"I see. Where are the elves, exactly?" he asked solemnly. "Everywhere and nowhere you try to find them," Gorm said. "That's not very helpful," Bashir replied. "Their leader, Gwili, has taken it upon himself to make us his prisoners, and so we're here awaiting our inevitable, slow deaths," Gorm said gravely. "Or perhaps something worse," Bashir replied.
He knew what the elves were capable of, and knew exactly what happened to many unsuspecting travelers who crossed their paths. Bashir looked up at the rock where Gwili once stood.
"Perhaps up there, I shall get a better view of what lies around us," he said. "That's where he stood, so I guess it's a decent spot," Gorm shrugged and uncouthly spat as Bashir passed and climbed the large rock.
He was a little short of breath when he reached its peak, but noted upon a trail that he had never seen before. He looked carefully, trying to see if he could find any shapes or colors that did not occur naturally.
His eyes caught the tip of a curved shape with a string tied tautly to it.
"Gwili! I know you and your men are here, so step forth and let us decide what is to be done," he shouted. There was rustling amongst the small bushes that lay about, and one by one, the elves began to appear. Bashir descended from his vantage point and made his way to the center of the pass.
"Not so well hidden after all," Gorm said with a grin. "Shut your trap," Gwili said, punching Gorm in the face. Gorm put a finger to his nose and saw that the blow caused blood to run out of his nostrils. "Heh, didn't know you had it in you to beat an unarmed prisoner, you pointy-eared cuckold," he spat the blood that ran down the back of his throat.
"Gentlemen," Bashir said, holding his hands up in an attempt to prevent a violent breakout. "We stand here atop the pass on this magnificent morning, let us converse first before we trade blows," he said calmly. "Talk then hit? What kind of stupid tactic is that?" Gwili spread his arms as he scoffed.
"Politics," Bashir replied with a grin. "Now, the situation, from what I gather, is as follows: Gorm wants my head for he wishes to regain his queen's honor, while you, Gwili, wish for their goods and armor, and I simply want to pass through to avenge my murdered son," he began. "Wow, your powers of deduction are truly superb, King Dipshit," Gorm said with a bow in jest which Bashir shrugged off.
"Now, this can go one of three ways: The first being we all kill each other until the last man, although I find it rather hard to believe that only a few men can take on the army I have behind me," he gestured behind him, making Gorm's eyes grow wide.
"The second is that my army and I pass through, while the elves deal with their prisoners in any way they see fit," he continued. "And what of my honor as a knight?" Gorm asked with a snarl as he stepped forward, making Ari nearly draw his blade.
"I care greatly about one's honor, and if you had only shut your mouth, you would hear the third way we could play this out," Bashir snapped, silencing the captain.
This son of a bitch, Gorm spat.
"For the third and final option, I propose a duel between Captain Gorm and General Ari; seeing as how he is so willing to disembowel you," Bashir said, gesturing to Ari, who breathed heavily. "Should my man win, the elves may do what they like with you and the remainder of your hunting party. Should you win, we would then strip you of your armor, giving it to the ever-so-patient elves, and take you as our temporary prisoners back to Coltend, where you belong," he continued.
"And then what? You're going to kill us anyway," Gorm said angrily. "I find it hard to believe you have already forgotten that I care greatly for one's honor," Bashir shook his head. "We would not kill you. Well, at least not immediately, anyway. You would have the chance to rearm and recover from your ordeal, gather your men and face us on the battlefield that is to be your great city," he continued, spreading his arms wide.
"A fine way for a knight of honor to die, don't you agree?" he continued. Gwili remained silent, pleased that two of the three options spelled success for him, while Gorm mentally went over the possibilities for a moment. After a small amount of thought, he finally looked back at Bashir.
"I accept the duel between myself and General Piss-ass," Gorm said with an evil-looking grin aimed at Ari. "Excellent! Ready yourselves, men!" Bashir raised his arms.
Gwili whistled a bird call, and an elf brought Gorm's longsword, handing it to him, immediately feeling comfort in having it again. Ari drew his large scimitar with intricate details carved into the pommel and ivory handle. He pulled the tie that held his shield and grabbed it firmly, as they approached each other carefully.
"Let the duel begin!" Bashir commanded loudly.