aka Caethan Farkas Thornecroft
[OCC: 7 Justinian, 9:29 - Redcliffe Docks - Late Afternoon - tag @Mara Kerr and Rabbit!]
Standing along the edge of the wharf, a bare-faced young man looked out upon the lake in quiet contemplation. Today, Caethan decided, was to be a lucky day—for it was the seventh day, and seven was his lucky number. Though his gaze remained fixed ahead, and his posture straight, his hands remained in constant motion—flipping a pair of unremarkable daggers in either hand, sometimes in unison though, occasionally, with either blade turning in a unique fashion. His grandmother often quipped that he was a young man of two minds, but Caethan never actually put much thought into the source of his ambidexterity. He'd been deft with both hands since his youth, something that felt for him more akin to an unconscious tick than a deliberate choice. It never occurred to him that he would one-day find a mentor in a duelist, or that he would become a duelist in his own right in turn. Nevertheless, despite his ability to use both hands artfully, Caethan was still trying to make a name for himself as something other than some baseborn pugilist. He seized the opportunity, when it presented itself, to challenge others to duels albeit only when he truly believed that someone could go toe-to-toe with him.
Recently, one such man seemed a promising opponent. Someone Caethan was not merely excited to test his mettle against, but was also eager to lay out like bearskin rug. Reason being that the man in question had insulted not only his honour, but the honour of Caethan's family—and had even had the audacity to whistle at his sister once upon a time, something Caeth never forgot. So, as calm as the lake before him Caethan may have seemed, at least upon the surface, in that moment? He was itching to duel the rascal. To his surprise, the man accepted his challenge.
Challenges amongst fellow duelists were not uncommon, however. It was only a surprise in that the few local duelists that did dwell in or around Redcliffe had made it a point not to accept such challenges from Caethan Thornecroft in particular—not after Victor's death. How was Caethan to know that Oscar, his own mentor, would stoop so low as to poison Caeth's blades before the match in question? Caethan had wanted an honourable match. Victor's death was not by any design of his own making. Oscar Redstone was responsible, not he. All the same, it made advancing in his skillset at that time quite difficult for few would actually agree to even practice with Caethan let alone duel him outright. He was tired with having his reputation tarnished so, and had little patience for those who sought to tarnish it further—even if the slight was, well, slight.
He remained at the edge of the docks, as before. Turning his daggers idly, this way and then that, while he waited for his opponent. The sun was shining, and the weather was warm—certainly, he mused once more, today was to be a lucky day. Eventually, it occurred to him that he'd been waiting for some time. Briefly, he worried that his opponent would not show up for the challenge after all. He even went so far as to turn, ready to leave, when he saw figures approaching.
"I was starting to believe you weren't going to show," Caethan said, in lieu of greeting. He quirked a brow, however, noting that his opponent had not come alone as he had done. "What's this? We were supposed to fight one-on-one."