| The Throes of Honor |

[wolfdwg 2677]

 

✠ 

 

On the morning of the 16th of Aurelian’s Glory, 627 AA; the marshlands between the Province of Norland and the Duchy of Kvasz were host to the first-ever Imperial Duel. A year before the grievances of Antoine de Savoie, of Petra and Ulfric the Tall, of Norland were heard before the Grand Knight of the Imperium, Sir Arn Honeywine. It was there that in the halls of the Imperial Palace of Rittersberg, a decree was made. An honor duel was to be had—a duel which could end the life of another. 

 

 “Surely one would yield? Madness to throw one’s life away.”
Sir Arn Honeywine towards Captain Tancred, before the Duel of Wounded Honor.

 

First to arrive was Antoine de Savoie with his host of Rivermen and Savoyard Banners of White and Black, depicting the sun of Ashford. Clean plates and sallets. As expected of a southern house of heartlanders, with all the pageantry and wealth on display. Next, Ulfric and the Nords and Norns of Verdegrad. Banners of Red and Black depicting the burning tree of the Province’s Red Faith. Maille and leathers accompanied by thick mantles of hide and fur for the colder climate. Nothing unusual for a hardy and minimalist Highland people based on survival.

Before the duel began, Sir Arn spoke with both Hedge Knights and asked if all affairs were in order; both men assured the Grand Knight. Next, a summons of representatives from both sides. Antoine sent his son, Alexandre. Ulfric sent the late High King’s son, Haraldr. Seeing the young boy who now much resembled his father pained the Grand Knight’s heart. He had grown. Grown without a father, that should have been there. The terms of each side were as follows:

“What are the terms of Antoine de Savoie to Ulfric the Tall?”

 

“He is to be exiled from the Highlandic Province of Norland, made to pay an apology to my father, and my father’s ban to be lifted from Norland.”

Alexandre de Savoie to Sir Arn and Haraldr Ruric

“And of Ulfric to Antoine?”

 

“Antoine is to be handed over to the Province of Norland, subjected to our laws, and receive proper punishment.”

Haraldr Ruric to Sir Arn and Alexandre de Savoie

 

Upon the terms being exchanged, the Grand Knight sent both back to either side of the arena, to deliver the terms of each other’s opponent. With instructions of denial should neither acquiesce to their foe, step into the ring. First, the Nord Ulfric launched himself over the fence, then Antoine de Savoie stepped in. Chants of fervor filled the air as the Nords screamed their signature words, and the Savoyards and Rivermen replied in turn. 

 

“Then before the Almighty and the All-Father’s guise, let honor guide your blades.”
Sir Arn at the Duel of Wounded Honor

 

 

The duel began with a slow walk, as both men circled each other. Ulfric wielded a one-handed axe and a bronze shield. Antoine wielded a mace and a shield. Both weapons were solid choices. Sir Arn weighed them as he stood inside the arena, witnessing the men: one to cleave and hew, the other to shatter and break. Not weapons of finesse like swords, no, these weapons were made for savage combatants. The two tussled about exchanging blows, with perfect shield blocks; the sounds of crunching metal and the hewing of wood resounded throughout the clearing. It was then that the two became interlocked, grappling with each other’s armaments, attempting to gain an advantage. Then, the terrain betrayed Ulfric. The marsh between the Heartlands and the Nordlands was a mire to say the least. Torrential rains had soaked the grounds days before, making the soil slick with mud. Antoine, seeing his opponent falter, began a ruthless assault on the Nord with vicious blows from his hammer onto Ulfric’s shield. Then Antoine’s legs were swept out by the prone man, using his axe to hook the Savoyard's leg. The duel became a vicious struggle in the mud.

 

Martial stances? Years of practice? Honor? No, survival was on display as the two attempted to straddle each other for leverage, before Ulfric prevailed. Using his larger form, the Nord began to strangle the Savoyard with the haft of his axe before turning to dig his axe blade into the plates and chains that protected Antoine’s neck. In desperation, the Savoyard grasped his rondel and drove a strike towards Ulfric’s neck in retaliation. Raising his free hand, the dagger plunged into the palm of Ulfric, straight through. With a moment of pain, Antoine bucked Ulfric off and sent the Nord rolling off to the side; however, the Nord’s axe ripped and rendered the protection around Antoine’s neck useless.
 

 

The combatants returned to their feet. The polished plate and the pristine brigandine of the respective foes were mired in muck and grime. The two only briefly assessed each other before flinging themselves, like rabid dogs, into the fray. In the melee, Antoine was delivered a graze to his neck, exacerbated even more by a following shield strike. Red ichor dripped down that now besmirched plate. Finding a gap in the Nord’s defence, Antoine then replied with a rondel strike into Ulfric’s neck, puncturing the thick maille and scale that made up the Nordic armory. It was a graze, but now a sputter of ichor as well, then spattered Ulfric’s armor. Seeing a chance, the Nord’s axe was then sent to bury itself in Antoine’s neck. Slashing it open, a spray of viscera painted the mud. Wheezing and dying, the thought of yielding was unfathomable to the Heartlander, choosing instead shared damnation, and sought again to rise and strike Ulfric. This time, a slash slit the Nord’s throat, not enough to outright kill the drengr, but enough to cause worry in some. With a roar of defiance and bestial wrath, the axe again was swung, and a head was sent from its body.

All the while as the men fought, Sir Arn stood there beholden to the carnage he had seen time and time again in the previous wars he fought. Honor is a fool’s idea, he thought to himself as he watched Ulfric fall to the ground; his life too was draining fast, his breathing hoarse and ragged. 

 

“The duel is concluded, Ulfric the Tall stands victorious, but on death’s door… Will the All-father too embrace him?”

 

The announcement turned into a question; the Grand Knight’s consciousness spoke aloud. Surgeons and Medics, both Nord and Heartlander alike, rushed to save the life of Ulfric. The family members of de Savoie, and his lover, went to their now deceased, wailing and in grief. 

 

The scene was chaotic, and overall, it was headache-inducing. 

 

“I need a drink.”

Sir Arn to Captain Tancred of the Imperial First Legion

 

The Duel of Wounded Honor was concluded; it was a place where Honor went and died.

 

✠ 

 

   
 

Spoiler

Want to say I was very pleased with how things played out. I appreciate both Smowy_Vevo and Devising_ for showing up and putting the time to create an interesting story. I hoped the shakeup of CRP via dynamic events, and rolling didn't feel to intrusive for those watching. Overall, this is how I intend to mediate similar opportunities and duels in the future! Till next time!

 

[Truppler 124]

𝔈lowyn stood admits the gathering crowd as the duel began, her hands clasped tight before her chest while her gaze followed each strike with quiet dread. When Ulfric fell, her breath caught — fear flashing across her face as she moved with family and kin toward where he lay.

 

Relief came only when she saw he yet breathed, bloodied but alive.

 

"By the All-Father…"  she whispered, voice low — half prayer, half trembling thanks.

 

As the others lifted him to be taken back to the capital’s clinic, Elowyn lingered for a moment longer, eyes soft upon him. "You have done well, Ulfric. Rest now — your fire still burns"

 

Then, quietly, she mounted her horse and followed with the others along the path home, the scent of blood and trampled earth still heavy in the air.

[ImmortalShadowZ 1306]

Spoiler

What a great looking place to have a duel at

 

[Customable 304]

Spoiler

Go white boy, go!

 

[Frostdrop1 1843]

8 minutes ago, ImmortalShadowZ said:

What a great looking place to have a duel at

Spoiler

Seconded

Reinhard tsk'd as he sat back in the clinic after. Perhaps, at another point, he would have been frustrated with such a show of pride from each man. Was it honour, to not yield - or simply reckless foolishness? Of course, he was certainly one to think such a thing. Him, a devil, in the same space as the Emperor. The Grand Butcher, and his piglets and their grand hypocrisy. How his princed dared to spake the illusion that he cared about the life of Man. The Empire of Man he could not touch. The one that would end his life in a blink. His gaze toyed over a cigarette between his fingers, turning it quietly. No ordinary cigarette, yet still mild - laced with green. A gift. Another duality.

At least the patient lived. 

His hand coiled about the cigarette to stow it away.

[_xMika 284]

Amidst the carnage there stood a young de Senna cladded in the armor of an imperial guard one he was forced to adorn, within the shadows of his helm a pained expression flashed across his burnt visage as he watched the love of his aunt be brutally decapitated. . despite his prayers to GOD, his pleas, pain was once again inflicted upon those he cared for

"You fought until you no longer could, your faith is undeniable, rest well"

he murmurs to himself as the wails of grief echo throughout the arena, despite that he hops atop his horse and rides back home retiring for the night. 

[Frawlic 1602]

The sins of the Father are not shared by the Daughter.

And yet, guilt racked Pika's mind in some ceaseless fever. Despite the crowd's shouts of distaste for her found father, she could not process the wickedness of the common tongue. Nor would she understand death being the end-all decision for things it should not be. The girl was not the one who delivered the final blow, but somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if she could have convinced her own to yield so that neither would have had to suffer. Rather than convincing herself, it was okay that someone had to die for him to keep living.