A duel, of sorts

Again, silence filled the room as the two figures stood facing each other, hands gripping hilts, neither of them moving, both waiting for the other to strike first. For what seemed ages they stood there, perfect statues in the dim lamplight.

"Your a hard man to find, hero." boomed a voice from underneath the grotesque helmet. The green-clothed man made no reply, but shifted his grip on the shield slightly.

"What was it she called you?" asked the voice mockingly, "The Hero of Time? And you fell for it. You fool." Dark laughter echoed through the room. "And now, we find you again. Only this time, you shall not prevail, 'Link'." He said the last word as if he was trying to spit it through his helmet to rid his mouth of its taste. Still, the youth did not react, other than tightening his grip on the hilt of his sword.

The armoured stranger did not seem to be getting the result he was expecting, he waited for a second, readying himself for a blow, but none came. Finally, his patience worn out, he raised his blade and charged, roaring, at Link. The hero sidestepped smartly, and the brutish sword-wielder thundered past, missing his mark. As he staggered to a halt, Link finally retaliated. Loosing his shield for a second, he shoved a hand into his pocket and brought out a small, black, ceramic globe, with a short fuse emerging from a cap on the top. Lighting this with a brief flare of magic from his fingertip, he lobbed the ball towards his stunned adversary and then grabbed his shield quickly to protect himself from the blast.

The explosion rocked the entire inn, blowing out the windows and scattering the few tables that had remained upright. As the smoke cleared the armoured figure lay sprawled on the floor, the back of his armour had been blown off, revealing a black tunic with a red eagle emblazoned on the centre. He coughed a few times, and began to get up, up he was too late. Before he had a chance to lift himself up, the young sword fighter was on him, stabbing his sword repeatedly into his opponent's back before kicking him over to deal a final blow straight through his helmet. The armoured man gurgled for a few seconds, as his limbs flailed weakly, then lay still.

The hero of time pulled his blade from his enemys corpse, inspected it breifly, then wiped it clean on a small rag pulled from one of his many pockets. Sheathing the weapon, he walked back over to the bar and tossed the innkeeper a purple gem, before uttering the first words that anyone in the room had ever heard him say. "One more, for the road."

The End

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