The duel, unfortunately, left much to be desired. Skandar had opted to stay by the tavern, not wanting to risk stepping out into the open courtyard and surrender his already-weakened body to the elements; but the decision proved to be quite a poor one, considering the fact that he'd ended up paying more attention to the contents of his glass (which grew lesser and lesser til a man in leathers finally offered to fill him another—to which he, of course, graciously accepted) than to the lacklustre display of grunting and clanging of steel on steel going on at the square. The rest, however, had eyes only for the duelling men, which left the tavern near empty as the rest of its patrons flocked towards the sparring area to catch a closer look.
It was just as well, he'd thought, and it considerably lessened the probability of him being badgered by small talk. The Blue Faery had tried, of course, but he merely dismissed the man's queries—polite though they were—with a brief nod punctuated by a sip of whatever drink the General had insisted they try and a look that suggested that while the Blue Faery's efforts at socialization would not pass unnoticed, he should not, at any circumstance, attempt to take the conversation further unless he fancies having a partner who considers a grunt or the occasional nod an appropriate response. That is to say, Skandar was not in the mood for idle chatter. Thankfully, the Fae seemed to have taken the hint because no other questions followed. That, or he'd become far too engrossed in the duel and had simply forgotten about him—not that Skandar was complaining. He preferred it, actually.
He'd then heard the younger Fae—the little bright-eyed boy with a voice and a spirit that far outclassed his diminutive frame—screeching in the distance, and Skandar could not help but sigh. Spirited though he was, the boy was a nuisance. It'd only be a matter of time before—ah. As predicted, the boy's antics distracted Zexen, and just like that, the match was over.
Now Skandar was left with half a glass of vodka, watching the crowd disperse as Dorian and the Faes discussed...whatever it was that warranted discussion after a fight. And what a short fight it was. Maybe a bit of personal bias was to blame, but he wasn't quite used to duels ending quite so abruptly. They could last for hours at a time in Ashkara, and it was always very entertaining as it usually involved showmanship of sorts—like fire-breathing and acrobatics. And maybe the occasional fire-breathing ostrich if one of the duellists was an ostrich-rider.
The highest point, he believed, was when Dorian turned himself to stone. He had no idea the man was even capable of magic, so the feat had been a pleasant surpise. He'd been half-hoping for Zexen to reciprocate in kind, but alas, it never happened. The boy was an anomaly. A Fae incapable of magic. He stood up, drink still in hand, and braved the chill as he approached the square, intending to offer a brief word of congratulations to both parties before retiring to his quarters.
But it appeared that it would have to wait because as he came to a stop by the Faes, a voice had filled his ears, which a cautionary look to his side revealed to belong to none other than the ruler of Kythiannia—or the Invisible Woman, as he'd taken to calling her in his head. He turned to face her fully, allowing himself a brief twitch of the lips, "Skandar." He answered simply. "Prince of Ashkara." He placed particular stress on the word 'prince', casting a sideward glance towards the Blue Faery (who'd mistakenly called him 'King' early on) as he did so.
It was just as well, he'd thought, and it considerably lessened the probability of him being badgered by small talk. The Blue Faery had tried, of course, but he merely dismissed the man's queries—polite though they were—with a brief nod punctuated by a sip of whatever drink the General had insisted they try and a look that suggested that while the Blue Faery's efforts at socialization would not pass unnoticed, he should not, at any circumstance, attempt to take the conversation further unless he fancies having a partner who considers a grunt or the occasional nod an appropriate response. That is to say, Skandar was not in the mood for idle chatter. Thankfully, the Fae seemed to have taken the hint because no other questions followed. That, or he'd become far too engrossed in the duel and had simply forgotten about him—not that Skandar was complaining. He preferred it, actually.
He'd then heard the younger Fae—the little bright-eyed boy with a voice and a spirit that far outclassed his diminutive frame—screeching in the distance, and Skandar could not help but sigh. Spirited though he was, the boy was a nuisance. It'd only be a matter of time before—ah. As predicted, the boy's antics distracted Zexen, and just like that, the match was over.
Now Skandar was left with half a glass of vodka, watching the crowd disperse as Dorian and the Faes discussed...whatever it was that warranted discussion after a fight. And what a short fight it was. Maybe a bit of personal bias was to blame, but he wasn't quite used to duels ending quite so abruptly. They could last for hours at a time in Ashkara, and it was always very entertaining as it usually involved showmanship of sorts—like fire-breathing and acrobatics. And maybe the occasional fire-breathing ostrich if one of the duellists was an ostrich-rider.
The highest point, he believed, was when Dorian turned himself to stone. He had no idea the man was even capable of magic, so the feat had been a pleasant surpise. He'd been half-hoping for Zexen to reciprocate in kind, but alas, it never happened. The boy was an anomaly. A Fae incapable of magic. He stood up, drink still in hand, and braved the chill as he approached the square, intending to offer a brief word of congratulations to both parties before retiring to his quarters.
But it appeared that it would have to wait because as he came to a stop by the Faes, a voice had filled his ears, which a cautionary look to his side revealed to belong to none other than the ruler of Kythiannia—or the Invisible Woman, as he'd taken to calling her in his head. He turned to face her fully, allowing himself a brief twitch of the lips, "Skandar." He answered simply. "Prince of Ashkara." He placed particular stress on the word 'prince', casting a sideward glance towards the Blue Faery (who'd mistakenly called him 'King' early on) as he did so.