Clash of Steel
“Pride goeth before a fall Ser,” I reminded him and drew my sword. “If you want it, come and claim it,” I challenged him.
“Do you really think you are going to win Lady Grace?” Ser Phillippe said from the other side of the room, staring me down as if trying to intimidate me into giving up. But I was not known as the Protector of the Keey Cheen because I was of cowardly disposition. Everybody knew this was my realm and no one got past me that I did not approve of.
“Pride goeth before a fall Ser,” I reminded him and drew my sword. “If you want it, come and claim it,” I challenged him. I was glad to see Ser Phillippe draw his own weapon and barely a moment passed before he was already charging me, steel clashing together.
Neither of us was willing to give up, the boon was too great. We spent minutes that felt like hours dancing away and coming together in a whirlwind of steel and barely missed hits. The treasure in question, however, was sitting innocently on the table, the dark, rich brown glinting under the lightning that illuminated the room.
Ser Phillippe tried to trick me many times, he fought dirty. I managed to defend against the attempted tripping, thrown chairs and other objects, as well as his attempt at throwing flour in my eyes. I thought a little about stooping down to his level, but my conscience would not let me do that. The victory would not have been as sweet as beating him in a fair fight.
The fight finished as I pressed cold, silver steel against Ser Phillippe’s neck, the man freezing in fear. He put down his sword and raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay, jeez, Grace, you win,” Phillip grinned and flicked the butter knife away from his neck.
Laughing, I took my bounty and retreated to the living room. I didn’t trust him not to try and take the last piece of chocolate cake away from me.
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Poetry poetry poetry! This is where submissions get a bit more creative than most, and it's a wonder how many HOLers (particularly the eagles) are filled with fabulous artsyness.