“What can you tell me about the Falcon, Bash,” Griever whispered, watching the giant of a man throw the spear down and start walking toward Griever. That confidence and the way the man didn’t draw his sword just yet… An Iai user, those easterners? No, he seemed to just be that confident.
‘Only that it is said to govern flight,’ Bash responded, ‘But I am not sure on the details. We were never introduced to one another and I cannot see or experience the world without a Bonder.’
“What happened to your knowledge?” Griever cursed. Air? Maybe the ring could stop things in flight? Or maybe it made things in flight slow down enough to let the user grab a flying spear? There was really no telling, but Griever knew not to throw another spear. It was a waste of resources. Despite having plenty of weapons around him, most were held down with bodies. Pulling them free would require time and he didn’t like wasting time when his enemy was an unknown.
‘I do have another ability, you know.’
“Not now, Bash!” Griever cursed, “I’m trying to concentrate.”
The man grew close, revealing to Griever his wicked smile shining through the entangling growth he called a beard. “You have a good arm, Bloodfist,” he spat, “Let’s see if you handle a sword as well as that spear.” Ever so calmly, the man drew his sword.
Griever chose that moment to strike, closing the distance as fast as he possibly could. The man seemed surprised at the speed, though it lasted only a moment before that wicked smile returned and he turned to catch Griever’s blade with the shield on his back. It was a smart move, as it bought time to draw his blade, but one Griever had been expecting.
Without a second of delay, Griever pulled another sword from the ground stabbed toward the man’s side. The man barely managed to dodge in time and received a cut on his stomach. It wasn’t deep enough to be serious, but it did get rid of his ridiculous smile. A sense of danger passed through Griever just as the cut opened. That, topped with Bash yelling bloody murder, stopped him from following up with another attack.
Griever pulled back instantly and watched the man, who now had a sword in hand and somehow had managed to pull a second one. He had managed to ignore his stomach wound, though the size of it made it easy to forget by anyone over the age of five.
“I see you are well admired for a reason,” the giant said, “though now I will have to crush you with my full power.”
Griever growled. This man wasn’t the best swordsman he had seem from their brief exchange – a swordsman, or even soldier, knew to never underestimate their opponent – but the threat of some air-based power made Griever worry.
“Aren’t you going to at least give me your name?” Griever asked, buying time. He looked around for weapons or anything else he could use. Anything to gain the advantage he had a feeling he would need. This gut feeling was never wrong. Only now, he had reasons beyond his gut to be cautious.
The man contemplated for a second. “Fair enough,” he said, moving into an unfamiliar stance. One sword was over his head and facing downward toward Griever while the other held forward like a traditional Lighthaven stance. “My name is Gallag Heron, the Butcher of Southhaven, successor to the House of Heron.”
Griever thought he had heard that name mentioned by a prostitute before. They always had the best gossip. But when had… Oh yeah! Griever almost laughed as he recalled that woman’s – was her name Gwynevere? – words. “Weren’t you the one who cried for three hours straight about how everyone would remember your name or something?”
Gallag’s face darkened.
Griever decided to risk it and continue. Anger was just as dangerous for this man as it was for Griever. “I will admit, you have a fine taste in women to cry to, though. Had it been anyone but Gwyn, I’m sure they would have told you to go cry to your wife.” Griever paused for a moment to laugh. “Or was she your fiancé then?”
The man exploded. “Her name was Jenni!” he yelled, his earlier confidence now for naught as anger seethed from the pores on his face. “She said she would never tell! That bitch! Once I kill you, she’s next!” With a roar, Gallag, charged toward Griever.
‘Well, that worked splendidly,’ Bash said smugly. ‘He may have even forgotten he HAS the ring, let alone use it.’
“Let’s hope so,” Griever said, picking up a shield from the ground and using it to block one of the incoming swords.
Gallag, for all his rage and sloppy movements, had the advantage of strength and speed. Griever barely managed to block the second sword in time with his own sword. And the strength of this man seemed to easily overpower Grievers own. Even to the point…
Griever let go of his sword and jumped to the side to avoid a fatal blow. His sword, right before he jumped, had moved TOWARD his neck. It wasn’t simple strength, either. Griever had faced off against larger enemies and never had they overpowered him quite that fast. No, it was if his sword was actually pushing against him, instead of pushing against Gallag’s blade.
‘You think that’s what his power is?’ Bashenthar asked, ‘The ability to change the direction of your blade?’
Griever quickly pulled another sword off the ground and readied himself for Gallag’s second charge. ‘No, I think it’s something else,’ he thought, ‘But let’s hope I’m wrong.’