Champion of a Lost Cause

The shadow sphere vanishes without light or sound. Darkness remains endless around Effruin and Grahamin, offering no boundary, path, horizon, or sign that either man can leave.

They face one another on the cold, unseen surface, weapons ready but unmoving. The silence holds the memory of Harvess’s design: this realm is a sealed chamber for their final accounting.

Grahamin’s silver jaw catches no light, yet his voice carries clearly through the stillness. His blade remains lowered enough to speak, though his stance never loosens.

Effruin’s breath catches once, then steadies; Grahamin waits across the darkness, blade poised, leaving the next movement unanswered.

Effruin smiles across the dark, turning the shared disaster into a discussion of shared hardships. The memory of Grahamin barking battlefield commands against his fellow rebels briefly catches in his mind, stirring the old reflex to attack.

His reply carries the old defensive dryness, but the recollection brings him some measure of joy. As they speak, the embers of brotherhood they once shared appear to be given life once more.

The memory lands cleanly. Grahamin's guarded stance loosens by a fraction, and his blade lowers another inch as the old partnership returns between them, now sharpened into something neither man can safely dismiss.

Effruin breaks into laughter, sudden and unrestrained. The sound rolls through the sealed darkness, loosening the duel’s rigid silence and carrying the old road between them again.

For a breath, the laughter catches against remembered commands and the pressure of collars, making his breath hitch. Post-Traumatic Stress strains his composure, but Resists Blood Ties denies the old obedience any power to silence him.

Grahamin laughs too, lowering his blade fully. His silver jaw gives the old amusement a strange cadence, but his shoulders ease, and the guarded distance between them briefly becomes shared history.

The memory settles between them without erasing the coming violence. Grahamin’s blade remains lowered, and for this quiet span, neither man is forced to be anything but the companion who survived that road.

The memory returns whole: a rain-dark square, a bell tower leaning over broken stones, and the young woman, a young adult woman with a slim build, warm brown skin, dark braided hair, and alert hazel eyes, who would become Grahamin’s wife standing beneath its arch. Her blue cloak was patched at one shoulder, and a pale scar crossed her chin.

Grahamin had been younger then, broad-shouldered and impatient, arguing with her over a wounded pilgrim while Effruin watched from the rain. She answered his command with a question, and he had no reply ready.

The recollection brushes against old commands and the pressure of obedience. Effruin’s breath hitches, and for one exposed moment his composure falters before Resists Blood Ties cuts through the memory’s pull.

He remembers the rest clearly: she laughed, Grahamin surrendered the argument, and the three of them shared shelter until the rain passed. The memory is his, though holding it leaves his voice briefly unsteady.

The question draws the old commands and the pressure of collars across Effruin’s breath.

Grahamin does not answer at once. His lowered blade remains still, and the silence between them holds the weight of a question aimed beyond their shared memories.

His answer comes without evasion. Grahamin raises his silver jaw toward Effruin, accepting the truth without claiming that love made the injustice real.

Across the sealed darkness, Grahamin’s answer stands plainly between them.

Grahamin lifts his blade from its lowered position, not to strike, but to turn its point aside. His open hand remains between them.

The command strikes through the memory of collars and shouted orders. Effruin's breathing falters, his composure breaking for one exposed instant as his memories turn Grahamin's plea into an opportunity for peace.

But Effruin's anger takes hold once more. Grahamin is no brother, no master, and no authority over the vengeance Effruin carried into this sealed realm.

Still, the defense does not restore his certainty. He remains ready to strike, but his first movement falters, and the shared years with Grahamin stand between intention and violence.

Grahamin steps within striking distance and leaves his guard open, forcing the duel to become a choice between immediate violence and the unbearable weight of everything they once survived together.

The accusation lands between them. Memories of collars, commands, and helplessness wrench a hitch from Effruin’s breath, but he keeps his gaze fixed on High Marshal.

Anger and stress undermines his composure. Resisting the High Marshal's call for peace Effruin fixates once again on the fight ahead.

High Marshal’s open hand lowers. His blade remains at his side as the plea for peace dies, replaced by the full weight of the betrayal Effruin has forced him to face.

The admission gives Effruin no pardon and removes no wound. Yet High Marshal stands exposed before him, no longer asking that their history be softened, but still hoping for peace.

The demand reaches through memories of collars, commands, and the helpless obedience imposed upon him. Effruin’s breath hitches, but he rejects the old authority’s claim over him, leaving only his chosen purpose.

Post-Traumatic Stress undermines his composure, yet Vengeance’s Mark fixes his attention on Grahamin’s weapon hand and keeps the plea precise rather than broken. He does not ask for mercy.

Grahamin’s face hardens with grief. He understands the plea not as surrender, but as Effruin’s final attempt to force Grahamin's hand.

Grahamin raises his blade and settles into the stance of a paladin who has accepted the terrible duty. The sealed darkness holds his decision, and the duel’s final purpose is no longer in doubt.

Grahamin’s sword erupts in holy radiance. The sudden flash strips the sealed darkness from Effruin’s sight, and the descending blade carries a force that makes the unseen ground crack beneath them.

Effruin’s remaining arm clears just as the strike arrives. His balance cannot meet the blow head-on, so he folds beneath it, twisting through the narrowest space with drunken, evasive footwork.

The holy force splits the stone-hard surface where Effruin stood. His left shoulder strains sharply as he rolls beyond the rupture, but the Chimera Hide Wineskin’s alchemical warmth keeps his senses aligned.

Evades Pursuit turns the failed killing line into distance: Effruin slips around Grahamin’s flank rather than retreating, keeping the paladin within reach while the broken ground separates their feet.

Effruin rises from the roll with his left hand ready and his breath controlled. The flash has passed; Grahamin’s holy blade remains bright, but the strike has found only fractured ground.

Geysers of white light burst from the darkness, each eruption cracking across the unseen floor. Their radiance turns Grahamin’s sword into a moving star as he drives forward without pause.

A flare detonates beside Effruin like an old shouted command. His breath hitches, but the wineskin’s liquor and alchemical heat steady his senses before the next blade stroke arrives.

Sharpened focus fixes Grahamin’s weapon hand in Effruin’s awareness. He slips beneath the radiant cut, turning his body through a gap between two erupting pillars of light.

Maneuverability and reflexive motion carries him around Grahamin’s flank instead of away, while his remaining hand catches the paladin’s blade and turns it aside. Holy fire shears past his ribs.

The parry succeeds, but the force wrenches Effruin’s left wrist and leaves his fingers briefly numb. He lands hard on one knee as a geyser bursts behind him.

Effruin rises inside the shifting hazards, blade range preserved and Grahamin’s assault redirected. His wrist throbs, but the path through the radiant eruptions is now open before him.

Effruin steps into the radiant assault, turning each cut aside with his remaining hand. The Chimera Hide Wineskin’s liquor sharpens his timing, while Vengeance’s Mark fixes every seam and buckle in Grahamin’s armor.

Killing Stroke guides a precise counter toward the exposed joint beneath Grahamin’s arm. Effruin’s one-handed balance makes the attack narrower and slower, forcing him to commit his whole body to the opening.

A command-like flare of holy light catches Effruin’s breath and fractures his composure. The combination of stimuli disrupts the instant of impact, and Grahamin turns his shoulder before the strike can find the weak point.

The blow scrapes across the raised plate instead of penetrating it. Grahamin’s armor rings, but remains intact, and his answering guard catches Effruin’s wrist before he can withdraw.

Effruin twists free, but the failed counter leaves his left arm extended and his footing exposed. Grahamin drives him backward through the radiant eruptions, closing the angles that made another targeted strike possible.

Effruin ends in a low stance near the realm’s unseen edge, wrist throbbing and attack line broken. Grahamin’s armor has not weakened, while the paladin’s pressure now dictates the distance between them.

Grahamin’s fist crashes into Effruin’s jaw and sends him reeling across the unseen stone. The sealed darkness tilts around him, and holy radiance smears into white bands.

His remaining hand strikes the ground, catching his fall before his skull follows the blow. One arm gives him no second brace, forcing his shoulder and ribs to absorb the violent turn.

A command-like echo in Grahamin’s attack hooks through old memories of obedience. Effruin’s breath hitches, composure fraying, but the wineskin’s liquor steadies his senses before panic can carry him away.

Resists Blood Ties severs the blow’s emotional claim: Grahamin is neither master nor family authority. Effruin fixes on the cold surface beneath his palm and the paladin’s advancing weight.

Evades Pursuit guides him through the recovery. He rolls with the momentum, plants one foot, and rises into a low stance instead of scrambling blindly away.

The jaw throbs and his vision swims, but Effruin regains his footing. His left hand lifts before his face, balance restored, with Grahamin again within striking distance.

Effruin raises the Chimera Hide Wineskin and drains its remaining alchemical liquor. The mixture burns down his throat, its magic spreading through his hurt body as strength gathers beneath his skin.

His muscles swell with notable strain, especially across his chest and remaining arm. The quantity of rum consumed makes the transformation awkward and demanding, while his dependence on liquor turns the familiar drink into both fuel and danger.

An echo of Effruin’s past with Grahamin appears in his vision, and his breath is caught within his throat, and old loyalties briefly disrupt his composure. He forces the memory aside, fixing his attention on the paladin’s weapon hand and exposed approach.

Effruim's penchant for a killing stroke narrows his purpose to one decisive opening, while his vengeful intent keeps Grahamin’s movements sharply measured. Effruin lowers his center, one foot sliding across the unseen surface.

He settles into a fighting stance, left hand poised before him and enlarged muscles taut with contained force. The final attack is prepared, and the sealed darkness holds its silence around them, interrupted as Grahamin charges forward and cries out in wrath.

Effruin dashes across the unseen stone and drives both feet into Grahamin’s chest. The impact hurls the paladin backward, breaking his stance and forcing the holy blade wide.

His missing arm makes the landing and redirection perilous, but Effruin's skill and agility turns the drop-kick into a precise opening. Unpredictable attacks keeps Grahamin’s recovery measured in every detail.

A command-like burst from Grahamin’s radiance catches Effruin’s breath and jars his composure, but his drive for victory cuts the effect away before it can halt him.

The Chimera Hide Wineskin’s liquor burns through Effruin’s strained body, lending momentum to his weakened frame. He launches upward, folding into a single-armed dive as Grahamin struggles to turn.

Effruin crashes down upon Grahamin with catastrophic force. The unseen surface fractures beneath them, and the paladin is driven flat, his armor ringing as the impact strips him of his weapon and breath.

Effruin rises over him, chest heaving and left arm trembling from the landing. Grahamin remains conscious but battered beneath him, reaching up weakly in a final attempt to prevent the inevitable.

Effruin grips Grahamin’s limp form and hurls him across the unseen surface. The paladin’s armor scrapes over the darkness as his body sails beyond reach.

Effruin sprints beside him, his injured body straining under the effort. One-armed balance makes every step perilous, while the Chimera Hide Wineskin’s liquor forces strength through his exhausted muscles.

Anguish and exhaustion catches his breath as Grahamin’s command-filled voice echoes in memory, but Effruin rejects the visions of brotherhood and fights on. Wrath keeps the Paladin's body in momentum as a relentless chain of attacks push him forward.

Killing Stroke chooses the opening. Effruin drives a left-handed strike into Grahamin’s guarded torso, then follows with a rising kick that turns the unconscious paladin across the dark.

He remains alongside the tumbling body, chaining elbows, knees, and sweeping kicks with drunken unpredictability. Each impact lands before Grahamin can recover, his armor ringing through the sealed realm.

The final kick sends Grahamin skidding to a halt. His holy radiance gutters out, and the High Marshal lies motionless, dead at last, while Effruin remains standing over him.

Silence closes over the unseen surface. Effruin’s left arm trembles and his breath comes hard, but Vengeance’s Mark has been fulfilled: Grahamin can no longer pursue him or anyone else.

Effruin’s knees give way. His remaining hand catches the cracked floor for a moment, then fails beneath the strain, and he collapses onto the shattered stone beside Grahamin’s motionless body.

The fall jars his exhausted frame, but his endurance carries him through the last effort of lowering himself safely. His one-armed balance offers no second brace, leaving him sprawled and spent.

His breathing hitches as old commands echo through the darkness, remnants of obedience forced upon him long ago. Post-Traumatic Stress unsettles his composure, but no voice now demands that he rise.

The liquor that drove his fighting has turned heavy in his blood. Alcoholism dulls the edge of his senses while his wounded body finally claims the rest he has denied it.

Effruin stops fighting the darkness and lets his muscles slacken. He lies flat on his back, next to the dead paladin without moving, breath gradually slowing as the sealed realm holds them both in silence.