Battle in the Mist

Arthur woke up with a start. The former soldier picked himself up from his slumber and hastened to tend his face from a nearby pound. He retreived his small pack that he had slept under and quickly disposed of or destroyed any trace of his small campsite. He sighed as the morning dew reached his nostrils. He reached inside for his bag of supplies and pulled out a dry and simple biscuit and put it into his mouth. His hands retreated to his back, making sure that his seath was still there. The birds began to chirp faintly as the former soldier strapped on his supplies and he set off again. There was no road.

It was only a little short of an aimless journey withot a destination. In truth, he had only mustered a little faith for the whole outcome of the quest. As a boy, he had been told of the famed Sage of the West, renowned for his great wisdom and ability to give advice to the hapless and troubled.That would be his case. He wanted to know how he would cope with the ordeal of a large bounty on his head. All across the land, hunters and mercenaries would go after him for the reward was quite extravagant. And perhaps, the Sage would offer him shelter for a time.

A merchant on the road had told him that the Sage lied to the southwest beyond a valley and even he seemed to only have a vauge idea of where this consuleour resided, but Arthur was willing to traverse all forms of the Earth to meet this person and maybe find the lost meaning in his life again. He could have easily caught a ship that would bring him beyond the reaches of the mercenary guild, but he was determined to know what a man of the heavens would say. And surely the Sage could not refuse him, he was told that the man gave little care of politics. But Arthur still thought his own position was rather pelirious.

He stomped past the blades of cool grass and took note of the waning summer. It was cool as a breeze howled by and was the only thing that breached the silence. Arthur trudged on without a word coming from his mouth, which was now chomping on the remains of his biscut. He wondered how long his rations would last. Midday came quickly as the scenery began to change. The ground began to darken into a grayish tone and the grass had faded into a cleared brown land. Arthur's eyes lit up as he began to near the foothills of a modest mountain range, all crested with snow.

He took note of this as snow began to fall when he entered, he would have to do with leaving tracks but he would do it at a minimal rate. The valley path began to grow tiring as it seemed to go on forever. His brain throbbed with boredom until a light fog began to creep up to him like an unseen shadow. The dull feeling continuied well after the sun's waning rays became apparent in the valley. But by nightfall, the mist had began to overtake his entire line of sight. Arthur managed to trudge his way by a small pond enclosed by the cold wall of a mountain.

Lucky for him, a discarded small pile of wood lay by the site. Slightly reluctant to take out of mere suspicsion, he gave in when the coldness of the night began to show its effects. Another volley of snow barraged him as he began to set up a small fire. It prevailed albeit some of the snow caused it to only give it a small flicker, but Arthur was pleased enough. A crackle of embers sounded quietly as he lay by the wall, his feet and head somewhat tired. But then there was another sound.

He stood up at once and drew his sword swiftly. He clutched his pommel with a tightening grip as the sounds grew louder and less distant from his widening ears as the presence of a stranger became evident. A small trickle of cold sweat began to slide down his temples. Had they found him already? He opened up his lips to speak to the intruder.

"Who goes there?"

Occ: I'll be using my character Arthur, desiginated in the sig.

Rontu tensed at the question. Who in the Dark Realm would be here? This land had been free of most people to the best of the Dark Elf’s knowledge. Or at least it had been that way for several days. How many was it now? A month? Since he had been separated from his allies and attacked by that damn boy and his dragon. The former assassin’s face glowered at the very memory of it. However, he had no time to think of past events. Right now there was an unknown figure before him and he did not know if it was a dangerous being or not. For all he knew it could be one of Nelu’s men sent out here to finish him off. Rontu had hoped they thought he had died when he fell off the cliff on Spirit Mountain. But they weren’t able to find his body therefore they must know he is alive. The Dark Elf also did not feel like answering the mystery person’s question until he could see him. So he continued walking the direction where he had heard the person shout. The mist out there was beginning to get on Rontu’s nerves, he could barely see anything five feet in front of him. The former assassin’s hand slid quietly over to grip the hilt of his katana underneath his trench coat. He could now see the shadowy out line of the person and he was sure the person could see his shady figure also.

“Who are you?” it questioned Rontu again. The Dark Elf remained silent, he still couldn’t see this person. But there was an alarming tone in the person’s voice. It was a deep voice too, a man’s voice. It sounded more gentle than Rontu knew Nelu’s men to be. Perhaps he was new to Nelu’s guard. If that was true, it would probably be easy enough to take him out. The former assassin decided to show himself to the man, he stepped closer until the man came into his own view and Rontu into his. Rontu wore a black, cloth shirt, black pants with a belt that had his katana tied to it, and a black, ragged trench coat that looked like it had been through a lot. The sleeve of his left arm looked as if it had been burned away to his elbow. His black, bare skin on his left arm had a scars all over it and looked as if it had been severely burned. He had long, white hair that was tied back into a ponytail. His black skinned face was hardened with caution and his gold, hawk like eyes gazed with a piercing stare at the man before him.

He was considerably shorter than the Dark Elf, looked a few inches under six feet. He had light brown hair and a face that looked about four years old than himself. He had emerald-green eyes that reminded him of Leita’s. Leita … Rontu prayed to the six gods that she was all right…. The man had sort of a lanky and thin build to him, didn’t look that strong either. The human wore a tunic with many layers of padding on top of his daywear and various metallic guards at his pressure points, such as his shoulders, knees, and elbows. On top of his tunic, he wore a jet-black, waist-length jacket with many pockets. He wore simple cloth pants and plain boots. Around his neck was an amulet that the Dark Elf could not see properly from his current distance. His green eyes were locked on Rontu, but were unusually calm though alert as if he did not trust the former assassin’s intentions.

“Who are you?” he said again. The Dark Elf finally replied,

“I’m Rontu … who are you?”

“…” the man did not reply and looked as if he didn’t even trust Rontu with his name. His eyes glided down to the Dark Elf’s glove-covered hand that was still on the hilt of his katana. Rontu raised a white eyebrow at him and his golden eyes narrowed. Why was he so hesitant about giving him his name? It was starting to get on the former assassin’s nerves.

“You have a name, don’t you?” growled the Dark Elf, the man frowned and did not look as if he wished to speak. “Spit it out already!”

OoC: Hello! Looks like you’ve waiting to battle someone. Heh, I hope it's okay that I responded, if not then I sure am embarassed :embrsd: . I saw this a few days ago and wanted to battle you but I didn’t get around to it until now. If you want to know more about Rontu click on his link in my sig.

Ooc: Eh, thanks.

Arthur was unsure what to say. He wanted to snap a quick retort, but words failed him and he dismissed the thought of it as his opponent proceeded to examine him thoroughly. His hands retreated to his side, as if he wanted to draw his sword at any minute. A faint wind howled again as the mist began to strengthen and his eyes became clouded in pure white essence, barely giving way to the shadow of the sudden intruder. His eyes narrowed and he was again becoming unsure of what to do. He was sure this was a bounty hunter of some kind, although he began to ponder whether elves even took part in such activities. The strain on his mind became tedious in a sense, but he knew he had to take caution. Finally, his dry mouth opened and he began to speak, still wondering if his investments in his words would yield fruit when he broke into a small expressionelss tone, "You will call me Arthur. Why have you intruded on my campsite?"

“Intruded?” snorted Rontu, he was getting more suspicious by the second. “Bit of an odd place to make a camp site.”

“Um …” Arthur looked uncomfortable at Rontu’s statement and appeared as if he didn’t know quite what to say. His green eyes were narrowed at him, not looking as if he trusted him. Not that Rontu could blame him, Dark Elves have been known for they’re extremely violent behaviors. The former assassin had a habit of losing his temper, which was starting to thin away in the silence of the mist. Why was it so hard for this guy to say something?

“What are you doing out here?” questioned Rontu, his hand was still grasping his katana. Arthur appeared to be disgruntled by the question.

“You didn’t answer my question,” said the man, his eyebrows tense with dislike. They stared at each other for a moment. Rontu really didn’t like this, it was too fishy. If this “Arthur” wasn’t one of Nelu’s men then he would have probably told him who he was and why he was here without such hesitation. He was obviously hiding something. He must be one of Nelu’s men. Should he attack him now or wait for the man to attack first? The Dark Elf never liked waiting for other people to attack him. He preferred to take them head on. And that was what he was going to do.

Rontu whipped out his katana from underneath his trench coat lashed out at Arthur, who seemed to have known he was going to attack for he unleashed his own blade to catch his. They broke apart quickly. The Dark Elf made vertical slash at the human who dodged it and did an upper cut with his sword. The blade caught Rontu’s right arm, he growled at the injury but did not hesitate to nurse it. He’s quick, thought the former assassin. This did not settle well with him. “You just need to work on your speed.” Link’s words drifted across his mind. The Dark Elf stabbed at Arthur again who beat his sword down with his own blade. He was wide open. Rontu brought his left fist around and smacked the human in the jaw. Arthur stumbled backward and Rontu closed in with his katana.

Arthur grimaced with pain and steered back promptly, with his free hand nursing his his sore jaw, blood trickling from his chin. He scowled and thrusted forward with vigor as his opponent came out forward to meet him. The mercenary swung to the side and swiped hastily at his rival's side. His adversery's reflexes were incredible, not giving in to that sudden strike that Arthur had invested in, although it looked as he was almost going to stumble. He did not falter though, as the elf surged forward with great intensity in his burning eyes, and swung a hefty blow across, a hint of sweat beggining to fall down his temples. Arthur let a barely audiable yelp escape his mouth as he felt the recongizable feeling of cold metal gash across his skin and rip across the cloth on his shoulder. He inspected his wound as he backed off from his opponent and saw it was only a slight graze.

He impulsively advanced and jumped, hoping to score a quick rebuttal. He heard the distinct sound of cloth tear and saw that he had grazed his opponent near his elbows. Both of them exchanged savage glares and growled in time, brandishing both sets of eyes in very menancing fashions. The cold pounded heavily in Arthur's eardrums as he let his sword sway to the side and let his opponent join him a lock of sorts. He was the first to move, bolting forward and a clang of metal sounded heavily throughout the iron valley as their swords met. The former soldier gave a groan of effort as he held his sword firmly and hoped to break through the stalemate. With a quick swing he slashed backwards and sweeped downwards in a quick motion. He heard a frame fall to the ground and saw that his opponent ahd tripped in his effort to dodge the attack. He gave a quick and cold smile as his hair whirled back in the gale when he thundered forward, taking his muscles to their limits, and began the process of plunging his blade into the elf's flesh.