[center][hr][h3]Archer
[sup][sup][i]Tristan — The Knight of Lamentation[/i][/sup][/sup][/h3][b]Current Location:[/b] Somewhere around the Core — Duel[hr][/center]"Apologies for underestimating you, milady. None but my King and a handful of my comrades has ever been able to face against my bow at such a short range before. It would have been sad if our duel ended before I had a good chance of appreciating the beauty of your skill," Tristan said as his opponent avoided his arrows and skillfully disengaged.

"The craft of the warriors from the Far East is amazing, indeed. However," Tristan said as his opponent disappeared from his sight—which he hardly required—momentarily, "such a move isn't enough."

As he said so, Tristan spun around, parrying his opponent's sword with Failnaught and trying to force Saber into corner. The wind strikes would be met with Tristan's "arrows", no matter how many that came, Tristan would be able to deflect them and still strike back. Speed of projectiles and rate of fire—or rather, saturation attacks—are Failnaught's forte.

The storm that Saber claimed for wouldn't come, however, in its place there would be nothing but the sheer melancholic melody of Tristan's harp playing amidst their clashing still. Soon enough, the number "arrows" the Archer could "fire" in between each well-timed parry, feint, and dodge would add up. Five, ten, fifteen, thirty. A countless number of "shots" capable of overwhelming none but the fastest heroes by volume and speed alone.

And then, they stopped.

Not Tristan's melody, but certainly the "arrows" meant for nothing but protecting himself. Instead of them, his harp grew even more somber as if the very sadness that defined the Knight of Lamentation's existence took form in the shape of his song.

"Your skill is truly second to none, milady. However," Tristan said once again. His voice carrying an unbearable melancholy with them, as if he finally understood something about his opponent that even she may not have been completely aware of.

"They bear the marks of sadness all over them. The way you swing your blade, and the melody of your wind tell me of a story of tragedy, a tale of love, and above all else, a sad end. The life of a Heroic Spirit is tragic one indeed, however, your tragedy is a beautiful one. Wouldn't you be willing to put this sad duel aside for the time being and listen to the words of this humble knight, milady?" Tristan asked. While his words couldn't cut the flesh like his "arrows", for a true Heroic Spirit that knew a life of sadness, one that knew of regret, one who died alone, the melody of his harp and his words were colder than a knife scraping against bone.

Such was his true power. The song of Tristan, the Child of Sadness.
[hr][center][b]Going towards:[/b] Nowhere[/center][hr][@BlueHelix]