Sometimes I like to take a break from my usual fare and write something with a little more focus on fantasy. There's still a touch of my usual sub-genre in there, but this one is mostly focused on the fantasy stuff.
I wish I could come up with a better title for this, but I'm terrible with titles; but for now, I present to you, my story, appropriately titled: "The Duel"

Content Warning:
Violence (If you think I should bump this up to 'Mature', let me know!)
Lite-Macro
Very mild cursing

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The Duel
Magic is a complex and wonderful thing; an unlimited well of Arcane power found within every life form across every plane of existence, on into infinity. It can be used to study the universe around us in ways not seen through the use of mundane sciences. It can be used to fertilize a field or perform parlor tricks one day, and evoke miracles that shape the future of civilization the next.
All manner of tasks, great and small, important or petty, may be solved by the use of magics; and let me tell you, in all my experience as a Magister of the Windarian Host-Tower, that there is nothing more petty, no greater waste of energy and time, than a mage's duel.
Sure, sure, if an evil wizard were to be summoning the spirits of the damned to lay waste to the world, I'm sure a mage's duel would be entirely called for, and anything but petty! However, that is not the situation most are born from, oh no. Many young upstarts think any argument can be solved in the arena instead of just talking about it like sensible people – and these are mage's for gods' sakes! Scholars! What has the world come to when the highest minds in the world refuse to debate...? – But I digress.
I remember a time when these kinds of duels between mages were so prominent, and such a huge problem that a second astral arena had to be constructed, otherwise the fighting would have poured out into the halls. It was about the time when shamans were allowed to join the Host-Tower...

Thirty Years Ago

Long before I rose to the position of Magister, I was a humble student like any other. I was thin for a bear, scrawny, and much too weak compared to my two brothers – who had all left to join the legions – to continue the family tradition, and so I found myself here, studying the ways of magic.
I was still fairly new at the Host-Tower, an initiate of Conjuring arts, so I didn't particularly understand the contempt for shamans.
I was walking through the main hall, trying my best to carry a library's worth of books and scrolls in my skinny arms. I stumbled about, avoiding passersby the best I could when I suddenly bumped into a young woman.
“Watch where you're going, initiate!” She snapped, before immediately turning her head back to the crowd in front of her and continuing on her way.
“S-Sorry, Ms.,” I stammered, kneeling down to collect my scattered literature. I stopped for a moment, looking forward past the small, but growing gathering. In the center stood a fox, robed in dark blue – the robes of a full-fledged wizard – and a horse wearing what looked to be native garb; it was mostly cloth, but had accents of feathers, small bones, and a couple precious stones expertly decorating her otherwise plain attire. She was from the Atansi tribe, perhaps? Regardless, she was a shaman, that much was certain. They weren't too hard to pick out.
The two seemed to be arguing, and I must say, it was a rather heated one.
A vaguely frustrated sigh sounded out from behind me, “Looks like Lormir and Etria are at each others throats. Again. I swear, that's the fourth time this week.” The figure knelt down beside me, his rune-trimmed robe immediately identifying him as a Magister, “Need some help with that?”
“S-sure, thank you, sir.” I swallowed nervously, the man was Magister Pegason, instructor of Conjuration at the Host-Tower; and my teacher.
“It's no trouble,” The wolf extended his hand and muttered a few arcane phrases. I watched as little, vaguely humanoid wisps of air began to form, each one floating silently over to a scroll or tome before coming together in a small whirlwind. They brought all of the books with them, and left them in a neat pile when they finally dissipated, “There.”
I quickly gathered up the supplies in my arms and stood, “Thank you, sir!” I repeated, bowing my head and being as awkward as one might expect of a first-year student. It usually wasn't until the third that any of us bothered to work on our social skills.
He smiled warmly, Magister Pegason had a much more kindly demeanor than one might have expected of one is such a prestigious position. Sadly, it still doesn't seem too common nowadays either, “You're very welcome. Just try to be a bit more attentive in the future, okay?”
“Of course, sir!” I nearly squeaked, bowing my head once again. He chuckled at that.
Suddenly, the normally lighthearted wolf took on a very grim expression. I wasn't paying much attention to the argument at the time, but it was soon painfully aware that it had gotten even more severe, with wizards and shamans jumping in to join their respective side; and it all came to a head when I heard a bolt of force smack into some unfortunate student's chest and send them flying back into the wall, and immediately knocking them unconscious.
“Enough!” The Magister roared, causing the crowd to suddenly fall silent, “Who was the caster?” No one said a word, “I asked a question. Who cast that spell!?” The crowd seemed to part, with no one stepping forward. Any who had the ears flexible enough had them pressed against their scalp, and there wasn't a tail that wasn't hanging down between somebody's legs.
I don't blame them, either. That was probably the angriest I'd seen Magister Pegason for, or since. I watched the scene, swallowing nervously as I struggled to keep my books from once again falling out of my weak, and now shaking, forelimbs.
“Fine. Don't want to speak? Rest assured, I will find out who you were. Offensive magics are not allowed in the halls, and are never to be used on another student without just cause for self defense!” He began pacing back and forth, the crowd taking a step back whenever he neared their side, “In the meantime, I've had just about enough of this wizard-against-shaman, shaman-against-wizard nonsense! Wizards, It's inconceivable that scholars and 'supposed' intellectuals such as yourselves are willing to ostracize an entire sect of magi, simply because their ways are different than yours; and you shamans are just as guilty, letting your stubborn sense of pride get in the way of your ability to reason! You should all be ashamed of yourselves.”
I swallowed again, taking an involuntary step backwards. It seemed the commotion had drawn the attention of other Magisters and students who were beginning to come in through the adjacent halls. I have to admit, looking back, it was quite funny to see nearly the entire student body, as well as some of the Magisters, in such a state of shock, or even fear at the sight of Magister Pegason's uproar. Especially Cragstin, the old Magister of Artifice. I never did like that crotchety old badger.
“It has come to my attention that this rivalry has caused more unnecessary injuries due to unauthorized dueling this year, than in all one-hundred and fifty years of this tower's history, combined. This can not, and will not be tolerated any longer!” He narrowed his eyes, his fangs showing slightly as his piercing gaze sliced through the already frightened crowd, “Which is why, I propose we end it,” He raised his arm into the air, extending his index finger, “One, final dual in the Astral Arena between a shaman and a wizard. One final show of strength. After this, its over. No more useless dueling to prove 'who's more powerful', no more incessant arguing, no more prattling on about who's methods are more proven or who's more aligned to the natural magics. It's over!”
He seemed to compose himself, straightening his robes and holding his head high, “After it is all said and done, any more of this outrageous behavior will result in expulsion.” Magister Pegason looked around, eying each and every one of the Magisters scattered about the enormous hall, “Any objections?”
Not one spoke.
“Then its agreed,” He turns to Etria and Lormir who were still glaring at one another, “You two. You shall be the duelists. And as for the rest of you. Report to the Second Astral Arena in an hour's time. Attendance is mandatory!”


That was a long hour. I remember sitting in my room, doing nothing but waiting for the enchanted sundial's shadowy arms to make their way around its alabaster surface. The entire Host-Tower was ready to watch their champions, how do you say it... Flex their muscle? Yes, that will work. However the halls remained deathly quiet. I suppose they were all doing the same as me, just watching the time.
Finally, the faint shimmer of the sundial's surface signaled the passing of an hour, and the halls burst into life. I reluctantly followed the stream of students, both wizard and shaman alike, as they filtered through the halls and into the enormous, silver-hued portal that would take us to the Astral Arena.
With the entirety of the Host-Tower inside, the arena should have been packed. Well, it would have been if the demiplane worked by that kind of logic. I still marvel at how they were able to create such a space, most having to exist in a finite pocket attached to one of the infinite planes. It must have taken a dozen of the tower's finest creationists years to form, and that's not even considering the fact that not only did the space expand, but the colosseum too! – Sorry about that... I do tend to ramble.
Anyway... I had to blink and shake my head as I watched the colosseum bulge and stretch outside of what was normally possible. Witnessing something that this for the first time was easily enough to boggle the mind. I couldn't stand there for too long, though, as the crowd continued to surge through the portal behind me, carrying me along with it until they finally stopped coming. At least I had a good view pressed up against the stone bannister.

The arena was situated in a silvery space with a slight purple-hue, but the actual battleground itself was bathed in the sapphire light of magical torches that hung high along its stoney walls, giving it an eerie atmosphere; but I suppose that's somewhat fitting for a game of death, even if no one really dies there.
On opposite ends of the large, open field stood the combatants, and both were already trying to stare the other down. Their pre-battle intimidation was cut short, however, when Magister Keighlan, the official mediator, made his way onto the field. He stood in the center, the deer taking a moment to cast a simple spell before speaking. I nearly had to cover my ears at the sound of his enchanted voice, “This duel, called by Magister Kell Pegason, is to be the end of the animosities between wizards and shamans. On the perceived North side of the arena, stands Etria Plainwalker, specializing in the newly formed school of the Shamanic Arts. And on the perceived South side of the arena, stands Lormir Harborman, specializing in the school of Evocation.
“This duel shall be conducted in the manner deemed fit by the third council of magi in the 213th recoded year of the second era of civilization. The first round, shall be a round of summons. You may use any type of summoning spell you are capable of casting, the winner is allowed to use their summon, should it still be among us, in the following round. The defeated magi must banish their summon and will not be permitted to summon again in the following round.
“The second round is known colloquially as “The Clash”, the duel will continue for one minute, if, at this time, no magi has been claimed the winner, a period of five minutes rest and preparation will be available. During this time, the mages may prepare any spells they would like to cast in the final round.
“The next round, known as the “Finale”, will not end until only one magi remains stranding. Please note, that this battle will not end in true death for the participants. Upon defeat, they will merely be shunted from this plane, with only the possibility of minor injuries sustained. Do you, fellow magi, agree to these terms?”
Both combatants nodded, “I agree.”
“And I, as well.”
The deer nodded, producing a small glass orb from one of the wide sleeves of his robe, “The agreement is sealed. Begin!” The buck dropped the orb, and instantly the two combatants began their summons. On Lormir's side, arcs of yellow energy began to extend out from his head and hands, moving in motion to his voice as they began to unravel an invisible weave in the air beside him. Strands of reality snapped like fabric pulled taunt by the hands of the skilled mage, opening a hole just large enough for his summoned monstrosity to step through. The beast was huge, standing at Lormir's height even when on all four of its legs. It howled, its spine-chilling wail causing even its conjurer to wince as the sound escaped its five-tentacled maw.
Etria, however, remained undaunted. Shamans were known for three things: Their mastery of the natural world, their mastery of their own bodies, and their mastery of the summoning arts. Indeed, there are times when I grow envious of their conjuring prowess. Her display was much less flashy, but no less beautiful. All of her movements were deliberate, but seemed flow together like a dance, her body moving as one with the magical energies that were beginning to faintly grow around her, and her chanting taking on an eerie tone as a fine, blue mist began to drift out of her mouth and form the body of a great feral wolf, as big, if not bigger, than Lormir's abomination. It growled, its translucent, airy body shimmering with a strange eldritch power.
The two beasts charged one another, Etria's wolf leaping into the air and coming down upon Lormir's monster. It began ripping and tearing with its elongated front claws as its teeth found their mark along the creature's fleshy back. The shaman's summon had the advantage, but Lormir's would not surrender without a fight. It wrapped its thick tentacles around the wolf's sides and thrust forward with its lamprey-like mouth, rings of teeth digging into the wolf's stomach and tearing a gaping hole in the manifested spirit.
The wolf howled in pain, but despite its apparent injuries, the spirit still held the advantage. It jerked and twisted its head, sliding it up toward its opponent's thick neck, and tearing away its flesh as it went. Reddish-black blood now littered the center of the arena and Lormir was showing signs of worry. He knew he'd lost. With a sudden, final jerk of its powerful, ethereal muscles, the wolf pulled its head to the side; a sickening snap signaling the downfall of Lormir's beast, its body already starting to fade back into the ether.

I had never seen such a display! Being a conjurer myself, I couldn't have been more excited to see a battle between two great beasts from beyond the plane. I almost found myself becoming just as enamored with the exhibition as those cheering around me. However, one look at Magister Pegason standing completely still, his grim expression bearing down on the battle with utter contempt, drained the energy right out of me. He obviously wasn't impressed; and I imagined his thoughts must lie elsewhere than the grandiose display playing out before us.

Etria's wolf remained standing, barely, but it was still with us, declaring the shaman's victory. The second round, 'The Clash', began as soon as the loser's summon had vanished. The mare ordered her wolf to charge and immediately began casting a spell, energies began to flow into her and a faint glow appeared just above the surface of her fur. I remember hearing several collective gasps sound out around me as the horse began to grow. Her body expanding slowly as she continued her chant. I recall hearing somebody mention this being 'an old shaman trick', but I'd never seen anything like it.
Lormir's expression changed from fear and surprise to pure determination as a visible haze started to form around his right hand. In an instant, the haze exploded to flames, and the fox hurled the fireball toward the shaman. It ripped through the air, growing in intensity as it neared its target, but luckily for the shaman, her summon was intelligent enough to know its master was under attack. The wolf leaped into the air, letting the fireball explode into its side. It howled again, whimpering as it was thrown to the ground, its charred body sliding along the stony floor.
Much to Lormir's surprise, the beast still had some fight left in it, and was back on its feet in seconds, lumbering forward with startling ferocity to meet the advancing wizard. The fox cursed, his arms becoming shrouded in sleeves of dark-gray clouds before unleashing them toward the spirit. It shrieked, the impact of the clouds being much more solid than it had anticipated and sending it back several feet. The spell was not done yet, however, and the clouds began to expand, wrapping around the lupine's misty body and mixing with its fog-like form. A distinct crackling sound could be heard moments before the bright, blue light of electricity surged through the spirit. It yelped, rolling about and trying its best to disperse the dark clouds that had merged themselves with the mist that made the spirit real. It was finished.
Etria's anger had only grown. I'd heard the rumor that shaman's seemed to have a strange bond with their summons, and after seeing the horse's rage, I do not believe that to be unfounded. Before her wolf had even begun to dissipate, the shaman had canceled her spell, holding its effects through sheer willpower as she rushed forward, her twenty-foot tall body lumbering forth with its incomplete strength struggling to pull itself along. Lormir barely had time to react as the horse's massive body crashed down before him, pulled down to the ground by its own weight. A massive hand shot out and wrapped itself tightly around him, the horse seething with still-mounting anger as her fingers began to constrict him.
Lormir yelped, his writhing body not enough to escape from the giant's powerful grasp. Etria let out a slight whinny, a confident smile spreading across her long muzzle as she no doubt felt the wizard's body start to give. The fox squirmed, wiggling his body strategically to one side as he worked to free one of his hands. Etria noticed this however, and began to double her efforts, squeezing as hard as her unfinished growth would allow; but it was all for naught, as Lormir's left arm writhed its way out of its confinement, and launched a bolt of energy directly toward her looming visage. The wild shot found its mark.
Etria shrieked and released her grip, her hand instinctively shooting back to cover her damaged eye. The fox fell to the ground, clutching his ribs with one hand while making arcane gestures with the other. A perfectly round orb of teal magic started to form before his chest, his hand grabbing hold of the ball just as it vanished in a puff of smoke. Meanwhile, the horse found herself back at normal height, her proportionate muscles now allowing her to sit up and rub at her eye; it must have still been stinging, but I guess her increased height came with increased durability as it seemed to remain intact. Both contestants looked at each other before their eyes were drawn toward the mediator who was back in the center of the field.
“This is the end of the second round. Take a moment to collect yourselves before returning to your respective sides. You will each be given five minutes to prepare any spells you would like for the upcoming round.”
Lormir snarled, turning toward Magister Keighlan and saying some words that I shan’t repeat here. Etria's attitude was no different and the mediator found himself under a barrage of curses from both sides. Professional as ever, Keighlan managed to ignore them. The man must have been used to it.
“To your sides, please.” He stated calmly before repeating his previous statement, “... The match will begin on my signal.” With that, he vanished in a glow of orange light.

The next five minutes went about as you'd expect. I was sitting on a side of the arena where a majority of wizards had congregated, and most of the chatter seemed to be about just how lucky the horse had gotten, and how her spell was some kind of dirty tactic.
“Listen to them squabbling, Talan,” said Magister Pegason, addressing me by name for the first time, “They're right about one thing, though. It all came down to luck, for both of them. Lormir would have won if he had hit her with that last spell. However, if Lormir's bolt hadn't hit her eye, he'd have been reduced to a crumpled mess,” Magister Pegason sighed, rubbing hand over his forehead, “I get sick and tired of hearing their excuses. These are two opponents of near equal skill, clashing directly with magical power and putting no real thought into it. We shall see who's luck prevails in the next round.”

It wasn't long before the resting period was over. As expected, Etria had already summoned another spirit, a feral bear this time, with a peculiar necklace of fetishes hanging around its neck. She sat down, beginning to chant, and letting a familiar magical glow encase her form.
Lormir, meanwhile, seemed to be constructing a grid of 'ley-lines' across the floor, and creating some sort of barrier around him. It would be interesting to see what he had planned.
“Begin!”
As soon as the signal was given the bear roared, rushing toward the mage. Lormir smiled, discharging several bolts of lightning toward the charging summon. Only one of the bolts hit, however, the other two seemed to be absorbed by one of the bear's fetishes. The tiny objects then sprang to life, taking the form of large falcons that dove at the wizard, cutting through the weaker topside of his barrier with little effort. The bear, meanwhile, found itself stopped by the front side of the spherical shield, its powerful arms smashing down and clawing at the force field as it roared in frustration.
Lormir was taken completely be surprise by the birds who where soon upon him, pecking and clawing at his head and shoulders with razor sharp talons. The fox flung his arms wildly, knocking one of the birds against the side of the solid field, causing it to break like a glass figure, its pieces fading away into a misty swirl before disappearing entirely. The other bird somehow managed to work its way under his cloak and was doing its best to claw at the vulpine's spine. Lormir panicked, shouting and howling before eventually falling onto his back, smashing the bird beneath it, which I assume shattered exactly like the other one.
He sat up, cursing the shaman for her “trickery” before chanting the words of another spell. He must not have been able to see Etria past the enormous bear spirit, because his attention was focused solely on it, and not on the summoner, a rookie mistake if I may say so myself. He brought his hands up, as a puppeteer holding string just as the spell finished. Three glyphs surrounding the bear, as well as one beneath him finally showed themselves. White lines shot out from the center of each glyph, all coming to meet each other in the middle, and causing a final glyph, a glyph of banishing, to materialize below the bear.
The wizard chuckled slyly, his plan had worked. Shaman spirits might be more intelligent than the animals they take the shape of, but they still acted like them. This meant a charge straight up the middle is to be expected, and it is easy to assume that Lormir saw it coming. He pulled tightly on the 'strings', forcing the bear to the ground in an awkward position before he cross the strings tightly. The bear exploded into a fine mist, not unlike the wolf, before fading from this reality. The whole audience let out a collective gasp. I assume Lormir thought it was due to his banishing spell – which I have to admit, was a good idea – and his tail began to swish. Although red was starting to seep through the back of his robes, the fox felt content that he had just destroyed the shaman's biggest ploy, and before it had a chance to activate any of its other tricks as well! How wrong he was.
The fox's smug smile suddenly faded. I cannot say I didn't see this coming. Being as thoroughly distracted as he was, the fox had given the horse ample time to complete the spell she had already begun during the preparation period, and the results were mind blowing.
The horse stood at nearly one hundred feat tall, the size of a colossus, and looked just as dangerous. She looked down at him, barely measuring to the top of her hoof, and clenched her fist in satisfaction as she took in his frightened expression. He rose to his knees, his ears were flat against his head and he was whimpering audibly, no doubt adding to that satisfaction.
Nowadays, I know many powerful mages, wizards and shamans alike that could pull off such a feat. At the time, however, growth spells of this strength were known only to the shamans, and were rarely used. I doubt any wizard in the room, with the exception of maybe a Magister or two, had ever seen anything like it. I know my jaw was nearly hitting the floor.
She slowly rose her leg in the air, letting the bottom of her hoof hover over him for just a moment before lowering it down. Lormir screamed, throwing up barrier after barrier, creating layer after layer of protection as her foot bore down upon his relatively miniscule body.
You could hear them, each barrier shattering one by one before a brief scream was heard, followed by a sickening crunch and a flash of purple light that shot out from underneath her hoof.
The shaman stood there, a smug look on her face and her tail swishing side to side as the shamans in the arena erupted into a cascade of cheers, which were almost immediately silenced, by a wave of Magister Pegason's hand, “Enough! There, you have your winner. This match is over, and so too is this pathetic feud. This victory between two, very skilled mages was won by luck, and luck alone. It would have been over in the second round had Etria's attack been successful, and had Lormir's missile not hit her eye. However, it would have ended after that if Lormir's next spell had found its target. You are dismissed, but remember what I said today, I am following through with my promise. After today, there will be no talk of this! I'll remind Lormir of this later, though I doubt he'll start anything now,” He looked around at the crowd, any looks of jubulation or frustration being replaced by embarrassment, “I hope I've made myself clear.”
The students in the stands began to file near silently out of the portals, and even the colossal horse in the center was clutching at her arm, a look of embarrassment on her face as well. She knew she'd gotten lucky, she just didn't want to acknowledge it. It wasn't long after that she began to return to normal and promptly exited through the portal that had opened in the center of the arena.

Myself and Magister Pegason were the last ones out. He turned to me, the weariness either gone or now hidden on his face, “So, what did you think of the duel?”
I lowered my head, I loved it. I loved watching the fight, and I loved cheering for one side or the other, but I didn't want him to know that, “I-It wasn't anything special.”
He chuckled a bit, clasping his hand on my shoulder, “Its okay, you can tell me the truth.”
“I... liked it.”
The wolf nodded in understanding, “That's fine. Why did you like it?”
Again I simply froze, not sure of what to say, “I liked watching the display... The spells they cast were simply amazing to watch in action, and... It was fun rooting for a side.”
“Hmmm...” The wolf thought about this for a moment, “And which side did you root for?”
“L-Lormir, the wizard's side of course!”
“No, no. You're lying. You're a conjurer like me. You were rooting for the pretty shaman girl, weren't you?”
I was so damn awkward at that age, its no surprise that my lightning fast answer would give me away, “It's true,” I hung my head, “I liked her use of summons. Evocationists always get all the glory with their fireballs and lightning bolts. I wanted to see spirits!” I stammered a little, hanging my head again, “But... I should've rooted for our side, right?”
“No.”
“No?”
“No. You see, that's why your typically wizard's duels are so wrong. Students always think they mean something, that the winner is the best wizard or sorceress or that the winner is right about whatever it is started the bloody thing. They're wrong though, so wrong,” The Magister let go of me, waving his arm toward the portal, “The arena is an amazing place. Since its construction nearly one hundred years ago, it has played host to countless duels, countless fantastic duels. Duels are not wrong in and of themselves. They are fantastic displays of magic, some of which has never been seen before, between wizards who would never truly meet on the battlefield. They're awe-inspiring spectacles, and I'd never want them to end. But that's all they are spectacles. They mean nothing, and I think that's why I'd gotten so angry.” He clasped my shoulder again, and we began to walk, “As mages, we are all scholars. There should be no animosity between us. We all need to work for the common good of the Host-Tower, the city, and all of the surrounding tribes that we should be proud to call our friends. We are on the same team, as it were, and if there's a problem between us, it needs to be settled in a debate hall, where reason is first and foremost; not in the arena where a gaudy display of powers decides who had gotten the luckiest. I love the arena, and dueling was my favorite pass-time as a young mage. However, a pass-time it stayed.”


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“And that is the philosophy I used when I founded this group, this team of talented wizards, shamans, adepts, and warlocks. We are mages, we are scholars, and the arena is merely for fun. It's a colossal waste of time, but what a wonderful waste of time it is. So let's keep our animosity in the arena, okay?”
The Host-Tower duelists all looked toward their mentor, offering a polite nod or something akin to: “Yes, Magister Talan.”
The bear laughed in response, adjusting his ill-fitting robes, “Alright. Ryna, Torik, you're next. Show me some new summons. I've already seen what your evocation teacher has taught you.”