Chivalry at Dusk

[Cassandra Southwind]

Cass did not reach land in time. She had barely made a step when her feet were suddenly pulled out from under her, weighed by the water and lifted by his legs. She gave a surprised grunt as the river closed up around her, focusing more on keeping her blade in her hand than falling gracefully or worrying about the water. Her first dodge had been more luck than anything; the second was a foolish decision made for a slower blow. But she could not have seen his next move, much less anticipated it. His hilt landed hard, drawing a bruise from clammy flesh and pushing her into the river.

She clutched at the rocky riverbed, frantically reorienting. Maybe she could crawl over to him while his sword was still submerged. She might even be able to point her little knife at his neck and end this farce. But there was too much risk in the attempt, too little known about his capabilities. Instead she was dragged into the water's quick, shallow current, tripping downstream nearly ten feet before she was able to duck back to solid shore.

When she did, she immediately shrugged her vest off. Soon after were her belt and trousers, falling to the soft ground as she pulled her shirt over her head. What remained was a short chemise that wrinkled at her knees where it had been tucked at her waist, hanging wetly over a pair of dark bloomers. She should have stripped those too, since her goal was to not return to port sick and miserable, but misguided modesty prevented her from it. At least the cold wet cloth might be warmed by movement, instead of clinging to her body in so many layers.

Fury flashed in Cassandra's eyes as she tore uphill again. The friendly sarcasm was lost from her tone. "You are a fool," she said, and though the words were flung at him they pierced deep into herself as well. "You will kill us each with sickness, days after we end the game."

She approached quickly, making as if to stop at a polite distance, to lecture him further. But if she had learned anything from Connor--the cousin who had taught her to use the weapon in her hand--it was that she could not fight from far away. So she feinted, moving a second after she stopped to attack his side again. She would pull back before she hit, eager to establish that her censure would not undermine the rules of a proper spar, and intended to stop behind him with her blade forward.

But there was no telling how he might catch her in the meantime. She was out of breath and irritated, more concerned about his strategies than the mind behind them.

[Raien Ironarm Pitrius]

Raien's mind was hit with a startling realization as, to his surprise both of his actions hit as intended. But maybe he'd intended to hit a little too hard, indeed they were rough at best. It was a spar but she was still a woman, and while he was only reminding himself of his earlier thoughts on bigotry he couldn't fully dismiss his worries. But of course these thoughts were quickly pushed from his mind as the arguably beautiful woman began to strip herself in front of him, as she was soaked no less...

Shyke, what the petch is she doing? Needless to say his earlier thoughts were all but gone. His mind no longer reprimanding itself for hurting Cass, no it was was still reprimanding itself no doubt. But for less than chivalrous thoughts instead of actions.

Raien pushed himself to his feet, noticing that the almost high feeling in his legs was now slowly but surely escaping from his limbs now only existing on the fringes of the muscle groups. And it was not as slowly being replaced by a sluggish aching feeling that threatened to completely sway the fight from his favor. It was both pain and numbness almost like his leg was somewhat asleep, the only difference being that it wouldn't wake up.

Alarming pain aside, Raien had the odd woman in mind as well. His thoughts now shifting to be a little more noble. He was going to try and lumber over to her and inquire as to what and why she was currently.. Shedding layers. However he more or less stopped in his tracks as her next words dug into that which lay at his core.. That which drove him, that which fed his ideals. His pride.

"You are a fool," What the petch.. This phrase that initially ran through Raien's mind could pretty much sum up his thought process from this point onward. At his core Raien was a vain creature. It wasn't for his looks. It wasn't for his skills, or for his opinion in the eyes of others. Even if the later was of some significance to him.. No, Raien was vain concerning his own self-image, his pride. Striving to be good.. To be great out of a need to accept himself. And words such as this were quickest, if the only ways to infuriate him. But oh, there was apparently more.

"You will kill us each with sickness, days after we end the game." I'm guessing it was the you word she kept throwing around. But needless to say this spar was pretty much ruined for him. His legs we're more or less dying on him, seemingly drained of energy for reasons beyond his complete understanding. And he was being insulted repeatedly. The only thing that this Sverfa had going for her right now was the fact that Raien didn't know her. Words such as this coming from a friend would send him to new heights of anger.

Then again maybe "anger" isn't the right word.Raien isn't an angry man really, in fact all this anger I'm referring to is more of a copping method for him being hurt. Which with him is inevitable regardless of the person. Unfortunately hurt people tend to want to dish out pain as well.. And while Raien was more or less conflicted on the current situation he did know that he should end the spar now. Less he begin to act out of anger rather than sport.. Of course it didn't really occur to him that the woman might actually be serious about intending to hurt him.

For a moment his kind and hopeful spirit was somewhat rekindled as the woman appeared to be attempting to talk, stopping at a safe distance. Raien began to formulate words.. But when she charged said hopes were dashed and thrown out the window along with his planned sentence. He wasn't really scared, the spike of hope had cooled the anger somewhat, and had replaced it with more a tired feeling. Somewhat akin to what he felt in his legs and to a much lesser extent his upper torso. The latter being more from the chill of the water and what small amount of physical effort he'd exerted throughout the fight. And so he was overall depleted, almost unnaturally so. His upbeat sarcastic attitude drained from mental and physical stress. He still however had a sense of self preservation, and his opponent was while not threatening his life, was coming at him.

As the woman charged forward Raien stumbled back somewhat, landing awkwardly on his numbing foot forcing him to perform a just as awkward hop with said leg to regain a semblance of balance. In a real fight where the woman didn't stop her knife at his midsection he'd have been in a bad situation. Unfortunately for her he didn't share her eagerness to continue the short lived game, expressing his feelings in a tired tone with some semblance of drained jest in his voice.

"And this is why I love spars, no one does anything." As Raien said this his arms were moving aimed at taking the knife from the woman's grasp. He wanted to end this thing for now at least. His next actions were already in his mind, if I get the knife from her then I'll tackle her to the shore...Gently..

[Cassandra Southwind]

oocI'm sorry this took so long. I PMed you hoping to find out what you had planned but since it's been a while I figured I'd just wing it. If you'd like me to change anything or plot further, let me know!

His tired contempt did not reach her ears immediately. She was so wrapped up in her anger at him, her discomfort in her cold underclothes, even the petty rivalries which are often stirred in friendly spars, that she could not have anticipated the move he made. The surprise in having lost her weapon deafened Cassandra, focusing her attention on her vacant hands and her sinking gut. She sighed heavily, releasing all of the energy she had primed for a strategic counter attack. Her clammy fingers flared emptily at her sides, and she peered over her shoulder at him.

"What--" she began, but too late. The exasperation that bubbled at her brim was stifled by his sudden advance. Pupils waxing, she dived sideward. Only luck opportuned that she hit drier ground, that her sopping condition was at least spared yet another dunking. Still, her arm and shoulder met the dirt hard, smearing what remained of her clothes. She rolled to her hands and pushed herself back to her feet, stumbling.

She made a point to avoid Raien, stepping away defensively. "You will rather kill me then?" She accused him, her stormy tone rumbling weak on staggered breath. "What is your end, exactly? You were serious this whole time?"

Cassandra could not remember every word he had said to her, but her eyes darted lowly as she searched her memory for any mistake or miscommunication that she made have made. She could have sworn he was joking, but now she was not so sure. If it were not for her trusty dagger, clenched as it was in his brawny off hand, she would have stormed off then and there. But despite her people's reputation for discarding their belongings, there was some sentimental value in that weapon. She would not loath to part with it, but that didn't mean it had to be inevitable.

"Give that to me," she demanded. "I must return to shore, before I am actually sick."