Illness, Enmity, and Ambition (Percy)

[DoS Archive]

From: leducblanc@aol.com (LeDucBlanc)
Date: 07 Mar 2000 06:13:55 EST

(SL post)

The shadowed figure seated at the table looked down again at the carefully drafted copies of the missives exchanged on the cork in the last week o two. Well, he looked down at the ones that were concerning him at the moment anyway. He had to hand it to his secretaries. They were doing a superb job of keeping him well informed of issues on the cork, and even a few of the current events in the Arena. He had to admit that his retirement from the rings
had been something of a wise decision at the time. The strain of trying to do too many thigns at once had been getting to him. Still, it was time to return. Recent events would seem to indicate it was the perfect time.
Jesse Troyan had won the most recent Warlord's Tourney and had taken a Baron's ring as his prize. The Fourth ring, at that. The one he had taken from Huma and held for all of 90 seconds. The same ring that Zen had held more than once, and that Zen had recently 'retired' by his short disappearance from the realms.
He frowned to himself at the thought of Zen. He still wasn't sure how much of his seeming betrayal was premeditated and how much of it had just happened. His feelings were mixed. He had fought in common cause with Zen for a long time. Almost since his arrival in the Arena. Yet he could not entirely erase the sting left by what had happened. After all, even if it had not been a deliberate or malicious act, it was certainly rather thoughtless. Still,
perhaps he would have a chance to discuss the issue at length. It might resolve a lot.
He let his thoughts reaffirm their intended course, fixing Jesse Troyan in his mind. The young man seemed, at times, callow, cruel, and utterly without regard for his fellow man. Of course, that was hardly a vice confined to Troyan. The young man had his virtues though. He was brave enough, and his audacity in requesting a slough of challenges was admirable in itself. That was the only reason for holding title, after all. The only value of a Barony
or the mantle of Overlord was the struggle to win it and the ongoing struggle to maintain it. The test of the holder's skill and style was more of a prize than any ring, title, or special priveleges.
He raised his eyes from the table and gave the redheaded Scotsman across from him a crooked smile, only half visible in the shadows. "Well, Rory my friend, it looks as if I am going to have to see if I can't spank the lad when it really counts. He is certainly a fitting opponent, in terms of skill and confidence. The boy really is good."
"Aye," the moonfaced Scottish knight answered with a grin, "He is also plenty o' trouble for most o' those who have t' deal with him. Though, I would be supposing, that just means he needs the spanking more. If ye can give it to 'im. Ye aren't precisely in the best of health, you know."
The shadowed figure stood, stepping back from the table, turning before he could be fully seen in the light. "That's true, old friend. Far too true. Ah well, cest' la vie. I have been ill before, and I will be ill again. It comes with my age and my problems, mon frer."
"Well, m'lor'," Rory said, giving up the argument, "In such a case, should ye not try all the possibilities? Ye did say that ye thought ye knew where ye could get healing."
"At the best, Rory, it would mean exposing myself to a very scornful refusal. Most likely, that best case scenario would be the result, fortunately. However, it could be far worse. The answer might be yes, and then I would be in a position I would not wish upon anyone. I would find myself in obligation to a personal enemy whose sense of honor, though it may be very real, I don't know, is totally incompatible, or nearly so, with mine."
As he turned back into the light, his face became visible. It was, of course, Duc Percival Marchand de Clermont. However, he was obviously not himself. His hair was silver, his face lined, his shoulders stooped. He still seemed fully in control of his body, and somehow as strong as ever. Yet he also seemed so very, very tired. Once again, it seemed, he was locked tooth and nail in the struggle between will and age.


(TBC)

[DoS Archive]

From: leducblanc@aol.com (LeDucBlanc)
Date: 11 Mar 2000 18:22:35 EST

(SL post)

As he fenced back and forth with the best of his guardsmen, the thought crossed the duke's mind that perhaps he really was too old for this. He had suffered numerous setbacks this season in the Team Dueling League, was he really ready to plunge back into the grind of the Arena? It was a difficult question for him to answer. It didn't really matter, though. Ready or not, he was going to do his best to go after Jesse. Perhaps it would provide him with
something of the motivation that had been lacking of late.
He needed to find some kind of motivation, that much was sure. With a clever parry/riposte/feint/lunge combination he drove the guardsman back onto the defensive, but did not break his defense. Otherwise the stress of life would take far too heavy a toll on his mind and body, especially as he was ill again. He needed a purpose. Something to strive for, a goal he could set for himself.
He quickly feinted again, parried a counter-stroke, and beat hard. That gave him the opening he had been waiting for. He feinted for it, rapidly, and as the blade of his opponent moved to guard, he snuck in under it for the touch. If only life were that easy.
He turned his mind to the rings. He was thinking of the Baronial rings, but he was also thinking of the rings in the larger sense, of the dueling rings. He hadn't seen Sara in a long time. She and he had lost touch, each had felt abdly because the other didn't seek them out. He knew it was wrong to keep hiding from the problem, but he admitted to himself that he was afraid to try to resolve the situation. This strange limbo almost seemed better than
things ending out wrong.
He had a lot to think about, and still more to accomplish....


(TBC)