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Species Satyr
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As the ruffians quieted, their once mighty group of wanna-be heroes groaned from their prone heaps about the arena pit. I glanced at the remaining and most promising: a bear wielding a mighty staff who had kept his meager magics close to his chest, inching out his competition. Next to him stood a badger as wide as the bear was tall, her fur matted with dirt and what little blood had been spilled in the training fights thus far. But aside from these promising additions to the county guard, the last I dreaded to entertain.
I squinted from beneath my latticed steel helm at this foppish pretender of martial talent. While the others fought tooth, nail, and aether to defeat their fellow contenders, this joke of valor and combat merely danced and dodged about the pit: no weapon or flurry, only word and taunt. By principle of elimination, he remained with the others as among the last ones standing.
As I stepped out onto the field, he bowed and waved to his audience of one: me.
"What are you doing?"
"Reveling in the glow of victory and offering its bounty to one who needs it, of course. A prince must entertain his guests, doubly so when seeking to impress and secure...relations."
"A prince, are you?"
"Yes, a prince."
"Mhm."
"Are you stunned by my masterful mirth and natural nimbleness? No farmer's foil or cobbler's klutz could so much as hold a dreaded spear-tip to my spryness."
The pretender flared his hands, taking in whatever victory wafted on dusty mots.
"It is...something. But with nary a weapon in hand?"
"Royalty has no need for such depraved tools."
Eyelids snubbing shut to further deny my questioning, the goat puffed his chest.
"But...is it truly?"
Cracking an eye, the goat's narrow pupil shown with a mounting irritation. I grinned beneath the safety of my helmet, my bemused tease forming into a welcome echo. Plucking the training blade from the earth, I extended the hilt out to the figure. His coyness folded into a moment of apprehension, the dull leather grip seeming to frighten him as much as the sword's tip.
"A prince? With such a dull thing? No, no; royalty need not-"
"Can you even be called royalty if you can not wield a sword?"
A sudden swelling of courage: stupid, blinding recklessness.
"Ha!"
The trainee yanked the blade from my hand.
"I will show you how a prince wields such basic weaponry."
Adjusting the weapon, it revealed much to me: this fool never held a blade in his life. All that fluff about princedom and flair rung true: even his grip mirrored that of a scepter than a weapon.
But what happened next surprised even myself. The sound of gushing blood, clashing blades, swishing arrows: that I could expect. But a hiss like water boiling in a skillet? That I did not expect. The longer he held, the brighter his hand glowed: skin, fur, and whatever laid beneath erupted with heat and light. Before long, his forearm simmered like iron freshly pulled from a forge. His face, long as it was, made use of its plentiful space to express the obvious pain. Even as the goat's cheeks flushed with blood and sweat, he gritted a smile of perseverance.
"S-see? P-perfect form."
"Perfect form indeed."
Fae rules make certain professions a pain, and Metaxi, despite his princeling status, is no exception.
Art by the ferocious
fortunatafox
I squinted from beneath my latticed steel helm at this foppish pretender of martial talent. While the others fought tooth, nail, and aether to defeat their fellow contenders, this joke of valor and combat merely danced and dodged about the pit: no weapon or flurry, only word and taunt. By principle of elimination, he remained with the others as among the last ones standing.
As I stepped out onto the field, he bowed and waved to his audience of one: me.
"What are you doing?"
"Reveling in the glow of victory and offering its bounty to one who needs it, of course. A prince must entertain his guests, doubly so when seeking to impress and secure...relations."
"A prince, are you?"
"Yes, a prince."
"Mhm."
"Are you stunned by my masterful mirth and natural nimbleness? No farmer's foil or cobbler's klutz could so much as hold a dreaded spear-tip to my spryness."
The pretender flared his hands, taking in whatever victory wafted on dusty mots.
"It is...something. But with nary a weapon in hand?"
"Royalty has no need for such depraved tools."
Eyelids snubbing shut to further deny my questioning, the goat puffed his chest.
"But...is it truly?"
Cracking an eye, the goat's narrow pupil shown with a mounting irritation. I grinned beneath the safety of my helmet, my bemused tease forming into a welcome echo. Plucking the training blade from the earth, I extended the hilt out to the figure. His coyness folded into a moment of apprehension, the dull leather grip seeming to frighten him as much as the sword's tip.
"A prince? With such a dull thing? No, no; royalty need not-"
"Can you even be called royalty if you can not wield a sword?"
A sudden swelling of courage: stupid, blinding recklessness.
"Ha!"
The trainee yanked the blade from my hand.
"I will show you how a prince wields such basic weaponry."
Adjusting the weapon, it revealed much to me: this fool never held a blade in his life. All that fluff about princedom and flair rung true: even his grip mirrored that of a scepter than a weapon.
But what happened next surprised even myself. The sound of gushing blood, clashing blades, swishing arrows: that I could expect. But a hiss like water boiling in a skillet? That I did not expect. The longer he held, the brighter his hand glowed: skin, fur, and whatever laid beneath erupted with heat and light. Before long, his forearm simmered like iron freshly pulled from a forge. His face, long as it was, made use of its plentiful space to express the obvious pain. Even as the goat's cheeks flushed with blood and sweat, he gritted a smile of perseverance.
"S-see? P-perfect form."
"Perfect form indeed."
Fae rules make certain professions a pain, and Metaxi, despite his princeling status, is no exception.
Art by the ferocious
fortunatafox
Category Artwork (Digital) / All
Species Satyr
Gender Male
Size 1280 x 506px
File Size 151.6 kB
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