You and the fox sorcerer have been engaged in several intense fights over the months after your mercenary arm was hired to defend the local village. Some of these great battles had ended in your favor, the other with victory grasped upon his devious palms, but all stalemates must eventually end in a conclusive finale.

You received a missive from an unknown, hooded messenger a week ago. The cloaked man was silenced by coin and discretion for their own safety to answer any questions, leaving swiftly just as he appeared. The letter had written a rendezvous location for another duel - an appropriately chosen graveyard site. The challenger had meant for the next fight to be the last. No signature or identifying name, yet it had to have been the fox if the extravagant cursive bending of an ink quill and the almost tart scent of pinot noir perfumed the parchment wasn't an obvious enough indicator.

Now that you've arrived, the fox had awaited by lording over a tombstone, hands behind his head, seemingly flexing his broad chest and bulging arms. No aggression had shaped his muscular form, but to aim a sinister smile paired with bent, enticing brows, almost as if to seduce his opponent. You stopped in your tracks. The grip on your weapon loosened. The looming battle suddenly transformed into tentative, morbid curiosity, those wagging brows enchanting you closer.

Was it still meant to be a fight? Or was something else the fox had in mind? Perhaps to a villain teetering on brilliance and insanity, dueling and dating were simply synonymous terms.

Art by Asher/ BleydhDu on Twitter.