[center][h3]A Worthy Challenger[/h3]
A Collab by [@Peik] and I.
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     Her feet were light as she strode, nay, sprang, away  from Do'Karth, as were her heart. She walked with purpose, one that guided her through the masses of bodies, searching for Sadri Beleth. She had thanked Do'Karth, and now she had to pay her respects to the Dunmer. Were it not for the two of them, she surely would have succumbed to the mandibles of the chaurus. She sought high and low for Sadri, even going as far as to venture inside Windpeak Inn, which proved difficult to navigate through, as there were many people drowning themselves in the ale and mead alike. Leaving no stone unturned, so to speak, she made sure she searched for him thoroughly, even checking below the tables to make sure he wasn't sound asleep, or passed out in some dark corner. When she did not find him, Sevine left Windpeak Inn, and began her search outside. She passed by Asper, to check upon him, and found that the children had now left, after decorating him with a great big snowberry wreath, while his tail and mane were braided with brilliantly colored ribbon. After a reassuring pat, she left him to munch on the grass, and carried on with her search. 

    As she entered the lower portions of the bay, near the docks, Sevine was surprised to see that several competitions were arranged, javelin throwing, archery, even a ring where many people were gathered in a circle. Drawing near, she realized that those gathered in the circle were watching a mock duel, where combatants attacked one another with wooden swords. And then, she spotted him. Sidling around so that she came to stand next to him, Sevine noticed that his red eyes were focused on the dueler's while his mouth busied with a bowl of whale stew. "Sadri Beleth?" She asked, making certain that it was him. While she did not know many one-armed Dunmeri men, she did not want to make a mistake. 

"[i]It has been some time, hasn’t it?[/i]"

The Whaler’s Festival had brought a bouquet of good memories of the past, and with them, a dreadful sense of time lost, for Sadri. When was the last time he had seen this? How many decades ago? The taste of whale stew, while invigorating, also made him shiver on his spot. All this time somehow felt wasted. He wasn’t happy. Yes, he wasn’t happy – that was proof enough that his time was wasted. His body, wasted, his mind, wasted. "[i]A waste.[/i]" He needed to buy a water pipe – but did they even craft those in this backwards fishing town? Better to just focus on the duelists. 

Children. There were children around, running with joy, unblemished thanks to their native ignorance – Sadri remembered once being like them, but by now, all that remained of those days were his parents, ancient relics of days gone by. "I should not have been a mer," Sadri thought to himself. Indeed, had he been a man, he would not have had the time to contemplate on a waste of seven decades – he would have been too old to care. Did it not dawn upon any mer at all, just how horrifying a curse it was to live so long? Here he was, with seven decades of memories, yet he was supposed to be young. How could one be young with the weight of such memories? 

‘’Sadri Beleth?’’

For a moment, the Dunmer expected a sudden stab to the chest by some long-forgotten foe, for that’s how Sadri would have done it (he had not forgotten Dumhuvud), but when he turned to face his fate, he was instead pleasantly disappointed by the sight of Sevine, one they called the Huntress – an emotional, almost romantic young woman. Sadri vividly remembered of her arguing with members of the Dawnguard, despite crossbows aimed at her.

‘’Sevine?’’ Sadri asked back, although it was obvious it was her. ‘’Here to watch the lads?’’ He pointed absent-mindedly at the duelists, surprised by the woman’s presence. 

     At the mention of coming to watch the duelists, Sevine's gaze shifted to watch the fighters engaged in a rough spat, wooden swords made dull thunks as the men came together, parried, and then separated, sweat causing their faces to shine in the setting sun. 

"Actually, as much as I would like to, no. I came to speak with you. The pleasure of doing so has evaded me for sometime, and I wish to amend that. I wish to thank you, for coming to my aid in the cave. Were it not for you, I would have succumbed to that hideous chaurus in the end." She said.

     Recalling that fateful encounter in the caves, she had forgotten the fact that he had been pierced by an arrow of the Falmer, and so her eyes wandered over his good arm, but did not see any visible problems, although they could have been underlying just as well. "How does your arm fare? The arrowhead, was it not poisoned?"

Sadri gave a tired smile as Sevine mentioned her gratitude for him saving her in the caves. Of course, having been slouched by the relaxation of the festival after days on duty, Sadri waited well after she finished speaking. Had he no shame, he could easily pass as the grouchy old man; perhaps he really did have no shame and just unabashedly gripped onto the old card thanks to seven decades of life, despite the youthful body, but he conveniently threw that thought in his mental meat grinder.

True to his expectations, Sevine was not done speaking, and asked him about his arm, for it had caught an arrow from the long-degenerated descendants of the Snow Elves. Sadri smacked his lips, subconsciously too caught up in the old man act. ‘’Well, Sevine, I appreciate your thanks, but I don’t think it was anything worth mentioning. We’re soldiers, our job is to cover one another,’’ Sadri said slowly.

‘’As for the arrow, well, I was lucky enough that the arrow did not manage to pierce my skin. Back in Hammerfell, warriors wear quilted coats with a lining of silk to keep themselves safe from the heat, and arrows. I don’t leave home without it,’’ Sadri said as he patted the thick, although admittedly soft looking coat underneath his vest. ‘’Although the coat of mail I got from Edith must have also helped.’’

    As the older Mer spoke, she returned the favor, as he had done, and listened to him speak. A light smile came to her lips, relieved to hear that he had not suffered the same fate as Leif. "Edith is a good woman, she will do her best to see our needs as quartermaster. We have known each other since we were babes sucking our thumbs." She said, her voice unusually soft, despite the damage to her vocal chords, as if reflecting on some long forgotten dream of nostalgia that Sadri could not see.

"As a matter of giving thanks, whether or not they are warranted, is to each their own. It is something I have always done, even in the war. It was... a way of bonding with my fellow comrades when I did not communicate with them as frequently." She fell quiet for a time, standing in weary silence as her eyes surveyed the duel before them. There were several spectators that had gathered round to watch. It appeared that the opponents were the blacksmith and a festival visitor, for he was large in all aspects, girth, height, and the thickness of his hands and legs, while the other was considerably smaller, and younger. They lunged, and they parried, avoiding serious knocks to the head with ducks and vicious swings to the knees. Suddenly, the blacksmith gained the upper hand in the duel, for his opponent had worn himself out with his quick footwork, and perhaps had under-anticipated the blacksmith's stamina. With a swipe, the blacksmith landed a crack on the youth's hand bearing his wooden sword. He cried out in evident pain, that would leave a sweltering bruise, no doubt, and dropped his sword. After declaring the blacksmith the winner of that match, the judge, the one that monitored the fight for fairness, made an announcement.

"Who dares to step into the ring, and try their hand? Do we have any volunteers? Any that wish to test their strength and wit, to earn the right to boast? Come now! Only the most valiant warriors will do!" 

Sadri smiled faintly when Sevine revealed to him that she and Edith were childhood friends. It made him happy to hear that people had such long-lasting companionships, but also it made him jealous deep inside, for in his life he had lost many close friends, often to petty disagreements, arguments, violence, old age, or just plain misfortune.

‘’That’s quite nice, you and Edith. Friendships can be hard to keep these days, although yours should not be a surprise, with your intent to keep your bonds with your companions close. It is a rare quality.’’ 

"Indeed... My family have been taken from me in untimely ways, my mother in childbirth as she bore me my only sibling, and my father when I returned from the war. Some may say, that while my friends are few and far between, I do hold dear the value of those friendships, for were it not for them, I would have no one to speak to. And that, that is but a lonely path to walk." Whether Sadri heard her or not, for her voice came but a whisper, she knew that she spoke the truth, and part of her did feel heart-broken. There were times when she greatly yearned to see the smiling face of her mother, to bury her face in the warm bosom that held her dear in tender embraces, and to hear the voice of her father, to hear how he laughed with a great roar, or sat beside the hearth fire puffing on his pipe, his eyes cast downward into the flames, as if drawn into deep thoughts. Even now, she yearned to see the face of her sister, Liliana. How did she fare with her new husband? Was she with child yet? Had she changed at all? 

In the heat (was it a heated conversation, even?) of the conversation, the mock duel had ended in the favor of the burly man, which had come off as no surprise to the Dunmer, for bigger people were usually better at bashing things, and wooden swords obviously did not have the equalizing sharp edges of their metallic brothers. Sadri looked at the judge of the fight beckon for more fighters, and then looked back at Sevine. As far as he knew, she had earned some fame as the Huntress in these lands, a renowned fighter. Sadri’s expression lightened somewhat. 

‘’So, Sevine, what do you think about these duels? Ever partake in one?’’ He asked, one part of him not wishing to get involved in an unnecessary fight, and the other part of him itching for some youthful action.

     At his question, for the shouting of the judge had not broken her thoughts, Sevine blinked slowly, as if hearing him speak for the first time. The corners of her lips twitched upwards into a hint of a smile, one that felt relieved to let go of such distant thoughts. "Aye... Aye, those were childish things of the past in the fondest days of my youth gone-by. It would be a worthy challenge, Sadri, to face you in such a duel. What say you? Shall we step forth, and give our hand a try? Mayhaps show these whelps how real warriors face one another? It would be good sport nonetheless, and nothing foul ever came of raising the blood flow to the heart, eh?"

‘’It is a lonely path indeed,’’ Sadri muttered with a solemn tone as his mind traveled to distant lands of sorrow for a moment. His parents were alive, at least, but for how long had he not seen them? He remembered the letter he had penned when in Windhelm, and the fact that he had been unable to get it sent. He figured he had to handle it, sooner or later, for he did not want to lose another tie to his better days in life.

However, when the Huntress actually went ahead and offered a duel for him, Sadri could not help but smirk in a youthful manner. In truth, Sadri had no theoretical knowledge of martial arts. His was more of years of accumulated experience and practice, often learned the hard way, as his wounds could attest. Nonetheless, if she were the Huntress, then she was worthy of facing the mer who had once risen to minor infamy amongst the Altmer in Valenwood as the Ashen Porcupine. Plus, perhaps the adrenaline rush could help him momentarily forget his freefall in life.

‘’Nothing foul, except a heart attack,’’ Sadri mused in reply to Sevine’s comment on the rush of fighting, and then moved into the ring after stripping off his thicker garments. Taking a wooden imitation of a sword, slightly curved seemingly thanks to constant battering against its tip, Sadri nodded for Sevine.

‘’As challenger, you have the right to first blow,’’ Sadri mused in a satirical tone, as he spaced the gap between his legs slightly wider for easier movement, his good hand holding the wooden sword in a readied manner. 

      A hush fell over the crowd, and as Sadri and the Huntress came to stand within the ring, there were audible whispers from the onlookers. "[i]Isn't that Sevine the Huntress?[/i]" said someone hidden amongst the gathered people. "[i]Aye, it be her. See the color of her hair? Red as blood. Some say it is from so many foes she slaughtered in the war.[/i]" Someone replied. "[i]This will be a good show! Do you think that Mer has a chance? He's only got one arm, I say.[/i]" Came another. 

    She did not strike at first, for she appeared to either be lost in deep thought, or at least studying her opponent with a great severity. The image remained fresh in her mind how Sadri sprang into action back in the caves. What these people didn't know, or understand, was that despite the lack of a limb, Sadri was still a formidable Mer. Mimicking his stance, with legs parted, she drew up her sword in her right hand, and held it ready. Her eyes glinted in the sinking evening sun, like that of a predator's gleam when stalking prey in the underbrush of the forest. And so she sprang forth, unexpectedly, not a word did she utter, and thrust the sword between Sadri's legs in an attempt to strike him on the inner portion of his thigh.

Sadri was happy that Sevine had taken his offer of striking the first blow, for he preferred to stay on the defensive until he earned a certain familiarity with his opponent’s moves, and also make good use of the advantage of tiring them out. A strike between his legs was unexpected, definitely, and Sadri felt that the parrying window of his sword would be too limited to effectively deflect it, and thus, he hopped back on his two legs, covering enough distance to dodge the hit. He swung a strike in Sevine’s direction immediately as his legs settled back on the ground, although he did not expect for it to actually connect with Sevine – it was merely a bait of frustration for her to take, make her unable to think, keep her distracted. 

     She gave a short cry, more of a laugh really, for Sadri was more nimble than he let on. Ducking beneath the swipe of his sword, Sevine lunged again, this time thrusting her sword towards his ribs, right where his absent arm should have been.

The Dunmer, however, flicked the wrist of his weapon hand to his side to counter, and thus, instead of a grunt after a strike upon flesh, a cracking sound after a clash of wooden swords filled the air. Flicking his wrist back, Sadri swung the practice sword in his hand underneath Sevine’s extended arm and against her belly.

      How he countered her incoming blow, she would never know. Perhaps it was the years of experience that had prepared him for such an attack, after all, Sadri's body held scars like that of a canvas painting. Or at least from what she could see. The edge of the wooden sword had found its mark. She yelped in surprise, not from pain, and sprang backwards. There may be a small bruise by morning come on the morrow, for the thickness of her leather armor reduced the impact of the blow. Of course, had the blade been one of metal make, instead of wood, she would have suffered gravely. During the voyage to the college, her chainmail had disappeared from her rucksack, even her steel helm had seemed to grown a pair of legs and vanished. Now this blow reminded her that she was without the comfort and protection.

     Switching the sword from hand-to-hand and back again, Sevine decided to Sadri take the initative and make an attack. She had no idea how her opponent moved or attacked, and she would not wear herself out on brute force. Whether she assumed that with his lack of appendage, that he could not assail her properly, proved wrong. 

"Come then, Master Beleth, and show me how great your skills are." It was not a taunt, nor a jest, but an open invitation to strike first.

Sadri didn’t like the notion of having the initiative in a battle, for it meant that he had to strike true, lest he get punished. He preferred to simply counter his opponent, but he could not insist for his adversary in a duel to keep attacking now, could he?

‘’As you wish,’’ Sadri replied, and then moved forward, closing the distance between them. Only, he did not strike at sword distance, but came closer, pulling his sword downwards against Sevine’s face at close distance, while his right foot went forward to hook itself behind Sevine’s.

     Sevine had little time to counterattack Sadri's swift approach, she had to admit, he was a nimble fellow. She saw the oncoming blow of his sword, and ducked her head to avoid a blow that would leave a nasty mark. Bringing the pommel of the sword into his side, she had not noticed his foot so carefully placed. She stumbled backwards in a splay of limbs after trying to back way. 

Upon seeing Sevine stumble upon the ground, Sadri immediately stepped upon her sword and pointed the tip of his weapon at her face to finish the duel. ‘’I suspect this should be enough,’’ he said to Sevine after a moment, dropping his sword and offering his arm to pull her up. It felt good to see that he could still hold her own against someone more than rabble – perhaps even made him feel slightly valuable, even. 

     Defeated by a Dunmer would have aroused rage from a typical Nord, especially in a man. But Sevine was neither typical nor a man, so with a smile on her lips, she accepted the outstretched hand by Sadri, and pulled herself onto her feet, dusting the seat of her trousers off. A murmur rumbled through the group of onlookers, some saying that Sadri had won his way by using tricks, and others muttered that maybe The Huntress wasn't what she used to be anymore. The judge of the duel declared Sadri the winner, and Sevine felt a sense of humility, not in a bad way, so to speak, but a feeling of gratefulness. Sadri could have done worse, he could have broken some bones, but this was not a fight to the death, but simply a game that children played, now by adults in lay of festivities.

"You honor me, Sadri Beleth. You have shown me more than I knew to be true of you." Here, she clasped her hand about his own, and shook it.