Closed The Tiger Warrior and the Horse Lord (Raz)

[Vanator]

Timestamp: Afternoon of the 20th Day of Fall, 512 AV Location: Outside Riverfall The borrowed horse plodded casually through the tall grass, its carpet-like surface rippling gently in the cool breeze. Though his mount seemed at ease, Vanator remained vigilant. Safety was never guaranteed outside of the walls of Riverfall or Sanctuary, even so close. The Zith attack on the herd a tenday earlier attested to that. But the roaming eyes of the drykas sought something in particular, the encampment of a new acquaintance. The battle with the Zith had revealed several things. First, he would insist that Kavala never turn out or recover the herds by herself. Second was the fact that a very peculiar person was dwelling alone in the grass outside of the city. The man was unlike any Vanator had seen before. This man had fought the zith with savage ferocity, and to Vanator's keen eye, he was trained to do so from a young age. Nor did the older drykas miss the glint in the man's dark eyes. The strange warrior enjoyed killing. Kavala had said he was a myrian. Vanator felt a measure of gratitude to the stranger, for he went to the defense of his sister. Not that he would want the warrior inside Sanctuary. The myrian was bloodthirsty, that much was apparent, and though Razkar exhibited a form of code of honor, Vanator would not invite him inside. Not yet. However, Vanator longed to exercise his axe arm, to hone again his combat abilities. Kavala had made him an offer, and he wanted to be worthy of it should he accept. Unfortunately, he had no one to spar with. The residents of Sanctuary were mostly healers, without skills in fighting. The woman Gianne was an archer, and he heard the one called Serrif was accomplished with the longbow. But no one but Kavala had any real melee skills, and with all that was going on around the facility, Vanator had postponed working with his sister on her fighting. Akalaks were certainly formidable practice partners, and Van knew schools for fighting existed in Riverfall. But he was still not fond of the large men, his feelings towards them a tangle of gratitude for rescuing his sister from slavers years ago, and hatred for, in his eyes, enslaving Kavala as a Nakivak. But the myrian... he was a man of the sword and ax. Razkar was a trained combatant and certainly able to offer a good spar. Vanator sought out the warrior at some risk, unsure of how the stranger would take to his unannounced arrival, and whether the myrian would find an actual life and death fight more appealing then a practice duel. Vanator was willing to take the chance, desperate to regain his readiness. He had brought his battle ax and hand ax to test against a worthy partner. The top of a tent appeared above the grass. Vanator dismounted to approach the camp, so that he could meet the man eye to eye, and not with the loftier downward gaze from the horse that could be mistaken as assumed superiority. From what little he had heard about the myrians, the drykas was sure Razkar already knew he was here. Leading the horse, Vanator parted the grass into the camp area.

[Razkar]

Razkar was glad he'd taken the legs. They were proving to be very useful.

Anyone watching the tattooed warrior that day, had they known him better, would have said he seemed in much better spirits. He was a flurry of careful and urgent movement outside his tent, his horse Mrrko tethered behind it, idly and contentedly grinding grass between its teeth. Razkar limped slightly, even days after the battle, but while it may have made others wince, he grinned in wondrous recollection.

A good fight. A fine offering. And...

He's seasoning the meat hanging from the wooden frame in long strips when his nostrils flare sharply, ears twitching imperceptibly. But his hand, filled with salt and spice, stops halfway to the frame.

Horse. Sweat. Soap...

Human. And he was downwind. There was a rustling from behind him that could not be from the mere wind, and in one fluid motion he lowered his arm, dropped the condiments therein, snatched his gladius out of its sheath and whirled, other hand on his axe-

The figure that emerged from the yellow and green wall, leading his mount through it, finds the Myrian glaring at him, eyes shining with bloody anticipation...

... and then the looks softened slightly, remembrance and an uneasy, fledgling camaraderie replacing it, moment by moment...

The sword lowered, but did not leave Razkar's hand. He knew this human. He fought alongside him when those bird creatures - Zith, he thought he heard them called - attacked the woman Kavala and her herd. A fine warrior, if a little... rusty?

"Vanator." He rumbled in Common, pronunciation grinding out every syllable. "I remember. What you here for?"

It could be anything, good or ill, but Razkar was raised better than to scorn and be rude to a guest at his lodging, however meagre they may be. The Myrian smiled, or tried to, flashing yellow teeth that the Drykas swore looked sharper than last they met. He gestured behind him with his free hand, at the strips of lean, succulent meat hanging under a fire yet to be lit.

And there's no signs of deer, rabbit, squirrel or fish bones anywhere...

"Want some? Just making. Monsters we killed. Taste good."

[Vanator]

Razkar was waiting, as expected, sword ready when Vanator entered the camp. The drykas was also pleased when he saw the tip of the gladius drop, the warrior's defensive stand ease, if only slightly. Van nodded in greeting. "I have a request." He added. The gold-flecked eyes were distracted, following Razkar's gesture towards the strips of unfamiliar meat curing on the wooden frame. "Monsters we killed. Taste good." Razkar was living up to all the stories he had been told about the myrians in the past few days. The idea of eating Zith was repulsive at first. But as his gaze volleyed between the savage's grinning face and the dark meat, Vanator pondered how much he hated Zith. Then a cruel smile curled on his lips. What better way to despise them than to eat the meat of a slain one. "Sure." Van replied to the strange offer, a bit hesitant. The offer of food...as it were, indicated to the horseman that he was welcome. Vanator let the reins of the horse behind him drop, lettng the animal roam nearby. Then as if just remembering, Van supplied the reason for his visit. "I commend you on your fighting prowess. Certainly you practice your art regularly, as any good warrior would. I propose we assist each other, maybe some sparring. I believe we could both benefit from a live opponent. Surely you understand that a warrior out of practice is no warrior at all."

[Razkar]

"Sure."

Razkar blinked in surprise for a second, but that was quickly overridden by an impressed happiness. Well, and they said these barbarians were weak? Maybe they should meet this one. Although, he concedes to himself, it would be a different thing with the eyes and heart...

"Good, good!"

He walked over to the frame and peeled off a few thick strips, laying them across the griddle over the fire he already had in front of his tent. The other, smaller one under the frame was just to smoke and preserve the Zith flesh. No point letting it go to waste, after all.

The Myrian hummed softly to himself as he laid the meat on the metal, fat and flesh sizzling right away. A handful of spices, maybe some garlic to soften it up, and it would be fit for his guest.

Then a rush of Common exploded from Vanator and he looked up, trying to follow the garble. He blinked a few times, putting words together, remembering fragments from elsewhere. He thought he got the gist, but still...

"Next time, talk simple. Not from here, 'member?"

But he got the general idea. This Vanator - or Van, as he had heard him referred to by his... sister, wasn't it? - wanted to spar, to practice, to hone his own abilities. Understandable. Every warrior needed it. And, after seeing Razkar's performance in the field.

But before he gave his hand in friendship again, the Myrian cocked his head to one side and regarded the human through slightly narrowed eyes.

"Maybe I help. Maybe not. Need help, too." He patted the bow laying against the rock he used as a seat, and then his gladius. "You help me, I help you. Both learn. Like you say."

He let the human ponder on his offer for a few moments, hoping the glee on his face was not too evident. Slaughtering the Zith had been the height of his trip to this land, for sure, but pitting his might against one of those he had fought with? Whom he had seen slay alongside him? That would be interesting...

Then his brow furrowed and he spoke without looking, turning the meat over.

"What is "prowess"?"

[Vanator]

"Next time, talk simple. Not from here, 'member?" Vantator held back a grin as nodded apologetically to Razkar. The Drykas remembered having to learn Common language. His father insisted since one day he would need to communicate with the traders and foreigners who dared cross their grass. Van still had not mastered the language. The grasslander's eyes turned to the Zith meat as it began to sizzle on the fire. He could not say that he was anxious to eat it, but he also knew it was rude to turn down offered food in about any culture. Besides, after watching the Myrian devour a still beating Zith heart, unidentifiable strips of charred Zith did not seem too bad. That nightmare evening in the grass had convinced Vanator that he needed to stay at Riverfall, that Kavala needed help, and not only in the matters of defense. His sister showed a dangerous inability to control her desire to employ magic. Though he had already made the decision to take the position at the Sanctuary, he would not tell her until he felt he was back to full capability. Exercising with the Westerner would certainly help. Vanator moved to the horse and freed the makeshift battle ax and hand ax. He thrust the smaller weapon through his belt. "Prowess...it means you are a good fighter. Worthy for me to practice against." He tried to explain. He had learned that the Myrians worshiped Myri, whom seemed to aid them in battle. The horse warrior wondered if the same was true for sparring. Vanator rolled his shoulders, stretched and twisted. Though the healers had closed the flesh where the Zith had torn him open, the mended muscles were still sore. "I am going to start with this," he hefted the larger iron-headed ax. The Drykas was quite competent with the battle ax, his weapon of choice since he was a child. The older horseman had more years handling his ax, but even during the mayhem of the Zith battle, Van could see the younger warrior had great speed in his strikes. "Select the weapon you wish to use. I could use practice against either." Van's gaze fell to the Myrian's gladius and hand ax.

[Razkar]

Razkar regarded the big, long-haired human as he hefted the ax. It was much larger than the one he carried, or those carried by his people. A two-handed monster, designed for huge, sweeping arcs that could render a man in twain like a sapling. Impressive, but... uncontrolled.

Well, he would help with that.

"I use this." He said, drawing his hand ax. Shorter than Vanator's weapon by a good foot at least, it was still a fearsome weapon. The teeth lining the back of the head certainly gave it that appearance. "Better with it."

The Myrian looked down and saw the meat still had a way to go. Much as he would have preferred it dripping and raw, his guest had to be considered, and humans could be so... particular. He frowned and grimaced. Probably... fifteen minutes. Plenty of time.

"OK." He said sharply, bounding to his feet. "No time like now."

He walked over to a clear space away from the tent, the fire, the frame and the horse idling behind it all. Covered in shorter grass, about knee high, it was a perfect training forum. The Myrian hefted his short ax a few times, spinning it around in his hand and getting a feel for it as he always did. The gladius would wait until later. The long-haired human stood across from him, ax held ready, feet apart to prepare himself.

Razkar raised his ax, blade glinting in the sun.

"Ready?"

Eyes intense and steady, Vanator nodded, mouth-

-Razkar jerked forwards and gave him a friendly kick in the balls.

"First lesson." He said as the Drykas doubled over. Still, no damage done. Like his hulking "trainer" Kevlar did with him in that basement a few days ago, Razkar was careful not to go all out with the blow. Just... focus him. "Never, never, never fight fair..."

[Vanator]

Vanator was taken totally by surprise, with lightning speed Razkar struck, sending the Drykas to his knees instantly with a strained grunt and and a loud expelling of air. "First lesson... Never, never, never fight fair..." "This isn't my first toss in the grass, son." He mumbled, the blade of Van's ax spun around, catching Razkar's heel. With a powerful jerk, Vanator pull the man's feet out from under him. Van vaulted to his feet, standing over the warrior, the heavy blade of the ax pressed against his chest. Veins bulged in Vanator's neck and head. Through clenched teeth, the horseman seethed. "Never...ever do that to me again, Myrian. From a man's seed issues his heirs, the one's who will continue the family line, lead the pavilion and keep one's way of life alive. Damaging a man's seed is like murdering his children. I will forgive this insult, you don't know the ways of my people." The ax was lifted and Vanator stepped back, gingerly. The western warrior had misinterpreted Vanator's request. He did not seek lessons from the younger man, he sought someone to test his own arms against, to challenge him so his own skills could be honed.

[Razkar]

Razkar smiled at the sky. This was going to be fun. The Myrian got back to his feet and circled the Drykas, that big battle ax held eager and ready. He gave him a quick smile, cracked his neck to one side... and moved.

Quickly.

He lunged and made a sweeping right arc at Vanator's side, knowing the man would parry it. The two ax heads spark and clang, vibrations shaking both men's arms, but then Razkar hops away, staying out of range of that huge weapon. The Drykas moved smoothly, practiced and quick...

Razkar frowned minutely, still circling. An interesting challenge. Speed and strength, to be sure... but...

He moved again, feet sliding forwards rather than stepping, right arm rearing back for a backhand blow from the left.

[Vanator]

Once the pain that crept up his core from his crotch dissipated, Vanator too could enjoy the challenge. Razkhar was faster, faster than he, and his weapon was lighter. The Drykas had been able to block the Myrian's first blow, a test for sure, to feel out Vanator's tendencies. Razhar easily retreated before the horseman could bring his weapon to bear. The two fighters circled, reading each others movements. Vanator saw the man drop a shoulder, signaling he was getting ready to chamber his arm. Van moved to defend, but the Myrian switched his footwork, and Van's block missed its mark. Razkar's hand ax swung at the Denusk's neck, the blade stopping just shy of biting his flesh. Vanator chuckled slightly. "Well done." Van's took a step back, His left hand releasing it's hold on the battleax and shooting out to take hold of the Myrain's weapon hand wrist. In one motion, his feet shuffled and his body rotated, pulling on Razhar forward by his arrm and bringing the ax up one-handed in a diagonal arc that brushed against the Myrian's side, below the ribcage. Plying his should and back muscles, Vanator stopped the weapon's momentum before losing balance.

[Razkar]

Goddess, but he had some strength to him. Razkar thought the two men were evenly matched but now it was clear the human had some strength to him. The Myrian felt himself jerked forwards, hand ax now useless without any way to move it, pulled closer to the strapping human-

-and the ax came up to his side. He looked down at it, trembling under his rib cage, and smiled.

"You too-"

-and on that word hooked his left leg behind Vanator's right kneecap, jerking it forwards at the same time as his left hand shot down to grab the wrist holding the battle ax. Razkar let his body fall with Vanator, the latter going onto his back on the heath and grass, the former on top of him.

The Myrian's forehead jerked down three times, very fast, stopping just before the Dryskas' nose each time. Point made, he rolled to his side, motion of the roll ripping his wrist and weapon away from Vantor's grip, and came up on his feet.

OOCIf I'm going too far with what I can and can do in a spar, please let me know.