T R A I N I N G H A L L
S O U T H E R N J E W E L
K R O N N E S I S
A considerable strike knocks the Dark Knight back several feet. Boots slide against the floor, stopping their wearer from going over the red line that circled the arena. If she went beyond there, it would constitute as a loss.
And Maryvale hated losing.
She got to her feet. The layers of thick clothing and light armor helped her simulate her real armor, as did the dense wooden sword. It wasn't nearly as durable as her own blade -- one could tell from all the dents in it -- but a little durability enchantment could turn any stick into a durable weapon.
The crowd of soldiers each cheered for who they thought would win. On one end of the arena, a promising old challenger coming to reclaim their title of 'best soldier'. On the other, a young woman who has only ever traded place with the one she now faced. The two often fought over who would take the title, though so far, no duel had ended in a draw.
He charged, not relenting in his attack, intending on throwing the Dark Knight over the edge. However, she had more than enough time to keep her feet firmly planted, and countered with a sword-swing of her own. The two blades locked, wood grinding against wood, as tense muscles pushed to overwhelm the other.
Maryvale had begun pushing her rival back towards the center of the arena. Soldiers cheered and encouraged their fellow fighters, giving both words of encouragement. However, they were soon drowned out by the sounds of wood colliding with incredible force, going blow-for-blow either against the swords themselves or against the other. It seemed like they would enter a lock again, however her opponent got in another strong blow.
Then another. And another. She was losing strength, feeling the bruises beginning to form with each strike. To the calve, to the stomach, to the shoulder, and many more places. Though they only occurred now-and-then, it whittled Maryvale's strength to the point where she felt she could lose. Her legs were beginning to feel weak and her arms heavy; one leg faltered, and her opponent struck once more to send her down on one leg.
She used the chance to twist, avoiding the next strike, and gaining momentum as the blade swung all the way around, hitting her rival's mid-section full-force. The blow had clearly winded him, and even knocked him back somewhat. Though uncertain of herself, she took the opportunity to apply pressure and ran straight for him, locking blades and sending him back to the red line.
Her leg wouldn't hold for long.
Her footing was starting to falter as his stance became firmer, regaining the strength he'd lost from being winded. She could sense it wobbling beneath her, yet didn't dare look. In a desperate attempt to recuperate, she let one side weaken and used all her strength to push with the opposite.
He stumbled sideways, and she went for it. Redirecting his sword to the floor with her own, Maryvale jumped and slammed into her opponent, knocking him back over the red line and sending them both to the floor. They both used all that they had to win, but today, Maryvale would be crowned the strongest. Normally this would be accompanied by a trip to a healer and perhaps a party for those involved, though today was different. Little did anyone know, a messenger was banging furiously at the arena doors, with an urgent message for Lady Maryvale...