Sparring and Stories (Mok)

[Wrenmae]

Winter 68 Shroud tossed the dagger. It glittered for a moment before falling into his open hand. He tossed it again, and watched it twirl. The times he spent awake in this body were longer now. Wrenmae was dormant more than usual. Plotting something perhaps, navigating the twisting landscape of psyche for some sense of purpose, self, maybe a secret or power to use against the dominant in charge now. He caught the dagger again, gripping the handle with sudden ferocity. An unlikely quest. The sun was just glancing over the horizon. Mok was late, if but a bit. He twirled the dagger again, sighing and replacing it in his sheath. The winter blew cold around him, strong winds grasping at the cloak he wore as though eager for his purse...even the wind in Sunberth was a thief. He grinned, spitting, and walked a few paces away before dropping into the cold ground. Up and down, pushing his body up and down over the ground with a grim sort of tenacity. Push-ups. Monotonous, but passed the time. His thin arms strained, arguing with his physique to acquire muscle. He managed several before stopping, tired, rolling back to his haunches and tossing the dagger again. A Bell late. Much more and he'd have to hunt the fellow.

[Mok]

The myrian was running a little late, but it wasn't his fault. He had been held up at the tavern, but still that was no excuse. He had told Wrenmae that he would meet him at a certain time and he had not kept that promise. Running as fast as he could, the myrian arrived at the designated location about an hour late.

Wrenmae sat absent mindedly toying around with his dagger. Mok knew that the man was not totally pissed at him, if not slightly annoyed. Mok would waste no time for words though. He would get right into it. The myrian was weilding a gladius, which was double the size of Wrenmae's knife. He would spar with him none the less. The myrian's plan was to work on his slash techniques. With a gladius, the slashing wouldn't be as strong as stabbing. This would give his sparring partner a good enough challenge and still keep Mok on his toes.

Mok spent no time apologizing to Wrenmae at all. In fact, he went straight into the spar. As soon as his opponent, saw him in the distance, the warrior rushed him, "No words! Let our blades do all the talking!" If Wrenmae was frustrated at Mok's tardiness, he would have to express if with his dagger now.

The myrian began with a common overheadstrike. Depending on what Wrenmae did, Mok would follow up with either another overhead strike or maybe even a side slash. Mok would be taking this whole fight play by play. Focusing on keep good technique and form than finishing off the blow. He would make no extra effort in his attacks. He would not force a bad move to cover his mistake, like in a real fight. No the myrian would work on fundementals and speed.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Wrenmae]

He barely managed to draw the blade by the time the Myrian was swinging downward. Throwing up the long dagger, he intercepted the blade above him, repulsing it with a clang. Mok continued, bringing the blade around in a side slash, prompting Shroud to fall backward on the ground, rolling along awkwardly before getting to his feet. Mok followed him, careful step by careful step mirrored with a certain measured ferocity. The half blood certainly left no time to prepare, but one supposed it was the method to his madness. Keeping the blade between them, Shroud intercepted another heavy handed side swing and batted the steel aside, leading in with a thrust of his own. Mok easily parried the blade, bringing his own down to catch and redirect. The Half blood had improved since he had first met the man, there was more level control behind the swings, a modicum of effort rather than wild abandon. Shroud retreated with that in mind, swinging a few slashes here and there, but mostly baiting his opponent around, searching for weak spots. Mok's did not seem obvious, a cruel cut of muscle and skill that kept the murderer on the defensive. Still, Shroud searched his form for sign of give or his eyes for trepidation. "Tavern wenches keep you?" He asked with a smirk, crouching low and springing beneath Mok's guard, dagger extended out toward his chest.

[Mok]

Wrenmae was quick, but not quick enough. The myrian focused on parring and dodging his blows for now. The myrian made sure that every movement was precise, using a snap of the wrist to guide his gladius. He focused hard on sword technique. He had no reason to fret over staying alive. There was no reason to strike to kill. This was good. He could focus on fine tuning his skills rather than killing the opponent.

Up and down his sword hand went. One, two, one, two Mok counted over an over in his mind. Snap the wrist. Keep your footwork solid. Don't swing the hips early. Don't let your opponent inside leverage. NEver let your basic guard down. He focused and meditated on these principles as he exchanged blows with Wrenmae. Slowly, he cleared his mind from all the junk of the outside world. For now his whole world was this spar with Shroud.

Steadily, but surely Wrenmae began to make progress on his knife work. Already Mok recieved a small cut on his hand from crossing blades. Mok had to be careful, now. Knife work was tricky and very fast. In a real fight, the myrian would have either disarmed him by now, or overpowered him. That was not the point of the exercise though. Kicking backwards, Mok established his footing again and spat a fat piece of snot to the side.

Already both men were glazed in a thin layer of sweat, visiable only in the sunlight, "Your mother's bosom kept you waiting. Blame her," Mok jested.

Mok came swinging. Down and down his blade went. The myrian took care not to swing to kill. Any mess ups could prove fatal, so the warrior used only half of his speed working solely on technique and power. Every strike he used the kinetic energy in his hips and legs. He transfered the energy from his feet, through his hips, then into his arm. Wremae had no choice but to dodge and retreat. Unless, Wren fixed his footwork and found some balance, he would not be able to recover. Mok would say nothing though. This was a spar and not a teaching session after all.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Wrenmae]

Mok worked the murderer, forcing Wrenmae back. This was a familiar situation. Once in the mountains of Kalea he had sparred with a Dhani who used a similar blade against his own might. Then things had been different, he'd been shy, frightened, even foolish. But now he watched the swing, the snap of energy from joints and muscles. Responding in kind he maintained his step by step retreat, blocking the blade and thrusting it away from himself. The purpose of dagger work was being quick and close. Sword play was always a fight of endurance and might, a contest a dagger could not keep up with. Shroud maintained a defense of strong forward thrusts, taking small deflecting and turning them into lunges toward Mok's open areas. He scored a few blows, but the half blood kept him moving, kept him without an opportunity of counter. Shroud hissed, the blade catching the skin of his arm for a moment and drawing a line of crimson across the skin. "My mother is dead," the storyteller growled, Slashing his blade up at Mok, "Which worries me as to your taste in petching." The Half blood came in strong, but Shroud brought the blade up with both hands on the hilt and stopped the swing downward, twisting on his foot and swinging a kick up at his chin. Mok disengaged, batting Shroud's foot away with his free hand. "Ah! I understand your motivation now!" He backed away, foot over foot, "The dead can't put up a fight." Lunging forward again, Shroud accepted a weakened blow to the side of his shoulder, cutting into the leather armor only briefly as he brought his own dagger up at Mok's throat, a fierce grin on his sweat slick face.

[Mok]

As usual Wrenmae through back the snarky remarks in attempt to faze Mok. His attempts at intimation would ultimately fail though, because they were just messing around and joking with each other.

They continued to exchange words. As they continued Mok noticed that his partner was bleeding a little. Nothing more than a scratch, but things were beginning to heat up. Mok continued to focus on swordplay. One, two, one, two, he counted in his mind. He kept an even pace in his head. He did not want to miss a beat. He focused on his footwork and his technique. The myrian wasn't a very formal type of martial artist; he used a combination of what he learned as a kid in Taloba and things that he learned from living the life of the blade. His style was to do anything to win. He kept to the fundamentals and tweaked his technique to his own likings. Mok liked to hit things as hard as he could and as fast as he could. That was his style.

Up, down, left, right. Mok's sword danced with Wrenmae's dagger. A real fight would never ever last this long never. Mok didn't use full power or full speed. Right now it was all about learning and tweaking each other's skills. Learning from experience. Over and over they went. It was all about recognizing what was coming next and having the correct answer to their move. It’s all about split second decisions. This is true, no matter how instinctive or how little a fighter thinks about it.

Suddenly Shroud got ambitious and swung a kick at Mok. To be completely honest, the short swordsman was no expecting a kick. His mind was totally focused on his blade work. He thought Wrenmae was doing the same.

The match was heating up.

Mok laughed and shrugged off the pain and disengaged and silently watched his mocking opponent. Finally, Wrenmae made his move and sprinted forward. The myrian came in with a strike from the right, but his partner just ducked through the motion, eating art of the blow with his leather shoulder guard and brought the knife to Mok's throat. Wrenmae had gotten him fair and square. This only meant Mok wasn't trying hard enough.

The myrian's left hand shot up towards Shroud's wrist and his head went back. Grabbing his wrist with an iron grip, Mok held the man's hand high in the air. His arms rippled to make sure that his opponent didn't struggle free. Immediately Mok began to sprint full head forward, leaving Wrenmae with only one option: back pedal. After a few steps Mok had him. Slamming the butt of his gladius square on Wrenmae's forehead the myrian brought the dagger novice to the floor.

Everything happened in about one second. He wasn't even sure if Wrenmae understood what just happened. Mok had just combined a take down with his gladius. That was just style. He didn't give a petch; he used every tool available to him. Normally that move wouldn't work on most people, but Wrenmae would learn. Mok would bet that situation would never occur to his partner ever again. He would learn.

"Good work, but remember the blade isn't the only part of the sword... Come," Mok stepped off Wrenmae and motioned him to come again.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Wrenmae]

Feet falling over each other, arm captured, Shroud could do little more than fall backward as the larger man nearly bowled him over. He couldn't struggle with his arm extended so far, could only fall backwards as Mok's pommel flashed down. The metal split his consciousness for a moment, leaving only the whorls of delusion and confusion in its wake. For a few moments, he could only shake his head groggily, attempting to banish the multiple visions of the barbarian in front of him. His first instinct was to anger, to strike back with as much fervor and ferocity as his skill would permit him. He checked it immediately, taking a deep breath and grinning. It was a good move, a fair assessment, and a damn good use of his strength. Vayt be praised, this fellow was flesh and blood survival. Style be damned, honor be damned, convention be damned. This was all that mattered, victory. "Not a lesson I'll soon forget," Shroud muttered, placing a hand gingerly against his forehead. "Interesting maneuver, relying on both surprise, speed, and superior strength. I'll take it into consideration." Taking a deep breath, tossing the long dagger from hand to hand, Shroud focused on the Half blood, gauging him for signs of weakness, for vulnerability. He dashed forward with a mid-level stab, Mok deflecting the blade up and around. But Shroud did not retreat to re-calibrate his blade. Arm behind him, he lowered his shoulder and plowed into Mok, swinging the dagger up from behind him in a lazy slice. Of course the thin man was not much of a force to Mok, especially one so well prepared. He took the blow and rolled with it, sucking in his stomach and rolling sideways with the blow, narrowly avoiding the dagger tip. Shroud pitched forward, the momentum sending him tumbling across the ground in a lopsided spin. Not content, Shroud continued the motion, coming up on one foot and whipping around, holding the blade out again before circling the Half blood slowly. He smiled, blood against his teeth shining in the afternoon sun. "I am more than flesh and blood, Mok, but in terms of steel and strength of hand, you are my better." He almost went on, but paused, was quiet. "Why don't we make this next time we cross blades the last time eh?" Spitting some of the excess blood and saliva to his side, he wiped a sleeve across his face. "Winner buys a drink at the Pig's Foot."

[Mok]

Wrenmae affirmed Mok's suspecison. He would not forget what just happened. The myrian smiled. Soon his friend would be a great fighter. He could feel it. He was just starting out a novice in the art, but he would catch up fast. Wrenmae's technique wasn't the best however he had something that couldn't be thought. That was the will to kill. The ability to put your morality aside and let the blade do the talking. "You’re just new. I can see that you got it in you. I believe in you Wren! You'll learn fast," To Mok's delight Wrenmae answered with his blade instead of words. Mok absolutely loved it. That was the fighting spirit that he was looking for. The myrian went to work right away.

His partner opened with a side strike with his blade. Mok easily deflected it, but Wren drove his shoulder into the blow. He was trying to get inside leverage on the myrian, whether he knew it or not. The half-blood's automatic response was to deny him inside entry so he turned his shoulder and leaned back bringing the charge to an even standstill. His opponent launched his dagger lazily upwards. Mok skirted out of the way but he was not in a good position. He needed to disengage and while he was at it he slammed Wrenmae in the stomach was a curled fist. He had more opportunity now, but he wouldn’t take it. Mok retreated and so did Wren.

The two then proceeded to circle each other, regaining the strength. Mok was slightly winded, but his partner was obviously feeling it more. After about a minute, Wrenmae made a deal. Mok obliged, "Agreed. Prepare yourself!"

The myrian put his fighting face on and went to work. Striding forward, he would be the first one to strike. Hoping to catch Wrenmae flat footed, the myrian actually got more than he could hope for. Wren stabbed forward. Mok swatted the blow with his free side. He didn't just swat it like he was slapping a bitch; no he used his whole left side of the body. He turned his torso and shoulders all at once so his chest was facing away from Wren. He was now in the position to making a killing stab. Lunging forward Mok brought the blade in as fast as he possible could, but he aimed away from Wren's neck. He wanted to make a point, not kill his friend.

Mok took it one step further. After his strike, the myrian ran though the other side of Wren, now on his flank. His opponent instinctively turned around. Blow started to be exchanged, but Mok was waiting to bring the fight to the floor. Left, right, left, right. Wren was proficient in stabbing and twisting. Parrying all the blows was becoming more difficult and difficult. Playing swords with the man was not easy. Mok could finish the fight easily enough if it was for death, but in a spar their abilities evened out because Mok's goal was to get better at his craft and not kill. He again began to focus on technique and footwork. After every blow the myrian made sure that he was in a proper stance to realize and respond to any other blow that was thrown on him.

Finally his opening, the myrian lunged his gladius downwards and spun Wren's dagger in a circle, and then he went in giving the man a blow to the right ear. Resetting, Mok stabbed again. Wren's only choice was to move or parry in his addled state. Another blow to the head, than Mok made his disarming move. Using his hand to slap Wren's fist, Mok came down with the pommel of his blade right on his wrist. The pressure of both blows would surely lead to Wren dropping his weapon.

Suddenly, Mok dropped his sword. His brain was for some reason addled now too. Something had happened in his mind that didn't make any sense.

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common

[Wrenmae]

Shroud took the offensive, twisting his dagger into the points and places Mok had left open. None of them panned into anything, and although Wren's dagger was more a short sword in length, the extra distance did not yield any improved results. Thrusting and turning, trying to keep his mind on both his feet and his blade, the murderer was hard pressed to keep up with Mok's ability. Instead he opted the next best thing, to turn the tables on his ally rather than take the loss completely. When Mok brought his blade around, smashing his dagger out of the way with the power of his entire body, Shroud pierced his aura with the latent Djed raging beneath his skin, poured it through the synapse between them and played out a brief hallucination, following the half-blood's movement with a suggested course of action he imagined Mok would have taken. The barbarian paused briefly, his eyes seeing what Wrenmae wanted him to see, and Shroud shifted the blade back to his left hand, his right throbbing with the blow of the gladius, and strode around Mok, to his back. He heard the clang of the gladius as it hit the ground, Mok no doubt completely bemused that his opponent was no longer in front of him, had vanished entirely. Behind him, Shroud tapped the tip of his dagger on Mok's shoulder, drawing it back and sheathing it. His narrow chest rose and feel haggardly, but the mage was grinning. "Good work," he said, "But remember, skill with a blade is not the only part of a fight." He tapped a finger against his forehead twice, chuckling. "You left your mind open, trusted too much in the sensation. Be careful, not all opponents will be so easily overcome."

[Mok]

"What in Myri's name was that all about?" Mok questioned Wrenmae about what just occurred, "My mind went blank and I just, petching, dropped my sword!" Mok didn't like the feeling of being hypnotized. There were no visible side effects or anything, but the myrian wasn't able to think entirely straight either. The feeling was like the bitter after taste of rotten ale, except in his head. The myrian was no idiot though... he could deduct that it was some sort of magic or sorcerery that he had not encountered before. Dusting off his pants and shirt, the gangster listened to Wrenmae's explanation about hypnotism. Nodding and sheathing his gladius, Mok didn't really know what to think. Deep down he wanted to explode on Shroud for using such methods, but he knew well that he deserved it. Mok needed to be ready for any type of combat, including magic. This was a good learning experience for him.

Clasping forearms with Wrenmae, the half-blood looked him straight in the eyes like a grown ass man and acknowledged his victory, "Good looking Wrenmae, I gotchyou though! Come, let's hit up the tavern...while you’re at it explain to me how to fight that type of shit… magicians… You got me good and that ain’t happening again! Swear it! Hahahaha"

Casually walking with his friend towards the familiar Pig's Foot, the two brothers in arms exchanged words and comments on the spar. After listening to what Wrenmae had to say about Hypnotism, Mok said some words about his sword technique, "I like your intensity brother, but there are some shit that I think would help you out," the myrian pointed to his chest and torso, "THIS is the key. Always keep your eyes on your opponent's blade, but never forget to keep an eye on their torso and hips. Your opponent's blade can go wherever it wants, as the arm has much more mobility, but the hips tell you the WHOLE story, to you feel me? You can always trust the hips because it will tell you exactly what he is doing next. Like when someone does an over the head strike. Their hips need to be facing you and the momentum of their legs and torso will be coming in your direction....yes, you need to use your side vision, keep your eyes on the blade at all times, but always keep a look out on their hips."

Mok then made a stabbing motion with his arm, leaning forward to the extreme. He over-exaggerated his movements to make a point to Wren, "Another thing, never over-extend yourself, because that's going to get you murked. Any pro will eat that type of shit up, you feel me? Make sure you’re still using power though...You got to find that find balance, you feel me?"

Red = Myrian
Bold = Common