A shield of swords... [Self-Mod]

[Faust D'Rinishad]

A pair of mythril gloves fell unceremoniously to the ground, deliberately released by the black hands of their owner. As he watched the gleaming accessories plummet to the polished marble floor, the dark elf could not help but feel as if a great advantage had suddenly slipped from his grasp. The gloves, after all, had endowed him a speed comparable to that which was wielded by the gods, and they had contributed to more than a handful of above-minor victories that the mighty Vysstichi had amassed in his battle-stricken lifetime.

But they had hindered him as well.

The Weapons Master of House Kitrye’veresi, Faust D’Rinishad, had recognized that grim reality long ago. As a swordsman of legendary caliber, he had been intuitive enough to acknowledge that the magical gloves had compensated for his shortcomings on numerous occasions – circumstances that he might not have survived had it not been for the precious accessories. And like any perfectionist, the dark elf had subsequently understood that his life must not be contingent upon performance-enhancing artifacts.

No, as a master of the sword, there was only one factor necessary to depend upon: himself.

Combing back his long silver hair behind elongated black ears, the dark elf stooped downwards and removed the polished hazel boots from his feet. Like the gloves, magical energy had been poured into the pieces to augment the swiftness of his movements. They, too, had contributed a significant role in enabling the dark elf to succeed where others might have failed.

But no more. He would learn to overcome his weaknesses.

With the gloves and boots piled on the side of the dimly lit chamber, the Prince of Har’oloth strode to the center of the onyx floor. The private training hall of House Kitrye’veresi, one of many distributed throughout the extensive fortress, would become the dark elf’s home for the next few brightenings –even cycles depending upon how long he required. Far from being in any rush, Faust understood the difficulties that he would confront amidst the shadows of House Kitrye’veresi.

He would face himself, or rather, the flaws in his technique that he had collected through the years…

…and he was ready to defeat them.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The Prince of Har’oloth would become one of many distinguished warriors to grace the royal training hall of House Kitrye’veresi. Cerranna Kitrye’veresi, the former commander of the clan’s garrison who had failed to conquer Silrosia, had sweat on the very black marble floors on which the much younger dark elf stood. And Faust’s father, too, had trained a number of the First House’s finest soldiers in the days of Kal’adriel Kitrye’veresi within this same room.

And thus the experiences of the young Weapons Master would forever join in the history of the prominent facility.

The glossy floor was rectangular in shape. Unlike the rest of the fortress which was heavily embroidered with images reflecting the clan’s culture, the training hall was relatively barren. Several silver candelabras stood on each side of the room, candles weakly lit to shed some degree of illumination in the chamber. The light served little purpose for the Vysstichi who were blessed with inherent night vision, but it did help the facility’s inhabitants to acclimate to the conditions somewhat similar to the surface where their most hated enemies resided.

The room was normally lined with racks containing the finest weaponry that the House had to offer, but the armaments had been cleared earlier in the brightening to tailor to the personal needs of the Prince of Har’oloth. And besides, there was really only one weapon that he would be using throughout the course of the next few days anyway.

Standing at the center of the cold floor, the dark elf closed his eyes and basked in the encompassing shadows. They crept on the walls like specters of the night, shifting and turning with the alluring dance of the candles’ flames. It was not long until the smell of burning incense tickled at the Vysstichi Lord’s senses, and his crimson eyes fluttered open as the sound of delicate footsteps resounded beyond the steel entrance of the training hall.

The door slowly swung open.

Eryndyl Faen’lifar, Mistress of Thaumaturgy of the Orthae Sargtlinen, cut a dazzling silhouette against the ebony backdrop of the secluded chamber. Her white silken robe, clinging tightly to her lithe figure, revealed portions of her slender black legs as she entered further into the room. The Vysstichi Priestess’s flowing silver hair fell gracefully down her backside, swaying gently from side to side as she finally met Faust in the center of the arena.

“Vendui, Lord Faust…” She greeted, scarlet lips widening into an alluring smile as she lowered into a bow.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Eryndyl’s radiating appearance could have riveted the attention of a king, and it was certainly not unnoticed by the observant Prince of Har’oloth. Regarding the beautiful woman with flickering crimson eyes, Faust nodded in accord. “Lady Eryndyl, thank you for coming. You look lovely as always.” Tilting his head to the side and raising a slender black hand to scratch his neck, Faust’s gaze steered to the several forms filing in from behind Eryndyl.

Three dark elves arrived to stand beside the Priestess, silently and attentively. They were all armed with quiver and bow, and the steadiness of their postures alone was telltale of their equally steady aim. These were some of the finest archers of the Kitrye’veresi Garrison, and they –alongside Eryndyl- would provide one of the greatest challenges that the Prince of Har’oloth would ever face in his lifetime: imminent death.

He would need to overcome it or he would die.

“You are sure that you want to do this, milord?” Eryndyl asked again. Her finely shaped brows rose concernedly.

“I am sure of it, my friend.” He replied, grinning slightly and nodding to the three archers poised beside Eryndyl. With a deep sigh, the Vysstichi Lord’s naked hand grasped the unembroidered handle of Blood Winter, the necromantic sword forged from the flames of Aeternia itself. Unlike Soulseeker, Faust’s generally preferred armament, Blood Winter was without any enchantments to enhance the speed of his swing.

Indeed, for the upcoming endeavor, he was to depend solely upon himself.

“Whenever you are ready.” he added.

Nodding understandingly, Eryndyl’s slender hands rose from her sides as she effortlessly entered clara and thus the Astral Plane, the realm from which she would channel her powerful magic. Within the span of several seconds, she masterfully adorned herself and her comrades in Holy Armor, a spell that would enable them to absorb several physical blows before deteriorating.

And thus the battle commenced.

A radiant flash of light, Blinding Flash, erputed in the air. The room was immediately illuminated by an intensive glow, one that immediately blurred the sensory receptor’s of the young Vysstichi Lord’s eyes.

And then there was the familiar twangs of an arrow…

[Faust D'Rinishad]

No stranger to Vysstichi warfare, the Prince of Har’oloth was cognizant of many of the battle tactics oftentimes employed by the surface dwellers against the dark-skinned race. One method of immobilizing the black elves was to draw them into the sunlight where their eyes would burn and tear, subsequently allowing their attackers to cut them down while they struggled to regain their vision.

Thus it was clear from Eryndyl’s initial spell that she intended on utilizing similar tactics to fend off the wicked sword of the Vysstichi Prince. There was no way that the Mistress of Thaumaturgy could have known, however, that Faust D’Rinishad did not require his keen crimson eyes to direct the course of Blood Winter’s deadly dance.

Backpedaling as the flash of light assailed him, the dark elf’s jaws locked tightly together as he concentrated on keeping his enemies in front of him. Familiar with the strategy of his opponents, the astute swordsman understood that they would be maneuvering around him even as he recovered from the bright spell. Being completely surrounded by archers, after all, was not the best of predicaments to be in –nor to fight out of.

Unfortunately, though, there was little time to devise a thorough plan as the familiar sounds of released drawstrings cut through the air.

Faust’s black ears instinctively attuned to the noises coming from his enemies, and he recognized the relative direction of the score of arrows coming his way. His opponents had been in front of him; consequently, it seemed both logical and reasonable that their arrows would arrive from the front as well. Sheer reflexes guided his sword arm as he sliced a wide arc in front of him –and precisely in time to sever the first arrow aligned with his heart.

But he would find no elation in this minor success.

Continuing with the momentum of his swing, the Vysstichi Lord exploited the inertia of his sword to follow through and bat away another arrow that had targeted his shoulder. He was not quick enough to parry the third, however, and thus he leaped into a side-roll in an attempt to evade the last missile.

It penetrated the folds of his cloak, shortly clanging harmlessly against the stone wall behind him.

He had been lucky that time.

Gasping for air as he staggered back to his feet, the Vysstichi Lord raised Blood Winter in anticipation of another wave of attacks to come, and he knew that they would.

If only he could find a way to close the blasted distance…!

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Even without the speed-enhancing devices that he normally wore, Faust D’Rinishad was impressively fast. As the author of the fabled Blinding Strikes, a series of supersonic sword strokes, the Prince of Har’oloth was accustomed to moving at velocities unattainable by the common man. Unfortunately, though, he was not combating against creatures limited by internal factors. Fatigue, weariness, and exhaustion would not hinder arrows mid-flight. They would not slow in their travel; no, they would find their mark unless something stopped them.

Crouched low in a defensive stance, the dark elf’s breaths leaped quickly from his lips as he attuned to the anticipated noises spawned from released bowstrings. Another Blinding Flash soon burned the Vysstichi’s visual receptors, and he closed his eyes to avoid the bitter sting of the light.

Ptwang, ptwang, ptwang followed in rapid succession…

Adrenaline pumped vigorously through the dark elf’s veins as he anticipated the oncoming arrows that assailed him. Unlike before, however, the noises had come from three different directions; one in the front and two from the sides. Somehow, it seemed, the Vysstichi archers had managed to maneuver around and capture him in their triangle-like formation.

Faust realized that he was in trouble.

There was little that he could do. Evading to the front or sides was off limits as he’d be more likely leaping into an arrow before a safe vicinity. There was still the prospect of retreat, though, which would hopefully afford him the opportunity to deal solely with the arrow from the front and not the sides.

But what if the archers had already anticipated this reaction from him? In that case he’d be backpedaling right into their trap…

Dread danced in the Vysstichi Prince’s eyes as he assumed the latter revelation to be most probable. No stranger to the dark elf’s battle tactics, the archers had likely led him into this grave predicament on purpose. Normally the Prince would have had little difficultly contending with the three arrows, but his vision was severely limited and there was no discerning his relative distance from the archers.

He had to trust in his instincts alone –and a little bit of blind luck.

From the Blinding Strikes, Faust had developed a continuous series of rapid sword strikes revolving around a rotational pattern. They had made a fine offense, no doubt, but perhaps they could be used to defend as well. Adopting this mentality, he brought Blood Winter in a circular arc before him, weaving the blade hastily from side to side, up and down, twisting and turning his wrist back and forth to slap speedily at the arrows coming at him…

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The rotational weave of the dark elf’s continuously moving sword maneuvered left to right, spinning over and under back and forth in a furious attempt to deter the course of the three arrows simultaneously trained upon him. It was a desperate endeavor, no doubt, but one that the Prince of Har’oloth had been forced to rely upon in this most critical of circumstances. Most would have fallen prey to the speedily incoming missiles, but Faust D’Rinishad was first and foremost a survivor.

He always found a way to win.

Crack! Crashing through the shaft of the frontal arrow, Blood Winter tore the missile to splinters as the blade slashed continuously to the right side – and just in time to catch the next arrow mid-flight. The second archer’s projectile plummeted unceremoniously to the floor, similarly split into halves by the keen edge of the necromantic blade.

A sharp and searing pain, however, skipped across the Vysstichi Lord’s forearm as the last of the arrows bounced off the enchanted bracers encompassing his wrists. Had it not been for this stroke of luck, Faust’s arm would have been impaled by the shaft of a deadly arrow. Nevertheless, the impact of the arrow against his forearm was enough to elicit a shriek of pain from the dark elf which he quickly suppressed through sheer adrenaline and gritted teeth.

He had been lucky that time.

By now Eryndyl’s Blinding Flash began to dissipate and the darkness of the room returned – and conveniently enough for the Prince of Har’oloth to register the locations of his four seasoned opponents.

The Mistress of Thaumaturgy was still located in the back of the room, well-protected by one of the archers who was poised a few meters in front of her. The other two archers had gradually circled around the room, flanking the Vysstichi Lord on both his left and right as he had already predicted. However he was going to escape this predicament was beyond his current awareness.

The situation became even graver, though, with the arrival of two more soldiers filing in through the door behind Eryndyl. Recognizing them as Vysstichi Knights of the Order of the Sacred Blade, a factitious group of dark elves who had followed the young D’Rinishad to the surface, Faust began to fathom the heightened magnitude of his grave dilemma.

The Aetherian-following Knights were not to be trifled with. How would he fare against them and Eryndyl and her archers – Faust desperately wondered. Indeed, he had requested Eryndyl to make this arrangement; she had undoubtedly gone through extreme lengths to challenge him to his limits.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Within the growing darkness of the training chamber, two gleaming swords shimmered in the dim candlelight as the Vysstichi Knights drew their weapons and charged at the surrounded Prince of Har’oloth. The first soldier, cradling the handle of a keen katana with both hands, brought the sword in an overhead strike while his companion, who also wielded a similar weapon, scythed and angled the curved blade low near the Vysstichi Lord’s knees.

Two more ptwangs! came from the sides…

Cursed with little time to act, the Prince of Har’oloth instinctively slashed horizontally at the initial knight’s exposed torso, an attack that momentarily fended the dark elf away and forced him to surrender his thundering advance. Because of the few seconds wasted to do this, however, Faust was afforded only a hair of a second to contend with the other sword threatening to severe his knees from their sockets.

Retreat was the only option –or was it?

The dark elf’s warrior senses, attuned to the sounds of the two drawstrings that had recently been released, recognized the perilous position that he was currently swamped in. Not only did the arrows severely limit the areas of his prospective relocation, but they also prevented him from backpedaling to avoid the second knight’s low-sweeping sword.

Feth. He would have to deal with the arrows if he had any chance of surviving the wickedly slashing katanas of his immediate opponents.

Twirling his sword in a several circular gyrations, the Vysstichi Prince brought the spinning blade in line to the left in time to repel one of the arrows. As the shaft of the missile cracked and splintered to the floor, he tucked into a crafty role and vaulted himself to the side in the same direction, banking all success upon the archer’s failure to reload his bow.

Precisely in that moment, the arrow coming from the other direction clattered harmlessly against the opposite wall and fell to the floor.

Leaping to his feet, the Vysstichi Prince slashed out halfheartedly at the nearest archer, though his sword skipped off some invisible shield. Glancing amusedly to Eryndyl, who merely winked, the Vysstichi Lord merely grinned and kicked his foot against the transparent wall of magic again for good measure. That act, at least, had a way of shocking the protected archer long enough for him to forget that he had not yet re-notched his bow with an arrow.

It appeared as if he had purchased a few more seconds of time…

[Faust D'Rinishad]

The Prince’s gifted seconds were soon swathed in irritating white light as another Blinding Flash, compliments of the Mistress of Thaumaturgy, surged vibrantly through the room.

Cursing at his misfortune, the Vysstichi Lord closed his eyes to avoid the bitter sting of the magical glow. A sense of profound nausea overcame him as he forcibly adjusted to the scene; however, it was impossible for him to shake the blaring headache from his rattling temples. Even so, he understood that it was during these times that he was the most vulnerable to the combined efforts of the archers and swordsmen alike.

The ground trembled lightly beneath his feet…

Stepping backwards in alarm, the dark elf listened as the sound of a keen edge cut through the air. The subtle vibrations of movement coming from in front of him warned the Prince of his enemy’s location and just in time, too, as Faust brought Soulseeker upwards to parry the descending stroke of the Vysstichi Knight.

Gripping the adamantite sword with both hands, Faust gritted his teeth together as he slapped the katana mightily to the side, meanwhile rolling his sword backwards along the top of his opponent’s outstretched arm and towards the man’s neck. Sensing the immediate danger coming his way, the knight quickly disengaged and retreated to avoid the painful death that awaited him.

The second knight by now had discerned the Prince’s location and came racing towards him from the right side. Spinning to engage against this newest opponent, the dark elf led with a frontal jab that forced the knight to suspend his pace and readjust himself to keep his balance. Sensing his enemy’s hesitation, the Vysstichi Lord wasted no time in repelling the knight with a series of high and low thrusts, most of which were intended merely to force the dark elf backwards and hopefully align him in the sight of one of the archer’s arrows.

Having memorized the location of the three archers, Faust continued his relentless press, keeping the desperately parrying knight between him and the archer on the right side. The Vysstichi Lord’s tactics paid off, too, for the sound of released bowstrings was absent from the air for several seconds, the very seconds that the Vysstichi Prince required to wrench that cursed bow from the shooter’s hands.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Forced into blindness by the magical flash that Eryndyl had produced, the Prince of Har’oloth relied solely upon his instincts and senses to guide the dangerous flow of his adamantite blade. Graceful and dexterous, he maneuvered Soulseeker in a rotational manner, periodically altering his routine just enough so that the desperately parrying knight would be unable to memorize the dark elf’s pattern of attack.

And that was all that the Prince needed, time.

Because of the knight’s location between Faust and the archer, none of the bow-armed dark elves dared to release their arrows in fear that the formidable Vysstichi Lord would move out of the way and hence make a target of one of their comrades. Subsequently, the Prince continued to press his assault, assuming the role of the aggressor until the knight was forced to break away from a direct confrontation from the younger, faster swordsman…

…a movement which inevitably exposed the startled archer.

Grinning at his clever ploy, the Vysstichi Lord dipped low and kicked at the dodging knight’s chin, connecting hard enough against the warrior’s foot to cause him to stumble to his knees. With him out of the picture, the Prince of Har’oloth was free to contend against the nearest archer and hopefully exterminate him from the spar.

Soulseeker elevated and slashed from the side, hoping to sever the archer’s bow into two halves.

Seconds before the adamantite sword connected with the archer’s weapon, it collided against an intangible barrier strewn of the spidery strands of magic from the astral plane. The impact jolted the Vysstichi Lord’s arm momentarily, and he cringed to sublimate the unexpected pain.

Damn!

Dancing back several steps in anticipation of the attacks to come, the Vysstichi was once again faced by opponents on all sides. His elongated ears, attuned to the sounds of redrawn bowstrings, twitched slightly as the sound of the two defeated knights ascending to their feet became discernible as well.

He was back at stage one.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Soulseeker, clasped in the dark elf’s left hand, ascended defensively in front of him despite the arrangement of the archers in a triangular formation around him. The two knights, both of whom had recovered from their previous defeats, stood watchfully and flanked the archer nearest to the Lady Eryndyl, Mistress of Thaumaturgy and the source behind the dark elven prince’s unavailable sight.

That cursed light made it impossible to see anything…

Exhaling in steady breaths, the dark elf’s long tapered ears attuned to the sounds around him, focusing upon the slightest vibrations in the air that would indicate that an arrow had been released towards him. His survival, he knew, was contingent upon his capacity to utilize his remaining senses and focus them upon staying alive.

That was what blind fighting was all about.

“You’ve done well, my friend…” came Eryndyl’s voice from the back of the room. As always her words were brimming with encouragement and tenderness, two characteristics worthy of a Priestess of the Aetherians. “But you are not there, not yet.” She continued to explain. Although she was imperceptible because of the magical light, Faust nevertheless envisioned that compassionate smile of hers that normally accompanied her words.

“You must learn to lose yourself…”

At the latter comment, the dark elf’s silver brows, finely shaped, arched above his crimson eyes. What did she mean that he needed to ‘lose’ himself? That equivocal statement was open to multiple interpretations, and yet, the dark elf knew that Eryndyl only intended for it to be understood one way.

To lose yourself…

Continuing to reflect upon Eryndyl’s words for another minute or so, the Vysstichi Lord eventually realized that the Priestess was referring to the very thoughts that were transpiring within his head even as she spoke! She was trying to emphasize the setbacks of a warrior’s thoughts, or rather, the restrictions that they oftentimes placed on the warriors themselves.

In considering every decision before he acted, the dark elf was inevitably damaging himself, that is, by relying too much on thought processes and not enough upon himself…

That slight fraction of a millisecond that he used to dictate his motions was the very piece that was preventing him from reaching his ultimate goal: perfection. To become truly enmeshed with the sword, it needed to become a genuine extension of himself…

But how…?

[Faust D'Rinishad]

He was beginning to understand now…

The dark elf’s eyes blinked to a close as the fine long sword clasped in hand lowered by his side. Inching his right foot slightly forward, the Vysstichi Lord nevertheless distributed his weight evenly upon both feet, fully aware that as he was surrounded by archers and swordsmen alike, his survival necessitated mobility in virtually any direction at the most precise instant.

To accomplish the impossible, he needed to return to the basics.

Back in the Pegasi Woodlands many patterns ago, the Vysstichi Prince had been gifted with the rare opportunity of sparring with the legendary Khalonderial ap’Tindomeral, a warrior whose strength relied not on physical attributes but upon cunning and craftiness. The Nimalni had not been the fastest fighter that Faust had ever fought, but he had more than compensated with mastery of the basics and sage-like knowledge of balance and momentum.

Faust, however, was fast, faster than most. Quick on his feet and even quicker with his wrist, the Prince of Har’oloth was conscious of this additional advantage over the broader Nimalni whose physical strength had resulted in lesser mobility. Whereas the Nimalni would probably have been content with evading the missiles of the surrounding archers, Faust understood that he had to settle for a more practical solution suitable to his style.

He had speed. He needed to use it.

The sound of protesting draw strings restored the Vysstichi to his instincts, and a split second later three missiles sailed ominously towards him…

Forgetting the fear and consciousness that had so assailed him before, the Vysstichi Lord submitted unto his instincts, surrendering unto the mastery that he had attained many patterns ago. Throughout the years he had forgotten the edge that he brought to battle, that same edge that had enabled him to overcome the demon Xzak’hulaz’xia, the elemental lord, Blood Winter, and even the revenant swordsman, Vincent.

Despite the sightlessness of the surrounding area, the dark elf envisioned the three arrows as they advanced towards him like speeding bullets, picturing each individual missile and the precise lines that they cut across the room.

Faust’s sword subtly rose…

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Blood Winter cut to the right, splitting the arrow into two halves. Having performed that same feat many times in his life, the Prince of Har’oloth was unimpressed by this additional success. He was more concerned with the other arrows that were speedily sailing in at him from the side and from the front. To engage them before they struck him, the dark elf needed to resort to a continuous pattern of movement that would allow the momentum from his initial swipe to carry back and across to pick off the other two arrows.

It was a seemingly impossible task to accomplish, but one that the Vysstichi Prince fully intended to operationalize. To overcome the impossible, he needed to become unlike anything the world had ever seen.

During his training in Castle Evernight many patterns ago, the dark elf had developed a series of supersonic sword techniques known simply as the Blinding Strikes. Composed of individual sword swipes that, when united, created a continuous blur of motion, the Blinding Strikes would be vital to overcoming Eryndyl’s precarious trial. Realizing that due to the sheer velocity of the incoming arrows there was no time to waste, Faust decided to employ a segment of the Blinding Strikes and incorporate it into the ‘shield’ virtually created by his sword.

The technique was known as the weave.

As soon as Blood Winter sliced through the arrow shaft, the Vysstichi Lord’s wrist twisted and turned the other way, simultaneously spinning the tip of the long sword back across in time to sever a few inches beneath the next arrow aligned with his chest. The missile pieces clattered harmlessly to the ground at the Vysstichi Lord’s feet.

Only one more arrow…

Continuing with the weave, the Vysstichi Lord’s shoulder moved with the parry, adding range to the technique in hopes that it would clip the arrow or at least deter it from its course. It did; however, the result was not as the dark elf expected. A hair too slow, Blood Winter intercepted the arrow’s head at an angle, redirecting its spin and sending the sharp point against the dark elf’s shoulder.

His blood stained the training floor as the arrow grazed his skin, leaving a deep gash in its feathery wake…

[Faust D'Rinishad]

“Lord Faust!” Eryndyl’s voice pierced the air sharper than any arrow could, and her silken white dress flowed elegantly behind her as she joined the young Prince by his side. Concern speckled her crimson eyes, and one of her thinly gloved hands supported him by the back as her other one hovered a few inches above his wound. A golden glow soon appeared between her palm and the Prince’s bloodied shoulder, mending the flesh securely together as if stitched by an unseen needle. “Are you alright?”

The young swordsman, propped upon a knee, stared at the third arrow absentmindedly. After slicing across his shoulder, the projectile had clattered against the wall and tumbled lightly to the floor. “Feth,” He swore, seemingly oblivious to the worry in Eryndyl’s voice as he tried to rise to his feet. The Priestess’s hand, however, prevented him from doing so. “I’m okay. It’s just a flesh wound,” He assured, glancing to his shoulder and watching as the skin gradually attached back together. Even if the Mistress of Thaumaturgy had not tended to the laceration, it would only have burned mildly.

His frustration was far worse.

“It will come in time,” Eryndyl said, detecting her lord’s somber demeanor. Having witnessed the Prince’s lightning-quick movements with her own eyes, the Priestess was certain that he’d succeed with a little bit more practice. “I recognize the weave, but you must remember that using the weave against incoming swords is different from arrows. The latter will always be quicker…” Laughing lightheartedly to brighten the Vysstichi Lord’s mood, Eryndyl clapped her hands together once he was fully healed. “Your shoulder might be a little bit stiff, but it’ll feel as good as new soon enough. I’m afraid that your shirt is beyond my ability to repair though…” She smiled faintly.

For all of Eryndyl’s attempts, none of them succeeded in eliciting her lord’s trademark smile. He nodded grimly, tightening his grip around Blood Winter as he rose back to his feet. “Let’s try it again…” Faust bade softly, tipping his head upwards to the archers who’d gathered around him. The one on his left, the one whose arrow had grazed his shoulder, appeared more relaxed after the young Prince performed the gesticulation. Turning to Eryndyl, the dark elven swordsman pretended not to see her apprehensive expression. “I’m okay, seriously. Please, let us try it again. I assure you that I won’t make the same mistake again…but on this next try…” Faust’s words fell short as he bit on his lower lip, “…on this next try…I want you to use your magic as well. Don’t hold back.”

He would have it no other way.

[Faust D'Rinishad]

Blind fighting was a difficult feat for even the most august warrior, and the dark elf was certainly not at the pinnacle of that tier of fighters –not yet at least. Despite the soreness in his shoulder, he bade his companions to return to their vantage points to proceed with the exercise again. Nothing was going to prevent him from perfecting the weave, not his shoulder, not a lack of skill, and certainly not a want of confidence. He was close, extremely close, and he believed that he now possessed that last tidbit of knowledge that would enable him to defeat his opponents.

Eryndyl had said it best, “You must remember that using the weave against incoming swords is different from arrows. The latter will always be quicker…” Indeed, the Prince of Har’oloth was quite aware of this, but he also knew that he could be even quicker than an arrow. Since his ascendance to the final tier of swordsmanship and subsequently his exposure to all aspects of the Supreme, he was conscious of his ability to allocate every essence of his being into bolstering his velocity and agility in combat. If he could combine these features with his extraordinary skill with the sword, he might be able to catch the arrows in time; no, not might, he would be able to do so.

He watched as Eryndyl returned behind the two swordsmen, her living shields. The archers fanned out into their triangle formation as well, thus leaving Faust in the center of them all. Like before, he would need to employ a continuous pattern of movement to pick off the arrows as if he were doing so simultaneously. Afterwards he would be able to contend against the two swordsman, deal with Eryndyl’s barrage of magical assaults, and then confront her directly. Of course in reality it would be far more difficult than it sounded to him, but the dark elf was not above hoping for the best case scenario.

As the others waited for him to prepare, the Vysstichi Prince concentrated much like a mage would to transcend into clara. Requiring only a few seconds to access the Supreme state, a mindset purified of all distractions, he allocated all of his strength and energy, channeling them such that he would be able to apply these elements into increasing his speed. While the Supreme did not necessarily mean that he’d sacrifice one attribute for the betterment of another as he was an evolved fighter now, it did mean that one of the five physical attributes (strength, agility, stamina, perception, or dexterity) could be increased exponentially if everything was concentrated in one field –in Faust’s case, agility.

It was exactly what he needed right now.