The clamor of raised voices reverberated through the halls of the Starpian Senate. The senate floor was drawn into two main sides. Each side struggled vehemontly with outstretched arms and piercing voice to put forth their arguments while insulting and defacing the arguements of their opposition. An elected mediator at the front of the room tried desperately to call the floor to order but his own voice was dissapated in the sea strife before him. Periodically the noise would die down enough for a single voice to call out an opposing view, then the whole of the room would erupt again in response. The pandemonium was finally reaching a breaking point when all clamor in the room ceased abruptly.

The Emperor walked slowly into the room. The deep red robe that clung to his narrow frame trailed slightly behind him across the well polished marble floor. His features, once chizled and sharp, now seemed hollow and fragile. His hair fell about his head in thin white wisps, resting as if the slightest of a breeze would whisk them away. The man still had a princly walk, despite his age, and though his eyes had turned from blue to grey, they were still piercing and fierce.

The great senate hall dwarfed all that were in it. The great diorite columns had a sheen like glass and stood at least a dozen times a man's height. The Emperor made his way to the front podium, which sat level with the floor and slightly below the senate seats which arched upward toward the rear and sides of the room. The mediator gracefully handed over his position to the Emperor and stepped to the side. The Emperor leaned slightly forward, and then began to speak, "I know that there has been strife in the Empire. These years of war have been trying on our nation and on the nation of Alsalsca Dalpha. Although we have won the war in the South, there is still a small remnant of barbarians that have not been conquered who lay waste to the lands around them. The problem with Alsalsca Dalpha will also require our vigilance. Between the disputed lands and the attack of eight years ago, which they still deny, we have reached a critical point diplomatically that has caused trade to suffer, and in the view of some, may lead to another war. I am reaching the end of my days as Emperor. I have ruled for 45 years and now it is time for one of younger, more vigorous blood to take over in my place.

"We all know that the chancellor is a leading contender. Yet his experience and close proximity to the throne is not enough to guarantee his rule. As tradition has mandated, the two leading contenders must fight to secure the throne. On this day, 45 years ago, I did this. And now, it will be done again. I now command the Arbiter of these proceedings, Seles Proco, to take charge and announce the contenders."

A short, stocky man, who must have been in his middle years, came striding forward. He had a closely cropped beard and wore a light suit of armor with deep maroon leather padding and lace. He walked with a heavy stride, but quick, the way a man had to be to mediate sword fights, often dodging blows and holding back contestants. He stood in front of the podium, his long hair tied up and knotted behind his head, the silver highlights in his hair accentuating the scars and lines in his hardenned face. He drew a breath, and then a deep, booming voice reverberated throughout the room, "As it has been done over 900 years ago, so it is done today. Those who have the honor of witnessing this should be counted as fortunate, for this only happens once in a generation. Two men, who through deed, courage, honor, breeding, and skill have reached this point, the point where they must fight over who will gain the throne, who will rule. This test is the final test, and although one must die, it will guarantee that our great Empire will gain the strongest leader. I present to you the first challenger, hailing from the Arctus region of our nation. The Duke of Sha' Felder, the Chancellor of the Empire of Starpia, and the Champion of the Southern States, I present to you Ghetis Virigus."

The Southern Doors openned and an enterage of men entered the room. They were all cloaked in red, the ceremonial color of the Southern States. In the middle of the party, a man of medium height with brown hair and a keen, razor-like face strode forward. His eyes were sharp but supple, and he eyed the room with a decievingly dispassionate gaze, almost as if he was bored. He walked gracefully, without any weight in his steps. He entered his side of the hall, his following spreading out on either side of him. They consulted quietly amongst themselves.

The Arbiter again called in a loud voice, "And the second challenger, hailing from the Siritus region of our nation. The Count of Varago and the Champion of the Northern States, I present to you Anlin Roan."

The Northern Doors openned and another enterage of men entered the room. Their color was black, which hung on them like the shawls of grieving parisioners. The Northern Champion walked with heavy steps, his eyes serious and intent. Reaching his end of the hall, he cast a heavy stare at his opponent, pacing back and forth as he waited for the bout to begin. The Chancellor gazed back, unmoving with his arms crossed and his head slightly cocked, studying his opponent, but not for one moment removing his eyes from him.

The Arbiter made his way to the center of the room. With his thick, calloused hands, he beconned the contenders forward, "Will the Champions step forward please?"

The two men crossed the floor, each glaring at the other as they approached. They met in front of the Arbiter, standing no more than a foot apart. The Champion of the North stood at least a foot taller than the Chancellor, his heavy set build almost dwarfing the Chancellor. The Arbiter quickly attended to the formalities, "Alright Gentlemen, I expect an honorable fight. You have already chosen your weapons, no other weapons will be permitted. This fight is to the death so there will be no quarter granted, but I will not see butchery out there. If for any reason I must stop the fight momentarily, you will go to your side of the arena and wait for my signal to come back out. Go to your sides and take up your arms."

The two went to their sides and disrobed, each revealing a sleek build and a lightly armored suit with leather padding beneath. The Chancellor stepped over to his servant who held a thin rapier out on a white cloth in his hands. The Chancellor delicately picked the sword up with one hand played it back and forth in the air. The air whistled in a high tune as the sword cut through it.

Roan, the Northern Champion extended his arms forward as a heavily burdened servant placed the handle of his sword in Roan's hands. This sword was at least two inches wide and was at least half Roan's height. He quickly hefted it back and forth, making full body swings with it, and jabbing into the air. A low rush sounded as he passed the sword around his body.

A Councilor on the Northern side knudged his companion, "Good, isn't he."

The second Councilor shrugged, "That is yet to be seen, he may be able to control his sword, but can he be good against a man, can he kill with it?"

The first Councilor smiled, "I guess you don't know why we picked Roan. He is actually a minor noble, with no military experience, no territory besides that which he inherited, but he is the most renoun swordsman in the northern part of the Empire. This should prove an easy victory for him. After that, we should have no problem controlling him."

The second Councilor was still skeptical, "I have seen the Chancellor at work with his sword. He kills quickly, and without effort. If your plan to get rid of him goes sour, prepare to move in a different direction. I intend to make peace with the Chancellor once he becomes Emperor. We can still get our ways on things, we must simply be more crafty."

"Craftiness will not be necessary, you will see," the first councilor stated confidently as the contenders began to move out of their corners.

The Arbiter clapped his hands once and the fight commenced. The two contenders circled each other. The Chancellor slowly twirled the end of his sword in front of him, grinning slightly as he danced around the room. Roan lumbered slowly, his giant sword drawn back, ready to swing. The Chancellor pounced, stabbing directly at Roan's chest. Roan desperately deflected the blow and counter-attacked with a swing at the Chancellor's head, cutting nothing but air. The Chancellor persisted, taking stabs at Roan and moving out of the way before the slower contender could react with an attack of his own. The Chancellor faked a pass at Roan's head and took a swing at Roan's arm, making a cut just below the shoulder. The leather in that spot was split open and blood began to well up there, the thick red fluid starting to run down his arm. Roan glanced down in surprise, stepping backward. The Chancellor made a smirk, and then dashed in again. Thrusting and slashing he again hemmed in his opponent's defences. Roan lept back and then took another swing at the Chancellor. The Chancellor ducked under the sword again and cut Roan across the back as he pranced forward. Roan reeled from the cut and quickly retreated across the room.

The second Councilor smirked, "Your Champion is just not fast enough to beat the Chancellor, there are none who can match him. This fight should be over soon."

The first Councilor looked on in awe, "No, I saw his last fight. He was much faster then. He can't be losing now; no, he can't be."

The second Councilor lost the haughtiness in his voice, "Everyone looks better against a lesser opponent. Don't worry, we will find another way. The Chancellor will go to war, I promise you that.

Roan looked at the Chancellor from across the room. The Chancellor stared back, swishing his sword back and forth aggressively, admiring the two fresh cuts he had made on his weaker opponent. Roan charged across the room, running with his sword poised above his head. The Chancellor stood in place as Roan ran at him. Roan took a massive downswing, barely missing the Chancellor as he rolled to the side. The Chancellor sprang up and quickly dodged another blow, slicing Roan across the right ribs as he passed. The cut completely deflated Roan's attack, and he stumbled to his knees. Roan slowly rose back to his feet, his stride unsteady and his sword held low, near the ground, as if he did not have the strength to lift it.

The Chancellor grew more confident, enjoying his seemingly sure-to-be victory. He swished his sword through the air, and then commenced another offensive on Roan, this time to kill him. Dashing inward he thrust and slashed and thrust, changing his angle and quickly pivoting with his feet, so fast that all Roan could do was retreat before the relentless rapier. Brushing Roan's defending blow to the side, the Chancellor moved in for a final, fatal thrust when Roan brought his beast of a sword back around and swung right at the Chancellor. The Chancellor tried to dodge the blow but he could not evade the tip of Roan's sword. A flash of pain erupted in the Chancellor's arm, pulsing down to his hand, and up through his shoulder and into his chest. The Chancellor twirled and hit the ground, dropping his sword to the side. The sword rattled loudly against the polished floor and thick crimson blood splashed on it's white surface. The Chancellor looked at his arm, seeing a deep gash ripped on the side, just below the shoulder. He scrambled quickly to grab his sword and retreated to the side of the room, holding the wound with his other hand, blood slowly pulsing out between his fingers. It was warm, and he could feel fatigue beginning to enter his body as it ebbed out.

"You got lucky on that one Count, but I will still destroy you!" the Chancellor growled. He tried to lift his wounded arm, but could not raise it past his waist. He shifted his sword to his other hand and let his right arm hang limp. He charged at Roan, madly stabbing and swinging at his throat. Roan quickly sidestepped, ducking his head and blindsiding the Chancellor across the side of the face with his free fist.

The Chancellor was sent careening forward and landed sprawled out across the ground. He stood up again, dazed by the fall and surprised at the quickness of his opponent. He came at Roan again, this time convinced that he could take him. The Chancellor was more cautious this time, he advanced slowly on Roan, using his sword to try and hold the bigger contender at bay. Roan held his sword to the side with one hand, leaving himself open to attack. He grinned slightly at the Chancellor, infuriating him. The Chancellor charged, staying out of the range of Roan's sword, quickly darting in and out. Roan blocked the blows for only a few seconds before he attacked. He cut down on the Chancellor and knocked his sword back. The Chancellor quickly retreated, fearfully dodging the now fast and presicely aimed swings. With an upward chop Roan threw the Chancellor's sword back and sweeping his sword around his head he cut through the Chancellor's right leg.

The Chancellor stumbled backwards, the pain written across his face but not betrayed by his voice. The wound was not very deep, but thick red blood ran readily down his leg in a thick stream. He stumbled towards Roan once more, aware now that his end was near. With a final move, he once again charged forward, taking a stab at Roan's face. The sword passed harmlessly by Roan's tilted head and the Chancellor suddenly was stopped, a deep throbbing pain pulsed through his chest, and his limbs failed him.

Roan had impaled the Chancellor through the heart. The blade, which stood out at least a foot out of the Chancellor's back was clean, having been thrust so quickly and so sharply that blood did not have time to stain it. Roan quickly withdrew the sword, this time smearing a thick coat of blood on the blade. The Chancellor fought to make another step, but then collapsed to the ground, his sword repurcussing once as it hit the floor. A pool of blood flowed out of the dead body and Roan stood above it, barely making out his reflection in it. The room was completely silent. There were no murmers nor was there the rustling of feet, just the silent horror of what had just taken place. Roan emotionlessly handed his sword back over to a servant.

The Arbiter's expression had not changed throughout the course of the fight. He quickly knelt by the dead body and inspected it, ensuring that the Chancellor was indeed dead. It was an obvious fact, but tradition mandated this. He then strode over to his aid who had a bowl of water in his hands and a towel over his arm. He passed his hands through the anointed water and dried them on the towel. Another aid handed him a small sword in a green scabard, laid inside a white cloth. The Arbiter held it in front of him as Roan approached.

"In ancient times, those who were to succeed to the throne were often sought after by many assassins who thought to take their title away. This sword, with its poisoned blade, has been their protector for over a thousand years. It is now not so much as a weapon but a symbol of your future lordship of this kingdom. You will carry this blade until you are crowned Emperor." He handed the sword to Roan, "As Arbiter of the succession, I name you heir to the throne of Starpia."