Dread Mage

"What has he done to offend you so?" Sonder asked the mage.

"Offend me? He has done much worse than that. He should be executed for his crimes against my country," he yelled at Sonder and then at Vell.

"Is that a threat?" Vell asked, still calm.

"What if it is?"

A few people stepped in between. They would do anything to stop the scene from devolving into something worse than just words.

An older man put his hands on the afronted mage and told him, "We all know of the history of the Dread Mage, and he has been freed of any wrongdoings by the Nicinean council. It was long ago, and times were different back then."

The mage threw off the older mage's hand and said, "What he has done can't be talked away or forgiven. No help undoing what he did or money or penance could undo it; the only atonement he could give is his own blood."

The older mage again put his hands on the offended mage and told him clearly, without politeness, "If you know what he has done and can do, then I'd advise you to sit down and shut your mouth."

The offended mage only then really realized who he was sitting next to.

Someone he could have only called a war criminal, someone who inflicted atrocities and was then, somehow, forgiven them.

Someone who was responsible for the deaths of a large part of his family.

As one of the last people in the royal line of the now-dead country of Ahsep, he wanted to desperately continue it, but facing the man who was responsible for its demise boiled his blood, and he couldn't help himself.

He proudly displayed his country's coat of arms, and he was a man of honor.

If he ever met the Dread Mage, then he would try to challenge him in a duel.

He would pester him until he would accept, for it was the honorable thing to do—to avenge the dead.

He didn't need to kill him; he mostly likely couldn't, but he just needed to win a duel publicly, show a force of strength, and show that Ahsep wasn't fully dead.

But to him, a public loss would be nothing; there was no reputation to destroy.

He had a surge of confidence and called out to Vell, "Vellichor, for the honor of my country, I must challenge you to a duel."

Vell didn't even have to think about it for a moment and simply answered, "I refuse."

The Ahsepian mage was flabbergasted. "What? Why not?"

"I simply do not want to. Whatever grudge you hold, I have long finished with what is my past." Vell answered.

The other mage simply couldn't believe it. He stammered, unsure what to say.

Vell stood up and beckoned, "Sonder, would you like to take a walk with me around the grounds?"

She took his hand and said, "Yes." And then they walked away, but that wasn't the end of it, as they could only take a few steps before a bolt of mana flew past Vell's head, closely missing it, and it would have if he hadn't moved his head out of the way.

"I will not be denied, Dread Mage."

"Fine, fine," Vell said as he turned. "But I have just one condition."

"What is it?" The Ahsepian mage asked eagerly.

"It won't be between us." Vell declared, "This is an event more for our apprentices, to find themselves a place in our world, right? I have mine here," he indicated Sonder, "and I am sure you have yours too. Let it be sorted by who is the greater mentor."

Pride overcame the Athespian: "Yes." He would have done anything to have a chance to smudge Vell's reputation. "Tomorrow afternoon, in the courtyard."

"Do you want to agree to any rules beforehand?" Vell asked him.

"No, anything is fine with me."

"Gentlemen, please." A mage of the lodge said. The lodge would agree to host a duel, but there was just one thing: "A duel between our kind has but one rule: no deadly force. We aren't savages, no; instead, we are enlightened. We would all know when a clash is truly over."