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9/1/2021 6:03:39 PM
1
The Last Duelist - A D2 Legend
[i]SnakFilm presents
A Destiny 2 Legend[/i]
It was said in the old days, after the Great Collapse, friend became foe, ally became enemy. It was said that all honor was forsaken in the name of survival.
It was said that there was one who held honor above all – even his own life, his own survival. A Hunter who walked the Wastes, searching for his next battle not for the reward of food – a scarce commodity in the Wastes – but for the reward of reputation and knowledge. Some said he was like a Warlock, the way he sought understanding. Others said he was a Titan; ruthless yet graceful with his blade. But those who saw him firsthand believed with all their being that he was indeed a Hunter; the best of both worlds: a weapon, and a wisdom.
They called him the Duelist. The Last Duelist, to be exact. He wielded a curved sword said to be made in the old countries where tradition and honor were sacred; where martial arts were held in high respect. They said the Duelist trained there, rumored to be a prodigy of great masters. But as these were only rumors, no one could say for certain.
No one knew the Duelist personally. No one took the time to speak to him, out of fear that they would be challenged next. And he rarely spoke to anyone, other than his opponent; and the little he did say was intimidating. When he defeated his foe – and he always did – he merely collected a handful of glimmer before wandering away. He was rarely seen in the same town twice; the Duelist was always moving toward the next village, seeking his next opponent, his next attempt to gain knowledge.
There was one instance that surprised all who watched, a sliver in time when the Duelist laughed in jest. He had come to Farrow, a small village in the middle of the Wastes, far from where the Last City is now. He strode into the streets, straight and tall, walking with such precision and grace that there was no doubt among the residents that this was the Duelist.
“You are not welcome here!” an older man shouted from across the way. “If you’ve come to seek a fight, you won’t find it here. Get out!” The Duelist just looked at the man, his gloved hands at his side, his motionless mask gazing at the man behind his hood. His robe hung and swayed in the dusty wind. The man began to shake.
“I do not seek battle,” the Duelist said slowly, “but knowledge. Will someone here teach me?”
“Teach! Bah!” The man spits. “You will find no one to ‘teach' you here. Leave, and do not return to this place!”
“Then if no one will instruct me, may I stay for a night? You have my word that I will harm and duel no one. I will not engage any of these people unprovoked.”
The man scowled. A crowd had gathered on the sides of the street, and watched the exchange with great interest. They looked to the man as he shifted his weight anxiously. The attention was unnerving, his eyes darted back and forth. “Fine!” he said at last. “You may stay for one night. We won’t provoke you. I have no doubt you could take us all if you wanted.”
The Duelist places his right fist in his land hand and bows slightly. “Your kindness is appreciated.”
The crowd watched as the Duelist strode towards the local tavern, wondering what would happen in the hours to follow.
- -
The robed Hunter took a seat at a booth tucked away in a corner of the tavern, away from the crowd and merriment that grew larger the later the day became. Those who watched him whispered that he was studying maps; he had been at it for hours. At the peak of celebration in the tavern, the man was spoken to again.
A boy of perhaps fourteen years of age approached him nervously, evidenced by his wringing hands. His shoulders rose and fell, as if he was trying his best not to breathe too quickly.
“Why so anxious?” the Duelist asks before the young man can speak.
The boy did not answer, and only widens his eyes.
The Hunter did not look up from his papers. He took a note on a separate sheet. “A firm stance anxiety does not assist. You would do well to know this.”
“My apologies, sir,” the boy replies quickly. “It's just…your reputation precedes you.”
“How?”
“I heard stories from the older men about a quiet Guardian skillful with his words, and even more so with his blade.”
“Mmm. I do not deny them.”
“Then you are the Duelist?”
The Hunter looks up at last and stares at the boy for several moments. The teenager shifts uncomfortably, holding his gaze. The Duelist suddenly reaches beside him and places his sword on the table before motioning to the seat ahead of him. “Join me for a moment.”
The boy sat.
“Why did you come to me?”
“I wanted to see if the rumors were true.”
“And?”
“And…to ask if you would train me. I’ve some skill with a sword, but I have a lot of room to grow. These days any skill is a good start.”
-
5 RepliesThe Duelist paused. “Look at this sword.” The boy obeyed. It was a beautiful scabbard, adorned with gold imprints forming a dragon among vipers. “It's gorgeous.” The Duelist nodded before unsheathing the blade in one fluid motion. The boy backs away in slight terror. The sword had a thin curve and a long hilt. “In the old days, where I trained, these blade were called katana,” the Duelist said, “weapons of strength and honor; duty and respect. Now the names and symbols of swords have fallen into history books and lore. Their past is meaningless to the people of today. But the truth lives on. I possess vast knowledge of the old swords, what they represented.” The Hunter turned his gaze from the blade to the boy, whose face had turned from terror to great interest and eagerness. “I know my place among these sands, what I represent. I represent the desire for knowledge and honor above the desire for skill and achievement. I stand as an ambassador for understanding, the gaining of wisdom. Before you ask me again to train you, ask yourself this question, young one: what symbol does your sword fight for?” They hold each other’s gaze. Then the boy looked once more at the extended blade before rising from the chair, and bowed respectfully. “I am not worthy, sir. But thank you for your instruction.” The Duelist nodded as the boy walked away. The Hunter looked back at his papers with renewed spirit. He sat for a moment before scribbling something on the parchment. All who watched ached with curiosity to know what he had written. - - With the morning came a new day, but with a new day came new challenges. At exactly an hour after sunrise the Duelist exited the tavern, clothed in the same robe, hood, and mask as the day before. His sword was buckled to his waist, extending across the back of his legs. He stood on the threshold of the tavern, surveying the brightening land before him. One by one the villagers began to rise and go about the day’s work. “Your day is up, Hunter,” the man who had spoken to him yesterday said gruffly behind him. “Get a move on.” “Are you sure you want me to leave?” “Positive.” “Then who will deal with those bandits coming this way?” “What?” The man brushed past the Hunter and squinted into the distance. Sure enough a cloud of dust was rising from an approaching pack of sparrows, about ten in total. “Do you have fighters?” the Duelist asked. “No, no we don’t. They come every month, hoping to find some glimmer. We never have enough for them. They usually take some of our stock or supplies and leave.” “They’ve taken your wife and child.” The man turned to him. “How could you know that?” “A guess.” The Hunter stepped forward into the sun. “Give me the word and I will end this today.” “Please, do it!” The Duelist nods and moves to the center of the wide street, awaiting the raiders. He unbuckled his scabbard and placed it against the sand, resting his hands on top. To those around him he did not look tense, but he was not relaxed, either. Resolute, perhaps. At last the bandits stopped within forty feet of the man, and the leader dismounted his sparrow with a smirk. “And who might you be?” The Guardian was silent. He shrugged. “Another one to bite the dust, I guess.” He withdrew a pistol and aims at the Hunter’s head. He fired, but the bullet never connected with the Duelist. Just before the shot became fatal he took the handle of his sword and raised it out of the scabbard just enough so that it deflected the bullet. It bounced to the ground, and the Duelist let his sword fall back in its resting place. The leader looked at him, at first dumbfounded, then furious. “Get ‘im!” His men dismount and rush for the Hunter, withdrawing weapons and rusty swords alike. The man did not move an inch as they drew closer. At last, when one of the bandits reached arm’s distance, the Duelist tripped him and began the fight. Man after man came for him and he conquered them all with ease, whether by flipping them, kicking them in the chest, forcing them to collide with one another, or knocking them back with the butt of his sword. But his blade did not touch any one of them. The bullets he deflected easily as well, usually forcing them to return to the shooters in the arm or leg. At last the bandits lie around the Duelist, unconscious or wounded. When only the leader was left, the Hunter resumed his original stance. “I challenge you to a battle.” The leader scoffed. “You think I could beat you?” “No,” the Guardian admits, “but better to try and stand than run and be a coward. I will respect you either way. But these villagers will not.” The man looked sideways at those that watched from the edges of the streets, looking first at the ring of bodies, then at the leader. The man swallows anxiously. “I will not fight.” “Then leave and do not come back. If you do, you will see me again and you will duel me then. Is that clear?” He nodded. “Very.” He motioned for the wounded to carry the unconscious, then rode away in a cloud of dust. The Duelist stood watching until the bandits could be seen no more, then buckled the sword to his waste once more. He turned his head slightly and saw the boy from the night before, watching with admiration. The Hunter nods, and lets slip a piece of paper before walking the opposite direction of where the bandits had come. He strode through the village until he had left the borders, and continued wandering. He walked further and further from the small town until he was but a specific against the desert sun. The boy picked up the piece of paper before it flew away in the dust. He smiled at the words: “Throughout my journey I have pursued knowledge and understanding above accomplishment and success. Now I realize I also must pass on what I have come to know and understand. What little wisdom I have can be shared, and I will do so, to those who ask it of me.” The boy finished reading, then looked up to see if he could find the Duelist just once more; a final glimpse of the legendary swordsman. But he had disappeared yet again. [i]….thoughts?[/i]
