Ep 54- The Tourney of the Successor (pt 3)

It was just a bar.

Oh, sorry, I realize I should be moving us forward with Episode 54, but I’m not terribly concentrated today. Do you mind if I talk for a little bit about IRL stuff?

You do?

Oh.

Well, too bad. It’s my space. I can write what I want.

(wonders why no one reads this)

Back when I was in college I had a bar I liked to frequent. This isn’t too unusual- most kids my age did. Well, except for the kids I went to college with. I went to a very conservative college and we weren’t allowed to drink- not just on campus, but anywhere, ever, so long as we were enrolled.

Of course, I broke that rule and found other people who were willing to break that rule too. This is only natural. If a rule exists, people will break it and they will naturally attract fellow rulebreakers to them.

Our bar of choice was across the street from our campus. You’d think this was a very poor choice but for some reason we were never caught. This always surprised me- people were caught for much more minor offenses. Some were even expelled. Had anyone of authority walked in that bar on any given Tuesday over the course of 4 years they’d have most certainly found enough reasons to expel me.

So this bar must have been very special if we were willing to risk our educations, right?

Reader, it was not. It was the least extraordinary bar you could imagine. They served rail drinks and beers you could find in any liquor store. There was an arcade room that no one used and a sprawling patio that served as a communal smoking area. The decor was bland and the menu was identical to any American-fare restaurant. There was a karaoke night- I still see the DJ once or twice a year at other bars. He was extraordinary despite the otherwise cookie-cutter suburban atmosphere- but that was the most exciting feature of a bar that you could otherwise walk past and forget moments later.

The bar closed just this weekend for its last time. I did not make it out to say goodbye. Part of me didn’t think I needed to- it’s been many years since I’d been a regular. It is unlikely I’d have been remembered by the staff, the karaoke DJ had long since packed up for a different establishment and my nostalgia would only have been served by the building itself- which, again, was not much to look at. But nonetheless when the bar’s Facebook account posted a video of the building lights turning out for the last time I could not help but feel a pang of sadness. Watching a part of your past sunset for the last time is a bittersweet thing.

I don’t see most of the people I used to drink with in my early 20s anymore. Most of them moved away or shifted into a phase of life I could not follow. A few I grew apart from, as one does over time. So when I think of that bar I think not of the building or even that extraordinary DJ- I think of the people I spent my time with. I think of the shared refuge we found in that bar. I think of how we exchanged ideas that were not welcome across the street- of an endless stream of cigarettes and drinks shared as we discussed what we were reading, seeing, thinking as we did our best to imitate the behavior of other people our age.

And I think of how I hope the kids in that conservative college across the street- which to my knowledge has not loosened their rules- find their own refuge for unwelcome behavior and ideas. I worry that if such a place isn’t right across the street that they may never find it. Because as foolhardy as it might be to break the rules just next door- sometimes you need to make mistakes close to home before you have the courage to take risks much further away.

And now, back to the story.

ext. tourney yard night

Young Judgment, zweihander at the ready, faces the Young Queen, her own buster poised for a charge.

The two eye each other- the Young Queen’s defiant eyes flash of green Arcane air energy and the dust around her swirls. Judgment, for his part, locks his steeling gaze on the Young Queen, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword.

YOUNG JUDGMENT
If I believed it possible to have a rival, I would have picked you.

YOUNG QUEEEN
I won’t hold back. I will use everything at my disposal.

YOUNG JUDGMENT
I expect nothing less. I may not have the blood of a demon or the curse of an Arcana’s power, but I have raw strength, determination and focus. I was born with it, forged in it. You waste strength in an effort to look powerful, investing in magic tricks and wielding an impractical blade. The stagecraft of someone unfit to lead.

YOUNG QUEEN
And you talk too much.

YOUNG JUDGMENT
Only to point out the difference between us so it is clear to you when you wake up tomorrow. We were made differently. I was built to lead, not serve. You are just a mad dog taken in by the queen. And I will bring you to heel.

There is a pause. No movement between the combatants.

YOUNG QUEEN
Is that all? I mean, really? Name calling? Cracks about my blood and origins? An attempt to leverage my privilege to enrage me? Do better. Or make the first move.

In the spectators stands, the Old Queen of Swords thinly grins at this. Strength leans over, speaking quietly.

STRENGTH
(quietly)
She controls her impulses well, now. A credit to you.

OLD QUEEN
A credit to both of us. She set her Arcane skills aside to learn the blade and craft of single combat. She knows a provocation when she sees it.

THE SUN
(curiously)
Such luminance…in the other. I’d hear more of him.

OLD QUEEN
(cautiously)
There isn’t much to say. He joined our house as many do- approaching the gates alone with a sword in hand. He has no family, no material ties, no noble blood. Just the will to wield the sword.

THE SUN
A poetic way of saying he has no cause. Such a waste of luminance.

OLD QUEEN
Not every banner is so obvious as a conqueror’s.

THE SUN
As you say…

Another moment of silence on the field before Young Judgment makes the first move. He charges forward, zweihander raised overhead. The Young Queen shifts, shielding herself beneath the massive buster. The zweihander makes a resounding strike against the broad side of the buster but the guard holds. Judgment strikes once more against the buster, leaving a chip in the metal of the blade’s forte. On the third overhead strike the Young Queen parries, pressing him back two steps. She brings the buster to a point in front of her, her eye catching the long forming crack in the blade itself.

YOUNG JUDGMENT
You are only as strong as your blade. Defeat the blade- defeat the wielder. A few more strikes and your house of iron will crumble. What then?

He advances forward, swinging the zweihander horizontally. It impacts on the buster as the Young Queen brings it up vertically to guard. Judgment arcs the zweihander overhead and strikes horizontally from the opposite side and the Young Queen struggles to just barely catch the blow with her buster. However, Judgement has gained the momentum of gravity- has massive arms flex as he helicopters the blade overhead and strikes again at the breathless Queen’s exposed opposite side, this time the broad side of his blade catching her squarely across the chest.

The Young Queen flies backwards and lacks on her back in the dirt. Judgement advances forward and drives his zweihander downward toward the Young Queen. Instinctually, she manages to lift her buster up to catch the blade’s point just inches from her own body- but while she evades the blow, the impact is enough to finally snap her own buster in half.

Still in the dirt, the Young Queen brushes aside the broken segments of iron off of her.

YOUNG JUDGMENT
Raw power is what it takes to lead. You play at appearing strong- but when your toys are broken and I get within reach I see the truth- you are nothing.