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[Memory] Gift of the Pact
Posted: Tue Nov 01, 2022 12:30 pm
by Masagh
55th Day of Frost, 339th Year of the Age of Sundering
The sword lay the sand of the fighting pit, ominous and dark. A cold, unfeeling thing. Masagh had been so eager to receive the Rune that he was just now thinking about what it would mean to house a piece of his soul in such an inhospitable host for the rest of time.
Then again, his soul had always thrived in a cold and unfeeling host. He glanced down at the palm of his hand. Cynfael was almost finished etching the Cardinal Rune of Reaving into his flesh there. Some may think it harsh to handicap an initiate in this way, but the Creth believed to put the rune in the hand that would forever wield the sword made a stronger bond. Or so Sabrione had assured him. She stood now on the sidelines with his mother and the rest, watching.
Cynfael’s broad shoulders hunched in concentration as Masagh felt the edge of the Weaponmaster’s smallest sword cut into him yet again. The glistening golden ink Cynfael had spread across the tip of his blade sunk into the flesh. Only a pact weapon could give the Reaving Rune. Once Cynfael deemed the rune complete, Masagh would pick up his claymore and begin a duel that could result in the loss of his very soul. He will also contend with the sapping of his soul while fighting the best swordsman he had ever known.
His focus drifted back up to the Weaponmaster. Cynfael’s gaze was focused and calm. It looked as though any concern over the impending duel was far from his thoughts now. The decay and undeath of his visage did not hide the warrior’s thick neck and shoulders, or the twined root-like muscles in his arms.
Perhaps he would trip and Masagh would get a lucky hit.
“Is it finished yet?”
Cynfael glanced up at him and smiled softly. He saw through the question. Of course he did. “Don’t worry about the duel, just remember your training and you will be fine.” He reassured Masagh, reading the false eagerness correctly.
“I’m not worried.” Masagh lied.
“A brave face may be admirable in social settings, Masagh.” Cynfael leaned in to carve a finer bit of detail into his palm. “But in combat you should never lie to yourself about such things. Better to face a challenge with truth in your heart.”
Masagh was still trying to formulate a response when Cynfael straightened and stepped away from him.
“Done. Take up your blade, Creth.” The calmness in the voice carried a weight of authority that could not be denied. Cynfael had spent a thousand years commanding warriors. A thousand years swinging a blade. How could Masagh even touch him?
Masagh stood and flexed his hand, eyes drifting back to the claymore laying on the ground. He walked over to it.
“I really hope you are worth all this.” He muttered as he bent to pick it up with his already healing hand.
The moment he wrapped his fingers around the familiar hilt he could feel it. Like sand sifting through his fingers, his mind and soul seemed to be sapped. Energy tugged towards the blade. It pulled from him some indescribable piece of himself through his own flesh and into the cold hilt of the blade. Later he would come to call this piece of himself aether, as most wizards do. But for now he called it nothing, for Cynfael the Scourgeblade was hefting the short sword in his hand.
Some may say this was hardly a fair bout, with Masagh carrying a claymore nearly his own height in length and the Weaponmaster carrying the shortest of his pact weapons, a short sword. But Sabrione had confirmed with Masagh that the Weaponmaster had used the same weapon when initiating her. It had been, she assured him with a grin, the scariest fight of her existence so far.
Cynfael met his eyes. “Remember, do not drop the blade, do not let the blade take you.” Cynfael rolled his shoulder and swiped the short sword through the air a few times. “Remember the training you have received, you will do fine.”
He let out a long breath.
“Begin.”
Re: [Memory] Gift of the Pact
Posted: Tue Nov 01, 2022 12:31 pm
by Masagh
The Weaponmaster darted forward so quickly Masagh did not see a telegraphing.
Instinctually Masagh drew the blade upwards with a Draw Cut. His blade met the soft thrust of the short sword and deflected it. Then they were dancing. Blades caught the torch light in crescents and flashes, moving fluidly through the air. Masagh’s first parry had been wholly instinctual, from years of the same thing from the Weaponmaster.
He found himself thinking that perhaps the Weaponmaster was going easy on him, making one of the common first strikes they had practiced for years. Then he realized that the Weaponmaster would not have made them practice them unless they would see them in real combat. Furthermore, perhaps the instinctual movements were a reflection of Cynfael’s apt training.
As they stepped around each other and struck blow for blow the sword continued to sap the soul from him. It was a thin trickle of a theft that was not enough to distraction from the fight, but enough to keep him ever aware of it. He fell into the rhythm of parry and thrust, step and slip back. The cadaver faces of his family and the other Knights watched the fight without expression, though the combatants hardly even remembered they were there.
Masagh found himself treating the bout as any other training match and only in the moments of pause when Cynfael stepped back to reset did the situation come back to him. He needed a touch to win the bout, as was Creth tradition.
The Weaponmaster was not using his full skill, and he fought with the handicap of the short sword. But that is not to say he was taking it easy on Masagh. Cynfael used every strike and trick he had showed Masagh in training, and only what he had showed the younger ghoul. None of it reached the point of testing the Weaponmaster’s skill, for he was not the one to be tested now.
It was left to Masagh to find a way to touch the much more seasoned warrior.
Masagh stepped forward for a strike and Cynfael wove his blade between himself and Masagh’s. It was a familiar enough maneuver that Masagh knew if he didn’t retreat he would be fucked. The inexperienced ghoul growled in alarm and shuffled back. Cynfael grinned.
“Good.” He said. “Remember you can’t have a good offense if you no longer have your head.”
Words that had been said more than once to Masagh.
Cynfael pressed again. It was with a calm and measured pace that the Weaponmaster inflicted his competence on the younger warrior. His professional calm was reflected with the terror of a youth fighting for his life. Each strike, each movement presented an edge that Cynfael had over Masagh. If Masagh moved the tip high to guard, Cynfael was in the gap below. If he held the sword back to defend, Cynfael was maneuvering to advantage.
Masagh found himself repeatedly shifting into a more defensive stance. Weathering this storm would not mean a victory, or a lack of a beating. It meant either the sword would take his soul, or he would fail to find victory, and the sword would take his soul. Offense was needed.
What advantage did he have? Masagh was not stronger, he was not faster. He definitely was not more experienced. All he had was reach.
Cynfael struck high, Masagh went to parry. The short sword was not there, instead Cunfael drew back and swung low. Masagh had to dive back to avoid the edge. It was all he could do to keep his fingers on the blade as he stumbled. The sand was unyielding as his shoulder and side impacted and Cynfael moved in.
Masagh rolled backwards, lunging to his feet. He waited as Cynfael pursued him, sensing weak footing.
Masagh threw the sand in Cynfael’s face that he had been holding. His thrust was quick.
But Cynfael was not the Weaponmaster for nothing. Even with his vision compromised in the moment he was able to lock his blade against the claymore’s thrust. But the sword was on the outer edge of Masagh’s own.
It was the only opportunity he would ever get.
Masagh stepped into the space and brought his blade across Cynfael’s face horizontally. The tip bit into the flesh above Cynfael’s eyebrow and Masagh felt the rushing of the aether stop. The blade had been sated, the pact sealed. The Weaponmaster growled and took a few short steps back. Then he blinked and squinted, tapping his fingers against the cut.
“A little low, Masagh…” He said chidingly.
It had been one of the first strikes in their lessons. A cut across the brow could cause a living opponent disadvantage when the blood ran into the eye. For ghouls it was less effective, but that hardly mattered for their purposes here. “Sorry, Weaponmaster. I’ll work on it.”
Cynfael smirked and turned his leathery face towards Emerande Creth. She smiled and nodded her head a fraction. He turned back.
“Kneel, Masagh Creth.” The short sword pointed to the sand before him.
Masagh blinked. He had scored the hit. The blade had been sated. This was not a training bout.
He knelt.
“I charge you to be true and loyal to the House of Creth,” The tip of Cynfael’s blade came to rest on his right shoulder. “To safeguard the House with your blade and your life.” The tip touched the left shoulder. “To stand against our enemies without fear in your heart. I bind you to this oath with body and soul.” Cynfael’s words were heavy in the air.
“I accept this oath with body and soul.” Masagh croaked his part.
“The grave made me, and the grave will take me.” Cynfael murmured and half his hand out to help Masagh to his feet. “Rise, Knight.”
Re: [Memory] Gift of the Pact
Posted: Tue Nov 01, 2022 6:10 pm
by Rune
R E V I E W
Lore: 6
Points: 8, may be used for Reaving
Injuries/Ailments: Threshold Sickness
Loot: The rune of Reaving
Notes: Another good read, looking forward to more of this story.