Closed [Kendoka Sasaran] Hitting it Off (Robinson)

[Orin Fenix]

45th of Summer, 517AV

Sometimes I hate myself. Most of those times involved Orin’s physical training. After a nearly disastrous Kuvan test, which Orin still was shocked he’d passed, the chef had made a much more concerted effort to actually ramp up his workouts and his physical training. Of course, this translated into a lot more aches, pains, and strains than Orin was used to. The chef’s progress was so slow that he wasn’t always sure his efforts were worth it, but he doggedly got at it. Orin had found that on the days he didn’t do some sort of physical activity, his mood got worse, and his depression started to get the better of him. It was as if lifting physical weights lightened the mental ones he was carrying. Still, overall, this season had been a shockingly draining one. Orin sometimes felt as if was pushing through a fog in his mind just to do the most simple of tasks. Physically, he was getting enough sleep, so probably this was just another facet of his mind’s issues. So Orin pushed himself all the harder, as if to counteract whatever force seemed to be sapping his energy. At least when he was physically exhausted, he was also too exhausted for his emotions.

As always, Orin was began his physical activities for the day with a run. He was terrible at it, but he kept gamely trying, even though he knew that after years of practice, he still looked pathetic whenever he tried to go above a jog. Still, no one had ever said that Orin couldn’t be stubborn when he put his mind to something. Today, though during his run, he actually wasn’t just trying to do his usual lap around the block. He’d noticed that some of the cities couriers would occasionally not just dodge between traffic, but actually leap over obstacles. Orin, though scared, was incredibly tempted to try it. So, when he saw a crate that someone had left in the middle of the road as they were unloading a cart, instead of going around it, Orin actually made a beeline for it. Bracing himself for what he hoped wouldn’t be a crash that would seriously injure him, Orin placed both hands on top of the cart and used the momentum from his run and the strength in his arms to propel himself over the crate.

Unfortunately, his arms were barely strong enough to hold his weight, and he hadn’t been running that fast, so instead of clearing the crate gracefully, Orin’s left foot clipped the edge of the crate as he vaulted over it. Tipping dangerously forward, Orin’s arms windmilled wildly as his feet nearly tangled with each other. Luckily, he managed to right himself before he actually hit the ground. Not doing that again without more practice. Perhaps attempting it in a crowded street with absolutely no practice or padding hadn’t been Orin’s finest idea.

Up ahead, Orin could see his destination, the Kendoka Sasaran. The chef couldn’t believe that it was only this season that he’d discovered the free training facilities. Before, while he’d considered finding a teacher that would put him through his paces, so to speak, Orin had been too poor or too scared of his own inadequacies to actually do anything about it. However, after speaking to people about how the Sasarans – for their were two of them, one for unarmed combat and this one, the weapons training one – were more than happy to personally tailor their training regimes. So, Orin had decided to finally check it out.

Entering the stone building, Orin’s senses were immediately assaulted. Perhaps that was because of the actual assaults occurring throughout the building. Weapons were hitting weapons, warriors were shouting battle cries, and there were people sparring or practicing nearly everywhere Orin looked. It smelled, too, of sweat and unwashed bodies. It was a cacophony, but there was a strange, if savage beauty to it.

An Akalak quickly approached the chef, one with two oddly shaped blades with ornate hilts strapped to either hip. ”I am Mizra Aqdas, Grand Master of the Kendoka Sasaran. What brings you into my domain.”

Orin was more than a bit intimidated, but didn’t let his fear show. He’d learned that it was best when approached by overbearing Akalaks to match their intensity. ”I’m here to hone my skills. I’m no warrior, but I have some experience with daggers.” Orin patted his own two blades, which were strapped to his hips, as always.

Mizra snorted, but gestured for Orin to follow him deeper into the Sasaran. ”I will be the judge of your skills, here. Come, take up a practice blade and I will find you a suitable sparring partner so that you can be fully evaluated.” With that, the Akalak pointed to the weapons racks lining the wall, then left, presumably to do exactly as he’d said. Walking over to the weapons, Orin scanned them, before selecting a dagger similar to the ones he used. Testing its edge, Orin found it dull, but the weight and size were similar enough that Orin didn’t think he’d have much trouble with it. Briefly, he considered taking a second blade, but decided against it, as his dual-wielding abilities left much to be desired. That task completed, Orin settled in to wait, wondering who they’d bring in for his evaluation.

[Robinson Gilli]

There was something to be said about swinging your weapon in a set motion repeatedly for a set number of times. In fact Robin would dare say that it was strangely therapeutic. Oh certainly it was one of the most boring things anyone could be doing at first, but after a while it becomes something would lose themselves in even if one takes in the fact he was one of the very few male non-Akalaks training in the Sasaran.

There was just something focusing about repeating an action over and over, especially with a group of people doing much the same. There was just them, their training and their attention to the instructor who passed through to offer. Indeed, as he held a two-handed grip upon a wooden battle axe swinging it downwards and upwards per the instructor’s commands, he almost missed the instructor’s wave of a finger calling him forward as the grandmaster stood a small distance behind him and gave the group an appraising glance.

A sense of curiosity washed over him as he paused his training and slipped out of the middle of the group and made his way to the instructor, who simply tilted his head towards the Grandmaster whilst remaining his focus upon the group.

Robinson could not help but gulp, like a child who worried he’d done something wrong only he’d no idea what. As he stood before the Grandmaster who made most of his kin feel small due to sheer size, Robin could not help but feel even smaller.

“Uh….You’z be needin’ me Grandmaster?”

The Grandmaster eyed him curiosly, taking in his size and weapon before merely nodding in apparent satisfaction “I do” He said, motioning for Robin to follow and the man did just that, following the master of the Kendoka to where another human with dark short ahir sat and immediately Robin found himself examining him.

Clearly, the man was younger than him by a good few years. His skin a pale color yet not quite pale to be considered unhealthy, in fact Robin would say he looked healthier than himself. The dark clothing he wore only emphasized his paleness. What struck Robin however was how lean he appeared, while Robin was considered lean himself he was more scrappy, the man here looked like a bent pole.

His eyes traveled down to also see he also held a clearly blunt dagger in hand, while upon his waists were two other no doubt more lethal.

‘ I’s a feelin’ where this ‘s goin’ ' He thought to himself, his finger tapping his thigh out of nervous habit while his other hand held the battle axe. He stayed silent however, so that he could receive a better explanation as to confirm his hunch.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin had spent the time while the Grandmaster was fetching his upcoming partner limbering up. First the chef alternated between jumping and running in place for a few chimes, trying to get his muscles looser. Next he rolled his neck and his shoulders, trying to work out the kinks. Finally, Orin decided to at least get some practice in with two blades while he was waiting. Taking up another dagger in his left hand, Orin held both hands in front of him, forearms crossed. Then, he attempted to slash outward with both of his blades. Unfortunately, even despite his numerous attempts, his blades got tangled in each other every time. Eventually, Orin managed to complete the maneuver once, but it was sloppy and not at full speed. Returning the second dagger where he found it, Orin started practicing simple slashes and stabs with the single dagger, adding in the occasional punch or kick when he felt like it, all in the name of warming up.

It wasn’t long before the Grand Master returned, this time with another human in tow. Orin automatically sized the other man up. Taller than Orin, the man was also lean, but more obviously muscled than Orin was, with slightly tanned skin, dark hair, a beard, pale eyes, and unremarkable features. The other human was dressed in forest brown pants and shirt. Most importantly, the man across from Orin was carrying a very large, but wooden, axe, which he held with some familiarity. Mentally, the chef knew where this was going already. Physically, a sense of dread was slowly growing in the pit of the chef’s stomach.

Sure enough, the Grand Master announced, “The two of you will spar, so we can evaluate your progress. You may begin when ready.”

Of course they pair the fragile humans together, Orin thought, exasperated with the whole situation. Couldn’t risk hurting their fragile disposition. It was one more sign of the casual disdain the Akalaks had for most other races. Still, Orin had to admit that every time he’d actually been forced to fight an Akalak, the human had been trounced, so maybe there was a method to the Akalak madness. Regardless, these were thoughts for another day. Right now Orin had another fight to deal with. Looking across at the other human, Orin decided to break the tension with a joke. “At least buy a guy dinner first, am I right?” It was lame, but Orin had found that his admittedly terrible sense of human for some reason tended to put people at ease. Transferring his dagger to his left hand Orin held out his right hand for the other man to shake. “Orin Fenix, at your service. Part time warrior, full time chef. I guess I’ll be your dance partner for today. Pleased to meet you although I both think we’d have enjoyed it more under other circumstances.”

As he spoke Orin started making mental notes for the upcoming match. Battleaxe, long reach, but heavy, unwieldy. Wait for him to commit to a strike, then dart in with a counter. It was a fairly simple plan, and depending how skilled the other man was with his weapon, Orin might have quite a hard time. So the chef knew he’d have to play defensive until he had a better sense of how dangerous his opponent was. Still, a fellow human wouldn’t have the reach or strength advantage that an Akalak would have, so Orin had that going for him at least. Orin had to remind himself to look out for sucker punches, both literal and metaphorical, gambits, and any other skills that might make Orin lose the fight. As ready as he thought he’d ever be, Orin stepped back into a defensive stance.

Nodding at the other man, Orin indicated he was ready to begin. “Shall we, partner?”

[Robinson Gilli]

He wanted to sigh, he really did. While he didn’t know the man’s personal thoughts once it was clear it was going to be a spar, he had his own sense of dread because his opponent had a dagger.

‘ ‘S gonna be annoyin’ scrappin’ dis one’ He thought to himself. While he may hold weight and size over the fellow and certainly reach to keep him at bay, he was counteracted by the fact he was going to fight someone with the potential know how to fight a dagger. While a person with a dagger would have always been at risk by trying to get up close to someone with better reach, they always had their own speed to guide them.

Flank? They’d have an easier time of it. Through a punch or two, a kick? A dagger all but made it necessary even with a buckler if they happened to have it. And once they closed that reach they’d all but won the fight unless he can push him back out.

He accepted the handshake in his own awkward way. The joke flew over his head, raising his brow in awkward confusion but it did break the brief silence.

“Uh, Robinson Gilli. Warrior, mos’ the time. Uh…” He paused awkwardly, another habit of his as he licked the back of his teeth “Uh mostly for money too” He admitted, might as well be honest of his profession even if it was an odd one out in Riverfall.

Stepping back he took his own stance beginning to swing his axe in a rotating motion as a fending motion. A warning to keep his opponent away, to keep a distance from him while he analyzed it all himself. It didn’t offer any physical advantage, but the reminder of a big, bad, axe could do it all for him.

In effect, it was an act of intimidation.

And with that in mind he began to move forward, grabbing the haft of the axe by its shoulder and going for a sideswipe. From that, the haft slid through his hand till he held it firm by the grip and brought swinging again in a return strike.

He wanted to overwhelm his opponent admittedly, simultaneously keeping him distant from him with reach and range. He absolutely didn’t want him near him if he could help it.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin was probably in a lot of trouble. When Robinson mentioned that he was a full time warrior, Orin felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. While it didn’t necessarily mean the chef was going to come out on the bottom of this encounter, it did make it much more likely that he’d lose the fight. After all, the idea that someone who fought professionally wouldn’t be more skilled than Orin wasn’t an idea that crossed his mind. Still, quite a lot of people who Orin fought against were significantly stronger and more skilled than him, and nevertheless, the chef had persevered, never letting his opponents keep him down for long. Although, the last time that he’d sparred with a mercenary, it had ended badly on the chef’s end.

Still, maybe this could still work to Orin’s advantage. He would make Robinson believe that he had an advantage over Orin, whether the mercenary did or not. “Well, if that’s the case, then I’m begging you, go easy on me.” Orin accompanied this statement with his most disarming smile. Lure him into a false sense of complacency. It had worked on Orin -- on his Kuvan test, no less -- and Orin was interested to see if he could pull off a similar gambit. If it succeeded, then Orin’s victory would be all the sweeter. If it failed, Orin wouldn’t lose anything, since he’d simply be using defensive patterns to wear Robinson out and wait for the other man to tire out.

Still Orin was spending so much time going over strategy, even after he’d given the signal that he was ready to begin, that he almost missed the first strike. Robinson had begun moving, twirling his axe as he went, in a manner that Orin supposed the mercenary was hoping would keep Orin at bay. Since Orin had no intention of going on the offensive until he’d assessed the mercenary’s abilities, all it did was allow Orin to put space between them. Even with that, the man’s initial attack still almost caught the chef off guard.

Twisting wildly, taking a step back as he did, Orin just barely managed to avoid the axes side slash. Noting from the corner of his eye that Robinson was attempting a return strike, Orin leaned back and away from the wooden axe, letting it pass harmlessly by. The man was skilled, but not incredible, with the weapon, and Orin felt a bit of hope that maybe his battle wouldn’t be one-sided after all. While he’d barely managed to escape injury – and perhaps a loss, depending on the rules of this match – so far he was relatively unscathed.

After Robinson’s axe whistled past for the second time, Orin could have tried to close, or retaliate with his dagger. However, seeing as he had no idea what the mercenary was capable when it came to grappling, Orin was loathe committing to that just yet. Instead, he stepped forward and to the side in the direction the axe blade had just went, and feinted that he was going to stab with his dagger. Instead of completing the motion, though, Orin instead pivoted and launched a body kick aimed at the man’s stomach. Let’s see how you deal with this, now, shall we? Orin hoped he hadn’t just made a major error in judgment, one that would cost him the bout. If the blow connected, then Orin would know that all he had to do was avoid the axe. The much more likely scenario was that the man was skilled in unarmed combat as well, which would mean that Orin could be in quite a bit of trouble if the mercenary knew how to deal with a kick such as the one Orin had just done.

[Robinson Gilli]

Robin grunted with annoyance. The nimble man’s avoidance of his attack wasn’t an unexpected thing but it was still a grating factor that caused the mercenary to feel dismay. Instead of ending it here and then the man had skillfully if barely avoided his attack leaving Robin himself open to a counter attack.

Another reason he hated fighting foes with small weapons, leave an opening and they could have retaliated as fast as lightning. Thankfully however, whether Orin was inexperienced or simply too cautious Robin would not know but the expected counter did not occur.

Instead he attempted to feint Robin, something which he very nearly fell for, only for the chef to suddenly try and kick him firmly In the stomach as he pivoted. Robin grunted, a single handed grip on the shoulder of the axe as he swung the flat of the exe head to interrupt the kick as he stepped back to create a small distance. Only to then step forward to try and grip him by his dagger hand as he brought the axe down in attempt to bash his shoulder with the bottom hook of his axe.

Of course, that presented another problem with fighting dagger wielding foes. As demonstrated by Orin they also had the habit of throwing around punches and kicks. A necessity Robin was sure, just as necessary for him only it hadn’t truly reached a stage of practical application just yet for him to use confidently.

And so he was left with this gambit because he viewed it as the best tactic he had available, focusing on ending it quick rather than prolonging. He did not have the stamina for it and even if her to tire slightly he’d be presenting an opening.

No, He had to go for high risk high reward and end this decisively in the first bout.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin’s kick may have failed but his plan had succeeded. The chef deftly twisted his leg in order to avoid the axe Robinson threw in the way of the attack, which Orin managed to avoid with slightly more grace this time, seeing as Robinson was stepping back at the same time, leaving Orin more than enough time to maneuver. The chef took a few precious ticks to review what he'd learned so far. He was pleasantly surprised to discover that his skills were fairly evenly matched with the mercenary. In fact, there was a chance that Orin might actually have a slightly edge, mitigated somewhat by the other man’s height and reach advantage. Still, Orin thought that he actually might have a chance at winning this particular fight.

No sooner was Orin’s foot on the floor that the chef found himself shockingly yanked into the other man. What the petch?was all Orin had time to think before he had to react to the new situation. Still it was an odd decision by the other man. If it had been an Akalak the chef was facing then Orin would be in trouble right now, seeing as getting up close to an Akalak when one of the dark-skinned giants was fresh typically spelled disaster for the unlucky combatant who got caught. Here however, they were likely reasonably matched in strength. So Robinson had just sacrificed the ability to use the axe effectively for reasons unknown to Orin.

Far be it for me to criticize someone for doing my job for me. This whole situation actually probably played to Orin’s strengths. Robinson’s grip on Orin’s wrist was weak. More importantly it meant that he was only using one hand to wield his battleaxe, which meant that the mercenary had less power or control. That Orin could use. The mercenary was attempting to strike Orin’s shoulder with his weapon, so Orin raised his left arm and intercepted the descending shaft with his forearm. It hurt, and would likely leave a bruise, but it was better than letting Robinson complete the blow. Quickly, before Robinson had a chance to react, Orin shifted his left arm until his left hand grasped the haft battleaxe just below where Robinson’s hand was gripping the axe. Then Orin wrestled the other man for the weapon.

Orin didn't really expect or want to gain control of the axe. He was simply trying to tangle up Robinson’s efforts to extricate it and use it for another attack. Normally, Orin would break away at this point, circle back, and try to wear his opponent out. However, seeing as they were using wooden weapons and already were engaging in close combat, it was time to switch tactics.

Therefore, Orin would really on his second strength in combat, after his dexterity: his speed. Orin’s real attack came next. The chef twisted his right arm down and towards the center, breaking the weak grasp of fingers on his dominant hand. Then, hopefully while Robinson was still recovering from everything that happened Orin darted forward with the right side of his body. His dagger was aimed in a strike straight for Robinson’s heart, while his right foot went stomping towards Robinson’s left instep. The stomp was a move Orin had observed in the Tuvya Sasaran recently, and the chef hoped that he was doing it properly.

[Robinson Gilli]

His gambit had failed, no surprise there though again it irked him. He knew what he did was a calculated risk, perhaps even unorthodox but a moments surprise could have spelt victory. Unfortunately the Chef had better wits than expected and recovered from his surprise much quicker than Robin hoped as his arm the descent of his axe. What’s worse was that the Chef was showing a surprising amount of strength that either matched or surpassed his own and they were now in contest of strength as they wrestled for the weapon. And as if it all couldn’t get worse his grip on the man’s dagger hand wasn’t as strong as he’d like, the distraction of trying to overpower one situation detracting from the other.

Ultimately the Chef broke away from him and quickly, the nimble chef switching from efficient body positioning to speed. In it all time seemed to slow for Robin, the adrenaline coursing through his body making the whole thing seem to be a moment of truth.

‘ Either ‘e gets me now, or I gets ‘im’ Were the words that rang in his mind. The Chef was stepping forward to stab him and with all they’ve been through in the brief minutes since they’ve began Robin was sure he presented a tempting target. Reasonably speaking, the Chef could stab him before he could parry off the attack. Even if he could step back or aside, he was certain the Chef could adjust his attack accordingly and this could also turn into a battle of attrition. Ultimately that was something Robin wished to avoid as it was apparent who would win in such a case.

So he went for the parry, but ultimately was futile as well as the top of his foot was stepped upon forcing Robin’s body to involuntarily pause for a brief moment. It was more than enough for the tip of the wooden dagger to ‘stab’ him in the chest, the blunt tip pressing against clothing and bruised flesh right where his heart would be.

It was grating to have lost, but he had lost and if anything Robin knew how to take one. He gathered his breath, closed his eyes and stepped back as he attempted to gather his wits. Opening his eyes he then closed them again as he bowed to Orin in respect as was due.

“Good scrap” He mumbled, though there was a hint of dejectedness in his tone to be sure. But what could he do about it but train some more?

[Orin Fenix]

Orin was so caught up in the heat of the battle that he didn’t recognize what had happened at first. He’d retained his grip on the battleaxe, and Robinson didn’t seem capable of regaining control of the weapon. The wrestling match for it continued as Orin’s foot descending and actually connected with Robinson. Luckily, Orin hadn’t put his full force behind the attack, seeing as they were just supposed to be sparring. Finally, Orin’s dagger snaked forward. Any tick now he was expecting to get parried or for Robinson to pull off some maneuver that would cause the two of them to break apart and the sparring match to continue.

So Orin was as surprised as anyone else when the tip of his dagger tapped the center of Robinson’s chest. I...won? came the incredulous thought. Orin never won sparring matches, especially here in the Kendoka Sasaran. He’d thought that his combat skills had been improving, but hadn’t realized the degree to which they’d gotten better over the past season. Or maybe Robinson was still learning how to fight properly as well, and and Orin just had either been progressing faster, or had started training earlier. Regardless of the reason, Orin had actually won a fight on his own for the first time he could remember.

The chef wanted to shout with joy, but that was definitely not the custom here, and so Orin instead disentangled himself from Robinson and took a step back. Inclining his head to first Robinson and then the Grand Master, who had an inscrutable look upon his face. Turning back to the mercenary Orin could help a small smile from breaking out, but he was feeling joyful for the first time in a long while. Especially because his emotions had been strangely muted all season, as if there was a filter between them and the world. So it felt good not only to win, it felt simply to feel something at all. “It was a good bout,” Orin agreed.

However, Robinson was looking anything but happy, and Orin hated to see anyone looking upset as a result of his actions. So the chef set out to try and ease Robinson’s distress. “No seriously. It was a good fight. I just got lucky at the end there.” It was true, although Orin had taken advantage of the situation. “I really wasn't expecting the grab, or your first assault. You almost got me both times!” That much was true although Orin still questioned the wisdom of the grab. It had been surprising because it hadn't seemed to give Robinson any tactical benefits. “And on top of that, I've got a lot of experience sparring with people who are either slightly or majorly outside my weight class. I'll bet you have less experience dealing with scrappy little things like me.” That's how most of his combat instructors referred to Orin after seeing the chef actually cut loose. What he lacked in skill and power he apparently made up for in sheer determination. Orin would keep going through anything if he thought the goal was worth it.

Orin had another point to make. Holding up the dagger, Orin explained, “Besides this is the only weapon I'm even remotely skilled with, besides a few hand-to-hand tricks. Take it away from me and I'm essentially useless.” That was true, which is why Orin both carried spare blades with him at all times and was training in other weapons, to prevent himself from being overwhelmed in that way. Still, it didn’t seem appropriate to mention that under the circumstances. “As a mercenary, I expect you’re supposed to know how to use more than just that,” Orin suggested, nodding at the axe. “So if I’m focusing full time on my dagger, and you’re splitting your time between multiple weapons, it’s not surprising that I’d have a slight edge here.” What Orin didn’t mention is that the chef only had limited training time, while Robinson no doubt used his weapons in his work and out of it. “So, different circumstances I have no doubt you would’ve defeated me soundly.” Hopefully these reasonable points would help to sooth the other man’s apparently wounded pride. Otherwise, Orin had just gone through a whole lot of work for nothing.

Stretching slightly, Orin went to the nearby weapon rack and picked up a second dagger, and fell into a defensive stance, with his left blade pointed out and his right blade held normally. Orin attempted to slash overhead with his right hand while punching his left blade up and forward, in the hopes that it would be able to block an imaginary incoming blow. But his two arms collided, and Orin fouled both attack and defense. Putting the second blade down again, Orin turned to Robinson, hoping that seeing the chef fail might make the mercenary feel better. “See? Like I said. Attempting to do anything other than use a single dagger makes me fail, hard.”

Anyway, Orin decided that he’d made more than enough comments about the bout. It was probably time to move on. Grabbing his left leg in his free left hand and stretching it behind him, feeling the burn in his thigh, Orin tried to decide what to do next. “Anyway, did you want to go again?” Orin asked tentatively. “Alternatively, I’d be happy to just chat further, although,” and here Orin glanced around at the rest of the Sasaran, “We would probably have to relocate if that was the case.” Although Orin didn’t know Robinson at all, Orin’s loneliness was slowly, but surely, trying to overwhelm the chef these days. He didn’t have any real friends, as trainers and colleagues didn’t really count, so Orin was hoping that maybe he and Robinson could bond a bit. “I’m game for pretty much anything you are.”

[Robinson Gilli]

While it wasn’t entirely true that Robin had inexperience dealing with the nimble folk, the more truth of it was that he had less experience dealing with such individuals who knew what they were doing. As if a reminder to himself, it was what made the common ganger in Sunberth a low-threat. Not many actually knew how to use the weapons they held, and even if they did they were often only specialized in that one thing that they were crippled as soon as someone better came along.

Sort of like here, again he was reminded how he lacked in his training that he needed to catch up else he’d not be much a warrior much less a mercenary. And while he was somewhat mollified by Orin’s concession that he’d nearly had him a couple of times; nearly wasn’t the enough, not for one who relied on his skills to make a living and especially if he lost against someone who didn’t.

And while Orin was trying to be helpful with his comments, in some respects it really wasn’t. Granted he did split his times on learning different skills, but when it came to just his axe and bow…well, it still wasn’t a good excuse. Fact of the matter is it was a rancid excuse that made him wince even if he did not hold it against Orin himself who was furthering trying to prove his point with the small antic of trying to dual wield daggers.

Amusing as it was, it only helped slightly and made things a bit awkward as Robin scratched the back of his head, trying to voice his own words. Then he paused, contemplating if he should take up one of the offers Orin presented.

He had to admit he did want another bout, but the problem came from the fact that Robin felt he had full understanding of the man’s skills. Orin, in this regard, was simply his superior no questions asked. While he was certain he could gleam some insight on how to fight a dagger wielding foe of similar size, there was also the fact that he was already winded while Orin seemed no less for wear.

Yes, he was most definitely outmatched.

That left the other offer, he didn’t know why Orin offered as it wasn’t truly necessary. Then again how many males that were non-akalaks were in Riverfall? Both females of other races and the all-male race outnumbered them heavily and with that reminder he found himself nodding.

He licked the back of his teeth and lowered the wooden axe “Uh, aye… not ta scrap, bu’ uh….A taklkin’ would be good” He then awkwardly looked around a bit, scratching at his shoulder “Um… but uh, finish me trainin’ first?” he said, would be bad form to shirk his training after all.