Duel Vulpinsula & Surroundings Insanely Rich Area Forged in Fur and Flame

[SwifttailTheFox]

Swifttail barely kept his footing when Alwyn’s blade ripped his guard high and out of position. The jolt tore through his shoulders and wrists, forcing him back two uneven steps before he managed to reset his stance. His grip slipped, tightened again. His breath came in sharp pulls through his bared teeth.

Anchor.
Dead weight.
Drowning Silvie.

The words chased him even as wood met wood in brief, testing exchanges. He parried automatically, feet adjusting, tail counterbalancing. His mind, however, lagged half a heartbeat behind the fight.

The crowd’s laughter faded to a low murmur, but the pity remained. That arguably hurt worse.

He caught it in the tilt of a head. In the sigh of some older Guardsbeast shaking his muzzle. In the way eyes softened as if watching something already lost. No anger or mockery. Simply resignation, as if he were already sunk.

Alwyn drifted lazily in front of him, blade low, posture careless.

Swifttail inhaled slowly.

He stopped trying to answer. There was no defending his pride with words. Justifying anything logically here was going nowhere. All they wanted to see was whether he could fight back, or cower and give up.

Well, he was no dead weight boat anchor!

He stepped in, blade driving forward in a tight arc that forced Alwyn to give ground. He followed through without hesitation, boots thudding against the packed earth of the ring as he pressed the attack. Strike. Reset. Strike again. He didn’t give space. Didn’t give breathing room.

The crowd reacted with a buzz, surprise threading through the sea of beasts.

Alwyn shifted, deflected, angled away, as Swifttail closed the gap again.

He drove his shoulder in behind the next blow, committing his weight to it, forcing the Lieutenant backward another step. Wood cracked sharply against wood, the impact reverberating up his arms. His lungs burned, but he ignored it. Momentum mattered more than air.

He struck again, and again, noting the adjustment in Alwyn’s footing, the slight retreat, the guard rising a fraction higher than before.

He had him.

The thought flared bright and reckless, and he surged again with one more heavy swing. His front foot planted deep, his body leaning fully into the motion, blade driving down with everything he had left, convinced for the first time that he was finally turning the tide.

“I can protect myself,” he growled through his teeth,
“an’ him too!”

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

As young todds did at times, they dumped their thoughts out loud without really thinking about how they sounded. As the others speculated about Swift's timid performance, Finn was unable to resist the urge to contribute to the discussion. "But why's Swift gotta fight Greeneye? I mean. He's strong, but he's kinda fluffy, and doesn't like fighting. But Silvie is JACKED! I saw him once, he's totally got a six pack!"

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

Silvertongue grimaced, and he sighed, walking over to Finny. "It's not so easy, kit." He lamented. "Greeneye... he's got some good in him... somewhere. He's just a stubborn beast. Me fighting him, he wouldn't listen. Alwyn- I mean, Lieutenant Alwyn could go and beat the tar right out of him, and he wouldn't listen. The only way it's gonna get through his head and for him to accept it, is for Swifttail to beat him."

Silvertongue looked back over at the training. "So... we've not got much choice."

 

[Alwyn Ryalor]

Alwyn was indeed forced back by Swifttail’s motions, granted, he was not trying particularly hard as he was spending most of his time thinking, observing, and putting up a cocky facade rather than how he would normally fight. Still, he found himself falling back more towards the edge of the ring as he slowly, carefully laid his trap for the other todd. Then, he saw the adjustment in footing, the shift in his opponent’s body, and the painfully choreographed swing-and moved as if he were an equal, more of a reward for Swifttail slowly beginning to pick up on what he was trying to teach him, before he made it explicit. He acted as he knew Greeneye likely would, moving slowly to his outside and quickly moving to intercept the blow before it could come down on him with full power, meeting it with the forte of his cutlass and redirecting the opposing todd’s blade upwards, stepping inward as he did so so that not only his feet but his entire skeleton was supporting and pressuring the other todd, controlling the alignment of his opponent’s blade. And in that moment, their blades were locked, Alwyn’s cutlass pressing up against the bottom half and guard of Swift’s blade as he uttered his words.

“Those are just words,” Alwyn growled back, green eyes flashing as if he were the rat himself “the world does not care about what you can say, only what you can do!”

Alwyn increased the pressure, this time, at the closer range at which the cutlass excelled, using it to force Swifttail’s blade over to his left side while Alwyn moved in the opposite direction, keeping the other todd’s blade as far away from him as possible. Then, he flicked both his wrists and forced Swift’s blade downward-conveniently setting up the pommel of his own blade for the brutal strike across the Fairpaws's face and snout, which sent him staggering backwards, but Alwyn wasted no time, as Greeneye wouldn’t either. He immediately followed it up with a flurry of close cuts and thrusts at which the shorter, broader blade excelled, and managed a kick to Swift’s knee which sent the other todd doubling over-at which point Alwyn backed off slightly, but only for him to rapidly half-turn and deliver a spinning back kick to directly to his face with his boot, which sent the other todd spiralling into the ground, and his blade out of his paw and to his side, while Alwyn looked down at him.

I don’t want to do this, but I have to. I am sorry, Swifttail, but this is to teach you.

“And that is why Iskayut fell and everyone you knew and loved was slaughtered. Because those were just sayings you could not back up, and no matter how many more of them you speak, it will never bring any of them back. The same thing will happen with you and Silvertongue-Greeneye will take him and you will be left all alone-again.”

@SwifttailTheFox @FinnianBrightfur @Cricket @Silvertongue Songfox

 

[SwifttailTheFox]

The pommel cracked across the left side of Swifttail’s muzzle. White burst behind his eyes. His head snapped sideways and the world lurched as he staggered back, boot skidding uselessly in the dust. Pain flared hot along the old scar carved into his fur — a tight, tearing burn that felt far too familiar.

For half a heartbeat, he wasn’t in the ring. Instead, he was back in the cramped, pitching confines of a ship, smoke choking the lower decks. Chains clattering as beasts surged forward in panic and despair.

An oar swung wild in chaos. Wood splintered across his cheekbone. Then he was falling. Darkness swallowing everything as he plummeted into the abyss.

The memory slammed into him as hard as the blow had.

He tasted iron, and he spat a bright red clot of mucus and blood onto the floor, the present snapping back just in time to hear:

“And that is why Iskatyut fell and everyone you knew and loved was slaughtered.”

The words hit deeper than the pommel ever could.

Now he stood surrounded by flames, heat blistering his lungs, the thick choking smoke clawing at his throat. Snow blackened and melting under flame. Whale oil feeding the fire. Blood soaking into cold, grey stone.

Screams — raw and desperate, cut short with a shwing of steel. The cruel, merciless laughter from the ugly twisted maws of the black-hearted barbarian pirates driving the slaugher followed the jarring silence.

“…no matter how many more of them you speak, it will never bring any of them back.”

The ring returned in fragments. Alwyn was standing over him with a cruel menace. The crowd a blur at the edges of his vision.

The noise dulled. Voices stretched thin and distant. Somewhere someone laughed — or gasped — but it felt far away as the red veil lowered.

The world narrowed. The edges of his sight darkened, and what remained at the center burned.

For a moment, everything beyond Alwyn seemed to bleed red, the dust of the ring hanging in the air like blazing embers.

His heartbeat slowed.

The amber of his eyes lost its warmth. The light in them flattened and deepened. There was no longer any brightness, nor was there fluster or fury. There was only a hard feral reflex left blazing like the ruins of his former home.

Blood slid from the corner of his muzzle and dripped to the floor.

He didn’t wipe it away.

The pain in his knee throbbed.

He did not shift his weight.

The shaking stopped.

Something inside him went very still.

“Don’t you dare speak their names.”

His words were quiet, and disconcertingly monotone.

He rose without haste and retrieved his blade, never looking away from Alwyn.

His motions were no longer reckless. He placed each paw with precision.

There was no wide swing from his blade. No roar from within. No telegraph of his next move.

He stepped in tight, blade cutting in short, efficient lines — wrists, shoulder, ribs — driving Alwyn backward with controlled pressure rather than brute force. His footwork angled subtly, cutting space, closing exits. Each motion economical. Each adjustment deliberate.

There was no heat in his expression or flare of ego. Nor a desperate need to prove anything.

Just blind forward momentum.

The rhythm of the bout shifted.

Boots scraped against packed earth. Wood struck wood in sharper, faster exchanges. The laughter that had filled the ring moments ago thinned into uneasy silence. Dust stirred in low spirals around their feet as Swifttail pressed in closer.

His blade drove down with every ounce of force left in him. He committed fully to the strike, cold certainty flooding his mind that this, finally, would end it.

And he did not hesitate.

@Alwyn Ryalor

 

[FinnianBrightfur]

Finn's ears perked with some alarm at Alwyn's pressure on Swift. Finn knew of Iskatyut and Swift's past, and he knew how sacred these things were. The foxkit's blood boiled in second hand rage, and he quivered slightly beneath his towel. He knew... ...he believed that Alwyn meant the best. And even still, it was a low blow. Balling his paws into fists, Finn stood next to Silvertongue, and spontaneously burst out in a wrathful fury, "Knock 'is lights out, Swift!"

 

[Alwyn Ryalor]

Alwyn’s concentration was broken for a moment by the one beast whose opinion he deeply cared about, Finnian, call out for his defeat, but that was all that was needed for Swifttail to begin to push him back as the northern fox hardened and came at him with everything that he had learned-and without distractions or care for the outside world as he had before. Nonetheless, his body was already reacting as he moved to bring his mind back into the fight, his shift stancing from a more mocking and playful one to one far more serious. Wood cracked against wood as both foxes put their all into the fight, and a few chips even flew from their blades off and onto the floor and into the crowd with the blows. It would now be a battle of technique, endurance, and temperament, rather than a one-sided beating.

Stupid of me to let Finnian distract me while against a rookie at his most dangerous and unpredictable, Alexei would have...no more thoughts, now.

The Guard Lieutenant had now slipped fully into his true combat mindset, if only for a little while, letting his mind flow like water, acting on instinct and training, while at the same time maintaining vigilance-a hard balance to strike as Alexei had taught him all those years ago-Mushin and Zanshin, which he himself had no claim to full mastery of, being merely another student on the path-yet that would be enough to put his opponent down today. As Swifttail moved to try to make a final, decisive strike, Alwyn was still open and flexible thanks to the latter concept, allowing him to sidestep the more telegraphed move, and this time bring the full weight of the cutlass across the side of Swifttail’s head in a double handed horizontal strike which would reverberate through his skull even with the leather helmet and padding on. And, sure enough, the other fox dropped like a rock, his blade tumbling to the ground at the same time he did. The room was dead quiet, and then erupted in cheers as the crowd began to make comments.

“That’s our Lieutenant! The rookie put up a good fight there at the end, but…”

“Hand over those gilders...stupid to bet against a sure thing…”

“Fine, fine, you know I’m a beast who likes to take risks...”

Alwyn did not move, carefully eyeing Swifttail to make sure the other todd was truly down, before he raised one paw up and the crowd silenced.

“MEDIC!” He shouted, then turned back to the rest of the crowd “And the rest of you...off to your own training! That’s enough of a show for you-and I’m sure more than a few of you will end up like him today if you are too overconfident!” He barked, sending the crowd scattering to different areas of the field.

Soon enough, Theo, and another pine marten medic by the name of Roger, arrived, and Alwyn carefully put his leather sword back in his sheath.

“Go check on him, will you, then bring him back over to the stands. I do not think I killed him.” Alwyn replied flatly, if a little wryly. “And get that armor off him, for now.”

“Yes sir!”

---------------------------------------------A short while later-------------------------------------------

Alwyn had moved over to the stands with Theo and Roger, who had taken the armor off the other todd, and turned him on his side to help him breathe. After a short time carefully feeling around his head and looking into his pupils. Theo approached him, saluted, and spoke.

“He’ll be all right, armor absorbed the worst of the blow, but ‘Gates Lieutenant, he’ll be feeling that one for a while and have a bit of a bruise, maybe a bump, and be out for a little while.”

Alwyn nodded, then pointed at Roger, Silvertongue, Finnian, and Madame Lorelei.

“Stay here and monitor him if you can...we will be right back.”

After a short departure, Theo and Alwyn had returned with some soft pillows, warm blankets, and cold compresses for his head. They carefully put them on the unconscious fox, while Theo left a small bottle of smelling salts on one of the benches to eventually rose him once he had rested for a bit, if he did not wake up naturally. Surprisingly, Alwyn moved to sit down next to Swifttail, and pet him gently on the head, as if he were a kit, before turning and facing the group.

“All right…ask your questions.” He stated, already aware he was going to be facing what was likely an angry Finnian-and possibly Silvertongue.

@Silvertongue Songfox @FinnianBrightfur @SwifttailTheFox

 

[Silvertongue Songfox]

"Be honest now, young blood. He's not got a snowball's chance in hell, eh?" Madame Lorelei asked, eyebrow raised.

Silvertongue glared at Madame Lorelei, but the pain in his eyes betrayed the truth. He knew that she was right, to an extent. "Sir...." He turned to Alwyn. "How much time do you think Swifttail needs?"