Dwarf of Bronze (ZnT/AU)

[TotalAbsolutism]

In my opinion, Wardes is at his best when he's not unashamedly evil. It shows how good of an actor he actually is. Plus, who's to say he's not sincere? Even the worst of villains can be moved by a boy with his heart in the right place. Especially if that boy just so happens to be a good unsuspecting bodyguard for his fiance.

TotalAbsolutism, this was very well done I have to say. I was genuinely touched by Wardes' gesture, as well as Guiche and Kenneth's growth. The reveal of the softer side of Kenneth's bond with Guiche had a lot of emotional impact. As well as the reveal of what the stone is. (Unless you revealed that already, and I just forgot.)

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Huehuehue. I hadn't, no, and even then I still haven't really. The offhand remark isn't quite enough to grasp the magnitude of that item's importance to Kenneth, as evidenced by Guiche not quite registering what he said.

I think I'll be elaborating in Chapter 7 of Arc 2, though. Good spotting either way.

As for Wardes? He's more or less sincere. While he might only be doing this for his fiancée, whom he now knows to be a Void Mage thanks to the summons, he finds Guiche's gumption to be... well, endearing. Also, I now have a justification for Guiche to keep the hat. Which is relevant, given I also now have fanart incoming~ -squee-

 

[Guile]

He'd assume the same thing back home as well. Kenneth is a dwarf... he assumes that Dwarvencraft is superior to all other forms of crafting except for his wife's. It's a cultural pride thing.

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I like me some nationalism, but maybe you could make that clear in text? 'He's not going to have what you need. He's not a DWARF after all.'

Or something, that's a bit awkward.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

I like me some nationalism, but maybe you could make that clear in text? 'He's not going to have what you need. He's not a DWARF after all.'

Or something, that's a bit awkward.

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I shall take this into consideration. After all, condescension regarding craftsmanship can be said to be one of Kenneth's more prominent flaws.

 

[Jarudazuigu]

Yes, and his accent is horrible.

Will Kenneth try opening up an brewery with the Fire Mage teacher he tinkers with, to get something decent to drink?

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Yes, and his accent is horrible.

Will Kenneth try opening up an brewery with the Fire Mage teacher he tinkers with, to get something decent to drink?

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Bah, his accent is fine. Also getting less bad over time.

Funnily enough, Kenneth is not an alcohol snob; not since he quit being a raging alcoholic after getting married. Although, actually, he wasn't much of a snob even then. Quantity over quality. But he likes mead, so he may brew his own.

 

[Jarudazuigu]

Ha! "Breaking" my SOD with dorf not complaining about not-dwarven everything, that, matters. Like booze and stuff dorfs are competent about.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

I would just like to announce that I have the best little sister.

Spoiler

That is all.

 

[The Ero-Sennin]

Your little sister is indeed the best. Tell her I said good job!

 

[Guile]

Bah, his accent is fine. Also getting less bad over time.

Funnily enough, Kenneth is not an alcohol snob; not since he quit being a raging alcoholic after getting married. Although, actually, he wasn't much of a snob even then. Quantity over quality. But he likes mead, so he may brew his own.

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Kenneth confirmed for Dragon Age's Oghren.

I would just like to announce that I have the best little sister.

Spoiler

That is all.

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It mostly makes me wonder why his eyes are so glisten-y.

I suppose that back in the day not-French playboys could weep tears on command, and had no need for eyedrops when they wanted to be Overcome With Manly Emotion.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Kenneth confirmed for Dragon Age's Oghren.

It mostly makes me wonder why his eyes are so glisten-y.

I suppose that back in the day not-French playboys could weep manly tears on command, and had no need for eyedrops when they wanted to be Overcome With Manly Emotion.

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Just anime eyes. They do that automatically.

 

[Smuthunter]

That is without doubt the slimiest Mott I've ever had the misfortune to read. I look forward eagerly to watching him get his shit shoved in.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

That is without doubt the slimiest Mott I've ever had the misfortune to read. I look forward eagerly to watching him get his shit shoved in.

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I choose to take this as both a compliment and indication of my success in properly characterising him.

 

[Smuthunter]

I choose to take this as both a compliment and indication of my success in properly characterising him.

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Compellingly evil villains make for the most cathartic punching bags, yes.

 

[Jarudazuigu]

Yes, Mott is still a person enough to not be pitied ... but despicable asshole none the way. Kick his fat ass Guiche!

 

[vyor]

I have read through this, and found it good.

On another note I've wanted to strangle Guiche so. many. times through this.

Now I'm hoping Mott gets a sword through his gut. Also that he gets crushed under a mountain made of hellfire.

 

[Guile]

Chapter 6 commentary:

In the following moments General Gramont cursed the cognitive dissonance that delayed his response. He knew that the familiar was not human, he has seen it use a form of magic just earlier that day and his son was also an Earth mage. So it stood to reason that his familiar, being magically capable, would have complementary abilities!

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Good hustle anyway, General Gramont. Good pace on that little revelation, didn't come together too fast or too slow.

Armand couldn't stop the feral grin that came to his face. It was just like fighting with an elf.

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Oh lord, elves. Nothing polarizes the ZnT fandom like elves. Just hearing them mentioned causes my anus to clench from expected butt-hurt.

The tip of the spike penetrated the surface of the armour and then shattered. Armand was on his feet now, retrieving his first spare wand from where it was strapped to his right bracer; while it would work from there he needed the extra control.
...
Anything that hit the armour broke,

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So was the first spike stronger, and got further, or are each of the spikes piercing the armor and then exploding? Kenneth being dreadfully annoyed at having his armor full of holes would be pretty funny.

The last stone beast was had

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Typo.

because every… said… so...

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Typo?

Nice to see that Guiche is overestimating Super Dad a bit, that feels real after seeing a fight like that (plus his prior daddy issues).

"Aye, ye've got th' right of it, boy. 'twere more important t'yer dad tha' he win than 'twere t'me. Ah know ah'm strong. He was workin' through some things."

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I'm not sure how I feel about this. Yeah, we kinda get what Kenneth is talking about because we were inside Gramont's head. But how in the hell would Kenneth have put that little factoid together? He was already pretending to be KO'd when Gramont glanced over to see how impressed Guiche might be.

 

[Guile]

Guiche was quite certain he'd never seen anyone able to pack in as much food as Kenneth. The sheer amount of morsels that he was able to devour in a single sitting was rather impressive. Entire roasts vanished down his gullet along with several gallons of ale. It was quite astounding.

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Does the Hall of Alviss regularly produce whole roasts? I guess I always assumed the nobles all ate delicately plated little nibblets.

"Ooooh, aye, tha' was just what ah needed. Y'not hungry, lad?" He shook his head. No, it was quite difficult to want anything after seeing his familiar eat. That would spoil anyone's appetite. He wasn't particularly messy, though, he just seemed to have infinite space and the ability to practically unhinge his jaw.

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Now we know why Kenneth was so comfortable in the hydra nest; he's practically one of them.

"Ain't your fault, boy. Ah realize that, intellectually speakin', y'didn't choose me. But ah think that, in this moment, ye'd best just turn around an' walk out of this room 'cause if ye say another damn word ah might just gut ye where ye stand. Got it?"

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Ah well, it can't be all comedy and adventure I guess.

At least you got another Guiche beating in there, those are always well received.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

I'm not sure how I feel about this. Yeah, we kinda get what Kenneth is talking about because we were inside Gramont's head. But how in the hell would Kenneth have put that little factoid together? He was already pretending to be KO'd when Gramont glanced over to see how impressed Guiche might be.

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That's a complex story, and relates to Kenneth's own past. But Kenneth's also trying to save a little face himself, here. Dude feels like he deserved to lose the fight.

Does the Hall of Alviss regularly produce whole roasts? I guess I always assumed the nobles all ate delicately plated little nibblets.

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They'll make the full roast and then cut it up.

So was the first spike stronger, and got further, or are each of the spikes piercing the armor and then exploding? Kenneth being dreadfully annoyed at having his armor full of holes would be pretty funny.

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They're piercing the surface and then shattering on the underlayer.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

"I don't have a lot of detail about Mott, I'm afraid, but I'll tell you what I can." As they walked down to the courtyard together Wardes was speaking quickly in a soft, low tone. Kenneth kept silent, allowing the other man to coach his disciple. "He's never been seen to use ice, but if he's Triangle it's a possibility you'll need to keep in mind." Guiche nodded, trying to recall a dozen lessons with his familiar and, even earlier than that, with his father.

"Try to destabilize his footing if possible. Get his wands away from him. You're younger, more fit; that's an advantage. Don't stop moving. What's your main spell?" That was a good question. They hadn't had time to work on his repertoire; indeed, Kenneth had insisted that they focus on sharpening his existing blades.

"Bronze golems." Wardes nodded with approval. They'd just reached the door to the courtyard, and it was raining just as heavily as when they arrived. More, even. The courtyard was slick underfoot. Mott was already waiting for them, unphased by the weather. Well, he would be; the rain parted above his head and the grass underfoot was dry.

"Distract him if you can. Try and break his line of sight. Get his wands out of his hands and you've won. Good luck, boy." There was a final moment of unity as the dwarf stepped up to whisper some last-second advice and then Guiche stepped away from the two of them with a tip of his head. Rain poured over him as he moved to stand opposite the Count, some twenty paces betwixt them. Mott regarded him with a smirk. To their rear, Wardes raised a similar shield to keep the rain off him and Kenneth.

"You know, Guiche, you and I are rather similar." Mott shattered the silence with a jovial smile and a casual greeting. As if this was nothing at all. "I was the second son of my family… since I wasn't going to inherit I went to sea with a merchantman. They were rather glad to have a mage aboard, you see. I reached Line there, and Triangle as well. It was my trial by fire." The genial grin returned. He held a hand out to Guiche, still smug and calm. "You can let this all go. I'd prefer to be your ally than your enemy."

Guiche didn't reply. He fixed the count with a stony gaze and retrieved his old rose wand from his vest. It was held loosely between his fingers, water dripping off the petals. Mott sighed and shook his head. "Very well. I had high hopes for you, my boy. Perhaps after a bit of proper discipline you'll see things differently. Viscount! On your signal."

Wardes stepped forward, expression grave, and raised his swordwand into the air. Guiche tightened his grip and then forced himself to take a deep breath. Mott remained calm and confident, the wand in his hand pointed up to deflect the rain. Then the blade dropped.

Guiche flicked his wand and nine petals detached from the flower. They twisted through the air, shining with light as they became his golems. This was the fruit of his training. Their armour had been redesigned with Kenneth's help to reduce weight and actually protect their new, properly articulated joints. With the reduced weight and increased mobility he'd been able to sustain three more.

They took ranks in front of him. Two locked their shields and stood in front of him, two more went to the left and two to the right, then three charged the front. At Kenneth's suggestion he'd armed them identically, and with blade and shield. Until he'd mastered his own arts enough to branch out the potential benefits of weapon variety were overwhelmed by the benefit of focus.

Mott had yet to lower his wand. He was probably still smirking as well. The sets of two arching left and right moved fast and low as the three in front spread out and advanced with weapons at the ready. They moved more slowly as their sisters circled around him; spreading out to cover him from seven angles. Still no movement. Guiche was uneasy, but even so he raised his wand to give the attack command.

The response was sudden. Mott flicked down his wand and the rain came with it. Water formed a ring around him that, with a flick of his hand, flung outwards and slammed into his constructs with a sound like a ringing bell. As they staggered back he moved calmly towards one. A surging wave followed behind it that slammed into the chest of the Valkyrie and, off-balance as it was, knocked it off its feet and backward.

He turned in place, guiding the wave around him to smash into the sides of the still-standing Valkyries. Once he was done the thick body of water curled around him like a vast serpent defending its master. Then he let it go. The liquid splashed down and rolled out along the grass as a soft wave.

Guiche stared at his assault force as they struggled to right themselves. His old design would have been much like turtles in this situation, so they were far faster than they would have been, but the rain had turned this lawn into a quagmire. He could feel the mud himself, sucking at his heavy boots.

His father, when he'd fought, had demonstrated unyielding power. The strength to crush and destroy. This was different. Earlier, he'd thought of the Count as a snake. That comparison had been… incomplete. The way he moved now, calm and even steps even as Guiche's golems attempted to rush him again...

Two charged, shields outstretched. The rain formed another trailing whip for Mott to use as he twisted inhumanly and slid between them. His spell caught the ankle of one and yanked at it; the two crashed together as one was knocked down.

It reminded Guiche of someone he couldn't quite put his finger on. The essence of sinister. He swallowed heavily as the realization of what he'd gotten himself into hit. There was no turning back now. He discarded his rose wand and drew his mother's sword, rapping it on the side of his shield as a signal to his two guards.

"Let's go."

They moved first; their mechanical strength allowing them relative ease of movement in the swamp of the battlefield. Guiche touched the tip of his sword to the ground and spoke a hushed incantation to force the ground to raise and solidify for him. As he charged behind his creations, holding his stance as low as he dared, he kept the blade tip pressed into the dirt. It easily cut through the mud and made a path for him as it did so.

Mott stood in the middle of a swarm of blades and metal. The seven Valkyries already assaulting him were thoroughly outmatched, however. This close up Guiche could see that there was a thin sheet of water covering the man. It seemed to be supporting his utterly impossible movements; allowing him to bend and sway and flow between the attacks.

He seemed to anchor one foot to the ground and lean back an unbelieveable distance to dodge a swipe of a blade, only to come back in with a high-powered water blast following behind his wand that slammed the offending Valkyrie through the air and lightly dented its chestplate. Guiche's ribs ached just at the thought. He'd need to reinforce them.

Still, Mott wasn't facing him at this moment. Allowing a smirk of his own, Guiche opened the palm of his left hand and dropped the single metal petal within at his feet. His sword dipped down to touch it, the incantation for release rolling off his tongue. The tenth golem took form.

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Fighting in the rain was soothing more than anything else, at least for Mott. It reminded him of a simpler time. Fighting amidst ocean spray and roiling waves for his very life. Not that he'd truly enjoyed that life. Far from it. The relaxation came from the knowledge that he had transcended that meagre existence. Perhaps he had once felt some joy in the thrill of combat but, as time had gone on, he'd come to realize what he really loved was winning.

Which is why, upon his return to civilization to discover that he'd beaten his own brother to the inheritance merely by surviving, he'd sought to do so at every opportunity. He'd tasted the fruits of success in every shape and form since those early days. In doing so Mott had discovered that the victory he liked best was the one that he earned through merely existing. To his mind, it was only right and proper that his elevated status bring to him superiority in every respect of his life.

Yet, on occasion, he chose to indulge himself in a baser sort of conquest. He was not, of course, considering the delectable little treat he'd acquired from the Academy; no, that was, in its own way, a far higher tier of win in that it had required almost no actual effort on his part. That girl had lost to him the moment he laid eyes on her, and then gone out of her way to ensure that loss through her own thought processes.

The lower victory here was to be found in one Guiche de Gramont. Although the boy's attempts at posturing and self-proclaimed heroism were amusing in their own right it was just as much fun to see the hope gradually fade as he'd effortlessly crushed every attempt to stymie his enjoyment of the servant girl. Then, just as he'd thought the situation had finally gone barren of any further entertainment, the child had challenged him to a duel.

Now, while Mott certainly did feel a legitimate kinship with the… what was it, fourth son of the House de Gramont? While he felt that way it wasn't nearly a strong enough sensation to make him even consider letting someone else beat him. Losing was a thing that happened to other people.

Idly, he slid out of the way of a clumsy sword stroke. Really, the boy wasn't that bad. Being able to maintain this many golems at once was a rather impressive feat! Not to mention that their swordsmanship was, while not professional-tier, certainly had a greater depth to it than simply swinging their blades at the target.

Water-Water; Pressure Burst. Another suit of armour toppled as the precisely applied Line spell unbalanced it. As long as he limited himself to magic of that level Guiche would run out of Willpower long before him. Even if the young man seemed to not actually be using any spells yet the effort of sustaining and commanding the golems had to be draining.

Speaking of… something was off. He could feel it in the rain. Between attacks he released a basic Dot spell that gently pushed against all the water in a fifteen metre radius or so. The effect of this created a rough image in his mind of the various combatants. Yet, at some point during the last exchange, he'd lost track of Guiche.

Mott cast downwards as he moved back. He was pushed to the very surface of the thick layer of water that had formed on his lawn. How unfortunate for Guiche that the drainage was so poor here. Almost as if there was some sort of stone basin underneath the ground that would prevent any water from seeping away. What a terrible coincidence that would be. Thus buoyed he slipped away from the armours and tried to re-acquire his primary concern.

… oh, Guiche. There were now ten golems; one of which carried a distinctively different shield than the others. He'd been smart enough to make it look like they were all carrying the same blade but he hadn't been able to alter the shields of the rest to match his new one before the duel. At least he'd tried to smear the surface with mud but, even if the rain hadn't been washing it off, the shape was too different.

Well, if that was his trump card then how would he use it? Try and get close while he was distracted and break his footing, then disarm him. Or, with any luck, drop him up to his neck in the quagmire. Well, he'd probably need to be Line to manage that much. If this is the best he can do, though, then he might as well put the lad out of his misery now.

He allowed himself to stack three this time, and formed a much longer water tendril. It lashed itself to Guiche and curled around him; yanking him free of the crowd of golems and binding his limbs. At the end it curled itself around the sword and, with a sharp twist, snapped it off at the hilt. Rather shoddy workmanship, really, but he was disarmed now.

"It's over, Guiche de Gramont. You may declare his forfeit now, Viscount."

Yet Wardes remained silent.

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One of the ignored golems picked up a shield from in the muck. The rest shifted as they continued their charge as well they should; they had not the intelligence to recognize the capture of their 'master'. As the Viscount remained silent and the charge continued, as understanding began to dawn on Mott's face and his eyes flicked across the crowd of attackers, as he finally spotted the second suit of armour with a differently-shaped shield it was almost too late.

Certainly, changing all of the shields to match his new one before, or during, the duel was currently beyond his capabilities. But one? He could do one.

Guiche raised the shield as Mott flung his arm around. He hurled the boy's own creation at him and the response was easy; it was unmade in mid-air and broke apart into a shower of loose bits as he revoked the invested energy with but a thought. That was the other advantage of his new design, Guiche thought as the small parts bounced off his defence.

Next Mott desperately twisted in place, trying to pull the water tendril back into an attack position. While he maintained the spell he couldn't move easily, yet the momentum that Guiche had gained was too much to be easily thwarted without striking him first. His first trump card already successfully deployed, Guiche engaged his second.

The spell crashed against the shield and the entire body of the attack collapsed a moment later. There was a brief glow as a light of some sort moved from the water to the shield, and then it was lost in a unified war cry; one that came not only from the helmet of the Valkyrie that Guiche de Gramont was wearing like a suit of armour but also from the spiked shield 'Derflinger' strapped to his left arm. It, too, had heard the injustice of this evening's conversation and was finally freed of its oath to remain silent so as not to alert their enemy to their plan.

Sheer, unadulterated panic filled Mott's face as Guiche closed the last few metres. He was very likely unsure if the young man was planning to check his swing; in that moment, even the boy in question didn't know the answer for sure. Yet, even in the midst of unmitigated terror, he retained enough composure to allow for one last spell.

Fog exploded across the battlefield as the temperature dropped sharply. Groundwater joined with Rain to form a high wall of ice that Guiche crashed right into with a sickening 'crack' that caused the two men watching to both wince in spite of themselves. The structure lasted for only a moment before collapsing into a pile of knee-high slurry. As for the young noble himself; he stumbled backwards, dazed, as Mott unleashed high-speed ice spears right into the legs of his remaining Valkyries, one by one; launching two at once by twinning the same spell across dual wands.

Then the two wand-tips trained themselves on Guiche. The young man forced himself, against all odds, to bring together a coherent single Earth and began to squeeze out the beginning of an incantation despite the ringing in his ears.

Earth.

It was there, ready to be released, yet it wasn't enough. Guiche pulled and reached and begged and prayed as his head throbbed. Mott's lips were moving but he couldn't make out any sounds beyond a high-pitched whine. Yet it seemed to him that the man had decided that some injury might be acceptable, since he had the option of healing him after the battle was concluded in his favour.

Earth… Earth… Earth… Earth-Earth.

It wasn't all that spectacular, in the end. Not some vast, divine revelation with shining lights and a sensation of newfound grandiosity. More like a quiet 'click' in some dark corner of his mind as he neatly and easily slotted a second element into place. He tripped over some of the words in the incantation due to a combination of surprise and what he estimated to be a light concussion, so when the spell was released his muscles stiffened a bit more than they ought to have.

However, the look on Mott's face when his ice needle struck Guiche's knee, pierced the soft bronze of the armour and then shattered into a thousand pieces on the suddenly hardened skin beneath was worth it. He lifted up another ice barrier but this time the young man slammed into it shield-first; as the spikes dug into it all cohesiveness was lost and the barrier became just another pile of white sludge.

Guiche advanced, wrenching another two elements together as he did so.

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A series of impossibilities, one after another, had shaken Mott's nerves substantially. He'd been mistaken in his estimation of the boy's tactical abilities and forced to use a trump card of his own. Then he'd been mistaken in terms of the boy's own basic prowess when his attempt to take him out of the fight as efficiently as possible had been apparently stymied by what had to be a Line spell at the very least.

Water-Air-Water, then, for a freezing riptide that would ice over the cocky little bastard's joints. He had no shame in using Triangle magic at this point; Mott would be glad to do so freely and continuously until the end. Better to overestimate him right now than underestimate him. Yet even then, as he quite suddenly discovered, that much would not suffice.

His Arctic Geyser was met with a Sandblast coming in the opposite direction. That made it clear; Guiche was a Line mage and, given earlier rumors and discussions, had to have achieved that during this very duel. But to be a freshly minted Line and force out a functional Oppositional spell was both impressive and incredibly foolish. The strain would be immense. There was no way it would work out in his favour, even if it was his only chance of evenly matching with a Triangle spell that bordered on Square in this weather.

Unless, it seemed, one was daft enough to charge on through the ongoing clash between the two spells in order to lunge for their opponent. As Guiche smashed his way through the swirling slurry of sand, water and ice Mott felt a twinge of some half-recalled sensation in his stomach. It felt much like what he remembered fear to be like; yet, that was utterly ludicrous. What was there to fear from this… this brat?

The answer was, Mott mused as the flick of a sword caught his wand and neatly removed well over half of it, quite a lot. He went for a quick single Water in riposte; flicking a globe of water at Guiche's face with the other hand. Much to his surprise the distracting splash was successfully blocked and, as he tried to draw another wand with his left hand, Mott found himself disarmed yet again.

This bizarre stalemate persisted for several repetitions; he attempted to get a wand into his left hand so he could strike at the boy from the side not protected by that bizarre, cackling, profanity-spewing, magic-absorbing shield and Guiche, in turn, neatly prevented him from doing so with deft feints and quick slices. Twice, when Mott attempted some sleight of hand to stymie the attempts, he simply slapped the man's gloved fingers with the flat of the blade.

Then, quite suddenly, Mott realized that the helmet was getting much closer to his face.

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The sound of metal meeting nose was a mirror of the earlier helmet versus wall debacle, albeit one that contained a certain visceral satisfaction for the two audience members. Kenneth actually cheered with manic glee, screeching out at the top of his lungs; "Aye, lad, tha's how ye use yer heid!" In spite of himself, and in the blood coating his faceplate, Guiche grinned.

It didn't take long for the mirth to turn savage, however. He quickly stood on Mott's right wrist, pinning down the only hand with a wand still in it, and laid his blade at the man's throat. The Viscount stepped forward to give his proclamation, to end the match, but Kenneth caught his arm and shook his head slowly.

"... yield, Count. Or perhaps I may see fit to administer proper discipline of my own." The taller man was spitting and frothing with blood and rage alike. They made a rather nice tableau in the falling rain, with ruined Valkyries and shards of broken ice littered about them. It was an almost poetic moment.

"Damn you, boy, I shall not! You have not the-" But whatever it was that Guiche was lacking would have to remain a mystery to him, as he'd just put his sword through Mott's left shoulder. It slid in easily; in fact, he couldn't even tell when he'd met bone. The blade simply slid right on through and into the ground as easily as if he were sheathing it.

"Apparently I am replete in whatever it is, Count. You are beaten, and by the rules we agreed to I needn't let up until you surrender." They glared each other; enraged glare meeting with an impassive bronze visage. Then, speaking the words as if they were the greatest curse he could imagine, Mott relented.

"I yield."

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It had all been somewhat of a blur from there. Guiche had managed to step off the Count and Wardes had gotten the servants to take him away; he'd said he would keep an eye on the man as he healed himself up. Kenneth had taken up position directly to the rear of his master and, once Mott was out of sight, went from subtly supporting his charge from behind to openly propping him up.

Guiche collapsed forward regardless, tearing off the helmet and immediately throwing up into the mud. His familiar said nothing; merely patting him on the back as he alternated between further adrenaline fuelled dry heaves and deep, breathless wheezing.

"Oh Founder… oh Lord, I just stabbed the Queen's Messenger in the shoulder. I must be insane. What in the Hells did I just do? Must be out of my damned mind!" He quivered on the spot, partially from the fading high and partially from the chill of the rain. Kenneth just stood there, being nice and warm, and let him work through it.

It didn't take too long for the panic to become a chuckle, and then a deep, full-bodied laugh. Guiche laughed and laughed until he was almost sick again; after which his mood seemed to decide on a sort of disbelieving glee.

"C'mon, lad. Let's tidy ye up a bit, eh?" Guiche nodded and hauled himself to his feet by way of Kenneth's shoulder. The dwarf had already retrieved the discarded rose wand, along with the hat and cloak that had been set aside in order to fit in the Valkyrie. Even though he was shivering he took a moment to retrieve the remnants of his creations and then at last had the bright idea to cast a basic Fire cantrip to warm his aching extremities.

"Brimir's beard, Kenneth, did I really run headfirst into a wall of ice? I disarmed him as well, didn't I? Three times at least… no, four; it must have been four! I can scarcely remember, now." His familiar chuckled lightly as he supported his disciple on their stumbling walk back to the manor. Mott was waiting for them; shoulder bandaged and expression sour. Wardes spotted them enter and leisurely crossed the distance with an easy smile on his face.

"That was well done, lad. Very well done." He laid a hand on the young man's shoulder in a way that felt disturbingly familiar. "You've got plenty of pluck, I'll say that much for you. Those were some brave gambits. Foolish, sure, but brave." Ah, of course, that was the source of the familiarity, wasn't it? It was standing just over there, glowering and standing stiffly in the warm air of the foyer.

The Viscount removed his hand and tipped his head to the both of them, accepting his cloak and hat from Kenneth. However, after a brief pause, he placed the latter firmly on Guiche's head. "You've earned this, I think. If you've improved even half as much as I think you will then once you're out of the Academy I'd be glad to sponsor you for entry into the Griffon knights. Consider this a downpayment on that offer, hm?" Guiche couldn't help but beam up at him, and straightened the hat.

"Thank you, Sir Wardes. You do me a great honour." The atmosphere was significantly dampened by the approach of the sour-faced Mott, however, who had evidently grown tired of waiting any longer.

"Guiche de Gramont. I am not in the habit of losing, particularly not to children." Oh, surely not? Kenneth bristled alongside Guiche as the pair of them prepared for whatever trick the bastard was planning to pull on them at the last minute. "And I now find myself in the position of greatly wanting to call 'foul' on the result of our little contest…"

Then, much to everyone's surprise, Mott's expression softened. "However, I find that I cannot. You have bested me by your own skill more than anything. Take the girl with my blessings, Guiche. In the end, I still think that you and I are far more alike than you realize." The young noble drew himself up, expression as regal as he could manage with the throbbing pain across his temples.

"Of all the insults you have offered to me and mine, Count, I think that may very well be the greatest. Any blessing of yours would leave me a poorer man for having accepted it." Mott nodded, looking slightly saddened. As much as an hour ago Guiche might have felt sorry for him. A few minutes ago, perhaps anger. Now, though, there was naught but a faint sensation of bile welling up in his throat.

"... very well." Mott turned away as, with impeccable timing, two servants arrived. One Guiche recognized, if only barely; the other was another of the Count's. "Siesta of Tarbes, I release you from your contract ahead of time. Huxley?" He addressed now the man that had brought the young lady. "See that she is paid what she is owed. I am nothing if I am not gracious in my defeat." Then he strode out, leaving them be.

The seneschal counted out a number of gold coins and then delivered them into Siesta's bag, then took his leave as well; although not before informing him that the spare carriage had been made ready for their departure, at the Count's command. For some reason, the easy magnanimity of the loser just made Guiche that much angrier at the man. Every part the Nobleman; save the last. It made the contradiction that much more offensive to him.

He put it aside for now and instead faced the trembling young girl. She obviously recognized him, obviously had no idea why he was here. Guiche decided to make it abundantly clear by bowing deeply to her.

"My lady; I must apologize. I have done a great disservice to you by insinuating malicious causation on your part of an incident for which I was entirely to blame. I have done an even greater disservice to my family name by offering violence toward your person. I deeply apologize for my wrongdoing, and hope that you may accept this rescue as evidence of my sincerity. Please know that, should you find yourself unable to gain employment as a result of my hasty actions, I will gladly reimburse you for your lost wages until such a time as you may do so."

The servant girl was obviously taken aback; and rightly so. If she wished to never work again in her life then Guiche had just offered to enable that. It was a tremendous gesture and, yet, was the only one that he could consider might possibly match the sincere regret he had come to feel over his actions; a regret that was only magnified by hearing every twisted reasoning that had issued forth from Mott's venomous tongue.

"I… I thank you, Lord Gramont; that will not be needed. The Headmaster assured me I would be allowed to return to the Academy once I had left the Count's service. And, pray, do not lower your head to me; you needn't apologize for anything." Guiche steeled himself and straightened up, fixing her with the most sincere gaze he could. He had to resist his urge to dramatically grasp her shoulders for emphasis.

"I am afraid that is not true. Please, Siesta; you know that is not so." She swallowed heavily, turning her gaze to the other nobleman in the room. Viscount Wardes looked away, whistling innocently; the message being conveyed was clear enough.

"... you are forgiven, Lord Gramont. And… thank you. Truly. I… I never expected such kindness." Her cheeks tinged faintly red and she broke her gaze, clutching her belongings to her chest as she did so.

"Ah. Yes, well… it was only proper that I take responsibility. Besides which, I am not the only one you need thank! Ser Kenneth and Viscount Wardes were instrumental in your safe retrieval." Siesta curtsied to the both of them; Kenneth waving off the thanks as unnecessary and Wardes accepting them with a flourish and the kiss of a hand. Perhaps a little showy but, unlike with Mott, not drenched in sinister undertones. It was a rather refreshing change. "Very well, Viscount, we'd best be off. Seems the storm has abated for a time." Wardes nodded and tipped an imaginary hat to the boy and his dwarf.

"Stop by the Capitol when you have your holidays, lad; if you like. I like to give my squire time off now and then, but it gets dull without anyone to train in the meantime." The two of them grinned and then laughed together, Guiche straightening the gifted hat as he did so.

"I shall endeavour to do so, then. And thank you once more for your help." They parted ways, then; Wardes retrieving his rather crotchety Griffon from the stables and Guiche assisting Siesta up into the carriage. Kenneth secured his belongings and then took the reins. Before too long the manor-house was fading away into the distance as the two occupants of the carriage sat in a slightly awkward silence.

In the end, by the time either one of them had finally worked up the nerve to start up a legitimate conversation they were only minutes away from the Academy's gates.

 

[tEN]

Wardes has got to be so happy about all this. At practically no cost he has sponsored a bright young star who is already associated with his fiance and could be a major asset to his future plans.

 

[vyor]

As they staggered back he moved calmly towards one. A surging wave followed behind it that slammed into the chest of the Valkyrie and, off-balance as it was, knocked it off its feet and backward.

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Didn't brace them properly, ow.

Two charged, shields outstretched. The rain formed another trailing whip for Mott to use as he twisted inhumanly and slid between them. His spell caught the ankle of one and yanked at it; the two crashed together as one was knocked down.

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Stop trying to hit him and hit him!

Guiche touched the tip of his sword to the ground and spoke a hushed incantation to force the ground to raise and solidify for him.

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Ha!

It seemed to be supporting his utterly impossible movements; allowing him to bend and sway and flow between the attacks.

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Hit him already!!!

But whatever it was that Guiche was lacking would have to remain a mystery to him, as he'd just put his sword through Mott's left shoulder. It slid in easily; in fact, he couldn't even tell when he'd met bone. The blade simply slid right on through and into the ground as easily as if he were sheathing it.

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I repeat: Ha!

 

[Hymn of Ragnarok]

Well done Guiche, well done indeed!

As for Mott, the rock bottom was actually pretty clever. I mean, potentially used against him by the right Earth mage, but still. Quite clever.

I did not see Derf coming, and I am both very glad I didn't and that he kicked such ass.

Good to see the nice side of Wardes, the gallant knight who knows when the conveniently ignore the rules for the sake of a commoner. Makes his backstabbing actions all the more painful.

Guiche is going to have one hell of a story to tell when he gets back. It'll probably spread whether he boasts or not, which is the sign of a truly great tale. Monmon's gonna be glad she staked a claim on him early!

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

As for Mott, the rock bottom was actually pretty clever. I mean, potentially used against him by the right Earth mage, but still. Quite clever.

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It's a bit of a gamble, certainly, but it means that even if it isn't raining he can create optimum conditions for himself should it come to a fight.

I did not see Derf coming, and I am both very glad I didn't and that he kicked such ass.

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He'll get a bit more screentime in the next part! Plus a bit of an explanation as to how he ended up being reforged into a shield. Spoiler: He was pushing for Kenneth's axe but got shot down.

Guiche is going to have one hell of a story to tell when he gets back. It'll probably spread whether he boasts or not, which is the sign of a truly great tale. Monmon's gonna be glad she staked a claim on him early!

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She is going to be insufferable on his behalf and it'll be great.

 

[Hymn of Ragnarok]

It's a bit of a gamble, certainly, but it means that even if it isn't raining he can create optimum conditions for himself should it come to a fight.

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Yeah, I figured. Other Water Mages could take advantage too, but on the whole it seems like it either helps him or things stay at a parity.

Though, you would think people would figure it out sooner or later, but I suppose he doesn't have many duels here, nor do people like to talk about their defeats.

He'll get a bit more screentime in the next part! Plus a bit of an explanation as to how he ended up being reforged into a shield. Spoiler: He was pushing for Kenneth's axe but got shot down.

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I look forward to finding out how it happened!

Though, a shield does make a pretty decent bashing weapon so I imagine Derf won't be too broken up.

She is going to be insufferable on his behalf and it'll be great.

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Heh! Guiche sincerely believes he was just righting a wrong he did and would really rather not talk about it because it's really embarrassing/shameful to think about how he nearly condemned Siesta to Mott's clutches, with his only saving grace being his by-the-skin-of-his-teeth victory....

But Monmon just wants to play up Guiche being gallant, heroic, and victorious. Naturally, no one really cares about what nearly happened to Siesta, it all turned out for the best anyway.

It's fun imagining how this victory and fame could end up being so many things Guiche doesn't want. For starters, probably be endless speculation about a tryst between himself and Siesta, and that's just awkward.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

Heh! Guiche sincerely believes he was just righting a wrong he did and would really rather not talk about it because it's really embarrassing/shameful to think about how he nearly condemned Siesta to Mott's clutches, with his only saving grace being his by-the-skin-of-his-teeth victory....

But Monmon just wants to play up Guiche being gallant, heroic, and victorious. Naturally, no one really cares about what nearly happened to Siesta, it all turned out for the best anyway.

It's fun imagining how this victory and fame could end up being so many things Guiche doesn't want. For starters, probably be endless speculation about a tryst between himself and Siesta, and that's just awkward.

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The really fascinating bit is that what almost happened to Siesta actually isn't his fault. He blames himself for it but that's rather unreasonable if you look at the circumstances. Guiche never caused them to come into contact, didn't mention her, didn't draw any attention to her. He's blaming himself not because he actually, genuinely thinks he's to blame but because he feels a general sense of responsibility to her out of the shame for his actions.

Which is why others will be more willing to act like he was a gallant hero even when he doesn't feel that way.

Although anyone speculating about illicit trysts around Montmorency ought to be wary.

 

[Hymn of Ragnarok]

The really fascinating bit is that what almost happened to Siesta actually isn't his fault. He blames himself for it but that's rather unreasonable if you look at the circumstances. Guiche never caused them to come into contact, didn't mention her, didn't draw any attention to her. He's blaming himself not because he actually, genuinely thinks he's to blame but because he feels a general sense of responsibility to her out of the shame for his actions.

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That actually makes sense to me, if you look at it as Guiche doing her wrong before and still feeling like he has a debt to repay, even if she is a commoner. The fact that he wasn't there to help when she needed it, and that he was actually feeling well-disposed to the person who meant to entrap her, just makes him feel like he failed her and to repay said debt.

There wasn't much he could have reasonably done to stop this, but he seems to be taking honor and nobility more seriously now. And the results matter. The good intentions may exonerate you some, but the point is to live up to the ideals and oaths to prove that you are capable of living up to them. Perhaps especially when nobody could expect you to live up to them.

Although anyone speculating about illicit trysts around Montmorency ought to be wary.

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She shouldn't have spread the word so zealously then! Blatant fodder for rumors, that is.

 

[tEN]

She shouldn't have spread the word so zealously then! Blatant fodder for rumors, that is.

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I'm expecting her to go "no, it's because Siesta is Louise's familiar's intended" and people read too much into that and go "oho, a tryst with Louise then" at which point she throws her hands in the air "oh, sure, the three of us are all in a relationship together, that makes the most sense, what, no, are you stupid? They summoned familiars together, of course they're friends. This just shows how noble he is that he comes to the aid of friends of friends like this."

But of course they all stopped listening when she "admitted" that she's kissing Louise too. Cue Kirche loudly asking why she wasn't invited.

 

[TotalAbsolutism]

The carriage came to a halt in the courtyard and, before Guiche could object, Saito had opened the door to help him down. Any protest he could have given was silenced by the servant; he would not hear of any modesty, genuine or false, from the young nobleman. Something about that, or perhaps just in general, felt deeply troubling to him.

"By your leave, Master Gramont, I shall return our horse to the stables and then tidy up; the ride back has left me a frightful mess. Siesta, if you would be so good?" He offered his arm to the other servant and she took it with a smile that was warm and infectious. Guiche found himself matching it. It was good, though, that someone had remembered the horse they'd brought along with them; he'd completely forgotten about it on the way out.

Although, now that he thought about it he felt a bit bad for Saito; riding it back with them in that weather. The horse looked exhausted as well; surely the return trip hadn't been that hard a ride? It looked as if it might drop dead at any moment.

"C'mon, lad. Let's get ye a hot bath, an' some hot food, an' a soft bed. No training tomorrow, ye kin just rest your aches and soothe yer pains." Kenneth patted him on the shoulder and opened the baggage compartment to retrieve Guiche's personal belongings for him.

"The nerve! Sticking me in with the luggage like some common buckler! I am a proper Coat of Arms, and I shall thank you to show some respect!" The Dwarf sighed and passed the shield to his master with a resigned expression. Ah, that's right. He'd stuck it in there when it had made a few untoward comments towards Siesta.

"Ah didnae get t'introduce ye properly afore. Guiche de Gramont, this here's Derflinger; yer new anti-magic shield. Derf, this'd be my lad, Guiche. Ah know ye met in th' store but consider this a proper re-introduction." Ugh. Well… even if it was rather crass a magical talking shield was… well, it was still a magical talking shield. One that had been instrumental in the saving of Siesta, to boot.

"I am honoured to meet you, mighty Derflinger, and I thank you for your valiant assistance in our mission tonight." Oh, Founder the mouth. How had he not noticed the mouth? It was a strip of metal along the top of the shield that moved as it spoke which gave the impressive of a vast, gaping maw.

"No worries, partner! I gotta say, Kenneth, I wasn't exactly sold on the idea of being a shield when you first pitched the idea to me, but that was great fun! I guess if I can absorb magic it makes way more sense for me to be in a shape that can block it, huh?" The mouth grinned. Without teeth. How. "But hey, partner, don't forget to use me to crack some skulls once in a while too, huh? These spikes aren't just for decoration." It was chuckling. The way the metallic not-lip moved when it laughed was almost hypnotic.

"I shall… endeavour to keep that in mind." Tucking the shield under one arm and shaking his head slightly, Guiche began to walk to the entryway. He should probably tell Montmorency about what happened as soon as possible… have her see if anything was broken. Now that he thought about it, there was still a faint ringing in his ears and he was pretty sure that he'd bled a little from… somewhere. Actually, now he wasn't so sure any more.

"Hey, speaking of decorations… partner… help a piece of armour out, will ya? I'd like a tiny little favour for giving you a block back there. Fair's fair, right?" Guiche started slightly, trying to figure out who was talking to him when he remembered Derflinger. Yes, seeing Montmorency, and the school Healer, sounded like an excellent idea.

"I would gladly fulfil any request you may have of me, Derflinger." Somehow, as soon as he said it, Guiche realized that was the wrong thing to say. He could feel the perverse glee radiating from the metal under his arm and he really wasn't sure how that was possible, or how he could so easily identify the sensation.

"Excellent! Just get some nice young lady to give me a good polish, maybe a bit of a wax, and we'll call it even, right? Okay, great! What a kind and conscientious partner you are, boy. I think I'll enjoy working with you." The young man sagged slightly between two steps and shook his head slowly.

"I… shall see what I can do." Feeling like he had, in some undefinable way, lost some sort of grand battle Guiche de Gramont continued to trudge toward the well-earned comforts of an infirmary, a warm bath, a hot meal, and his own bed.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -​

The rain was heavy, but Mott could barely hear it from where he was. His private rooms were deep within the palatial estate and well-insulated from the unpleasant sounds of the weather and the hustle and bustle of his own home alike. It was dead silent; just the way he liked it. If he ever found a way to simulate the faint sound of a light breeze through rigging and a subtle creaking of wood then it would be just perfect.

Days like this didn't come often to him. When they did, however, he frequently found himself wishing that he'd never left the sea. Things were simpler when you were out on the ocean. Just the rolling of the ship and the soft noise of the swell around you. Certainly, the life he had now was far more comfortable, and yet…

He drew his razor across his cheek and then flicked the lather off into the marble basin. After such a thorough trouncing he'd felt a need to smarten himself up. He'd set his nose earlier and had just finished rinsing the mud, and blood, off his face. The real defeat tonight, he mused as he turned his head to one side and eyed the expensive Germanian mirror, was the loss of Guiche de Gramont's confidence. While the loss had been thoroughly due to his own foolishness the boy had shown remarkable gumption.

Really, next to the potential political gains he'd forfeited having to give up the girl barely even stung. Which wasn't to say that he'd let such a slight against him go unpunished, of course; he just had to think of an appropriately subtle method of returning his ire. Perhaps he could find out who had authority over that village of Tarbes and encourage them to consider a few simple reforms to the Lord's Tariffs?

A faint hint of a chill breeze made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Mott frowned, flicking the straight razor closed and laying it down on the edge of his bason as he nonchalantly picked up the nearby towel to wipe his face. The other hand dipped into the sleeve of his dressing gown and withdrew a spare wand.

He'd been loath to use this spell on Guiche during the fight because it was still a Triangle one but, as exposed as he felt at that moment, it wouldn't do to be careless. He whispered the incantation to himself, eyes firmly fixed on the mirror, and then released. A pure Water spell of his own design, based on healing principles and rather complicated in its function. The gist of it was that he was pushing, very lightly yet indiscriminately, on blood.

Mott turned around and moved his hand from left to right. As he did so he felt for any subtle changes in the resistance on his wand hand that would indicate a hidden presence. The only force he could feel was the one pushing away from him; the resistance of his own body. He frowned, stepping out into his rooms and quickly spying a tray left on the table beside the door.

It was a pot of tea, with a small note from the Head Maid. He smiled faintly; she'd brewed his favourite blend. It was a cheap Albion blend with a distinctly powerful odor that put many people off and simply reminded him of earlier days. The chill must have come in when she opened the door.

He poured himself a cup and carried it into the bathroom, putting it up on the shelf below the mirror. Its powerful scent filled the small room quickly and he sighed happily. Mott was often thankful for the diligence of his servants; he accepted only the best and, in doing so, found that his expectations were frequently exceeded. He'd been reminded of that just the other day, at the Academy, when he'd seen… he'd seen… seen…

The Count's brow furrowed as his carriage of thought lost a wheel. Something about the Academy? How peculiar. Perhaps he was just feeling a little flustered after the defeat. Now where… he looked down, frowning, as his groping hand met cold marble for the third time in his efforts to relocate his straight razor. Had he knocked it down in his haste to check the room?

Perhaps the chill had merely been a sign of an oncoming cold, as he suddenly felt quite warm. Mott looked up and saw two things at once. First was the line of red visible just under his chin that was starting to turn into a band around his neck. Second was the indistinct hooded figure standing in his mirror and staring at him with shining golden eyes.

There was a clatter and, as his gaze dropped involuntarily, he saw that his wand had hit the floor. It was surrounded by drops of blood. His blood? His knees were quivering. Mott felt for a moment like he'd fallen through his legs and then his arms caught on the marble countertop and he was barely able to hold himself up. So dizzy… how much… how much blood had he lost?

He looked down again, vision swimming as he tried to reach for the wand. It was right there, but his fingers wouldn't move. Blood was dripping from his wrist. The tendons were cut. When had that happened? He hadn't felt anything. There was a flicking noise and Mott found himself staring into the reflective surface of a razor, his own terrified eyes shining back at him, with the edge just barely reddened with blood. His blood.

"You are bleeding to death, Count." The voice was… it was his voice. Exactly his voice, in every minute detail. Yet not. It dripped with contempt, with malice, with sinister overtones. Was that what he sounded like? It couldn't be. His left arm could still move and he tried reaching into his robe. Questing fingers found only empty pouches. His eyes flickered away from the reflection and down to the wand on the floor. It wasn't there.

"No. There is no escape." A snap, then a clatter. Mott turned his head and then the pain came. It was sharp and crisp, like a searing line around his neck and under his wrist. He opened his mouth to scream and it was filled with cloth instead. Held tight, restricting his movement and his speech as well. His head was twisted to the side and he could see two halves of one of his wands laying on the tiles.

Another snap. Then another, and another. As his head swam through a thick soup and his vision began to blacken Mott saw all but one of his broken wands tossed aside. The last one was dangled in front of him like a carrot before an ass. "You were right. If you were not gracious in defeat then you would be nothing but a cooling corpse in this moment. The Banner protects their own, Count." His eyes watered.

He was going to die. In his own home, his own bathroom. There were pipes in the walls he could have caused to burst, tanks of water secured under the floor, weapons and extra implements secreted all over the bedroom and he carried no less than seven wands on his person. Mott had always known he had enemies, but this…

"However… you were gracious. So, you can have this. There will be no retribution. Guiche de Gramont, Kenneth Manson, Louise de la Vallière, Saito of Vallière, Viscount Wardes and especially Siesta of Tarbes will be left alone. Are we clear, Count?" He was given enough slack to nod his head, making sounds he could only hope were conciliatory.

"I hope you are not just saying what I want to hear. But if that is the case then keep something in mind." The person pulled on the gag, yanking Mott's head skyward. He felt a gush of fresh blood from his neck as dark spots danced in his vision. His assailant's next line was a harsh whisper so close to his ear that he could feel their breath.

"Your guards did not see me. I walked right in with your maid. I slit your throat and your tendons before you even knew I was here. If you turn your back on this oath, Count Mott, then you might just find your shaving hand once again…" The razor reappeared in his vision, shining like a star in the light of the oil lamps. "... slips. I will see my own self out." Then the pressure vanished. Mott collapsed on to his side, rolling over and scrabbling frantically for the last wand where it had clattered to the floor.

He had to jam the tip against his throat and force every ounce of incantationless casting he could muster in order to seal it enough for him to speak. Forget the throat; his windpipe had been opened up. By the time he'd closed the cut on his neck and reattached the tendons in his right wrist he was utterly exhausted. In fact, his reckoning was that if he'd cast even a single extra Triangle spell in that duel he would've passed out after sealing up his throat and subsequently bled to death on the tiles from the cut on his wrist.

When his maid found him laid there several hours later, tea cold, he told her that he'd cut himself shaving and taken a tumble when he was startled. The blood was quickly cleaned up and the Count was bundled up into his bed. Long after he'd taken several potent potions to promote healing and all of his servants had left him be he sat there, turning his straight razor in both hands as he stared at it.

Try as he might, all he could recall of the attacker were the golden eyes, a vague sensation of 'crimson', and a presence that could only have been described as sinister.


Dwarf of Bronze: End of Act Two

 

[tEN]

Hey guys, it looks like TA rewards shipping with awesome chapters. Just look at that turnaround!

 

[ChandraMagic]

and a presence that that could only have been described as sinister.

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One too many thats. Also, good show, good show. Just the right amount of intrigue to end the chapter on.