Tales of Draeth
High Elf Duelist
Syllo was raised in the Stonehome Mountains like most other Sun Elves. He spent his early childhood spying on the soldiers practicing their swordsmanship and becoming enamored with their graceful fighting style, more of a dance than a fight. He wanted nothing more than to master the art of the sword.
In his hundredth year, he finally joined the armed forces like all the others his age are forced to do in order to protect the lands. After finishing his initial training exceptionally quickly, he came to the realization that he was better than most of the soldiers he once admired as a child. Other soldiers, if you could even call them that hardly cared about training in the sword as Syllo did. As military service is required, none of the other elves cared about their training and focused on crafts and socializing. In only a few short months, Syllo could easily any other elf in a duel.
Syllo was not drawn to the sword because of its power though. He was drawn to the grace and beauty of the duel. But, in all of his duels, his opponents had not grace, and simply fumbled against him as he effortlessly weaved around them. As he got better, he only became more frustrated that his opponents were no match for him in the dueling ring, so he started toying with his opponents and placing artificial handicaps on himself. His handicaps became harder and harder until he defeated two opponents at the same time by forcing them to score on each other. The other just thought that he was only showing off and refused to take part in any more duels with him if he continued to play with them like that. Syllo had no problem with that since he wanted nothing to do with anyone who could not help him on his path to master the sword. From that day forward, he trained by himself.
A month later, Syllo was training by himself on the mountain as the sun started to peak up from the horizon. Syllo slashed and weaved against imaginary opponents, trying to improve his skills against his only worthy opponent, himself. As he lunged and rolled, a giant cloud passed through the mountain, surrounding him in mist. As he continued to swipe and step, he admired the disturbances in the air his rapier caused as it swished through the air loudly. When he concentrated on the mist, he could almost see his imaginary opponents as the tendrils of mist as his rapier poked holes in them. One tendril of mist looked more lifelike than most, and as he thrust his rapier towards it, he swore he could see it move to dodge his strike. Thrusting again, the mist eluded him another time. He took a swipe and felt a pressure in his arm as the form smoothly guided his blow above it with a tendril of mist, making him miss the shape by hardly an inch. Before he knew it, Syllo was fighting with this creature of the mist. Every strike he made was perfectly parried and every step he took was perfectly matched. As they fought, Syllos could hear his blade singing through the air, hear the faint hum his sword made when their blades crossed, and could feel the rhythm of the fight as he and the mist fought. Syllo realized that it was not a fight, but a dance, the Dance of Blades. He knew what his goal would be from then on, to master the dance. And just like that, the mist vanished, leaving Syllo alone on the mountaintop. Syllo jammed his rapier into the mountain, vowing to return when he was a worthy opponent for the mist.