The sounds of chaos were faint as Helbram made his way to the Shrine. He could not hear the sounds of orders being shouted to men, but the roars of the Parents rang clear through the air. These roars did not bring about any other visions, and he suspected that he needed to be near someone for that particular effect to occur. He thought back towards the visions that he saw. Flashes of a man with his face down against a counter, surrounded by empty mugs, a disapproving look from the tavernkeep’s face as drool leaked from his face. The sight of a woman walking away from him, the arms of another man around her. The glare of a child looking down at him, spitting on him before walking away.
These were not his memories, but instead ones that he assumed to be Roger’s. He did not let judgment cloud his thoughts, and shook the other man's past from his head. Despite that, he could not shake the anxiety that clawed at his heart when the thoughts of his companions occupied his mind.
Would they be safe?
Had he ordered them to certain doom?
He knew his friends, knew that they did not blindly follow his commands, but even then he could not bear the thought of them meeting their ends under his orders.
Blended with this worry was a sudden thought.
Why was he going to the Sword?
He could have gone with Elly, helped her deal with those that were most likely guarding Sophia and Marcus. He could have gone with Leaf and Jahora, aided them in holding off the Parent’s, yet he immediately chose to go to the Sword. He wanted to believe that he was doing so to bring Marjorie to justice, to turn both her and the Sword to the judgment of the Parent’s, but in reality such thoughts were not even in his mind.
No, he saw that the Sword was being unleashed and chose to go to it. There was no rationality to his decision, no duty or integrity that guided his steps. Only instinct had driven him, and he did not feel any pressure on his thoughts as before. There was no one to blame for his actions, no scapegoat to find solace and excuse in.
Desire was the impulse, and it was desire that carried him to the Shrine.
Was it such feelings that made him command his friends away? Hidden by the convenient falsehood, a selfish action covered by the guise of duty and heroics?
Helbram grit his teeth and shook his head, desperate to push the spike of guilt that stabbed at his core. It faded only slightly, and he continued on to the Shrine.
He would have to trust his companions, and hold onto the fleeting hope that sincerity guided his hand. The rattle of his armor as he ran put him into a faint trance, and he eventually found himself close to the Shrine. Right in front of the line of men that stood in front of it’s bridge.
The Southsheer guards were not the most well equipped men. Their armor was mostly constructed from leather, and even that was only enough to cover their torsos and little else. In their hands were spears, simple in design but no doubt just as deadly as the one Helbram held in his hands. Their weapons trembled, and he could see under their rudimentary helms eyes that darted past him and towards the village’s front gate. At their center stood Holden, adorned in his plate mail, now with the addition of an open faced helm that displayed his sneering smirk.
“So he arrives,” the plate adorned man said as he spread his hands, one of which held a mace, and another a shield, “I was right to place men on guard from such opportunists.”
Helbram’s grip on his spear tightened, but he did not point it at those in his way, “Is that what you were concerned with? Opportunists?” he said with an emotionless, even tone. He looked past Holden and towards the Shrine, “I would say you have already let one past your watchful eyes.”
Holden snorted, “You’ve hardly any place to talk. Here you stand, not so long after you were freed from your bonds, I imagine.”
Helbram grit his teeth. His doubts could not help but find truth to the man’s sneering words.
“No rebuttal? I’d thought you’d keep up the heroic facade for a while longer,” Holden said with a self satisfied smile. He motioned to the men at his sides, “Regardless, your pursuit of glory stops here, I’m afraid.”
Helbram looked to all of the guards, “Is this what you want?”
None answered him, but their weapons trembled all the same.
Guilt gnawed at Helbram’s heart. He knew its power, knew how unbearable such feelings could be, especially when friends and loved ones were involved. He knew the pain of such emotions.
“Your friends are out there, dying,” Helbram said to them as he pointed towards the main gate.
His stomach grew hollow as the words left his lips.
“The Trolls are coming, and they will leave them in the dirt, their bodies twisted, broken, and will carry on to do the same to your families,”
He cursed himself, felt bile at his throat as he pulled on heartstrings that he had no right to touch.
“And yet here you stand, holding the line against a single man.”
These were no doubt good men, misguided men, and he would lead them astray once more.
“Tell me, as your friends fall, crying out for help, do you wish to be here to listen to their echoes, or would you rather be there to answer their call?”
He was a monster.
Holden looked at him, his smirk remaining but with a new degree of uncertainty to his eyes, “Nonsense, what would the village do if the Sword were to fall in the wrong hands?” He asked, “They would be trading the monsters at the gates for one that lied within. Such power comes from the Sword, and were the wrong hands to take it, we’d all be doomed regardless.”
Helbram looked back to Holden, “And Marjorie’s hands are the correct ones, I take it?”
The snide man’s eyes narrowed, “I said no such thing.”
“You did not, but you do not refute it,” Helbram said, “You have heard the Maiden’s words, heard that the actions today would determine who was most worthy to wield the Sword. One would think that such words would propel any man desiring its power to jump into the fray instead of staying so far away from the conflict. Or does the Hawk intend to prove her worth within the Shrine somehow?”
The guards looked at Holden, who’s smirk had turned to a scowl. Before he could answer, Helbram called out to the men.
“I ask you again, is this what you want?”
The guards remained silent, but their trembling stopped. One of them lowered his spear. Helbram recognized him as the one that put him in the cell.
“No, no it isn’t,” the guard said, “I’m going to help my friends.”
The man at his side looked at him with concern, “But the Sword-”
“Damn the Sword,” the guard snapped, “What good does it do us if our families and friends are dead?”
The words rattled the rest of the guard, but soon their backs straightened. The rest lowered their spears and shared a brief nod with one another before running for the main gate.
“What are you doing?!” Holden yelled after them, but none responded.
Helbram stared after them, guilt draped on his shoulders.
“What a rousing speech,” Holden sneered at him, “to think they would fall but such bull shite,” He put his shield in front of him, “You’re no different than us. Don’t go thinking you’re some kind of hero.”
Helbram sighed, “I know I am no such thing,” he looked to Holden, remembering the man’s delight at the Child’s dead body, remembering how he was going to cut out the Troll’s heart. A spark of anger danced in his chest, one that he snatched at greedily, letting guilt fall to the side so indignation could take its place.
He widened his feet and pointed his spear at Holden, “But I do not need to be one to deal with the likes of you.”
His opponent snorted, “Surprise is not on your side this time,” he said with a growl, accompanied by a faint yellow glow that flowed into his mace as he held it up.
The two men remained still. Holden was obviously waiting for Helbram to charge, and despite the spearman’s anger he still managed to hold himself back enough to study his armored opponent. He held the advantage in reach, to be sure, but he knew that the presence of a readied shield complicated matters immensely. He looked at the man’s armor, noting gaps at the man’s neck, shoulders, top of his thighs and his exposed face. There were of course spots to be exploited at the man’s joints, but against an Awoken he needed to deal deep wounds, not glancing blows. Holden’s shield was large enough to properly guard all of these points, keeping Helbram still as he contemplated his first move.
He did not have long to think, for Holden soon lost his patience and charged forward. The Awoken held his mace high, still suffused with energy as he closed the gap. To Helbram’s surprise, Holden dropped his guard slightly as he raised his weapon, and the spearman let reflex carry his movements as he jabbed his spear to the man’s face. His opponent twisted to avoid the blow, altering the course of his charge off to the side. Helbram shuffled away from the armored man, maintaining his distance as Holden whipped around to face him again, an irritated look in his eyes. Suspicious of the man’s sloppy movements, he looked to Holden’s feet, finding the gap between them to be too narrow for any stability.
It couldn’t be, could it?
Helbram decided to test his opponent, stepping forward steadily as he tested the man’s guard with a series of jabs. Holden moved his shield to defend himself, but rather than try to bind the longer weapon in the guard, or deflect it, he merely held the shield still, allowing Helbram to bring back his weapon with ease. Helbram slipped his grip back on the spear and made for a more obvious lunge off towards Holden’s less guarded side. The man fell for the feint and brought his shield to the side. Helbram pulled the spear back as the shield moved, redirecting the weapon before he thrusted it at the man’s now exposed shoulder. The Awoken brought his mace down on the spear to deflect it, but despite the energy that was within the weapon, there was no leverage behind it to divert the spear’s course. Still, the blow glanced off of the man’s shoulder plate, and Helbram pulled the weapon back as Holden shuffled away from him. The man growled at Helbram, who remained impassive behind his visor.
They circled each other for a brief moment before Holden let out a yell and ran forward. Helbram pulled his weapon back, allowing the man to close in as the spearman examined his movements. Holden’s swings were wide, and with each swipe of his mace the guard of his shield dropped slightly. Perhaps the man was expecting his abilities as an Awoken to carry the difference of his poor form, but Helbram had seen faster, fought faster. Keeping his spear back, he sidestepped many of Holden’s attacks. It was a risky, even foolhardy move against a skilled opponent, but it was becoming increasingly more evident that Holden was no such foe.
As the armored man made for another strike Helbram stepped past the blow and kicked his opponent’s ankle, causing the man to stumble forward. The spearman took the opening to draw his sword and place it parallel to the spear, gripping the handle of the sword and the haft of the spear in his far hand and the blade of the sword with the haft in his back hand, clamping the two weapons together in his grip. Holden whipped around snarled, yet the light of his Ether never left his weapon. Helbram’s own anger was steadily being replaced by confusion.
Was this all that his opponent was capable of?
The armored man charged forward again, but this time Helbram interrupted the oncoming strikes with thrusts at each of the exposed openings, but while Holden was easy to read, that did not mean the spearman’s attacks would break through the defense of plate mail so easily. Many of his attacks bounced off his opponent’s armor, but each blow carried enough force behind them to knock Holden’s own attacks off course. Helbram did not keep himself entangled with Holden or long either, shuffling back from the man every two to three exchanges to keep his opponent charging at him. At any time the Awoken could have focused his Ether into his legs, granting him a burst of strength to close the gap between them in an instant. The man could have also focused the energy into his arms, giving him the power that would be capable of knocking holes in Helbram’s guard. Yet Holden did none of this, and kept the Ether contained within the mace.
With that, he was nothing more than a man with a shiny stick.
At one of Holden’s charges Helbram lifted his guard up, catching Holden’s mace just below the head with the haft of his spear. The spearman guided his weapon along the length of his opponent’s arm, further pushing the mace out of the way and driving the tip of the spear in between Holden’s shoulder guard and breastplate. As Helbram felt the spear bite he threw all of his weight behind the blow, turning Holden’s hiss into a howl as the spearhead dug deeper into flesh. The armored man’s weapon hand fell limp as his shoulder was thrown to the side, and the Awoken jumped back from Helbram, freeing the spear from his body but without his guard raised. Helbram pursued, jabbing his weapon at his opponent’s thigh, but before the blow could land Holden threw his shield in front of him, knocking the spear to the side. Whether intentionally or not, the maneuver caught Helbram’s weapon in a brief bind, and the Awoken recklessly charged towards Helbram, intending to ram into him.
As the spear was further pushed to the side, Helbram released the spear from his grip, letting it fall as he stepped to the side. His sword remained in his grasp, and he clamped one hand on the blade and another around his handle as he twisted his body, not only to avoid Holden’s charge but to drive the pommel of the weapon into the side of the armored man’s head. The blow dug into the side of the man’s helmet, and Helbram further leaned into the attack as Holden passed by, knocking the man off balance and to the ground.
Helbram pursued, shifting his hands so that both gripped the handle of his sword. The downed man whirled around as Helbram thrust at an exposed gap in his armor, managing to knock aside Helbram’s blow with a wild swing of his mace. The swordsman flicked his sword around, carrying the momentum behind the blade and delivering a slash across the man’s face. Holden screamed as he scrambled back, trying to cover his wound, but still somehow keeping a grip on his mace. Helbram continued to close in on the wounded man, repeatedly striking at Holden, but unable to get another solid blow through the man’s armor.
Helbram paused as his opponent’s mace flared with a yellow light. The downed man gave another wild swing and the swordsman pulled his weapon back, which created enough time to allow the plate adorned man to get to his feet. Helbram shifted the grip on his sword again, moving one of his hands back to clamping onto the blade. His opponent, now fueled by panic and rage, abandoned what little form he had and blindly charged at the swordsman. The man’s swings were wide and easily telegraphed, allowing Helbram to read and dodge each attack with little effort, and any blow that came close to him he deflected and tossed to the side, turning reckless charges into repeated stumbles. One such stumble created a large gap between them, but rather than close the gap between them Helbram held back, waiting on Holden’s next move.
Blood ran from the man’s forehead and trailed down his face, giving the once cocky man a wild, panicked look as both his eyes and nostrils flared in anger. Helbram let his arms fall loose, but maintained the grip on his sword. He allowed his posture to feel relaxed, which was enough to provoke his opponent into another wild charge. Helbram kept his relaxed stance and did not move, waiting for Holden to come to him. Yellow Ether continued to flow from the mace, flaring as its wielder brought it down. Helbram lifted his sword, catching the weapon at an angle. He hooked his crossguard against the shaft of the mace and, using Holden’s momentum, pushed the weapon at such an angle that it pulled the armored man’s shoulder up, exposing the unarmored armpit.
Helbram slipped from the deflection and guided his blade into the exposed weak spot, and while it did not bite fully into the man’s flesh it was enough to drive Holden to the side in panic. Helbram slipped both of his hands to his blade, gripping it to where the handle now faced his opponent. He followed Holden’s haphazard sidestep, keeping pace with his stumbling opponent as he tried to face him. Helbram was already mid swing by the time the man fully turned, and drove his crossguard into the side of his opponent’s head. There was a brief clang as the blow landed, and the swordsman carried through with the strike, snapping Holden’s head to the side and knocking him to the ground.
The armored man landed in a heap as his mace fell from his hands with a clatter. Helbram walked up to his fallen opponent, noting that the man was still moving, but with the sluggish motions of a man that was clearly in a daze. Still, the swordsman kept his guard up as he approached, and was almost standing over Holden before a roar from the Trolls in the distance tore through the air.
With it came that same pressure from before, that faint explosion of ethereal force that washed over him and Holden, turning his vision white.
He’d experienced this sensation to know what had happened. “His” face was on the dirt, “he” felt the blows that pelted him from all angles, bruising his flesh and cutting his skin. “He” was crying, begging for the pain to stop, but such cries only seemed to invigorate the blows, and they struck him harder and faster than before.
“Stop it!” a woman screamed, “You’ll kill the boy!”
The hitting stopped, but the pain remained throughout his body. “His”, which he knew to be Holden’s, hands slowly slid away from his face, revealing the shapes of a burly man and a scrawny woman. The man looked at him with utter disdain, the scraggly beard around his chapped, dried lips twisted as he bared his teeth. The sway to the man’s posture as he stood still told Holden that his father was drunk again, but that did not explain how brutal the beating was today. Within the dilapidated room, with only the barest hint of moonlight peaking through the windows, the man’s appearance was no different than a demon in his eyes.
The woman next to his father knelt down, her sunken, brown eyes filled with concern as she looked over the damage that had been done to him. She prodded his cuts, his bruises, triggering whimpers from Holden’s lips, but upon finding that none of his bones were broken, relief flooded her bony features, and a smile quirked up from her narrow lips.
“Damaged goods aren’t worth much, you know,” his mother said in an uncaring tone.
Consciousness left him soon after.
When he woke up, he found his hands bound and heard the distinct rattle of wheels going over rough terrain paired with the thunderous patter of rain above him. His body shook with the carriage as it went over a particularly rough patch, but that was not enough to stir him to action. He let his body shake, kept himself limp as he heard the track of the wagon driver’s whip and the braying of the horses that followed. He did not know his destination, but that did not matter. Nothing mattered, for there was nothing that he could do. So he stared blankly ahead, feeling nothing, wanting nothing… becoming nothing.
The carriage stopped abruptly, throwing Holden from his seat and onto the carriage floor. Still he did not move, unresponsive to the struggle that he heard outside, the gurgling that came from the wagon driver, followed by a wet slap as the man’s body was thrown to the mud. He mustered only the barest effort when he heard the lock on the wagon door shake. The door was thrown open, and through shadows obscured most of the figure that stood in front of it, he could see her face, and the strands of red hair that hung over it.
The memory went white, and Helbram’s vision returned with a dull headache that he tried to shake away. Holden was still on the ground, movements still slow, telling him that not even a moment had passed since the memories were forced into his mind. He walked up to his opponent and loomed over him, pressing the tip of his sword against the man’s throat as sense appeared to return to him. The wound on his forehead was still bleeding, giving the man’s grimace a violent edge as he glared up at Helbram.
“Does Marjorie’s skill with a blade match the one you possess with a mace?” Helbram asked in a dry tone.
He felt Holden try to rise at the provocation, blind to the blade at his throat, but Helbram forced him back down by pressing his heel onto the downed man’s chest. The image of a scared, whimpering boy entered his mind, but he pushed it away.
“Do you remember the words I said when we were last in this position?” he asked Holden.
The man did not answer him.
“So tell me, will you stay down and prove me to be a liar, or will you stand and make me an honest man?”
Holden glared at him, and Helbram met his gaze through his visor, eyes unmoving. The man eventually looked away, a mix of shame and regret filling his features. Helbram did not let him hold that expression for long, and kicked the man in the jaw, knocking him unconscious.
Holden fell limp as his strength left him, and Helbram rolled the man over to have easier access to the straps of the man’s breastplate. Though an exceedingly cumbersome affair, he managed to pull the piece of armor from the man’s body and strap it over his brigandine. The fit was tighter than he would like, but it would have to do for now. The action itself took more time than he would like as well, but if he was to face Marjorie, then he would need as much defense as he could muster against a Third Level Journeyman. To that effect, he also stripped Holden of his shield and mace, strapping the weapon to his waist.
He gathered up his weapons and his thoughts in an attempt to center himself before walking towards the Shrine. An attempt that was only mildly successful, for doubt still plagued the corners of his mind.
His hand rested against the Shrine’s door and, with the hope that integrity guided him as much as desire, he pushed it open.
Author’s Note: Honestly I was trying to incorporate both the confrontation with Marjorie and Holden into this chapter, but in reality that would have turned out to be the length of like 2 and a half chapters and I wasn't about to delay the chapter for that. As I'm sure you all know, I do like to spend time hashing out details as best as I can, and with fight scenes I really want to get the details both correct and easy to read. This is a bit different than some of the earlier fights I've written since I really wanted to nail both techniques and to emphasize how much of it that Helbram was using and how little of it Holden had. Do let me know if it's a bit hard to follow or even too indulgent though. Even if I had a purpose behind it I want this to be enjoyable to read, and if this is hard/boring to follow please let me know.
Till next time, have yourselves a wonderful day! :)
The sounds of chaos were faint as Helbram made his way to the Shrine. He could not hear the sounds of orders being shouted to men, but the roars of the Parents rang clear through the air. These roars did not bring about any other visions, and he suspected that he needed to be near someone for that particular effect to occur. He thought back towards the visions that he saw. Flashes of a man with his face down against a counter, surrounded by empty mugs, a disapproving look from the tavernkeep’s face as drool leaked from his face. The sight of a woman walking away from him, the arms of another man around her. The glare of a child looking down at him, spitting on him before walking away.
These were not his memories, but instead ones that he assumed to be Roger’s. He did not let judgment cloud his thoughts, and shook the other man's past from his head. Despite that, he could not shake the anxiety that clawed at his heart when the thoughts of his companions occupied his mind.
Would they be safe?
Had he ordered them to certain doom?
He knew his friends, knew that they did not blindly follow his commands, but even then he could not bear the thought of them meeting their ends under his orders.
Blended with this worry was a sudden thought.
Why was he going to the Sword?
He could have gone with Elly, helped her deal with those that were most likely guarding Sophia and Marcus. He could have gone with Leaf and Jahora, aided them in holding off the Parent’s, yet he immediately chose to go to the Sword. He wanted to believe that he was doing so to bring Marjorie to justice, to turn both her and the Sword to the judgment of the Parent’s, but in reality such thoughts were not even in his mind.
No, he saw that the Sword was being unleashed and chose to go to it. There was no rationality to his decision, no duty or integrity that guided his steps. Only instinct had driven him, and he did not feel any pressure on his thoughts as before. There was no one to blame for his actions, no scapegoat to find solace and excuse in.
Desire was the impulse, and it was desire that carried him to the Shrine.
Was it such feelings that made him command his friends away? Hidden by the convenient falsehood, a selfish action covered by the guise of duty and heroics?
Helbram grit his teeth and shook his head, desperate to push the spike of guilt that stabbed at his core. It faded only slightly, and he continued on to the Shrine.
He would have to trust his companions, and hold onto the fleeting hope that sincerity guided his hand. The rattle of his armor as he ran put him into a faint trance, and he eventually found himself close to the Shrine. Right in front of the line of men that stood in front of it’s bridge.
The Southsheer guards were not the most well equipped men. Their armor was mostly constructed from leather, and even that was only enough to cover their torsos and little else. In their hands were spears, simple in design but no doubt just as deadly as the one Helbram held in his hands. Their weapons trembled, and he could see under their rudimentary helms eyes that darted past him and towards the village’s front gate. At their center stood Holden, adorned in his plate mail, now with the addition of an open faced helm that displayed his sneering smirk.
“So he arrives,” the plate adorned man said as he spread his hands, one of which held a mace, and another a shield, “I was right to place men on guard from such opportunists.”
Helbram’s grip on his spear tightened, but he did not point it at those in his way, “Is that what you were concerned with? Opportunists?” he said with an emotionless, even tone. He looked past Holden and towards the Shrine, “I would say you have already let one past your watchful eyes.”
Holden snorted, “You’ve hardly any place to talk. Here you stand, not so long after you were freed from your bonds, I imagine.”
Helbram grit his teeth. His doubts could not help but find truth to the man’s sneering words.
“No rebuttal? I’d thought you’d keep up the heroic facade for a while longer,” Holden said with a self satisfied smile. He motioned to the men at his sides, “Regardless, your pursuit of glory stops here, I’m afraid.”
Helbram looked to all of the guards, “Is this what you want?”
None answered him, but their weapons trembled all the same.
Guilt gnawed at Helbram’s heart. He knew its power, knew how unbearable such feelings could be, especially when friends and loved ones were involved. He knew the pain of such emotions.
“Your friends are out there, dying,” Helbram said to them as he pointed towards the main gate.
His stomach grew hollow as the words left his lips.
“The Trolls are coming, and they will leave them in the dirt, their bodies twisted, broken, and will carry on to do the same to your families,”
He cursed himself, felt bile at his throat as he pulled on heartstrings that he had no right to touch.
“And yet here you stand, holding the line against a single man.”
These were no doubt good men, misguided men, and he would lead them astray once more.
“Tell me, as your friends fall, crying out for help, do you wish to be here to listen to their echoes, or would you rather be there to answer their call?”
He was a monster.
Holden looked at him, his smirk remaining but with a new degree of uncertainty to his eyes, “Nonsense, what would the village do if the Sword were to fall in the wrong hands?” He asked, “They would be trading the monsters at the gates for one that lied within. Such power comes from the Sword, and were the wrong hands to take it, we’d all be doomed regardless.”
Helbram looked back to Holden, “And Marjorie’s hands are the correct ones, I take it?”
The snide man’s eyes narrowed, “I said no such thing.”
“You did not, but you do not refute it,” Helbram said, “You have heard the Maiden’s words, heard that the actions today would determine who was most worthy to wield the Sword. One would think that such words would propel any man desiring its power to jump into the fray instead of staying so far away from the conflict. Or does the Hawk intend to prove her worth within the Shrine somehow?”
The guards looked at Holden, who’s smirk had turned to a scowl. Before he could answer, Helbram called out to the men.
“I ask you again, is this what you want?”
The guards remained silent, but their trembling stopped. One of them lowered his spear. Helbram recognized him as the one that put him in the cell.
“No, no it isn’t,” the guard said, “I’m going to help my friends.”
The man at his side looked at him with concern, “But the Sword-”
“Damn the Sword,” the guard snapped, “What good does it do us if our families and friends are dead?”
The words rattled the rest of the guard, but soon their backs straightened. The rest lowered their spears and shared a brief nod with one another before running for the main gate.
“What are you doing?!” Holden yelled after them, but none responded.
Helbram stared after them, guilt draped on his shoulders.
“What a rousing speech,” Holden sneered at him, “to think they would fall but such bull shite,” He put his shield in front of him, “You’re no different than us. Don’t go thinking you’re some kind of hero.”
Helbram sighed, “I know I am no such thing,” he looked to Holden, remembering the man’s delight at the Child’s dead body, remembering how he was going to cut out the Troll’s heart. A spark of anger danced in his chest, one that he snatched at greedily, letting guilt fall to the side so indignation could take its place.
He widened his feet and pointed his spear at Holden, “But I do not need to be one to deal with the likes of you.”
His opponent snorted, “Surprise is not on your side this time,” he said with a growl, accompanied by a faint yellow glow that flowed into his mace as he held it up.
The two men remained still. Holden was obviously waiting for Helbram to charge, and despite the spearman’s anger he still managed to hold himself back enough to study his armored opponent. He held the advantage in reach, to be sure, but he knew that the presence of a readied shield complicated matters immensely. He looked at the man’s armor, noting gaps at the man’s neck, shoulders, top of his thighs and his exposed face. There were of course spots to be exploited at the man’s joints, but against an Awoken he needed to deal deep wounds, not glancing blows. Holden’s shield was large enough to properly guard all of these points, keeping Helbram still as he contemplated his first move.
He did not have long to think, for Holden soon lost his patience and charged forward. The Awoken held his mace high, still suffused with energy as he closed the gap. To Helbram’s surprise, Holden dropped his guard slightly as he raised his weapon, and the spearman let reflex carry his movements as he jabbed his spear to the man’s face. His opponent twisted to avoid the blow, altering the course of his charge off to the side. Helbram shuffled away from the armored man, maintaining his distance as Holden whipped around to face him again, an irritated look in his eyes. Suspicious of the man’s sloppy movements, he looked to Holden’s feet, finding the gap between them to be too narrow for any stability.
It couldn’t be, could it?
Helbram decided to test his opponent, stepping forward steadily as he tested the man’s guard with a series of jabs. Holden moved his shield to defend himself, but rather than try to bind the longer weapon in the guard, or deflect it, he merely held the shield still, allowing Helbram to bring back his weapon with ease. Helbram slipped his grip back on the spear and made for a more obvious lunge off towards Holden’s less guarded side. The man fell for the feint and brought his shield to the side. Helbram pulled the spear back as the shield moved, redirecting the weapon before he thrusted it at the man’s now exposed shoulder. The Awoken brought his mace down on the spear to deflect it, but despite the energy that was within the weapon, there was no leverage behind it to divert the spear’s course. Still, the blow glanced off of the man’s shoulder plate, and Helbram pulled the weapon back as Holden shuffled away from him. The man growled at Helbram, who remained impassive behind his visor.
They circled each other for a brief moment before Holden let out a yell and ran forward. Helbram pulled his weapon back, allowing the man to close in as the spearman examined his movements. Holden’s swings were wide, and with each swipe of his mace the guard of his shield dropped slightly. Perhaps the man was expecting his abilities as an Awoken to carry the difference of his poor form, but Helbram had seen faster, fought faster. Keeping his spear back, he sidestepped many of Holden’s attacks. It was a risky, even foolhardy move against a skilled opponent, but it was becoming increasingly more evident that Holden was no such foe.
As the armored man made for another strike Helbram stepped past the blow and kicked his opponent’s ankle, causing the man to stumble forward. The spearman took the opening to draw his sword and place it parallel to the spear, gripping the handle of the sword and the haft of the spear in his far hand and the blade of the sword with the haft in his back hand, clamping the two weapons together in his grip. Holden whipped around snarled, yet the light of his Ether never left his weapon. Helbram’s own anger was steadily being replaced by confusion.
Was this all that his opponent was capable of?
The armored man charged forward again, but this time Helbram interrupted the oncoming strikes with thrusts at each of the exposed openings, but while Holden was easy to read, that did not mean the spearman’s attacks would break through the defense of plate mail so easily. Many of his attacks bounced off his opponent’s armor, but each blow carried enough force behind them to knock Holden’s own attacks off course. Helbram did not keep himself entangled with Holden or long either, shuffling back from the man every two to three exchanges to keep his opponent charging at him. At any time the Awoken could have focused his Ether into his legs, granting him a burst of strength to close the gap between them in an instant. The man could have also focused the energy into his arms, giving him the power that would be capable of knocking holes in Helbram’s guard. Yet Holden did none of this, and kept the Ether contained within the mace.
With that, he was nothing more than a man with a shiny stick.
At one of Holden’s charges Helbram lifted his guard up, catching Holden’s mace just below the head with the haft of his spear. The spearman guided his weapon along the length of his opponent’s arm, further pushing the mace out of the way and driving the tip of the spear in between Holden’s shoulder guard and breastplate. As Helbram felt the spear bite he threw all of his weight behind the blow, turning Holden’s hiss into a howl as the spearhead dug deeper into flesh. The armored man’s weapon hand fell limp as his shoulder was thrown to the side, and the Awoken jumped back from Helbram, freeing the spear from his body but without his guard raised. Helbram pursued, jabbing his weapon at his opponent’s thigh, but before the blow could land Holden threw his shield in front of him, knocking the spear to the side. Whether intentionally or not, the maneuver caught Helbram’s weapon in a brief bind, and the Awoken recklessly charged towards Helbram, intending to ram into him.
As the spear was further pushed to the side, Helbram released the spear from his grip, letting it fall as he stepped to the side. His sword remained in his grasp, and he clamped one hand on the blade and another around his handle as he twisted his body, not only to avoid Holden’s charge but to drive the pommel of the weapon into the side of the armored man’s head. The blow dug into the side of the man’s helmet, and Helbram further leaned into the attack as Holden passed by, knocking the man off balance and to the ground.
Helbram pursued, shifting his hands so that both gripped the handle of his sword. The downed man whirled around as Helbram thrust at an exposed gap in his armor, managing to knock aside Helbram’s blow with a wild swing of his mace. The swordsman flicked his sword around, carrying the momentum behind the blade and delivering a slash across the man’s face. Holden screamed as he scrambled back, trying to cover his wound, but still somehow keeping a grip on his mace. Helbram continued to close in on the wounded man, repeatedly striking at Holden, but unable to get another solid blow through the man’s armor.
Helbram paused as his opponent’s mace flared with a yellow light. The downed man gave another wild swing and the swordsman pulled his weapon back, which created enough time to allow the plate adorned man to get to his feet. Helbram shifted the grip on his sword again, moving one of his hands back to clamping onto the blade. His opponent, now fueled by panic and rage, abandoned what little form he had and blindly charged at the swordsman. The man’s swings were wide and easily telegraphed, allowing Helbram to read and dodge each attack with little effort, and any blow that came close to him he deflected and tossed to the side, turning reckless charges into repeated stumbles. One such stumble created a large gap between them, but rather than close the gap between them Helbram held back, waiting on Holden’s next move.
Blood ran from the man’s forehead and trailed down his face, giving the once cocky man a wild, panicked look as both his eyes and nostrils flared in anger. Helbram let his arms fall loose, but maintained the grip on his sword. He allowed his posture to feel relaxed, which was enough to provoke his opponent into another wild charge. Helbram kept his relaxed stance and did not move, waiting for Holden to come to him. Yellow Ether continued to flow from the mace, flaring as its wielder brought it down. Helbram lifted his sword, catching the weapon at an angle. He hooked his crossguard against the shaft of the mace and, using Holden’s momentum, pushed the weapon at such an angle that it pulled the armored man’s shoulder up, exposing the unarmored armpit.
Helbram slipped from the deflection and guided his blade into the exposed weak spot, and while it did not bite fully into the man’s flesh it was enough to drive Holden to the side in panic. Helbram slipped both of his hands to his blade, gripping it to where the handle now faced his opponent. He followed Holden’s haphazard sidestep, keeping pace with his stumbling opponent as he tried to face him. Helbram was already mid swing by the time the man fully turned, and drove his crossguard into the side of his opponent’s head. There was a brief clang as the blow landed, and the swordsman carried through with the strike, snapping Holden’s head to the side and knocking him to the ground.
The armored man landed in a heap as his mace fell from his hands with a clatter. Helbram walked up to his fallen opponent, noting that the man was still moving, but with the sluggish motions of a man that was clearly in a daze. Still, the swordsman kept his guard up as he approached, and was almost standing over Holden before a roar from the Trolls in the distance tore through the air.
With it came that same pressure from before, that faint explosion of ethereal force that washed over him and Holden, turning his vision white.
He’d experienced this sensation to know what had happened. “His” face was on the dirt, “he” felt the blows that pelted him from all angles, bruising his flesh and cutting his skin. “He” was crying, begging for the pain to stop, but such cries only seemed to invigorate the blows, and they struck him harder and faster than before.
“Stop it!” a woman screamed, “You’ll kill the boy!”
The hitting stopped, but the pain remained throughout his body. “His”, which he knew to be Holden’s, hands slowly slid away from his face, revealing the shapes of a burly man and a scrawny woman. The man looked at him with utter disdain, the scraggly beard around his chapped, dried lips twisted as he bared his teeth. The sway to the man’s posture as he stood still told Holden that his father was drunk again, but that did not explain how brutal the beating was today. Within the dilapidated room, with only the barest hint of moonlight peaking through the windows, the man’s appearance was no different than a demon in his eyes.
The woman next to his father knelt down, her sunken, brown eyes filled with concern as she looked over the damage that had been done to him. She prodded his cuts, his bruises, triggering whimpers from Holden’s lips, but upon finding that none of his bones were broken, relief flooded her bony features, and a smile quirked up from her narrow lips.
“Damaged goods aren’t worth much, you know,” his mother said in an uncaring tone.
Consciousness left him soon after.
When he woke up, he found his hands bound and heard the distinct rattle of wheels going over rough terrain paired with the thunderous patter of rain above him. His body shook with the carriage as it went over a particularly rough patch, but that was not enough to stir him to action. He let his body shake, kept himself limp as he heard the track of the wagon driver’s whip and the braying of the horses that followed. He did not know his destination, but that did not matter. Nothing mattered, for there was nothing that he could do. So he stared blankly ahead, feeling nothing, wanting nothing… becoming nothing.
The carriage stopped abruptly, throwing Holden from his seat and onto the carriage floor. Still he did not move, unresponsive to the struggle that he heard outside, the gurgling that came from the wagon driver, followed by a wet slap as the man’s body was thrown to the mud. He mustered only the barest effort when he heard the lock on the wagon door shake. The door was thrown open, and through shadows obscured most of the figure that stood in front of it, he could see her face, and the strands of red hair that hung over it.
The memory went white, and Helbram’s vision returned with a dull headache that he tried to shake away. Holden was still on the ground, movements still slow, telling him that not even a moment had passed since the memories were forced into his mind. He walked up to his opponent and loomed over him, pressing the tip of his sword against the man’s throat as sense appeared to return to him. The wound on his forehead was still bleeding, giving the man’s grimace a violent edge as he glared up at Helbram.
“Does Marjorie’s skill with a blade match the one you possess with a mace?” Helbram asked in a dry tone.
He felt Holden try to rise at the provocation, blind to the blade at his throat, but Helbram forced him back down by pressing his heel onto the downed man’s chest. The image of a scared, whimpering boy entered his mind, but he pushed it away.
“Do you remember the words I said when we were last in this position?” he asked Holden.
The man did not answer him.
“So tell me, will you stay down and prove me to be a liar, or will you stand and make me an honest man?”
Holden glared at him, and Helbram met his gaze through his visor, eyes unmoving. The man eventually looked away, a mix of shame and regret filling his features. Helbram did not let him hold that expression for long, and kicked the man in the jaw, knocking him unconscious.
Holden fell limp as his strength left him, and Helbram rolled the man over to have easier access to the straps of the man’s breastplate. Though an exceedingly cumbersome affair, he managed to pull the piece of armor from the man’s body and strap it over his brigandine. The fit was tighter than he would like, but it would have to do for now. The action itself took more time than he would like as well, but if he was to face Marjorie, then he would need as much defense as he could muster against a Third Level Journeyman. To that effect, he also stripped Holden of his shield and mace, strapping the weapon to his waist.
He gathered up his weapons and his thoughts in an attempt to center himself before walking towards the Shrine. An attempt that was only mildly successful, for doubt still plagued the corners of his mind.
His hand rested against the Shrine’s door and, with the hope that integrity guided him as much as desire, he pushed it open.
Author’s Note: Honestly I was trying to incorporate both the confrontation with Marjorie and Holden into this chapter, but in reality that would have turned out to be the length of like 2 and a half chapters and I wasn't about to delay the chapter for that. As I'm sure you all know, I do like to spend time hashing out details as best as I can, and with fight scenes I really want to get the details both correct and easy to read. This is a bit different than some of the earlier fights I've written since I really wanted to nail both techniques and to emphasize how much of it that Helbram was using and how little of it Holden had. Do let me know if it's a bit hard to follow or even too indulgent though. Even if I had a purpose behind it I want this to be enjoyable to read, and if this is hard/boring to follow please let me know.
Till next time, have yourselves a wonderful day! :)
