Black-Tongue
Prey approaches...
I could not really find any lore on any sort of dueling process or purpose within the arcane world other than between the nerevarine and the former arch mage trebonius in morrowind, so I made my own little story! Enjoy.
(note: The following may or may not be consistent with any themes, locations, or people from the elder scrolls universe and should be treated as an independent work of fiction, NOT FACT/LORE. May contain typos and crappy formatting)
The art of dueling is one that predates even the most rudimentary forms of dispute resolution and has long since been a means to which two individuals can compete for honor or their very lives. Often told are stories of wealthy men who duel with sabers under the midnight moon, or proud knights who compete for the favor of the nobility; or for their entertainment. In the untamed western tundra, the tribal folk (and in some cases the bandits) have always selected leadership in this fashion. Two hopefuls enter bloody combat with only one, or sometimes none, left alive to carry on their legacy. Dueling has reached more civilized circles as well. In fact, my observations find it is far more prevalent in the sewers of metropolitan areas than anywhere else. Locals have taken to creating a sort of sport from the conflict. Men and women will fight with bare fists in front of a crowd of one hundred people or more to determine who is stronger. The gambling rackets attached to these events bring in sufficient income to be considered a business, if not for their questionable legality. Mostly, this form of dueling is safer given that its participants rarely die during the fight and some are recurrent combatants who seek fame and fortune within their communities.
But what of the countless magisters that carry out their business high on the mountain, or in a lowly cave? Surely those who wield such things as fire and ice as their weapons must have their own version of this timeless contest. I have heard of only one such account, and I will share it with you.
The master wizard named Sif stood very still and silent on the bridge. The sky was cold and clear. The air was crisp and steam slowly rolled from his lips as he took in each breath. His opponent was positioned before him on the same path under the moonlight. Both had expressionless faces, each quite certain of what would come next.
"Be warned: You left the guild long ago, therefore you are not under its protection, Lamyr."
Lamyr, Sif's opponent, did not waiver.
"So should you be aware, master wizard, that petty guild rules have not bound me for near a century and a half. I've no qualms with killing you, teacher."
Sif summoned a shadowy figure that closely resembled a horseman. The great, black beast pawed the ground between the two wizards.
"Ye listen well to what I, your master states." Sif said to the shadow.
"This is a duel between two of my kind, and you will remain impartial. Deliver news of defeat to the associates of either of our number that dies first. Is this found to be agreeable Lamyr?"
"Aye. Though after I defeat you, I will visit your colleagues myself- to...catch up on old times."
"It is done then"
With that the horseman rode up the side of the mountain and stood in the moonlight, ready to be a messenger for death.
[Continue?]
(note: The following may or may not be consistent with any themes, locations, or people from the elder scrolls universe and should be treated as an independent work of fiction, NOT FACT/LORE. May contain typos and crappy formatting)
The art of dueling is one that predates even the most rudimentary forms of dispute resolution and has long since been a means to which two individuals can compete for honor or their very lives. Often told are stories of wealthy men who duel with sabers under the midnight moon, or proud knights who compete for the favor of the nobility; or for their entertainment. In the untamed western tundra, the tribal folk (and in some cases the bandits) have always selected leadership in this fashion. Two hopefuls enter bloody combat with only one, or sometimes none, left alive to carry on their legacy. Dueling has reached more civilized circles as well. In fact, my observations find it is far more prevalent in the sewers of metropolitan areas than anywhere else. Locals have taken to creating a sort of sport from the conflict. Men and women will fight with bare fists in front of a crowd of one hundred people or more to determine who is stronger. The gambling rackets attached to these events bring in sufficient income to be considered a business, if not for their questionable legality. Mostly, this form of dueling is safer given that its participants rarely die during the fight and some are recurrent combatants who seek fame and fortune within their communities.
But what of the countless magisters that carry out their business high on the mountain, or in a lowly cave? Surely those who wield such things as fire and ice as their weapons must have their own version of this timeless contest. I have heard of only one such account, and I will share it with you.
The master wizard named Sif stood very still and silent on the bridge. The sky was cold and clear. The air was crisp and steam slowly rolled from his lips as he took in each breath. His opponent was positioned before him on the same path under the moonlight. Both had expressionless faces, each quite certain of what would come next.
"Be warned: You left the guild long ago, therefore you are not under its protection, Lamyr."
Lamyr, Sif's opponent, did not waiver.
"So should you be aware, master wizard, that petty guild rules have not bound me for near a century and a half. I've no qualms with killing you, teacher."
Sif summoned a shadowy figure that closely resembled a horseman. The great, black beast pawed the ground between the two wizards.
"Ye listen well to what I, your master states." Sif said to the shadow.
"This is a duel between two of my kind, and you will remain impartial. Deliver news of defeat to the associates of either of our number that dies first. Is this found to be agreeable Lamyr?"
"Aye. Though after I defeat you, I will visit your colleagues myself- to...catch up on old times."
"It is done then"
With that the horseman rode up the side of the mountain and stood in the moonlight, ready to be a messenger for death.
[Continue?]
