Darien Shields
11th June 2003, 10:47 AM
Hi. Incase you're wonderring, Genesis isn't stopped, just on hiatus until I get into pokemon again. Bessides, I'm off to Japan for four weeks soon, so I wouldn't be able to write it then. This is something I wrote the other day when I was talking to SM (She said she was writing something fantasy. I just can't let anybody think they're better than something than me without proof first.) Call me a complete fruitcake, but I don't know the plot yet. I like it that way. If I get a good response to this, I'll repost with a name and a future. Without further ado, I give you... Two Guys Fighting!
Clang-clang-clang!
The angry blades danced around each other, ricocheting violently as their masters commanded them on each other. Sparks sprang forth from their piercing edges as they rasped against each other. For a moment the sound stopped, as the fighters drew their swords back. In the relative silence the heavy breath of each figure filled each other's ears.
But in a second they were back at it, steel slamming on steel, clanging and ringing in their gloved hands. The fighters twisted and swirled away from each others blows, their feet tracing steps back, moving almost faster than their swords. With a laugh one drew his sword back over his shoulder and then in one hard, fluid motion brought it down towards his foe's head. Said foe thrust his sword upwards. The blades scraped off each other and the attackers blade jammed into the other's guard, momentarily caught.
“Yield!” the attacked yelled.
He was tall and thin, but not without strength. His pale skin was covered in paler powder, excluding his eyes, which had dark powder over the lids. His brown eyes would look like black holes in a piece of paper were it not for the bright flame raging deep inside them. Corn-blond hair covered his head but was combed back, a few strands peaking over his bare forehead now. His thin frame of a body was obscured under his grey trench coat. Simple black clothes hugged his body inside, and as he furiously twisted and jumped in battle these saw more and more of the late day sun. Few called him a man, but fewer still called him a boy. He was seventeen by most people's count, but on his plain, age didn't really matter.
“Never!” retorted the boy under his sword.
His pink skin was twisted in anger as he struggled to push off his attacker. A mop of brown hair came down over his ears, now clinging close to his head as it was soaked in sweat. He was a mere fifteen year old, but almost as tall as his enemy. Is arms and legs were indeed much thicker with muscle, but his torso was still slight, and his limbs were still thin by comparison to a normal fighter. A black cap hung from his back, occasionally obscuring his green clad body as he jumped and twirled through the air. A pair of bulky black gloves desperately gripped the hilt of his sword.
Sparks once more ripped off the blades as they forcefully withdrew, but no rest was afforded the tiring fighters, their swords soon found each other again. Both were fine weapons, forged carefully by skilled hands. The long thin blade of the elder fighter was a silvery blue, held firm by a bat shaped guard that punished any hands, or anything else, that should near it's sharp points. It's handle was wrapped with black strands of leather. The other was once beautifully silver, but now a red tint and the onset of rust discoloured it. As it relentlessly slashed much of the browner tone was torn away, replaced with mere blunt scratches. It's guard was round an golden, an age newer than the blade, with a small red jewel set in it. The guard stretched round one side of the handle and attached to the pommel, a blunt rock added as an afterthought by hasty blacksmiths.
The younger ducked under a sword blow and looked up as his foe jumped. He could see him, black lanky body and billowing coat threatening to blot out the sun, framed by the cloud free azure sky. The boy gritted his teeth and rolled sideways, flattening a fresh area of grass as he went. He flexed up in time to meet another swipe and stepped back clumsily through the long stalks of grass. Now the elder came forth with more power, swiping single handedly, and hitting wide, diagonal curves through the air, colliding with his foes blade then the weedy grass. With a yell the younger retaliated, striking heavily down on his foe. Their swords locked high above either's head.
The elder went to mutter a curse, to try and finally convince is advissary to stand down, but he was stopped. A hot, dry air had lain over the thirsty plains for many months, even in the nights the pulsing moon bathed the scene in unusual heat. Weather was naught here, the clouds did not come and the winds did not blow. Their was only sun and moon.
But from the east came a wave in the grass. Blade after blade bent back then flapped forward. Both fighters saw the motion, and instantly moved their eyes. Since no animals ventured into these plains, and their was no wind, any movement more than a metre away from you caught your attention. Their expressions were somewhere between surprise and confusion as a cool wind kissed their bare skin. Then they both drew their swords back and stood side by side looking to the east, the source of the wind. All was still. And so were they for many minutes.
“This is an omen.” uttered the elder.
“But... for who?” the other asked rhetorically.
A spark of light flashed on the horizon. They squinted to see, but all that was there was a dark, undefinable blot. Thunder cracked.
“This is...” the blond opened his mouth, but it was the younger who would finish the sentence.
“... a bad omen...”
Their eyes met. Thunder cracked again, this time louder. They could see the fire in each other's eyes, but also the cold unsure fire. Both turned and bolted towards opposite horizons.
Clang-clang-clang!
The angry blades danced around each other, ricocheting violently as their masters commanded them on each other. Sparks sprang forth from their piercing edges as they rasped against each other. For a moment the sound stopped, as the fighters drew their swords back. In the relative silence the heavy breath of each figure filled each other's ears.
But in a second they were back at it, steel slamming on steel, clanging and ringing in their gloved hands. The fighters twisted and swirled away from each others blows, their feet tracing steps back, moving almost faster than their swords. With a laugh one drew his sword back over his shoulder and then in one hard, fluid motion brought it down towards his foe's head. Said foe thrust his sword upwards. The blades scraped off each other and the attackers blade jammed into the other's guard, momentarily caught.
“Yield!” the attacked yelled.
He was tall and thin, but not without strength. His pale skin was covered in paler powder, excluding his eyes, which had dark powder over the lids. His brown eyes would look like black holes in a piece of paper were it not for the bright flame raging deep inside them. Corn-blond hair covered his head but was combed back, a few strands peaking over his bare forehead now. His thin frame of a body was obscured under his grey trench coat. Simple black clothes hugged his body inside, and as he furiously twisted and jumped in battle these saw more and more of the late day sun. Few called him a man, but fewer still called him a boy. He was seventeen by most people's count, but on his plain, age didn't really matter.
“Never!” retorted the boy under his sword.
His pink skin was twisted in anger as he struggled to push off his attacker. A mop of brown hair came down over his ears, now clinging close to his head as it was soaked in sweat. He was a mere fifteen year old, but almost as tall as his enemy. Is arms and legs were indeed much thicker with muscle, but his torso was still slight, and his limbs were still thin by comparison to a normal fighter. A black cap hung from his back, occasionally obscuring his green clad body as he jumped and twirled through the air. A pair of bulky black gloves desperately gripped the hilt of his sword.
Sparks once more ripped off the blades as they forcefully withdrew, but no rest was afforded the tiring fighters, their swords soon found each other again. Both were fine weapons, forged carefully by skilled hands. The long thin blade of the elder fighter was a silvery blue, held firm by a bat shaped guard that punished any hands, or anything else, that should near it's sharp points. It's handle was wrapped with black strands of leather. The other was once beautifully silver, but now a red tint and the onset of rust discoloured it. As it relentlessly slashed much of the browner tone was torn away, replaced with mere blunt scratches. It's guard was round an golden, an age newer than the blade, with a small red jewel set in it. The guard stretched round one side of the handle and attached to the pommel, a blunt rock added as an afterthought by hasty blacksmiths.
The younger ducked under a sword blow and looked up as his foe jumped. He could see him, black lanky body and billowing coat threatening to blot out the sun, framed by the cloud free azure sky. The boy gritted his teeth and rolled sideways, flattening a fresh area of grass as he went. He flexed up in time to meet another swipe and stepped back clumsily through the long stalks of grass. Now the elder came forth with more power, swiping single handedly, and hitting wide, diagonal curves through the air, colliding with his foes blade then the weedy grass. With a yell the younger retaliated, striking heavily down on his foe. Their swords locked high above either's head.
The elder went to mutter a curse, to try and finally convince is advissary to stand down, but he was stopped. A hot, dry air had lain over the thirsty plains for many months, even in the nights the pulsing moon bathed the scene in unusual heat. Weather was naught here, the clouds did not come and the winds did not blow. Their was only sun and moon.
But from the east came a wave in the grass. Blade after blade bent back then flapped forward. Both fighters saw the motion, and instantly moved their eyes. Since no animals ventured into these plains, and their was no wind, any movement more than a metre away from you caught your attention. Their expressions were somewhere between surprise and confusion as a cool wind kissed their bare skin. Then they both drew their swords back and stood side by side looking to the east, the source of the wind. All was still. And so were they for many minutes.
“This is an omen.” uttered the elder.
“But... for who?” the other asked rhetorically.
A spark of light flashed on the horizon. They squinted to see, but all that was there was a dark, undefinable blot. Thunder cracked.
“This is...” the blond opened his mouth, but it was the younger who would finish the sentence.
“... a bad omen...”
Their eyes met. Thunder cracked again, this time louder. They could see the fire in each other's eyes, but also the cold unsure fire. Both turned and bolted towards opposite horizons.