The Steel Eagle

The sun shined against the steel of armors, swords and shields. It was the thirty first swordsmanship tournament. The clash of swords and roar of men where the only thing you could hear outside the castle. It wasn't a very organized tournament, a group of men gathered in the castle's outside arena and just challenged the person who won the previous battle. The form of defeat: forfeit or first blood drawn by sword. Very simple and fast, but normally the quantity of men where too big to make it a fast tournament, sometimes making it till dusk. This year a new challenger approached, most of the men where familiar to each other or looked alike with various types of cheap or expensive armor, this new man was different. The only armor he wore was a helmet that could pass as a mask, the other parts of his body where covered in cheap clothing and by the look of the sheath on his hip the sword was a thin one. The helmet was beautiful and caught the attention of many, it resembled an eagle with the peak reaching a few inches in front of his upper lip, then wings expanded covering over the eyes and extending outside of his head the rest just a simple slick helmet, nothing else. It was very detailed with what looked like feathers crafted into the metal. The Steel Eagle, that's what people would know him by in the kingdom.

The other men looked at him with over confidence, they where covered in chainmail and plates of steel, no way a thin sword could slash to through that; especially from a man half their size. The mystery challenger was small, yes, but he was ready. He knew how to use his rapier almost to perfection, a weapon rare in it self more so in this kingdom. He had arrived late, it was ok to do that, half of the men where on the floor with gashes, cuts, bruises and other major and minor injuries. All of them had been defeated, some by others beside them, others by the past champion who now was slashing his tenth man leaving a trail of blood to splatter across the dirt. The champion of last years tournament was buff with muscle, he was double the size of the Steel Eagle, and extremely terrifying, well except for him. For the mystery challenger he was an easy target, the easiest target here.

The spokesperson of the tournament called the match and the prince siting in a high chair gave a stiff nod, the challenger knew the prince wanted to fight, to compete against the barbarians underneath him, but he couldn't, it would be unfair to the other participants he was just too talented with a sword and there was also the conflict of interest. The past champion roared and asked for who was going to face him, now the people where scared the past three men to go against him had ended with major injuries and by the looks of it the past champion was going to stay champion, simply by fear. The mystery man smirked and stepped up to the edge of the arena, racing his hand, who was clutched into a fist, the leather gloves groaning with the tension.

"It seems we have a challenger, come over and face the past champion," the spokesperson strained his voice, speaking over the murmurs of the men around them. The challenger nodded and walked to the center of the arena in front of the huge man in chainmail and metal plates. A crest adorned the left part of the chest plate, the kingdom's knight crest, It was one of the rewards, the chance to train and become a protector of the King. The Steel Eagle didn't want that he just wanted the gold and the fighting.

"You have a pair of steel knockers to face me with that thin twig you have there," the past champion laughed at his own words. With a scuff the challenger withdrew his sword, gaining gasps from everyone around him. It was thin and in a triangle shape making it have three edges, it curved inwards a little in all of the sides, who where adorned by glyphs and other beautiful engagements it was his pride, his making. he had re done it over and over again perfecting it more and more with each try until he got it right, he got it perfect. The sword was perfectly crafted to fit him from the edge to the handle. In the sides there where indentation ready to fit his fingers. Sharp edges rarely used for anything, but parrying. The handle fit his right hand to perfection, allowing him to maneuver the sword with great swiftness and speed. The guard was crafted with such intricacy, crafted carefully to let the swords who he let clash with his to slide of without harming him. The weapon wasn't originally meant for himself, but the destined owner didn't walk with the living anymore.