Eighty Fifth of Summer, 510 AV
"You're weak when you parry to the left, Pashcal. It'd be easy for almost any opponent to simply knock aside your block and drive their sword through your heart," Kayiri commented, moving his student's hands on the wooden weapon's hilt. The teenager glared at him spitefully, instantly putting his grip back in the way it had been before. Kayiri sighed and rolled his eyes, glaring at the student.
His glare was met with one in response, one of defiance, of a youth's stubborn passion. Kayiri knew that he wasn't going to get this student to correct his attitude-- or his handwork-- without violence.
"You know what? Anyone can teach this class! You know absolutely nothing!" Pashcal cried out, running at Kayiri with the wooden sword drawn. Oh, look, Kayiri wouldn't have to start a fight. He turned on his left foot, parrying the charging stab with a quick swipe of the flat of his blade. With the swords off to the side from the parry, he took a step forward and kneed the student in the stomach, watching him keel over and back off a bit.
"Anyone with a head can teach this class, you mean?" Kayiri asked, his sword returning to an idle stance. Pashcal flushed red, charging again, this time with a slash to Kayiri's chest. Kayiri brought up his wooden weapon, parrying with a vertical sweep, is flat meeting his edge.
"Learn, child. It will help you," Kayiri said, knocking his blade aside, stabbing the wooden weapon at his chest, connecting with a satisfying resistance on the edge of the blade. Pashcal's eyes became filled with rage, almost brimming over the edge. Kayiri became wary, feeling that this student was probably one of his least stable. He had, from the very beginning, doubted putting a weapon in this student's hands, but it was what he was paid for, and it was what he had to do.
"I've had enough of your bullshit!" Pashcal screamed, tossing the wooden weapon aside. He dashed across the room, picking up his spear from where it lay on a bench. Kayiri shook his head, dropping the wooden sword and drawing his own weapon.
"This is a reckless movement, child! You only endanger yourself and everyone around you! Don't make me show you your place, runt!" Kayiri cried, taking up a defensive stance. He wouldn't mortally wound the teen, he had decided on that, but by the Gods, he would put this... this *boy* back in his place! Pashcal advanced, thrusting the spear forward, the head coming towards Kayiri's gut. It was met by the flat of his blade, flying to the right.
Kayiri back off a bit, knowing that he couldn't advance too much after one parry, lest he draw back and hit him before he could readjust. The rest of the students were well away from the combat, a few looking worried at this turn of events. Kayiri, however, kept a calm expression on his face, watching his opponent's torso for movement.
There, a movement at his hips. He was advancing quickly, and when he closed, gave another jab, this one aimed higher, at his upper chest. Kayiri dodged to the left, only to find his face right in the path of a well timed shaft-smack. Spittle flew from Kayiri's mouth as if it was one of those badass punching scenes from a movie, spraying over the ground. He quickly recovered though, delivering a swift, left-handed punch to his opponent's gut, watching him cough as his air left his chest.
Once more, Kayiri backed off, watching his foe. He was obviously skilled with this spear, much more skilled than he had expected. Closing in to take it from him would prove difficult indeed...