Completed [The Anthonius Fighters Pits] The Maneater (Razkar)

[Alabast]

Summer 33, 513AV Midday Anthonius Fighters Pits If there was one thing that Alabast Hartbane missed more than anything it was good food. The Knights kept him feed and healthy, but growing up on the Mithryn Outpost gave the squire exposure to a varied diet early on, something he craved as he thought of his family. Maybe it was just because it was mealtime. He took a bite out of the deep red apple that was to serve as his sparse lunch for the time being and strolled off the normal route his patrol took. The same knights he'd joined to keep people safe were the same ones who were responsible for his daily routine being so dull. In a city where crime was virtually nonexistent (except for the odd domestic dispute) there wasn't much for crime-fighters to do. He might've enjoyed his midday break more if he'd actually been doing anything before he took it, but the only thing he really wanted a break from was monotony. Soon, the squire errant found himself strolling down towards Wintrhop Alley, on his way out of the castle. Weelll... he figured It's not like anybody's going to miss me. He stepped outside of the Citadel and sparred a second to look over his shoulder. "'Sides," he continued to himself aloud "I'm sure they could use a little patrolling around here too." He continued on his path, keeping an eye out left and right for any thing that required his squirely attention but nothing jumped out immediately. He put his hands behind his head and huffed a bit. Then, he heard the crowd, and the sounds of a brawl. He rounded the corner to see the source of the commotion. A small throng of iron workers had amassed around something of a stone pit in the ground. With their backs to Alabast he couldn't see down into it, but he could guess. He pushed (well, considering his sly frame, slide) through the group to see the 'arena'. A faint brush of recognition rubbed him, something about a fighter's pit. He was much too straitlaced and insular to get involved in something like this, and seeing it made him so angry he would spit, if not for the strict conduct protocols that applied to the squires. Still, he couldn't help being impressed by the display. He observed the two men who were drawing the crowd. One was pale and tall with red hair, but probably not Inarta, and the other looked almost like his opposite. Dark hair and complexion (compared to the average, not to Alabast) and not as tall as his competitor, the man was clearly foreign to Syliras. He was covered in markings, strange looking tattoos and had what looked like arrowheads sticking out of his face but they were much too aesthetically placed to be actual wounds. Alabast recoiled at the sight but was drawn in by the man's style. He wore no armor, but looked to rely mostly on evasion or parrying with either of his weapons. His weapons were also of note, a blade that was too short to be a sword and too straight to be a dagger, and a hatchet. His opponent was similarly armed with a hacking weapon but held a shield, and neither seemed to help him much. The foreigner weaved around each strike until he'd closed the distance, then knocked the challenger off his feet. The man went down face first to the ground, and as soon as he hit the dusty grounds of the fighter's pit, so did Alabast, who'd jumped down from a low wall into the ring. "Alright, break it up! The show is over people." Alabast shouted to the aggregated metal workers. "I suggest you all find something better to do." The boy made his way to the dueling duo and bent down to snatch up the the disarmed redhead's weapon. The squire put his hand out to the brown skinned man with a level of authority that was totally unwarranted. "I'm confiscating your weapons. Brawls are not allowed in Syliras, by the order of the Lord Knight. Come on." Alabast flexed his fingers in the universal pantomime for "gimme'" to the odd tattooed fellow."Don't want to comply? Fine." He brandished the acquired hand axe awkwardly but with a clearly threatening intent. "Don't say I didn't warn you. Now come with me. I'm taking you in." Meanwhile the challenger rose to his feet and brushed himself off, looking at Alabast all the while with a condescending smirk. He chuckled and backed way with his hands up in a placating gesture and nodded to Alabast. "Hahaha, good luck kid. Against this guy? You'll need it."Alabast glared his best steely gaze of authority then returned his attention to the pierced man. He turned the axe head so that the broad flat side faced the man as he swung it down at the top of his head, intending to stun. "Hey! Didn't you hear? I said you're under arrest!"

[Razkar]

Red (Razkar knew the human had a name but, really, what did it matter?) insisted on using his real weapons, rather than the dulled training substitutes the Pit provided. A few of the onlookers had exchanged looks and surprised murmurs at that, but Gerard and some of the older spectators of the season just shrugged.

They knew whom he was fighting, after all.

Simple and obvious, and thus, thoroughly disappointing. That was how Razkar had summed up the human's style within the first chime of their bout. It was his second spar of the day and while the first - a wiry Svefra with a cutlass who had some agility to him - was somewhat challenging, this... Red?

He hacks and slashes like I'm just going to stand there and take it like a hunk of firewood. Barely uses the shield to bash and hammer... doesn't even know he has legs and boot to kick at me with.

The Myrian wanted a challenge, but the simple facts were, word had gotten around and his skill with his weapons had increased. The warrior tried to keep pride from his mind, knowing well how quickly arrogance could infect the simple appreciation of ones abilities, but... truth was truth. No. More than truth. Fact.

He was better than the vast majority of those he fought. After one chime, he knew the human was not a match for him. Red thought it was a true bout, however. He was tired of sparring with his friends, wanted to venture into the Bad Boys Hangout that was the Fighter's Pits, where everyone whispered real fun could be found.

The Myrian was a walking example of all he'd be raised to fear and hate: wild, different, savage and brutal. A fine chance for him to show his quality.

That's how he saw his opponent. Razkar saw him as practice.

The ax rose and fell and he twisted and spun away each time, limbering up his sides and legs. Even the crowd was stating to get bored of it; three chimes and the Myrian had yet to even land a blow. Was Razkar slipping? Was he wounded or drunk?

No, Gerard knew, the master of the Pit watching down with a secret smile behind his ragged beard, he's just bored.

Red roared with the crowd and slashed down again, tiring already, ax sweeping diagonally at Razkar's chest-

-only for him to sway to his side, cheap curved blade flashing past him, the human overextending-

-then yelping in pain as his bone-hilt gladius slashed at his thigh, a shallow cut, painful but not mortal, making him stagger on his feet, swinging backhanded wildly at him-

-sparkas showered and metal clanged into ears, down fingers gripping vibrating weapons as Razkar's own hand ax blocked the blow-

-gladius slashing vertically up, easily able at that moment of severing the human's arm at the elbow, sending limb and weapon crashing to the sand-and-sawdust-covered Pit in a gout of blood-

-but instead the flat of it hammered into the bottom of his elbow, spasm of pain eliciting another cry of agony-

-hand ax falling from nerveless fingers-

-and Razkar finished the bout with a vicious spinning left kick at the human's right kidney. Leg cut, arm half-paralyzed, side pulped, Red fell down to his knees, shield thudding onto the stone to stop him going to his face-

-but Razkar didn't fight that way. Trained under the merciless instructors of the Taloba Army, he was taught an enemy was beaten when he was dead... and failing that, unable to fight back.

His dark, scarred and ink-etched arm blurred, hilt of his gladius slamming into the back of Red's head, and his opponent slumped down, sawdust sticking to his sweat-lathered face... and the crowd fucking loved it.

Peons, Razkar thought with a spit to the side, turning his back on the fallen human, cheer for anyone who-

"Alright, break it up! The show is over people. I suggest you all find something better to do."

Ah, now, didn't that just grab his attention? Razkar whirled in surprise and saw a human black as pitch leap down to join them. The crowd seemed as surprised as he was, some of the ones leaving now returning to catch this unexpected bit of theater. Red's weapon was snatched up by the... boy? No, he couldn't have been much older than that, face still fleshy and plump with puppy fat, but voice stern and...

In the dress of a squire? The petch is he doing here?

"I'm confiscating your weapons. Brawls are not allowed in Syliras, by the order of the Lord Knight. Come on."

Razkar's black eyes flicked from that oh-so-serious face own to the extended hand... and he blinked as they flicked back and forth. Surely this was some kind of joke. Why was Gerard even allowing this?

"Don't want to comply? Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you. Now come with me. I'm taking you in."

A ripple of nervous laughter went through the watching brawlers, dregs and assorted scum that made up the usual crowd at the Pit. Crime was rare in Syliras, true, but the plotting of it beyond the walls of the Stormhold? Well, that went on all the time, since even the Windoak had limits, just like the authority of the Knights. This place and the Spinning Coin just around the corner were grudgingly tolerated by the military dictatorship that ruled Syliras, reasoning that it was better to have all the bad apples in two barrels than spread throughout the entire orchard.

Razkar wasn't thinking about that, however. He saw the ax, held with a flourish... and noted the grip. He sighed. Shades of Kisetukai, he thought with something akin to pity. Boy needs to learn.

"Hahaha, good luck kid. Against this guy? You'll need it."

Red shambled off with those parting words, and Razkar turned his eyes upward to fix Gerard with a questioning look, a shrug going with it. Gerard just shrugged back, incredulous smile on his face.

"Hey, don't look at me! I didn't invite him!"

Razkar sighed and got ready to-

-movement. Fast and violent, aimed his way, and Razkar's eyes glazed over as his head snapped back to see the boy's ax aimed at his head, but the flat of it, not the edge, slowing the blow...

He's serious. He actually thinks he's going to knock me out.

"Hey! Didn't you hear? I said you're under-"

Razkar's gnosis flared into life at a single thought from him, time seeming to slow as his own body sped through it. He sidestepped to his left, the black squire's right, avoiding the blow and waiting until the ax was nearly at the level of his head-

-before slapping the flat of his gladius against the knuckles lined up on the back of the boy's hand. There was a frantic, surprised yelp and the hand ax clattered from his grip, just as Razkar knew it would-

-and he spun, whirled in like a nightmare dervish, ax spinning with it like a silver bolt of lightning, swinging for Alabast's neck-

-stopping-

-and the squire remembered to breath again.

Razkar stood before him. Black, steady eyes, so devoid of color that the human could see his own stunned reflection panting back at him. Ink and scars marred the Myrian's face... and he could feel the keen, daily-sharpened edge of that hand ax biting gently at the side of his neck, where Razkar had stopped his strike.

Even the crowd was hushed. Fucking up a bunch of brawlers and sellswords was one thing, but... a squire? That was trouble. A few of the minions Gerard had on retainer looked questioningly at their master, but he held up a patient hand. The Myrian understood how Syliras worked... just as this squire should have known how his Pit did.

That tick lasted for a long time. Then, slowly, Razkar removed the ax and stepped back. His dark eyes flashed up and down once, taking in uniform and body type, stance and muscle tone... then he grunted.

In the absence of a challenge... I might as well teach.

"You grip is weak." He finally spoke, Common ground out between teeth that Alabast could see had been filed to points, yet another weapon the Myrian had crafted. "Pick it up. I show how to use proper."

[Alabast]

Reality smeared across time briefly, and suddenly Alabast was disarmed. The hunk of metal and wood rattled on the ground like a dying fish and there was a pang driving through the squire's throbbing right hand that he couldn't account for. He could taste metal in the back of his throat, feel his pulse in his temples and hear the heart beating in his chest. Alabast's Gnosis from Oriana flared and the smells welled in his nostrils. The stank coming off the man's breath was almost as gruesome as the shark toothed maw it came from. No doubt no one else could smell it, but there was a meatiness to the tattooed man's breath that Alabast found disconcerting. And he saw, deep into those pitiless coals of midnight, those pools of oily ink his own weakness, and the squire couldn't help curse himself. Damn it. I should've kept my mouth shut...or least got some kind of back up. Now I've dragged the name of the knights in the mud. Now he could feel the bleeding too, the slight trickle where the flat blade had broken skin, and the minor injuries of his neck and hand compounded the insult. The squire's ears twitched at the man's broken speech. His voice wasn't too full of bass but it still felt heavy and the scratchy hushed tone compelled Alabast to listen. It took him a moment to process the instruction, as the boy expected to be mocked for his efforts, but once he realized what was said, his thought process shifted. Should I do what he says? The guy almost sliced my head off a second ago...oh, right, better do what he says. He reached down tentatively and brushed against the axe handle with his fingers. His grip tightened around it till his knuckles cracked, and the sensation of the weapon in his hand silenced all perceptions of minor pains and notions of doubt. He chopped the air a bit and listened to the sound of it being sliced. Alabast knew now he'd have to approach more carefully. Alabast could tell by the way that his new..."teacher" moved he'd have to think about this in an entirely different way. It was like an animal. Not the small fuzzy kind Alabast put arrows through back on the farm. The screaming kind that dragged you into the night. Alabast put a slight bend in his elbow and held the axe out in front of his body, but with the tip angled up a bit so that it was slanted. The boy did his best to otherwise emulate Tatoo's way of moving from earlier. He wasn't going to out animal the animal, but he had to learn to move like him. "You're going to show 'how to use proper'?" Alabast started, his voice earnest though he was suppressing his natural timidness as best he could. "Why? I'm a squire, we learn from the knights. And you don't look like any knight I've ever seen... what's in it for you?" Alabast had limited experience with Syliras' criminal element was at the petty thief and pickpocket tier, but he recognized in this man a killer. Not the kind of person who liked to fight for his beliefs, but the kind of man who liked to end lives. Alabast immediately regretted speaking. If he was right about this guy, then as a Knight, having this kind of information would be useful. The man didn't seem quick to respond. Instead, he eyed Alabast in a kind of curious silence, the perplexity a snake might exhibit when regarding a baby bird. Alabast felt the eyes on him and swallowed, but his throat was still dry from earlier. Finally the dots connected. He did say he'd 'show' me...not tell. Alabast pushed forward. The light and springy youth felt good about his own agility, despite the recent evidence that his confidence was misplaced, and he catapulted himself on the balls of his feet forward. Moving towards Razkar, he rolled his body into a ducking position, the idea being to take advantage of his height disadvantage. Now lower to the ground, and moving, he swung out at the man's hip which was now about a head below eye level for Alabast.

[Razkar]

The boy took a few ticks to get his hand back around his weapon, but Razkar had expected that. He knew how he looked to these barbarians, and who was to say the savage wasn't playing some sick game with the boy before he killed him? Yes, that seemed about right for their perception of him.

But the Myrian did nothing but watch, head cocked to one side as the squire began to swish his blade through the air, grip much tighter... but...

"Do not hold ax too high." He said suddenly, pointing to Alabast's hand ax with his gladius like a teacher would a pointer. "Hand is near the middle of handle. Not good. When swing, means less power. Less speed. Hold-" He demonstrated, showing his own hand ax, bone shaft with Malediction runs below a curved gleaming head... and his hand, holding it near the bottom of said thigh bone. "-here. Much better for making swing."

"You're going to show 'how to use proper'? Why? I'm a squire, we learn from the knights. And you don't look like any knight I've ever seen... what's in it for you?"

Razkar grunted, flicker of amusement crossing his face as he nodded. The boy had a point, after all. Practically all the Knights did was train, in one area or another. Added to which, he knew the slight, skittish boy before him wouldn't have near enough gold to pay for a lesson from "The Myrian", as he'd simply become known among the lost and damned of Syliras.

But that isn't the point, is it?

No, he wouldn't be tolerating this, and besides, he was growing weary of pointless, unsatisfying spars. It would liven up his day and perhaps give this boy some notion of what exactly he held in his hand.

He sheathed his gladius, ridding himself of one weapon, leaving his hand ax in his right hand. He flipped the weapon around, loosening his grip and twisting, metal head spinning and throw shard of light around them before nodding.

Alabast was no coward, Razkar could see that; just inexperience, and far too idealistic. He charged forwards, coming in low, on guard, aw swinging wide for Razkar's side, aiming to cleave open his hip-

-but parting naught but empty air instead as the Myrian stepped back sharply, removing his target completely, but the momentum of his blow kept moving him forward and his arm swinging around, passing in front of Razkar-

-until there was a blur to the squire's right-

-as Razkar's fist snapped out quickly and rung his bell with a short, sharp jab to his jaw.

Pain, shock and the aforementioned momentum kept the boy moving, but now beyond his own control. Black stars of pain blotted his eyes and his feet tripped over themselves, caught between getting away from his opponent and trying to remember what day it was. Razkar sidestepped and let Alabast stagger past him, one hand nursing his bruised jaw, and the other...

Alabast blinked in surprise (when his vision cleared), to see the Myrian nodding at him... then noted it was because despite his failure he was still holding his hand ax, this time.

"You shame blade." The words came out somewhere between an insult and an explanation. "Knights shame you, by not teaching how to use proper. Give you weapon, but not teach right? Teach so wrong that cannot even hold?"

The Myrian demonstrated with a series of short, chopping motions, right hand moving in a blur as a silver slash was made in the air between them a half-dozen times. Diagonally, gorizontally, uppercuts tipped with curved iron, the ax slashed up over and over... but there was one thing in common each time.

"See? Not swing wild-" Razkar gave an exagerrated example of Alabast's swing, letting the weight and speed of his strike carry him, rather than vice versa. "-and let blade tell where you go. You tell blade where to go. If you know blade will not hit, you pull back, try again." Then he held up the fist that had raised that purple mark on the squire's face (though you couldn't see much of it, for obvious reasons). "And not forget: 'empty hand' does not mean 'no weapon'. Could have broken jaw and put you on ground. But... what would be point?"

Razkar walked away from the squire, actually turning his back for a moment as he put some distance between them. He paused, eyes closed... smelling deep and fragrant the bouquet of sweat and... yes... Goddess, that was familiar...

Pride. Latent, stifled anger... but above all, the desire to prove himself worthy.

His ears pricked. He would need them for the next few ticks, most definitely, with his hand ax clutched in both hands at the smallof his back, held like a drill sergeant's baton rather than a chopping weapon.

The Myrian flicked a look over his shoulder, black face easy to make out among the yellowed stone walls.

"Again. And remember: control."

[Alabast]

The sting in his cheek made him wince, the Myrian's heavy fist print provided extra incentive for Alabast to get his licks in. Not that he needed it. And then, then there was the man's stilted comments about Alabast shaming the blade, and worse, the Knight's shaming him. It wasn't enough that all these degenerates had seen him shown up by a dork in a loincloth, but now he was talking down the knights. Alabast wouldn't have it. Of course, despite his cheeky appearance and young naivete, he wasn't going to let them see too much of it. Or that's what he thought, but vinegar flavored hate spilled out of his eyes which grew wide despite his eyebrows pointing down like lightning bolts of wrath, and the suppressed snarl across his crooked mouth. Alabast watched, regarding the warrior coolly as he drank in his movements. The finesse of each upward slice meant to gut, the squire imagined the diagonal downward strikes meant to stun and disarm, and saw in the air how the high horizontal slashes might open a windpipe. He took careful note on the bend in the elbow, the foot position and shoulder alignment. Despite Alabast's keen observance, his only verbal response was curt. "I got it. Control my momentum. Watch out for cheap shots." And punch you dead in the jaw... the squire added mentally. Still, The Myrian told nothing but the truth, and Alabast wasn't such a fool to ignore sound advice, regardless of the source. The squire took a few deep breaths, exhaled slowly and let the blurred vision and eye watering from the sucker punch fade away, and calmed the scowl on his face to a neutral look. The man had been right about him not knowing one end from the other of the axe, but Alabast figured he'd just have to fill in the gaps with what he did know. He stopped thinking about The Myrian as a man- easy enough- and imagined him an animal. A creature could be hunted, even a cunning one. Or at least, that was the idea. Alabast breathed another one of those deep breaths.The smells struck him. Of course, the scents of fighting, sweat, but this creature was drenched with an odor of calm. Unsettling as it was, Alabast focused. Gripping the axe near the bottom of the bottom handle, the squire let it slide down. The Myrian creature had taken it's position, back exposed and facing Alabast. Fine, he'd take the handicap. He stepped lightly, like he was stalking game, and slowly round, closer the side the Myrian held no weapon in. Alabast raised the axe now, to where the head was about at his chin level, and it was angled forward. He also had the dominate right side of his body facing closer to the creature, his right foot on an invisible arrow pointed at him. "Tsk." So what, I go in and... No one turns around their back to defend, so he'll probably spin in towards me, with his right...my left, just cause there's less distance to travel that way and less time with his back open to me. Unless he thinks of this...unless he thinks I'll- damn. So what? Go in for it. He spins in.... got it. The hunter bounded in on the balls of his feet, springing as quiet and as fast as he could. The swing was horizontal coming from Alabast's right. Whether it was because Alabast was as clever as the thought he was or the creature was playing with him, it stepped into Alabast's unarmed left side. Out flew Alabast's left foot as he stepped, and his heel connected with the Myrian's toes and ground in. The boy shot his left elbow out to the Myrian's right ribs as the two spun in, and continued the arc of the axe. Like the professional he was, the Myrian withdrew his body and weaved the swipe, and intercepted Alabast's horizontal elbow jab with a downward one of his own. The creature was like liquid when Alabast felt the tug on his axe hand. The Myrian took advantage of his momentum and yanked him by the wrist down and away, spinning him like rip-cord top. Alabast slid his feet back under him and righted himself, with out missing too much, he swung again. And again. Again. A three piece horizontal combo caught air as the Myrian seeped back into evasion, giving Alabast ground. Then in half a blink he'd moved inside Alabast's range, his mere presence forcing the squire to stagger back. Upon gaining a safe distance, the boy struck with and upward diagonal slash. Something flickered in the Myrian creature's eyes, and it pounced forward for the first time on the offensive. A flick of bone moved into Albast's peripheral. It struck him soundly (but surely not as sound as it could've) across his ear, the nest strike with the axe shaft grazed the squire's closely shaven head. His eyes widened realizing the game had changed. The Myrian had decided he wasn't playing prey for any longer, it seemed. Alabast struggled to avoid strikes intentionally thrown wide, and resorted to trying to block with the axe shaft, though with only one hand on the weapon, the force disarmed him again. He dashed to pick the weapon up, even though it was obvious the animal was in no rush. He knew in a real fight he'd be dead, but that was the point of training, and it only worked if you treated it like it was life and death. Weapon secured. He regarded the animal coming at him. Instead of trying to avoid his attacks by gaining distance, Alabast adopted the Myrians tactic of closing it, and pushed forward to the attack, aiming the axehead to the creature's elbow as the weapon arm as it extended out to strike, though he was ready to pullback and strike at a different target, if one presented. It was hard to even keep track, the creature moved like light. He was everywhere and anywhere you could see.

[Razkar]

It was the sound that warned Razkar. Had the stones of the Pit been plain and clean, he might not have heard the human take flight. But instead, he heard that subtle grinding of leather against the grains underneath them, then the hissing sigh of metal through the air-

-avoiding the ax with ease-

-but grunting as his toes were mashed by that unexpected foot, a block necessary as well as the black squire lashed out with an elbow, arm cocking back-

Don't underestimate your opponent... even and especially if it's an amateur.

Razkar slid back, bare feet ripping little shallow trenches on the sand covering the stone. Back and back as the boy hacked and slashed at him, twisting and swaying his body to the side, shaming him by not even raising his ax. The human had fire, though, and a brain; he mixed it up, coming from the side, below-

-overextending as Razkar swayed to his right-

-opening himself up for the butt of his hand ax to smash into the side of his head.

Alabast staggered away and Razkar circled him like a tiger toying with wounded but still dangerous prey. He cocked his head to one side, waited for him to right himself and then slashed broadly at his sides, ax humming in his hand as he swung and thrust with the curved end. The boy did good, though, dodging away from him, but finally tripping up-

-when he tried to stop Razkar's ax with the shaft of his own-

-and the impact hurled it away.

For a frozen tick, human and Myrian stared at each other, the former expecting the latter to finish the job... but Razkar didn't. He just glared, growling out his speech as Alabast scrambled away to rearm.

"Never use shaft of ax to block. Shaft is wood, maybe bone. Thing can shatter, be cut. Not sword-"

Alabast had apparently had enough, and lunged forward, tired of being on the defensive. Razkar's lips quirked as he saw a boy determined to prove himself... but still pitied the young one's brains. Passion, fire, courage, all fine things for a warrior, things that made one great.

Also petching useless without the proper training.

Razkar swung sideways as the human came in close... but too close, within Razkar's swing, his own ax hammering upwards at the Myrian's elbow-

-forcing the Myrian to jerk his arm back roughly, throwing him off-balance-

-Alabast redirecting his stroke to Razkar's silent joy, learning to control his blade, diagonal cut to his elbow becoming a backhands leveled at Razkar's head-

-forcing the Myrian to sway backwards, torso nearly perpendicular-

-leaving himself open to the human's fist as it jabbed towards his jaw-

Not bad. But-

Razkar gritted his teeth and jerked his head forward and low, towards the fist hammering towards him, knowing this is going to hurt-

-and slamming his forehead at the hairline into the oncoming hand.

The Pit swayed and buckled under his feet, but he heard a strangled yelp from far away, it seemed. His swimming vision cleared for a tick and the human was backing away, shaking his hand in pain, giving the Myrian precious moments to recover, both of them circling again.

"Better..." He finally managed to say, shaking his head roughly and knocking away the cobwebs that seemed to be spinning across his vision. "Use both hands and come in close. Do not let enemy dictate fight; you dictate fight."

The Myrian let the words sink in for a few ticks and then came on, slashing horizontally, then diagonally, vertically, wild and sweeping blows that forced the human back. The same dance played out as the two combatants avoided each other, axes designed to slash and hack, not parry and thrust. Razkar spun and lashed out with a his left arm straightened, fist clenched and aimed to the human-

-only for Alabast to duck under it, ax slashing upwards towards him-

-Razkar leaning back again to avoid it, his upper body saying backward-

-but his lower body kicking out with his right foot, momentum of his sway lending it additional force-

-catching the squire in the torso and bowling him over onto his back. The human blinked and saw the savage standing over him, head cocked like a curious bird of prey... patient... calculating.

"Get up." The Myrian walked away, rubbing his sore, throbbing forehead, chuckle like the grinding of massive teeth grating on Alabast's ears. "Getting better, boy. But is all training. Experience. Doing thing over and over until muscles remember more than mind does."

He faced the human again and found him in a ready position, ax held firmly, free hand balled into a tight black fist, knuckles stark and white against the dusky hue. The Child of Myri smiled lopsidedly, almost standing at ease opposite the boy.

Potential, in this one. He wants to much to be more than what he is... and teach the savage a lesson, apparently. Well... hard is the way to all things of worth.

"Again."

[Alabast]

The air diffused out of Alabast like a popped balloon when the Myrian's foot landed. As soon as the pressure was off of his chest, he knew he'd have a foot shaped bruise tomorrow. There were a few "Whoa"s and "Ooo"s from the crowd, who'd gone about their day ignoring Alabast's orders to disperse. He felt the awkward weight of wood and metal in his hands, this lever of death, and could tell he had a long way to go before he'd could even put much of a scratch on the Myrian in a real fight. Alabast pulled himself out of the gravel and placed both hands on the axe and leveled it at his impromptu teacher. The squire was still in awe, to a degree. Who on this world would turn a punch to face into a headbutt to a fist? The squire thought, feeling where his knuckles had been jammed by the tattooed man's forehead. So there Alabast stood with both hands to the axe, wondering just how you could make your muscles remember, when his eyes flinched. It was the shadow that gave it away, then the small distortions in air that made his hairs stand on end. Alabast side stepped the blowing barreling down on him from above, but overcompensated, putting more space between himself and Mr. Nose-ring than he'd intended. Clearly, it was more of a wake up call, as the Myrian could cleave the squire in two whenever he wanted. Alabast reset his wide eyed surprise and jumped back into fighting mode. He cleared the air in front of him with a wide two handed slash. The Myrian avoided and closed. Alabast hunted him through the air with the tool, quickly realigning his feet and taking another strike. The foreigner rounded to the backside of the swing and occupied the space it had already cleared. Alabast gulped, an unconscious reaction to the display of agility. He didn't let that slow him. As the arc completed, he rolled the axe over in his hand so that the head was pointed in the Myrian's direction again. Of course the animal was right on top of him, Alabast pulled the weapon inward towards his own chest, with the axe head acting like a hook. See why he told me to use both hands, so much more control. In that split second as Alabast was hooking the axe towards him, the Myrian took note and bent his own head forward to pass under the axe, avoiding it with simple finesse. Alabast wasted no time or motion in utilizing the other end of the weapon for attack. He positioned his left hand nearer the butt and right hand nearer the base of the head and shot out his left, striking with the length of wood. The Myrian avoided. They stepped in sync. It was a kind of turning fight, Alabast would step back, but never directly, always trying to round the corner to the Myrian's unarmed side. Alabast went in for another swing, the Myrian moved to the right, and Alabast halted and reversed the arc of the axe, coming from another direction. The grim expression on the Myrian's lips as he regarded the axe blade with something like subdued patronizing amusement made Alabast's cheek twitch. While his teacher was dodging Alabast sprang forward and managed to get his boot in the man's gut. It was a forceful attack but he didn't seem all too affected by it. It didn't matter, Alabast was dropping the axe downward at that moment. Unsurprised, the Myrian caught Alabast's hands in one of his own. Then the Myrian stuck the butt of his axe in Alabast's stomach. The squire's body shot back, but he managed to yank his axe from the older man's grasp. Alabast didn't realize he hadn't moved away fast enough until knuckles racked across his cheek. Alabast shrugged it off and went back to work, lunging at the master's temporarily exposed ribs.

[Razkar]

Strange thought it sounds (or looks, as the case may be), Razkar could tell the boy was improving... because he had to start using his weapon.

The boot ij his guts made the Myrian grunt but there was a glint of approval in those black eyes when Alabast's gaze jerked up into them. His hand jerked out to stop the falling ax before it struck and he repaid the boy with a blow to the gut from his own, but before he could capitalize Alabast backed up fast-

-ripping his weapon free at the same time-

-avoiding the roundhouse Razkar had aimed at his jaw for his finish... or most of it. Razkar's knuckles barely kissed the smooth, dark features and to his approval, with a few quick shakes of his head, the squire had lunged to his left, his open side, swinging for his ribs-

"Another tip-"

-but Razkar stepped into the strike, ax aimed at his ribs instead missing, the shaft of the weapon thudding against them instead-

-and his left arm snapped down almost vertically, trapping Alabast's hand and arm and weapon and oh shyke-

-he probably thought as Razkar's right knee jutted upward... but at least he was good enough to hammer it into his stomach, not his crotch.

"-if you have to, get in close, under you enemy's blow. Then first as dirty as you must." Then he did it again, not giving the youth time to fight back, retaliate, even drop his weapon, doubling him over. "And after, you canSHYKE!"

In a move born of desperation more than skill, Alabast collapsed backwards and down, falling onto his rump but his weight pulled his arm free, away, downwards, taking the ax with it-

-and the hooked bottom of the head raked against the top of Razkar's hip and laid it open in a quick but ragged gash. The crowd gasped, jeered, eyes popped as they saw The Myrian bloodied by a nobody!

Razkar seemed as surprised as everyone else. Alabast looked up from his back, panting slightly, eyes wide, fixed on the sight of the tattooed savage looking down at his side like a fresh head had just sprouted there and was singing show tunes.

He ran his bronzed fingertips over it... and they shone wetly with fresh blood... black, fathomless eyes swiveled painfully slowly to him. Pitiful and bruised and on his back before a man who could disarm, gut, strangle and consume him with his bare hands, and...

It started slow. A bobbing of the shoulders. A change to his breathing, almost like he was sucking his breath in bursts... then a smile... sharp teeth showing over pierced lips... then he threw his head back-

Razkar laughed. Long and hard and with enough mirth that it infected the derelicts and thugs ringing the Pit. He raised his hand skyward, Syna's rays making the ruby tips of them sparkle.

"First blood!" He said with a grin, then gestured down to Alabast with a chopping gesture. "The winner!"

They ate it up, cretinous curs they were, and Razkar went back to ignoring them. The squire would appreciate it, he hoped, because either way you cut it... yep... he was backing down. The fight was over. He sheathed his ax and bent down to the squire, who regarded his outstretched hand like it was a snake. A hungry one.

"Very good, if by Fates or by you own mind," he said with another throaty chuckle, flicking his fingers towards himself, "Come. Take. On you feet. Let me get petching blood stopped..."

[Radiant]

Razkar :

Experience

Skill	XP Earned
Teaching	+1 XP
Endurance	+1 XP

Lores

Lore Earned

Red: Punching Bag

Alabast: Little Squire

Loots

Alabast :

I see you haven't updated your ledger with the Summer 513 A.V living expenses yet. Even if you are a squire (which has free living expenses), you still need to make a mention of it such as Summer 513 Living Expenses (Squire) | 0 GM.

Please do so and PM me, I will give you your grades.

Notes :

I gave what I could. I couldn't give Raz much because he was basically fighting a child novice combatant and you got lot of skills maxed out or at Master.

My radiance is not bright enough?

If you have any questions or concerns regarding your grade, beam me a PM and we can work it out.