Touching the Web [Sama'el]

[Ronan]

"I..." he slumped miserably. He really had no experience with women... there had only been Siyana. Suddenly Sama'el was upon him, slashing, stabbing. It had been a distraction, designed to keep Ronan thinking on something else while Sama'el attacked.

He twisted instantly, parrying. As he clashed daggers with Sama'el, he shoved him with his free hand, then drove the blade forward.

"Cheap trick, my friend, cheap trick."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el took no pleasure in the trick working, but it was the sort of psychological element to battle that the Watch would have to endure. They had to be immune to taunting, cool and collected rather than subject to overweening fear or rage. Ronan had good skills, but he was rather unseasoned as a true warrior, despite what had happened seeking the illusory assassins guild. But Sama'el had been similar when he had come to the Watch. They had beaten a lot of that greenness out of him. Ronan caught his slash and shoved him back. Sama'el used that momentum to help him as he arched his back, pulling his hips up and over into a back hand spring, his booted foot coming up to kick Ronan in the wrist. It was a chancy move, but he was getting much better with his acrobatics and trying to marry it with his fighting skills. At least Ronan would attempt not to cut off his foot if he messed up utterly. He hoped. Miscalculating the landing, he ended up on his knees, but his dagger was held up at the ready. His smile was apologetic. "In a real fight, nobody fights fair."

[Ronan]

"Life isn't fair," Ronan retorted, "I sure as hell know that!"

Nothing was fair. It was a suitable conclusion when you leaved amongst the Grasses, death and tragedy always a heartbeat away. The chilling squawk of a Glassbeak, prowling Zith in the shadows, deadly storms and geysers...

He acted quickly, kicking Sama'el squarely on the chest as he got up, then twirled again with his dagger. He felt a pang of guilt, kicking his friend. But this was what Sama'el wanted out of him.

He knew that Sama'el was being rude and sarcastic to try and get to him, but all he had achieved was to up the stakes, to raise the game. If he would play dirty, Ronan would play dirty and win by any means necessary.

He kicked up again as he span, right foot aimed for Sama'el's jaw.

"The Drykas know that... The Drykas do whatever's necessary friend. Don't doubt my tenacity."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Ronan's foot hit his chest with bruising force, sending him sprawling backward. He was getting his just desserts. After barely a pause to blink, he whipped his body back to his feet, a wobbly crouch, just in time to see a foot coming for his face this time! Had he time to think, he would have approved of Ronan learning the game. In life, especially that of a Watchman, there was no time for a dress rehearsal. So no matter how impressive his little acrobatic recovery was, he had to fling himself to the side to avoid getting kicked in the jaw, and then he was scrabbling to his feet to rush Ronan bodily before he could get his blade around. It might soon devolve into wrestling and the dirtiest of fighting tactics: hair-pulling, crotch shots, and the like. "I don't doubt," he said through grit teeth as he tried to bear Ronan down to the ground. "I test."

[Ronan]

Sama'el came at Ronan quickly, tackling him to the ground. In the struggle, Ronan's dagger was thrown to the side. He growled, teeth gritted, as they grappled for control.

He managed to roll over, forcing himself on top of Sama'el and pinning him to the ground.

"But do you doubt yourself, friend? Do you doubt your own abilities?"

He tried to reach and grab his dagger with the other hand, but to no avail. Loosening one hand had allowed Sama'el room to move. He cursed, as the seconds passed painfully.

He was thrown backwards, hitting his head on the ground, leaving him at the mercy of the Drykas...

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

They were down in the grass and dirt now, first one and then the other having the advantage, each one attempting to wrestle the other into submission. And Sama'el was not wrong: a Watchman had to fight until there was no fight left in him. The Sea of Grass would swallow up anyone who did not give their all, and that would leave a chink in the armor that protected Endrykas. He winced, though, when Ronan hit his head. The younger Drykas was prone to doing so himself, and so he knew that pain, as well as the taunts that he was left with fewer wits for each run in with the ground or other peoples' heads. Halfway to pinning him to the ground, Sama'el looked cautiously into his eyes, leery of a trick. After all, the turf here wasn't that hard. "Are you all right?"

[Ronan]

The ground was reasonably soft, but Ronan's head had smacked back with some force. As it hit the floor, his vision stirred wildly. He could see the faint shape of Sam, moving about, ready to strike.

He heard him say something, but the voice was muffled. He couldn't think straight. The thoughts in his mind were jumbled, like puzzle pieces twisted and torn so they would no longer fit together.

His hand scrambled along the ground beside him, searching blindly for his dagger. But he was helpless. His vision returned slowly, in trickles. But he still felt confused, the whole world a violent maelstrom around him.

Suddenly he felt scared. This was his friend he was fighting against, yet all his senses were dulled, everything was unclear. Would Sama'el stay his blade?

Misery crossed the void inside him. He was not cut out for the Watch. As a shadowy figure rose above him, he suddenly felt woefully inadequate. He would never make it to the Watch. Never.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

When he saw Ronan reaching for his blade in confusion, Sama'el was not scared, but he was prudent. He took it up and slipped it into the waist of his pants. Peeling back Ronan's eyelids, he noted the signs of his disorientation and frowned. It would not do to rattle the brains of his would be recruit. "Ronan," he said softly, moving to straddle his chest, wondering if he shouldn't hold his wrists down. If he was confused enough to knife a friend, it might be safer to keep him down until he gathered his wits to himself again. "Ronan, Ronan. Can you speak? Can you hear me? Blink if you can hear me." He was not the best physic, and so if Ronan had done some damage to himself, Sama'el would either have to run to find a healer or carry him down to one, neither of which sounded like the best course of action. Apparently not everyone had as thick a skull as Sama'el. Gently, he smacked at Ronan's cheek to get his attention, to help him focus on a single sensation. "Come on, Ronan. Be all right."

[Ronan]

There was a slap to his face, and it sent a jolt through his body. Miscellaeous swirls of colour began to cluster together, and he began to make out Sama'el staring down at him.

"Be alright Ronan."

He could hear. The noise was still muffled, but he could make it out. He put a hand to his forehead, suddenly feeling sick. He had felt like this before... when he had run away after his brother's funeral, and his mother had found him in the Grasses. He'd been knocked out in his escape from a Glassbeak.

Once a fool, always a fool.

He closed his eyes, wincing with pain. Just when he thought he'd gotten rid of his demons...

He breathed heavily, looking back up at Sama'el. The Watchman looked concerned. "Can you... can you help me up?"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el peered into Ronan's eyes, trying to ascertain whether there was damage to the insides of his skull, but he pulled him up until he was sitting, a hand cupping the back of his head as if Ronan were a newborn and not strong enough to keep his head from lolling and straining his neck. They were going to have to work on not hurting each other while training, but rather give the chance to the dangers outside Endrykas for such things. "Why don't we just sit here awhile until your vision clears up, and if you still have your wits, we can perhaps see if you have any affinity for the Web." It wasn't exactly a question, and he really didn't want Ronan getting up and wandering off when he might hurt himself. That would be on Sama'el's conscience. Sometimes the Watch had to guard their fellow Drykas from themselves, even in the relative safety of their tent city.