Flashback [Anthonius Fighter's Pit] First Strike (Aoren)

[Nathaniel Deveraux]

Day 22, Season Summer, 510 AV

Nate had set up yet another target dummy for him to shoot at. Well, it wasn't really a target dummy so much as a log that he'd "borrowed" from the Bronze Wood, but it all ended up being the same thing. In truth, he'd really prefer an actual, round, raised target, but part and parcel of being a hunter was making do with what you actually had, not with what you wished you had.

Nate stepped back, setting his right shoulder as he raised his bow arm and drew an arrow from behind his back. The whole motion had become second nature by now, and he took a deep breath as he eyed the target, waiting five ticks before finally releasing the arrow. It flew across the span to embed itself solidly into the wood, going about an inch before stopping, and setting the whole thing rocking slightly before finally coming to a halt. All-in-all, an acceptable shot, although Nate was not happy that it still did not hit particularly close to where he'd actually been aiming. Had that log been a rabbit, he'd have missed entirely.

In any event it didn't really matter. At least he was fairly consistently hitting the target now, and that was the important thing. He reached for another arrow, only to realize that, in his haste to leave his home today, he'd neglected to bring additional arrows. He knew he was missing something. Nate cursed. Well, that didn't help matters. And he really wasn't interested in walking back and forth between the log and his position to keep firing the same arrow over and over, not to mention eventually that arrow would get splintered an useless.

Deciding to just forget archery training for today, Nate walked over to retrieve the one arrow he did bring, removing his quiver from behind his back to store it there, before marching over to the mats and dragging one over to where he had been standing. It had always been something he'd wanted to do: learn how to defend himself if he lost his weapons. Truth was, that lynx could well have killed him if he hadn't reached his kukri in time. If he'd been better at self-defense, could that ambush have gone differently?

Nate didn't know, but he figured he should at least try to practice some form of defensive martial art, in case he dropped his kukri or in the overwhelmingly likely case something was able to pounce on him in close quarters before he had a chance to draw it. Even if he got better with the short bow, it still would be all-but-useless in those situations, as his encounter with the lynx most definitely proved.

Stepping onto the mat, Nate realized he felt a bit foolish. He hadn't the faintest clue what he was doing, but he'd observed some of the other fighters here duke it out, and figured that the simplest stance would probably be the easiest to mimic. Nate began with both feet about a shoulder's-width apart, then took a step forward with his left foot. He then pivoted his body slightly to the side. Had there been a square beneath him, his feet would have been on the diagonals of that square.

Nate then raised both fists almost to his chin, but did not bring them back to his chest. Then, he bent his knees just slightly and tested the stance. It wasn't one he was familar with, of course, but then he wasn't familiar with any stance. This was just one that he'd seen utilized by many of the fighters here at the Fighter's Pit, and he figured if so many people used it, there was probably a good reason for it. With the fists raised in this form, Nate realized it was pretty easy to throw out a punch or two, and then return to the ready stance fairly easily.

He did this a few times, his left fist snapping out with a quick jabbing motion, before returning to just behind his right hand. It seemed a fair enough beginning, but Nate guessed against a real opponent he'd probably not fair that well.

[Aoren]

Aoren narrowly dodged the stray arrow of a would-be archer. He flung himself backwards avoiding the projectile with a low grumble. Casting a glare at the aspiring archer, a blonde haired female who looked absolutely mortified at almost having punctured Aoren's lungs he sighed waving at her. She shouter her apologies then darted off to retrieve her arrow. The young man shook his head rubbing at the back of his neck. That was one of the primary reasons he typically avoided going to the Fighter's Pit. It was filled with amateurs. Not that Aoren was any better. He didn't have a clue about what to do with a bow and arrow. He was no hunter.

Still, it was highly annoying to have to avoid wayward objects. Not all of them were arrows. He took a deep breath resigning himself to the fact that there really was no better place to refine his techniques throughout the whole of the city. Well, there was the Knight's Training Grounds but that was off limits to anyone not closely associated to the Knighthood. Aoren did not fall into that category. At least he didn't fall closely enough. Going to a less busy corner of the Pit he dragged a one of the tattered and used wicker mats to be found rolled up against the wall to an acceptably uncrowded area. He unfurled the mat so that the dirt ground was covered effectively then looked over the mat closely to make sure there were no splinters pointing out. For what it was the mat was in decent condition.

Not surprising to the young man though. The majority of citizens who frequented the Fighter's Pit were bumbling brawlers interested only in banging shields, pounding opponents with fists, swinging blunted swords or generally doing a fine job of making themselves look like idiots. Most of them anyways. Not all of the patrons were so hopeless. Aoren was working on getting himself out of the "hopeless" category.

He had not taste for swords. He didn't particularly enjoy shields either. He was also not much of a brawler. He didn't have the mindset for such haphazard fighting. He was more disciplined when it came to the art of physical combat. Indeed he viewed it as exactly that, an art. Something that should be carried out with finesse rather than clumsy attempts at landing a punch or a jab. He opted for precision and fluid motion rather than short jerking movements.

Confident that the mat was in good condition he pat it down at the corners to get the curls out then tugged off his boots stepping onto the surface. The mat was smooth beneath the base of his feet. It had been treated to stave off the elements. He was satisfied that it wouldn't leave him with slivers. Reaching down he grabbed the hem of his shirt lifting it up over his head tossing it to the ground next to his boots. He then stood up straight. He lowered his arms to his sides. He kept his feet squarely together then closed his eyes taking a deep breath.

Aoren was far from a master of the disciplined forms of unarmed fighting. There was very little in the way of knowledge concerning the mostly lost fighting forms. The majority of them died out with the Valterrian. But he had been spending a great deal of time contemplating on how to approach this. The answer had struck him one day when he'd been out training in the woods. He had been incorporating his acrobatics into his quarterstaff styles when suddenly it occurred to him that just as he pursued fluid motion and grace with his staff he could do that with his body. So he'd begun to study. He had drawn inspiration from the natural world: the wind. He envisioned himself fighting with speed and precision but with movements that flowed and tumbled much like a breeze in the clearing he frequented.

To do that would require intense study. It would require a great deal of balance. It would require an immense amount of physical discipline. Neither of which, Aoren had. He was ready to start though. Being familiar with meditation he knew that in order to achieve such a level of disciplined balance he would need to clear his head of distracting thoughts. He would also need to do his best to tune out outside distractions as well. Closing his eyes he drew in a deep breath then let it out slowly.

Breathe in.

He inhaled deeply.

Breathe out.

He exhaled slowly.

Aoren repeated a few of these breaths then on his final exhalation he slid his left foot out to the side at a slightly backward angle in a lazy side-step. He was not standing with his feet shoulder width apart. Once his foot was placed firmly on the surface of the mat he took in another breath bringing his arms up to chest level. He kept his hands loose with the palms facing downward. Not because he knew what he was doing. More so because he had no idea what to do with his hands at this point in time. He wasn't certain whether or not he should make them into fists or to keep his palms open.

This was going to be quite a daunting process. When he thought about the wind however he didn't think about an intrusive force. He thought about something that swirled around an object intent on disarming and deterring rather than beating into submission. For now he would keep his hands open. Aoren lowered himself into a squatting position lowering his hands with the palms still facing downward.

He still had no idea what he was doing but it seemed to be flowing easily enough. The idea was to keep his body moving in a continuous fluid motion. So far that was what was happening. Would it be effective against an opponent? Probably not. But it seemed a more disciplined and refined route than senselessly throwing his fists out there in the hopes that he'd land a hit. Then again, the perceptions of a novice trying to teach himself something no one had attempted before were exactly that: the perceptions of a novice. He sighed opening his eyes. It wasn't doing him much good to have them closed anyways. The Pit was still as noisy and distracting as ever.

Upon opening his eyes he noticed another individual seemed to have it in their head that senseless brawling was not for them.

Strike that.

The dark haired young man jabbed out with a stance and form that, to Aoren, resembled a boxer. Aoren decided it would be better to just continue on with what he was doing rather than continue any running commentary in his head. He was certain that to onlookers he probably looked out of place with his slow movements.

Speed will come later. Get your form down first. Err...whatever the form is. Just...keep making slow, steady, purposeful movements.

Aoren envisioned an enemy aiming a punch for his sternum. He brought both hands in toward his chest lowering his open hands to rest atop the imagined forearm then bent his knees bringing his left leg inward swirling his arms slowly as if he were about to push the invisible fist aimed at his chest outward. He lowered his right hand rotating the wrist so that the flat of his palm connected with the imagined forearm deflecting it while his left crossed upward and rested against his invisible opponents chest pushing him backwards.

Okay. Maybe I'm getting somewhere. Or not. Imaginary fiends are one thing. A bandit swinging an axe at your face is quite another.

He sighed. He would just have to keep practicing...whatever it was that he was practicing. He hadn't quite figured that out yet.

[Nathaniel Deveraux]

This is pointless, Nate thought to himself as he continued to punch the air. And it really was. Whatever form he had copied, it clearly had reasons for all the little things that made it up. Why the left arm was out in front like that; clearly it was to make the left punch easier to throw, but then it also seemed to rob the left hand of any power. Wouldn't it be better to cock the fist a bit further back before throwing it?

Of course, the stance also kept the right hand in reserve, which Nate guessed meant that he could throw it out with more power. But the question was how to throw the right hand. Just... jab with it like the left? But that made no sense, he'd have to physically turn his body before the fist would even connect with the opponent's body. Nate almost shrugged. This whole thing was looking to be a waste of time. Clearly, there was a fighting style here, he just didn't understand the theory well enough to make use of it. Still, he'd copied the stance, he might as well go through with it, at least until something better came along.

As he continued to punch the air he noticed there was another man on a similar mat not too far from himself. Lighter brown hair, fair skinned, he'd taken his shirt off, presumably to increase his mobility. Unlike Nate, this man seemed to be using slow, deliberate movements, his stance much more fluid and dynamic than Nate's choppy, abrupt one. Even though Nate had no idea what style the man was using, but it was at least an actual style. Nate wasn't sure if what he had been doing the last few chimes could be termed anything but copying the stance of people far better than himself, punching the air in front of him, and hoping for the best.

Deciding that fighting someone who actually knew what the petch they were doing was probably better than flailing around like an idiot, he decided to approach this man. What was the worst that could happen? Well OK, the worst that could happen is he lands in the hospital with multiple fractures, or something like that, but maybe if he proved he was dedicated and wouldn't give up and such, this man might teach him a thing or two. One thing was for sure, it beat punching air.

Walking up to the man, Nate coughed quietly to try to catch his attention. Grinning sheepishly, he waved slightly.

"Uhhh, hi there!" he began. "Y'know, I couldn't help but notice you practicing over here and I thought I'd drop by and say hi! The name's Nathaniel, by the way. Nathaniel Deveraux."

Nate shrugged a bit. "Yeaaaah, I know, that's kind of a mouthful. I mean, most people just call me Nathan. Or Nate. Or just 'hey, you!' I'll answer to any of that," he grinned as he kicked off his shoes and jumped up onto the mat. Shrugging, he grabbed the hem of his own shirt and stripped it off. Might as well make the fight even if he was going to challenge this man.

"So, um, you wanna spar?" he asked brightly, jumping up and down slightly. It would be nice to finally interact with people again; the last few weeks had been nothing but hunting in the woods. While that was technically good for money-making purposes, it was horrible for social interaction, and his sisters had been driving him near-insane lately. Katarina especially.

"I, uhhh, I gotta warn ya, I'm kinda shyke at fighting," Nate confessed, scratching the back of his neck in embarassment. "But, y'know, no pain, no gain right?"

[Aoren]

"Uhhh, hi there!"

Aoren paused in his practicing. He dropped his arms. He stood up straight and faced the young man who had approached him head on. He arched a single eyebrow awaiting an explanation into the intrusion of his training.

Well...random flailing is more like it.

All the same, people normally didn't bother him in the Fighter's Pit. When it came to pairings most people preferred to practice with people they already knew or with the instructors that were to be found around the establishment. He didn't blame them. It was easier to fall into line when you were practicing with someone you were familiar with. Nobody wanted to make a fool of themselves.

"Y'know, I couldn't help but notice you practicing over here and I thought I'd drop by and say hi! The name's Nathaniel, by the way. Nathaniel Deveraux."

Aoren nodded by way of greeting the newcomer, Nathaniel, but he did not offer his own name. He didn't really get the chance to. The man seemed nervous. More than that he seemed like he was terribly out of place and was horribly aware of that fact. Aoren took the time to study his features committing them to memory for future reference should the need arise. He noted the dark hair, the high cheek bones, the somewhat wolf-like handsomeness to his appearance. Aoren folded his arms over his chest as he continued to listen to the young man talk.

"Yeaaaah, I know, that's kind of a mouthful. I mean, most people just call me Nathan. Or Nate. Or just 'hey, you!' I'll answer to any of that,"

Duly noted. He blinked at Nathaniel.

"So, um, you wanna spar?"

Aoren gave the young man a look of surprise. He wasn't surprised that the guy wanted to spar. Why else would he had come over to speak with him in the first place? He was surprised that the man would take an interest in a more disciplined fighting style as opposed to the boxer-esque technique he seemed to be consumed with only moments ago.

"I, uhhh, I gotta warn ya, I'm kinda shyke at fighting," He caught the tail end of what the other man was saying before Aoren finally opened his mouth and spoke.

"Well then that's something we both have in common. I am not a master of any fighting style. I'm a beginner. Just like you. The one thing I do know..." He paused taking in the young man's obvious excitement. "...is that we're not going to get anywhere beating each other senseless in the hopes that it refines our fighting technique. I don't know a lot. What I do know is that in order to gain a firm understanding of the art of hand-to-hand combat you need discipline. You need purpose of movement. You don't just throw kicks, punches or jabs hoping to hit something. When you go to hit something it's because you know exactly what you're trying to hit."

Aoren took a step back dropping into a crouching stance. He pivoted his body so that he was standing off to the side. He planted his right foot in front of him and his left behind him in a modified lunge. He brought up his right arm so that it was at eye level then closed his hand into a fist. He brought his left arm up in front of himself crooking his elbow so that his forearm was pointing to the right then closed that hand into a fist as well. He maintained the pose for a moment before straightening.

"Everything about disciplined fighting is in the technique. I don't know many techniques. I'm trying to come up with one on my own. There aren't many teachers in Syliras who take the time to study hand-to-hand fighting styles. Sparring between us wouldn't do much good. Learning from each other, now that might prove beneficial to both of us." He extended a hand to Nathaniel.

"You can call me Aoren, by the way."

[Nathaniel Deveraux]

Nate grinned as he took Aoren's hand and shook it firmly. "Well it's a pleasure to meet ya, Aoren!" he chirped cheerfully. Having listened to the man speak of discipline and all that, Nate just shrugged.

"Well, yeah, I'm sure that's true, but one thing I've learned hunting out in the wilds is that oftentimes you gotta do whatever works," he replied. "I mean, I would practice against the wolves and cougars, but they don't stop fighting when you've had enough." Nate smirked good-naturedly as he said that, shaking his hands to loosen them and bounding a bit on the mat.

"Anyway, I'm not exactly married to any particular style. I just wanna be able to defend myself if I lose my weapon. Which, I mean, let's face it, you lose your weapon in a survival situation, it's already pretty petching bad, but you can't always control that." Nate winced a bit, as his hand unconsciously went to the lynx claw marks across his chest and arm. Yeah.

"Anyhow, let's stop jawing and get started!" Nate was his usual chipper self again, winking at Aoren and adding, "And don't worry, I know a thing or two about basic medicine, so we should be mostly OK even if we beat on each other a bit."

Nate had watched with curiosity when Aoren had gotten into his stance, which seemed as fluid as everything else he'd done up until this point. Nate could appreciate fluid, he really could, but to him everything was all about nature red in tooth and claw. It was great to be fighting like air or water, but to him everything was teeth and fur and claws. Aoren's words were great in theory, but when a cougar was about to eat your face off, you really want a hard, fast style, Nate felt.

Wait... a cougar. That was something. Nate remembered the lynx that had given him the claw marks. And the cougars that had so often stolen his kills from him. Their corded muscles, how they sprang forward with their powerful hind legs, paws lighting fast, strike and retreat, clawing at the opponent. Maybe it would make sense to copy the motions of the cougar in his martial art.

Pulling his foot back, Nate slid the foot almost perpendicular to the ground, then bent his front knee forward so that both legs made a sort of "L" shape, one parallel and one perpendicular, attempting to mimic the low crouch of a cougar ready to pounce. His hands came up about chest-height, closed into a sort of half-fist, mimicking the paws of the cougar he was trying to copy. The large, tawny cat was king of its domain; Nate had seen it take on foes many times it size, such as bears, and win through rapid powerful paw strikes, quick retreats, and constant motion. If he could copy that with a martial art, maybe he could get somewhere.

"Gotta say, I don't know if this 'style' is even a real thing," Nate confessed with a sheepish grin, but he shrugged. Only one way to find out! He sprang forward, the bent left leg propelling him like the hind quarters of a cougar's pounce, as his right fist shot forward to Aoren's sternum. Nate intended it to be a quick jabbing motion, but as he'd never actually used this "style" before, it was much slower than it should have been, not to mention it missed the mark and was in fact headed for Aoren's solar plexus.

[Aoren]

“You mean you’ve never asked them?” He arched an eyebrow at Nathaniel as if the fact that he’d never tried to strike up a conversation with a wild animal was the most ludicrous thing in the world. After a moment he broke out into a smirk laughing softly with a shake of his head. Part of Aoren scoffed at the idea of trying to communicate with a senseless beast. The other part of him wondered if there wasn’t some means of actually trying to reason with animals. Sure, they were feral, territorial and prone to attacking without warning for the slightest intrusion into their space but weren’t humans the exact same way on some level?

“Very well then, Nathaniel. If you promise to bandage me up then I suppose we can just get down to business.” Aoren bent his knees sliding one foot back angling his hips and rotated his torso as he dropped into a more defensive stance. He wasn’t a man of offensive tendencies. Despite his stature he was more of a gentle giant. His movements were typically careful. His thoughts even more so. He didn’t like to hurt people so he avoided most conflict if it could be helped. There were those times when though when a show of brute strength was all there could be done. He wasn’t above those moments. Some people just simply couldn’t be reasoned with. He’d learned that lesson a long time ago.

Aoren watched closely as it seemed Nathaniel came to some sort of revelation. He quirked his head slightly watching as the young man bent his front knee making an “L” shape. Aoren immediately recognized both from simple discourse with the young man and from the crouching stance he was taking that he was an offensive fighter.

“Strike first and strike fast. That was what Ileera used to say. I never was any good at it. Oh well. Time to put your observations to the test, Aoren. Let’s hope you don’t make an idiot of yourself.”

"Gotta say, I don't know if this 'style' is even a real thing,"

“We’ll see.” He kept his eyes locked closely onto the other young man. He brought his arms up with his right arm in a vertical position. He kept an open palm with his fingers pointing skyward all together. The other arm he brought up to his chest level closing his hand into a fist. It wasn’t soon after that he’d finished bringing himself into position that Nathaniel sprang into action.

The young man was fast. Aoren had no idea of the other man’s skill level save for his own admissions but he made a habit of seldom underestimating his opponents. It often lead to either embarrassing bar stories or serious soreness the following day. Seeing the jab headed for his upper stomach Aoren knew he would have to move rapidly.

He stepped back pivoting his left arm at the elbow so that as Nathaniel’s fist neared Aoren’s body it was knocked away by his forearm. Without hesitating Aoren quickly side-stepped Nathaniel trying to stay light on his feet. The last thing he wanted to do was leave himself open for a counter-strike. As he moved to the right his foot slipped so he did not get the proper stance to pull off his technique. He followed through anyways once his foot found level ground. Aoren dropped his right arm down to his side keeping his forearm at a ninety degree angle he rotated his hips then thrust outward aiming at Nathaniel’s lower ribs. His hand was still open so that the flat of his palm would potentially slam into his opponent’s side. In his head Aoren theorized that a flat palm while not as direct and forceful as a closed fist could ideally cause less long-term damage but more immediate blunt force trauma to the body.

That was just his theory however. Whether or not it would actually work? Aoren hadn’t the slightest clue. He wouldn’t get anywhere if all he did was practice against imaginary foes though so this was the best way to find out.

[Nathaniel Deveraux]

Nate grinned at Aoren's question. "Heh, I tried that once," he half-joked. "I believe the wolf's reply was, 'Snarl! Bark! Growl!' Then he attacked me. Must've been something I said."

To Aoren's statement about bandaging them both up, Nate nodded vigorously. "Well, hopefully we don't damage each other too badly," he grinned. "But yeah, I'll treat any wounds we might sustain. If one of us gets hurt to the degree even I can't fix it, then we've done something terribly wrong."

Aoren was definitely bigger than Nate, and that was to Nate's disadvantage. And despite claiming to not have much training in his martial art, the man managed to push away his quick jab fairly easily, his forearm seemingly effortlessly knocking the strike off-course, and it hit nothing but air. Nate was surprised to see just how ineffective his first attempt at a strike would be, though in retrospect it probably should not have.

Aoren's sidestep left Nate's entire left side exposed. Not that he understood the dynamics of the situation, all he knew was his punch had failed and now he needed to rethink his strategy. He could try to respond with some sort of quick counterattack, but from his awkward angle that wouldn't really work all that well. What could he throw at Aoren in this position? Maybe an elbow? but that wouldn't really reach Aoren, not from this position, and besides it would be so blindingly obvious a child could see it coming.

Not that it really mattered, because Aoren had already begun his own counterstrike, sending a palm to Nate's ribs. Nate had no idea how to react to such a strike, though he knew enough that the ribs were actually quite a strong part of the human body. Part of being a medic was knowing how the body worked, and where the strong and weak points were. The ribs were designed to protect the lungs and heart, so the ribcage is quite sturdy, and usually a body shot was only effective if it hit something important, like the liver or the kidneys. Hmmmmm, liver or kidneys...

Nate rotated his chest slightly, and he felt the heel of Aoren's palm collide with the side of his ribs, rather than the front. It was painful, and he stumbled to the left, but it wasn't dangerous. Nate suspected that a master martial artist would have a powerful enough strike that even getting hit in the ribs would be a grave matter, since their blows would be strong enough to crack or break the bone underneath. But as he did not have the training to dodge the blow, nor the skill to block it, the next best thing was to ensure the impact was on a part of his body that was better suited to receiving it.

As he tried to regain his footing, Nate tried a different strike, looking to take advantage of Aoren's body position. Since his arm had just been thrust out for that palm strike, Nate decided it was a good chance to see if he couldn't get under the arm with his half-fist punch. The kidneys, as he knew, were on either side of the chest, about level with the navel, and slightly near the back. It did feel a bit... wrong, to be using his medical knowledge in this form, but he justified to himself by thinking that it did not take a doctor to understand basic human physiology.

Nate folded the first two joints of his right hand inward, and sent the cat-paw fist straight at Aoren's kidney, hoping to hit with the foreknuckles, while he dodged a bit to the right. His palm strike had left that side open, and Nate had managed to stumble in that direction anyway. His intent was to strike and retreat again; no need to stay inside the brutal strike range of the larger Aoren. But the jolt of his bruised ribs distracted Nate, and his breath came out in a ragged gasp as he threw out the punch, and he wasn't even sure if it would impact the correct place. The kidneys, after all, were small, and if he was off even by an inch, it would hit Aoren's hip-bone, which was much less useful target to strike at.

[Aoren]

“Note to self: keep my flanks protected.”

That was an understatement. Nathaniel's fist connected with his torso just slightly off the mark jamming into Aoren's side slamming into his body not quite above his hip bone. It was close enough that he felt the impact in the intended area but off target enough to catch his hip as he tried to rotate his body away from the jab. Getting jabbed in the kidney’s hurt. The moment that Nathaniel went in for the attack Aoren knew that he’d made a mistake. He’d side-stepped the young man’s straight forward punch easily enough but that had left his entire left side exposed when he went in for his own offensive maneuver. The result? A kidney shot. Or at least one close enough to still ache in that general area.

Aoren stumbled back blinking away the pain. While the jab to his lower abdomen hadn’t been perfect it had been close enough to make him wary of the other fighter’s punches. He didn’t nurse the injury however. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Giving in to the blows in a disciplined fight opened oneself up to receiving more of those blows. He resumed his stance reevaluating the way he approached this sparring match. Nathaniel was obviously very quick on his feet. He had power in his legs but also in his upper body. His strikes were not perfect but they were carefully aimed. He was quick to react to the situation. Aoren wasn’t surprised. The young man had said he was a hunter. One couldn’t stray into the wilds using only preplanned thought alone.

Aoren adjusted his footing so that he was in more of a crouched position. He darted toward Nathaniel who was now facing him head on. Instead of attacking Nathaniel from the front however Aoren called upon his more limber skills. He dropped his knees tucking them in and brought his arms closer into his torso. Aoren tumbled to the right of Nathaniel going into the roll not but a few inches away from him. He prayed to Avalis that this would work.

One of the key things that he wanted to do was force his opponent into submission. He didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t want to beat him to a pulp. To Aoren the easiest way to accomplish this task was to make assaults on the areas where the body was most vulnerable. One of the first places that stuck out to Aoren were joints. Their whole purpose was to bend but if a person could strike a joint hard enough it would collapse. All of these things passed through Aoren’s head as he brought himself to a stop just barely to the rear of Nathaniel’s right side. Were he more of a master of this improvised fighting style Aoren would have known exactly where to kick and how much force to apply. Sadly he had no such expertise but he could certainly aim his foot in the general area related to his intended purpose.

Aoren was in a low crouched position in a modified lunge leaning slightly to his right placing the majority of his weight on his right leg. He made a sweeping kick directed at Nathaniel’s nearest ankle but he overestimated the amount of force he needed to put into the motion and ended up closer to the young man’s shin.

[Nathaniel Deveraux]

Well... the attack kind of worked. It obviously did not hit the kidney; Nate could feel that immediately as Aoren twisted his body. Nate mused to himself that the kidney might be too small a target to aim for, even the slightest misstep and the attack misses the mark. Certainly, the blow would be painful but not nearly the crippling pain he knew a full-on kidney strike would probably be. He needed a different target, but Aoren was already on the move.

Nate could feel the strain from the man's earlier blow to his ribs starting to take its toll. His movements had gotten more sluggish, and he suspected he may have bruised those ribs in that initial contact. Perhaps it would have been better to at least attempt to deflect the attack away, but his stance and apparent fighting style seemed to be all offense and no defense, and thus far his offense seems to have failed rather miserably. One blow missed entirely and another failed to hit the mark.

Aoren's style seemed far more successful, as he recovered from the blow quickly and readjusted his strategy. Nate tried to get back into position, but that quickly stopped when Aoren charged, then quickly ducked into a roll, causing Nate's own momentum to carry him forward on accident, leaving his entire side exposed. The roll ended with Aoren in something of a crouch off to Nate's side, and a powerful kick extended outward, undoubtedly to strike at a vulnerable area of his body.

Unfortunately, in his current position, there was little that Nate could do; he tried to twist around to at least perhaps slap away the kick, but his arm missed, the style being entirely unsuited for defense, and the kick landed solidly on his left shin. There was a surge of pain as he could feel the bruise forming on the muscle, and it was quite clear that the aim was for the ankle. A small target; Nate would have thought the knee would have been a better joint to target, but nonetheless it certainly took out a great deal of his mobility and he wasn't even in a position for a counterstrike.

Nate was seriously considering scrapping this style altogether. It was an experiment anyway, and at this point, it was rather clear the experiment failed. A person was not a large cat and could not fight like one. He'd tried, he'd failed, perhaps he should just go back to good old swinging, at least one of his fists might connect that way. Still, he decided to go for one last attempt.

The half-fist strike was obviously designed for greater penetrating power. It focused the power of the strike into the two fore-knuckles of the first two fingers, and thus acted more like a knife than a bludgeon. And like a knife, hitting hard targets like the skull or the ribs or the hip was not useful; it was better to target the soft areas of the body. The vulnerable weak points, such as the eyes, the nose, the throat, the groin, or any of the major organs that were not well-defended, such as the kidneys or the liver.

The problem was, any such strike would be instantly blocked, since no one would stupid enough to permit a throat strike from succeeding. But the liver... the liver was a much larger target. And if it was struck just right, can cause excruciating pain. The question was how to get a strike in. With his bruised shin and ribs, Nate knew he had very few options open to him. He could attempt another half-fist punch, but his speed had been slowed by the pain he was experiencing and on top of which, Aoren was aware of the trick and would be on guard now.

Turning to the right, Nate shot out his left fist in the half-fist strike, aiming for Aoren's throat. He was fully expecting such a blow to be blocked, but from his position the man might not be able to stop the second blow he aimed, a mere tick later, at the man's sternum. If he could catch him just right, he might be able to hit the liver. If he missed, however, that would mean the end of the match, because both his arms would be in a supremely awkward position, and he'd be vulnerable to any number of different counterattacks.

[Aoren]

Aoren’s shin spiked in pain the moment his own connected with Nathaniel’s. He hadn’t been aiming for the shin but the difficulty in making a sweeping kick from a crouched stance was that the individual needed to accumulate enough power in their forward thrust to impact a person firmly situated in an upright position. Needless to say that Aoren would definitely have to start working on the strength in his lower body. He was entirely not satisfied with the fact that Nathaniel had not been sent tumbling to the ground. He didn’t have time to think through the logistics of the maneuver however as it seemed Nathaniel was intent on landing a hit on him.

Aoren had become very wary of the hunter’s animalistic fighting style by this point. While it was rough and unrefined he’d felt the sting of such direct hits already. His hip still throbbed in pain from the sheer force of the impact to the bone. His side radiated unpleasantly from the stabbing sensation his body had been subjected to. At the present though Aoren was taken slightly aback by the other man’s desperate attempt to hit him from such an odd angle. It didn’t strike Aoren as very sensible. Even he knew that it was virtually impossible to make a successful attack on an opponent who was situated at a position so drastically different than your own. Nathaniel did it anyways though.

Aoren pushed with his right foot and dropped his torso rolling to his left. His hip throbbed in protest causing the tuck and roll to divert slightly off target but the maneuver was successful enough. He’d rolled away from Nathaniel’s counter-strike and where the young man had been Nathaniel would have been attacking solid air. Aoren struggled to his feet given the hunter ample time to recover from his desperate assault but that didn’t stop Aoren’s determination. Nathaniel was largely open to any form of attack so he would take advantage of that fact.

He would have to move swiftly. His struggle to get to his feet had cost him valuable time. Aoren rushed forward coming at Nathaniel from his right. Aoren envisioned himself moving like a spinning zephyr dancing across the currents of wind barreling into its target with fluid grace and surprising speed. His heart was pounding from the rush of so much physical activity, his breathing was elevated, a sheen of sweat was beginning to shape on Aoren’s brow. He didn’t care though. This was the kind of sparring he’d been looking for.

As he came closer to Nathaniel Aoren slowed his forward momentum his steps faltering slightly as his hip protested the sudden movement. He grit his teeth pressing forward intent on finishing the maneuver. He couldn’t have been more than a few inches away from the hunter. Jumping into the air Aoren twisted his torso loosening the muscles in his lower abdomen and freeing his legs as much as he could propelling himself into a circular motion. He brought his left leg up mid-spin directing it toward Nathaniel’s midsection. He was more likely to hit Nathaniel’s hip bone than his mid-torso. This was something that Aoren had never attempted before. Given his wobbly stance, the poor execution of the kick and his overall lack of experience with pulling off such detailed displays of acrobatic technique it would not have surprised him in the least if Nathaniel moved swiftly enough to either block or completely evade his assault.

In hindsight Aoren recognized the futility of his attempted round-house kick. He was utterly inexperienced with disciplined unarmed combat skills. He certainly wasn’t acrobatic enough to pull off such a thing. He hadn’t done proper stretches to make himself limber enough without pulling something.

His hamstrings were already screeching at him in protest. He was certain he would be feeling supremely sore once this sparring bout was finished. He was determined to see it through though. There were not a lot of disciplined fighters in Syliras. To have stumbled upon one purely by chance filled Aoren with a sense of elation. He enjoyed the prospect of fighting against someone other than imaginary foes made out of thin air or wisps of thought. It had been a while since he’d had an appropriate partner. His usual sparring partner was out patrolling as was her duty as a squire. He didn’t begrudge his long-time friend Ileera for her pursuits in becoming a knight. It simply meant that they were unable to spend as much time together.

Regardless of the outcome Aoren would ask Nathaniel if he was interested in regularly sparring with him. Thus far he had proved insightful and equally skilled as far as unskilled fighters went. This was someone whom Aoren could see himself coming to respect a great deal. All of that aside Aoren focused on the here and now ill at ease with the outcome of his kick. The more logical part of his mind was absolutely certain that it would be avoided. The more hopeful part of his ego wanted to think that what he had just did was the mother of all maneuvers and there was no way in the void that Nathaniel could ever possibly evade such a masterfully executed technique.

All in all, Aoren was inclined to believe Nathaniel would not be so easily assaulted. Who could say though? Aoren certainly did not possess the ability to predict the reactions of his opponents.

NoteIncessant rambling for the win!