PM to join [Anthonius Fighters' Pits] Making the Most.

[Medhozic]

Time Stamp: 30th Day of Winter, 513AV. His walk from the apartments to the Fighters Pits. It had become so commonplace that he barely paid the other squires and knights any mind, or the commoners. The occasional wave to Natasha Druva, or any of the others that he had come to know over his time, but otherwise when he walked into the Fighters' Pits and cast a wary glance to the ever-stoic owner, leaning with both arms folded over at a low half-wall, he headed straight for the usual spot that he had come to 'claim'. It was rare that few ever took a spot directly next to the solitary weapons rack at the far end of the courtyard, mostly because it was the closest to the wreckage of the building that had once been attached, and therefore held the most rubble and debris littering the floor. When they took the spot, thankfully, he was able to take another not too far away from it, even closer to the buildings remains while still in the courtyard, where he could instantly reclaim the spot as soon as the particular person moved away again. Little enough debris that it would be workable, but still classed as 'cluttered' by anyone's standards. He didn't really mind, however. It was closest to the weapon rack and, somewhere in his mind, that made it one of the best spots for his training regime. Which involved pulling one of the dulled, slightly dust-speckled daggers from the shelf and beginning some practice swings at the air, pretending that there was a person in front of him - preferably some large, muscled bandit or a cut-throat assassin that had decided to mess with the wrong Ethaefal - and cut it to pieces in his mind, practicing the same drills that he had designed for himself over the long time working in the confined space. As always, he kept his feet shoulder-length apart and swung with his hips as well as his elbow in rather short, jabbing swings made more for embedding the point of the blade in the opponent, rather than a lengthways slash that would have used the edge. It put more power into the swipes; progressively smaller jabs soon followed, thrown into the empty air and with much less power behind them, but swifter, with an occasional stab thrown in that acted more like a punch than an actual swipe of a sword. Because there was no target in particular, he hoped that none of the others in the arena could spot the fact that even over his constant training in dagger usage and other weapons, he was utterly useless in all of them - he might as well have been swinging a stick rather than an actual blade. It would have caused the same amount of damage, and would have probably made him look less like an idiot while he went about. It wasn't difficult to look more stupid, with the fact that the vast majority of those in the Fighters Pits were clad in some kind of armour - leather or iron, or some kind of bone. Dulled and dented from hard, long use or shining and bright from polishing in countless bells. And yet, the Ethaefal, the most handsome and elegant of them all, wore nothing more than his usual white shirt, grey cloak and black trousers with foot-wraps. As always, they were lightly scraped and covered in grass stains from his time hunting in the Bronze Woods. The horns protruding from his temples and winding around to the back of his head, were masked underneath the curtain of light brown hair; it was obvious, however, what race he belonged to thanks to the opalescent skin that practically shone like warm marble over his face and down his bared forearms. It still shamed him, how slender and graceful he looked.. yet how wooden and stiff every strike of the little blade was to his eyes as he slashed at an invisible foe, watching the blood dribble down its neck and stain the dirt and grass beneath. His left arm had to be tucked tightly to his side, to prevent it from waving around to balance his steady footwork, pivoting around his right foot; it made him feel like even more of an idiot, wobbling around cautiously like a child on a tightrope. At least it couldn't get any worse than it was for now.

[M'Wanii]

M’wanii strode on wards towards the Fighters' pit. Mistress Blackleaf had dismissed her early from the Salves today, which gave her a few hours to play with. Having decided it had been too early to head for the Bathes, the amphibian had instead chosen to improve her skill, if it could be called that, with the short sword. Entering the pit, it was busier than it had been before. Many tough-looking muscular men were already focused within their own training practice, talent varying from man to man. Land dwellers were always so violent. Pulling her hood to cover more of her face in shadows, M’wanii deliberately ignored the land owner, continuing over to the weapon rack on the wall. Gerard Anthonius, in question, let a smug smirk flow onto his face as he watched the only female in the place give him the cold shoulder. Dodging a duo brawling it out on some mats, the Charoda quickly snatched up a dull short sword off the wall before searching for a clear space. There was a skinny horned land dweller slashing with daggers at thin air nearby, next to him was a large unused part of the pit. Now with her heading, Mwanii slipped through the men to the space. Once there, she dropping her bag by the wall then began struggling out her robes. Warm, they be but wearing them would only hinder her movements. The scarf and hood that had been hiding her face and head came off too, revealing her spiked ears, scars and fish like features. The garments had barely touched the ground by the time the pit had fallen silent. Most people living in Syliras had never seen a Charoda before, so to have one show up in the middle of their normal daily routine came as quite a shock. M’wanii was getting used to this response to the way she looked thus ignored it, picking up her borrowed blunt short sword and getting into position. Sword in her left hand, her stronger hand apparently, she turned her body to face her imaginary adversary side on feet firmly apart. Relaxing she shifted her grip on the weapon experimentally. Shifting her eyes around, she noted that the entire Pit was still staring, including Gerard. Dropping the stance, she took a moment to stare them all down, before resuming her stance again. The crowd seemed to get the message and left her be going back to their exercises. Finally plucking up the nerve to, the amphibian lunged forward and swung her sword. Unfortunately for M’wanii, as she swung the sword, the sword also swung her. Losing balance she processed to stumble backwards, crashing into another body on her way to the pit’s floor. Turning her eyes to them, the apology one the end of her tongue evaporated. Before her lay one of the most beautiful land dwellers she had seen. Well, his face was beautiful…and he was staring at her ...and….and…and…. The grey skinned woman’s brain went blank leaving her mouth slightly a gape. It was only when the man, being, beauty, moved slightly did her mind snap back. “Ahhh! I’m so sorry!”

[Medhozic]

He had, fortunately, not seen a Charoda either in his comparatively short time in the mortal plane. He had seen women with bat wings and odd habits.. like eating raw rabbits and smearing themselves in their blood in the process. He'd caught sight of men able to change into owls and other stupid animals, that could easily fall to any hunters bow.. although, some of them had proved their worthiness in survival. But never had he seen such a creature with dorsal fins and rubbery skin, let alone one working along the land. It was a fish out of water.. quite literally, though he didn't laugh. After a moment contemplating her appearance - and working out if he should be particularly wary of her or not - he turned his back to the fish-woman and returned to his work with the small weapon. He had little time to gape at such things - usually, he was the one receiving such attention, and he wasn't going to take the one opportunity where all eyes were not on him, to simply spend it gaping at something else. Short, jabbing thrusts. Always short, fast and with little power in them, more speed - speed was always important and he repeated the same word over in his head, as if it would ever help him actually improve his speed. But his speed wasn't the real problem - it was something that he could not imagine. His reaction speed was slow, he didn't move with such fluid grace in such unexpected conditions as he wished, and Syna knew that there would always be such times when one must 'think fast to survive'. And there was no way that he could improve on that, let alone against a person in his mind, who he knew more than anything else in this pitiful mortal plane. What he needed, was something to test his reflexes.. test his reactions to a sudden attack, unpredictable opponents.. and little did he know, his wish was about to come true. Just as he'd stop to contemplate how he was going to test his reactions, a comparatively smaller body suddenly slammed into the centre of his back, throwing his swipe off mid-stride and practically throwing him to the floor on his chest. He took it for an attack and rolled over onto his back after a few moments simply sitting there, quite stunned, before raising the blade in a crude threatening position for the female Charoda, his expression blank everywhere but his eyes - which burned with a mixture of fear and anger. He had no idea whether she wanted to kill him or.. what, but if she wanted to kill him, he needed to kill her first. Fast. The small dagger jolted slightly in his shaking hand and he nearly jabbed it straight for her face - nowhere in particular, he'd been aiming for her eye but his shock was still recovering and he had absolutely no clue how he was going to fend off an opponent with a blade he knew practically nothing about - before she began apologizing. Oh. "Never do that again." He wanted to add a 'please' but he just couldn't at that point. "If you do, I won't be so lenient." There. That should at least push her a little into getting off. The sooner they both moved away from this embarrassing event, the less people would see them both - a Charoda who couldn't swing a blade without falling and an Ethaefal who couldn't defend himself against a Charoda.

[M'Wanii]

The land dweller was not happy with her floundering. Gruffly scolding her, he pushed her frame easily off his. Well bubbles. Her father had once told her first impressions were the most important and she had just blown this one. Sighing to herself, M'wanii pulled herself up from the ground picking up the handsome man's training dagger in the process. Holding it out to the man, point face herself, the Charoda cracked a smile. Might as well try and patch this up as much as possible at this point. Welling up the vast sum of her knowledge of common M'wanii then began talking to the man. “Umm... Here. Sorry about fall into you. You be learned in ermm....” The word failing her, she motioned toward his daggers. “... from Genard also?” The mentioned owner of the pits was currently was discussing something or other with another shorter thinner man. Something violent and disagreeable judging from how their voices would raise up in angry to towards one and other. The other visitors to the pits were promptly ignoring the two in favour of their own training. Still their loud ranting echoed out across the barren arena. Following suit the Charoda ignored the barbaric men in favour of questioning the beauty before her. “Maybe you need help? To improve? If we duel each other instead of air, We could both improve? Yes?” The offer had been laid before him, now is was up to the land dweller to make a choice. M'wanii stood their awkwardly having retrieved her practice sword. Maybe this would patch things up. OOCSorry for the late and short reply.

[Medhozic]

He stared down at the blunt, dented dagger and gently pulled it out of her hand with two fingers pinched around the handle, shaking his head and sighing briefly. Panic over. He shouldn't have overreacted.. he should have kept his calm, reacted rationally. No threatening, just go straight for the throat, even if it was with a dull dagger that probably wouldn't be able to cut through sand. Even if it was a slick-skinned fish-person who looked like she'd cause more harm to herself than anyone else. Looks could be deceiving. "Do not worry about it," he dismissed her a second time with a flick of his wrist, while slowly pushing up into a stand, brushing away the dust that had coagulated over his previously clean and neat shirt. "I do not care any more." Yet, still she persisted, and so he was forced to react. There was no room to slip off without her following. The first question made him cock an eyebrow in confusion, looking down to the pair that were bickering off to the sides in favour of the fish-person while he answered. "No. I am trying to be." He hoped that there would be a day when he would push it through the neck of someone that wanted to kill him. One day, he'd be able to outmatch those that would wish to kill him for sport, or money, or possessions, or jealousy. And he'd be able to at least hold his own against the many others that would wish to ensure their dominance over him. "Genard is not to my liking." As shown by the little argument that was currently happening - he had absolutely no intention of annoying the owner of one of the few places that he could come to and train. And most likely, he would, if he ever tried to learn something from the man. "And I have absolutely no intention of learning anything from one that has such a considerably large gap in comparative strength." It was just foolish, after all, to try and train with someone who could potentially kill with such little effort. Finally, he turned back when he found that he'd had enough. There was no more point in dancing around the obvious. "I will always need help to improve, yes. You will do." He didn't need to say anything else, but he did slip into the familiar stance that he knew he should be taking - dagger drawn and pointed to the fish-girl, his free arm hanging behind for balance and his feet spread shoulder-width apart, tips pointing forwards. Knees slightly bent, spine hunched forwards. He needed to keep a conscious eye on every aspect of his body, watching for the slightest turn that he could respond with. It was like a funny little game of strategy, just like everything else in life. You just needed to put the right pieces in their right places and all the other problems would resolve themselves. Exertion, stamina, they were just the rules. There were different strategies for different games, of course, but they all had the same rules. "Are you ready." He didn't give her time to answer. "Begin."

[M'Wanii]

Having plucked the dagger from her hand, the man stood, assuring the charoda that she should not worry. As he spoke M'wanii noted how smooth his voice sounded compared to the rough voices of the other land dwellers. Each word seemed to flow effortlessly from his lips, whilst her own splutterings in common grated on the ear. She really couldn't compare to most of the people on the land.. Continuing on in response to her question, it seemed the man also didn't like Gerard. However it was more for the gap in their skill levels then the man's cocky attitude. Strange indeed. She wouldn't have thought a man like this would be the one to do something as petty as to get jealous, but with air breathers it was always hard to tell what they would do next. Being raised out of the water their entire lives probably did things to their heads she had theorized. Giving her the once over the air breather, although looking unimpressed gave her the mono-toned answer of 'I will always need help to improve, yes. You will do.'You will do!? As if she only just made his passing mark. How rude. Had he never been taught manners by his parents? The Charoda's growing annoyance, however, soon dissipated once the man took on a strange body posture. Hunched over with his feet nicely spaced apart and his dagger aimed at her, his face held the masked expression of concentration. "Are you ready." Wait what? The tone in which it had been said made it clear the sentence wasn't a question but more a statement. But a statement about what? She didn't have to wait to find out as the question was one in which the man subtly answered barely ticks later. ”Begin." Suddenly realising what the pose he had adopted meant, M'wanii reacted immediately. Slipping quickly back into stance, her left hand forward pointing her weapon at her foe and body turned to side face, the charoda kept her pupiless eyes glued to her opponents form. Trying to remember Gerard's lesson from before, she scanned his body for points of weakness. Spying how much more vunerable his right hand side was, the charoda sprung forward off her feet. Two quick strides closed the distance between them as the amphibian swiung her short sword around in a horizontal arc grinding her teeth together. The movement was wide and clumsy, leaving the amphibian's main body wide open to an attack and even though her feet were more firmly planted on the ground, the force behind her blade was still lacking. The strike was typical of a novice and would be easy to dodge or block, depending on how soon the land dweller reacted. OOCI am sorry this took too long to do. You have permission to PM slap me the next time I leave it for more than a week. Sorry!

[Medhozic]

He'd never fought in a way such as this before, but in a way, he found it more amusing. It was a simple little game that they could play - she moved one piece, he'd move another, and they'd continue on and on. Of course there were limitations and all that nonsense. But you knew such things when you entered the game - if you wanted to be the stronger in the game, then you'd have to work on your strength, and if you wanted to be faster, then that's how you made yourself. He didn't want to be either. He wanted to be the smarter, but he'd barely worked on any of those things. He'd never even learned to read - what need would there ever be for reading books on how to hunt if he could simply go outside, into the Bronze Woods, and find out first-hand. And get a deer or a rabbit at the end of it all. She made her move - he made his. Though he was surprised from his little game when he found that he could catch the blade head-on, since that was exactly what he did. Training for bells on end against long swords and squires had taught him to believe that the only way to beat the opponent would be to pull his body out of the way of the attacks, since he never liked using a shield. But the short-sword was less heavy, had less power delivered by the girl, and with a quick turn and a brace against the handle, he could catch the horizontal strike and push it away before taking a further step forwards, on top of the two that the girl-fish had already made to cover the very small range that the dagger had, before throwing out two small stabs for her chest. He tried to make them as quick and fluid as possible before stepping away again, constantly watching for any sign that she might be attempting another attack on top of them. In any case, he had one arm free - he could always make use of it, if he could catch her attack before she made it. Unlike her, he knew nothing about using weak-spots.. all he ever did was just head for the body where their blade wasn't. Perhaps it was a weakness, or a strength.. it didn't matter. "You've not worked with a short-sword before." It was guesswork - he'd never wielded a short-sword before in his life since the only two weapons he'd had use in were the long-sword and the dagger. The short-sword was just a half-way point between the two that could fit neither category and hence, he'd decided in his own mind that it possessed neither of their strengths and all of their weaknesses.