At first glance it was nothing particularly special. The object was simply a dirk. But it wasn't just any dirk. For a start, the craftsmanship was magnificent, giving the whole of the weapon from blade to hilt the appearance of resembling a claw or a raptor's talon. Salvador had no eye for color, but he knew the steel and emblem were awash with color from the way the light danced across its sharp edge.
Though he had blocked them out during the heat of battle, the echoing thrum of the small crowd still lingered in his ears. He could hear them now as he contemplated over the blade, running the tip of a nail along its sharpened edge while it rested on a handkerchief in the palm of his other hand.
Oy! Screechbat! Get the lead back.
Candy. The Overlady herself had come to watch this event, but she hadn't been cheering for him. He wouldn't have expected her to.
Come on, Salvador!
Jasper. He hadn't seen the demi-fae in months, though whose fault that was even Salvador couldn't say. In his own way, he had been avoiding Rekah's newest husband as well. He was still waiting for this one to turn out to be a tremendous a*hole who needed killing too.
But he hadn't let the cheers and jeers distract him. This time the bloodlust was upon him. He was determined. Autumn was just around the corner, and despite the disconcerting murderous edge it gave him, it also helped him focus. These people could not be his friends tonight. They were enemies, and he had to defeat every single one of them.
That was the mindset he had needed all along. All these years he had separated real combat and the duels in his mind. One was a game. The other was survival. So maybe he had Riley to thank for shoving her sword into his gut in the match before this one. The hunger was on him when he stepped into the ring with Seirichi for the final bout. It took all the magic in his veins to staunch the blood flow and seal the wound over with living armor. The wards were ineffectual as ever.
Then there was nothing but the buzz of the crowd, the twin hook swords in his hands, and his opponent, who had dropped her own weapon in favor of brawling. If she thought he was going to drop his own to fight fairly, she was sorely mistaken.
Imp called out the trade in round 10. "Delahada swings high! Seirichi low! 5 all!" It was down to the wire. It was anyone's game. She punched him in the gut, aggravating his sealed over wound, and he took a swipe at her face with the sharp point of one sword's hilt, leaving a slice to remember him by on her cheek.
And then he had her. He saw the twitch of muscle in her leg and knew a direct assault wouldn't do. She was waiting to catch him in an elaborate defense. Instantly he leaned to his left, turning on the balls of his feet to spin-step around to her flank, mocking the matadors by crying, "Ol?!" With the flat of one sword's hooked end, he whacked her on the a$$ and Imp called out the conclusion.
"Delahada steps around Seirichi's defense for the point and the win! After 11 rounds: Delahada defeats Seirichi, 6 to 5! Congratulations to Delahada! The new Talon of Redwin!"
From there, everything was a dragging blur. The small crowd's murmurs rushed in like a roaring tidal wave.
"Well done, Sal!" Rhiannon Brock.
"Well fought, Sal!" He had no idea the man's name, but he was in Rhi's company.
There was whistling and even some applause.
Imp yelled, "Hey! De la Hoya! Catch!" And the next thing he knew, something thumped him in the chest before hitting the sands. That something just so happened to be this little trophy he was holding in his hand now.
The first time he had touched it with his bare hands, he had never wanted to touch it again. There were more memories imprinted on this one single blade than Salvador had obtained in all his short lifetime. Interestingly enough, the history of the tournament only predated his entire existence by six whole days. But that's not when this object's life had begun.
"Are you going to fight with the Talon?" Teagan had asked him as they left the Arena that night.
"Probably not," he had answered. But the truth was...
"No." Salvador placed the dirk on the stand, blade pointing down at the wooden base as it rested on the thin metal crossbar that supported it at the hilt. He lifted the glass dome and placed it gently over the Talon, securing it in a protective shell. The whole of the display case stood four and a half feet high, which came to just about chest level on him, and it was centered under a wall mounted glass display case of an ornate longsword with a plaque that read the name Tizona.
And there it would stay until it was needed again next cycle.
Though he had blocked them out during the heat of battle, the echoing thrum of the small crowd still lingered in his ears. He could hear them now as he contemplated over the blade, running the tip of a nail along its sharpened edge while it rested on a handkerchief in the palm of his other hand.
Oy! Screechbat! Get the lead back.
Candy. The Overlady herself had come to watch this event, but she hadn't been cheering for him. He wouldn't have expected her to.
Come on, Salvador!
Jasper. He hadn't seen the demi-fae in months, though whose fault that was even Salvador couldn't say. In his own way, he had been avoiding Rekah's newest husband as well. He was still waiting for this one to turn out to be a tremendous a*hole who needed killing too.
But he hadn't let the cheers and jeers distract him. This time the bloodlust was upon him. He was determined. Autumn was just around the corner, and despite the disconcerting murderous edge it gave him, it also helped him focus. These people could not be his friends tonight. They were enemies, and he had to defeat every single one of them.
That was the mindset he had needed all along. All these years he had separated real combat and the duels in his mind. One was a game. The other was survival. So maybe he had Riley to thank for shoving her sword into his gut in the match before this one. The hunger was on him when he stepped into the ring with Seirichi for the final bout. It took all the magic in his veins to staunch the blood flow and seal the wound over with living armor. The wards were ineffectual as ever.
Then there was nothing but the buzz of the crowd, the twin hook swords in his hands, and his opponent, who had dropped her own weapon in favor of brawling. If she thought he was going to drop his own to fight fairly, she was sorely mistaken.
Imp called out the trade in round 10. "Delahada swings high! Seirichi low! 5 all!" It was down to the wire. It was anyone's game. She punched him in the gut, aggravating his sealed over wound, and he took a swipe at her face with the sharp point of one sword's hilt, leaving a slice to remember him by on her cheek.
And then he had her. He saw the twitch of muscle in her leg and knew a direct assault wouldn't do. She was waiting to catch him in an elaborate defense. Instantly he leaned to his left, turning on the balls of his feet to spin-step around to her flank, mocking the matadors by crying, "Ol?!" With the flat of one sword's hooked end, he whacked her on the a$$ and Imp called out the conclusion.
"Delahada steps around Seirichi's defense for the point and the win! After 11 rounds: Delahada defeats Seirichi, 6 to 5! Congratulations to Delahada! The new Talon of Redwin!"
From there, everything was a dragging blur. The small crowd's murmurs rushed in like a roaring tidal wave.
"Well done, Sal!" Rhiannon Brock.
"Well fought, Sal!" He had no idea the man's name, but he was in Rhi's company.
There was whistling and even some applause.
Imp yelled, "Hey! De la Hoya! Catch!" And the next thing he knew, something thumped him in the chest before hitting the sands. That something just so happened to be this little trophy he was holding in his hand now.
The first time he had touched it with his bare hands, he had never wanted to touch it again. There were more memories imprinted on this one single blade than Salvador had obtained in all his short lifetime. Interestingly enough, the history of the tournament only predated his entire existence by six whole days. But that's not when this object's life had begun.
"Are you going to fight with the Talon?" Teagan had asked him as they left the Arena that night.
"Probably not," he had answered. But the truth was...
"No." Salvador placed the dirk on the stand, blade pointing down at the wooden base as it rested on the thin metal crossbar that supported it at the hilt. He lifted the glass dome and placed it gently over the Talon, securing it in a protective shell. The whole of the display case stood four and a half feet high, which came to just about chest level on him, and it was centered under a wall mounted glass display case of an ornate longsword with a plaque that read the name Tizona.
And there it would stay until it was needed again next cycle.