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There were fewer eyes on me after my little display than I had initially feared -- a realization that brought me both relief and some degree of irritation, as it took very little of my genius intellect to deduce the focus of the crowd's attention. Upon one end of the field, that braggart noble had unleashed several arrows sheathed in lightning, before boasting in an even louder voice than he'd used to make his initial introduction of his own self-perceived perfections.

Idiots that they were, the spectators ate it up and never thought to question the truth behind his little display. 

Though I had seldom received the opportunity to speak with the spirits of lightning, I knew full well their tendency to move and act as one. When enough of them gather on the ground to meet their kindred in the sky, their true power is unleashed and a bridge forms from heaven to earth. Though even my own Elvish eyes were not quick enough to follow the movements of the lightning he birthed, I had no doubt that the manner of their flight must surely have been the same.

It was indeed a feat of surpassing skill for an archer to strike the same spot four times, unaided. One might even call it a miracle. But when each arrow drew in and guided the one that followed after, it was nothing more impressive than a single bullseye -- and a miracle, thus explained, seemed positively boring to one wise enough to grasp the trick behind it.

My attention thus just as quickly left the arrogant charlatan behind me, and turned to the opposite end of the field, where a significantly more authentic display had likewise drawn something of an audience. A clash between two initiates unfolded in short order, one wielding a spear and the other a heavy mace. Of the two, the latter seemed the more skilled, readily controlling the flow of the fight from beginning to end. Yet his opponent caught my eye all the more, as despite his slighter stature and his opponent's magic, he charged bravely forward again and again, not shrinking or recoiling when he was struck, nor hesitating even when his adversary entrapped his weapon. Martial prowess was rare, yes, but such resolve was rarer still -- and even in defeat he earned a certain degree of respect I would have been reluctant to give to his betters.

No. Perhaps "respect" was the wrong word. Rather, what I felt soon became clearer to me as I heard the words of "consolation" heaped upon him by the first person to approach him afterward. The girl's tone was cheerful and innocent, yet the words that escaped her mouth found nothing but fault. "You tried your best, though!" indeed. If there was naught to find praiseworthy in his "best," what were those pretty words but a polite way to express one's own condescension while playing dumb?

It seemed even among humans rather than my own kind, some things never changed. It was hardly any of my business, but something, whether sympathy for one or contempt for the other, moved me to approach regardless of my intentions to remain aloof and impartial. Perhaps it was simple boredom, even.

[color=#399cf2]"To retreat before a magus is to invite ruin. What good would a longer reach do against an adversary free to fling spells with impunity?"[/color] I interrupted casually, flicking my hair back with a gauntleted hand and craning my neck in an attempt to stand at least a little taller. I had long since accepted the shortcomings of my stature, but at the very least I did not want to be looked down upon by someone so diminutive. Turning my attention to the dark-skinned man who had just exited the sparring ring, I acknowledged his efforts with a curt but respectful nod. [color=#399cf2]"It seems you are aware of the disadvantage you faced, yet that does not seem to have stayed your hand in the slightest. A fine display of valor."[/color]