Whispers of Rio 3.
The ring of blades echoed down the narrow street, the staccato beat of swordsmen in duet almost musical in its intensity. Stripped to the waist and covered in sweat, his face a mask of impassive, focused fury, Juan Diego slowly but surely forced his opponent back. The upstart Hawkwood on the other hand, gave ground with almost every step, his bravado melting away in the face of the onslaught he now faced.
The Soldati of the Hawkwood’s retinue hung back, keeping the denizens of the back alleys of the Mage district back from the fight. The protocols of the Pursuit, as arcane as they could be, were very clear in these matters and forbade interference with a duel between Exiles. Even when your boss was losing. Worried expressions crossed their faces, glances shared between them as Lord Duncan Minton took another cut to his left shoulder, a match to his right.
Another cut came then, to Lord Minton’s right leg as Juan Diego forced the younger man back, putting him to a wall barring further retreat. A light knick to the left leg then, completing the set. Stepping back, Juan gestured to the other man with his off hand, a beckoning thing that held a tone of mockery to it. “My Lord Hawkwood finds his skill cannot quite fill the volume of his words. I will consider this matter closed as long as your mouth matches.”
“My Lord… Hazat.. You are most gracious… My words..” Stammered the Hawkwood, trying to regain his composure and dignity but not doing as well as he would like. “They were in haste. I am sure your mother is a fine and pure woman and you father from the very best of blood. Please… accept my humble apologies and my hospitality… I am the Legate for this district…”
Glancing to McTavish, Juan Diego showed a curious expression, as though wondering if he should accept such a curious offer. The nod from the native man seemed to indicate he should.
The final ring of steel was heard as Juan slid his Saber in to its scabbard. A nod given then to Michael, Juan replied. “I am Juan Diego Raoul Castenda of the Right and Noble Hazat, and I accept your hospitality. Let us speak no more of these words that have come before.”
The Soldati of the Hawkwood’s retinue hung back, keeping the denizens of the back alleys of the Mage district back from the fight. The protocols of the Pursuit, as arcane as they could be, were very clear in these matters and forbade interference with a duel between Exiles. Even when your boss was losing. Worried expressions crossed their faces, glances shared between them as Lord Duncan Minton took another cut to his left shoulder, a match to his right.
Another cut came then, to Lord Minton’s right leg as Juan Diego forced the younger man back, putting him to a wall barring further retreat. A light knick to the left leg then, completing the set. Stepping back, Juan gestured to the other man with his off hand, a beckoning thing that held a tone of mockery to it. “My Lord Hawkwood finds his skill cannot quite fill the volume of his words. I will consider this matter closed as long as your mouth matches.”
“My Lord… Hazat.. You are most gracious… My words..” Stammered the Hawkwood, trying to regain his composure and dignity but not doing as well as he would like. “They were in haste. I am sure your mother is a fine and pure woman and you father from the very best of blood. Please… accept my humble apologies and my hospitality… I am the Legate for this district…”
Glancing to McTavish, Juan Diego showed a curious expression, as though wondering if he should accept such a curious offer. The nod from the native man seemed to indicate he should.
The final ring of steel was heard as Juan slid his Saber in to its scabbard. A nod given then to Michael, Juan replied. “I am Juan Diego Raoul Castenda of the Right and Noble Hazat, and I accept your hospitality. Let us speak no more of these words that have come before.”