They had wooden knives with red dye, and were very stealthy on their feet. They came silently at the hellkin, but not to kill. This was merely a test of skill. -- BKF
Of all the truths known to the Martialist community, one is whispered amongst students: Only a Master can beat a Master.
It had rustled its way through the student accommodations in Hidden Cloud on the day that a seventeen-year-old Hellkin had defeated Master Bai in a duel. For weeks, the entire Dojo worried that the devilborn they all despised would take over the place. Their worries were unfounded.
That was decades, and numerous adventures ago. That selfsame Hellkin had not only grown up, but also grown into an old man. Finding innovative ways to teach his students or, as it happened, test his Adepts.
For this occasion, the retired King wore white.
It's a shocking sight to those who are his neighbours. Normally, the only white on him was the blue-white of his grey curls. He favoured darker colours, and drab ones, claiming that they were better for blending in. Considering that he was a cerulean blue Hellkin, people just had to take his word for it.
He was strolling through the streets of Dromlynne, white clothes gleaming in the sunshine. Pretending complete ignorance of the shadowy figures stalking him. They were Adepts looking for the rank of Master.
Out of respect for their teacher, they were not causing lasting harm. Their knives were toys, blunt wood in the shape of daggers, with sponge or rag attached to the 'blade'. Which, in turn, was loaded with harmless colourants.
They'd wash out, and the loser of this exercise would be at the washtub with the soap.
Kosh was always a firm believer in sufficient motivation.
Of course, the great challenge was to put a mark on a naturally paranoid and guarded man. His reasons were rooted in his youth, and he never surrendered on the habit.
It had kept him alive for ninety years.
Each of the competitors had technically reached Master status by passing the Whitekeep Gauntlet unharmed. But getting one over on their Master by getting past his guard? That would make it officially official.
Theoretically, the first to make a mark on the old man would win bragging rights for the rest of their lives. The second would be similarly proud of himself and be able to tell stories about it to their students.
Theoretically.
Kormwind Arachis Felbourne Whitekeep (ninth of his name and 'Kosh' to his friends) had seemingly slowed down as he approached the rank of centenarian. He walked with a cane and frequently paused to help anyone who seemed to need it.
Getting innocent civilians tangled in Martialist affairs was against the rules. So the Master-Adepts followed as covertly as they could. Watching. Waiting for an opening. Coiled and ready to strike at a moment's notice.
That moment was long in coming.
Fevra kept her 'knife' in a guarded position as she crept along the rooftops. Watching Master Kosh in his glowingly white suit. The old man wouldn't give them open chances and she knew it. The test was whether or not they could strike in a split second. Only hitting their targets and disturbing nothing else.
The ability to do so undetected by any others was also the test. This was the Art of Shadows, so they had to be as unobserved and unremarked as a shadow.
Strike quickly, quietly, and accurately... or not at all.
Fevra found her moment when Master Kosh turned to walk through an alley shortcut. In a filthier town, the only witnesses would be rats. She leaped off the rooftop, 'knife' ready to strike...
...and found herself staring at an upside-down street, her sandals pointed at the sky. Master Kosh had thrown her across the alley so quickly that she hadn't seen him move.
"Nice try," he said as she righted herself. "A normal target would never have heard you." He offered his free hand to help her up.
In that moment, Fevri had an idea. It was based on one of his lessons from her childhood: If your target hands you an opportunity - take it.
She grasped his hand. Let him pull her to her feet.
And slashed her 'knife' across his chest.
Master Kosh laughed at the crimson mark. "Ach. You got me, you sneaky little villain." For all the insult, it was dripping with affection. "You may claim yourself the first to ever get one past Master Kosh."
If her sandals met the cobbled streets thereafter, she did not feel it. And, further to the bargain, Master Kosh bought her her favourite treats at the nearest cafe.
[Photo by Linda Gerbec on Unsplash]
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