Closed [The Training Grounds]Foreign Blades (Sieghart)

[Heddar]

24th, Winter, 514 A.V.
8th Bell, the Training Grounds.

Though he did not aspire to join the ranks of the squires, he did enjoy watching them practice in the arenas splayed across the Training Grounds. This morning he had been in Syliras getting supplies and feed for his horse when he decided to give to day to just such an observance. Mostly the practicing squires used straight blades as were common in the region. His curved tulwar seemed relatively exotic in it’s hard leather scabbard at his belt. The halfbreed wore his winter cloak’s hood back on his head and leant against a wooden post, observing some older squires at their craft.

These men also trained at mounted combat, heavily laden with steel plate. Such a burden was unwise in the desert-born foreigner’s eyes. Leathers were light and protective, and allowed for smooth movement. His father had always taught him that speed won out over force in a duel.

Bakr smiled. His father was a shepherd though. The cacophony of groans and shouts as men and women of a variety of ages practiced their daily exercises and did mock battle within the confines of the Stormhold. Mist drifted fleetingly from Bakr’s lips in time to his breaths as he watched a knight and his three pupils spar. Soon the four packed up and left their arena open. A thin sheen of frost lay across the dirt of the arena floor. Bakr had always found it amazing that water just froze there, sometimes for days or weeks in the chill that came with the north.

He pushed himself from the post he had been leaning against and stepped into the arena. His riding boots made a dull crunch against the frozen soil as he did so. The foreigner drew the long, curved blade from its scabbard, noting the familiar hiss the steel made against leather.

Bakr began to walk through the stances and exercises taught to him at a young age by a father who was now very far away.

[Sieghart Valorian]

A deep inhalation was brought about into the lungs of Sieghart. As the male approached the arena, clad in a combination of studded leather armor, hide and cloth. The males blonde locks fluttered about as he shook his cranium from side to side. The lightly-tanned skin of the male appeared to have been rather moist this day. He hated the winter with everything in him, oh how was he disgusted by the cold. Therefore he'd always dressed the part when he ventured out. The studded leather armor was layered atop a red-hue coarse wool shirt. He'd also wore a brown wolves hide atop both his shoulders. As if it were a cape, and the cranial structure of a wolf covered the top of the males cranium.

Today had been the first day that he'd arrived in Stormhold Castle. It was also the day that he wished to begin sparring. So he'd do so without hesitation when he saw an opponent. Then, at the very moment he thought about sparring or battling against an opponent. Here, stood a rather nice looking opponent. One who he would find very suitable to battle against. Therefore a thought crossed his mind immediately. The moment he saw the weapon the thought was clear and audible in his own cranium. He's using a Talwar! I'm not sure about how those things are used. Yet, clearly they're curved weapons.. They have to be good for something!

Now without hesitation, Sieghart entered the vicinity. Being at a distance of six feet away from his opponent. A rather short distance indeed, but that mattered not. He'd begun to slowly but steadily draw the steel longsword from it's scabbard. Which was adhered to his left hip. He wasn't in the least bit nervous, and he knew that the male waited for him as he stood erect. At a height of 6'0 in his vertical stature without a hint of leniency in his spinal cord. The blade given to him by those who operated spars here was dulled. As killing wasn't allowed during spars. Dulled but still capable of causing heavy bruising, and even breaking bone.

May Priskil guide me to victory this day.. He'd thought as he'd begun to take up a rather odd stance. He pointed the 3 ft 7 inch steel longsword at the opponent. With his right hand grasping hold of the hilt directly beneath the cross-guard of the blade. His left hand grasped hold directly beneath his right hand in a strangulation hold. Everything about the weapon, the weight the feeling of the grip, The sight of the length, all of it felt absolutely foreign!

"Oh well, I suppose I will fight as hard as I can. Although I lack skill, I will make up for it with my iron will. Regardless of how hard it may be, I shan't surrender. I refuse to give up just because something may also be hard, I will fight to the best of my ability!" He'd thought

[Heddar]

Bakr smiled at the boldness of the other. He seemed so different from the halfbreed that it was an interesting prospect. Their potential spar. He was taken aback by the seriousness with which this particular Syliran took his morning training today. Bakr let the hood fall from his face, revealing the bronzed skin and black painted band across his bright green eyes. The challenger’s boldness should be met with equal measures confidence and respect.

He had stopped his exercises when the challenger stepped into the arena and turned to face him. The man then pointed the sword in his hand at Bakr, a clear indication of intent. He had spoken no words nor given a name, so Bakr followed suit and revealed none. He hefted his tulwar horizontally in front of him. The blade’s curved edge stood sentinel, awaiting a challenge from the other.

Bakr began to move his feet, shifting sideways, trying to circle the opposition. He kept his gaze on the face of his opponent. They were opposites. Where one was pale the other dark, one blond the other black. Two vastly different cultures coming together in a ritual all people shared. Combat.

Bakr found his mind drifting as they began their dance. Was this man a knight? Surely not. Knights would not come and challenge mere visitors such as himself. Perhaps it was a squire who was looking for a good workout this morning? Whatever his station, the pale warrior had made his statement in earnest and Bakr resolved to be wary.

In a moment he set his feet and whipped the blade in a circle above his head. The breath exploded from his lungs as he willed it to descend on the Syliran. He pulled it down with torso and arm, twisting to put the force of his core into the blow. It was time to see this Syliran’s mettle.

[Sieghart Valorian]

In the time it took for the opponent to make the circular motion. He practically knew what was to come, and with that being said he instinctively shifted to the right. Allowing the opponents strike to just barely miss his cranial structure. Siegharts heels shift and as the opponent's strike misses; He seizes the day, and he hardly knew how to wield a longsword. Yet, that didn't stop him. As the opponents blade misses it's mark he raised both his fists simultaneously. Turning them outward in a hammering motion, and bringing the pommel about into the opponents chin in a thrusting motion. The way that he reacted swiftly was sure to give away the fact that, Sieghart is an acrobat! He threw the strike with all of his might! The pommel collides with the opponents chin, claiming Bone.


He was incredibly afraid, and knew hardly anything about how a longsword was properly handled. So he knew exactly what he would do until he did indeed learn how to use it. All that he knew was practically brute strength, and therefore he would use it.

Is this your will that guides me? Or what may this strange feeling be, Priskil? He thought to himself as the pommel of his longsword impacted the opponents visage. He was trembling, but not with fear. With the pure and wholesome anxiety that the situation brought about. He wasn't quite yet used to battling against other people. He was much more used to fighting against his own shadows. He swung the blade about quite a bit, but that was all he ever adapted to doing. In a combat situation one who was as inexperienced as himself could hardly manage.

Yet, he didn't tremble so much that it would effect the grip he had upon his blade. Nor did it too much effect his focus, and by now he wasn't sure why he hadn't lost his focus. He wasn't sure about why he'd even been fighting in this spar. Yet, he enjoyed each and every moment of it and it'd only made him want more.

[Heddar]

Bakr felt the unyielding force of the pommel graze across his chin. His bronzed skin ripped with the impact of the blow. He felt a surge of pain and his whole body twisted round as he stumbled a few yards. Thankfully, he was able to keep his feet. Bakr righted himself and spun to face the other. Pain throbbed in his face and he gingerly touched the wound with his free hand.

Blood ran partially down his neck and he knew it would bruise heavily, but right now the adrenaline of the fight was keeping that from his mind. Surely he had to know that a life of wandering the wilds would bring scars, and this was just one of many to come. Either way, his opponent had shown that he was willing to pack some bite into this. Bakr smiled and spat over his shoulder.

Callused hands gripped loosely around the soft leather twined around the grip of his tulwar. Bakr resolved to take a moment to still his heart. A flare of anger in combat could kill a man just as easily as a stumbled step. He took a deep breath and held it. He let the air press against his lungs. Then he returned his gaze to the opponent, for whom he did not know. As he exhaled in a huff the desert-born stepped forward to press the attack.

His arms moved with his torso. Twisting his curved blade across the area in front of him, but reserving his force. Such was the art of the tulwar. The blow was not so deadly as the razor edge. Bakr pressed the other with a series of ever quickening attacks, though he never let his blade move to an area that would impede his self-defense.

As he made his attack the yard filled with the twang of swords clashing. It had been just as full before, but this time it seemed to Bakr to be more personal. The sounds reverberated within him. It was almost like he was just one warrior on the field of battle, surrounded by mortal men all performing this daring dance as well. Just a bold gambit it was, to bet mortal life on a simple skill set.

[Sieghart Valorian]

Both of Siegharts hands although still trembling grasped hold of his Long swords grip, in an act of strangulation. He'd known that at this point he had several options left. Therefore he would choose to be a bit unorthodox and use more of his instinctive motions. Now he knew that the opponents weapon was curved. He paid close attention or rather attempted to do so as the opponent threw the multitude of blows.

The male did his best at deflecting several of the opponents attacks. Yet, he'd simply paced backward slightly, and awaited an attack to follow up. He knew that it would be possible to do something if the opponent continued to tire himself out like this! Aha, and there he'd had his plan he wouldn't bother hesitating he would only do what he thought was doable. That was it, so long as he continued not to think about how he would defeat his opponent, and just act he would succeed.

As he stepped backward he simply threw an instinctive thrust, and allowed his opponents blade to collide with his own. The sound of steel on steel could be heard. As it echoed throughout the vicinity, the opponents blade was practically forced backward, along with the opponents hand. Of course being that the opponent threw several ferocious blows the impact would be incredibly hard.

He knew that this left the opponent wide open, and once more he led the charge, but this time he attempted to keep his distance. He was rather odd with his stances, as he'd not grown accustomed to fighting yet. His left foot remained behind the right, as the right led the charge. His right knee bent, and he entered what was practically a kneeling position.

In the time the opponents arm flew backward the males right arm extended. His right hand was directly beneath the cross-guard. Meanwhile his left was directly above the pommel. The dulled tip of the blade slammed into the opponents left knee. Once more he delivered a blow which held behind it all of his might, he refused to back away now.

" I am Sieghart Valorian, Hear me roar! May my willpower scald my enemies!" He spoke in a gasconade at the top of his lungs.

[Heddar]

Bakr was sent to his knees when the sword moved under his guard and grazed his kneecap. The blow shot pain up his leg. Bakr was brought to his knees and groaned as the offending kneecap slammed into the ground. The pain flared an anger inside him and he raised his tulwar above him to block the second strike that the pale swordsman delivered. Then the man spoke out in a wild challenge for the first tim.

Bakr was at a loss for words at the man’s exclamation. He lowered his free hand to the ground and grabbed a fist of dirt from the arena floor and threw it into the man’s face. Bakr twisted his blade so that the flat was against his opponents and sliced up the length of the blade towards his arm, the vicious curve of the tulwar arcing forward. He found his feet as he did so, standing once again. He did not even notice if the attack drew blood.

Bakr swung the tulwar once again. Once again he would bid to break through the Syliran’s defense. Bakr brought the long blade of the tulwar down on the opponent with vicious force, butting his strength into the blow. Usually his attacks were made to be able to move past or step aside with the slash, but this blow was aimed to bring down or maim the opponent. A head on push.

In a real fight, I would have to finish the man by any means.

He felt sweat streaking down his face. His eyes burned from it within their black band of paint. Ebony hair that had escaped his ponytail clung to his face, but he made no move to brush it away. “I am Bakr, may my enemies eat dust.” He grinned, his chin still bleeding and his knee pulsing with pain. It seemed to be able to take his weight though, thank the gods.

[Sieghart Valorian]

He's attacking again, and he's getting more and more serious by the minute. Sieghart thought, meanwhile being that he was already in a perfect position to be both stricken, and avoid the strike. He continued to not think about how he would defeat his opponent. He would simply do it! The opponent did no more then hinder his vision temporarily, but that didn't mean he wasn't aware of what would come. Sieghart forced his eyes open and endured the momentary pain of having soil within his optics. So that he might somewhat see the opponents next motion.

Although blurred all he could see was the opponent allowing his blade to move up the flat of his own blade. Therefore all he'd done was rotate the blade slightly so that the opponents first strike would impact the cross-guard. "Agh!" he'd scream at the top of his lungs. As Sieghart brought the blade upward, by drawing back both his wrists. In the time it took for the opponent to begin launching the second attack. He'd raised the blade slightly over his own cranium, and forced his knee to bend. Leaving him to stand erect again as the opponents blade once more bounced off of his own blade. The horrid sound of steel on steel could be heard. Clattering echoed throughout the training ground as it'd occurred.

Now the longsword was brought about in a backhanding motion. As the pommel neared the opponents visage again. He continued moving forth until his torso impacted his opponents. Therefore he simultaneously launched two attacks, he attacked like a wild animal. Not knowing what he was doing, screaming with his motions.

Launching his left knee into the gut of the opponent, and once more leaving the pommel to collide with the opponents visage. Yet, this time it collided with the opponents cheek. Claiming bone once more, was this spar becoming more personal? Was it becoming much more then just a spar in the eyes of the two competitors?