Sapphire Fleetpaw Vs Rillo Skyblade, Bracket One

Good luck to both competitors. Round details can be found here.

The weather was definitely warm, contrary to the sheeting deluge that had fallen out of the cloudy ceiling. Precipitation thoroughly drenched the small figure plodding along the serpentine path that hugged the cliff. A short distance behind the creature, the ledge forked sharply at one point, providing a crumbling path up the high barrier. This was the conduit that the small beast had chosen to follow. On the left, a straight way guided the weary traveler to the cliff base. Here it cut off, revealing an almost sheer face with few pawholds. Not one of the two paths held any reprieve from the cold, stinging wetness.

Despite the ominous roadblocks lingering in her way, the aforementioned small figure was in high spirits. Regular storms did her no good, but the sight – and feel – of the lightning in a thunderstorm seemed to re-charge her system. As if on cue, a large bolt lit up the night sky. Illumination briefly washed over the scene below, and the small mousemaid stood out like a misplaced highlight of color and shade against the stunning backdrop. By this time, Sapphire’s pale sandy fur was plastered against her paler skin, and so was her outfit. However, this storm had been looming against the sky all day, so the warrior had no problem with her outfit. She welcomed the weather in style and practicality, and the one-shoulder crop-top served her well as such. Slung over her left shoulder, the shirt was fairly conservative for its summer design, fitted the mousemaiden well enough, and was fully functional in battle. Instead of sulking, she eagerly mulled over the information that she had received.

No parchment, however sturdy, could have stood up to the classical elements in their full force as such. Lightning tore across the heavens in streaks of white fire, water needles sheeted impossibly thick and fast down from the sky, the windy gales mercilessly whipped and ravaged anything so foolish as to stand in its way, and frequent claps of thunder shook the earth. The parchment that Sapphire carried was no unique exception to the rule; one meaningless ink smear was all that was visible on the sodden lump. However, the warrior maiden had taken the precaution of memorizing every blot and stain of what had formerly been a message. Her opponent was a pirate rat named Rillo Skyblade, representing the Red Lace of Caellach, from Adael. Sapphire knew that place: she had connections into the goodbeast and neutral ranges of that span of the ocean, and had also heard that the fighters of the Caellach division were quite notorious. This fight could get interesting – very interesting.

The mousemaid patted the bread ball that she had brought along, stashed in a wrapped cloth to be saved for later. Her subconscious wished for a topping on the meager portion. Right on cue, her stomach rumbled, and she shot a mildly amused glare downwards. “Down, tiger.” As she picked her way up an especially precarious stretch of disintegrating limestone, a lightning bolt struck close by. Eager eyes were highlighted a glinting golden amber. Notwithstanding the fear that the phenomenon might have struck into the ordinary beast, Sapphire stretched her forepaws out and took a step towards the lightning as if wanting to embrace the spear of raw, crackling energy. Precious few beasts were fool – or insane – enough to treasure the dangerous force of nature in such a manner. Any others who might have been watching would surely think the warrior mousemaiden had gone nuts, insane, cuckoo, stark raving mad – you name it. “Ah yes, come to me.” But there was a history behind her disturbing behavior, and quite a long legacy at that.

Ever since her adolescence, the otherwise innocent-looking warrior had been somewhat of a sucker for pain, especially when it came to fire or any other plasmid source of intense heat. She had, indeed, been lectured thoroughly on the dangers of cutting too deep into her own wrist, and once, had done exactly that just to know what it felt like. And as much as she had longed to, Sapphire had never tried that particular stunt again.

The lightning promptly disappeared into the gorge below. “Noooo! Don’t leave me!” Drama queen, she chided herself mentally. The first danger being past, Lady Fortune suddenly seemed set on balancing the warrior’s luck. Loose limestone cracked and slid under the maid’s footpaws as she struggled for balance, before the ledge that she had been standing on broke off completely. “Ah!”

This cry was abruptly halted as her left forepaw latched onto the jagged edge. Sapphire welcomed the reality of the viscous liquid oozing from a rather large scratch on her lower arm. She reached up with the other forepaw and gripped the broken rock firmly. Two consecutive kicks and well-timed twist sent her tumbling gracefully up and over the edge. A pair of knee-length trousers arced through the air currents and discovered firm footing.

However, the aforementioned bread ball slipped out of her pouch, out of its cloth wrap, and – you guessed it – straight into the suspiciously coated gravel of the path. “Oh, for spirits’ sake!” The warrior was now a mousemaiden again. Ignoring the lashing rain, she bent down and picked up her snack, now soggy on the topside and dirty below. Nevertheless, it was none the worse for wear, so she brushed it off and placed it back in the pouch with the cloth wrapper, right next to her curved throwing stars and silver fans. “Drat. Well, I did say that I wanted a topping.” She gave a wry laugh, then straightened up and hiked the last of the distance to the marble temple.

By the time that Sapphire had reached the marble temple, she was tired and exhausted, but glad to just be in the right place. She had barely received the news on time, and had not slept for the past forty-eight hours. The previous night, Sapphire had attempted to coax one of the tavern frequents into divulging where she could get the information on her upcoming spar, to which he had replied – or, rather, slurred – by inviting her into the back room for a round of drinks. Now, our innocent warrior was not all that worldly, but not particularly naïve, either, and she had a pretty good inkling of what he really wanted from her. Her immediate response had been to bodily seize the offending perverted rat and sling him out the nearest tavern window, causing somewhat of an uproar in the process, as the furious tavern manager had demanded payment for the shattered glass and the unfortunate victim’s unpaid drinks. After her share of broken windows had been paid for, the warrior had swept both herself and her anger management issues regally out of the bar. Fully incensed, the mousemaiden had then spent a sleepless night searching for news on the location and her latest opponent for the battle. It was only now that she was feeling the effects of her self-induced exhaustion.

Slumping over the threshold, Sapphire’s reverie was almost immediately broken as she recognized the torches set in the columns. Drawn to the glittering sources of heat, an almost demonic grin twisted the mousemaiden’s face. Some might have labeled her a pyromaniac for her fascination with fire, as she reached out to the flame, singing the fur on her paws. But her purpose here was far more subtle than to scorch herself. The wound on her forepaw was still bleeding freely, the red blood running down the length of the gash. Removing one rose-colored armguard, she drew near and let the red heat cauterize her wound. As much as Sapphire would have preferred to let the lesion bleed, she needed all the blood and energy that she could get for this battle.

Slipping the wristguard back on, she batted curiously at the torch flame, entranced by the flickering light and shadow, and the energy within. Fire was so hard to control. The power inside seemed ready to burst out in a spectacular display, capable of mass destruction when set free but comforting and guiding when under discipline. This was exactly why the warrior loved the properties of the element: being close to it and feeling the contained potential always seemed to fuel her inner fire and give her an energy boost in any situation. Unbeknownst to herself, the bedraggled young creature was also drying off in the heat.

This latter effect was quickly stemmed as rain gushed through the columns – with a bit too much effervescence, Sapphire thought sardonically. She just stood there, completely exasperated and thoroughly irked, with eyes narrowed in a classic grimace of resigned expectation, exuding pessimism from every drenched pore on her body. As the rain subsided, the tall fieldmouse sent a shiver over her entire body like a canine might shake itself after a hearty bath. Pale sandy fur that had previously been slicked down by the moisture flew into a careless ruffle. Rainwater splashed everywhere, setting off a merry sizzling from the torches as the flames easily vaporized the small droplets, and the small downpour that Sapphire had created fell into a large puddle around her footpaws. She looked down, grinning slightly at the realization that so much water had seeped into her fur.

The loud clang reverberated through the temple, drawing the mousemaiden’s attention to the large effigy that occupied one end of the large holy place. It could only be a likeness of one beast – the revered brown bear of the woods. In all of her travels, Sapphire had never actually seen a three-dimensional replication of the creature. Until now, she had only been able to envision it in the paintings and drawings of various books. Now, looking up at the fluffy stone giant with a bell clutched in its paw and operated by rainwater, she felt pure awe. No other word described it so well. The. Thing. Was. Huge!

Her previous trance broken, she took in the rest of her surroundings. The stone columns were thick, elaborately ornamented and curled to compliment the cold, pale beauty of the marble temple. However, it was sufficiently weathered and eroded, so that Sapphire could sprint up them to an adequate height to launch flying kicks and such. Along the bases of these remarkable pillars, each an edifice in itself, lay slippery spots. Puddles of water like the one that she had previously created occupied the floor in spots, but these were easy enough to identify, as they shimmered ethereally in the torchlight. She’d have to avoid those to ensure that she kept a firm footing. Now the only problem left was…Rillo.

Rillo. The name rolled off the mousemaiden’s tongue quite easily. From what scraps of information that she had gleaned in her latest visit to the bulletin board, the warrior knew that her opponent was a searat, and held some important position on the Red Lace, the location for Sapphire’s first spar of the tournament. Other data had yet to known. However, the mousemaiden was willingly anxious, for she had heard that the searat had knocked her old pal Audrey out of the running. It out of sheer luck that Sapphire had managed to slip through the pairing system for so long, but her luck always ran out just when she needed it. This was no different from the young hothead’s several near-death incidents.

Strangely, she was not scared. Although Sapphire knew that she might have to risk her life in the tournament, although she knew that attaining first place was truly worth bragging about, she had arrived with no hope or intention of winning that prize. Instead, the mousemaiden wanted to see how well her paw-to-paw combat could match up against the crème de la crème of all the fighters in the country. Good and evil didn’t really count, she reflected. In this world, all creatures committed wrong and evil deeds. It was simply a matter of the beasts that repented their deeds versus those who reveled in the knowledge, with certain in-between people who were manipulated into executing the acts without realizing what they had done. At heart, the mousemaiden was also a philosopher, and she simply desired to gauge her true strength, only dealing great harm to her opponent if it proved necessary.

OK, now she was truly bored out of her mind. Sapphire realized just how much time she’d wasted already. Where was Rillo? The warrior could only hope that her opponent showed, and with that thought, she lounged lazily into the cool marble, arms folded across her chest and gazing out across the wet expanses.

((ah, drat. I was hoping you wouldn't reply! I'll have my post up soon.))

With a low growl, Rillo walked to a table where Knolls, the pine marten officer sat with a weasel deckhand. Jerking an empty chair away from the table, the rat collapsed into and leaned her forehead against the table’s edge. She stared crossly at the deckhand’s bare footpaws for a few minutes, bemoaning over the thought that had loomed over her all day.

The Captain was gone, having taken flight when a Navy ship had been spotted near the bay. Corsica was not on the best of terms with the Navy and so had done what any reasonable pirate would have done. This left Rillo and a handful of others to worry for their own skins should the soldiers decide to take interest in a few easier targets. The gunner could count on one paw how many of the crew did not have some sort of bounty on their heads. And of course there was the next tournament round tomorrow…

The weasel’s paws were spared from another minute of Rillo’s death glare by Knolls and the mouse waiter that stopped by their table.

“Another grog fer me and Roteye here,” the marten said, “and…what’d you like, Rillo? A beer?”

Rillo’s earrings tinkled as she gave a nod, not bothering to look up.

“Yes, a beer – make it a porter.”

The mouse repeated the order (the vermin, he had learned, got particularly nasty when a gin was brought out instead of whiskey, or a red wine instead of a white one) and left to check on his other tables. Knolls placed his elbows on the table and eyed the gunner curiously.

“Rough night, Rillo?” he asked.

From her place, the rat noticed that he curled his long tail around his footpaws and watched with grim amusement as the weasel gave a slight jump as the tail accidentally brushed against his leg. Funny beast, that one. Done with her paw-watching, Rillo lifted her head and nodded again. “Aye,” she sighed, “jes’ a liddle bit. ‘M nervous with all this talk o’ the Navy so close t’shore. An’ the tourney, too. Did ye hear where that one’s t’ be? On some ‘nother mountain temple place. ‘eard it’s real high up, like the last one.”

Knolls gave a sympathetic nod. “And the storm doesn’ look like it’s about to clear up, either. Fancy you’ll be fightin’ in the rain and lightning…” he mused. His gaze flicked up as the mouse returned with their beverages. “Ah, here we are.”

“Grogs for the gents and the beer for the lady,” the mouse said. His whiskers twitched a little too much as his paw passed dangerously close to Rillo’s claws. “That’ll be all?”

“That’s it,” Knolls replied. Rillo already had her nose in her tankard and Roteye pretended to be drinking his. The mouse gave a small smile and a nod before rushing away again.

“I don’t think it’ll be too bad, though. At least you won’t have t’ worry about cliff edges and the inside of the temple will be dry.” Ah, Knolls. Always looking on the bright side of things.

Rillo set the tankard down and wiped her whiskers with a paw. “Y’d better be right about that, Knolls,” the rat said. “Y’d better be right….”

Hours later, the gunner staggered her way up to her room in the adjoining inn. Thunder shook the very timbers that she walked on, hinting that its rather would not be lessened in the morning. The rain continued to beat relentlessly against the frame of the inn. Its patter made louder as it pinged against the cloudy windows. For once, Rillo was glad to be off of the seas, though her relief was short lived as her eyes drooped lower and she at last fell asleep.



Rillo stirred awake by the sound of somebeast’s clatter outside of her door. Cracking a bleary eye open, she first glanced to the window to judge the time by the sun’s light. But there was no sun. Only the dark gray clouds and the rains that fell incessantly. With a groan, she pushed herself up and rolled over, half hanging over the side of the worn mattress. She placed her paws on the ground and reached a paw out to find the wall, the other gripping the stained sheet that was twisted around her chest. As she rose unsteadily to her feet, she noticed she could still feel the effects of last night’s alcohol in her system. Great, she muttered to herself. Just what she needed….

She moved forward towards her sea chest and stopped suddenly, feeling the inhibiting jerk of the sheet as it resisted her efforts. With a grunt and a hard yank, she ripped the linen from the bed, only to have it fall from her bare shoulders and drop limply to her feet. Rillo kicked the sheet away and stumbled, now unhindered to the chest. She caught her clothes and shuffled them on – pantaloons, blouse, jerkin, hat – then trotted to the other side of the room for her weapons. She buckled on the old baldric and slid her cutlass into its sheath. The three other blades, all small daggers no greater than 8 inches in blade length, were stashed about her person – on in her jerkin, another to her calf, and the last near the small of her back. Armed and ready to go, all Rillo needed to do now was to get to the battleground and to get rid of this hangover…

Thunder rattled the boards beneath her feet ominously. This would not be a good match at all.

Rillo wiped the rain from her eyes. By Hell’s Gates, why did this place have to be so hard to get to? And the weather? Couldn’t the weather just behave itself and leaver her alone? Apart from being soaked to the bone (not to mention the small lake that she was toting in her tricorn), mud caked her paws to her legs, mid-shin. Dirt stained the knees of her trousers and lodged in the tiny cuts on her forepaws. To say the least, her trek to this temple was not one of her finest moments. She couldn’t recall how many times she had slipped or not spotted a sharp stone or root…

As lightning flashed overhead, the rat could only find a bit of happiness in the fact that it was not a cold rain.

Long minutes passed as Rillo made her way up the side of the mountain, walking on a path that was little more than a game trail. Once, the top of the temple was visible when the rat made it to a small clearing. She could see the welcoming glint of light coming from somewhere inside of the place. As she continued, though, the temple was again lost behind the trees. The sight of the structure was enough to give the gunner something to think about as she trudged up the mountain. Her opponent…

As usual, Rillo was walking blindly towards the fight with no information of her opponent at hand. Sure, the little slips of paper might be useful, but the pirate was quite illiterate. Species, age, gender, armaments were all little details that would be learned upon meeting. She found the rounds to be a little more exciting that way – never knowing what was ahead had always put a slight shiver through her bones. Names, on the other paw, were not important at all, the rat reasoned. She would never see the beast again, and would they truly want to start up a little chat if such future encounters did occur? Of course, it might help if she wanted to point out her beaten opponent back at the tavern, but it was to trivial a thing to bother about. Names? Who needed them?

As the waterlogged rat went on, the trees gradually became smaller until there were no more, and all that was left to see was the rocks below her feet and the temple ahead. Then the lightning flashed again, illuminating a rather unnatural black space on the far side of the building. It did not take Rillo long at all to realize what that space was, and when she did, she let out a few wild curses at Knolls.

“No cliffs, eh, ye scaley marten,” she growled. “No cliffs? ‘ell’s Gates, there ain’t any cliffs.” The murderous rant was ended when Rillo spat on the ground. And almost immediately, a loud crash of something filled the air. The rat looked up in surprise, her head jerking towards the temple. What was that? A… a gong?

Frowning, Rillo put a little more energy in her strides and soon found herself on the threshold of the temple. Her claws struck the marble floor a too loudly, she thought. The stone was cool and wet from the rain, and with its highly polished surface, Rillo knew that she would have to watch her step until she got into the drier places. But for the moment, the marble was the least of concerns. Right now, still getting beat by the rain and still in the shadow of the columns, the rat surveyed the layout of this new playing field.

It was expansive, capable of holding a great number of worshippers (of what, she had no idea) comfortably. Massive columns, handsomely decorated all the way up, supported a marble ceiling. With her mouth agape, Rillo followed the line of the columns to the farthest wall, her eyes sweeping across the figures carefully carved into the ceiling. Then her eyes caught the glimmer of the idols. Ruby eyes widened as she realized that the beast was not marble like the rest of the place, but gold. Her mouth watered at the sight of it – not because of its elaborate structure or the great antiquity of it or because of foreign beasts that stood there but instead because of the value of such an item. And here it was, hundreds of pounds worth of gold just lying around unguarded. She could make a fortune off of the smallest plate of the gold.

Once more her reverie was broken, not by the clanging sound but by the movements of a mouse nearer to her. Her opponent, Rillo thought. Slightly disappointed that she was not facing a fellow vermin for the fight, the rat was still slightly glad. Another easy victory, she thought. Well, maybe… The last round had not been so easy to win as the first, and Rillo knew enough not to allow herself to become too cocky. Still.

Rillo stepped forward into the torchlight. She drew her cutlass, noting the echoes of it reverberating off of the walls. Taking a deep breath, the copper-furred rat strode towards the mouse. No doubt she had been spotted already. Her whiskers twitched as she put on a snarly type of grin. Of course she looked ferocious. What kind of searat would not look ferocious with its fur plastered down by the water and a silly grin stuck to its face, hm? Even if she was not as intimidating as she wanted to appear, the rat’s cutlass was something to worry about. Her reputation had started to grow as one of the more unfair of fighters in the tournament. She played by her own rules and liked to fight dirty…but that was what a vermin beast was supposed to do.

Her paws splashed in the small puddles of water. Another curse on Knolls for being wrong again.

Perfectly mirrored pinpoints of red caught in Sapphire’s peripheral vision. Curious, the warrior mousemaiden turned her head to determine the source of the unnatural disturbance, and found herself staring into a pair of intense ruby-red eyes. So this is Rillo. Tipping her head slightly to the side, Sapphire studied her opponent intently. The rat was muddy, untidy, had fur sticking out at unnatural angles, and looked like a half-drowned furball. Then again, Sapphire highly doubted that she looked any better after the indecently long trek across rugged terrain in a freak thunderstorm.

One forepaw strayed absentmindedly to her weapons holster as she sized up the searat’s apparent weapons and abilities. The smaller of the two competitors held herself with an easy relaxation that belied her speed and strength in battle. Rillo was larger than Sapphire had initially expected, but the fieldmouse guessed that her searat opponent would make up in speed and skill. This would get interesting – very interesting. Neither beast seemed too pleased by the driving rain outside the temple, but Sapphire noted that the rat’s avaricious gaze was almost immediately drawn to the golden bell, the sight subsequently inducing a trance-like state. As Rillo turned a lopsided, sharp-toothed grin – was that supposed to be menacing? – on the warrior mousemaiden, Sapphire returned the face with a bored stare. Should be an interesting fight.

The metal sching of the rat’s cutlass being drawn was not lost on Sapphire’s ears. From the full rasp of the metal, the mousemaiden could assume that the weapon’s edge had not been honed recently, but not that long ago, either. The firelight steadied in her calculating amber gaze as half-lidded eyes shifted downward to note Rillo’s forepaw curling conveniently and easily around the well-worn handle of the armament. Her opponent had expert skill with the carving implement, and from the looks of the slightly rusted blade, Sapphire guessed that it would present a hazard in battle. However, she was not to be so easily deterred by the mere sight of a cutlass. If the searat thought that a staged leer and a fancy sword were going to scare off Sapphire Fleetpaw, then she had several more thinks coming!

In her weapons holster, Sapphire’s right paw inched towards her metal war fans. These could easily block the attacks and might provide an excellent distraction when thrown. After all, Sapphire could afford to lose one fan, since the extra five seconds would be all she needed to disarm Rillo. Idly, the mousemaiden wondered just how good her opponent was at hand-to-hand combat, even allowing a jaded, cynical smirk to flash across her face. At this point, the casual observer might have compared the mousemaiden's interested look to that of an adder, trying to determine whether Rillo was good enough to eat or not. Sapphire was certainly dangerous when she got annoyed.

No. The fans could be brought out later as a surprise. Right now, all that Sapphire needed for defense were her steel-plated armguards. These would serve her purpose.

Now came the formalities. Although the mousemaiden personally detested them and intended to make introductions as quick as possible, she had no idea if the searat felt the same way. But when did Sapphire ever care what others thought about her? She was not the genteel, lady-like fieldmouse maiden. Far from it. Sapphire was abrasive, sarcastic, sharp-tongued, hot-headed, pig-headed, and bull-headed. Her smart mouth often got her into big trouble, and it seemed that she could never back out of fights, only start them. She was a sore loser. The fact that she had had to wait for her spar didn’t help matters, either. But then, she reflected grimly, not many see another side to a female warrior. Resuming her bored expression, the mousemaiden finished her once-over of her adversary. It’s about time. She was irritated, damp, and waiting for the lightning to strike again, three things that did nothing to improve her mood. Let’s get this over with.

“Hi, I’m Sapphire Fleetpaw,” the mouse deadpanned, stepping forward for introductions. “I believe that you are Rillo, Master Gunner of the Red Lace and my scheduled opponent for this round.” Nice. Quick and sweet. She inclined her head briefly with all due respect. “Now that we’ve gotten to know each other so well, shall we start?” The warrior was a bit irked. The judges had already been lenient – and she used the word mildly – enough with the terrible weather, and even more distasteful location; couldn’t they at least give her a larger opponent? Then again, just how many giants had signed up for the tournament?

Sliding into a narrow fighting stance, Sapphire crooked both paws in front of her. All right, Rillo, time to see just how good a fighter you are. She refused to underestimate her opponent.

Taking the incentive, the mousemaiden rushed her opponent and leaped. Turning a fast 180 in the air, she raised her left footpaw, bringing it arcing through the atmosphere and crashing down on her forward side, the steel-shod boot advancing speedily towards Rillo’s head.

((Sorry for posting as a guest. I forgot my pass earlier and Invisionfree and my email aren't letting me request a new one.))

The rat frowned, noticing at once that her beginning tactics had, alas, failed. Regardless, she continued to walk slowly forward, taking her time to glance over the mouse as the same did not appear to want too quick of a start. For once, Rillo would oblige.

Red eyes glanced down as the mouse reached towards her belt and stopped, as if deciding against revealing whatever was there. Rillo's gaze traced over Sapphire with a look that could be compared to that of a mongoose deciding which points it should hit the vile serpent first. The mouse's eyes, stance, and expression all hinted at some degree of boredom -- though whether it was because of the smaller rodent's own mistake or simply a cool guise was not discerned. She was small, meaning she would be quick and agile. Rillo would have to keep on her toes to avoid being outpaced. With such litheness came, of course, a body fit and trained -- the mouse had a certain air of strength about her, one that was matched with a level head.

Mice had a tendency to be tenacious creatures; stupidly bullheaded and obstinately dogged in their attacks and rushes. It was a thing that the rat had learned early on about these little warriors, a knowledge that was backed by her own set of tricks and ploys. Rillo allowed herself a thin sneer. She had seen the way the rodent stood, caught her eye and seen her bored gaze. Had the rat chosen one word to describe her opponent it would be "arrogant." There was nothing that she could see that could prove her assumption otherwise. An arrogant, tenacious beast. There was one for the pile.

Her only concern now was the fact that the mouse seemed to be carrying nothing in the way of weaponry. It was a curious thing, but one that tickled at Rillo's nerves. If she used no weapon, then that meant that she had to either be incredibly good at close, paw-to-paw combat or she had a stash of poisons or small stickers somewhere. In both cases, Rillo knew she was in trouble. She had always relied on her blades too heavily, and if the mouse got close too quickly, the sword would be useless. As for poisons... well, she would have to trust the mouse's instincts. Would a goodbeast ever use such a subversive method?

It was the same beast that ended the opponent-surveying for both parties. In exchange for Sapphire's name, Rillo only flicked her muzzle up in a sort of nod. The mouse already knew who she was, no need to repeat a known fact. "Yes, let's begin,” Rillo said dryly. There was a salt-laden accent on her words, a thick brogue that belonged solely to those of the sea.

Both fighters slid into their appropriate stances. Sapphire to hers and Rillo to her own, a half-crouched position, left side turned towards the mouse, toes tense, and sword lifted at a diagonal angle before her. As the younger beast rushed towards the pirate, and her first reaction was to narrow her eyes. A question, 'what are you going to do now?' rose to the forefront of Rillo's thought, followed immediately by 'what are my options?'

The mouse leapt high and made a swift, acrobatic kick; the rat's gaze followed accordingly. The girl had twisted in mid-air to give more power into the slashing kick, but Rillo was never one to just stand there. The rat shifted as soon as the direction of the mouse's kick was clear, and leftpaw over right, made a counter-clockwise step to Sapphire's turn. Leaning back, Rillo continued the step as she swung to counter the attack. Her swordpaw rose, hefting the cutlass in its own arc to intercept the footpaw on both the blade's and the paw's descending point. Should the two connect, Rillo knew that Sapphire's landing would almost undoubtedly be thrown off. Though perhaps, the least of the effects of a blade to bone meeting, the off-balancing could be only slightly less than any injury actually caused by the cutlass. Armor did have its uses every once in a while.

As for Rillo, she could only hope for a lucky strike that came from a chink in the armor or for a twisted ankle when the mouse became grounded once more.

A fleeting smile of excitement passed over Sapphire’s face as she brought down her footpaw. The mousemaiden was definitely experiencing her adrenaline high. This was what she lived for!

As the rat stepped off to the side, the mouse’s stare latched onto her adversary’s eyes, calmly reading the expression there. Something unusual struck her about the rat: the cold, mongoose-like glare, the single-mindedness, and the stubborn grit. She had to admit, she admired this one’s spirit. Not many beasts had ever stood up to her like that. A bit like me. Even better! The warrior found the rigid glint of fire in the rat’s eyes to be quite amusing; the other rodent was certainly confident in her skills. No matter whether the mousemaiden won or lost, she would still have the pleasure of knowing she had faced a worthy opponent…but now was not the time to be thinking of such things!

Wrenching the amber irises downwards, her cryptic gaze coolly followed the opponent’s sword as it bit through the air to deflect her attack. It was a bit too close to her traveling footpaw for her liking. Sapphire knew that the cutlass would be impacting her boot very soon. Nevertheless, she saw no reason to avoid the edge of the armament. The bits of rust here and there on the blade were a normal oxidized color: the reddish-brown was quite common to most sword metals. No reason to suspect poison; most of the time, rust that had been soaked in strange mixtures turned various colors. Besides, the mousemaiden highly doubted that a searat such as Rillo would have time to be tinkering with complex chemicals.

Certainly, Rillo was demonstrating an uncanny skill with the cutlass; Sapphire could not remember seeing a searat wield their weapons so expertly before. But judging by the length of the sword, Rillo was a middle-range fighter, the perfect complement to Sapphire’s short- and long-range techniques. The mousemaiden’s paws could easily reach the rat once she got in close, and if forced back too far, the curved throwing stars in her weapons holster should supply adequate backup for the long-range attacks. Now for the next move.

The rat had definitely analyzed Sapphire’s uninterested air. Excellent. That meant that she probably considered the warrior mousemaid to be a self-centered, egotistical brat. And that was exactly what the smaller rodent wanted; the show of being an arrogant know-it-all was really just an act, a ploy to lull the other into a false sense of security. Of course, Sapphire was bound to play fair, but Rillo would not be expecting the mouse’s willingness to get down and dirty, or her unusually high pain threshold. Besides, the mousemaid had briefly studied the art of fighting with her medic twin; she was able to effectively conduct nerve attacks and possessed a more than adequate strength. I can do this!

Time became slowed down in Sapphire’s mind, her thought-stream running in a tightly disciplined frame. Rillo was aiming to throw her off balance. She wanted to get in a hit with the blade, forcing the mouse into a different landing than originally intended. Well, I’ll let her do just that. As the armament clanged off Sapphire’s reinforced footwear, it only added momentum to the technique the mousemaiden had in mind.

The downward slash of her right boot gained speed from the impact as Sapphire touched down on her doubled left footpaw; orienting her torso and extended leg parallel to the ground, the warrior spun like a top; pirouetting with her left arm folded at her side and her right extended out, she rose, her paws catching the air and slicing directly at Rillo’s knee, hip, sword, a closer look revealing the muscles that rippled and stretched taut under the fur. Martial skill number thirty-two. The continuous fist! It would take skill for the larger rodent to break the speedy chain attack combination. This technique merged a series of three or more basic attacks into a complex pattern. It required strength, agility, and balance, all of which came into play as the mousemaiden leapt, directing one last thrust kick at the rat’s torso.