The automaton begun moving down the side of the cliff as the fort came nearer, feet scrambling on the loose rocks. Agilely, it held its balance, continuing to move forward, closer and closer to prey. With a roar of triumph, it leapt onto the wall from the mountainside, startling the defenders into flight away from its large bulk. Contemptuously, it batted aside one of the soldiers, a man who was barely taller than it. Eager for the kill, it jumped onto him, teeth tearing open the throat. Blood splashed onto the machine, briefly covering its eyes before rainwater washed the fluid out. It snarled, hearing its pack mates landing behind it, and began sprinting down the wall, making its way towards the cannon its master wanted destroyed.

----

The screaming from the southern end of the wall was the only warning Faulkner got. He spun on his heel, and stared in dismay at the set of metal monstrosities that had landed on the wall. The height of a man, they were feline in both design and function, beautifully crafted, and terrifying as they tore into the young men of his command. His soldiers backed away from the abominations, some of them maintaining enough sense to start firing.

“Hold!” he yelled at his soldiers, trying to stave off a rout. “Hold, damn your eyes, fight back!” He pulled out a pistol and began shooting at the creatures, sparks flying as bullets glanced off the armor. He watched in horror as one of his soldiers primed a grenade and deliberately threw himself at the monsters. The explosion was brilliant and sudden, one of the machines collapsing off the back of the wall in its death throes. The other two continued to make their way systematically towards the artillery piece on that end of the battlements, and Faulkner nearly screamed in frustration as his soldiers were unable to stop them.

The first creature to reach the gun scattered the crew, and proceeded to hold off any attempts to counter-attack as the second machine began tearing the cannon apart with its claws. The sound of metal on metal overwhelmed even the blasts from the other three guns as the gun was ripped from its mounting, parts flying through the air.

Desperately, the colonel ran to one of the abandoned anti-aircraft guns on that part of the wall, grabbing the triggers, turning it toward the Drasvarian war engines. He began firing, the rotary cannon bucking with recoil as it poured high caliber rounds into the closer of the machines. The metal creature was thrown toward the back of the wall, claws screeching as it scrabbled to maintain its position while the bullets tore holes into its plating.

A feeble moan came from the machine as the glow in its eyes disappeared. A metallic shriek filled the air as gravity pulled it from the wall, landing loudly on the ground. Faulkner stopped firing, eyes wide, an exultant grin on his face. Steam hissed from the rain hitting the overheated gun, and he let go of the triggers while his hands shook.

A harsh growl from behind him made him freeze, and he swore as he remembered the last of the predatory automatons. He rolled forward, feeling a gust of wind across his back as he dodged the attack blindly, and spun onto his back, scrambling away from the machine’s harsh glare. “Oh bloody hell,” he stammered, reaching for the hilt of a knife at his boot.

[TheOneWhoFell]

I see some of the pieces fitting into place now. I like it, a lot And I like the cliff hanger, even if it is very prime time commercial break style

Great job Edonil!!! Can't wait to read more

[SteamHammer]

Great stuff as usual.

[Absolution Black]

A very enjoyable couple of sections edonil, and certainly starting to fill in some spaces as Fell mentioned.

I think if it seems disjointed, it might just be that we are reading it in small separate parts...I may try and read all of it so far in one go, and see how that flows..I'm thinking it will be better!

Otherwise, nice cliffhanger....and it worked, I want to read more!!

[Ebonstar]

I think it's great. As was mentioned before- it can be hard to write in a forum format, so I look at each section as a snapshot of what's going on.

[edonil]

Picking right up where the last left off...

The machine reared up over him, and let out a startled grunt as a body in grey landed on its back. The soldier held a knife in their right hand, and climbed toward the head, dodging the ineffective swipes from the cat. Faulkner backed up even more, staring in amazement as the Witch Hunter somehow held onto the slick metal surface and began to pry at an armor plate on the creature’s back.

The machine quickly grew tired of the game, rolling onto its back agilely. The soldier let out a pained cry as he hit the rock of the wall, but managed to maintain his hold with his legs. As the cat’s feet hit the ground, he finally got the armor plate open and slashed his knife through a hose hidden in the armor. A loud hiss filled the air, and the machine collapsed, legs buckling under it. Faulkner ran over, helping the Witch Hunter to his feet.

“How badly are you hurt?” he demanded.

The young man gasped, grabbing his side. “I think my ribs are cracked,” he gritted out through his teeth. “Tough bastards,” he gasped, nodding his head to the machine. “Wasn’t sure that would work, but damn grateful it did. I was up on the cliff when the artillery starting going up there. I saw one take two near hits before it dropped. I’m glad I came back, although this hurts like hell.”

The sound of the mounting infantry assault on the wall filled the air, causing Faulkner to pause in leading the young man to the surgeons. “Can you still fight?” he asked, hating himself even as he did.

The Hunter laughed, then doubled over, amber eyes full of pain. “I won’t be much good with my rifle,” he said with a cough. “Probably can’t aim worth a damn. But if you can get me on something where I just have to point and pull a trigger, I’ll fight for you, sir.”

The colonel nodded. “We’ll find you something. What’s your name?”

“Niklas Schmidt,” the young man answered. He winced, black hair falling over his face.

“Glad to meet you, Niklas. Let’s go find you a gun,” Faulkner said as he started walking.

----

“So, these are our charges?” Jensen asked with a frown, staring at the student mages. Her brown eyes flicked from face to face, and then back to her senior officer. “You’ve gotta be kidding with me, captain. They’re children. And you want us to teach them how to be soldiers?”

“I think it’s crazy too,” Soli said. “But I’m not about to tell Admiral Niles that. In the meantime, the plan isn’t too horrible. These are the top combat students, after all.”

“Great,” the sergeant muttered. “The magical ability to level a building, the ingenuity to figure out how, and none of the discipline to follow orders. You weren’t at the Academy, ma’am. Students with the potential of this lot? Independent learners. Oh, they’re brilliant I’m sure. But they don’t usually like military mages, and we certainly don’t like them.” Soli gave her a level stare, and Jensen threw her hands in the air. “Fine! I’ll give it a shot, just stop looking at me like you’re my mother. I got sick of that look while I was stealing cookies from the jar, it’s no better now.”

Soli covered her mouth to smother a giggle as the pilot stalked off. She could understand the sergeant’s annoyance. She turned back to the window, looking out at the group of young men and women. The oldest of them couldn’t have been eighteen, while the youngest, a small young man with spiked green hair, looked to be fourteen. Green hair? What in the world, she wondered, would possess someone to color their hair green?

She smiled as Sergeant Jensen walked out into the practice yard. For all her complaining, the sergeant was a good teacher, if a bit unorthodox, especially when it came to magic. The more experienced mage had been teaching Soli for the past few weeks, and Soli’s skills were coming along slowly. It was frustrating to say the least, especially given how quickly she’d picked up every other skill she had. Still, for the time being at least, she could throw a passable fireball when she had access to a spark.

“ATTENTION” Jensen yelled, the glass of the window shaking briefly. Soli would bet that the sergeant was using her magic to make her voice louder as a shock effect. If so, it certainly worked, as the young mages all jumped in the air. The captain nodded in satisfaction as she noted a few of the older ones landing instinctively into a combat stance. Some of them seemed to have good reflexes, if nothing else.

Soli turned to her desk, tuning out the welcoming lecture from the sergeant. On the wooden surface lay a pair of ink drawings, one of which was a new flyer. The design was still a large bird, but specifically crafted to evoke the imagery of the age old phoenix. Being the design from the artisans, it lacked any technical information, but she already loved the feel that it brought to mind. Lord Enchanter Marx had suggested the new model as a reward for the surviving pilots of the Destiny, and she agreed wholeheartedly with his reasoning.

“You are a unit being brought back to life,” he had told her that day at the arena. “A phoenix, rising from the ashes of defeat to defend Drasvar. It would be appropriate for you to look the part.”

The new phoenixes would be at least as equally impressive as the griffins that already flew in the Drasvarian air armada. She had already sat down with the engineers and mages who would bring life to these metal works of art, explaining to them what she wanted for her pilots. They had all flown raptors before, a light combat wing, quick and agile, using pack tactics to take down the enemy. At the battle for Destiny, they had met their match with that. Their beloved raptors were unable to match against the new Assarian Huntsmen airships. No, to fight those enemies, they were going to need heavier flyers, and the phoenixes should fit the bill nicely at half again the size and twice the weight of the raptors.

Her green eyes drifted onto the second drawing, and a pleased grin tugged itself onto her face. While her pilots were getting the gorgeous new phoenixes, she would getting something far more beautiful instead. Lovingly, she ran her callused fingers over the parchment drawing. The drawing was of a dragon, the largest and rarest of the Drasvarian flyer designs. Each one was unique and crafted to match the pilot at astronomical expense, but they were the heavy combat forces of the armada. Awarded only by command of the ruling council, dragons represented the ambitions of every pilot, a prize earned in the fires of war.

The captain had already spent a great amount of time studying the design, but she had yet to tire of the sleek lines and smooth curves that it showed. It was a fairly traditional design, four limbs, large wings, long tail and neck. There were, however, a few tweaks to it that made the dragon very much hers. The wings shared a sharp, angular look with those of a falcon, and the tail tapered to a fine, curved blade. The notes scattered around the page discussed the artisan’s desire to do the final layer of armor in black iron, to make the green of the power lines and the emerald eyes stand out. Soli wasn’t too sure about that, but she trusted that the artist knew what they were doing.

She sighed as her mind turned back to reality. It was going to be a long time until her dragon was ready. In the meantime, she had work to do. She picked up her uniform hat and pulled it on over her red curls, then turned to head out the door. While Sergeant Jensen was in charge of training, it was time the students met the real master of the Aegis’ flyer group.

[Absolution Black]

A nice little bridge there edonil, showing us a little bit more of Soli's character and new position in the army.

Nice to see Faulkner survived...He has the potential to be a very likeable character..

[TheOneWhoFell]

Love it!! Wonderful as usual!!!

[edonil]

Thanks! Here's another update, finishing off the battle for Dragon's Teeth. (ducks away into the off topic thread to avoid potentially angry readers)

After twenty-six hours of fighting, Faulkner’s voice was starting to die. How appropriate, he thought to himself. He had started giving orders to his shrinking garrison with sign language as the fighting wore on into the night. It was brutal, bloody work. Twice the new Drasvarian terror machines had attacked the wall. Each time, an artillery piece had died, along with a dozen or more men. The survivors, less than fifty strong, had managed to protect the last gun and cover the wall.

In elder days, Faulkner would have been sure his men’s last stand would be sung the world over. By God, how they would deserve it too! They had fought like demons, never breaking, never surrendering. The Drasvarian witches had raked the wall with lightning only to be dropped by a bullet fired from one of several heroic Witch Hunters, most of whom died almost immediately. The colonel had no idea if any of them were left, excepting the young Schmidt.

Schmidt lay on his stomach on the wall, bracing a machine gun against his shoulder. He hadn’t moved from that spot in hours, one hand on his ribs, the other on the trigger. A few of the other young soldiers worked to keep him reloaded, rallying around the Hunter.

Now, though, their luck was running out. They had managed to successfully hold the gate against hundreds, but the rain was thinning, and the clouds were starting to go away. Once the Drasvarian flyers got into the air, their defiant stand would be over.

“Once more, boys!” Faulkner yelled hoarsely as he saw another charge at the wall starting. “For Victrix!” He got no answer, his men too exhausted to reply. Mechanically, they propped themselves up on the wall, reloading to fresh ammunition that was rapidly disappearing. The crack of rifles filled the air but Faulkner saw no enemy soldiers go down, much to his dismay. His soldiers were too tired to aim properly. The tactician in him told him to order them to stop firing…but he knew it wouldn’t matter anyway.

He jumped as a hand clapped on his shoulder. The colonel staggered, spinning around to see Waechter behind him. The Witch Hunter looked just as exhausted as the rest of them, his lean face haggard. “Evenin’ colonel,” Waechter said. “Glad to see you’ve made it so far.”

“Waechter,” Faulkner said, tiredly grasping his friends arm. “Good hunting?”

“Good enough,” was the reply. “I closed the back door behind me.” The captain’s lips thinned into a line. “No one else out there to come in, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry,” Faulkner said quietly.

“Aye, so am I. More than it might seem.”

The colonel looked at his friend quizzically, then his eyes widened as he saw Drasvarian soldiers lining up in the courtyard behind the wall. Faulkner opened his mouth to call out a warning, then stopped as he felt cold steel touch his forehead. “Uh uh, colonel,” Waechter said, wagging his finger. “You get to just watch this one.”

Faulkner froze, his mind paralyzed. “Waechter…what in hell?”

The Hunter pressed the pistol barrel tighter against Faulkner’s forehead. “Be quiet,” he hissed, his pale eyes narrowing.

The defenders of Dragon’s Teeth, so focused on the enemies charging them, never noticed the drama only a few feet away from them, or the fresh enemies moving in the courtyard. If Faulkner said nothing, they’d be slaughtered, and he refused to let them have such an ignominious end, betrayed by one of their own. The colonel stared at the traitor, jaw clenched.

Swiftly, he spat in Waechter’s face, then yelled, “From behind!”

The Victrixan soldiers didn’t react for a few, terrifying heartbeats, then some of them turned, alerting their fellows. The Drasvarians in the courtyard started shooting up at the wall, trying to lay down covering fire as they went for the stairs that would lead up to their foes. Schmidt fought to turn his machine gun around, finally managing it with help, and opened up, firing out long bursts that he spread back and forth.

With a snarled curse, Waechter raised his pistol and put a round through his fellow Witch Hunter’s head. Blood and gore drained out of the valiant young man’s head, and Faulkner screamed a denial. The traitor captain kicked his former commander in the stomach, and fired another round through the colonel’s leg. “Oh, foolish, stupid colonel,” he jeered over Faulkner’s cries of pain. “So trusting and patriotic. Too bad you didn’t ever pay attention.” He leaned down, grabbing the colonel’s blond hair and twisting it around painfully. Faulkner felt tears of pain and grief flow down his face, fighting off the pain so he could try to accomplish something, anything.

Instead, he watched the entirety of his men slaughtered, unable to prevent it. “Damn you,” he whispered. “Why would you do this, Waechter?”

“I told you once. I ain’t going to die to these stupid witches. But you, you’d never surrender the fort. So, I cut myself a little deal. Lucky for you, you’re part of it.” A cold smile lit the ex-Hunter’s face. “Or perhaps you ain’t so lucky.”

Waechter let go, and stood, waving to the invaders. “Medic!” he called. He turned back and Faulkner’s blood went cold at the expression on his old friend’s face. “We wouldn’t want to lose our prize, would we?”

[SteamHammer]

Great chapter. And we can find you even if you hide in the Off Topic thread.

[Absolution Black]

Wow, enjoyed that twist.......I have to be honest and say i never saw that betrayal coming...so well done! It might be that i was liking Waecthers character too much to notice the subtle signs...

And Faulkner lives! Well, for a while anyway...probably would have been better for him to have died though!

All in all, a good..dramatic conclusion to that confrontation, and it sets up a whole new arc nicely...though i am now hoping the Drasvians (?) execute Waecther for the hell of it...serve him right!

[edonil]

Honestly, I was really debating just killing Faulkner...but I don't want to get too predictable. But yeah, this has been around since...second paragraph of writing Waechter? Just seemed like it'd be a nice twist. I'm glad (if somewhat surprised) that I managed to catch you off guard with that, Abs!

[Absolution Black]

Honestly, I was really debating just killing Faulkner...but I don't want to get too predictable. But yeah, this has been around since...second paragraph of writing Waechter? Just seemed like it'd be a nice twist. I'm glad (if somewhat surprised) that I managed to catch you off guard with that, Abs!

so am i! Maybe i skimmed a bit....don't know... ah well, i must be slipping..

Keep it up!

[TheOneWhoFell]

excelent Edonil!!! I really like the twist. I'm curious to see where Faulkner plays in.... can't wait to read more

[edonil]

In some ways, I'll be curious to see where Faulkner fits into things myself. It was as I was writing that I decided that bullet from Waechter would be going at Schmidt instead of Faulkner. So, I have some plans, don't worry...but, as usual, not really defined. Now I just need to figure out the next set of scenes...

[elril]

My only catch would be that once the gun was pointed away from Faulkner instead of Schmidt, I am surprised that Faulkner didn't jump Waechter. That bit happened kind of fast in the story and lost me a bit.

[edonil]

As much as you're right, Elril, in Faulkner's defense, he's been awake for 35 hours, in a warzone. Reflexes aren't that good at that point in time.

[Chucklemonkey]

Firstly I just want to clarify I'm coming at this from the perspective of someone who does not read sf/f stuff at all so have no idea of the conventions of the genre etc.

The world you've created is nicely done and generally feels consistent. There were one or two occasions where the language seemed too casual, but they were rare enough considering how much you have written.

I'm liking the characters though and you kept me reading which, given my lack of exposure to the genre, is meant as a compliment.

[elril]

As much as you're right, Elril, in Faulkner's defense, he's been awake for 35 hours, in a warzone. Reflexes aren't that good at that point in time.

Ja, I knew you were going to say that, it was the out I gave him too.

[edonil]

Thanks Chucklemonkey, glad you're enjoying it! By any chance, could you tell me where the tone got too casual?

“Oh come on,” Arias scoffed, brandishing his rapier with a grin. “You should be able to do better than this lot! A yard full of navy types, and the marine doesn’t want to fight?” He gestured with his free hand, then slid it behind his back.

Marine Sergeant Justice Black scowled down at the younger captain. “I hate using these things,” he grumbled, indicating the long knife and the metal buckler he carried. The sergeant dropped into a defensive stance, buckler leading, knife in a backwards grip.

Arias warily observed the larger, dark haired man for a few moments, then cautiously began probing with his sword. Every thrust or slash was blocked competently by the buckler, but the marine made no effort to attack on his own. Strange, thought the captain. He hadn’t sparred with Black before, but the man’s reputation was for anything but a defensive fighter. With a shrug, Arias threw caution to the wind, quickly building up the speed of his strikes.

Black suddenly stepped forward, angling his buckler to deflect Arias’ thrust up and to the side. The captain’s rapier slid with a screech across the metal surface, and his blue eyes widened as he felt the subtle, controlled touch of the knife press gently through his leather gorget. Arias opened his hand, letting the rapier drop, and he frowned.

“Damn,” he said mildly. “Didn’t see that coming.”

Black stepped back, a crooked grin across his pale face. “All due respect, sir, don’t be a moron next fight. Not much good of a practice for me if you’re just plain stupid.”

“Fair enough,” Arias said with a grin. He reached out with his foot, and kicked his rapier up into his hand. “Another go, then?”

“If you’d like,” Black replied, then jumped forward, stabbing violently with his knife. Arias skipped back a step, sword ringing as it bounced away the attack. This time, it was Black driving the pace, and Arias’ inexperience with the style was definitely a disadvantage.

“Are you going to stop playing around at any point?” Black asked, face calm.

“Not sure what you’re talking about,” Arias said, watching desperately for an opening. Seeing one, he jumped forward, free hand grabbing the extended knife arm. He ducked under the buckler, placing his rapier against the side of Black’s neck. Black nodded at the touch, and the two separated again. The marine rubbed the side of his neck with a smile.

“Didn’t realize we were playing by real rules,” he said. “In that case, this can get more interesting. Alright, captain, let’s see if you can get another point off me.”

“Absolutely, Black,” Arias said, panting from the effort. He took a deep breath, then settled into a guard stance, free hand at his side. Black cautiously launched the first few exchanges, a measure of respect on his face. Arias blocked the attacks easily, then counter attacked. The combatants moved around, the fight even as they both gained the measure of the other. Arias tried a few grabs again, only to be brutally intercepted by the sergeant.

Black suddenly stepped forward into the captain’s guard, scything a leg into the other man’s ankle. Arias tumbled to the ground, rolling aside from the knife blade that flashed down. The captain sprang to his feet and charged, hoping to catch his opponent off guard, and ran face first into the metal buckler that was waiting for him. Black dropped a knee onto Arias’ chest, knife against his throat.

“Yield,” Arias croaked out. As the sergeant stood up, Arias gingerly touched his nose. “Ow,” he winced. It didn’t seem to be broken, but it certainly hurt like hell. He wiped blood from his lip and grinned. “Well done, sergeant. And you said that you’re not a brawler.”

“I’m not, sir,” Black said. “I’m a marksman. But,” he shrugged, “I’m also a marine. They make sure we can hold our own in a boarding fight.”

“Consider me glad you’re on my side,” Arias said. He pulled a handkerchief out of a coat pocket and pressed it to his nose to staunch the bleeding.

“Honestly, captain, I’m surprised that you’re a fighter at all. You’re decent at it. Not the best, but you’ll keep yourself alive for a while at least. A little formal, even when you’re trying to fight dirty, but we can work that out of you.”

“I got some good training as a midshipman from the crew on my first boat. Never was all that brilliant at it, but it got me through a few fights with pirates. I’d be glad to learn some more from you while you’re on the Merlin, sergeant. Mind teaching the rest of the crew? At least those who are willing to learn. We’ll need a good group of people when we get back into the war.”

“Well, you are the captain, sir. I’ll do my best, but we’ll see how much I can do.”

“It’s a deal, then,” Arias said, holding out his hand. He noticed the blood on his hand and paused, as the sergeant stared at him with eyebrows raised.

“You might want to get that looked at,” Black said. “Sir.”

“That does sound like a good plan. We’ll continue this later, then?”

“Of course, sir,” Black said, saluting.

[TheOneWhoFell]

“Absolutely, Black,” Arias said, panting from the effort.

Nice Homage (I'm sure it wasn't on purpose)

I already love the character of Black! Great job, Ed!

[edonil]

Nice Homage (I'm sure it wasn't on purpose)

I already love the character of Black! Great job, Ed!

Actually...it was totally on purpose, LOL