Peredhil vs. Ronstar

[Peredhil]

From Archmage UBB

 

In response to the Ronstar's defamation of our Guild name. Woods, the Atonal Ent is on the piano

 

~~~~

 

Peredhil enters carrying a ream of number 2 heavy bond paper (with watermark). Walking up to the Ronstar, he slaps him on both cheeks with the 512 sheets of paper.

 

“I accept your duel! En garde, Ronstar!”

 

Pulling on his fencer’s meshed mask, Peredhil draws his pen and takes his stance. The pen is a four foot long titanium steel shaft (with hydraulic ink reservoir) and beryllium tipped.

 

The Ronstar folds his portable hibachi (Can you smell what the Ronstar is cooking?), and hesitates. His hand hovers momentarily above his feared mace, Newby-Basher, then moves to his enchanted long sword. Four and a half feet of thrice forged steel , quenched in the hearts of a Dominion, a Devil, and a brown and white spotted Llama, one of its many properties made it light as an epee. (The inertial forces were diverted into cases of Beijing Mah Jongg tiles, but the Ronstar neither knew nor cared about such details.)

 

With a toothy grin, the Ronstar prepares to battle. “What’s up with the Guild name, huh?” He continues, “I mean, the Pen is mightier than the Sword. Who REALLY believes that? A Patriot missile maybe, but a Pen?!?”

 

With deceptive speed, the Ronstar slips from words to attack. Only years of training could have removed the tale-tell signs that give away the commitment: the bunched shoulder, the sudden breath. The knowledgeable bar-flies watching were impressed. The non-insectiod watchers had had a few too many beers to notice the Ronstar’s signs of skill.

 

Peredhil speaks not a word. The Pen twitches in a quarte, a beat to the blade and the Ronstar’s sword slips to the side. The enchanted blade literally whines in frustration as it helps the Ronstar recover his balance. Another attack, another block. Again. As yet, Peredhil’s feet haven’t moved, (although they remain poised lightly,) only the delicate beats of the Pen against the Sword.

 

With a snarl of rage, the Ronstar slip-steps back and swings a devastating side blow. Peredhil squares his feet slightly and swings the Pen in a counter-clockwise circle and up, encountering the Sword on the up-stroke and pushing it up just far enough to pass over Peredhil’s head. A single lock of raven-hair floats to the floor in the wake of the blow.

 

With the Ronstar over-extended, Peredhil extends with viperish speed and pinks the Ronstar’s cheek.

 

Rather than trying to catch his balance, the Ronstar pivots on his forefoot and continues the circular motion. Accelerating through the swing, the air whistles around the Sword as he completes his circle with a lunging stomp of his forward foot.

 

Only to find that Peredhil has dropped to the floor and poked upward. A clang and the Pen shudders off the hidden athletic cup the Ronstar fortuitously wears. Rolling off to the right as the Ronstar completes his motion to the left, Peredhil slips back to his feet. Both are breathing visibly now.

 

The dendroid pianist has set up a soft beat on the piano. A…A…A…A, B-flat…B-flat…B-flat…B-flat, B…B…B…B, C…C…C…C and so on until playing an extended E! He then stops to quaff from his seidel before beginning another beat.

 

With a fluid thumb motion, Peredhil jams a small lever forward. A fountain of ink geysers from the pen! Blinded, the Ronstar moves the Sword in tight but futile guarding motions as Peredhil moves in a half-Elven blur of motion. Snicker-snack flickers the gleaming Pen. The Ronstar can feel his clothes tearing and falling away from his chest; he is acutely aware of his vulnerable heart beating out a rapid tattoo within it’s fleshly cage. (The piano beats a rapid triad in pulsating time.)

 

Then the flickering assault stops. Stumbling to the bar, the Ronstar casts a flagon of ale into his own face to clear it. Blinking rapidly, Sword at ready, he discovers his assailant is gone. Only threads remain of his tunic; indelibly grooved into his meshed undermail are the words:

 

The Pen is Mightier than the Sword

 

Peredhil is not to be seen. The atonal Ent begins playing ‘Fool on the Hill’, the boozy loungers join in.

 

The Ronstar stands alone by the bar, streaming ink and ale, his Sword snarling slightly.

[The Portrait of Zool]

THAT was beautiful! ~Zool~

 

 

 

Ancient, The Pen is Mightier than the Sword.

 

 

Bard of Terra, Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards.

 

 

Elder than dirt, more foolish than a jester, able to trip over the smallest logic in a single step. It's... Oh, you know.

[Gyrfalcon]

*Gyr laughs and cheers* Go Peredhil, for the honour of the Pen and half-elves everywhere! *laughs*

[Gwaihir]

LOL, nice

 

 

 

(though considering the song Fool on the Hill, I wonder if that part wasn't a compliment) ----------

I want to be page 93 of Pineapples, the Avian Crows-Nyyark