ARGENT - [IC Thread]

[Jakers]

"Sir, if I may have a spear for battle, I would appreciate it."

The Blennghammen folded his arms, before looking behind him, pointing to a bowman.

"Well? You heard the man. Fetch him a spear!"

"Yessir!"

The bowman hopped down from his post, and after a surprisingly short delay, he returned with a spear in hand. Making sure he didn't drop it pointy-side down, he threw it down to the brass-clad man. Catching it with an iron grip, the man approached Sam to firmly place the spear in his hands. It had a good weight to it; even if the handle was a little crude, the point of the spear was made with love, and was of a fine quality for a so-called 'basic weapon'.

With that, the Blennghammen returned to his original standing position, waiting for the next question.

 

[chaosheart13]

It didn't take long for the man to have one of the bowmen fetch a spear. Sam could only watch in awe as the spear was thrown down and the man caught it. He half expected him to be skewered on the spot with the way it was thrown. He gingerly took the spear from the brass-clad man, inspecting it. The handle was alright, but the spear tip was absolutely shining, the tip made into a delicate point. "Thank you, sir," he said, "This is a good quality spear, are all your weapons like this?"

 

[Jakers]

"Thank you, sir. This is a good quality spear, are all your weapons like this?"

The man nodded.

"Aye. Our head smith is a genius; that spear is the sort of project he could make in bulk with one hand tied behind his back. When it comes to the quality of weaponry around here, you'd think you were part of an elite army." The man looked into the Meadowborn a little, before folding his arms.

"Make a name for yourself around here, and you can be treated to some of his finer works. One of those won't let you down for a lifetime. For now, however, make do with weapons of that quality. His finer pieces take a lot of his time; I wouldn't want to give one of those to what could be some untrained mercenary, for his sake."

 

[RedArmyShogun]

(I am dead tired, so pardon if some things are shallowly addressed, if not at all.)

Following the events there were going on, it was a bit too much to keep track of, though she had to admit, she was somewhat impressed that the high horse riding noble, knew it by name.

First there was the one to insult her titles, the failed Royal Guardsman. "Some lands, our ladies and lords are expected to enter the battle lines as infantry. Duty is expected, the lands a reward, those who cannot do the duty, fall to the sword, or in the use of our rewriter's ability.." Followed with a shrug, it was left unsaid what happened to those who failed in training. "As to my titles, one of them was given by your side..of course, ohoho." Putting her right hand up in a lady like gesture, she laughs at Viktor, covering her mouth out of manners, with the man having stung at her pride, she decided to return the favor.

"Course you were always at the capital shinning flagpoles for your lady.. or maybe she was shinning yours?" Turning her attention to the approaching horse, Karmia would leave the Royal Guardsman alone.. for now.




As the conversation was joined in by the girl with all the gear, Karmia gave a head nod in reply. "At times it is served with honey, or other sweetener's We do not have as much meat as the other cities, but we have.. or had rich orchids and vineyards...before the war.." Suddenly her eyes seem to stare beyond where she was looking, if but briefly, refocusing on the archers up above. "..I, ah, the Gate." Hurriedly, Karmia rewraps the bread, stashing it away. As the others gathered bombard the man with questions, she found there wasn't much she needed to ask.

All the while, the man she had marked as trouble continued to dig a deeper and deeper hole for himself. Any thoughts the man had of his assassination, or whatever he had in mind, actually garnered more of a backlash than any support, with the Royal Guardsman adding his own thoughts.

With a grunt and a chuckle, the Royal Dragoon shakes her head, paying attention to the exchange, eyeing Viktor mostly during the exchange.

"Maybe you should have been a Senator and not a soldier.. Though makes me wonder why you followed your queen, if nobles are of no worth?" A sharp grin cuts across her face, as she stares at Viktor.

"Oh no, I think I have one idea why... pity I remarked on the flagpole in jest.. Though I must say, I do see ground with you on this..your friend is a fool, if this had been before the war, and in this situation, the gruffly looking one in front of us, would have stabbed him, left him in a ditch for dead. His entrails flowing as lovely dog snacks."




Turning her head to their, guide? Section leader? She wasn't sure what he was exactly. "While I do respect titles more than not.. Events have shown me that is not always the case, of ability..of trust, everyone here I assume is competent.. But regardless, and moving on, I have quarries for you, dear ser."

Holding up her right hand, first her index finger. "One...while I'll say feeding traitors to animals may have a deterrent effect, what have we in terms of internal security? As my father was given to saying, its good to prevent problems rather than to need and punish them."

"Two"

This time her index; "You mentioned scouts, I was mostly one of those during our War, of a sort.. Will I be left purely to combat, or will I be pulling double duties, as was so in the war?"

"Three." This time the middle, though aware of this being a sign of disrespect, of some sort, among the other nations, she quickly lowers it rather quickly. "I heard your mention of a skilled Doctor, would it be possible for me to speak with this man or woman, at some point?"

Now just her pinky. "Lastly four.. I assume there are no servants or pages about.. are we responsible for our own cooking and cleaning, or is their a communal cook? Oh and this does no pertain to the Argents, but a question in regards to Rhyzen.." With a dark look to her eyes, and a tightening of her teeth, momentarily Karmia seems set to go on one of her psychotic rants, a bit of with had leaked out, with mention of the innards and dogs.

Coughing a little, and then shaking her head, their is a slight twitch of her head, but overall she remains calm and composed. "Ah, pardon.. But given he deserted the Kingdom, does he still claim the Crown of Kelda, or has the title passed to his son? I will follow the commands given by all those in station above me, unless they are outside of military law, but as a Soldier of Argent.. I am aware of my own position within Kelda.. but the King's sudden disappearance has left much in doubt here."

By coaxing her question, this would at least provide her with one simple answer, though she rather doubted the man would answer, or would direct her to someone else. Then again she could be wrong, the rest of her questions were mostly in regards to if there was any sort of laws, policing or security in place, and if they were all responsible for their own needs, or had some support in regards to this.

 

[Jakers]

"One: I will answer this question in more detail once everyone here has proven themselves to be worthy of being an Argent member. Your short answer for now, about our security, is that we have each other. And when we put the pieces together that someone is a traitor, we do not take kindly to it. Rest assured that nobody with harmful intention to Argent will get away with it. For we are all protecting each other's future, and our children's future, and the entire next generation's future around here."

"Two: that is up to you. You are either a fighter, or a scout. You will make your choice if you get accepted. Scouts deliver messages and gather information about areas around the world without being expected to have high combat skill. They are, however, expected to be very mobile and durable, able to get around the world extremely quickly with or without a mount. You, however, look like somebody I would like manning a blade."

"Three: yes." The man looked into the woman's eyes closer. "We care for each other here. And I can see you need advanced medical care. Once you are done with your spar - and I expect you to be considered worthy - I will ensure this man has a look at you. He rarely disappoints. For now, cover your mouth when you cough, woman. If whatever you have spreads, I don't want it, and I don't want any other Argent member catching it."

"Four, aye, you are provided with food by a cook and a baker who work tirelessly to keep everyone fed. There is a time when we eat together in Argent. If you want to go outside the walls and hunt your own food for personal reasons, that's fine." The man paused. "And yes, you will clean yourself, and clean after yourself. We have basins and soap you can wash with in private; nobody here is expected to scrub your back for you. And you won't just litter things you don't need about the place. All of this is common sense, is it not? I hope all fourteen of you here have some dignity at least."

The man's folded arms tightened.
"And about Rhyzen's crown. This is not my business. I answer questions about Argent and Argent only. All I know is that he no longer sees himself King of Kelda. That is all I will say on the matter."

 

[Wizzy The Wizard]

Viktor earlier listened to the Keldian, but ignored her as she obviously lacks knowledge of who he is. But after she made the comment of being a senator. He removed his helmet so he could speak a little clearer.

"It sounds amusing yes, but I myself was not a Royal Guardsmen, although I can see how my majestic and grandiose appearance may make it seem as such." he said this is a rather mocking but sarcastic tone, with a cheeky little grin on his face.

"I fought on the front lines unlike your overly glorified company of "nobles" and children. Did you lose your family perhaps? That is truly surprising considering how cowardice was your #1 tactic and fighting style. Or maybe I am wrong... but if I am right you truly must have been a bundle of fuck-wits without any actual strengths to show. A group of dogs that are all bark." He stated although he scolded himself for going off on such a long rant.

He ignores the part about her agreeing with him, he couldn't care less to be honest.

"As for the comment on my lady, unlike some nobles, the name Rhyzen comes to mind. As well as your band of amateurs, my lady repeatedly has proven herself as worthy of the status of a queen. A care shown for her people uncommon to other kings and queens, Nobles whom dont aspire to earn the title as well, are of no worth to me. Nobles whom simply use the title and flaunt it around in situations where they mean nothing, but they are two caught up in the past and it's intricacies to realize what is needed now. Are no worth to me. Keldian nobles, are no worth to me." A rather biased statement but no matter, it would show is loyalty. He turned around and would ignore anything else, he didnt particularly care for the last "word".

(Pretty shit post kinda swamped atm but yeah)

 

[Sir Basil]

☾☾☾ LATE AFTERNOON ☽☽☽​

The gate to the fortress came down with a creak, the sound of iron chains banging against one another, the slackening of robes and the crunch of rust-covered gears. The draw-bridge was lowered, and it hit against the side of the dry moat with a puff of dirt - and a few dandelion seeds that drifted up into the air. The dying sunlight caught the gleam of the Brass-man's bronzed breastplate, as he strode across the bridge. His steps were rhythmic, and his eyes were appraising beneath his thick brows. His jowls had lines in them, lines of thought. His eyes stared through each one of them, and lingered for a moment on the Meadowfolk and the Drokk. The Brass-men did not look at Aatu. His eyes passed right over him, and the Binnesman did nothing to get his attention. Instead, he gave one last, long look towards the white-haired girl, with the red eyes. He stared at those eyes without blinking. He could see himself in her eyes, reflection distorted and extended. He blinked, and coughed, clearing his throat. The taste of flat bread was still in his mouth. The flour had made him choke. He heard himself murmur an excuse. He squeezed his legs tightly around The clatter of her hooves against the pavement echoed through the solid walls of the Argent fortress. His head remained low, eyes turned towards the ground. He stared at the grass growing between the cobblestones. He did not lift his eyes to stare at Brass-man's increasingly ruddy face - but he listened as he spoke.

The Brass-man told him what would happen to traitors. The Binnesman's eyes snapped up a little, the heavy lids lifting, to watch the twitch and crack of the Brass-man's meaty fists. The star-badged man rambled about the consequences, and his voice grew harsher and harsher. He paused in his speech, and put a strange emphasis on a concern of plague -- And Aatu's eyes went back down to the dirt. He rubbed his trembling hands against the sides of his reins, listening to the squeak and creak of the leather. He did not lift his head when the Brass-man called for traitors to reveal himself. He shouted at the collection til he was red in the face, his jowls and beard flapping with his lips as he roared for the traitors to run. The Brass-man's small eyes searched the faces of all of them - but his eyes did not rest on any of their faces. If the Brass-man had waited, waited just a second longer; he would have seen that the frown that crawled across the Binnesman's face. He would have seen that Aatu had knotted the reins to his pommel, and untied them in the space of his pause, and that one hand was pulled back, ready to turn his mare's head. But he didn't look, and the Binnesman did not move. His hand slowed moved away from the pommel of his saddle, and instead, hung limply at his sides, the fingers constantly twitching. The Brass-man snorted, and he folded his arms across his chest. He mentioned "traitorous blood", and Aatu reached up to press his fingers against the top of his temple. His fingers quivered there for a moment, and then slunk back down to his sides. The questions started.

Aatu's gaze shot to the ground, and he listened as the pale-faced, white-haired man spoke. His fingers curled, tapping out a a muted pattern on in the insides of his palms. He winced visibly as the Abbelestian man spoke, his thin features wrinkling and dimpling with a cringe. He looked away as hot red flushed into his cheeks. He let out a small sigh. His whole being screamed out his emotion; he was embarrassed of him. With his heel, he pressed into his horse's shoulder. She shied away from the arguing men, shifting her weight to stand slightly behind the others. She turned his head towards her fellow horses, sniffling at them. A bit of grass clung to her lips, along with the thin trails of slug viscera. The brass-man shot words back, and they were not unexpected or unusual. Aatu's fingers curled again, the fingertips trembling. He placed one hand on-top of the pommel of his sword, clutching at the rounded top. He closed his eyes tightly, and lifted his head, correcting his posture. He stood straigh-tbacked on his grey-mare - a noble's posture. A few flies clung to his horse's eyes, and floated around her tail. The flies landed on Aatu's skin, and crawled across his flesh. They beat their wings in the corners of his eyes, but he did not swat them away. He listened instead. The swordsman spoke next, his words a rapid fire of snarls and disdain -- and the white-haired man was silent again.

The-red eyed woman - Lady Karmia - spoke next. He opened his eyes, when he listened to her. Her voice was choked with laughter. But her words carried an edge in them, a harshness. There was a dagger in her syllables, and her fingers were white-knuckled. The Binnesman lifted his head, staring at the back of her white-hair. He traced the movements of her head with his dark eyes, watching the way that her jaw moved as she spoke. His fingers tightened on the sword. He turned away. He looked at the Meadowborn, who asked for a spear. He looked at the only other from the Binnes - with her dark hair and tan skin, the bundle in her arms. Aatu's lips twitched at her joke, but the joke did not make him smile. His frown deepened. His lips moved, and whispered the word. "Cannibalism", he murmured, and the sound that escaped his lips was half-breathed, half said. His accent made the word almost unintelligible, and the way he said it was all wrong. He shook his head from side to side, his dark blonde hair shaking in-front of his eyes. The arguments drifted around him, and heartbeats rose, and cheeks flushed. His fingers twisted and turned on the pommel of the sword, pulling it slightly from its sheathe, before idly setting it back in. The scraping sound of steel against steel was muted under all of the harsh words. The red swordsman -- Viktor. Viktor's words curled in the air, and although they had been some of the first said during the squabbling, those were the words that the Binnesman mouthed to himself. No sound escaped from his lips, but the movements of mouth and jaw were clear. Was it hard, being fucking birthed into this world?

☾☾☾ IN DREAMS ☽☽☽​

The Raven-Starver's father is dying, and he cannot bring himself to look away. His mother sits next to her once-husband, cradling his sick head in her white arms. Her eyes are like glass, blue and reflective; he is sure that she is giving him the Skoða. Her eyes have two pupils, half-converged, a dark island floating in the sea of her iris. Her long white hair covers her bare-breasts and makes a skirt around her knees. He looks towards the father, and presses her fingers into the boils around his neck. The boils burst, spraying pus and blood across her skin. The thin white trails of pus along her arms and cheeks look like slugs, and with that thought they begin to crawl down her flesh, before they become lost in her long waves of flaxen hair. She smiles, and her teeth are sharp and predatory in her mouth. Argr finds that he cannot breathe for the smell of it. The pink gristle hands in strings around his father's neck, and the thick chitin of snot blocks the passageways of his nose. The same snot is in Argr's nose, and the same gristle is in his neck - but safely tucked away. He will feed no ravens with it. The white's of his eyes fill up with dark, and the whole room seemed to shutter as black blood rose in his eye-sockets. The room's shadows grow long.

His mother is unbearably bright. A hero's halo has descended around her head, making her skin glow, her lips shimmer, and her two-pupil eyes glow. She presses her hands against her husband's mutilated throat, and Regin begins to choke up thick black chunks of expelled bodily tissue and week-old blood. He coughs, and his lymph nodes come up from behind his teeth, perfect red-beads of tissue that dribble down his chin, down his chest. They land in his mother's hands, and she holds them to her cheeks. She brings them down her cheekbones, streaking them with crimson. Her eyes brighten, they are filled with the glóam, and the bisected pupils swirl and churn in her head. Her shadow stretches across his father's pink and sweltering flesh. Fresh beads of sweat grow across it, and they too are filled with glóam - glistening and flickering like opals on his skin. His haloed mother presses a kiss to the green fissure of his father's mouth, and a sickening black fluid drips down his ragged lips. A few stringy veins and blood-vessels hang down from his lips like strings. The tips of these feathered veins widen, and begin the speak - hairy tongues curling from their circular mouths. With each word they speak, blood spurts - and it splashes against mother and son. The father is dying, and these are his last words.

"Did you lose your family perhaps?" The wormy red-vessels mock him, their voices choking with laughter. They have an edge in them, a harshness. There is a dagger in their syllables, despite their softness of their contaminated and hairy tongues. The words drip from their mouths, along with pus and white-slugs, who drag their intestinal tracts along with them. "That is truly surprising!" But the voices of the veins are not surprised. The voice of his father's circulation system does not sound anything like the Regin that used to live. Their voices sound like everyone and no one, high pitched and low, feminine and masculine, man and beast. The Raven-starver can hear a wolf howl from somewhere near by - but there is no-one there with him int he room, except for him, his dying father, and his pregnant mother. The long organic strings snake out his father's mouth, a long red tub with many branches at the top. His nervous system is escaping his mouth and it is speaking. Regin's body does not even convulse, not any longer. It is white and bloodless, pale and fractured. His mother sits at his side, her hands folded over her engorged stomach. She strokes it, and Argr can see the outline of a foot against the straining skin. It is not human - it has too many toes.

Argr watches his father's bodily processes crawl from his mouth, rising up to speak to him. He feels a wet, cold sweat appear on his brow. "Only a fool would so candidly disregard the past." His mother sits beside him and safely nods her head. Her blue eyes are impossibly bright. They are the only illuminate in the small room, casting everything in a pale blue glow. "It's echoes follow us wherever we may go and shape what we become." The Raven-Starver looks down at his hands. They are coated with blood. There is a long white scar in the center of each of his palms. He furrows his brow, and presses his thumb against the scar. The scar gives way - it opens. Inside of his palm is a mouth - a mouth with inwardly curving white teeth, a mouth with a fleshy red tongue that flops around against the palms of his hands. Argr feels fear boiling in the pit of his stomach. The wormed tongue of his father laughs at him, and it is a woman's laugh. "You would do well to remember that." And then the worms speak his name; they call him for what he is. Argr, Raven-Starver, Aatu of Binnes. The worm crawls around his mother's legs, and its many hairy tongues lap at her narrow face. Her mouth, his father's mouth, they all speak the same words, in the same voice. "Was it hard, being fucking birthed into this world?"

The twelfth child watches his father's mouths collapse, and his father's throat begin to rattle. His mother looks away. There are eleven ghosts behind his eyes, and he nods once. He can taste blood and hair in his mouth. He spits it up, and it is a bezoar of pure white hair. He wraps it around his wrist. Tears run down his cheeks, and they taste like absolutely nothing. His cheeks go unspeakably pale - they are as pale as the giant that birthed his mother, as pale as Eid's eyes. His eyes burn. He imagines that this is what it must be like to be in love. He is hungry and lustful and wrathful, and his father is dead, and his mother speaks of heroes. It does not matter what giant she came from. He carries his father's blood too. Blood speaks the truth, when dreams do not. This is the final dream. The dream he will have until he dies.

☾☾☾ LATE AFTERNOON ☽☽☽
​

The Binnesman cleared his throat. He rubbed at the lump in his tanned neck, his leather hands shaking. He stared at the Brass-Man, and nods once. Aatu squeezed his horse's side, she took a few steps forward. The mare carefully angled herself around the warriors and all of their pets ; coming to a rest before the Brass-man. Aatu didn't look at him, his eyes instead tracing the stars pinned to his chest. He traced the embossed points of the stars. The conversation died down around him. He flickered his leather fingers, and he opened his mouth to speak. What came from his lips first were a few scratchy words in another language. He swallowed, and then, opened his mouth again, words coming again.

"I do not believe I caught your name, Ser." Aatu bowed his head to the man. "My name is Aatu of Binnes, and my first question is that; your name." He waited to hear the answer, without lifting his head. His eyes stared at the ground, watching the ants crawl beneath horse hooves, watching the grass-stalks move in a breeze. He did not look away from the dirt untilt he man gave his full name and title. When he did; Aatu raised his head. He stared at the Brass-man without blinking, and his lips twitched. He mouthed the man's name, testing it in his mouth without saying it. He looked over his shoulder, towards the others, and his brows furrowed over his eyes.

Then, the Binnesman looked back towards the Brass-man, and pulled the tattered and water-stained letter from his side-pouch. He brushed a hand against the surface of the paper, straightening out all the creases and edges of it. His frown returned to his face, the tug of his lips downward, his eyes skimming the words. His lips moved as he read them, but he did not audibly say the words. He nodded once more, and held the letter up to the man. "I was honoured by the invitation to join such a worthy cause, and I thank you - and Ser Rhyzen - for the opportunity. However, I have several questions about the letter." His words had a practiced ease to them, and his accent slurred some of the vowels together. His statements had a honeyed quality, but were delivered without emphasis - simply escaping from his mouth.

Aatu gestured down the lines of text on the letter, his gloved fingertips shaking. The sound of his finger against the page was a distinctive rattling, a rustling. The ink smeared slightly under his fingertip. " The letter is impersonal. It was sent out to many people - as the letter states. This is admirable." The statement had a clunkiness to it, as the word "admirable" rolled out from the Binnesman's mouth. "But why did it come to us? Did Ser Rhyzen pick us as individuals to send letters to?" His frown became deeper, wrinkles curling in on themselves above his heavy brows. He cleared his throat. "I am saying; why us? We are very diverse; and I wonder if there is a reason for why we are all here. Why Ser Rhyzen selected us." He wrinkled his nose, and his tone changed. It became gentler, tinged with confusion, and a clear plea. "Is it Ser - or his Highness? I do not wish to offend."​

 

[Asuras]

---

A pitiful display if ever Briaes saw one. Even bandits didn't quarrel over such petty things as idols. They squabbled over food, water, and shelter, but those were necessary; they were worthy of being worried about. For a moment she respected the bandits who were now dog shit dissolving into snow more than these folks. She chewed on the last bites of meat before growing weary in her jaws and hunched over on her knees, observing the sorry mess she was apparently expected to work tooth and nail with.

Her head cocked to the side and Braies listened to the back and forth between them and the Blennghammen man. A battle to test their mettle? Well she could understand wanting to see skill for some of them, but for her? Did the wolves at her beck and call not serve as evidence enough? She sized up the competition; who was to be her partner? Most of them looked like pushovers, no better geared or grizzled than the most mundane image of a bandit she could imagine. Of course, being the other beastmaster, Briaes took a keener interest in fighting the man with the tiger. Having little understanding of what the thing even was, Briaes was left curious of its physical abilities. Was it just a glorified cat? Or perhaps like a lithe bear? Briaes mind shuddered mildly at the thought. She should have communed with a bear.

Briaes grasped at her ground-embedded axe and shook the handle once, speaking up with a suddenly loud and rowdy voice.

"You lot fuckin' done with the shit-flinging? As far's I can tell your only remaining king or king's fucktoy are these well-made walls. I'll put my respect in them and the bricklayers' that fuckin' made them." she growled. "I'd like to get inside already. I haven't slept in an actual matted bed in months now! A fuckin' cook sounds mighty nice too."

 

[Jakers]

​

"I do not believe I caught your name, Ser. My name is Aatu of Binnes, and my first question is that; your name."

"I was honoured by the invitation to join such a worthy cause, and I thank you - and Ser Rhyzen - for the opportunity. However, I have several questions about the letter. The letter is impersonal. It was sent out to many people - as the letter states. This is admirable."

"But why did it come to us? Did Ser Rhyzen pick us as individuals to send letters to? I am saying; why us? We are very diverse; and I wonder if there is a reason for why we are all here. Why Ser Rhyzen selected us. Is it Ser - or his Highness? I do not wish to offend."​

The man returned the nod with a stout one of his own.
"Aatu, is it." He mumbled under his breath. "Captain Ardus; that's what they call me around here. But until you personally come under my wing, merely refer to me as Ardus, should you see me much of me."

Ignoring the formalities, Ardus waited for the next question, grey-blue eyes looking into Aatu as he got to the point a lot of people might've been wondering since retrieving the letter.

"Why you were chosen ultimately came down to the decision of Commander Konnor Surgens, not Ser Rhyzen's. Surgens is the one who sent the orders and location for the messengers. For that reason, I do not know the answer to this, you will need to ask him personally should you meet him when he is not busy." Ardus's folded arms went firm. "How you refer to Ser Rhyzen will not offend most people around here. The man himself, apparently, does not wish for any title recently; certainly not 'Highness'. We have chosen 'Ser' if you should pick any title."

Ardus paused, but in this pause, Briaes made it known what she thought of the squabbling amidst the group. Arms crossed, Ardus patiently waited for the Blennghammen girl to finish, before he continued.

"But you would be better off not mentioning the man much at all. Sparking up controversy, intentional or not, should be avoided." Ardus's arms relaxed, before he leaned back in his stance somewhat.

"Also. I share this woman's opinion." Ardus pointed towards where most of the arguments were happening. "If you wish to insult or get one up over somebody else here, you would be better off shutting your fucking mouth."

He let it sink in for a moment before continuing.

"If you dislike each other, then just be silent. Hearing this shit has grown embarrassing. Making enemies here will do you no favours, when all we have is each other. Remember that."

A long, deliberate pause, before the Captain shifted the mood back to a neutral one with a simple switch of posture.

"Any final questions? I'm sure the outside of these gates have overstayed their welcome for most of you. Getting these spars out of the way will allow me to inform those accepted about more important things."​

 

[Ananfal]

A long, deliberate pause, before the Captain shifted the mood back to a neutral one with a simple switch of posture.

"Any final questions? I'm sure the outside of these gates have overstayed their welcome for most of you. Getting these spars out of the way will allow me to inform those accepted about more important things."​

Lydlos was not surprised when the gate opened and let out the same person who had collected their letters earlier. If Argent had waited any longer to send out an agent, a true fight might have broken out between the warriors gathered there, thus decreasing any value that Argent might gain from the potential members. The Argent member quickly and easily cut through the tension that had hung heavy over the group, stating his intention to answer any question he is capable of, prompting an instant response from the rest of the group. Although a few had declined to query the man, others did not, even asking multiple questions in one go as though to try and overwhelm the Argent member, although he did not falter.

However, Lydlos had a different question on her mind than all the others. They were asking about the spars, about weapons, about the fortress, about the King - truly, anything they could think of to ask. She herself didn't see the need for half of the questions asked, but stayed silent as they were subsequently answered in turn by the (mostly) patient agent. And so she waited until everyone else was done, until even one of the other members expressed their impatience with the proceedings, and the Argent member asked for any final questions from the group. That was when she stepped forward, instantly drawing attention to herself. Inwardly she flinched (an assassin never wanted to draw attention to themselves - she had learned that lesson early on) but showed no hint of it on her features, striding forward until she was just in front of the Argent member. Then, she held out her right hand, palm facing up, as though to receive something.

"May I have my dagger back?"​

 

[EmperorsChosen]

Bickering. Slandering. Moaning. Complaining—So on, so on. It was tiresome. Theo himself held much aversion in his being, however he knew when to throw it out there. These people—Whenever a god damned name came up or the Keldian woman spoke, they had some crap to sling. It was just unprofessional. How was it that a boy of nineteen could prove more official-looking than veterans of decades of experience? It was starting to give him a headache. Still, it was tolerable—until a certain black-colored knight spoke on a soft-spot. Even if the woman was arrogant as hell, that was a cheapshot. Not only that, but the mention of family loss instantly brought back visions of his parents separated from him by fiery rubble as well as his sister's own immolated tomb.

Bringing a hand to his faceplate, the young mercenary made sure to keep himself calm. It hadn't even been a year since—It was still quite painful to recall. Narrowing his eyes through the helmet at the man known as Viktor, Theo remarked somewhat harshly to his comments. "If the Keldian forces were so cowardly and weak, then what of those who fell to them? What does that make them?" Pausing a moment, realizing that his rebuttal came out more volatile than intending, he moved his attention to the Captain once again. "What of lethal injuries, Sir Ardus? I do not think trusting some of us not to stoop to murder is wise, less this doctor is capable of raising the dead." It was a fair point in his mind. If that Keldian or the brute went against any of the Abbelestian, there was no way in hell they wouldn't go for the kill.

"Also, while it may make me out to be somewhat conceited, I would much appreciate advancing to the assigning of opponents and sparring... I am quite tired of listening to all this, as I am sure those unaffiliated with Abbelest or Kelda are." It was a bunch of childish bickering and Theo was honestly done with it. If they were going to shit-sling, they could do it when he was away and doing something productive. He could understand their feelings, but it was like an overzealous preacher outside of a chapel; too pushy, aggravating and mostly unreasonable.

 

[RedArmyShogun]

In that moment, as Viktor said what was on his mind, smugness quickly turned into grinding of teeth, and hawk like gaze, fixed upon the mans neck."...Listen Well Abbelestian.. You do not know all of what went on.. If you had, would you have much kinder words for us cowards? I wonder, I wonder..

But should you ever mention my family again, those creatures will be the least of your worries.. And Maybe we fight like cowards, but that's better than the lot of Fanatical Dogs you.."

With eyes wide, and a look of pure hatred to her face, she stares at the red knight, but as suddenly, stops, regaining her composure.



Shaking her head, a hint of disappointment is in her voice, as if now to be talking, as a parent to a wayward child. "A great many people died in that pointless war. If faulting us for being cowards as we tried surgical strikes, then cowards we are. But remember this well Abbelestian; The Main Army gave you the war of honor you wanted. And all it gave you, was a sea of blood, burning city, hordes of terrors, and a civil war upon my own lands." Scoffing, the woman's face takes on the appearance of before, if just a bit. Spitting at his feet.





"Take your so called honor and drown in it.. You speak of honor, My fa..no, that's not for those like you." A pause and hardening of eyes, as Karmia stares into the eyes of Viktor, or at least up towards them.

"Know this, Ser Viktor, I will follow my orders.. but should another in here, or one of those beasts come for you, help from me will be too little, too late.. Though I suspect the same of you, and your honor." Clenching her fist, it seemed the talk on her family had hit a nerve. Though her round about promise of leaving the man for dead, had a since of certainty to it.






With Theo's words, she gives a head nod of support to the man's notions. "I agree, with Ser Lukass, Captain Ardus;"



"Leaving us out here will only lead to more problems. And Fear not, what I have cannot be caught. I was mauled by one of those new creatures, when I came to at.. Well its a rather long story.. Needless to say, I underestimated them and nearly died. Even now I barely remember it.., or maybe I do not care too. All I care for now, is spilling their blood in return.. Maybe I'll make a coat from one.." Coughing slightly, she seemed to go suddenly more pale, but remains standing, seemingly unaffected.





Bowing in a noble fashion towards the Captain, the woman from Kelda, heads for the gate, not much caring to be out here, pausing at Theo, she speaks just low enough for him alone to hear.

"Why such hateful eyes.. In fact I have something to tell you. Something that will maybe make you pleased."

Pondering tapping his shoulder at first, she pauses. While he might not have did much, his and her people had inflicted grave losses upon one another. Going from her pat attempt, to a martial salute, she addresses the Captain.

"Thank you for answering my questions Ser Ardus. I am ready to continue on if they are. However, I too, am curious about this talk of a knife."

Eying the woman from before, she had largely escaped the Keldian's notice. An assassin or theif of some sort, while the other soldiers would likely hate her on instinct, Karmia found such people were very useful.

(ooc bit meh, but tired)

 

[Jakers]

"May I have my dagger back?"​

Ardus's reply was quick and unceremonious, his hand reaching for the dagger he'd earlier picked up, before dropping the handle of the short blade into the assassin's hand.

"Give by hand next time. I don't care about such little displays." Ardus grumbled. Not intimidated by how close the girl was, he leaned closer. "And listen here. I have every reason to be biased in my thoughts against you because of your profession: that skill with knives better not suggest you're here to kill one of mine. We will root out undercover assassins against Argent quicker than the fling of a bowstring. I hope I've made myself clear."

Leaning back out, the sounds of the Keldian woman continuing to bicker looked like it was enough to make Ardus fully lose his temper. But with a hasty close of his eyes, a deep breath, and the biting of his own tongue, he held back a potentially volatile outburst.

"The next one I hear bickering can take a nice long walk out of my sight. Is this fucking clear? If you can't even shut your god-damned-fucking mouth, how can I expect you to work in even slight harmony with your comrades." The man's blue-grey eyes hovered across the group. "That's right. They are comrades from this day. So you'd better get used to it, and if you can't, you're leaving."

The threat was definitely real.

"Now. I'm sick of standing out here as much as anyone. We're going inside so we can get this spar out the way." Ardus instructed. "Follow me."

---

Leading the group of the fourteen across the rickety drawbrige, the interior of the Argent fortress was bustling with the sounds of chatter and heavy, armoured footsteps plodding across the muddy, occasionally pathed floor.

Figures of all shapes, usually outlined deep brown in leather armour with metal pauldrons, bustled across the interior of Argent like a hive. The place was busy, with the stone fortress walls surrounding the area like the hardest of shields, and with buildings of all sorts scattered in various areas.

The farms Ardus was talking about were clearly visible by now to one corner of the fortress. Rows of wheat surrounded by fences were carefully tended to by what looked like a trio of mud-stained Meadowborn men. Stables housed mostly steeds, some great, some not so much, with kennels occupying groups of sleeping hunting dogs. There was even some cattle closed within tough wood gates - cows, sheep - though it looked like their grazing had only recently started.

In the distance, a long stone table housed a meeting area for a large group, the dozen of men and other dozen of women laughing and drinking the little free time they had away. Eyes occasionally looked towards the fourteen, with some eyes even recognising some of the figures within, but quickly looked away once more to not get distracted from their work. Small wooden huts were neatly arranged beside a path near the area. It was clear that this place was for leisure and rest after a long day's work, where everyone would be sleeping. An occasional tent was put up outside the huts, where loners poked at campfires and stared into the flickering flames.

Before more could be observed about the area, Ardus took a sharp turn, leading the fourteen to what must've undoubtedly been the sparring areas. Ten patches of square land fenced by firm wood were the main attraction of the area; only three were currently in use, with two clashes of steel and one clash of bare fisticuffs between a duo of burly men currently occurring. The other seven must've been reserved for the fourteen. Regardless of only three of the sparring areas in use, quite a few were watching, learning, betting, chattering... watching battle was a clear past time of anybody with free time here.

"Here we are." Ardus announced simply, turning and folding his arms. "This is where you'll all be fighting. I'm going to save needless instructions; you all know what you need to do by now."

Looking across the group, Ardus was quick to decide how the parings went, though this was likely because he was deliberately choosing people by random.

"Your sparring partners will be as follows. Once I call the two of you's name, you will go into one of the seven sparring areas, and begin when ready. I'll have doctors arrive at the scene shortly. I trust none of you will instantly defeat your partner, unless we have a secret prodigy here." Ardus gestured. "Now then."

"You. Abbelestian." Ardus pointed to Vaniela. "Against him." Ardus pointed to Viktor, before swiftly moving to the next.
"Tamer." Ardus pointed to Silyan. "Against the Grimdosh."
"Drokken." Ardus pointed to Ash. "Against the knife-bearer."
"Meadowborn." Pointing to Sam, "Against our ex-noble."
"Keldian." Pointing to Karmia, "You'll go against this Abbelestian." Ardus instructed, pointing to Theo.
"Armour-bearer." Ardus pointed to Ungard, "You'll fight the Binnesborn female."
"And finally, the Binnesborn male." Ardus's finger shifted from Aatu to Briaes. "You'll go against the huntress."

"Is all of this clear? I have selected your partners with no thought to my descision whatsoever. You are against someone entirely random." Ardus said. "Like I've mentioned, your aim is to incapitate your opponent, or bring them to a state where they can no longer fight. Fight as if it were real, but do not make your primary aim to kill your opponent in gruesome manner. Our doctors can only do so much. Leave spare belongings aside from weaponry outside the arena."

"Now. Let's not waste any more time. When you are ready, start."

Ardus's eyes twitched, looking between the fourteen.

"Prove yourself to Argent."

A larger crowd gathered.

 

[Jhuton]

Summary: Aridian and Sam enter their sparring ring, where a bloody battle ensues, resulting in both being badly injured.

[spoili]
Aridian stepped out unto the sparring grounds with nothing but his sword. It was all he'd brought with him from his doomed city and he was prepared to cut down anyone who would stand in his way, including the Meadowborn whom he'd been pit against. He strode leisurely to his end of the field and unsheathed his weapon. The crowd that had gathered around them cheered at the splendour of the blade, anxious to see it in use.

Sam looked at his partner, brows knotted in anxiety. Though he had a spear with him now, he had no idea how to approach him in a fight. Heaving a sigh, he went to his part of the field and noticed his opponent wield a sword. ...Well at least his reach with his spear was alright. He patted the pocket full of moss, preparing to throw it at the Abblestian's eyes to slow him down. He hoped his plan worked.

Aridian assumed a proper stance and glared over at the other man. It would be difficult parrying spear lunges with a sword. He was no master with a blade, but he would make damn sure he walked out of the ring without a scratch. Or at least as close as he could come to that. He would avoid using his rewrittion unless necessary. He wouldn't show his hand so early. He waited until the signal was given to begin before charging forward.

Sam waited with a dry mouth, not feeling he would be any capable against one who knew how to use a weapon. Well, the spear counted, but not weapons created by a blacksmith. The man was closing in on him and, squeezing his fist around the spear, he immediately pulled out a clump of moss and threw it at Aridian. Then it was his turn to charge and jab at him with a spear.

Aridian fully intended to stop short of the Meadow born. His best chance chance at victory was to keep clear of the man's long reach and only get up close when it was necessary. He hadn't anticipated the man to throw moss at him. It was the moss he'd peeled from the wall earlier and Aridian didn't move quickly enough to avoid getting it in his eyes. He stopped short and wiped violently at his face as he began to backstep.

The Meadowborn would've sighed in relief that his plan worked, if he wasn't too focused on the battle. His reach managed to jab at Aridian several times before he scurried away to the right. Now all he had to do was keep his distance and maybe he would have a chance at winning. He highly doubted that though.

Aridian had felt every blow that Sam had dealt him, and everyone was another failure. He was angry at how allowed himself to be injured so early. He could feel rage building up inside him, but he forced it back down and started walking forward. A few of his wounds had started to bleed. He would deal with those later. He sprinted at Sam once more and swung his sword as soon as he was in range of the spear.

Sam had no time to react when the Abblestian charged at him once more, this time swinging his sword when he was in range. He didn't put up his spear to counter it, afraid that the wood would break under the pressure of that blade. He gasped and flinched as a jagged line cut the outside of his wrist, making it begin to bleed. He stopped for a few moments, looking down at his wound.

Aridian didn't stop. He'd come to a realisation that hadn't occured to him earlier. He forged forward recklessly and at the mercy of Sam's spear swinging his blade and making long but shallow slashes wherever he could. He knew he would be attacked at close range as soon as Sam recovered from his shock, but as long as his wounds weren't fatal it was no matter. He wouldn't worry about bleeding out.

Sam snapped out of his state when there was another slash that left a shallow cut on his being. He didn't block the blows that came, not until he mustered up what courage he had and moved to the side of the Abblestian and jabbed at the side hard. He knew he wouldn't have him come out with any serious injuries, and that alone filled him with comfort and, to his surprise, determination. He will not go down without a fight now, not when they were both beginning to bleed.

Aridian groaned as the spear tore violently into his side. He made another long thin slash on Sam's hand and tore the spear from his side. He stepped away from the danger zone, his side bleeding profusely. The Meadowborn was bleeding too from the many small cuts. That was good. Aridian smiled as he held his side. "Well Sam of the Meadow. I must commend you for making me bleed." Aridian laughed and started to move forward slowly. He never took his eyes off Sam.

Sam immediately began to panic when the spear was torn from his grasp. He scrambled to reach it, sort of listening to the words Aridian had to say. He wasn't sure if he could manipulate dead plants or dead wood for that matter, all he knew was that his power worked well on the living. That included the moss that was still scattered on the ground. He made a grab for his spear and, upon seeing the moss, made it into a bundle of sand and moss and threw it at the Abblestian.

Aridian watched as Sam manipulated the moss once more and fired it at him. If he thought the same trick would work twice he was truly a fool. He chopped the moss in the air with his blade and realized too late it had been mixed with sand. He didn't close his eyes early enough to avoid being temporarily blinded again. He didn't wait to act though, he ran over to where the Meadowborn had been and sank his blade into whatever was before him. He didn't know if it would severely injure the Meadowborn, or even touch him at all.

Sam's eyes lit up when he saw that he once more blinded the Abblestian. He grabbed his spear and ran to the left, nearly missing having a blade sink right into him. This time, he didn't pay attention to his wounds as he rolled behind him, putting his spear into the back of his opponent several times. He wasn't sure when the battle would end, but he hoped it would be soon with Aridian having his wounds treated.

Aridian was dismayed to feel the spear being jammed into his back. He had missed. He scrambled forward, nearly falling on his face, and came to a hault a few meters away. He opened his eyes to find that the burning had subsided. He was not a warrior. He wouldn't win by fighting, but through strategy. He eyed Sam's bleeding wounds and smiled. One of them would eventually fall from blood loss, but it wouldn't be him. He placed his hands on his side, using his friction rewrittion to cauterize the wound. He did the same with the rest of his wounds, save the ones on his back which he couldn't reach. He didn't wait long after that to charge at Sam again, hoping to open more wounds.

Sam moved back a few meters away from where the two of them once were. He raised an eyebrow as the man placed his hand on the side wound and- He shook his head and charged, only to find himself backing away when the Abblestian had the same idea. He wasn't going to run, but he had to protect himself somehow. He just didn't know how. Grimacing at his wounds, he continued to step back until he made a made decision to duck and use his spear on the man's legs, close to the knee. He wasn't sure if this would do anything, though.

Aridian's eyes widened as the Meadowborn went low. He was going for Aridian's thigh or leg. Aridian made no move to stop him, he only hoped this wasn't a decision he would regret. He dipped into it and bit his lips when he felt the spear digging into his flesh once more. This time it was his legs. Aridian was almost sure his leg had fractured. He took his oppourtunity to plunge his father's sword deep into the Meadowborn's shoulder.

Sam gasped in surprise when he felt the sword strike deep into his shoulder. He knew there would be a cost to this, so he should've seen it coming. Berating himself for his mistake, he jerked his whole body to try and remove the man's grasp on the blade itself. Meanwhile, his spear had not come out as cleanly as he would've liked, hearing the splintering of wood as he withdrew it. He dismayed at the fact his spear would break, but he didn't let that stop him from running away this time.

Aridian felt the sword being pulled from his hands and the splintering of wood as he fell face down into the dirt. If Sam Vulcan had been smart he would've impaled him then and there, but Aridian had heard the sound of retreating footsteps. He smiled through the pain and hobbled unto his feet, putting more weight on the leg that wasn't fractured. He grabbed the remaining wood of the spear that had been embeded in his leg and yanked it out swiftly, cauterizing the wound soon after to stop the gushing blood. He looked to the other man with the sword sticking out of his shoulder. "What will you do?" He shouted to Sam as he sank back to his knees. "If you pull it out, you'll surely collapse from the blood loss!"

Sam hesitated at Aridian's words. What would he do? What should he do right now? He glanced at his spear, then at his injured shoulder. He looked back at the Abblestian with a sad smile. "I can't reach the handle to pull it out, so it's stuck in there unless you come after me." He looked down once more at his spear. "What will you do with your weapon lost? ...Well, you could come after me like I said before, but I'll keep moving even if my wounds were about to bleed out." Truthfully, he wasn't sure how to handle the situation, he certainly didn't want to kill. He pulled his spear upright and looked around. "Is our match over? Or does he have to have a more grievous wound?"

Aridian smiled at the Meadowborn's words. He wouldn't stop. Not until Sam had bled out. Either that or having him forfeit would do. Aridian would die before he gave up. "You've allowed me to inflict wounds all over your body Meadowborn. You've been loosing blood. I've been loosing blood as well. So I suppose, the first to drop wins." Aridian struggled to his feet and started hobbling over to Sam. He dropped the tip of the spear into the blood drenched sand along the way. He'd hoped to win without rewrittion, but now he had no choice. He focused his powers on the blade, heating it up inside Sam's shoulder. His energy was waning, but he would go on.

Sam didn't know what to expect from Aridian. He was a stubborn one, the Meadowborn would give him that. And then the heat of the blade caused him to hiss in pain, nearly doubling over from it and dropping the wood that once had been his spear. Blinded by pain, he fell to his knees and blinked hard to not let tears of pain grace his face. Unfortunately for him, it did. "So...this is your power," he wanted to say, but all that came out was a gasping wheeze. He tried to make a grab for what was left of his spear, but the pain was too great to make him grab it so easily.

Aridian kept his rewrittion focused on the blade. He'd practiced for long just to learn how to produce heat. Without his father's guidance he didn't know how to do much more, but now his practice was paying off. He walked painfully slowly over to the Meadowborn, grabbing the hilt of his blade and tugging it from the other man's shoulder and reopening the wound that had been seared shut by the heated blade. Aridian frowned as he watched the blood begin to gush from Sam's shoulder. If he continued at this rate, he would surely die. Aridian dropped unto his knees and and pressed his hands to Sam's shoulders, generating more heat and sealing his wounds, before pulling himself away. He stared blankly at Sam before speaking "You've fought well Meadowborn," he said through wet and bloody coughs. "The win is yours."

Suddenly the pain ceased and he gasped for breath, wheezing from the pain he was forced to endure. He blinked in astonishment as the man clapped his hands down on his shoulders before once more feeling searing pain. The hissing wouldn't stop, though this time he just gritted his teeth and shakily stood up, grabbing the remnants that was once his spear and was now a stick. "...I don't know whether it's a ploy to have my guard let down or you are sincere with your words," he coughed. With that, he immediately scrambled away from the man before he could stick the sword right through him. "If you do mean that this is my win, I'll take it," he said simply, looking around at the others that had gathered to their arena, "Are we done now? Can we be treated for our wounds now?"

Aridian didn't make any attempt to attack Sam as he moved away cautiously. "My father was not a man who supported rewrittion. I have done him a great dishonour by fighting with it today. Besides, you are a greater warrior than I could ever be." Aridian smiled weakly at the Meadowborn. "So yes, we are done."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief at the Abblestian's words. It was done, it was finally done. He thought back on the fight and found he felt nothing for it. That scared him. "I've used my Rewrittion ability as well. You know, the moss?" he said as they were ushered out of the arena and had their wounds tended to, "I see no shame in fighting as you did, you're a better warrior than a Meadowborn like me." He paused, as if about to say something else before shaking his head. He wouldn't bring up the painful past for the Abblestian, not now, when they were finished sparring and having their wounds treated. He looked over at his shoulder that Aridian had cauterized. A permanent scar, to remind him that he was now a fighter, not some kind of country bumpkin.

Aridian had allowed the healer to rewrite his wounds closed and better heal the ones he had cauterized. He'd offered to cover up the burn marks Aridian had gotten in the razing of Abbelest, but he refused. His scar was a reminder of his promise to his family. He glanced over at Sam. He'd laid the perfect foundation for a friendship with the Meadowborn and that was more important than pointless fighting. Aridian knew true victories were never won in sparring grounds. He smiled to himself, as he waited for someone to tell him what was going to happen.
[/spoili]

 

[ERode]

The Undying vs The Thundercrack​

---

Her bags fell, stirring up dust.

Her coat fell, metal plates clanking within.

Her goggles fell, tinted glass hiding her eyes.

Elodie rolled her shoulders, feeling, if just for a couple minutes, light as a feather. She bounced up and down, limbering up, before casting an eye upon her foe. Ungard Strathmoor, a eloquent mountain of metal and muscle. Ambidextrous, wielding a bludeoning weapon and a cutting weapon. A legendary fighter from a family that boasted an array of hardy individuals. There was a saying that circulated in Abbelest, back when Elodie still lived and worked there. What was that again?

If it could kill a Strathmoor, it could kill anything.

She looked at her gloved right hand and slowly clenched it. She will not be killing him, but this will be a good benchmark, if nothing else. If the Thundercrack could stop the Undying, then it should, if nothing else, be considered effective against all human targets. Elodie closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and then selected one of the centermost arenas. 20 paces for one side of this square fighting pit, huh?

It was a claustrophobic range, but, well, that was her problem.

Thundercrack, still wrapped up in canvas, rested heavily on her right shoulder, her two hands gripping the barrel. Her legs coiled, muscles slowly burning under the pressure. Observe and reflect. Dodge and counter. Stay centered and keep in mind the rules.

"Don't forget to breathe."

~~~​

Insulting.
Demeaning.
An affront to his abilities, and to who he was. Randomly selected or not, Sir Ungard was disappointed. He'd hoped for a challenge, for someone he knew would fight back, and who he'd enjoy crushing. Like that wannabe warlord, or the psychotic Keldian. This wouldn't be any fun at all.

Those were his first thoughts, that is.

Then he and the girl from the Binnes stood there in that patch of dirt, and he remembered something, some bit of knowledge from way back in his brain. He'd seen this girl before. Recently, at that. Which wouldn't make much sense, Ungard had been a front-line fighter, he hadn't had time for social gatherings or political meetings during the war, so where would he have seen a little girl?

Took him two or three more seconds to put it together.

A few pieces of memory floated to the surface, some meetings his cousin, Lord Rufus, had held at Castle Strath during the War, with the Keldians advancing. Some bollocks division out to "revolutionize" war, intellectual types, led by a man from the Binnes. What was his name? Garth, Garm, something or other? Whatever. Rufus had expressed interest in some of the man's more martial inventions, but later, word had reached his House about the Binnesman's death at the hands of an assassin, and the liquidation of his task-force.

But none of that mattered. What mattered was the girl standing before Ungard in one of the central arenas was with that man from the War Technology Division. Probably related, somehow. And that posed a much larger problem for him, when he really started remembering the kinds of things they worked on. He'd never paid too much attention to it, for he was a simpler man when it came to slaughtering people, but he'd heard things, and they worried him a bit now.

So, she was smart, she was fast, and she had access to things reserved normally for elite experimental soldiers of Abbelest.

A small smile folded into existence beneath that helm of black iron. This might be fun after all.

Standing still for a few more moments as the girl waited with whatever it was she was holding, Ungard's gauntlets flew down to his belt, drawing the pitted steel weapons he'd known and loved for the past few years. He felt muscle memory kick in, that warm feeling down in his gut, his heart pumping red beneath his scarred chest. He knew he wouldn't be fast enough to catch her for a while, and thus, this was probably going to hurt. He mentally prepared himself for it. Strike hard, and strike as fast as you can. Give the enemy no room to breathe, no room to recover. And try, emphasis on try, not to kill anyone.

His heavy boots broke the silence as he lurched to life, a moderately fast, limping gait, enormous and intimidating, quieter than a man of his size had any right being, blackened iron and boiled leather haphazardly covered by ragged jute. Time to give the people of Argent a show, eh?

~~~​

No words this time? Fair enough.

Her eyes wide open, Elodie watched as he approached, faster than expected. His legs almost seemed to buckle a little with each, his entire body bobbing irregularly, but the mountain was still fast. His strides were longer than her own, and she counted sixteen, maybe seventeen, before he was upon her.

But even as the colossus bore down on her, Elodie didn't move. Which arm did he lead with? Or did he swing both at once? Was he smart enough to feint with weapons and deliver a kick? Or was the Undying a madman? It bothered her that she couldn't see his eyes behind that visor, but that was fair play. Her own eyes were hidden, after all.

Observe and reflect. Dodge and counter. And after that...get centered.

~~~​

Well now. This would be interesting, wouldn't it? Sir Ungard could tell that much halfway through his first few strides as he stomped on forward, for a few reasons. The foremost being, well, in his time, he'd learned something. There are two types of men on the battlefield he'd faced. There were those that faced their foe and charged, and there were those that turned tail and ran.

Up until now, he'd never faced a man or woman who'd stand there, without reaction, as he charged, weapons bared, seemingly...studying?

Maybe Binnesmen were just stupid. He didn't know, and he didn't really care. It was just worth noting as he advanced. He wasn't a complicated man when it came to tactics and battle plans, and for the time being, he didn't think he'd become one, depending on how this fight went for him.

Thus, there wasn't really much depth to his first act in the battle. Carrying himself as fast as his stiffened, battle-marred legs would carry him, Ungard hurtled towards the smaller combatant, his right arm extending straight forward, the well-used tip of his broadsword set on a fast collision course with Elodie's abdomen.

Testing the waters. Getting to know what's what, what worked and what didn't. Sometimes, the simple way was the right way.

~~~​

Right foot out, right hand extending, right side shifting out.

With brute strength alone, he could probably transition into a swing afterwards, so Elodie stepped in once his intentions were made clear. Pushing out with her right shoulder, she propelled her top-heavy weapon outwards, stepping to the side at the same time. Swinging in a heavy arc, it smashed into blade and sent it careening downwards, the sharp tip chipping into wood instead.

"Tch."

Would have been better if it got stuck in the fence.

Downward momentum carried the butt of the Thundercrack naturally towards Ungard's extended right leg, and she thrust downwards next, aiming at the back of the knee. If he could topple forwards just from this, that would be great. But that shouldn't happen. It shouldn't be this easy.

~~~​

Well, one of his earlier assumptions had been right. She was fast. He'd faced fast opponents before, of course, but they were always far more problematic than strong opponents, probably by virtue of the fact that Ungard was usually much stronger than said strong opponents.

He grunted quietly as his blade was redirected, having underestimated the weight of the object the Binneswoman was wielding, whatever it was. Before he could bring his sword back around from the failed thrust to swing out at her, she'd thrusted the heavy implement at the back of the knee he'd charged with.

It connected well enough, clanging against the plate covering Ungard's calves, and he thanked one of life's simple facts. The small, quick, whippy opponents, the ones who could dance circles around his bulky self, never could possess an astounding amount of strength to put behind their blows. Sure, the tougher or more skilled quick ones could slash and bash with their weapons, but real imposing strength, the kind needed to bring down big opponents with heavy frames, required lots of muscle packed on large bodies.

Even so, Ungard felt the impact, and his damaged leg did falter a bit, the tortured joint of his kneecap almost folding, were it not for the massive muscles of his leg working harder to right his course and bring him back around for a second blow.

A second blow that would come a few seconds later, delivered this time by both his weapons, as his left hand hefted the mace now closer to his opponent and his right redirected the sword he'd swung. He spun on his heels as his body came to a stop, lurching sideways to face the girl and attack, the mace going high, around the height of her shoulder, and the sword coming up from its downward trajectory somewhere in between her kneecap and shin.

He hoped to end this quick, before his opponent could scope things out, figure out a plan. He hoped he'd break a few of her bones and they'd shake hands and this'd be over so he could get on to joining Argent already, but it never really was that easy, was it?

~~~​

It felt like hitting a rock. From personal experience with abusively testing the capabilities of her Thunderhammer, Elodie could say without a doubt that it really was like hitting a rock. Even though she hit the inside of a joint, and even though a normal human's leg SHOULD have bent from such pressure, through strength alone Ungard withstood it, wheeling around for another two strikes.

But Elodie was already out of range by then. While Ungard had to spin around, the tinkerer had always been facing the direction that she wanted, and she dove forwards, an echoing 'thump' resounding behind her as his mace struck the ground. Tumbling up, Elodie turned around, breathed, and placed the butt of the Thundercrack on her right shoulder, once again resuming that starting stance

He led with the right side the first time. Will he change it the second time?

~~~​

At this point in the fight, Ungard felt he was getting a good warm-up. Honestly, he hadn't expected much martial prowess from an obvious inventor, having expected her to lead with some invention right at the start, hoping to disable Ungard before he could close the distance.

Just one more thing to make this fight nice and interesting, in his opinion.

But Ungard wasn't here for fun. He wasn't here for sparring, and he wasn't here to waste time. He was here to prove himself, whether he won or not, and unless she unveiled whatever it was that made her special enough to get a letter, he was liking his chances.

But he didn't want to waste any more time, and so, as the large knight faced his opponent, he closed his eyes for a second, deep focus unapparent on his face thanks to the helm. A dull blue glow escaped the chestplate of Ungard's armor, barely apparent to any watching the fight, but visible all the same.

He felt the familliar chill in his limbs as his Rewrition worked its magic. He could barely feel the weapons gripped tightly in his hands, his armor's weight completely unapparent to his dulled flesh. This fight wouldn't go on any longer.

A cry erupted from the knight's helm, sounding somewhat off thanks to the fact that he could barely feel his vocal cords or tongue, but all the same, he lurched forward again with just as much speed as before, if not more.

And this time, there were no stumbling charges, no individual swings. His arms went into a frenzy, his mace and sword swarming about his body with a fury, his legs carrying him towards Elodie, his warcry echoing around the field.

Let's see her parry these strikes, eh?

~~~​

A change occured. Ten paces away, Elodie could sense the change in atmosphere before the blue glow even shone in the Undying's chest. Should have seen it coming. Of course he was a Rewritor. No normal human would have survived that much damage and seen that many wars. She tightened her grip on the Thundercrack, her teeth gritting at the mental pressure exuded unto her by his battlecry.

This...this was certainly scary.

"Don't forget to breathe."

One step. One breath.

The berserker's motions were fluid now, abandoning thought for instinct. Weapons swung in symphony, a flurry of neverending blows as they windmilled about even before he reached Elodie. She coiled her legs, maintained her breathing, and widened her eyes.

Dodge the mace. Parry the sword. Continue to back up. Do not get within grabbing range.

Sparks flew in the bloodless arena, more and more tears appearing in the canvas that obscured Elodie's weapon. Each strike drove her back further, feet grinding against the ground as she fought to breath. Her wrists shook, her legs screamed, her eyes burned, every nerve in her system was going haywire in this situation.

But pain was the price she paid to perceive the pattern, and slowly, Elodie began to read.

No thrusts, no feints, no fancy maneveurs. Ungard's relentless onslaught consisted solely of telegraphed swings, meant to overcome instead of evade any sort of defense. Her own was cracking underneath that pressure, but soon...

Her left foot touched the cornerpost of the arena, and Elodie reacted.

A downward swing with the long sword missed her by a millimeter, strands of dark hair dancing in the air. She kicked off the post, rebounding to the side, and, just like before, Ungard swung around, swinging murderously with his mace.

And, for the first time, Elodie blocked it.

Hopping upwards, she brought the Thundercrack perpendicular with the ground, both arms braced to receive the blow. Like the gong of a church's bell, the mace smashed into the black-steel stock once more, and the tinkerer sailed through the air from the impact, crashing into the ground.

Crashing into the opposing cornerpost.

Crashing the maximum distance she could get away from Ungard.

Twenty paces.

The canvas finally unfurled, revealing the weapon she held.

"One shot."

~~~​

Truly, Ungard had underestimated his opponent. He had never guessed so small a combatant could have lasted this long against his onslaught, one that had often gotten the better of elite Keldian troops, countless times now. He supposed that was just because Keldians never played the defensive, either, trusting their skill and martial prowess far too much.

But, as his sword and mace swung time and time again, he could tell it was taking a toll on the tinkerer girl, and she was obviously scared, to say the least, though clearly acting with a steady mind.

That is, until, she was driven up against a cornerpost of the arena. Though he took no joy in this fight, Ungard was smiling as he swung his mace. Not because he wanted to hurt this girl from the Binnes, but because he knew he'd won, again.

Well, he thought so then, at least. But, with a massive strike, he felt his weapon strike cold hard steel instead of soft flesh and fragile bone. The impact's effect was borderline ridiculous, with the small tinkerer sailing through the air from Ungard's enormous strength.

And, as she landed, he realized his mistake.

For the tinkerer from the Binnes was now the full length of the arena away from him. Twenty whole paces, as opposed to right before him. He silently cursed himself, for if he'd just stabbed or made a slightly more precise strike, he could've had the match.

But no, he'd separated himself from the girl, and not just any girl. The daughter of the founder of the War Technology Division. And even he knew that wasn't something you wanted, as he saw her pull the canvas from the implement she'd been using the entire fight.

His mind raced backwards through time, back to Castle Strath, next to Lord Rufus, reading through battle reports.

Keldian cavalry, unseated from their mounts by state-of-the-art ranged weapons.

Keldian camps, blown sky-high with power never before possible without Rewrition.

Pushing these thoughts out of his mind, Sir Ungard faced the tinkerer, all the way across the arena, and he charged.

Hopefully she hadn't had access to the worst of the weapons he'd read about back then.

~~~​

Straightforwards. No hesitation. Because he knew that this was non-lethal? Or because he didn't care either way? No, the limping gait, that irregular up-and-down motion, made it much too difficult to aim for the head regardless.

Elodie grimaced, sweat beading down her brow, sticky strands of hair stuck to the sides of her face. Her left arm was broken, mangled, each heartbeat sending another pulse of pain throughout her body. It was nauseating, and her stomach rumbled unpleasantly.

But there was no time for those things, and her eyes finally narrowed.

One arm, one shot.

She aligned herself sideways, propping the butt of the Thundercrack against her side. With a quick flick, she pushed the metal cover out of the ignition pod, before a puff of air awoke the smouldering embers of the thick cord. One knee propped up, the other kneeling down, Elodie pressed her back against the cornerpost, using that as well for stability.

Irritating. That bastard was moving around too much, but she still had seven paces to work with. Still a little more time.

The veins in her right arm popped out underneath her sleeves, the springs underneath giving her the support she needed to keep it steady. It was as optimal of a situation she could hope for. Her finger stroked the trigger, her eyes searching for the moment where the stars aligned, and finally, three paces away, she fired.

A flash of fire, a burst of smoke, a crack of thunder.

The firearm flew out of her hand, flipping out into the air and falling onto the other side of the fence. She was now disarmed, and even if her shot aligned properly, she couldn't shoot, not with a broken left arm and a couple of broken fingers.

But still, it was satisfying.

"Two birds."

~~~​

Ungard knew he wouldn't make it in time the second before he even started running. Another simple fact of life, same as the others. Big guys in armor don't move fast, and he was an even bigger guy in even bigger armor, with bad legs to boot. It just doesn't work like that, even when you're trying your damnedest, even when you're hurtling after your foe harder than you've ever ran before, even when your lousy Rewrition is working overdrive so you can't even feel the goddamned aches and pains in your worthless legs.

He saw her prepping the...whatever it was, he hadn't heard what they were called back during the War, and he knew she could use it faster than he could run. Hell, if she couldn't, her father must've been a lousy inventor.

But in the end, turns out he wasn't.

A few paces away, so close, and yet so far, Ungard saw her finger compress a little lever on the underside of the implement, and black smoke belched out, and he saw fire and thunder blast out the pipe-like mechanism that comprised her weapon. He heard a sound, louder than any he'd ever heard, and the object was blown from her good hand, flying to the ground off to her side.

But her aim was true, one-handed or not. The projectile moved faster than Ungard could see, and on his step, Rewrition or not, he could sure as hell feel his leg. He chanced a look down, not exactly a stranger to gruesome wounds, but he knew this was bad.

A piece the size of a cut of venison had been torn from his leg, in the leather section between the iron plates of his leggings. Nerves were firing off little distress signals in the mutilated flesh, and he stumbled, hard, almost losing it now.

A split second later, however, and the little brass nail shoved into his sternum glowed harder and harder, a brilliant turquoise light billowing from the plate sections of Ungard's armor. His brain felt the pain, and it looked at this feeling like some foreign invader, like something that shouldn't be. His mind bared its teeth and it pounced and ripped the pain to pieces, shoving it back, venting it from his thoughts.

His leg didn't matter. He mattered, and Argent mattered.

His mind switched to one thought, one that he voiced to himself, as if so he didn't forget.

"I am iron, and iron doesn't fucking feel pain."

And, in the second or so it took for his powers to kick in, Sir Ungard was moving again. Granted, he was comically hopping along on one leg, but he was indeed moving, closing the short distance between the two in a few moments, and not a sign of irritation visible in his movements.

Stopping about a foot from the fallen tinkerer from the Binnes, his wounded leg held a few inches from the ground so as to not put pressure on the useless limb, he pointed his sword forward, near Elodie's face, and his mace clattered to the ground.

"This battle is over." His rasping basso voice was strangely calm for the situation.

~~~​

The Undying was still moving, even after that? Elodie had seen her share of gruesome injuries before. She had seen the effect the Thundercrack had on flesh and metal, had seen the meat blossom and the blood spray. The bone was practically exposed to sunlight, and a mass of dark meat laid in the dirt behind the berserker.

But he still moved. Still refused to fall and continued to close the distance, until he finally towered before her and pointed the sword down at her face, proclaiming his victory.

Geez, what a monster. So the Thundercrack wasn't an all-purpose anti-human weapon yet, huh? Fucking Rewritors. Fucking iron body meatheads. Ah, her fucking twiggy little bones.

Elodie slowly got up, sliding up against the cornerpost until she could get face-to-chest with the massive man. "Three months," she said, "In three months, you better be harder than iron."

With that, she awkwardly shuffled away, casting only a cursory glance over at the neighboring fighting pen, before paying attention to a much greater problem.

How was she even going to vault over the fence, if both her arms were messed up?

Ah, fuck it, she'll just throw up instead.

 

[Ananfal]

TLDR: Lydlos charged, Ash blew her away. Rinse and repeat x3, and Ash comes out with a few cuts and scrapes, Lydlos with some bruised/fractured/broken ribs. Ash declared his defeat, Lydlos had nothing to say about it.

Trying the same thing over and over again expecting different results

[BCOLOR=transparent]Lydlos looked at her opponent, silently appraising him as they walked to the arena they had chosen to fight in. He was of average height, with a slender but not too thin body. He was clearly Drokken, as evidenced by his pale skin and seeming ignorance of the outside world. Not to mention, the Argent member had referred to him as 'the Drokken'. Idly she released one dagger into her hand, flipping it about as she pondered upon her strategy of attack. Hit hard and fast, she mused, don't give him time to resist. That would be best. She didn't know how skilled he was, or what weapons he would be using, so a fast end to the fight would only increase her chances of victory. Narrowing her eyes at her enemy, she crouched at the ground, then suddenly lunged at the Drokken, a dagger held in each hand (when had she drawn the second one?) and her mouth twisted into a snarl. Her movements were fast and decisive, closing the gap between them in only a few quick strides.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Part of Ash felt himself die when he knew that he was to fight the woman with knives. She seemed incredibly skilled and deadly; he worried for his own safety as he wasn't sure what he could do. He followed slowly to the arena as he thought about her body image. Obviously, she was quick, stealthy and incredibly skilled as he saw what she could do when she threw that note down on a dagger earlier. He stared at her as she began crouching and it took him a minute to register she had moved and with a second dagger drawn that he hadn't noticed. She struck hard and fast, nearing him so quickly he didn't have time to react before he had many slashes along his body. With a cringe, he brought his arms up and, in a moment of panic, he caused the gravity in front of him to increase in a backwards motion, causing Lydlos to launch backwards all the way across the arena again, causing her to lift from the ground and fall from the force. Ash took a moment to obviously recover from that, as he seemed to not have meant to be so forceful.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Lydlos couldn't believe it when the man seemed to be utterly surprised by her charge - like a doe caught by a forest fire, he just watched her come at him without even moving to defend himself until he had already sustained several slashes to his arms and chest. However his reaction, when it finally came, was harsh and striking. Whatever the man did, it sent her flying across the arena, smacking against the wooden fence at the edge and dropping to the ground. Lydlos lay there for barely a second before she tried to get up again, groaning slightly as she put a hand to her ribs. They were definitely tender, and perhaps one or two had been fractured, but none had been broken. That meant she was still in this fight. During her tumble, she had lost both of her daggers, but she was undeterred as she drew two more from hidden places around her person and charged again, this time zig-zagging instead of heading straight and throwing one of her daggers from about five feet away before instantly pivoting and coming at him from the side.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Ash was trying to refocus on the fight in front of him, but was still a bit dazed from his previous retaliation. The knife that flew at him grazed his cheek as he narrowly avoided it at the last second, as his attention was more focused on the woman. As she was much quicker than him, she got a good strike on his side, which made him bite his lip. At this point, he was starting to feel threatened and he panicked, but he knew what he was doing. With his gravitational manipulation, which would be hard for anyone to figure out what he was doing, he caused gravity around him to shift to zero, causing Lydlos to be suspended in the air for a moment before he made gravity flow upwards before coming back down, however it wasn't very high as he was still recovering from Lydlos's speed, but would easily daze her for a moment of surprise, giving Ash the opening he needed to hurry across the field. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Once more she was sent up into the air, coming down to the ground with a thump that had her letting out another groan as her already hurt ribs were jarred even more. One more hit like that and she would have a broken rib, an injury that she wouldn't dare risk aggravating in a simple practice spar. Slowly getting to her feet, a couple of shallow breaths allowed Lydlos to calm herself, regaining her sharp focus on her opponent. What was he doing that caused her to be thrown like that? Was it a type of Rewrition? She had never learned much about it - her Master had seen that she had no potential for it and struck it from her learning material. "You are powerful." She admitted to the Drokken, taking this stalled moment to gather her strength for another blitz attack. "What is this strange power you have, Drokken?"[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Ash scrunched his eyebrows together in confusion. [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Why is she asking me this? Why is she admitting my strength? No!! Don't get confused. This is obviously a distraction.[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] With a shake of his head, he spoke back. "It's a special kind of Rewrition. One only held by my family." The first words he had spoke since arriving to Argent rang louder than he had anticipated. His eyes never left her as he began to increase the gravity in his immediate vicinity of a 5 foot radius around him that was enough to render any movement around him impossible, which would even affect him if he moved. Although, this wouldn't be evident unless he was neared, which he was going to expect from Lydlos.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]She settled into a ready stance, mentally charting the best line of attack in order to secure the victory in the next charge. She wasn't sure she could last if the fight went any longer, so either it ended now or she would have to concede defeat. Taking another deep breath, Lydlos fixed her eyes upon her opponent and crouched down, pausing for one more moment before launching herself at the Drokken. However, this time was different. The reason why became clear the moment that she came closer than five feet to Ash. Instantly she dropped to the ground, the sudden change of gravity forcing her forward momentum into downward momentum, her body skidding across the ground to land only a foot or two away from him. Instantly her mind was racing, trying to figure out how to turn this to her advantage. Deep wheezing breaths shuddered out of her chest, sounding like they were coming from an elderly man on the verge of death. "Please... I can't breathe..." She gasped out.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The young Drokken tensed up as he watched Lydlos charge, but he held his ground as he felt as though he would remain safe with the intense field of gravity surrounding him. His plan had worked, sending her to the ground quite hard as she neared him. His moment of pride was stalled, however, as he heard her begin to gasp and wheeze from the force of gravity on her. His eyes widening, he began to ease the force of gravity around him, but didn't remove it. Internally, he screamed at himself that she was lying, but he couldn't stand to hurt another person, especially one who he was just sparring with. As of now, the gravity was still heavy, but it wouldn't be impossible to move with enough force of will. "L-Let's call this a draw. I.. I don't want either of us to get hurt anymore." Ash stuttered out, his words soft but slightly frantic.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Lydlos sucked in a deep breath the moment that the gravity field (that's what she assumed, at least) eased up, the boy clearly reacting to her feigned distress. He hesitantly called out for a draw, causing her to scoff internally. A draw was not acceptable - failure was punished severely - but then she reminded herself that this was simply a practice spar, something that wasn't intended to go until death. Still, she wanted to give the best showing that she could, and she could no more lay down and give up than she could take her own life. Her hand gripped the handle of her last knife, the movement hidden by her body as she struggled to her hands and knees. She stayed there for a few heavy breaths before suddenly lunging up with as much speed as she could muster (so much slower than her usual speed, it almost made her sick), her dagger aiming right for the boy's chest.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]A sharp gasp of surprise left Ash's mouth as his opponent quickly lunged at him. She was moving much slower, which gave Ash enough time to move backwards and fall onto his butt, but not quick enough to completely dodge the attack as he now had a long cut going up the center of his chest. As he fell, he held his hands up in a feeble attempt to block any further attacks as he caused the effect of gravity on Lydlos to move backwards, practically launching her away from him. After he had landed on the ground, however, he frantically readjusted gravity on her so that she'd land as light as a feather on the ground. With a bite to his lip, he held a hand over his new, bleeding wound as he looked across the arena at his opponent. "I-If you won't accept a draw, I admit defeat!" He called over, loud enough for her to hear. Ash arose on shaky legs from his spot and attempted to make his way over to the healing Rewriters so that his cut could get nursed properly, but not before saying one more thing, albeit quite bashfully, to Lydlos. "You're very skilled and cunning. I'm… g-glad to know we'll be on the same side and not opponents." With that, he slowly began to walk away from the arena, signalling that this duel was over, regardless of what Lydlos had accepted as the outcome.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Once more she was blasted away, only this time she landed as lightly as though upon a cloud, her ribs not even jarred by her landing. Her last knife now joined the others scattered around the arena, knocked out of her hands by her flight. Clambering to her feet, Lydlos curled one arm around her ribs, applying pressure to keep the ribs from fracturing or breaking further. She would have to wrap tight bandages around her chest for the next few days, but no further attention would be necessary. She wrapped her breasts already, so this would be no different from her daily routine to begin with. Slowly she made her way to where the Drokken and the medics were standing, stopping and collecting her knives as she passed them by. She hid them in various places around her person and by the time she reached the edge of the arena, the only sign of the fight she had just taken part in was the arm around her chest, and even that she would normally hide, but it was no longer... necessary. "Well fought, Drokken." She spoke, not accepting or denying his declaration of failure.To her, a true fight only ended in one way, and victory was clear. To lose, is to die.[/BCOLOR]

 

[Asuras]

☾☾☾ AATU ☽☽☽

The Binnesman walked to one side of the sparring ring; the far end. The ground was dust, and his footsteps kicked up sand as he moved. He coughed as a cloud of dust rose up around his face. One hand moved to his side, pressing against the top of his sword. His fingers clutched at the pommel , thumb tracing the symbol pressed into the top of it. It was embossed with a stylized boat. A loose thread on his gloves got caught in the lines of the sails. The thread snapped as he jerked his hand away, setting the scabbard of his sword more squarely on his hip. He looked different. A full suit of mail, with some heavy plated pauldrons, bracers, greaves, with a grand-helm atop his head. The helm had only a narrow visor for his eyes, and a few small holes along the angled sides of the helmet's cheeks; where he could breathe. The breath was metallic and damp with sweat. But with the helm on; the Binnesman was utterly anonymous again. The only thing that could identify him was the long gambeson, with an emblazoned star on its chest. He pressed his gloved fingertips against it, and his fingers twitched as they touched the star.

As Aatu walked across the ring, his eyes trailed down: staring without blinking at the hundreds of footsteps that had passed over the dirt, tracing the lines of old shoes and boots through the slit in the helm. His footsteps were muffled against the sand, but his sabatons still crunched and clicked as he moved. His posture was very straight, his back completely rigid. As reached the far edge of the ring, he turned around, facing towards the woman across from him. The black-slit in his helmet stared at her. She was pale, with blonde hair. She had an exposed stomach, and a thin strip of leather covering her breasts. Wolves, the colour of bone and teeth, walked around her, their feet crossing in front of the other as he stepped through the sand. The Binneseman watched her face, but he could only see a sliver of it, the helmet interrupting his vision. He let out a deep exhale, and his helmet rattled; breath being released from the helm like hot steam from a kettle.

Aatu dipped his head, and shifted his feet. His shoulders hunkered slightly, the pauldrons rattling against gorget. He led with his right foot; left slightly angled behind him. One hand - his left, hung slightly behind him. He drew the sword with the right hand. It was a long-sword, with a broad flat blade. It had a narrow-crossguard, and the emblazoned ship. There were a few runes carved on it, and they had a few marks of red; old blood that had congealed within them. He held the sword in one hand, the fingers gently curved around the hilt. The fingers were not trembling, but curled around the sword, ready to flick the wrist, ready to lunge outward and strike; and ready to stay perfectly still, and wait.

☾☾☾ BRIAES ☽☽☽

Disappointment. She was to be pitted against one of the mundane-looking folks, garbed in simple plate, face obscured against the carnage of battle. She sniffled and slid a gauntlet across her lips to wipe away the blood that had collected around them from her meal. It didn't do much beyond streak it sideways. The axe resting on her shoulder was uncharacteristically large for a female her size; even for a man it seemed vaguely oversized. A Blennghammen creation, no doubt. Double-sided and sporting two jagged points spaced out evenly on each head, the weapon looked like it had quite the punch to it, though Briaes carried with exertion. She might have walked the walk into the arena, but her handling of the weapon made it clear she was not in total control, and that the weight behind it would inevitably stagger her at least somewhat.

She shifted her shoulders, cracking her neck side to side sharply. The wolves at her side still seemed to be more curious than battle ready, heads and ears moving about as the other combatants prepared themselves and, eventually, did battle. The noises didn't seem to disturb them much.

Briaes stood a couple dozen feet from Aatu, staring him down from under a flowing wolf pelt. With arm wrapped over and resting upon the handle of her axe, she seemed relaxed. She picked at something in her teeth with her tongue before shifting slightly. Under her breath she said something unheard by Aatu's ears, and the wolves immediately turned their full attention to the knight. Normally wandering, they appeared fully trained on Aatu, staring him down with unblinking black eyes. Another unheard word and the wolves split from her side, prowling at the edges of the arena quietly, heads still turned to him. Two to the his left, and one to his right.

"Shit's unfair I guess. Four against one," Briaes called out before shifting into a slow walk towards Aatu.

☾☾☾ AATU ☽☽☽

The knight dipped his head, curling his fingers around the pommel of his sword. He bent his knees slightly, bracing himself against the ground. The crunch of his sabatons was audible, as he did so. His dark eyes shone - gleaming and bright - through the slit of his visor. He stared at her, without moving or flinching; a compact suit of armor, with a sword in its hand. The sword was not held upwards; at an acute angle, pointing towards the ground. But his grip on it was solid, albeit conveyed with gently arched fingers. A wind gusted against him, rattling his armor - and sending dust whirling around them.

The Binnesman stared at the girl and the wolves, blinking as much as they did. He watched him, and his fingers flicked slightly against his sword. His eyes were stuck on the blood around her mouth. His fingers twitched against the pommel of his sword, tapping out a pattern of some kind against the hilt. He shook his sword with a quiver of his wrist. A pounding had risen, and it drowned out everything else. His fingernails pressed into the hilt -- but it went unfelt. His knuckles cracked, unbidden -- but it went unheard, of their own accord. The whitening of his knuckles and the rush of blood and pink to his nails -- but it went unseen. Aatu's expression was unknowable, beneath all of the metal and plate.

She spoke to him - and began to walk towards him. Her wolves followed, two on the left, one on the right. He did not look towards them; his eyes were trained upon her. He said something; but it came out hollow and soft; and she would not have heard it. Only that something had been said. Aatu's knees bent a little further, shoulders pressing forward. He waited for the inevitable rush, while his head pounded.

☾☾☾ BRIAES ☽☽☽

The attack came in as a series of tricks. The wolf to Aatu's right broke into a short sprint towards him before halting suddenly just out of reach and barking, haunches bristling. The other other two wolves sprinted just after the first at his left, and seemed fully intent on attacking him that time around. At the last second they darted apart at his front and back, running past him and snapping at the air around his arms as they did so. Distracted or not, Briaes walk turned into a bullrush at his front, taking charge just after her wolves had acted. With both hands tightened around her axe, she hoisted it from atop her shoulders, pushing with all her body to get the weapon moving for a diagonal cut across Aatu's torso. Already the wolves has circled back as Briaes attack came down, sprinting back in sync for his flanks in case the attack missed.

☾☾☾ AATU ☽☽☽

Wolf teeth do little against hard steel and cold iron. He did not watch them - he did not look at them. His visor faced outwards and downwards, towards Briaes. His sword shook slightly in his hand, as the woman charged towards him. His eyes narrowed as she ran towards him, her narrow frame bringing the force of the axe at him. It was an over-hand swing, and telegraphed long before it collided. The wolves bit and tore at the metal; but their fangs could do nothing against full-plate - not even against the chain and padding that girded the back of his knees. He could not feel anything, save for the slight pressure from something; but they could not get their mouths around the steel, their teeth getting knotted in chainmail and padding. The Binnesman shifted his weight, shaking the dogs agway. The axe was coming closer.

Aatu moved to lead with his left as opposed to his right; strafing to the side. He was not swift enough in the heavy mail, and the axe caught him. The axe was brought down hard against the side of his pauldron, catching on the rim of the shoulder-guard, and slicing down through to the middle of his breastplate. The Binnesman gasped behind his helmet, but no blood sparked from the end of her axe. Gleaming rings of mail insulated with thick woolen padding shone from the traumatized metal. The knight's feet slid in the dirt, restoring his combat posture ; leading with the left leg, right slightly behind him, knees bent, and fingers curled around his sword. The dogs were at his heels, but their mouths would find nothing to latch to The spurs on his sabatons would cut their mouths ripe and bloody.

The Binnesman hunkered his shoulders, and shot his sword outward - a sharp, surprisingly quick movement. His foot led into the gesture, putting the weight of his body against it, in a way that did not sacrifice speed. The lunge was aimed for the exposed flesh on her stomach; the blade darting towards the bullseye of her stomach-hole. His wrist flicked, twisting so that if and when the blade connected, it would go in with the edge of the sword vertical.

☾☾☾ BRIAES ☽☽☽

Though they could not break his armor, their weight was nothing to scoff at. Attempts at penetrating the walking tank's protection proved unsuccessful, and so she shifted tactics. Years spent tearing into the leather hides of bandits and madmen had given her confidence, but she knew now that the steel surrounding Aatu was not going to be breached, save by her own hand.

As her axe swung into the dirt, cracking the stone beneath, her stance was left open, ripe for the picking. Thankfully, she had three other shields at her disposal. As Aatu took a lunge, the wolf gnawing at his greaves reacted with quintessential animalistic fashion. Its neck snapped aside and up to his arm, wrapping its jaws around the wrist of his arm. The force of its snarling head alone was enough to push aside his stroke. The blade narrowly missed Briaes as she shifted to grant her that extra cushioning of safe air. All at once, the wolf tugged on his arm, unable to penetrate but still able to wrap around and get his fangs to hook on the other side. Briaes lifted her axe up to swing down upon the potentially exposed limb.

☾☾☾ AATU ☽☽☽

The gauntlet crunched under the weight of the jaws, and the axe came down. The gauntlet was hit hard - and there was a sicking sound of metal tightening up, and the steel was rumpled by the force of the blow. The Binnesman let out a sound that came out strained and small under his helmet, muted. The sword flailed wildly - as the wrist was crunched. He shook his wrist wildly - after both the dog and axe hit upon it. The sound of the wrist moving was not a pleasent one; the sound of bone, armor, leather, and mail all colliding against one another in a cacophony of sound. Aatu swallowed hard - and the sound of his swallow echoed in the iron of his helmet. To his ears, it was deafening, as deafening as the heart-beat in his ears. He shifted his feet, and raised his eyes in his head.

The Binnesman shifting his feet, regaining his balance. He idly kicked a dog away, and tried to shake the one latched to his arm away - hoping to throw it to the earth. His grip tightened on his sword, and the pounding in his head got louder. He shifted, one foot forward - lunging towards the woman. His posture was different, hunched over, elbows pointing to the ground. He clutched at the sword two-handed. His crushed and mutilated arm held the sword tightly, but his whole arm was shaking - the other hand held the splintered steel tightly, stabilizing it. The sword leapt out, the blade catching the evening sun. He did not aim for the stomach - but instead, lashed towards her inner thighs - aiming the blade in a low sweep for the intimate space between the base of the kneecap and the crest of it, the fold of the knee. He did not know if the blade would catch.

He could taste blood in his mouth.

☾☾☾ BRIAES ☽☽☽

Briaes needed a wide stance to handle her axe; her legs spread just a tad further than an ordinary swordsman's to keep her balance during and after the barreling swings she unleashed. For all intents and purposes, when her axe hit solid earth, she had to move around the weapon, and not the other way around. Though valiant, the wolves could only deflect so many blows from the swordsman at any point in time, and a mistimed snap from a second wolf had dropped the opportunity to save her from the oncoming slash. Both hands gripped around the lowered axe, Briaes could only slide her exposed limb to try and avoid losing it entirely.

Though the blade cut deep into the side of kneecap, just above the scaled armor covering her shins, she had managed to prevent the whole joint from breaking sideways from the blow. It hurt and bled profusely, but it was still a useful appendage. Briaes slipped on the pain, leg crumpling beneath her as the wounded knee hit the ground heavily. She took a moment, wincing as she tested the limb in the short milliseconds she had to defend herself again, or retaliate.

The three wolves disengaged momentarily from Aatu, letting go of their bites and pounces to circle around to his front. They stood in hunched positions at Briaes sides, ready to leap up onto his front. Briaes stood herself up on a shaky limb with help from her weapon as a brace, and the wolves broke into action once more. Two of them dashed upwards for Aatu's helmet; on their hind limbs they were only slightly taller than the knight. The third slipped around the side, and by command of their master, barreled into his legs with its head in an attempt to knock the man clean onto the ground.

☾☾☾ AATU ☽☽☽

The shine of his eyes flickered, in the dark recess of the helmet. His grip tighted on the sword, as it connected with the barbarian's kneecap. Blood ran down the side of his sword, filling the runes along the side. They did not mean anything, and the blood in them crusted over quickly, alongside the other pockets of rust. The swordsman did not move, as he watched her slip and crumple - and then, he did not move as he watched her pull herself to her feet. The only sign of something human beneath that suit of armor was the movement of his fingers alongside the hilt of his sword; his fingers twitched, and the joints cracked. His fingers tapped alongside of the hilt of the sword in a particular rhythm. With ever finger-beat, their came a draw of air from the Binnesman. The twitch of his fingers, and his breath, were coordinated.

He stood firm and resolute, and pointed his sword towards her as she stood up. And then - the wolves rushed him, teeth snarling, paws and claws flying outwards. They bounced on their hind legs, and their claws scraped against his breastplate. Their claws weren't sharp enough to dent the plate, and they didn't have enough power behind their bites to crush his gauntlets. One of the wolves rushed towards his face, hot dog breath pouring into the airholes and eyeslit of the helmet. The jaws snapped at the metal, but likely only succeded in cutting the dogs' tender gums. The helmet remained impassive. The knight pulled his head back, leaning away from the leaping wolves.

However - his leaning undid his footwork. A dog barreled into his knees pushing back the sabatons with a grate of steel and iron. The knight crashed to the ground, dust clouds emerging from the impact. The wolves barked and snapped at him; but he was impervious to that in his steel. A bit of blood bubbled from his lip. Aatu had bit it, when he had fallen. His tongue darted out, lapping up the blood. It tasted warm, and sweet. There was a glimmer in Aatu's eyes, heavily shadowed and dark under the visor of his helm, gleaming with water. They had filled with tears, but he was not crying out. His face, what little of it that could be seen, was not contorted with pain. His fingers flexed on the hilt of his sword; still holding it tightly. The blood that had seemed into the runes seemed to crawl up the sword - the droplets of blood like thin red-worms. He crossed his sword-hand, sword in tow, across his chest. His left hand slapped against the crushed metal gauntlet, and his teeth grit in his mouth.

His knees twitched - feet shifting in the dark. His fingers twitched wildly on both hands, the crushed gauntlet making a sickening sound of cracks and creaking; the sound of metal grating against bone. Aatu rose his head slightly, and those damp eyes made connection with the barbarian's. He reached up a hand - fingers all wild and twisting - to touch against his split lip. Blood dribbled down his chin and onto his gauntlet. He smiled slightly - showing bloodstained teeth. His bloody hand reached up, and tugged his helmet off of his head - casting it to the side. The sweat, dirt, and blood streaked face beneath had a small, tight, cordial smile across it. His eyes snapped closed, and he cast his sword to the side. He raised his crushed hand, and his bloody one. He did not cry out. His hands were fists, but the wrists shook. No other part of him did.

A breath rattles from him, the words halting and distant; "You win."

☾☾☾ IN DREAMS ☽☽☽

In dreams, the coward, the raven-starver, the kin-killer watches his father die. His father curses him with his last breath, hot foam coming from his mouth, stained yellow and green from the pus that now infects his entire body. His fingernails are bloody stumps, and are bound to the sides of the bed with cold iron manacles and thick horse-hair ropes. The horse-hair is pure white. His father's face is contorted, gone red in the skin, but his cheeks are thin and hollow. He screams at him, in a language that Argr does not quite understand - but he makes out the words nonetheless. Maybe its because the man dying is his father, who the Raven-Starver has to remind himself not to love. He knows those words, and will carry them forever inside of him, letting them fester and rot, until he dies like his father dies.

"You're impotent - you can't finish anything!" The words wail through the small room. Argr tears his eyes away from the dying man, and stares at the door instead. The door is carved of old-oak wood. It sits in an arch of red-brick. Under the red-brick is the body of Regin's father. The ghost peers out from inbetween the concrete and the bricks, staring at Aatu with its cold and dead eyes. He is buried there, the Raven-Starver knows - so that he can watch the decline of his house. The lantern next to his father's death bed goes out, and the room is cast in a dark shadowy light. The ghost does not speak, but opens and closes his mouth in time with his dying son, as if Regin's words were his own. "You are a coward! You can't fucking end anything - you don't have a prick between your legs. You're not a man." Argr knows he means it, as the words hang in the room.

He looks back at his father. His father's body has deflated into a sticky, tacky putty. There is something boneless about him, his mouth mouth closing and open in time with the ghosts, gasping like a dying fish. His dying eyes eyes are cold fish eyes that look through a viscous medium towards his son, his Raven-Starver. Argr looked back, and could see those eyes in a shapeless, protoplasmic mass undulating over the dark sea floor. His spit came out in long red strings that dripped down his chin and onto his fleshy, jellied skin. That was what his father had become. Argr stands up- he had been on the floor. Argr stands up, and walks across the room. The ghost breathes in his ear, and the ghost breathes his father's words, but he does not listen to him.

He walks towards his father's bed, and pulls a pillow out from behind his father's head. When he yanks the pillow aside, the head turns into a shapeless mass of discarded features. The mouth exists, when the eyes have sunken into the putty. The mouth laughs, and the teeth bob around in the pudding of his skin, and the mouth spits in Argr's eye. The salvia rolls down his cheek, and leaves behind a red smear. The mouth shouts at him, but its voice is a little distant, and comes up from his bowels, bringing with it a methane stench; "You don't have a cock. You can't do it."

The Raven-Starver presses the pillow down hard upon his father's shapeless mouth. The breath comes in short spasms, and then, not at all. The ghost creeps back into the bricks, and then is gone. He can taste blood, and he is happy. Tears run down his cheeks. He imagines that this is what it must be like to be in love. He is hungry and lustful and wrathful, and his father is dead. His fingers twitch, and blood pools beneath his nails, and it is such a relief when it all spills onto the floor. He sucks air into his teeth, and the blood comes back with the breath, and he feels full and satiated. But a black cloud creeps over him, and he suddenly feels sorrow creep into his heart. He is too full. He is bursting. He carries his father's blood too. Blood speaks the truth, when dreams do not. This is the final dream. The dream he will have until he dies.

☾☾☾ BRIAES ☽☽☽

The two wolves remained atop his fallen body for a few moments before suddenly losing all sense of ferocity. They licked their chops and backed off carefully, seeming as if they were his own, waiting further orders. Briaes smiled, though it seemed forced. She was clearly not truly happy. With the battle over she had no more need to keep face, and she collapsed on her wounded leg. She let out a heavy sigh as she hit the ground just in front of Aatu.

"Fuck me. Aitch'." She hovered her gauntleted hand over her knee, touching it tenderly on occasion. The wolves lost interest in her and Aatu, but remained in place on their tails, watching the battles around them. "Well it ain't the worst bloody cut I've gotten, but it feels worse cause' you were just one man," Briaes commented. "Thank ye' for not hurting them. Dunno if a healer can repair beasts like them."

 

[EmperorsChosen]

Karmia Razgriz & Theo Lukass



Smirking slightly at her chosen opponent, it seemed whatever gods their were, loved a bit of chaos in the lives of the Mortals they were given to watch.

Karmia would have to face Theo, before any sort of questions, complaints, or even reprimands, the group was whisked away.


Taken by sentries the pair were lead to opposite entry points of what seemed to be a simple 15 meter ring.. well more like a half assed fighting pit.. No it wasn't even a pit. Just a sand box, with a wooden fence, barely better than a pig pen. Scoffing slightly at the workmanship, but more than that being an irritant, there was one.. small issue. The design of the room put her at a tactical disadvantage. She couldn't glide, ambush, or strike from above. However she was an accomplished duelist, with more battle experience than Theo. That should make things even..



Staring the younger man down, she notices his eyes, burning as always. At the least this could prove quite the amusement.

"How about a wager if you will. If I beat you, then I shall grace you with one bit of information. Though not for sure related to this. If it is a draw, then I'll give you one of your choice. If you win I shall give you both."

Tilting her head into a slight grin, Karmia's eyes narrow into slits. "As to what Information, why that would be to two questions that likely have been at the back or front of your mind this whole time. Why did I spare you, and what happened to your friends and family."

Smilingly still, the Royal Dragoon places a left gauntleted hand on the Blood Ribbon to her back, and the Right on her sword, not yet drawing, while it would be pointless to use her wings in here, the blood release also helped awaken her enchanted armor and blade. Both of those she would sorely need.

~~~

Random huh? That was a load of crap. That guy just knew that Theo was likely the only damn person that wouldn't try to mutilate the woman. It was a pain, this whole "proof of worthiness" test, though, at the very least this combat test could provide him with a decent outlet. He may not be actively trying to cut the woman's head off or demand that she praise the Abbelestian beliefs and lords, however, she was still part of the people that resulted in the slaughter of his company; he could use this.

After the group was herded in, the Keldian pulled him aside for some sort of bet. It was quite the shitty bet too...

"...You do realize regardless that I get something I want and you get nothing?"

Huffing to that, his opponent seemed to ready herself. in response, Theo hefted the larger of his two blades in his right hand out of the sheath on his back and let the dull side rest on his shoulder. While experienced in many types of weapons, it seemed Theo's primary equipment consisted of a large cleaver-like blade, and a much more normal-sized short sword.

"As to the latter, I am already aware... Don't make me angry," He retorted, obviously still a bit touchy on the matter of his family and friends. As far as he knew they were all simply cut down like cattle without much of a chance.


~~~

"Father never said I was a good Merchant. Plus either way I felt pity enough to give you something. We both know I'll win, ohoho." Not sounding all that serious, or even aggressive, the Keldian smiles. "Oh do you now?" She asks half tauntingly.



With her purple Aura shining brightly from behind, the swordswoman leans forward, wings swept skyward and to the read, blade raised high and horizontal, with a tilt of her head, she had no plan to give him an easy win. "Vile Hordes of Kelda, City of Terrors, vs gallant small Abbalest, or so the story goes. I guess I shall play the part of villain, now.." Narrowing her eyes, the woman s smile seems to vanish as the ground, or rather her right leg, parts into a forward leap. "PREPARE YOURSELF!"

Swinging the large anti-Calvary longsword in low from the right, she has it purposely turned to the side, so as not to cleave Theo in half.


~~~

Theo made no comment in regards to her taunts. There wasn't much of a point in replying. He still got something out of this regardless, not only that but her wings wouldn't be of particular use in the current area.

As the Keldian dashed forth, the mercenary lowered his center of gravity, sliding his right leg forward tilting his body so that his right side faced her more than his center. As she closed the distance and swept her blade, Theo in response, rather than charging in turn, braced himself before slamming the large cleaver top down into the flooring to intercept the incoming weapon. If he entrenched himself well enough, simply parrying the incoming attack would stumble her; he had a steady base while she was in movement.

Gripping the smaller blade in his left hand, Theo spun around counter-clockwise and made a horizontal sweep at Karmia, albeit he made no effort to tilt the sword in any certain way so as to minimalize injury.

It bothered him—Even now she was still trying to hold back, still trying to avoid much of an injury. Just what was going on in that lunatic's head...

~~~


Allowing the momentum of her movement to continue, the swordswoman takes advantage of Theo
s first hit and block to reestablish some footing. By stopping her momentum, with his own, Karmia is able to land on her left leg, with the right trailing, her left arm now continues the sword swing alone. With the blade meeting no resistance in the wake of his movements, it is allowed to twirl so the tip would face the ground, left leg bracing, it was now being used as a makeshift shield, intercepting the counter attack.

With a red eyed gaze and smirk, its unknown if had anticipated his movements, been in too many battles, or had some crazy foresight. Regardless shes not content to leave it there, sweeping around on her left leg as the right moves into position, her now free right hand, throws a gauntleted fist for the back of Theo s head, along from the side and rear. "Just because you are inside of my reach, doesn't mean I can t hit you boy." Coughing slightly, she pays attention to the 2nd blade, though given her movement choices, she didn't exactly have the option to deflect or run from this point depending on his actions.

~~~

She predicted it—Was it the difference in experience? Was it instinct? Regardless, the Keldian woman proved very annoying with her agility. For someone like him, it was the equivalent of a fly buzzing around you and being incapable of actually hitting it, except this fly could hurt.

With the metallic fist making contact with the back of Theo's head, it seemed she wasn't so out of reach after all. When it came to maneuverability, it wasn't an argument that the woman could dance around him however she wanted. Actually, that's what she should have stuck to. She was fine—that is, until Theo managed to get ahold of her, which is exactly what that punch just created an opening for.

Releasing the cleaver from his right hand, Theo's arm flies back towards her, grasping the woman by her breastplate and tugging her forth with intimidating strength and launching her in front of the ground he stood on. It almost looked like he was trying to skip a rock with how he threw her. Regardless, it was obvious he wasn't keeping it at just that and having faith that being ragdolled would fully incapacitate the Keldian, so the boy wasted little time in charging at her once again, short-sword in hand. With all the bulky armor he wore, he still wouldn't be very fast, but faster than if he was lugging around the cleaver too.

As he closed the distance, Theo was intent on not giving Karmia time to breath as he brought down his blade in an overhead cleaving motion. It wasn't somewhat oversized like the other blade, but it was still probably a bad idea to get hit with it.


~~~

Wings flapping slightly during the surprise throw, the youth apparently could take a punch pretty well. Though being thrown wasn't something she expected either, in spite of how large and skinny Theo seemed, he had a bit of physical power. Calculating the time for her to land, Karmia decides to use what limited maneuverability she had from the wings, to spin her body, to land on its right side. Crashing to the ground a few feet away, she has just enough time to make it to her feet, blade in her left still, she is a bit surprised when he comes with only short blade in hand.

"Oh my you don t talk very much do you." Coughing slightly, she wouldn't admit the landing had knocked a bit of wind out of her. Gripping her blade with both hands, she frowns. Watching him close in, this arena was too small to bother running, and in either case her wings would get in the way. Taking an attackers stance, Karmia decides to go for a full offense. This match would end within the next series of blows.

While not bothering to meet him, Karmia advances slowly, wielding her sword with a series of cleaves, and positioning her wings out fully to cover her flanks, the Keldian was like a slashing wall of death to the front, while not attempting to kill him, Theo s attempts to get in close, would put his arms and legs in danger of being lopped off or crushed.

~~~

This was problematic. The girl to throw more hits than he could, and certainly more than he could effectively parry for a long period of time. He could end it quickly, all he had to do was time a strike. It was obvious that Karmia couldn't compete physically, so if he could land a good, strong hit, she'd be wide open to finish off.

Backing off slightly and staying on the defensive, Theo watched the Keldian's swings and swipes, examining them for a pattern. Then, when he saw an opening, the mercenary gripped the smaller sword in both hands and met a slash with all his strength, sending the item flying out of Karmia's grip, and pushing forward with right shoulder first to bash into the girl,

This was it. With her maneuverability out and weapon gone, she wasn't going to be winning this match. Not leaving the Keldian time to recover, Theo swiftly mounts her and pins her arms down forcefully. Experienced or not, she wasn't going to win any battles of strength.

~~~

"Eh!" With the sudden attack she direly smirks, while it was true that well trained soldiers would fall into a drill of movements, she still had one chance to beat him.

With her right hand clawing its way for the discarded blade, Karmia finally manages to grab the hilt, mustering her strength, she aims to bring it down across the side, with his back, ending the battle. But suddenly her right army jerks slightly, as she coughs, with an almost crazed look to her eyes, the blade rolls. Aiming to actually kill him, something seems distant in her gaze. Though with this delay some time is bought, had she been on form..

~~~

Noticing the woman's intent, Theo aggressively twisted her arm, nearly breaking the limb in warning for her to cease her transgressions. "Keep going and I'll make sure to break it beyond repair for those doctors... Talk."


~~~

"So Rough, if I didn't know better, you want another sort of physical contact with me Dear Wolf Boy.." Laughing bitterly, and wincing slightly at the arm pin, she seemed to be back about her senses. "A deal is a deal.." Thinking back on days long past and times forgotten, the Dragoon's face takes a darken look, sullen eyes as if dead. "We'll start with me then. It may be hard to believe, but I spared you as it was what we in the Dragoons decided. The war had gone too far..Abbelest was beaten..the war was over..Abbelest would have been a subject. That was enough, wasn't it?.., We left holes in the rear and got out those we could, or at least made sure no one was looking. Heh.. surprising for the monsters and cowards?.. You can ask the Army Survivors if you meet any." A bit bitterly she spits out to the side on her left.

"And my fath-err...our commander...well..." Starting to laugh bitterly, Karmia glares solemnly forward, forcing her story. "Lets just say, the Army for our betrayal, in its madness forced him to spill his guts across the floor, for us all to see, for defying the will of his leaders, for aiding the rats of Abbelest..for having honor. Maybe we should have killed them all and took the army ourselves.. but treason...ignoring orders.. that's something else.. My.. no, that's a story all of my own Abbelestian... maybe some other time, if you are lucky you can see if Keldian's do cry...if we scream with rage." Shaking off whatever memories this brought up, something seems to shift in her complication as black wings shift under her franticly. The purple shine of the armor still glowing strongly.

"Now for the other story, I grow tired of seeing those hate filled eyes of yours.. I should just pluck them out..make a necklace. but I am just as tired of tired of that. So rejoice boy, some of your number yet may live."

Pausing to let that sink in, Karmia continues her tale. "My..fa, our Commander was impressed with your lot, we all were, so once the battle was done, we sent your wounded with out supply wagons to neutral cities for treatment, we spent coin for the care and made them sign releases for interment, they were under arrest until the war was over, placed in the care of the neutral cities. I wasn't in personal, so I can t tell you who lived by name.. But some of your.. friends? Family? Well they likely yet live.." With a bit of a sigh, the noblewoman shrugs.

"You have more than I do boy...if you believe me to be a liar, just watch..you'll see even the Keldians will not treat me well..Hahhaha! We won! Won what!?...a mound of corpses! And at least my honor."


Coughing a bit, and not content with being defeated, this seemingly broken woman reaches with her still intact left hand, going for Theo's helmet. What note she made of being defeated seemed lost. Though in a way Karmia was for being on the Winning side, a soldier who had been beaten in every way that mattered. All she has left was her desire for atonement, peace, and revenge on those creatures. But as far as soldiering went, she was done.

"I don t think they'll take kindly if there isn't some blood sport, but I ve lost. Make it a little believable would you? Or maybe I'll just finish you myself. Maybe I told you all of this as I needed too, boy. Hehehehe!"

Grabbing his helmet at full force, the crazed look from before seems to take over, gripping his helmet tightly, while the edges did cut into her left hand bloodying it, it seemed she was intent on ripping it off, going for his jugular. While there was no point in fighting, the rules were rather clear.. And for Duty and honors sake alone, she would not go down without some blood lost on her part, and effort of his. Their exchange in battle may have been short, but it also had a purpose. If they made them fight again, that would remain to be seen.

~~~

So her troupe was sparing people they encountered. Apparently there were those in Kelda that believed the war was done, though it seemed that the Dragoons were the only ones who acted on their beliefs. And then there was the bit regarding members of his own company. While it should have been good news, the tightened grip around the woman's wrist signified that it aggravated him more than it put him at ease. First of all, there was the matter of that they were kept captive for the remaining length of the war, but also the fact that Theo held no great motivation to go see those who may yet still live; he had technically left them for dead, after all.

"...Don't fuck with me...!" In a fit of anger, Theo interrupted the Keldian's go for his helmet, by retching his head back and sent a fist at Karmia's face. Not controlling his strength, it would be wonders if the girl remained conscious after that, but it would definitely stop her in her tracks.

Standing up, Theo shakes his head at the Keldian before leaving silently after retrieving his weapons. He'd need to think on this bit of information. She was down for the count, noting some blood on his hand, the mercenary shakes it off, but turns to give a bewildered stare at the sound of laughter, and the clinking of armor. It seemed that title wasn't all talk.

~~~

Laughing a bit in defiance, the Keldian noblewoman, stood to her feet uneasily, right arm handing limp, dislocated, left hand clutching the sword. Blood running down her face, as purple aura flaired, uneasily and wobbly, a normal soldier, or a sane one at least, would have stayed down, after a steel and iron fist had impacted them dead in the face.

The Keldian by contrast laughed, leaning on her sword, coughing viciously, as a bit of blood runs down her face, curiously, also out of her mouth. "Ehe..hehe..I'..have beaten...my..self...boy...and heh ..would you rather..I fucked you..hm...ohoh..o..?" With her power flaring, the Royal Dragoon sprints off once more, blade in left hand, with the last of her strength, the blade swings, falling just short. With more blood running from her back armor, the wings suddenly vanish as the sword topples from her hand, nicking his chest armor and impaling upon its own weight into the ground. "..if only..a..clo.." Groggily her left hand reaches out towards the swordsman, as if to finish her sword strike, then nothing as it drops limp with the rest of her.

She had passed out from wounds sustained in part, but also of blood loss, lack of food and medication, given the color of her skin going even more pale, it seemed to be a form of anemia. While not serious enough to disqualify her from service, it did explain her questioning for a doctor earlier. Falling to the ground, the Kelda Woman remains in a kneeled position, head bowed low.

~~~

Shaking his head as he stared at her, then the scar on his chest plate, Theo finds himself thinking on her counter taunt, among other things. Eyeing the sword, then the woman he feels slightly uneasy. If she had more distance, would things have went differently perhaps. Though he knew he was stronger, and could dominate her in close, just how much was she holding back.

He had wanted to hate the woman, but now, just how much did he owe her? Such thoughts didn't sit well with him. Yet more to think about.



Theo really needed some time to himself, motioning for a sentry by the gate with his right hand, the Mercenary speaks clearly with the hint of authority. "See to her. I want her up to speak with, I'm not finished with her." Sheathing his weapons, the swords man picks up a bit of sand, rubbing the woman's blood off of his gauntlet, adding in as if an after thought;

"Have your medics keep an eye one her, damn fool is likely fighting on forced march rations." Kneeling down to stare at her face, it really was too much, but he had won.



But as he marched away it wasn't a victory he was happy with, anymore than she seemed to be with her own. "Damn that woman.."

 

[RJS]

Vaniela cast a sideways glance at her opponent. The outspoken one with the short fuse. Clearly a swordsman from his earlier actions. He was clearly Abblestian, though she didn't recognise him. Hopefully that meant he didn't know of her either, and that she would be able to catch him off guard. Patting the sword at her back, she donned her helm and picked up her lance and shield, before climbing over the boundary of the nearest arena. "Let's get this over and done with." she called back to him, walking to the far side.

---

Viktor had removed his heavy plate armor and equipped a lighter armor pieces for the duel, similar to what he opponent wore but with a little less protection, he still had the same helm from his old armor on though. Viktor was aware that mobility would be his advantage in this fight, it could determine his success in the fight. He had never been a fan of spears, outside of formation they seemed rather useless in a duel. Aside from range if viktor got past her spears range he knew the duel was most likely over. Although he would not underestimate the Abbelestian warrior, he learned this in battle, being cocky could very well mean your swift demise. He noticed his opponent speak and he nodded in response, she seemed rather eager which made him grin. A duel like this is just the thing he needed to take his mind off things. He takes his position on the opposite side to her after he climbs over the boundary of the arena.

---

Vaniela began to pace along her side of the arena. 11...12...13...14...15ish metres. The ring was square, which meant that that was the distance between herself and her opponent. She smiled, the wolfish expression hidden behind her helm. Plenty of distance to reach charging speed. Her opponent seemed to have opted for lighter armour - though if he thought to outmanoeuvre her, he was in for a nasty surprise. She considered starting her charge there and then, but it would be far too telegraphed a motion. She threw her eyes briefly up to the skies. Are you watching, my 411s? This is where our counterattack begins. Lowering her lance to the 45-degree angle, she began to steadily pace towards her opponent.

---

Viktor looked as his opponent paced towards him, and he himself did the same. But a bit quicker, he positioned himself closer to the center and gained a little over 7 meters breathing room in case his opponent decided to go aggressive and force him to be pinned against a wall. He then took a stance, a buckler on his left and his red tinted long sword on his right. He kept the buckler covering his abdomen and chest. He kept it a slightly tilted angle to facilitate parries and redirect the spear/lance head, he held his sword a little loosely, and moved it around. He quickly decides to fake a dash towards her to see an initial response. It looks rather convincing that he is going to charge in.

---

So, he wants to charge? A predatory grin spread across her face as she felt the needles in the backs of her legs begin to grow warm and the familiar electrical thrill run down her legs. Her lance point dropped as she accelerated at superhuman speed, the distance closing far more quickly than her opponent could have anticipated.

She had seen the stance he had taken, shield covering his body well, sword on her left side. Keeping her shield to the left to block all of the more direct strikes he could make, she pulled up her lance at the last second, springing to the right with an explosive burst from one leg before continuing her forwards motion with the other. Spinning as she dashed past him, she thrust towards the back of his shoulder. Although it would be weakened by her momentum that carried her away from him, anything to weaken the defence of the shield would pay dividends in the long run.

---

Viktor observed as her reaction was a rather hyper aggressive one and he smiled under his helmet, she didn't seem cautious at all, the easier type to fool. He observed the ungodly initial burst of speed in her charge and he then of course reveals that his charge towards her was a fake. He follows her swift change in position with his eyes and as she is positioned and is fully prepared for the initial thrust and preps to parry. He then proceeds to do so with an upwards swing of his shield, redirecting the spear over his shoulder. The reason for this to work is because he had time to react to the quick thrusts, and she had fully committed to the thrust, if he however had actually dashed towards her, he most likely would have fallen prey to her quick switch in momentum (since she has Rewrition) and would not have not turned in time to protect his shoulder due to his forward momentum. But obviously he did not and was prepared for it, with his parry he follows up by raising the hand holding his sword slightly above his head before bringing it in a slicing motion towards her jugular. This was a feint however.

Of course it would definitely be great to end the duel swiftly but, the first thing he expected her to defend was her open upper body and jugular with the initial raising of his arm which will most likely will lead to a slash to her neck or head, which would trigger the reaction of her to defend herself from the high strike, leaving her legs and part of her stomach open. From the high strike he would instead take his sword past her shield with some held back strength and then would straighten his sword and make a long step forward with his left foot, and stab into the gap that he breastplate does not cover ( her lower abdomen, basically her guts ), attempting to end the duel quickly.

---

Her opponent tracked her movements well, turning and deflecting the spear thrust with the shield. Her momentum carried her just out of the reach of his first swing, though she was forced to drop her shield to knock away the thrust that followed smoothly afterwards. Her opponent was clearly no slouch with a sword, to say the least. She backed up a few more paces, to give herself a little breathing space, and paused. The electrical thrill running through her legs had already begun to prickle as her overworked muscles began to tire slightly. Taking deep breaths, she considered her options. He was too quick on the uptake to be wrongfooted by a swift change in direction, and there was no way she could succeed at successive changes without tearing her own legs apart. Nevertheless, his stance left few openings that she could slip her point into. She could always back right up to the edge, and try to punch clean through the shield at max speed, but Abblestian gear tended to be significantly stronger than average. A last resort perhaps. She had a couple more ideas as to how to break his guard, but she waited in a loose defensive stance for now. Would he come forwards and commit to an attack, as opposed to his earlier feint? If so, would that reveal a striking point? Whether he came forwards or not, she saw benefit from both outcomes as her breathing began to steady.

---

Viktor observed as his opponent backed away, his thrust barely missing. She reacted very fast and the incredible speed from his foe truly left him in awe, he had never seen anyone charge at that speed before. So it confirmed to him that Rewrition must be involved, although it did not change anything in his mind. He had dealt with Rewriters before and had plenty experience taking them down, he smiled as he put her back against the wall. Suddenly he dashed at her, his shield up and his arm slightly extended and his sword pointing outwards towards her as well. It looked as if he were going to try to engage this time and attack, although he would stop right before her spear range and wait for a possible counter attack to his feint approach.

He was attempting to pressure her with control over the space, he knew that what she was doing at the moment was thinking through things and recovering but not giving her any breathing room would frustrate most opponents into making rash decisions. Even if he made nothing of the charge or feint, he still kept pressure on her with space, her back was against a wall and he had several meters of breathing room behind him. He also remained vigilant of any attempts of hers to go behind him, considering how fast she was it was a possibility, so he remained aware.

---

Vaniela watched as her opponent dashed forwards, sword extended. Far too sloppy to be a genuine attack. Only amateurs did that, and even they learnt quickly not to. As the distance closed, she leapt to her right, away from anything he might do with his sword. His shield was raised so she stabbed down, aiming at his left leg.

---

Viktor stopped when he reached her lances possible range and noticed her actions, although not a direct attack he noticed her extend her lance. It was a smart response if he had not taken into account his foes range, once she committed to the low thrust he quickly dashed again, this time attempting to go past her spear's danger zone as she had committed to a low thrust. His plan is to end it here most likely.

---

Vaniela swore as he paused just short of her thrust then rushed in. He was too close now, but doubtless he felt a sense of security from having bypassed her spear. He probably expected her to back up once more, make distance and regain her reach. It would be the sensible move, but she was done with being read. Bracing her legs and activating her Rewrition, she charged forwards, clashing her shield against his, pushing against him using the amplified force of her legs. As she charged, she dropped her spear, instead reaching behind her to yank her shortsword free of its scabbard. As her charge sought to unbalance him and push him back, she whipped her arm around the edge of his shield, seeking his left flank with the point of her sword.

---

Viktor smiled as his opponents frustration became apparent, he was aware of what options she might have left at this point, but with brute force and power she decided to charge into Viktor. The power of the charge surprised him still, he hadn't expected the force that his opponent could exert from rest. While he was pushed back he tilted his shield to the side to try to have her go past him, but from the corner of his eye, he sees the fellow Abbelestian drop her spear and go for what is most likely a weapon behind her. He quickly realizes the danger he is in so he follows suit, swings his own arm around her shield and drives his longsword through her side. He had landed a deep stab on to his opponent but what followed was a stab from his opponents short sword to his side as well. He drove his sword further, as the rush of adrenaline blinded him, he felt a familiar feeling gnaw at him. A bloodlust that if he did not restrain himself he would kill her, of course realizing that this was not a Keldian, but an abbelestian, he let go of his sword before he could cause any more harm and his pushed back by the charge of his opponent.

Viktors body took the shortsword along with him, being stabbed on to his side in a similar fashion. He would not yield with his words, but he believed that both him and his opponent knew that the duel was finished.

---

Vaniela felt her blade push into her opponent's flesh at the same time that she felt a searing pain lance through her own abdomen. Bastard copied me, she thought, with a faint smirk of satisfaction. Her opponent released his blade as her own was yanked out of her hand as he fell. She stayed standing a little longer, before collapsing to the ground as well. Gasping with pain, she raised her head. "So...urgh...fancy calling this a...tie?"

---

Viktor heard her words, although they sounded distant and faint to him as his body was more focused on the stab wound but he was not unfamiliar to the pain, he had experienced wounds like these before. As a response he only let out a rather hardy and hysterical laugh, it was a genuine one to say the least. With that the duel ended and they were both taken to be healed.

 

[Ferril]

Summary: Silyan and Nightshade double team Celthric and rip up his leg real good, meanwhile Celthric rips up Silyan's arm real good. At the most crucial point of the battle the ricochet from Elodie's bullet crashing through Ungard's leg ends up hitting Celthric in the side, wounding him beyond his ability to fight on. Silyan wins, but is REALLY pissed at how he won. Good times.

Tooth and Nail (Celtrhic Vs. Silyan&Nightshade)

~Silyan~​

[BCOLOR=transparent]Silyan gave a predatory grin as the man in Bronze… Well, Ardus, as he had introduced himself, picked out the one that he was to fight. The Grimdosh barbarian, of all people was to be his opponent. How… utterly delightful. Beside him, Nightshade even crooned in pleasure as she realized that they would get a chance to strike at the man who had so insulted her earlier. And so soon! Originally they had planned to find some way to revenge themselves upon him at a later date, but now? Now they had free reign to put the petty bandit in his place. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]After all, they had been told that healers were on hand, and could handle anything short of a mortal wound. They didn't need to kill him… just hurt him. A lot. The thought of it sent a chill of pleasure running down Silyan's spine, and he couldn't quite tell if the feeling was originally his own, or from his companion. Together they stepped into the sparring square, Silyan drawing his axe from his back, and Nightshade circling their barbaric opponent as he entered the arena, snarling viciously all the while.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]" Come Grimdosh, let's see if your tribe's stint as petty bandits hasn't dulled your skills. Hopefully you haven't forgotten how to fight against real foes, rather than fleeing women and children." As Silyan finished speaking Nightshade roared, her voice sending ripples through the crowded people around them. Few had ever seen such a beast before, and Silyan even heard a few exclamations of surprise or fear from the crowd. Again, the predatory grin graced his lips, and, if one were to see Nightshade's face, they may find the two uncomfortably similar. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]~Celthric~[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]The Marauder gazed at the small arena, a frown held on his face. He retrieved a second water skin of alcohol, and thought on the upcoming battle. The nomad and his tiger would no doubt be a good fight, and they held numerous advantages. The numbers for one, and for two, Celthric couldn't maneuver his horse as well as he would like. No point bringing you in. The bearded man said, patting his horse lightly before undoing his shield, strapped to his steeds saddle. Sliding his hand axe onto his belt, and drawing his sword, he glared out into the crowd.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Taking a step into the sparring area, he stabbed the blade into the ground. He glanced around at the crowd gathering, many of which were looking up onto his horned helmet. He murmured a small prayer. It was customary for the Grimdosh to do this, but Celthric stuck to tradition. During this prayer, is when the Ishian spoke his taunt. Celthric took a step towards the man, and chuckled.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]"Don't suppose you've actually seen one of our raids, have you Ishian. We give women and children a chance to surrender. As well as any men too cowardly to fight. We tend to kill the pets though, just like I intend to do to that pretty little kitty of yours."[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The barbarian gazed over the crowd and smiled. Most of them looked away, but a few muttered boos, even a few curses intended for the "Murderer." That was when Celthric made his move.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Grabbing ahold of a small dagger hidden along his armor, he tossed it towards Silyan. Before waiting to see if it hit or not, he gripped the sword stabbed into the ground and charged, holding his shield close to him as he charged.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]~Silyan~[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]Silyan shook his head, sadly, he had seen far more Grimdosh raids than he ever wanted. Before the war his people had fought theirs on a number of occasions. During the war, Silyan and his mercenaries had come across the Grimdosh's handywork often enough. If what this Celthric said was true, his particular clan had stayed closer to his people's origin than most. The average Grimdosh during the war had lost all sense of honor, of propriety, and left little but ashes and corpses in their wake. Men, women, children, the old and the sick, all fell to their blades. After all, with supplies so thin they couldn't afford to carry so many prisoners with them, even as slaves. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Still, Silyan's current hostility was not for the Grimdosh as a whole, despite his general dislike of them as a people, it was for this one in particular. And as he finished up his little rant with another threat towards Nightshade, he was reminded why, and his aggression rose to an even higher level. A good thing then, that the barbarian chose to finally make his move. The dagger was a distraction, nothing more, and Silyan sidestepped it with ease, barely bothering to pay it any heed. His attention was on the armored man now charging him… The burly nomad returned the favor, hefting his two-handed axe and charging forward to clash with his foe, snarling all the way.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent] Nightshade circled the clash, her tail twitching in expectant excitement. The reins were off at last, the shackles on her bestial aggression loosened at long last, and she hoped to make full use of the chance. Not a drop had been spilled, but already she could taste blood on her tongue, Silyan could as well. Together they savored the shared sensation, before the two humans finally clashed, and the link was lost. The tiger circled round behind the smelly human, and began her own charge, planning to swipe at the back of the man's legs and pull back before he could retaliate. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Now came battle, the crash of metal on wood as Silyan twirled to the right, out of the way of the Grimdosh's blade and hooked his own axe's beard on the edge of the man's shield to try and yank him off balance. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]~Clethric~[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]The axe thudded against the Grimdoshes shield, and Celthric felt himself going off balance. The beard of the axe pulled on his shield, but Celthric regained his balance for a moment. That was when the tigers claws sliced through his leg, and the barbarian felt himself fall to a knee. He swung his sword backwards, trying to catch the tiger in the head, but already the feline was backing away. He felt his shield lighten up, as Silyan pulled his axe free from the shield, and swung down again. Blocking with his shield, Celthric took this moment to swipe his arm forward, knocking the legs out from underneath the Tamer. Stabbing his sword down, it struck dirt as the man rolled away from the blow. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Celthric stood, grimacing at the pain in his leg. He lunged at the man again, slicing downward, and following through by slamming his shield forward. He paid attention to the tiger, not with his eyes, but with his ears. If the tiger charged again, he was ready to swing at it. Stepping back from his opponent, he raised his shield up against the chest, and placed his sword against it, ready to thrust at the man. He snickered at the man, and motioned for him to make his move.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]~Silyan~[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]The crash of metal on wood as Silyan's axe smashed into the corner of the barbarian's shield was like the first crack of thunder heralding a storm. The true signal that battle had, at last, been joined. It was at that moment that Nightshade decided to strike, slicing into their foe's leg before dancing away again, narrowly dodging the man's backwards swing. The Beastmaster took that moment of distraction to extricate his axe from the shield that he had caught, and take another swing, battering at the shield… [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]And while his attention was focused on the attack, he felt his legs swept out from under him, as Celthric took that lack of attention and used it to knock Silyan to the ground. He didn't stay there long though, rolling away the moment that his body touched the ground. A good thing, as the barbarian's sword tip stabbed into the ground where Silyan's chest had been but a moment before. The moment he was out of reach the beastmaster jumped up, landing on his feat with a near feline grace, his weapon at the ready. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The flurry of blows that followed had the big Ishian parrying and dodging, his axe slapping away the first downward slice and his body flowing out of the way as the Grimdosh charged with his shield. Though, his parry was not complete, the blade's tip slicing open Silyan's forearm as it swung out and away. When the exchange was over, they both backed off once more, the barbarian placing his blood whetted sword upon his shield and readying himself for a thrust, while Silyan hefted his axe in preparation for another charge. The taunting snicker didn't even faze him, his mind now fully concentrated on the fight. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The blood slowly trickling down his forearm had finally brought Silyan out of his battle high, at least to a degree… And his analytical, predatory, nature at last kicked in full force. The twinkle in his eyes was no longer that of a man lost in battle, but those of a hunter, sizing up his prey with cruel and indifferent cunning. He circled, stalking slowly to his opponents shield hand, forcing the man to turn with him. At the barbarians back, Nightshade did the same, the three moving as though in an intricately synchronized dance. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Despite the confident chuckle, Silyan could see the wariness in his foe. He now knew how dangerous the tiger at his back was, the Grimdosh's bleeding leg being plenty of proof of that. His attentions would be split… and as the tiger had already done damage to him, he would be particularly aware of any movement on the beasts part. [/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]Good[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent]. With a thought he sent Nightshade charging forward towards the Barbarian, only to turn sharply just as she reached the range of his sword. Silyan himself waited a moment, just long enough for the man to turn in reaction to the tiger's charge, before charging himself, driving low and swinging his axe at the Grimdosh's injured leg. Since the man had tripped him, Silyan only felt it fair to return the favor.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]~Celthric~[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]Celthic swung backwards, but swore under his breath as he failed to connect with the tiger. Glancing at the charging nomad, Celthric swung his shield high, but the man went low. The axe sliced through his already injured leg. Falling to the ground, Celthric groaned. Bringing his shield up, Silyan's axe drove into his shield, cracking it nearly in two.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Rolling up to a knee, Celthric threw his shield to the side, and drew his hand axe. Growling, Celthric attacked, spinning with a weapon in either hand. His axe swung high, and his sword stabbed low in a flurry of blows. Celthric couldn't help but smile, loving the movement of combat, the sound of his sword slicing through the air, and even the smell of blood in the air. Slashing downward towards his opponents knees, he growled as the man jumped over it. Shakily standing up, his leg was worse, blood soaked the ground. He squared off with his foe again, catching his breath.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]~Silyan~[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]His axe bit home, dropping the Grimdosh low all over again. And Once more Silyan's axe crashed down on the man's shield, chipping away at the wood bit by bit. It wouldn't last much longer, taking such abuse. The shield began to split, but before he could capitalize on the weakness the barbarian rolled up to a knee and threw the broken shield aside, quickly drawing his second weapon. The flurry of blows that followed forced him back, his skill as a combatant being overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the Grimdosh's attacks. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]More streaks of crimson bloomed along his arms, and some even bloomed along his legs, as blows slipped through Silyan's defences. But when a swing came for his knees, Silyan leapt back, jumping clear over the blade and giving himself some distance. That gave his foe plenty of time to stand again, his leg soaking the ground in a pool of crimson red, as the two stared each other down. Warrior, and predator. And, on the other side, another predator circling expectantly, waiting for another chance to leap forward and take her due of the warrior's flesh. [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]For now though, she contented herself with licking the blood from her claws, where they had already been stained red with the blood of their enemy, all the while watching Silyan and Celthric face off. His eyes never wavering from the barbarian, Silyan spoke up,"You really ought to surrender you know. With your leg crippled like that, the chances of you winning this fight are nil… If this we're a real battle I'd have left you bleeding out on the ground, and waited for you to die. Then fed you to Nightshade there." His smile was brutal, feral, as he circled the man, content to allow him the first move this time.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]~Celthric~[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]Celthric returned the same, brutal smile and gripped his weapons tighter. "If this were a real fight, I'd already slice your head in two from horseback nomad." He paused and looked down at his leg. "Besides, I've lived through worse." Limping forward a step, the barbarian pulled his axe up against his chest, a sign of respect in his culture. "You are a worthy opponent however, and win or lose it's been an honor fight you and your…. Companion." It was then, Celthric lunged into battle yet again, cleaving both weapons downward, and quickly went to disarm the man with the beard of his hand axe. It slipped around the grip of the larger, two handed axe, and with a yank he nearly freed it from the man's grip. Growling, Celthric shoved his head forward, using the antlers on his helm to pierce the man's shoulder. Yanking again, he tossed both his hand axe, and his opponents two handed axe to the side.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Celthric could end this here, one precise blow through the man's side could easily pierce his heart, and probably cut it in two. It would end the battle, and the man's life. Probably end Celthric's too though, as already the tiger was closing the distance, and in less than three seconds would pounce on the marauder. However, if he stabbed lower, he could give the man his life, and end the battle. Only If the Argent had the healers they claimed they had, however. Before he could thrust his sword into the man's side, thunder echoed around the fortress. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Despite not one storm cloud in sight, Celthric was stuck in the side of the chest, a pain he could only assume was lightning. Falling to the ground, Celthric clutched the wound, blood seeping out of the hole in his arm. Looking to the side, perhaps the tiger roared and that was the sound he heard. No, it was the girl fighting the Berserker Knight. She wielded the same weapon that killed his father, a "Thundercrack". Celthric gasped for air, the projectile probably pierced a lung. Celthric clutched the wound tighter and a suppressed laugh escaped his lips. "I fucking concede." [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]~Silyan~[/BCOLOR]​

[BCOLOR=transparent]Heh. If it had been a real battle, Silyan and Nightshade never would have given the Grimdosh the chance to see them before they would have had both him and his horse on the ground, dead. After all, their specialty was really guerilla tactics and ambush, not exactly direct combat. Still, it was a surprising bit of fun, facing off against this drunken warrior, head to head and, when his foe saluted him, Silyan returned the favor. Their moment of mutual respect, did not last long. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Unexpectedly, the Grimdosh drove forward again, even as Silyan's hand returned to its place on his axe's grip. So much for that. Silyan's hands tightened their grip as Celthric's weapons crashed down onto the haft of his weapon, and held firm for a time… until the beard of his enemies hand axe hooked onto Silyan's larger weapon and he tugged it nearly out of his grip. A tactic much the same as what Silyan had used to disarm the barbarian of his shield. He almost managed to withstand the large barbarian's tugging, and keep his weapon… until he turned his head down and rammed the antlers of his helmet into Silyan's shoulder.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]With a snarl of rage, he held on stubbornly… but as the antler dug in Silyan's arm weakened, and his axe was torn from his hands and tossed aside. Now he was disarmed, almost literally considering the fact that his left arm now dangled rather uselessly at his side, too damaged to be of use. And facing the barbarian, who still retained his sword. Still, Silyan wasn't helpless. His legs worked fine, unlike the barbarian's, and he still had Nightshade… Speaking of…[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]As she saw her companion skewered on the strange man's horn's, Nightshade began to rush forward, her bestial rage boiling at his audacity in harming that which was hers. She would rend his flesh, from bone. Gnaw at his marrow. He would pay for the harm he had caused… and as she saw Silyan's giant claw fly from him, she sprinted even faster, bounding towards her prey's back in a seemingly unstoppable charge. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Before the defining moment of the battle, where either the Grimdosh would finish Silyan before he could back out of range, or Nightshade could tackle their foe to the ground and end him, a deafening crack rang out. Thunder, blasted from the direction of one of the other sparring fields, and, in astonishment, Silyan watched in shocked surprise as blood blossomed on the barbarian's side, and the man fell to the ground clutching the wound… and conceded the fight, too wounded to go on. From the way his voice bubbled as he spoke, it seemed a lung may have been damaged.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]With a mental and physical roar, he brought Nightshade to a stop, before she could pounce on her defenseless prey, and turned, wild eyed, to find the source of the attack that had so rudely interrupted their battle. Following the Grimdosh's eyes, his attention settled on the battle between the small woman who had been carrying a canvas covered weapon since she first arrived, and the scarred and armored giant. From the looks of the latter's leg, and the strange smoking rod of metal in her hands, he knew from where the attack had come… but he was not willing to interfere in their fight. He would wait, and give the woman a piece of his mind later.[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent] [/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]For now he turned to the Grimdosh and grimaced, before turning to the crowd and roaring, "What the hells are you lot waiting for?! Get the healers over here and patch this drunk up before he coughs up a bluidy lung." With a huff of annoyance he settled down next to the barbarian, and did his best to help staunch some of the bleeding, even sacrificing some of his fine leathers to make a tourniquet for the man's leg. As he did so he congratulated his foe, his voice gruff, "You fought well. Probably had me there at the end… not that you would have survived long if you had finished me, what with Nightshade practically already gnawing at your heels." With that, Silyan grinned, and clapped his former foe on the back… Relatively gently at that. [/BCOLOR]