Two of a Kind (Bloodsword)

A young Dark Elf strode upon a dust road on the edge of an arid desert. His long, white hair was tied back into a ponytail but several strands fell around his face like white curtains. His head was bent over, his eyes staring at the ground at he walked. They were a shimmering gold that resemboled a hawk’s. Sweat shined upon the black flesh of his face, for it was a very tepid day. The man stood about six and a half feet in height, perhaps more. His structure was toned and muscular but not too much. Upon his body was a black shirt buttoned up to the third to last button. He wore black cloth pants with a leather belt around his waist. On his feet were two, dusty black boots and upon his hands were two cloth gloves. Even though the day was hot enough, he wore a large, black trench coat.

Rontu stuck his hands into his pockets, ignoring the smoldering heat. He was used to such temperatures, for this was the land he had grown up in. Delusuu was not a kind place. The terrain was rough and so were its people. Mostly Dark Elves, orcs, goblins, and trolls roamed these cursed lands. Rontu hadn’t been in his land for a whole year until now. He had even stopped in Delu, the city of the Dark Elves. He never thought he would ever lay eyes upon that place again, but he had been wrong. Under his current situation he was forced to regroup there, after his battle with Zeek he had almost lost the use of his left arm. It had surprised him the tricks the youth had managed to pull on him. It was almost shameful.

The former assassin’s lips thinned at the memory of it. His gold eyes narrowed at the ground, which was cracked and dry. No plants grew here, he was just on the border of the Mountains of Spirit and the Desert of Suu. The young Dark Elf’s mind began to wonder again as his feet carried him along the road. I wonder what happened to the others … After the rock slid in the very mountains he was heading toward, the Dark Elf had lost the location of his friends and the mage girl, Leita. Rontu’s hard complexion softened at the very thought of her name. He hoped dearly she was not in danger. Oh … what I wouldn’t give to hold her in my arms again. The very thought made his heart ache painfully in his chest.

The Dark Elf was suddenly bumped out of his thoughts by a rude interruption. He was suddenly knocked backwards by a person he had not noticed, due to the fact he had been staring at the ground. Rontu hadn’t been expecting anyone else to be walking this abandoned road. He stumbled but regained his balance. His head jerked up to see who he had knocked into. What the …? He blinked for a few seconds to make sure he wasn’t imagining the person in front of him.

Glaring back at him was another Dark Elf. It was a man with long, white hair pulled back into a ponytail and gold eyes. For a moment he had thought he was staring at a reflection of himself, until he noticed it looked a bit older than himself. Rontu would have guessed thirty. Besides that, the man even had the same glare. His golden eyes narrowed and his lips bent in a snarl. He was wearing an outfit frighteningly like his own, black trench coat in all.

Rontu got over his shock and glared back at the older man. They both stood there in the road, glowering at each other. Neither flinched under each other’s gaze, though if someone would have been watching they would have cowered just from the looks on their faces. Their rough complexions were cold and feirce. Both continued to walk in opposite directions, still holding their gaze was they went. Rontu turned his attention to the mountains in front of him. However, the young Dark Elf stopped abruptly. His eyes were narrowed again and his teeth bared. Rontu whipped around and ran toward the older Dark Elf.

“Hey!” he called, but the man pretended not to notice and kept walking. “HEY! You stop right there!”

Once he had come within the man’s range, he placed a hand on his shoulder and forced the man to turn around. His other hand shot out and gripped the man’s wrist with a firm pressure. He yanked the Dark Elf’s hand up and cletched in it was Rontu’s leather bag of coins. They both glared at each other again. The older man seemed frustrated that he had been caught, for his glower was also filled with resentment.

“You’re a quick one but I’m not as ignorant as some of the other fools you steal from,” growled the former assassin.

Rontu had lived with a theif for four years of his life, he knew when there was difference in his pocket. He had learned to remember the weight of his possessions to make sure his old friend Tarrowco hadn’t snagged anything from him. He would have been quicker to realize it if his friend was still alive and trying to steal change from him. He had become rusty over the past year.

OoC: I know you’ve waited a while for this, so let’s make this a battle to remember!

"Ah," said Fael with a sadistic smirk, "you're quick. Didn't really expect someone as big as yourself to not notice when a little weight is dropped off."

It was a clear insult to Rontu, but he held back his temper, contenting himself with saying "**** off. Give me the damn money and I'll be on my way."

Fael twisted his grip and pressed the weight into Rontu's thumb, and he was forced to release it, to his surprise. Fael cocked his mouth into a sneer. "Don't talk to me like I'm some kiddie thief. I don't give back stolen goods on your command."

Rontu's hand strayed for his katana. He did not want a fight, but this man... this Dark Elf who looked so like him... he was asking for it.

"Give it to me now, it is the last warning I will give you," threatened Rontu. Fael grinned at the katana hilt. It was well forged, but it did not frighten him.

"Go ahead, try to hit me," dared the former mercenary. "Try it. Just once."

Rontu obeyed, and the katana flew out of the sheathe so fast that even Fael was caught offguard. Rontu brought the blade around lightning quick to the side of Fael's head, but Fael flipped up a knife, and easily held the katana there, smiling. He had not moved his expression. He held another knife at his side.

"Trinkets!" snarled Rontu, drawing back the katana. "Toys! You may have skill, but you will not stop me that easily!"

The katana came in for another attack. This time Fael dropped to his knees and tuck and rolled it nimbly across the dirt road, not caring when he got dust all over his trench coat. He did not move away from Rontu, however. In fact, he uncurled his body after a second or two, and took the offense from his adversaries hand by jabbing the two knives at his stomach.

Rontu held his katana horizontally to stop these, and caught them both, luckily. As soon as Fael struck again, Rontu was forced into parrying mode. The daggers were coming down quite fast, although Rontu knew by the Dark Elf's size that he was not a quick one. He was like him... all muscle and no swiftness, aside from the blade. Nevertheless, he found it hard to ward him off.

Fael was enjoying himself only slightly. "You're a decent fighter," he said to Rontu, still striking at him. "But you seem to be lacking something."

"Yeah," said Rontu, switching his grip around and suddenly attacking past both of the flying daggers, "a good offense myself!"

Fael instantly knew that daggers were useless next to the katana. Son of a *****, he's a strong Dark Elf! I've never met anybody like this. He sheathed them, ducking and avoiding the blade, and drew out his own katana, balancing it in his fingers so he would not grip it too tightly.

Dark bodies smashed together, and the katana edges grated against each other. The two growls situated on the faces of the two Dark Elves would have sent the bravest troll cowering for cover. They golden eyes were alight with malice and fury, sending this forced feeling out through their hands and into their weapons.

Finally, after ten seconds of this, Fael shot a huge bulky hand through Rontu's brief opening, grabbing his collar, and swiftly flung him off the road, still clutching his katana, and onto the dirt, at the very base of a massive mountain that neither had even realized was there at first. Fael saw Rontu heave himself up as if nothing had happened, but he saw small sparse bruises on him.

"A wonderful strength you have yourself there," said Rontu idly. "But it will do you no good! I offer you one last chance... give me back my money or suffer the consequences."

Any normal Dark Elf would have shaken under the furious gaze Rontu shot at Fael. The other Dark Elf simply made a rude hang gesture, which sent Rontu spinning into another dimension of anger.

"Your choice," he spat, and they charged each other.

OoC: Let's not have Fael use his revolvers until Emon shows his ugly mug.

OoC: Sorry, I take forever with these sort of things.

BiC: The patting of feet upon the dry and dusty ground, along with the panting of quick breathing was all that could be heard. The sky itself began to rumble with dark gray clouds as two Dark Elves zoomed up the mountain side and between the dead trees. They ran parallel with each other, their gold gazes never left each other, only disturbed when dry tree trunks would flash between them.

Lightening sparked through the air followed by earth-shattering thunder. Fael was the first to lash out with his katana, during a brief gape between trees. Rontu responded just was swiftly. A clash of steel rang through the silent air and both men were knocked backwards. They caught their stumbling steps and dashed back in, recreating the pattern. More clashes of steel sang with the roars of the angry sky.

This storm isn’t natural, thought Rontu as they had stopped the useless clanking of metal. It didn’t feel normal. It feel as if the clouds were being forced to form. Somehow … he felt as if one of his friends had something to do with this. But who? And where were they?

The former assassin didn’t get anymore time for these thoughts. Fael and he reached a clearing of trees, perfect for battle. Rontu rushed in at the older Dark Elf and Fael rushed in also. Sparks flew into the air as their blade met and gridded into each other. They snarled at each other with the same sort of glare. Their eyes were bent and their lips twisted into a glower.

“F***!” they both cried in unison. Their heads had been shoved forward and bashed together by an unknown force.

They both stumbled back from each other, clutching their heads and cursing under their breath. Laughter clattered around them. The voice was strong and deep, full of ridicule. Rontu and Fael turned, still rubbing their foreheads, to see who was laughing at them. Rontu’s gold eyes widened and his lips parted just barely in shock. He felt as if his insides had all turned to ice and dropped out of his body.

Leaning against a dead tree was another, older, Dark Elf. He had long, white hair that reached just above his shoulders and his eyes were gold and resembled a hawk’s. He wore a gold silk shirt with black buttons. His pants were black and made out of a more durable material than his shirt. On his feet were two black leather boots, nicely polished. His hands were covered with black cloth gloves. Over his shirt he wore a black trench coat with the collar turned up and gold bordering. His build was just like Rontu and Fael’s, but he was older. If Rontu was correct, he would thirty-seven. There was an unbearable smirk carved into his black lips. Rontu hated that smirk even if it looked just like his.

“Heh, I was hoping I would find you here,” said the man.

Fael looked confused, his eyebrow twisted upward. He probably wasn’t sure who this man was speaking to. But Rontu knew exactly who he was speaking to. He unstuck his throat that had shrunk together in his shock.

“I was hoping you were dead by now,” he growled back. He found his glare again, but it was a different one than he had used with Fael. This one held complete hatred, this glower was for only one person. His eyes flashed with it as he stared at this older Dark Elf.

The cursed elf only laughed like Rontu knew he would. He spoke with a mocking expression, “You’re braver than when you were a boy. I would normally be proud but … I could never be proud of a Dark Elf who joins a rebellion against his own empire. Even without that I would never be proud of a weakling like you.”

“I never wanted you to be proud of me!” Rontu snapped, gripping his katana’s hilt. “I have my own pride, I never needed yours.”

The Dark Elf sneered at his retort. “My … strong words for one so weak.”

Rontu began to tremble all over, his hands clenched together and shook. His gold eyes were narrowed and his lips twisted in with rage. I’m not weak, I’m not weak, I’m NOT weak.

“Well, perhaps should I get down to business?” said the man as he unfolded his arms that had been crossed. His hand slid down and pushed back his coat to show the black handle of his sword in a dark sheath with gold designs of the Black Widow, a symbol of the Dark Elf Empire. “I’m surprised so many people want you dead, you never caused that much trouble for me when you were young.”

So he’s with the Empire … and in the Gold rank, noted the former assassin. He wouldn’t have guessed but it made sense that his father would seek power with the Empire. Rontu’s lips curved up into an identical simper as the Dark Elf’s.

“So the moron, Sheinron, has finally got some brains? I’m guessing you’re his new servant boy,” said Rontu, his white eyebrow twitched up with amusement. “I never thought you would stoop to such a level, Emon.”

Emon’s leer flickered for just a second, but he remained calm. His stroked the hilt of his sword almost lovingly. “… You’ve got quite a mouth on you. I don’t remember teaching my son to speak that way to me.”

“HA!” snorted Rontu, tilting his head back shortly with his laugh. “You taught me a lot more than you know … and I’ll curse you forever because of that.”

“Well then … do something about it,” challenge his father. “Or are you going to cower like you did when you were a child?”

The smirk faded off his black face and was replaced with his glower. This was it. The final battle but really only the first one. Rontu hadn’t really had the chance to fight back when he was younger. Those had only been drunken beatings. He would make him pay for it all.

Fael had been watching this conversation and having a hard time following it. But he seemed to understand their relationship as father and son, though, not looking as if they cared for each other at all. In fact, it looked and sounded like they wanted to kill each other.

Emon seemed different than he had been six years ago. Not quite so angry but just as arrogant, yet calm and collected. Unlike his fits of rage coupled with a bottle of whiskey that had happened so often in the past. The Empire really appeared to have changed him.

Rontu charged forward without anymore hesitation. Emon flipped his long sword out from its sheath. Rontu slashed at him with his katana in a horizontal cut. The Gold warrior blocked it easily, too easily. He was even faster than the former assassin had remembered. After blocking, he was so swift he grabbed Rontu’s trench coat and tugged him forward. He brought up his knee and slammed him into it. Rontu gasped as the wind was knocked straight out of him. Emon let go of his coat and straightened his palm out to face him. Before Rontu could do anything, white light erupted from his father’s hand. His gold eyes widened as he felt the hot energy press against his chest. The former assassin went flying backward into the air, his katana slipped through his fingers and fell to the ground.

Rontu landed on the cracked and arid earth on his back, sending a puff of dust into the air. He immediately curled his arms around his middle, shrinking into a fetal position. The energy had burned his shirt and flesh, but it had also torn into his skin like a blade. Blood oozed through the burned holes in his shirt. His eyelids were squeezed tightly together, lips were pressed into a thin line. His middle also ached where his father had kneed him. Damn … he’s learned a few tricks, thought Rontu bitterly through his pain.

“You know, I heard an interesting rumor from Nelu,” said Emon’s voice, as if nothing had happened. Rontu could hear his feet step closer. Just like when …

“I heard you were … infatuated with a Hylian girl. What was her name again? Leita … Spiritwood, I think.”

Rontu opened his hawk-like eyes, they narrowed up at his father who was standing above him. His lips twisted into a snarl. Emon smirked with victory.

“I am right, aren’t I?”

Rontu’s gold eyes turned away from his father’s stare, still glaring.

“You should see yourself … you look so pathetic. Get up!” he ordered.

Rontu did as he was told and let go of his torso and pushed himself up to his knees. He didn’t look at Emon, his head was bowed and he stared at the ground. The strands of hair that never stayed in his ponytail, shielded his face from his father’s gaze. He was powerless again, just like when he was a child. Emon was just playing with him, this was just a game.

“Now … be a good boy and tell about me this girl.”

Rontu shook his head mutely as he glowered at the ground. Emon frowned at his son’s resistance, even though it was not much of a resistance. He had already lost the will to fight back. The Gold warrior reached down and gripped the cuff of his shirt and yanked him up enough for him to hit his face. Rontu only flinched a little as the pain of his father’s punch. Though, it hurt a lot more than he remembered it to. The whole left side of his face was throbbing with an agonizing heat.

“You make me sick” snarled Emon, with the same gold eyes. He spat on Rontu’s face. “You’re as weak and pathetic as you were when you were a child! How much do you want to bet I can make you cry like I could then?”

The former assassin gridded his teeth together as the warm saliva glided down his black skin. He lifted his arms to wipe the spit off his face. His gold eyes opened and were blazing with rage. His fist flew forward into Emon’s gut. His father’s eyes widened with surprise and his mouth opened just how Rontu’s did when he had knocked the air out of him. The Gold fighter tripped backwards but regained his sense of balance. Rontu stood up straight, reclaiming his pride in spite of the pain in his torso.

“You little bastard!” hissed Emon through his teeth. He straightened his back as well. His fists were clenched tightly together.

“I’m stronger than you remember, aren’t I?” said Rontu with a sneer.

Emon’s eye were wide with that same uncontrolled rage he had seen there six years ago. I won’t lay down for him anymore … I’m not going down without a fight. The older Dark Elf charged him like a mad bull. Rontu went to lift his katana but he remembered it had fallen out of his hand.

“Sh**,” said Rontu as his father closed in.

But Emon didn’t need his sword. His hands were his best weapon. His fist struck Rontu in the gut with the force he had gathered from his charge. Pain blossomed like some deadly flower in his insides. All the air he had before ran from his lungs and out of his mouth. The impact sent him flying back to the ground and he hit the dirt hard, adding to his suffering.

He twisted over onto his knees, trying to suck in air but his lungs were still in shock. Instead he ended up coughing. His hands went up over his mouth and he felt a warm liquid fall onto his gloves. Still trying to breathe, Rontu lifted his hands up to see his crimson blood on them.

Just as his lungs started to work for him again, he felt Emon’s boot slam into his side. With a cry, Rontu was knocked over to the ground. He felt his boot again as it pummeled his mid-drift. His cries were cut short by each blow to his gut. Blood ran out of his mouth freely.

Fael stared in shock at what the young Dark Elf was reduced to. He flinched each time Emon hit him. He was the guy’s father, why was he doing that to his son? It’s none of my business, just turn around and walk away. Fael turned away from Rontu and Emon, but he could still hear him crying out in pain. Just like … He looked over his shoulder at them, glaring at Emon.

He finally stopped kicking Rontu, his face sweaty from his rage and panting for breath. He brushed the white hair that had fallen in his face away, trying to regain his collected composure. Rontu laid on the ground, arms curled around his stomach and his eyes were, again, shut tightly. His gridded his teeth against the pain of his insides that were throbbing wildly. Emon cleared his throat.

“Now … you will tell me what I want to know. Do you understand me? You little sh**,” growled his father.

Rontu made no reply, nor could he have. For Emon was forced to drag his sword up to block Fael’s katana, making him stumble but not lose his equilibrium. Rontu stared up at Fael with a hazy but confused look.

“What are you doing?” snapped Rontu, glaring at him.

“Saving your ass! What does it look like?” Fael retorted with an equal glower.

“I didn’t ask for your help!”

“Oh yes, you were doing very well. Lying there and taking it!”

“Shut up, both of you!” yelled Emon.

They both glared at him. Emon raised his eyebrows at the identical snarls. His lips quivered with amusement. Sound broke through his lips as he snorted with mirth. Rontu shook as he stood up, but his glare did not falter. Fael was also snarling even more. What the hell is he laughing about? He stopped laughing enough to speak.

“You two could be twins, you know that?”

They looked at each other and then glared back at Emon. They didn’t seem to find it amusing. Emon began to twirl the handle of his sword between his fingers, smirking.

“Great, another moron for me to play with,” he said.

Wielder, don't post in other people's fights unless you've been specifically told by the participants that you can post. Extra OoC posts just clutter up a fight thread. I won't delete you post, but just remember this in the future.

OoC: Short post, but it took way too long, anyway.

BiC: “Great, another moron for me to play with,” muttered Emon over the cracking of the constant lightning striking down far away from the actual mountaintop that the three Dark Elves stood on, glaring at each other. It was a confrontation of epic proportions, made no less stunning by the fact that they were all hulking, towering, massive men who looked like they could tear the eyeballs out of a dragon without flinching.

“Twins,” spat Rontu. He twisted his blade with agitated, sausage-like fingers. “Bullsh**, Emon. Together we’ll rip you in half.”

Both Rontu and Fael rather doubted this statement, though not as much as Emon himself, for he let out a booming laugh that seemed to echo through everyone’s limbs simultaneously.

“Try it, little bastards. Your powers are nothing to mine,” said Emon, straightening to his full height, equal to Rontu’s and Fael’s, and grinning a nasty little grin that would send a baby squirrel into a seizure. “I’m of gold. You will never conquer me.”

Fed up already by this mysterious father figure of Rontu’s, Fael slowly sheathed his katana as quietly as he could. Emon’s eyes flicked down to the handle, and then back up to Fael’s golden eyes. They met each others stare for a second, before the latter drew out two beautiful, gleaming revolvers and fired them off, diving to the side.

Emon had never seen any weapons like this, and was stunned when five bullets ripped through his biceps, leaving bloody holes in the muscle. Groaning a little, he clutched at his left arm, feeling warm blood trickling through his fingers. What the f*** are those things? he thought angrily.

Oddly enough, Rontu had frozen in shock, staring with stunned relief at his own father who he had thought he could never injure, bent over and breathing heavily, clutching at five holes.

“What the hell are you waiting for!” shouted Fael, smacking Rontu across the back with the handle of one of the revolvers, snapping him back to reality. “Let’s kill him!”

This word rang through Rontu’s head and went through his chest like an icy knife. Kill… he thought.

They both jumped forward, Fael firing off round after round from the silver guns, Rontu swinging his katana horizontally. Even as more bullets skimmed his skin, Emon blocked Rontu’s attack and elbowed him hard in the shoulder, sending pain blasting through his body. Rontu stumbled a little, leaving a small window of opportunity for Emon. The gold rank Dark Elf dashed forward and threw a hard punch into Fael’s left wrist, which sent his arm into a frenzy of mind numbing pain. He dropped the left revolver from nerveless fingers, but angrily lowered the right one and shot Emon twice in the foot.

Emon bellowed in agony, and tackled Fael full force, driving his katana into his arm. Luckily, since Fael’s skin was armor in itself, the katana only caused a minor slice at the back of his arm. They hit the surface of the mountain in a tangle of legs, arms, and weapons. Fael used the leverage of being on the bottom to flip Emon over his head and onto the ground behind him. Then he rolled ten feet, jumped to his feet, hurriedly straightened his trench coat, and seized his fallen revolver.

“DIE!” he screamed, firing off multiple rounds. But this time, Emon was ready. He seemed to have adapted to these weapons, and was rapidly dodging the bullets. Although they were fast enough even for him, and most of them skimmed his body, leaving bloody furrows in their wake.

A flash of Energy erupted from Emon’s palm, and Fael felt a charged force hit him hard in the chest, sending him onto his back, gasping for air. This knocked the wind out of his lungs, and he could not move to stop his enemy walking steadily forward, raising his katana above his ugly head for the death blow…

Rontu side tackled his loathsome father, and they rolled for several feet, punching each other back and forth, all thoughts of swords apparently forgotten. The blows were sickeningly loud as they landed back and forth on both skulls and chests.

Fael struggled to his feet, coughing painfully, and pulled from underneath his trench coat his sinisterly shining chain mace, which nobody caught sight of, for they were both still pounding each other furiously. Nasty bruises would be left, for sure.