Duelist Lore

I've seen you watching me, here in the square. You've been here about a week, so you've seen what, three bouts? And in them, only one drop of my blood ever hit the cobbles, and that drawn by a lucky riposte. You have a lean and hungry look - a quester, no doubt, seeking fortune and glory with the point of your blade. Have you come to challenge me? That is wise. I can teach you what I know of swordplay, if you've wit and discipline enough to learn it. You've come to the right place. When I'm finished with you, you'll be one of the finest fencers in the World. I've seen battles and wars with shining knights and fearsome berserks hacking away in clumsy fury. I've seen the massive cleavers of the Dwarves, and fought my share of brigands and mercenaries. I've even seen one of those sword priests, the jen 'ed die or somesuch. I've taken on Warriors of all kinds, and some of them were good… but I've yet to see anyone who could match a master Duelist in his prime. I've fought some two hundred duels, many to the death, and I swear by my Spirit and my word, I've never lost. There are only three scars on my body, all dealt by the same blade. The other one hundred ninety-nine never managed to touch me.

In the Free Cities of Tariponto duels have been fought for centuries. The High Families used to paint the city squares red in their vendettas, until they finally got the idea of settling disputes by proxy. So the Duelists were born, master swordsmen contracted to bring justice on the point of a rapier. Back in those days, every aspect of the fight was measured and pursued according to precise custom and rules of etiquette. It was not uncommon for the highest families to retain a master Duelist as a House Champion. They lived like princes, and their blades were cherished heirlooms, passed down through the generations. My father was such a man, though the house he served exists no longer. See this blade? It has a name, as all great blades do. It's called the Shining Rose, for crimson flowers sprout in its wake. Stand against me and you will surely feel her thorns. Look well, for you shall never see its equal.

In better days just about anyone, from noble-born to tradesmen to wealthy farmers, would settle their disputes in the square, by hiring a pair of duelists. You could tell everything about a feud by merely looking at them: tokens revealed each man's patron, the man in the red tunic stood for the accuser, and the color of his sash told the nature of the argument. The length of the blade in his left hand gave the terms, from first blood to first yield to death. Of course, they rarely fought to the death back then. Now it doesn't matter as much. And the rest of it doesn't matter anymore either. It's been a long time since I've met a duelist who still knows all the old signs and protocols, though their mastery of the forms is still adequate. Don't worry: I'll teach you everything. As my dear father often said, better known and not needed than needed and unknown.

So, what have you seen of swordplay? I'm more than a match for your average Knight, grown fat and weak since he was landed, counting on his priceless armor to save his hide. To encase one's self in a steel shell, like a turtle or a crab, how bold is that? Where's the skill in it? This is pride? This is honor? Try walking onto the square with only your wits and your agility between you and the other man's blade. That's courage. That's skill.

There are more than a dozen styles still taught in the Free Cities, and I know them all: the Harrantine March of Two Foils, the Blade Brawling they teach in Rovayle, even that Shadow Dagger style that was so fashionable ten years ago. I know forms that can find the gaps and chinks in any armor, and leave a Knight bleeding from his liver before he even knows that you've struck. Dueling takes skill, training, and practice, but I can teach you to fence like Death himself.

Now draw that toothpick of yours, and let's see what you're made of.

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