Home from Home (Open); Summer 30, 510AV

[Kayiri]

Ah, so he was not a Drykas. Then why, he thought, did he wear their dress, specifically that of his Clan? No matter, the challenge to his honor had been official, and he was not one to hesitate to defend his clan, not with his certainty.

He reached over his shoulder, bringing the longsword from it's sheath, bringing it over his shoulder. He twirled it once to make sure he had his grip right, and then brought it before him, holding the hilt with two hands, on his right side.

"I, Kayiri Starweaver of the Diamond Clan, accept your challenge. May the Gods bless this battle and our clans," Kayiri recited, his eyes never wavering. He assumed a defensive stance, fully intending on letting the longer-reaching weapon attack first, so he could parry it and be done with this. He knew better than to attack a spearman before letting them move first, it normally ended with a spear tip slinking through the ribs and tearing organs to shreds.

[Tiren]

Tiren was no coward, but he was privately glad that Kayiri had accepted the challenge. There would be backlash on him, of course -- he would be a fool to think otherwise -- but this way, Gods willing, there was no earthly way anyone could pin him as the aggressor in this, or even particularly keen to see blood. Perhaps that would stand him in better stead against Hieral, at least in the eyes of some.

The other advantage to doing things this way around was tactical: he wasn't carrying a short-range weapon, only his bow, and that would be an unfair contest to say the least. Excuse me while I step away a few paces, and then the chances are I'll put an arrow through you with my first shot. Perhaps not.

He dipped a respectful low bow to them both -- more to Kayiri than the other man, if he was honest with himself -- and stepped back a little, whistling softly for Sirocco to follow. The dog did, only a little reluctantly, standing by his feet with both eyes pinned to the combatants.

And he could shoot from here. Only if needs absolutely must, of course; the challenge had been for one to step up, and Kayiri had taken it. But still, it was a reassuring thought that from six feet or so away, he was at a good distance to take care if the problem entirely if the need arose.

[Vadim]

Dry grass crackled and hissed violently under a swift powerful foot that provocatively crunched forth, a violent shudder emanating in varying degrees that cast the white fox from the man's legs. Words became lessened in the intensified silence, while stilled not only the lips of the combatants, but those who watched with heavy hearts and trembling eyelids. The right palm which grasped near the butt of the javelin remained and its complemented left supplanted itself at the base so that the once wobbling pole now erected itself to sharp degree, its razor head staring viciously at the throat of Kayiri. It gave a luminous smile in its reflected light which exposed its clean jagged edges. At commencement, Vadim's bated breath expelled and he drifted forth to meet his opponent.

Bent legs ushered on a procession of soft feet against the earth below, each marked by the violent snapping of brittle grass underfoot. It was a slow movement to clear the distance that at once transferred elaborate movements of the feet into a more volatile specimen of haste and ferocity. With great care did Vadim draw his spear back in neutral gesture so that it seemed to the untrained eye that the distance required to strike was much closer than actual being. In cunning, when Vadim broke the actual distance, just below eight feet his powerful legs centered a thrust, that in a blur extended from its withdrawn state and showed the spear escaping at a blur, with its intended range of motion aiming to catch Kayiri just in the throat, a nick just above the jugular to incite bleeding.

With a roar the encircling crowd responded to the nature of the strike, well practiced but still trained, augmented by a nature that drove Vadim to adopt passionate aggression. Though the young man had much to learn, his movements and fluency indicated a skill much more than he'd actually acquired.

[Kayiri]

Kayiri watched the seemingly overly-elaborate display with his standard gaze. He had learned a lot since the Winter, and he was not about to be beaten, not today, not when he, Kayiri of the Starweavers, had slain Zith and smashed the teeth from their hideous mouths. He had killed them, and he had not doubt that he could defeat this overly-aggressive short man whom was not even one of his people.

When the spear went forward, Kayiri acted quickly, bringing the flat end of the blade around to swat the javelin aside. He then advanced a few steps, bringing the distance to a bit of a more personal level, as he knew that the man's spear was of much less use when used in such tight quarters.

Of course, he was supposed to disarm the man, not kill him. Instead of bringing along a slash, he let out a front kick with his right leg, still holding the spear aside with his sword. Kayiri then danced backwards a bit, before the man could recover. He would whittle down his strength little by little until he could simply take the weapon from his hands.

[Tiren]

Observing the fight from the sidelines, Tiren tried to judge the combatants based on his own tactical knowledge. Kayiri seemed calmer, to his eye, more controlled and more in control, reacting well to the other man's approach. He might have been swayed somewhat by Vadim's aggressive approach to the whole situation, but he judged Kayiri to be the more experienced, and more likely to win the situation. It looked like he was planning ahead, whereas Tiren guessed that Vadim wasn't considering far past the next move.

Sirocco, previously sitting by Tiren's side since he had been whistled over out of the way, stood up and growled as the fight picked up, his hackles raised as he watched through beady black eyes. "Quiet, boy," Tiren muttered. "Stay."

To his mild (albeit well-concealed) surprise, Sirocco sat back down and stopped growling. The dog wasn't always quite so well-behaved. Apparently, he was learning.

Tiren turned his full attention back to the fight. If the need arose, he wasn't above getting in there with a few well-aimed arrows, directed to help Kayiri out. He didn't particularly want to be in the middle of bloodshed bang in the centre of Endrykas, but he also had precisely no intention of standing idly by if Kayiri was in need of assistance.

Still, for now, it looked like his new friend could handle himself perfectly well. Tiren laid a hand on Sirocco's head, keeping him as calm as he could, and watched closely.

[Vadim]

"Typical. . ." The word harbored such malevolence and dark intent that it seemed the very lips they spilled from curdled into a nasty black. His visage grew shadowy as a weedy smirk chimed over his features and exposed his teeth, white though menacing in context. Where their weapons met, the dull clink of flat metal scraping together was inaudible against the rising pitch of the crowd, a roaring crescendo which erupted to each tactic, then fell to brief silence in anticipation of retaliation. Kayiri's cool complexion met the molten sting of Vadim's raging fury, and through these two contrasting perspectives a seething steam fogged over any malicious intent.

The speed of a thrust naturally outclassed the arcing slash of a sword, and through this capital difference Vadim seized the opportunity. Kayiri's aggression matched the same passive facade that other Riders of his pavilion copied as if taken from a mold itself. Drawn into an attack, soldiers made the same abhorrent counter-technique seeking to catch an opponent off guard. It was so sickeningly common that this short man, to prove his worth developed his very own strategy against it. The very low priority given to the thrust, not unlike that of a feint allowed him to draw his spear back as Kayiri stepped forth. Given, Kayiri had no means of gripping the tip of of his javelin, there was no virtual means of providing sufficient counterforce to his backwards draw in order to hold his jav back with "the flat of his blade".

In one fluent movement, in conjunction with drawing back upon his spear he'd had thrust it forth back at the other's stomach with a well enough speed, one guided by the driving force of his center of gravity to make good of the fact that his opponent would have literally skewered himself at the tip by moving forward. A kick seemed an unlikely prospect at this moment given both his lack of range with a leg and the compromising position he'd have soon been in. The blow was malicious in its intent, and given the unmoving nature of the man's eyes, he did not seem intent on stopping.

[Kayiri]

Ironic. Kayiri would have to use a pirouette and probably break the rule he had taught his students less than thirty minutes ago. If he hadn't been so busy surviving right now, the Drykas probably would have let out a hearty laugh.

Right now, though, he was busy acting on instinct. Kayiri's right foot, which had been just about to lifted into the kick, slammed down, His left foot moved backwards, coming behind his awkwardly placed right foot. His entire body then began to turn, using the more stable left foot as a pivot. Kayiri's right foot was quickly repositioned farther off to his right, and soon enough, Kayiri was a few inches farther to the right than he used to be.

This nice little ballet display wasn't enough to save him entirely, though. The thrust still caught him in the left flank, drilling through his skin, taking a small amount of flesh and muscle with it, all along his left side. It didn't hit anything vital, but he was certain it would bleed quite a bit, and leave a nasty looking scar, with an equally nice bruise due to the shaft hitting him. Hey, at least he had a matching scar on his left side, now!

Kayiri simply shut the stinging pain out of his mind. Pain was a message, and like any message, could be ignored. Unfortunately, pain was a damn persistent message. He brought his guard to a lower position than before, seeing that his opponent was not against lower shots. Kayiri's left hand left the sword grip, and he attempted to grab the mid-area of the shaft with it, then, if he managed to, pull Vadim closer to him.

[Tiren]

When Kayiri took a hit from the javelin, Tiren wanted nothing more than to grab his bow and shoot the annoying little man aggravating them. He resisted, just, remembering that the challenge had been to one of them, and Kayiri had taken it. He was starting to wish he'd leapt in there first, and hopefully finished this off with a disabling shot to the shoulder with his first arrow. Nothing deadly, of course, but enough to shut him up.

But no, Kayiri was in there, and he'd been hurt. Tiren had to stop himself from shouting out. He had known the man all of ten minutes, but he was a better friend than he'd been expecting to find -- friendly, approachable and with a gentle warning about his brother's continued backstabbing -- and he loathed seeing him injured by some upstart who wasn't even a Drykas.

Sirocco had started growling again, sensing his master's displeasure, and this time Tiren didn't bother telling him to be quiet. One more low move like that, though, and Tiren would seriously reconsider that shot to the shoulder. If he could get a clear enough line on Vadim without risking hurting Kayiri -- and that shouldn't be too hard; he was getting ever better at shooting from horseback, and here he had both feet on the ground -- he was ever more inclined to take it.

For now, though, he held back, watching as he tried to pre-empt Vadim's next move. He might be a better fighter than Tiren had initially given him credit for, he reluctantly had to admit. He'd got a clear slash at a Diamond Clan warrior, and that took some doing.

This was not endearing him to Tiren in the slightest. Far from admiring his skill, he resented him for being pushy and arrogant and starting this fight. Gods damn it, he'd hoped for a quiet time in Endrykas, not this. He hoped the fight would be over soon, whether by Kayiri's blade or his own bow.

[Vadim]

A chorus of resounding approval erupted at first blood, reciprocating the brutality of the slash, a display of clean steel chewing through the soggy paper that was flesh and then splaying out with a controlled eruption of crimson that stained the crisp grass below. Marred with malevolent blots the grounds below painted the picture perfectly through fine imprints of calculated footsteps and the dancing shadows below, which, in the waning daylight expanded and became more elaborate.

There was Kayiri, stumbling over himself in the likeness of elaborate maneuvers to shift a few inches, time and effort which Vadim seemed to seize in his linear movements, controlled against a firmly rooted base that within the course of the battle broke little distance from his original position. And it seemed, in his aggression he adopted the very contrary passiveness of a rock and so too did his features clutch this paralysis, unmoving even in the elation of his hit. Focus and discipline retained, he drew his spear back in the same fervor which he thrust it, and in the same manner its speed would have seemed as a blur. Kayiri grasping it, considering both his position and the timing in which he proceeded, would amount to an empty hand on his part. If he grabbed anything it would not be long before he sliced his palm along the edge sliding backwards.

Movement slipped into movement, though and Vadim's style reflected a fluency in its offensive. After drawing his spear back he immediately thrust it forth, in stride to several steps to accommodate for the shift of his opponent that was in inches. Kayiri had saved himself for the moment, but in doing so, he'd exposed the very same left flank he'd injured and Vadim sought to aim several well placed thrusts along the ribs to further add to the number of holes he'd punched into the man's body. Each held the same velocity of their former and were unrelenting. Vadim saw the blade, held in the other's right hand and deduced the difficulty in offering guard to his opposite side, and if he did manage, questioned its true effectiveness.

[Kayiri]

Kayiri was quick in his footwork, moving right continuously as the torrent of slashes came around, eventually stepping back and raising his sword to a two-handed high guard, so he would have the advantage of gravity in any further parries. Once he felt he was indeed safe, if only for a short while, he began to think.

He needed get close to the man if he was to disarm him, but those thrusts were too dangerous to get past, especially without any sort of shield. He had learned that from the now bleeding gash on his side.

Maybe a distraction would help?

"I've seen children fight better than you, cur!" Kayiri screamed, his voice rising over to noise of the crowd and market. With that, he went in once more, keeping his guard high and his footwork dexterous, directing a two handed slash at his opponent's midsection, but being careful to keep in mind that he may need to abort the strike to parry a blow.