Ardeghon Dalgren
Fade Into The Moonlight
No matter the amount of nights it shall take, Ardeghon was determined to bring a timely end to the two people who had hurt Hyrien most. One, as Hyrien told him, was named 'Lock'. That's all he had to go by, and where better to start than in the cesspit of rumors and drunks, and hooded ladies as he had been counting the past few days; the Prancing Pony.
A clear sky portrayed the night perfectly, and the shadows of trees and bushes alike were cast upon the cobbled road. Footsteps were heard, and Ardeghon's eyes opened. Exhaling deeply he stepped out from behind the tree, coming to a stop on the middle of the road, the man having stopped by now as well. Their gazes met, and Ardeghon was the first to speak, "Lock, I presume? Tell me.. Have you ever heard the name Hyrien?" The man flashed a grin, nodding. "Aye... tha' bitch who leads tha' company o' cutthroats and thieves. I had fun with her. Wish I coulda had a lil' more." Ardeghon hung his hands by the side of his body, a fist clenching before he took another deep breath, relaxing it. "You'll die here." Lock drew his sword in reply, and Ardeghon took his stance, standing on the balls of his feet, stepping from left to right, his right hand near the hilt of his curved sword, and the other raised in front of his chest, aimed towards Lock, giving the impression that Ardeghon was confident, or perhaps just arrogant. Lock did not care either way; he sprinted forward, a man of almost the same height, his hand-and-a-half longsword rising to above his right shoulder, both his hands gripping the hilt, bringing it down in a diagonal line once he nears Ardeghon, the swing changing to a horizontal direction midway.
The sound of clashing steel was heard when Ardeghon drew his curved sword as Lock's steel neared him, the sword sliding out of its sheath in a smooth motion, rising up to block his opponent's with the flat of the blade, his other free hand placed upon the backside of the blade to withstand the blow. A blank expression lay upon both their faces, and at the same time they pushed each other backwards, Ardeghon taking step after step backwards, quicker and quicker, still on the balls of his feet, moving further into the forest as Lock followed, set on killing Ardeghon. They neared a shallow river, leading to a nearby waterfall, now on an open field. As soon as Lock reached him, the Poet struck his sword him mid-body, up towards the neck, aiming to make short work of him. However the steel is parried by the longsword, and Ardeghon is pushed back. Swiftly he sheathes his curved sword and draws his straight hand-and-a-half sword with his right hand. "I won't need more than one."
Blades clashed minute after minute, the ringing of the steel rippling through the air as a wave of sound, perhaps music when heard from far enough. The duration took its toll on both, and so far Ardeghon had not inflicted a wound upon his opponent yet, however his cheek had a semi-deep cut in it, and even his neck had a scratch. Several bruises would be covering his body by now as well, but he cared little, as long as he had not died. This gave Lock a moral advantage, and both were now standing in the shallows of the water, only several meters away from the edge of the waterfall. The Warrior-Poet came closer, sword loosely in hand and pointing towards the right. Lock, from his right side, swung his sword in a horizontal slash to strike Ardeghon's abdomen, but Ardeghon gripped his hilt tightly with both hands, swinging it with all his strength towards the sword. Surprised by this sudden display of strength, Lock looses the grip upon his sword due to the sudden clash of raw power. And immediately after knocking the sword away to Ardeghon's left, he'd swing it back to the right, doing what Lock attempted to do: his sword pierced the man's leather tunic, and cut through his skin with a satisfying sound of flesh being cut. Lock staggered back towards the waterfall, blood flowing from the open wound.
The Poet did not let up and stepped after him, holding the sword now with only one hand and drawing the curved one again, one sword in both hands. Ardeghon spoke, his voice no longer possessed by its usual calm tone, growing louder as the sentence goes on, eventually turning into a shout, "Hurt doesn't it? However..." The Elven sword was brought upwards, cutting across the man's chest, followed by the straight sword cutting another diagonal line, ripping through the leather and in turn, the skin, his movements no longer controlled, but enraged as he speaks again, "... You've hurt Hyrien far more!" Upon shouting this he aims a thrust for the man's heart, Lock grinning as he sees his inevitable end, bringing a hand up to block the tip of the blade in one final attempt. The sword skewers it, and travels further, piercing the man's heart with the sword sticking out of his back, covered in the crimson substance the body holds. At the same time as drawing the sword back, he aims a kick towards Lock's stomach, the sword sliding from the wound, and Lock tripping backwards after the kick, falling down the waterfall and crushing upon the rock beneath.
The Poet peers over the edge, careful not to let the current take him, seeing the red pool spread in the water. His gaze drifts upwards, eyeing the moon that was set right above the water, stars twinkling upon the surface as well as in the sky. He began counting them again with a faint smile, his breathing still heavy as he finds the number is one less than when he counter the stars upon the evening he visited Hardoleth's grave. But this time, it did not bother him that there was one less, for the light within Lock's eyes had gone out, and so did the star that shone for him.
