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The old hero adjusted the strap of his worn out armor, making sure it would sit properly. As well as an armor made for an energetic 20 year old boy would fit a 40 year old man. News from the capital city had reached him, those stupid young fellas had failed. They didn't listen to the few things he told them. 

The young girl wearing delicate armor followed by a typical troupe of warriors reached the forest the old hero resided in. His own entourage got killed by the demon king as he sent him to hell (at least for hopefully 20 years), leaving him alone and new heros to fight. Flipping her overly long hair over her shoulder, she pushed open the crusty door that hid the hero behind itself. As it flung open, their eyes fell on the hero. The old man sat there, white paper and tobacco spilt on his kitchen table.  "Hero." she proclaimed. "Teach us your ways." 

The old man looked her up and down, visage grim. "Get rid of that hair, a monster will hold it and chop your head off. Seen it happen. Narcissism doesn't save lives"  The girl loudly coughed, as if ringing for air. "Additionally:  That armor won't do shit. You think having your stomach hang out will  protect you against stray arrows? Or the guy in the back just wearing a shirt? What even is that? Did your Mommy sew it?"  The old hero had rolled the tobacco into a cigarette which he pushed between his lips. A small spark appeared from the tip of his left index finger, lighting the cigarette. He took a deep breath, inhaling the hot smoke just before he blew it back into the girl's face. "See this? True Magic. The stuff you're learning… Magi-" "Magika" The Hero closed his eyes, shaking his head. "Magika. That's useless when faced with true enemies. How many enchanted crystals can you carry around with you? How many people will you drag into dark dungeons just to be your mule?" Your stances are weak as well. You shudder in anger at what I am saying. How will you face mental torture at the hands of the demons?" 

The young heros threw the door shut, rushing away. What an annoying old Fart. Magika was much greater, not requiring casting or Mana. Easy Access Mana. Didn't matter that no one knew what made it work, it did work.

That was their great mistake. With real magic everything magician could change something or add, they instinctively understood how it worked. Heros being Magic Swordsmen were included in that, of course. But with Magika no one knew what was going to happen, and that was a bane. It turned out that the creator of Magika was the demon king himself, effectively shutting down the country as nothing worked without it anymore. The heros couldn't even fight off the monsters as those fiends were using magical, their lieges creation, as well. 

Just as the young female hero was about to have her head chopped off, she felt a lighter tug at the back of her head, accompanied by a whooshing noise. She looked back and saw her hair chopped off on the ground, together with a halved troll. The old hero stood close, a disgusting grin on his face. He threw her a properly magically enchanted sword and rushed into battle, body's flying left and right with magic circles carrying him forward. 

As he jumped into the air and threw his sword in the middle of the demon king's head, all monsters dropped down and wild Magika stopped working. The female hero crashed on the ground, dead tired. The old hero helped her up, face looking proud now. 

"Wanna learn real magic Kiddo?" 

Her brain took a second to work out what happened, but she had already agreed before she came to that conclusion. 

The hero patted her shoulder. "I'm Xander."  she got up, dusting her clothes off and letting the useless armor clash on the ground. "Nice to meet you Xander. I'm Christine." 

Xander rummaged through his pocket, pulling out a cigarette which he quickly lit. "Want one?" "Sure"

He handed another to Christine as she clumsily placed it between her own lips. Xander saw this as a great teaching opportunity:"Just think of Fire on your Finger. Fire that doesn't hurt you preferably" 

Christine concentrated strongly and with a puff of smoke, a little flame appeared on her finger. Christine started laughing loudly, face like a ray of sunshine, causing her cigarette to fall to the mud. Xander sighed, throwing his own down while killing the flame with his boot. 

"Smoking isn't good at my old age. And for a youngin like you definitely not."

Note: tried formatting this for ages but it just refuses so I'm giving up.

This is great. And I appreciate you sharing this.

Appreciate you for sharing this*

[removed]

Isn't this kind of the plot to angry birds lmao

Nice. I can't write like this at all, would be perfect as a script for a comic.

The lady strode forward, the armor clinking as her movements passed the amassed group.

"Right then. This is my demon friend, she is relatively harmless. Touch her and you face me. She wears her armband to represent the fact that she is *on. Our. Side." The voice was clipped, sharp and a jaunty alto that danced its way to the ears. "She has willingly volunteered for this role with the Church. It hurts her to be here as it is." The Lady walked over to a rack of wooden weapons, pulling out a set of four longswords, and began to strip put of her blessed armour with practiced ease.

The sitting trainees watched on mixed awe and amusement as the demon helped the Lady out of the armour and the skin on her fingers and hands sizzled, a blue-tinged mark imprinted.

With practiced ease, the Lady threw two blades to the demon, and both took up a Ready stance; the demon taking a low stance designed for a pouncing strategy; the Lady crossed the blades to her left side. "Princess Leiann, you will referee this bout. Everyone else, pay attention using your magical senses. The bout will start at the next chime."

The silence that descended over the room generated a thick tension, broken only by the Prince of Ravens calling out, "We need mud!" The Lady glared at the Prince, and his eyes of midnight blue looked away.

As the first chime rang from the Church Bell, the action began immediately - Jaguar's Pounce met Kissing Lovers which turned into Master Kneels; the demon, stymied, fell forwsrds to Lioness' Chase, a highly offensive form based on swipes, sweeps and double-feints. The Lady met with Eye of the Storm, and the students didn't need to wonder whether the Blademaster title had been earned, as the storm of movement and counterclaim was far faster than the students would have been able to keep up visually.

The clacking sound of swords was all that could be heard, and the battle finely balanced until the Lady came out of the storm of movement and blade work into Tapping the Fan as the demon misjudged the attack timing on Phoenix Rises. The thunk of contact with a skull signalled the end of the battle.

No more than 30 seconds had passed, and both participants were breathing heavily and sweating. The two combatants stood to attention, saluted the other participant, and the demon tossed back her blades for the Lady to place back on the weapons rack.

"Now, I need to get you ready for the upcoming attack, so you will need to leave how to read a one-on-one combat and how to defend yourself properly - I refuse to send some idiot who doesn't know their limits into combat to get killed. We have time to train you so that you can reasonably defend yourselves from most harm. But not to get you to close to my level unless you're already talented."

The Lady patted the demon on the shoulder, and picked up her armour. "We need a good long soak after that lesson." The Lady and the demon were stretching their legs as they left the combat hall together.

The students murmured, chatting to one another, as the Prince of Ravens scalled out loudly, "That was fire!"

It’s Obi Wan Kenobi.

Swoooooosh* All I could see was a blinding glint of steel and a training dummy cut in half. The smirks of my squadmates had gone away in an instant, replaced by a face full of surprise and fright. The old man was standing in front of us and his katana was in his scabbard. I could have sworn that he was holding it just a second ago. Now it seemed like he never had pulled it out, yet the training dummy was in two equally cut parts on the ground. My mind wondered: "Just who is this old man?"

The old man started to walk away and I decided to follow him. Aside from his extraordinary skills with a blade there was also something eery about his apperance, which made me nervous. He had a long unkept beard, multiple ugly scars on his face and dirt on his clothes. It was clear to me that he had been away from other people for a long time since he seemingly didn't care about his appearance. Unnerving thoughts were running through my brain: "Those scars looks like ones a criminal might have. Maybe the reason he lives in solitude is that he doesn't get caught for his crimes". I wanted to turn away and get back to training, but my feet were moving on their own.

Edit: And that's how much I feel like writing on mobile. Maybe someone could pick up and finish it? I think that would be fun.

Where's the old man. Also yikes they will get tired fast if they always use these fancy moves on everybody they face, managing stamina is important

The kingdom had known three decades of peace because a (mostly) righteous band of adventurers had outted and destroyed the cult embedding itself into the court and guilds. They had faced down the most brutal and cunning threats the realm had seen in a hundred years and laid them low, but only one of those heroes still remained. A middle aged man, worn beyond his years by the weight of his memories and the ache of the countless scars across his body. He dwelt within a small cabin high in the mountains, forsaking all but the rarest of contact with the world he'd helped to save.

So it was that the captain of the royal guard stood dumbstruck at the sight before him. He could hardly believe that this was the man who had helped kill not one but seven chromatic dragons that the cult had called upon. Had he himself not been there to see the matchless swordsman's enchanted shield shatter under the massive fist of what was once the king, he wouldn't. The now faded scar from the blast stretched across the older man's face as the simply armored hero snapped a crisp salute.

"Sir Alfred Kirkson, reporting for duty, m'lord."

The frightened young boy snapped back to the present, pushing aside the phantom that only he and the hero could see as he returned the salute.

"It is an honor to receive you, Lord Kirkson."

The older man smiled sadly and shook his head as he lowered his hand and eased his posture. "I haven't been a lord in a long time, lad. I'm just here to keep a promise I made to a good man."

The captain glanced past his aged idol towards the grand cemetery in the distance, then down to the hilt on the other man's hip. "I'm sure that Uncle would be happy to see that you're taking good care of his sword."

"He's still the best smith I ever knew. Now, I hear that you've got a few up-and-comers gearing up to hunt down this dracolich bastard. Thought they might do with a bit of a lesson on fighting dragons before they go."

The captain could see the smoldering ache for vengeance in the older man's eyes. He knew that the new adventurers were going to be bringing one more person along with them to deal with the resurrected dragon. "Of course. Right this way."