^^ Sir Hunter ^^

— James —

Sleep found me easier than ever, in my memory. My service was ended, my work done, and I realized, suddenly, that perhaps I'd earned a rest.

But then I woke, and smiled to myself. 'Rest is for the Dead, they say... and I don't feel particularly dead.'

I stood, and padded out into the hall, looking at the books and selecting what appeared to be the most simplistic of them, a starting tome meant for children, it seemed.

I sat down in the arch of moonlight coming from the windows, and began to read. Though written in English, I had trouble with some of the grammar, slightly foreign to me, and I paused in my attempts to stand, when a book slid itself out of the bookshelves, and landed next to me.

"Huh..." My voice seemed oddly loud in the perfectly silent hall.

The book was cold, normally so, when I picked it up, and filled with various terms and their translations into English.

"Uhm... Much Obliged?" I murmured, looking around at the shelves.

A soft shiver ran through the floorboards, and then the quiet sound stopped.

I hummed, and spread the books out in front of me, reading through them both and committing them to memory, and then replacing them in their spots on the shelves.

The translation book, when I tried to place it on the shelf, wouldn't budge. I frowned at it, and attempted to gently fit it into the slot, but it kept tilting just right, and refusing to slide back into its spot.

After a few quiet minutes of soft growling obscenities at the book for refusing to go where it belonged, I moved the book next to it over, and shoved it into that spot, ending the discussion.

"Ha!" I growled at the book, and then yelled when the floor under me swung open, like a trap door.

My wings, utterly useless, fluttered in an attempt to carry me, but couldn't spread out in the tiny shaft, and so I folded them tightly up to my body, and simply slid along the chute as it carried me into the depths of the building... or below, I wasn't sure how far I'd fallen.

Eventually, it had to end, I suppose, and so I was shunted out of the end at high speeds, only to slam into the wall opposite the end of the chute.

I sighed, letting my body slowly recover; I didn't feel maimed, really, which told me of how sturdy my body was, though I was still sore from the last time I'd slammed into a wall, less than six hours before.

After I was sure I wasn't dying, I slowly peeled myself off the wall, and squeaked indignantly when I fell another twenty meters, landing in the bottom of a cubic room of some kind. The shaft I'd come from was in the ceiling, at an angle, which had led to my impact with the now-cracked wall, but other than the little bit of my blood that was on the stones from my busted lip and the spiderweb break around my impact, the entire room was bare, made of clean, virgin marble.

"Well, fuck me..." I frowned, looking at the ceiling and my only way out, thirty meters above me.

A section of the wall shimmered, to my left, and out of it stepped a man in silver armor, holding a great-sword as if it was a reed; there was a very visible ease with which he drew it and planted it in front of himself. "Well hello! I am Sir Hunter, a Knight of the College of Phlegethon, the School of Warriors, both Magical and Martial! You were given access to Acheron as a Warrior and a Scholar, so at the request of the Master-at-Arms of Phlegethon, the honorable Sir Hassan ibn Jawas, I will be testing your Martial abilities,-"

"Would you mind being quiet for a moment? I'm trying to concentrate, and I don't remember asking you for a duel; you can challenge me if you wish, but I am both unarmed, unarmored, and still too weak to properly carry myself, after being placed in this frail, thin body. My name is Sir James Vitara, of Her Majesty's Navy, Lord of Jericho Valley, and a professor of the British Royal College of Medicine. Good day, Sir Hunter." I waved him off casually, and looked back at the wall where he'd come from, tapping the solid stone.

"Hmm... Curious... I suppose more of this blasted magic was included." I sighed, and glanced at the Knight appraisingly.

He shrugged. "A magical item, but yes. We can't very well have you running away, after all! Now, as for your state of undress..." he snapped his gauntleted fingers, and a series of weapons and armors appeared on the wall he'd come out of, seeming to come through the stone. "Take your pick."

I narrowed my eyes at him, displeased with his casual dismissal of my refusal, but I chose instead to focus on the armor, dressing in the lighter metal, until I realized it was all light, even the heavy-plate. I immediately changed into that, letting it settle over my body naturally. My wings seemed to fit into the long slots in the back, filling them and closing the gap in the armor.

The weight of the armor was nearly negligible, but I could feel every joint and coupling, moving together properly. It was a pitch-black, the same as my wings, with a white stenciling to mark the edges of the plates, probably for aesthetic purposes. For a weapon, I looked for my standard, a sword and shield, though I had to choose a metal shield to have a bit of weight, and the swords were all like twigs in weight, not enough to do much damage.

Eventually, I settled on a heavy, fat sword that should've been held by two hands and was likely for executions, but it was the only sword with a proper weight behind it, so it would have to do.

Sir Hunter waited for me to finish, calmly and patiently, and then nodded when I glanced at him. "You're ready then? Good!" He cast off his cloak and mantle, setting them on a hook on the wall, then drew his sword from the stone, leveling it at me with one meaty arm. "Then let us spar a bit, Sir Vitara!" He laughed happily, and surged towards me with a pulse of motion I didn't expect at all.

A deep breath centered me easily enough. I'd had everything from an Indian Elephant to an angry Norse Woman charge me, and by now, very little frightened me.

A calm dodge to the left; his greatsword could be swung in one hand, but not behind his left shoulder, -that was the main weakness of holding a weapon with one hand and no shield, and why only idiots did so,- so that was where I dodged, and slammed my shield into the side of his throat, smashing at his windpipe savagely.

He was wearing a gorget, a metal collar meant to prevent just this type of wound, but I'd aimed true; just above it, was another weak spot, and when the shield clashed with the gorget, I just redirected it upwards into his Adam's apple with a harsh 'Crunch'.

He folded like a sail with no wind, clattering to the ground as his breath instantly stopped. He would recover in a few hours, but by then he would have lost what little fighting spirit remained, and submit. I'd seen it a thousand times on a dozen battlefields, the effect that not being able to breath had on men. That one, necessary action, that which gave you life, was more important that anything else. Few could think critically whilst choking, and even fewer could continue to fight.

My eyes were still on him, of course. I wasn't stupid enough to give an opponent my back, even one who was spasming on the ground and slowly passing out. He twitched a few times, faking falling unconscious, but I knew different; he was recovering quicker than I'd predicted.

I kicked his sword away from his hands, and took a step away, out of his reach, glancing around to see if he had any friends that were going to interfere. The room was empty, but now he was standing, having used my distraction to gain his feet, and recover his sword.

He cleared his throat carefully, and grinned. "Well! That was a surprise! If it wasn't for my regeneration, you'd have won just like that! Very Impressive!!! Now let's see another!!!" He leapt forward again, sweeping his sword in a horizontal sweep that would take out my knees, if I didn't move. If I jumped, however, it would turn upwards, and I'd be cleared from beneath. Moving backwards would just guarantee him more space to work with.

I went with the obvious option, and stepped forward into him, placing a metal-coated boot against his wrist sharply.

The bone cracked, but didn't break, and now he was basically weaponless. If he wanted to swing, he had to pull back, -giving me a strike at his wrist, likely severing it,- or push me away with his off-hand, which was empty, -giving me space to swipe at his head with my sword or shield,- and finally the third choice was to simply overpower me, pushing his weapon forward and throwing me off balance.

His arm flexed, pushing against my leg, but somehow my small, thin body was exerting enough force to hold him still, though it was very difficult. He grinned, and chose instead to bash my face with his forehead, putting stars in my eyes.

When he drew his head back for another strike, and came forward, my shield found his mouth with my full might, knocking out most of his teeth and making him swallow them.

He rocked back, stepping away and pressing his free hand to his mouth. "SUNOVA-!!!" He spat out a small number of teeth, and then growled at me. "Listen here, boy-"

"I've been alive and fighting wars since the beginning of King Henry's Reign, Boy, and may god rest his soul, but I've long since earned my white hairs and battle scars, you little lump of a Brat!" I snapped at him savagely, and he drew up short, confused.

"Old Henry?... but that'd make you... Hmm, 90 years old?" He raised an eyebrow, and I realized he hadn't lost as many teeth as I'd thought, only three or four, all on the right side of his jaw.

"Eighty-seven and change, but yes!" I frowned.

He nodded. "I see. Well, I apologize, your new body is... confusing. Mostly only Children are given the choice of a Faerie Body. Something about their young, mischievous spirits." He waved a hand dismissively, and leaned against his sword as if we hadn't been fighting a moment ago.

"Hmph. Well, I may have... accidentally chosen it. I believed I was charging into Hell, so I didn't listen to Lady Ilene, who was likely trying to stop me." I sighed, and sheathed the sword which I still hadn't used. Using a blade in a spar never ended well, for me.

He laughed heartily, and agreed. "I imagine so! You're lucky you didn't get the body of a nymph! Though, I'm sure it hurt Miss Ilene's pride a little, that her first Return was someone so distinguished, but she couldn't properly Return you!"

"It was her first try? Ever?" I asked incredulously.

He shrugged. "Well, Yes? She only became the Arch-Mage of Acheron recently, about four summers ago, I'd say, and an Arch-Mage isn't really supposed to go to your realm; it's too dangerous, and they aren't exactly expendable."

I hummed softly. "That does make sense... either way, I think our match is over. You're clearly no challenge to me, if you're going to fight like a whiskerless stable-boy." I dismissed him casually, and knocked on the portion of the wall that let out. "I'll have you open this, then; I'm not sure how Lady Ilene will feel about someone placing a trap-door into her home, but I'm sure it won't be very pleasant for you."

"Excuse me?!?" He snarled, and the greatsword embedded itself into the wall next to my throat.

I smiled. "There he is... show me something." I murmured, jumping upwards as far as I could, and laughing in excitement at the effortless reach of ten... fifteen... twenty meters into the air, before I began to arch back downwards. The sword was pulled out of the stone, as he glared up at me, and I chuckled, drawing my own blade and striking down with all my might.

He blocked my overhanded strike with a grunt, forced backward a step, but I recovered first from the rough landing, then darted forward under his retaliatory swing, delivering a heavy chop at his left knee. It was armored, and unlikely to- oops! I paused as the sword bit through the metal, and deeply into the flesh underneath; that hadn't been my plan. Still, he knelt in pain, so I jerked the sword free and knocked his blade from his hand, leveling my own at his throat.

"Let me reiterate: you fight like an idiot child, given a wooden pirate's sword for his seventh summer. You wield a Greatsword, but you use one hand only, and out of sheer arrogance you do not use a shield. You fight like a Stable Boy, badly mimicking a Troupe. All flair, no skill. And you call yourself a Knight? Pathetic." I snorted at him, and clubbed his skull with the pommel of my sword, knocking him out.

A soft series of claps had me looking up, as the walls turned to glass, and I could see now hundreds of people, arranged in the tiered seating around the room, like the great Colosseum of Rome, only miniaturized... and square.

A tall ottoman man entered the room through the wall like it was nothing but water, and smiled as he approached. "An adept display, Sir Vitara... I am the Master-at-Arms of the College of War, Phlegethon. You might say I am the Headmaster of the College, equal to Lady Ilene of Acheron. I am called Sir Hassan Ibn Jawas."

I glared at him. "Next time you wish to make a mockery of me, do so with your own tongue and your own blade, coward. I am not a pawn to be pushed along the board at your pleasure."

The arena silenced, and he stared at me for a moment, perplexed. "I assure you, our intention was not to give insult; a test of your skill was necessary." He seemed to be attempting to placate me, but I wasn't in the mood to be placated; my blood was full of wrath and rage and fury and I was not looking to be coddled.

"For whom?" I challenged harshly.

He chuckled softly. "I suppose you are correct, we did not need to question the Lady Ilene's judgement so... it was more to prove your worthiness to those who would question your right to be allowed into the College, both Acheron and Phlegethon."

"If they wish to test me, they may challenge me like warriors, not hide their faces like cowardly parliamentarians whose only skill is having others fight their battles for them." I snarled, glaring up at the now-restless and annoyed spectators.

"Surely you see the wisdom in checking to make sure the Arch-Mage didn't bring in someone unworthy?" He frowned slowly.

I snorted derisively. "This room wasn't built for me. You test everyone, I'd wager, and now you're making pathetic excuses, like a servant afraid of his master's whip! Call it what you like, but you're a group of parliamentarian Pissant cowards, unfit to be called Warriors!!! And I want no part in your little gentleman's club; I've seen them too many times in the Navy. All ass-kissing and making mockeries of yourself to curry favor with those more 'powerful' or wealthy than you; and even in the afterlife, those who are most pathetic always feel the need to make much of themselves and demand others pay them respect they've never earned. I am too old to care for your importance; I have earned my solitude from your hopeless excuse for society through ninety years of people like you."

His jaw tightened slightly with every curse and insult I threw his way, and when I finally made my point, he slowly drew a wicked scimitar from his belt. "Well, Sir Vitara, you certainly have your own share of Vitriol... but you will answer, I think, a direct challenge?"

I grinned. "That's all I wanted, Pawn."

His eyes flashed dangerously, and he was suddenly in front of me swinging heavily downwards.

I saw the ploy for what it was, having seen it before, and grabbed his off hand without looking, halting the dagger from touching my ribs. His eyes widened in confusion, and the shield on my left arm slammed his right wrist, breaking it audibly.

He lurched back, switching hands with his sword, and I nodded. "I thought you were left-handed. Did you think you could use that as an excuse when you lost? You used your off-hand, that's the only reason you lost, Boo!" I mocked him savagely, and drew my sword, controlling the adrenaline that was pulsing through my veins with a Herculean effort.

He surprised me by grinning, and dodged to my left, where he had the advantage, as my shield blocked a good bit of my vision; it was a good plan.

Problem A: I still had the shield.

He rocked back, eyes dazed and already swelling from where the rim of the shield had clocked him across the eye-sockets. My sword came down harshly, the back of the blade breaking his left wrist now, and disarming him, as well as cutting open his hand with blunt-force-trauma.

He stumbled back, and shook his head to clear it. I noticed him mutter in Arabic or Turkish, and then his wounds slowly disappeared, his bones righting themselves.

He blinked a few times, and nodded as they seemed in working order, then laughed softly, looking at me. "You are rather intelligent... a proper Scholar and a Warrior both, in the Eastern Way. It is my defeat, then; I will make a proper apology to the Lady Ilene in the morning. You have proven to be of a proper way, and not like the men all warriors despise; the plotters and schemers who disdain the battlefield themselves, yet send others there to their dooms... though, your temper needs a bit of work. You are free to go, and I bid you a most dear welcome to the College of War, Sir Vitara." He bowed deeply, and then walked away as the stone door melted into water, while the glass walls turned back to stone.

I blinked slowly, confused, and then understanding rushed me: another test, just like the first; a test of skill, and then one of Character. A soft growl escaped my lips. "I hate tests." I muttered, and walked out through the open door cautiously.