On a Razor's Edge

[King Cel]

Cel listened to the story of bloodshed; Whist’s exploits and deeds would have been deemed as impressive had the king witnessed them or known they were true for a fact. But the madness this faerie had displayed earlier made Cel question the man’s tale, as memory and recollection were often distorted by such madness Cel didn’t know whether the man’s imagination had run wild with his deeds or if Whist had actually done these things. Either way, if Whist was powerful enough to slay a faerie that was powerful enough to slay a king, he had much skill. Also, Cel noted the fact that while Whist had claimed to have been a guard to the king, which the king had merely been a figurehead and Whist had been (at least according to him) the true king, a puppet master.

The King nodded, ”I would agree. Fully.” He said, mimicking the softer tones of Whist that would lead any to notice the fact that the King was contemplating something. He looked down, at the battle sickle he rotated in his hands. He nodded his head twice, the gesture a reassuring one for the lord of the Unseelie.

He held up the sickle, ”Then I challenge you, to a friendly duel. Prove your skill, sidhe.”

[Whist]

"Your liege!" Whist exclaimed with the smile of a fawning schoolgirl. "I'm honored. Yet," And Whist's expression became more dour. "I'd not harm you, nor die myself King Cel. And my skill has always been more in the political usage of my gifts, silencing other souls in their sleep, fighting in battle if I must, but only to gain more power, to find more amusement. I could never kill my King, the one man who can offer me these things. Yet," And again Whist was smiling, "Nor can I deny him, for I might lose his favor."

Whist spoke with the air of a Greek philosopher, contemplating the balance of the cosmos. "Ah, what a position you've put me in M'Lord. For I have no option I see that does me good, if I duel you and lose, I may die. If I duel you and win, I may lose my life anyways, and certainly the favor of the court. If I refuse to duel, I lose your favor and perhaps my life as well."

Whist sighed slightly, then a smile lit his face, "So I suppose I best do as you request, and hope in turn for the best. And should I die, well, I must say, better to die than continue in the bored, tired, and weary manner you found me in liege. One last glimpse of blood at least." He grinned, his sharply pointed canines gleaming in his uncanny smile, the corners of his mouth sharp and turned up as those of a jester, transforming his dignified beauty into a fearsome feral sort. His eyes and aura gleamed with the cold silvery wink of a steel blade, and the man looked more like a weapon of death than a man at all. "Take it easy on an old man though, if it pleases you, I'm quite out of practice, and I'd rather neither of us die M'Lord."

[Cantrell]

Cantrell had remained quiet and just listened to the conversation that was taking place between the other two. There was nothing for him to say, and he thought it not proper to interrupt the conversation that was going on between King Cel and Whist. The Human listened with interest and was awed by the things that come with immortality. He also enjoyed the summarized history of what had happened in these lands ages ago, and how the past seemed to clash with the present.

At last, what Cantrell had predicted to himself would come true. One cannot make claims without being expected to answer those claims. Too bad this wasn't Earth, the place where guns were used to back up all kinds of talk. But that didn't matter too much. At last he might get a chance to watch something that only existed in fables and myths.

The human's face slowly eased up into a smile. One of the oldest forms of entertainment was about to start before him. The best part? The two possible duelists were both immortals.

[King Cel]

Whist’s talk of death annoyed the King to no end. Though the old sidhe spoke eloquently, displaying some type of tact in the face of royalty, Cel thought of the words as tomfoolery or a farce. He scoffed at the man’s play at manners, at honor. He wasn’t sure if the creature just foolish or naïve in believing that Cel would believe that his pandering was sincere, or worthy of his recognition. Whist had proven himself to be strange, mad even, and if he was worthless with the blade then Cel would never pay the sidhe another thought. Another faerie, driven mad by time, Cel would consider him.

At Whist’s final colloquy, Cel shook his head and held the sickle up at him. ”Enough of this foolishness, neither of us can die short of invoking mortality. I shall meet you at the Altar of Fate. I trust you know how to get there.” With his words Cel turned to make his way towards his chambers to prepare for battle.

As he left he passed Marcus and he nodded, ”Another time.”[/color]