Forest Confrontation (an open challenge)

[Warlock]

Eddying yellows and churning greens.

A constant thump-thump of some far off tribal tune meshed with the perpetual buzz of time streaming by.

It was hard not to be impressed by the sheer size of it. Everything merged as one became a blur of streaking motion, as all creation was reduced to a few smudges in the air. It was also remarkable that even running one’s fingers through the fabric caused no effect on reality itself; the only visible consequence being the comforting bubbling of the fluid substance around one’s flesh. The orb of the Epoch stave dipped fully into the cloth and lost all of its radiance, while somewhere in some distant system a star was born…

… A great swirling chasm of white tore through the wall of the wooden cottage, blasting white-hot light into the room. From the rapture sparked tendrils of electricity which licked at the wood work of the room, yet left it intact. The vortex remained open barely for a moment before a figure strode out through it. The trails of his robes, momentarily lifted on the wind, whined with the formation of static electricity – though as the final fibre of material exited the gaping hole, this effect ceased, as the fissure itself imploded.

The Warlock looked back at the unharmed wall and gave the tails of his cloak a brush down, before turning his attention back to his humble home. It appeared neither Darmok nor Livyatan were present at this time – for which he was thankful. His studies to them, thus far, were unknown, and he preferred to conclude them before enlightening his brothers.

Today he intended to have a little fun.

A little tomfoolery.

A little pandemonium.

The ward that held the cottage impenetrable and lost to all vanished in a wave of his hand, and in its place a beacon became present. It throbbed with all the power of the staff and suggested treats and fancies to all creatures who would hear it; even the forest critters bent an ear to the soft melodic pulse and contemplated approaching to see its source.

Such small beasts did not concern the Warlock of course, what he was instead looking for was a humanoid specimen.

[SashaKovalev]

Sasha loved to travel. As a child, he had not had such opportunity, and so now, as a knight of the Sith order, he traveled whenever he had the chance.

It was no surprise that he could be found where he was today, wandering the woods.

He had nothing of importance on his mind as he walked, except to take in the sites. He did not worry about losing his way, for he carried with him a compass and other instruments that could possibly lead him back to his ship.

He brushed a bug away as it settled on his arm, and he swatted impatiently at another that managed to get a good bite in before he caught it.

He had been traveling in one direction, but now, off to his left, he felt an odd calling. Something that drew him in that direction. It did not have any feeling to it, good or bad, and so, out of curiousity, he followed this odd sensation that called to him.

It took about twenty minutes of walking through the thick underbrush before he came to a road. And it was down this road that he then walked, relieved to be free of the dense undergrowth of the forest.

In time, he came upon a cottage. And he stood before it for a moment. There was a curious expression on his face, for the place seemed to be inhabited...yet...it seemed to be so remote in location that it surprised him.

He paused there, for something seemed to beckon him to call upon the owner, yet, a strange feeling within the force told him to refrain. He knew which instinct he should trust, yet, he had a curious nature, and wanted to know more of the person who would live in such a place.

[Warlock]

Should the Knights eyes fall to his feet he would see a small beetle. Black and red, the tiny critter scuttled up and over his boot before tottering off towards the cottage. It moved quickly, at once appearing to shimmer, before darting beneath the large oaken door. A trail of ants, too, were moving after it, whilst crowds of birds nested on the thatched roof and a fox bayed at the drain pipe on the side wall as it tried to climb up and through one of the dusty windows. From somewhere around the cottage, a voice seemed to be speaking:

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep or cows.
No time to see, when wood we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

[SashaKovalev]

It was an odd occurrence, what he saw before him. In disgust, he kicked the beetle from his booted foot where it scurried towards the oak door.

Ants, birds, a fox, now, he noticed were all trying to get inside.

At this, he raised an eyebrow. Most everything seemed to indicate that perhaps he should turn around and go back to where he had come from.

Yet...the odd, singsongy voice seemed to tease him, make fun of him for standing where he was. It was almost a challenge of sorts, and this was one knight who would not back down.

He knew not what he would find beyond the door, never considered that it might be death looking back on him. Instead, with assured steps, he began to approach the door, the expression on his face altering from curiousity and relaxation to determination fueled by anger that lay, for now, dormant within him.

Finally, he rapped on the door.

[Warlock]

The wood literally vanished from beneath his knuckles, opening inwards. Unusually, no one stood to answer it.

Inside Sasha could see very little, for it was dark in this room, and only candles on the floor illuminated it. There was some form of symbol inscribed on the wood work, which someone had tried to rub out in vain. Off towards the back of the room was a small spiral staircase leading up into the attic, and a door into a tumbled garden.

“I don’t often get visitors,” a voice said.

It was the kind of voice, had it been able to speak, a snake would have had. Fairly emotionless, yet at the same time somehow laced with a subtle malice, it urged him to find it.

[SashaKovalev]

As the wood vanished beneath his knuckles, the door creaking open, Sasha found himself drawn inwards. It was the morbid curiosity with which one watches a horror movie. Anyone watching would have been screaming for him to turn around and run.

Instead, he stepped inside, taking the door opening as a welcome. He could see very little, for only candles illuminated the room into which he had entered. He did not step in without caution, and looked about as he entered. Through the force he searched for a presence, but felt nothing discernable as either friend or foe. As he peered through the dim light he noticed some sort of symbol on the wood work, and just beyond that a spiral staircase and what seemed to be a back door.

Sasha found himself drawn to the symbol, but turned as a voice spoke.

I don’t often get visitors.

Violet eyes searched but still found nothing. The voice had a certain quality to it that Sasha recognized, at the very least, as one that was familiar with the darkness. Had he not been a Sith, one who had been trained not to feel fear, he might have given up the quest.

Instead, a natural curiosity pressed him onward. He stepped a bit further inside, the door creaking eerily shut behind him.

His left hand out of habit reached for his saber, taking it from his belt to rest in his hand.

“I’m not surprised….” He replied to the unseen voice.

“You aren’t exactly on the beaten path…” He continued to search his senses, trying to understand who it was the was there.

But still, he found nothing.

“Who are you?” He asked, not bothering to ask where, for when the voice wanted to be seen, he figured it would make itself known to him.

[Warlock]

“I’ve heard some call me the spirit of the forest.”

Around Sasha’s feet the markings beneath what looked like a fireplace, long disused, were more clear – a pentagram was scrawled there, with dark chalk, though to any user of magic it was evident this piece was no longer of use. Aside from this there was little decoration to the room. Three stout armchairs sat in a tight circle, with a pile of books between them, and a mirror hung off on the side wall reflecting, curiously, what stood outside of the cottage door (nothing at this time).

“That suits me fine, though it is a lie, of course.”

Sasha, being the inquisitive Sith Knight that he was, no doubt had begun to notice something odd. It seemed that his footsteps were a good deal louder than they should have been, for such calculated placements. Several of them appeared to be coming from up above.

… In the attic, a figure passed a staff into his grip, and strained in the darkness at the speck of light coming from the little staircase…

“Some call me the Warlock.”

[SashaKovalev]

I’ve heard some call me the spirit of the forest.

The voice seemed to be coming from above him, below him, and all around him. He knew this to be a trick – and art of the force, or other sorts of magic. It did not bother him that he was deceived by it and unable to ascertain the speakers location. He knew this to be a trick that event he most talented were often unable to discern.

His eyes flickered back to the marking on the floor, still drawn to it as he had been when he’d first walked in. Around his, the markings became more clear. It was the scrawlings of a pentagram.

That suits me fine, though it is a lie, of course.

Sasha raised his head now. He had heard the footsteps above him and his eyes flickered to the spiral staircase.

Who are you, then, really? He wanted to ask. What are you?

Yet he did not.

Some call me the Warlock.

His head canted in thought. A warlock. This interested him, for recently one of the masters of the order, Malice Draclau had opened up a new world for him. The teachings of the ancient Sith magic. And so, in his curiosity, in his desire to learn more, he found himself at the foot of the staircase.

His saber, though not ignited, was still in hand as it moved to rest on the railing.

“You wanted a visitor.” He stated as he looked up into the darkness, seeing nothing but what his imagination allowed.

“Why?” He asked. His words were not confrontational. Rather, they were curious. He was not naïve, for he was well aware of the potential danger, yet something, perhaps a spell of the warlock, or perhaps his constant lust for adventure that drew him towards the attic.

[Warlock]

“Would you believe me if I said I was lonely?”

A slight chuckle came from the attic, one of an old man that hadn’t laughed in a long time. There was a creak of wood, as the Warlock – presumably – sat down.

“… The wind isn’t quite as talkative as it used to be.”

[SashaKovalev]

Would you believe me if I said I was lonely?

He had raised an eyebrow at this question as it was followed by a slight chuckle.

It sounded as if up in the attic, the warlock had taken a seat.

The wind isn’t quite as talkative as it used to be.

Sasha had actually smiled at this. It was a rueful expression, but one of mutual understanding nonetheless.

“Why stay here then, if you’re lonely…?” Sasha asked, his question being rather logical.

Though his eyes stared at the spiral stairs in front of him, seeing the woodwork, his senses worked to feel the Warlock’s presence. He tried to imagine him, picturing an old man, perhaps of white hair, sitting in a rocking chair above him.

He knew why he had not yet climbed those stairs. It was not fear that held him back, but rather the fact that he had not been invited.

[Warlock]

“I have unbreakable ties. Call them sentimental, if you wish.”

A small serpent-like smile worked over the Warlock’s old lips.

“You know, my voice doesn’t have quite the carriage it once did… perhaps if you came up those stairs you might be able to hear it more clearly.”

[SashaKovalev]

I have unbreakable ties. Call them sentimental, if you wish.

The young knight chuckled softly at this. Sentimental it was, but he did not fault the warlock for it. He had his ties as well, to places that he would always, always, return to.

You know, my voice doesn’t have quite the carriage it once did… perhaps if you came up those stairs you might be able to hear it more clearly.

Sasha raised an eyebrow at this, for he had heard the voice just fine. But an invitation was an invitation, and he had merely been waiting for it to be given.

“If you wish…” He replied, finally beginning to climb the stairs. He was somewhat cautious as he did so, his lightsaber still gripped tightly in his hand. The other rested only for a moment on the railing, rubbing off some of the dust that had settled to see the smooth, well crafted surface below.

He was a smart kid, and though he was wise enough to know his actions could be foolish, he was also too young to care. Adventure called out to him, and without question, he answered.

As he came to the upper steps he could feel the presence seemingly behind him. Midstride, he stopped to cast a curious gaze, and then slowly, his eyes on the warlock, he completed the climb.

His head canted slightly in a curious gaze and the expression on his face was his usual expression – one that carried years of maturity beyond his actual age in its serious countenance. The attic had a faint musty smell to it, the way an attic should. Light shone in only from a few smaller windows.

“Perhaps you’d be less lonely if you were downstairs, rather than up here…” He commented, though the end of his sentence carried a lilt that made it almost a question.

[Warlock]

“There is no one downstairs though, is there?”

The robed man stood from his chair with the ease of a man a third of his age – for he looked as though he was nearing on his late sixties. His face, though shielded by his hood, could be seen as being weathered and showed times scars in a more defined fashion than would be naturally expected.

The Warlock lowered the tip of the Epoch staff out towards the boy. “Who, pray tell, are you?”

[SashaKovalev]

There is no one downstairs though, is there?

Not anymore, no, Sasha thought to himself. This attic area seemed an odd place for someone to spend their time, especially when there was so much light downstairs, and the life from the outdoors seemed to spill inside. But everyone had their quirks, and he allowed this one to the Warlock. So he liked hanging out in deserted attics….did it really hurt anyone…?

Sasha watched as the Warlock stood with ease from the chair in which he had been seated. This surprised the young knight somewhat, but not enough for alarm.

His violet eyes drunk in the weathered appearance of the man’s face. It was shrouded by his hood, but to a degree, Sasha could catch a glimpse of him.

He found himself on guard as the man’s staff was lowered and pointed at him. Though he did not seem concerned by any other way, his eyes would have given away the fact that he was indeed on guard as they widened at first, then narrowed in a determined gaze.

Who, pray tell, are you?

“Alexander.” He replied easily, speaking for perhaps one of the first times what he knew his true name to be. He had always known himself to be Sasha Kovalev until recently. Through a series of events he had learned his name to have been Alexander Donovan at birth, later Alexander Millard as his father betrayed the Templis cult and reclaimed his name as Millard, and in the end, Alexander Kovalev when he and his mother had gone into hiding. He still went by Sasha to most who knew him, for it was how he mostly knew himself.

“But most everyone calls me Sasha.” He added, leaving it open for the warlock to call him what he wished.

He did not explain that he was a knight of the Sith Order. The last time he’d announced this, he’d only managed to enrage those who he had been speaking with – mainly members of the Black Hand.

He took a step back, putting distance between himself as a precautionary measure.

“Am I to believe that if some call you the warlock, they have a reason to do so?” He asked, his question insinuating that the man practiced magic of some sort. It was about this that he was curious. Malice had recently shown him a few of the delights of Sith magic, and this had set him on a quest to learn more about the general practice of magic, and those who practiced it. He knew this quest was a dangerous one, for most witches and warlocks were not the friendly sort, but he was young and his hunger for knowledge sometimes blinded the foolishness of his pursuits.

[Warlock]

“Then I shall call you Alexander.”

The man’s free hand drew back his hood to reveal his face fully. It was not as old as it had looked in shadow, but must had been nigh on sixty. His lips were tightly pursed, and his skin looked as though it was stretched; meant for a head far smaller than his. His hair, or what remained of it, was straw-like in colour, though was lank with grease and matted back against his scalp (its length was such that the strands reached just to the base of his neck).

“… And yes, they do call me it for a reason – that is because I have no other name.”

The Warlock smiled another thin smile.

“Or rather, no name they are aware of. It gives a certain air of … power to be address by such a moniker, or so I have come to understand, therefore I have no qualms with it.”

The staff he held was again passed from one hand to the other, “I practice what you might call ‘magick’ also, which I believe benefits the title.”

[SashaKovalev]

Then I shall call you Alexander.

This would be a first for him, for even his uncle called him by Sasha. But that was fine. He was ready for a change in his life anyway. He was ready to become a man, rather than the boy everyone always determined him to be, and perhaps a new name was the beginning of that.

As the Warlock pulled back his hood to reveal his face, Sasha was surprised to see that he was not quite as old as he looked, though the stretched appearance of his skin did give the Warlock a rather…creepy air about him.

His eyes continued to watch the Warlock as th staff moved from one hand to the other.

I practice what you might call ‘magick’ also, which I believe benefits the title.

His eyes narrowed in curiosity.

“What do you mean, what I might call magic?” He asked.

“What kind of magic is it….?” He felt his muscles tighten naturally wit this question, and if the answer would be the use of the magic upon him.

[Warlock]

“The kind with rabbits, and hats, and decks of cards,” came a reply, coated with sarcasm befitting of the old mans voice.

Perhaps to Alexander this magic was something else. Perhaps the Subryn had been out of the loop for so long that what they perceived as magic was now common knowledge and used by many for the greater good … and greater not-so-good. Yes, part of his ‘magick’ was essentially the Force, but there was something a little more secretive, a little less easy to define about it.

“… Magick involving time, space and the manipulation of it.”

[SashaKovalev]

The kind with rabbits, and hats, and decks of cards.

Sasha sighed, a mixture of annoyance and anger. He was generally a serious kid, and he hated it when others didn’t take him seriously. Not to say he didn’t have a sense of humor, for he did, but his question had been asked in earnest.

Magick involving time, space and the manipulation of it.

He considered this before speaking again. The force did these things, yet there were other kinds of magic out there – Sith magic, that he knew something of, and so many, many others.

“How did you learn it…..?” He asked, hoping this might help to tell him something more of it. As he asked the question, he cast a quick glance around the attic, taking in the surroundings purely out of habit.

[Warlock]

“My brothers and I, in our Coven, have studied it for hundreds of years… it has been passed down from generation to generation, expanded and built upon by each sect who practices it.”

The staff pulsed a dull green for a moment, before the light subsided at a simple glance from the Warlock.

“… You practice a magic too, if I am not mistaken,” he stated plainly.

[SashaKovalev]

Sasha nodded in a slow acceptance of this fact.

"Yes, I do." He replied. Two forms in fact, if the use of the force was considered magic. Sith magic, an ancient form of magic he was learning bit by bit from Malice, a master in the order. And the force, well, he'd been using that for some time now, to the point where it didnt require as much thought at it once had.

"But how...how is it different, the magic I use from the magic you use?" He asked. His gaze shifted to the staff for a moment, and then back the the Warlock.

[Warlock]

“Mine is a much more delicate art than the chaotic incantations you and your brethren work. It is focused on a single area and was given to me as a birth rite…”

One boot lifted and stepped forward, followed by the next. The Warlock raised his staff and pushed the orb against Sasha’s chest, frowning as he did so. There was an unfamiliar glint in his eyes.

“It is people like you who corrupt the balance, who ruin what we the Subryn have strived for.”

[SashaKovalev]

Mine is a much more delicate art than the chaotic incantations you and your brethren work. It is focused on a single area and was given to me as a birth rite…

He knew even before the booted feet began to advance on him that the Warlock hardly approved of him or his practices.

And as the Warlock stood before him frowning and raised his staff, pressing it against the young knight’s chest in what Sasha could only understand as confrontational, he stood his ground, though his heart did begin to beat perhaps a bit faster. A fight or flight response to a possible stimulus.

It is people like you who corrupt the balance, who ruin what we the Subryn have strived for.

He took a step back, trying to shake off the discomforting feeling of the orb against his chest.

“How do I throw off the balance?” He asked. He was but one young knight of many in the galaxy. How was it possible that someone as insignificant as himself could be the cause of throwing off the balance? And what balance, exactly, was he disturbing? What area of magic did he know? And how had it been given as a birth rite? There was much he wanted to know, and he wasn’t sure the Warlock was going to give him an opportunity. In fact, he had a pretty good idea in his mind that he wasn’t.

It was beginning to dawn on Sasha that perhaps he had once again put himself in a rather dangerous predicament. And finding his way out of this one wasn’t going to be easy.

[Warlock]

“There are some things mankind should not dabble in, things he was not meant to see or to do, yet for some reason he blindly runs into. It is always the same … if a button says ‘do not push’, mankind will queue to push it and see what catastrophe it causes.”

For the first time, it was noticeably that though somewhat frail the Warlock had a fairly well toned structure. His muscles were thin but looked as though they would allow him to hold his own in a small bout of combat.

[SashaKovalev]

There are some things mankind should not dabble in, things he was not meant to see or to do, yet for some reason he blindly runs into. It is always the same … if a button says ‘do not push’, mankind will queue to push it and see what catastrophe it causes.

Sasha shrugged.

“But I don’t get what the problem is…” He stated.

“How are you expecting mankind to know what they should or should not be dabbling in?” His hand came to rest on the butt end of his blaster that he wore simply out of habit.

“I mean, I certainly didn’t get any sort of rule book handed to me the day I learned to read telling me what I could or couldn’t do.” He added with the usual impudence of a kid his age.

[Warlock]

“No, you didn’t. But you should have,” the Warlock replied, his brow scrunching tightly up in a frown.

“You poke your noses in anywhere you think there may be gain, profit… hedonistic miscreants.”

There was a sharp whistle of air displacing as the man spun away from Sasha, nimble as a young man. He turned on his heel and stalked away a few paces, holding the Epoch staff with an unusual strength. The orb was now beating a mixture of faint green and red.

“… and you feel no remorse for your faltering. Vile bastards.”

[SashaKovalev]

Sasha watched as the warlock spun away and then stalked a few paces further.

… and you feel no remorse for your faltering. Vile bastards.

Sasha’s head canted and he raised an eyebrow. At this point he wasn’t sure exactly what he was being blamed for, but he had a pretty good feeling it was for every mistake mankind had ever made.

He eyed the staff, not trusting what it would eventually be used for, and then the Warlock himself.

“If I felt remorse for every mistake Ive made, I’d spend more time praying for forgiveness than learning from my mistake and moving on.” He responded.

“I think my time is better spent learning and not making the same mistake a second time.” He added as he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

“Not everyone is perfect.” He added, petulance entering his voice.

[Warlock]

The Warlock drew in a sharp breath of distaste. Clearly, the man had no reason to be angered at Sasha, yet still seemed to be collecting his hatred towards him.

“Do not take such a haughty tone with me, boy, else time will afford you a new lot in a fresh grave!”

[SashaKovalev]

Do not take such a haughty tone with me, boy, else time will afford you a new lot in a fresh grave!

Boy….he was always and forever being considered a boy. He wondered how long it would take before he moved from this phase to the next one – where he would only be considered a man.

He sighed softly, perhaps looking both chastened and annoyed by the Warlock’s response.

“I just don’t think I should be held accountable for everyone else..” He muttered in reply. His cheeks were flushed slightly in annoyance and humiliation at being reminded of his young age.

“Why did you really want someone to visit you here?” He asked, getting the feeling throughout this exchange that the Warlock had something more than a simple visit planned.

[Warlock]

“To provide a test of mettle.”

The Warlock uttered the words quickly, and as he spoke them they seemed to merge in with other whispered statements from around the room as the ‘magic’ the old man used gathered itself towards him.

[SashaKovalev]

To provide a test of mettle.

As these words were spoken, Sasha could feel it. Could feel the power gathering and in an instant he knew that he had allowed himself to be led into a trap.

The lightsaber he’d held in his hand now sprang to life, the orange blade igniting with a snap-hissss.

His violet eyes narrowed.

“Its no wonder you don’t get many visitors if this is the welcome that they get…” He stated, his voice carrying anger – mostly with himself for having been fooled into the situation he was in.

[Warlock]

“Not all enter to such a reception, only those who deserve it,” the Warlock replied, as his eyes glinted with a hint of fear at the sight of the lightsaber. He knew the Epoch Staff was crafted to resist such things, but he had neither the speed nor strength to engage in direct combat. Only by keeping the boy at arms length would he ensure victory.

And so he began – the orb of the staff drove outwards and with it sent a wave of compressed energy equal to a Force push.

[SashaKovalev]

Sasha hadnt yet battled one with a weapon as this Epoch staff and so it was with mild caution that he chose to proceed – just until he could test the waters a bit. He blast from the staff shoved him back a bit, but brought no further harm to him.

This did not mean it was not capable of such things, of course, and so he kept this in mind as he faced his challenger.

“For one who spoke so boldly of meddling fools earlier, you seem to have a bit of it in yourself…” He taunted as he recovered his footing and began to inch toward the warlock.

“Does your destruction of me – your attempt to destroy me not meddle in the natural way that history should fall…?” He asked, his violet eyes narrowed and his saber held ready to defend.

He wanted – what he truly wanted was to slice the staff in half – and then see what the Warlock had to give him then. The old man had begun this, and in doing so had ignited the anger within the young Sith – anger that lay dormant until provoked.

[Warlock]

The Warlock drew his weapon into two hands, and began a quiet muttering that seemed to somehow carry on even once he addressed Sasha:

“Whatever comes as a consequence of my actions is the will of history itself; I am its prophet, and as such can do no deed to defy it.”

[SashaKovalev]

“You’re crazy, is what you are…” Sasha muttered under his breath.

He did not advance, for he was still wary of the staff. He had learned his lesson about making foolish attacks when he’d faced Silus Xilarian and found himself only a few inches from being gutted by a lightsaber.

Instead his violet eyes came to rest upon an object in the attic just beyond the warlock. It was nothing more than a metal bucket, used probably for gardening or some other activity of the sort.

It was not a magic bucket, but with the use of the force it flew easily through the air, aimed strategically at the back of the Warlock’s head as he continued to gather the power of his magic.

[Warlock]

The projectile was somehow sensed, and the old man whirled to face the direction from which it approached. The blunt end of the staff rose upwards and with a thrust drove against the bucket, knocking it away back into the dusty recesses of the attic.

A fire burned in the Warlock’s eyes.

He turned on Sasha and hissed through his teeth as he brought the Epoch Staff, ceremoniously, up into the air. It throb with light now, and as he pushed it outwards it sent a much stronger wave of energy across towards the Sith, aiming to topple him back off down the stairs that had brought him into the Warlocks presence.

[SashaKovalev]

He hadnt expected the bucket to be the end of it. Not by any means.

Nor had he expected such a strong blast of energy to come from the staff. It was not like a force push, but it was not dark lightning either. It was somewhere in between, perhaps and the stinging shock of it knocked the wind from him.

He stumbled back, though not quite to the stairs or back down them. He had been knighted because he was a capable warrior - though perhaps at times too impatient of one. His lightsaber was still gripped tightly in the palm of his hand and as he inhaled his first gasp of air, he took a step toward the warlock.

Anger was on his features now, his violet eyes narrowed and his jaw set in a stern line.

"You wanted a test of mettle...." He stated, his voice low and devoid of fear.

"Is there anything to you besides that staff of yours?"