Arcaea/Dining Hall Late 08-09/A Hand for an Eye

Rocks clattered down the slope of the mountain as Richter knocked a few stones on the edge of the trail he was on. Richter walked in a single file line with the rest of his men, the narrowness of the mountain trail allowing no other means of procession. As the procession of men picked their way along the treacherous path, Richter reflected on the series of events that had lead him to this rocky crag just north of Nocaneb.

Udo had found Richter by the gates of the city, seemingly waiting for his own death. Udo’s news soon snapped him out of it easily enough. Their search had yielded fruit, they had found him.

Wasting no time Richter had marshaled his men, and rode north, to an abandoned village on the boarder between Sasat and Nocaneb. A search of the village had yielded nothing, save for tracks heading intohe mountainous region of Sasat. At the base of a sharp incline the tracks had ended abruptly indicating Siegfried’s ascent up the mountains, which lead to the present...

Richter was snatched from his reprieve by the ground collapsing under a step taken too close to the edge. He caught himself on the side of the mountain as the ground faded away, inhaling a sigh of relief at the close call. Sparing a glance over the side of the path Richter knew that such a fall from this height would have been fatal.

Pushing that knowledge to the side he pressed on, anxiety and determination putting any feelings of vertigo to rest. He lead his men further along the upward slope of the path, going faster then probably was safe, but determined to close the distance between him and his father.

Then he saw him, just as Richter was rounding a bend, he saw him, standing on the other side of an impromptu rope bridge his sword posed over the rope in a dramatic chopping gesture. As the two caught sight each other, they froze starring each other down. Richter face was a mask of dark brooding rage, and Siegfried’s was twisted into his usual mocking coldness. Suddenly Richter took off in a futile attempt to get to the bridge before his father cut the rope. He wasn’t even half way there when Siegfried’s sword fell.

His work down, Siegfried took the time to add insult to injury, bowing at his pursuers, his mocking smile only growing as he did so, before turning about and disappearing at another bend in the path.

Richter, however, was not giving up so easily. In his mind he carefully measured the distance of the bridge. Several moments passed as Richter did the numbers in his head, three times just to be sure. That done he backed his men up until he was about 10 yards from the gap the bridge used to cover. He removed his armor, his plate mail, his chain mail under that, his arm guards, and his leg guards. Down now to just his clothes and his sword, he took blade and strapped it across his back, making sure it would not get in the path of his legs.

He inhaled deeply, shutting himself off to everything around him, everything except the gap before him. Suddenly he took off, sprinting for all he was worth towards the gap, leaping with all his might. Richter fell just short of the gap, colliding hard with the rock wall below the ledge, just barely catching himself on his fingertips. He climbed to the path above him after a moment of orientation, lying on the ledge and catching his breath.

“Udo,” he called back down the path, “Take the men back down, see if you can find another way up, I’ll keep on him.

He heard something that sounded like Udo acknowledging him and turned to follow after his father.

Richter fallowed the winding slope of the trail, keeping a slow but steady pace, knowing that he would need all the energy he had for when he caught up too his father. Plans flowed through Richter’s mind half formed, one after the other, each one more desperate then the last, but all ultimately useless.

His thoughts ended abruptly when he noticed his father’s tracks had cut off abruptly, and several rocks on the wall next to the path had been displaced. Casting his glance upward, Richter threw himself up against the wall, found a grip and pulled himself up.

Several minutes of climbing later, Richter pulled himself up onto a wide ledge on the side of the mountain, a dull burn in his muscles telling him it was time to rest. He barely poked his head over the edge, when the sword suddenly swooped down for his neck. Richter acted fast, ducking back at the last second, the dull burn in his muscles now a raging inferno from catching his fall.

Knowing that he could not make all the way back down in his current state, Richter heaved with all his might, and threw himself onto the ledge, barely avoiding the return stroke. Richter rolled to his feet, casting a glance as his assailant, though at the same time knowing that it was his father. He swiftly cast his eyes about the ledge, absorbing the details of his surroundings, needing whatever advantage he could get.

The ‘ledge’ now seemed to be more of a plateau, craved out by miners years ago, it was flat in some places, yet rocky and rough in others. Richter mind worked itself into overdrive, desperate to find some kind of angle to turn the situation to his favor, a way that didn’t involve fighting fire with fire.

His reprieve ended suddenly, when Siegfried’s patient’s ended, and he charged his son with his sword drawn, and a confident smirk etched into his face. Richter had run out of time, and he knew it, so resignation in his eyes, he pulled his flask from his cloak and down the entirety of its contents in a single glup, before dropping it away.

Richter blinked, once, twice, then starred his father in the face for the first time with eyes just as cold as Siegfried’s own. His sword was out a second later, as the distance between the two disappeared.

Swords clashed and sparks flew, as the two fought each other with ruthless from one side of the plateau to the other. The sound of metal striking metal resounded throughout the mountain side for an unknown amount of time, faster and faster, blurring together in a symphony of steel.

An eternity of unending combat had seemingly passed before the two had finally showed signs of slowing. Their swords slipped from numbed fingers, as the two charged each other with nothing but their fists to bare.

Richter landed a fierce right hook across his father’s face. Siegfried rolled with the blow, landing a savage roundhouse in Richter’s gut. Richter tumbled backwards, before regaining his balance and charging back into the melee. A furry of punches and kicks passed between the two, nothing more then a blur to the human eye.

They had stopped blocking attacks, so focused were they on killing each other, it was no longer a simple fight, it was a death match, the winner would be the one who could take the biggest beating. Slowly, evitable, exhaustion made itself known in Richter and Siegfried, blows came slower with less force as time passed. Richter felt his limbs go numb as his father reared back for another punch, he didn’t think he acted, launching himself forward, colliding his head into his fathers, stunning them both sending them spiraling backward

Blood and sweat flowed from their bodies as their battered forms collapsed against the cold unforgiving earth but a few feet away from each other.

Richter’s body felt like it was weighted down with lead, and lifting his sword was as beyond him as lifting a mountain at this point, cuts and bruises covered his body, only adding to his exhaustion. Wearily, his pushed himself into an up right position, locking eyes with Siegfried as he struggled to use a boulder to pull himself to his feet.

A chilling laugh spewed from Siegfried’s mouth as he collapsed against the boulder he been struggling vainly with. As the laughed died away, Richter noticed something noticed, something was different, he couldn’t quite place his finger on it.

Siegfried sighed, a nostalgic weary sigh, a sound old men were supposed to make, not Richter’s father, not the cold blooded monster that had raised him.

It wasn’t until Siegfried spoke that Richter finally nailed what was different...

“I’ve done terrible things,” said Siegfried, his eyes no longer quite so cold, or inhuman, glistening with tears, “Haven’t I...?”

And suddenly, in the literal blink of an eye, it was gone, and Siegfried the monster was back, laughing his insane laugh.

Richter laid where he was, utterly, and completely shocked. Words were beyond him, at this point, and he struggled against gravity to regain his feet. The sound of feet clattering against the earth interrupted his struggles. Siegfried was on his feet, and was looming over Richter like an executioner, his face raised, read to beat his son to death with his bare hands.

An almost animal fear consumed Richter at this point, and in a frantic burst of energy, he seized his sword from wear it lay next to him, and wildly sliced outwards with it.

The blade caught his father at the wrist, slicing through the muscle and bone, and severing the left hand in a single stroke. Siegfried stumbled back in shock, his right hand clasping the stub of his left arm, confused rage gripping him. Rage blinded him, as his face contorted into the stuff of children’s nightmares, and he seized his sword from the ground and slowly advanced on Richter’s struggling form.

Frantically Richter pulled himself to his feet, sword barely held in half dead fingers, as he stumbled backwards away from his father. With the aid of a nearby boulder Richter pulled himself to his feet, but it was already too late. Siegfried’s lanced outwards towards his son’s throat, intending to cut him and leave him to choke on his own blood. At the last second Richter brought his sword up, deflecting the blow away from his neck, and straight into his left eye. He closed that eye for the last time at the blade connected, sealing it shut forever, and sending Richter tumbling back from the force of the blow.

Richter’s sword clattered to the ground next to him, as his fell face first into the ground, pain flaring all over his body, as he knew he had reached his limit.

The sound of marching feet was the first indication Richter had of his men arriving. The second was the sound of Siegfried as he took off to the opposite side of the mountain and disappeared down the trail.

Udo was there shortly there after, examining Richter’s battered form before calling for the healer to do his work. A few harsh words from Richter later, and Udo and the men were back on the hunt, however reluctantly that might have been. The healer stayed behind to finish patching Richter wounds, and catering to him as he recovered his strength.

Half a day later Richter was forcibly strapped to a horse pointed towards Nocaneb. The field healer, didn’t have the supplies necessary to fully treat his wounds, and Richter needed to report.

He did not know how long he was on that horse, as he passed in and out of consciousness during the ride. He opened his single eye, half way, noticing the white walls and towering spire of Nocaneb for the first time. Instinctively, he reached down and unfastened the rope harness designed to keep him attached to the horse, inadvertently sending himself tumbling to the ground.

He laid on the ground for an unknown amount of time before the sentries finally came upon him. They spoke to him, but Richter could not hear them over the ringing in his ears.

“I got...,” he said, wearily as he reached within his cloak for something, “I got...”

Slowly he lifted his hand from his cloak, reveling the severed left hand of his father, “I got...the bastard’s...hand.”

His strength spent Richter collapsed against the ground and passed out.

Richter Massey Marshal of the Tribute Collecting Army