The Adventures of Reg and Gerian

One

         I knew exactly what I was doing.
         Despite evidence to the contrary – namely, lying flat on my back on the forest floor with a heavily armored knight standing over me with a longsword – I was in total control of the situation.
         “Monster,” my persecutor snarled. “You dare to tarnish the reputation of Lady Quinafel and think you can simply walk away?” His sword inched a bit closer to my jugular vein. I let him pose there like that awhile, not the least bit worried that the blade would descend. Apparently he wasn’t as optimistic as I was and started to lunge at my neck. Time to make my Big Move.
         I rolled out from under the blade, leapt to my feet and swung my own sword up towards him. Very nice on my part, smooth and efficient. Pity he didn’t appreciate it as much as I did. He reacted and brought his blade up to parry my stroke with little effort. I pivoted on the ball of my foot, swinging about in a vicious arc aimed at his midsection. Again, he gracefully bent back, out of the way.
         “Will you cut that out,” I said dodging another swing aimed at decapitating me (he seemed to like that idea). “How am I supposed to hit you if you keep jumping around like that?” I parried a third blow and thrust my own sword forward. We danced around the small clearing like that for a while, each of us making a fine display of swordsmanship but never actually connecting with our opponent except to parry a shot away. He would strike and I would dodge. Then I would make a fantastic slash that would leave many an opponent on their knees before me. But did that impress the knight? Noooooo. Sir Steel-toes would simply leap out of harm’s way. It was very frustrating, and being frustrated in the middle of battle is never a good thing. Perhaps the clearing we chose for this exercise was bit too small. I charged and snagged my foot on a tree root landing oh-so-gracefully on my face, barely missing my own sword in the process. This last fact was much to the knight’s dismay for I rolled onto my back to see him poised over me (again) with his sword intent on removing my head from my shoulders.
         “Now you die, scum,” he said. My own sword had been kicked aside and I was quite literally caught between a rock and a hard place (namely a tree). All pride aside, now I was in trouble. Time to call in reinforcements.
         “Reg! Oh, Reg! Now would be a good time to make an appearance!”
The knight laughed. “Not so confident now. Where is this friend of yours? Is he more a man than you are?”
         I grinned. Know why I grinned? Because the smirk was about be wiped clear off of this idiot’s metal plated face. The knight turned to the sound of trees rustling behind him and very quickly forgot about me as Reg walked into our little battlefield. I will be the first to admit that Reg is more of a man than me. And at twelve feet tall, Reginald Tupillil is exactly twice the man I am. But then again, Giant blood will do that to someone.
         Now, on the rare opportunities Reg gets to make a dramatic entrance, his opponent will typically freeze for about two seconds and then run like hell. Every once in a while though, we find an adversary with more courage than wits and get to have some fun. I had to hand it to the man in the tin can. He charged forward and attempted a swing at Reg who grabbed him by his sword arm and hoisted him into the air until they were eye to eye. He plucked the sword out of the knight’s grasp and tossed it into the underbrush. Then he just stood there for a second staring straight at the little man he held.
         “What am I going to do with you?” he said, shaking his head. He very carefully set the knight down on the ground. Then he tapped him smartly on the noggin with his fist, and Sir Steel-toes was down and out of the game.
         I got to my feet and brushed moss off of my clothes. “Took you long enough.”
         “You seemed to know what you were doing.”
         “I did know what I was doing.” I crossed over to him. “Don’t go making assumptions about things you didn’t see.”
         “Whatever you say.” He headed back to the road.
         “Well,” I said, jogging up to him, “at least the whole affair is finally over.”
         “What was he after you for?”
         I sighed and grumbled under my breath. “Lady Quinafel.” Reg put a fist to his mouth and strangled a cough as I glared up at him. “Do not laugh.”
         “Well it’s all you deserve.” He looked down. “You did, after all, insult her honor.”
         “I did no such thing! If you’re so sure of yourself, Mr. Chivalry, next time we deal with a client like her you can do the talking.”
         “You called her a fat, pompous, old, peacock.”
         “Her headdress was a mess of feathers out to there! It was perfectly fitting. And given the fact that she snubbed us half our agreed upon fee for services, she’s lucky all I did was insult her.”
         “And given her status in that province, you’re lucky all she did was send a knight out after you.”
         I scoffed and changed the subject. “That tin plated buffoon’s fighting style was so out of date it was ridiculous.”
         “So that’s why you called me in. To demonstrate how it should be done.”
         “Exactly,” I said with my head held high. “Knights these days are so obsessed with honor and virtue that they have lost respect for work such as ours.”
         Reg smirked in my direction. “Neither you nor I shall live to see the day a knight respects our profession.”
         I glared up at him. “Professional fighters are a lost race. The others who prefer to throw their careers away following their stupid codes of honor are not worthy of our talent. We…yes we, are the last true Men of the Road.”
         “Well, despite their lack of artistry, they are, however, guaranteed a steady income.”
         “Oh, shut up,” I said. “There’s another province two days away. We’re bound to find plenty of work there.”
         And here I suppose is as good a place as any for proper introductions. My name is Gerian Drows; my illustrious partner, Reginald Tupillil. Our occupation: professional swordsmen – specialization in hopeless causes. Don’t laugh! Hopeless causes is a very prestigious commission. Essentially it means that we’ll take jobs that no one else wants or has always failed at. In addition to bragging rights it also allows me to jack up the price to a level where we can usually live more comfortably than others in our profession. Well…at least until we spend it all.
Okay, so maybe things weren’t all sunshine and lollipops for us. But no one ever said the life of a mercenary was easy. So, leaving Sir Steel-Toes asleep behind us, we headed off into the next province, looking for fame, fortune, and adventure wherever it may be.