Closed Practice Makes... Something

[Khida]

Winter 44, 516 AV
midday

Syna gleamed at the height of her arc across the winter sky, a stiff hot breeze whispering through the grasses. The wind seemed to do little to cool things down; most all the effect it had was to cast grit and chaff into unwary eyes. Khida had returned from hunting that morning with only a small prairie chicken to show for her efforts -- but even that was something, at least. She'd spent a bell or two assisting their wife afterwards, slowly stirring milk as it heated and curdled, the stuff separating into nearly colorless whey and soft white clumps of cheese. What the vinegar did to make milk turn into two distinct things like that, the Kelvic had no idea; it was certainly curious to watch.

They had taken lunch together, and then Khida rode back out from the Dawnwhisper camp, what seemed like altogether too much gear attached to her horse. Her first intention had been to take the bow out for practice -- she still needed practice -- but the spear had settled into her hand quite readily as she'd been sorting, and that was... well, she had even less ability with it than the bow. So it was that she directed Sephra past the tents of Amethyst and Sapphire, in amongst the Diamond Clan's branch of the city, those who were most known for their skill with weapons. There were certainly plenty of the white-adorned Drykas out practicing at one weapon or another, particularly at the large Warstorm Pavilion near the core of the Diamond spoke.

Choosing a place nearby, where she could observe without intruding overtly, Khida took the time to remove her Strider's tack and let the horse free to graze; she expected to spend at least a bell, and Sephra didn't need to be standing around in full gear all that time. The yvas blanket she folded, draping it over the yvas and its associated bags; bow and quiver rested across them, while the spear found its way back to her hand.

The Kelvic spent a few chimes watching the Diamond Clansmen at their practice -- some were even using spears none too unlike hers -- but quickly realized they were simply too fluent in their weapons to teach her anything by simple observation. She could see their stances at the very beginning, when opponents first took their places, and an indication of how they held their weapons, but little else.

Still, that gave her something to start with. She'd taken up one of the hunter's javelins only once, and that in the heat of battle, with no thought to ability; the spear she carried now was slightly shorter, but heavier, and meant for much more than just being thrown.

Looking down at the flattened grass beneath her, Khida set her feet apart, the left leading and the right behind. The leading foot faced forward, while the rear had to be pointed out; shifting her weight back, she could feel a solidity in that rear foot's brace against the earth. That seemed like a good thing. She adjusted her grip on the spear to reflect her feet, left at the center of the pole and right lower down, gripping the shaft on opposite sides. Bringing the point down, she aimed it at her opponent -- one that didn't move, didn't riposte, and didn't actually exist. It proved rather surprisingly hard to align the spear with her imaginary target; the extra length in front wasn't anything she was used to accounting for.

Once the thing was pointed as she desired, Khida attempted to put it to use, trying to figure out what actions made sense in the relationship of her hands to the weapon. A thrust forward seemed to take its power from the rear arm; by contrast, a slash needed a looser grip at the rear to have any range of motion whatsoever. Certain actions -- particularly slashes -- encouraged more than just her arms and torso to move; she continued to experiment, letting her feet shift with the motions. A step forward here, sideways there...

Inevitably, that experimentation had consequences of the unbalancing kind; it ended with Khida on her rear, blinking up at the sky, jarring echoes slowly fading from her empty hands. She couldn't even pick out which step or slash or thrust had been the one that toppled her; it felt more like many things all together, like she'd done something systematically wrong.

There was only one thing for it, of course. Breathing out a sigh, Khida picked herself and her spear back up and set about instigating round number two.

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

The day, it seemed, was one for weapons.

The trapping, skinning and cooking of the morning was done (to be planned for again come the late afternoon), and Konrad had turned his attentions to the steel adorning him. He sharpened them every day, from the sneaky punch-blade hidden in his belt (that, he did in the tent) to the long, curved kopis he so preferred. Stone scraped over steel and after a few motions, it seemed to sing to him. Not just a grate of one element over another, but the audible sound of something dangerous becoming deadly.

He held the sword out straight, squinting down the edge... and smiled. His shoulder barely ached anymore. His stomach growled, but in renewed hunger, not the after-effects of a knife shoved into it. His leg still have him gyp but, well, considering how bad it could have gone...

"Oi?!" He barked out, and one of the Pridesun Drykas turned in surprise, just in time to see Konrad drag himself upright and sheath his sword. "Where'd you lot practice wi' yer steel, again?"

Which brought him neatly to-

Thump

Ouch.

Konrad's sneer looked more malicious than it really was: having a face that looked like a Deerstalker's last kill on one side would do that. A raspy little chuckle made his shoulders bobbed and Syna warmed them under the cotton of his shirt. No long, black coat for him that day; it was too warm out for such an extra, heavy layer. Besides, Konrad was growing used to what he was privately calling the "Drykas way" of dressing.

Namely, go for the necessaries, and not much else.

The woman picking herself up from the grass outside the Warstorm Pavilion was a great example. Just enough to cover her dignity, but not in the way of a whore or some exotic mummer. There was a woman dressed for function, efficiency and... fludiity. Konrad had seen as much, glimpsing her as he approached, hacking and thrusting at the empty air with a spear that was short enough to be used for both.

It was her slashing that caught Konrad's eye. Most folk he'd seen carry those things - rare and few, given the choking confines of Sunberth, where most brawls were settled with daggers and short swords, or a crossbow bolt from the shadows - were thrusters. Stabbers. Going for the simple, direct approach... which is what spears were made for, after all.

But this woman? Konrad had cocked his head as he watched her, pace slowing until it stopped... and he observed her with some slight approval, under the wide brim of his black hat. That he was definitely keeping on.

Knows how to use the head of it, he thought, one hand on his hip, the other drumming idly on the hilt of his sword. Slice someone up a treat with that thing, if you've got the training. Bugger, she hasn't quite got-

Khida thudded down into the grass, tripping over her feet and Konrad couldn't help but smile. So what if his humor was broad? Many would stake good money that Konrad Venger didn't even have one. Then the idea came to him. Mayhap gripping his own weapon gave it to him, or the potential he saw in a woman unafraid to embarrass herself, if it taught her a lesson.

His eyes flicked to her possessions, set off to one side... including a shortbow.

That clinched it.

"Yer feet! Gettin' ahead a' yer feet! "

He spoke as he approached, doing his best to use his "not-working voice". He could growl and snarl and put the Fear of Petch into folk fine enough, but that... well, it wouldn't do him much good in Endrykas.

Not that it mattered much. Most people took one look at the gargoyle in a hat approaching them and made their decisions right there and then. He'd heard about another Drykad who might have looked worse than him, but oddly enough, had yet to meet him.

All right, focus, damnit.

"Y'gotta start small, y'know?" His voice was a sliding, scraping Sunberth brogue, roughened by years of drink and various burning herbs. He pointed at the spear in Khida's hands. "Work out yer range, how the spear moves ya... then move wit' it."

He paused, letting the woman take him in, for what it was worth. Six-and-a-half-feet tall, broad-shouldered but somehow still rangy as a hungry wolf, Konrad did not reek of anything Drykas, he was sure of it. He pushed back his hat a touch, letting her see all of his face. Better to get that out of the way, too.

"Tell ye what," he said, in the classic tones of a man after something, hiding his want as a favor. "Better if ye have a partner, aye?"

With one, fluid flurry of steel and sinew, he pulled his kopis. Three feet long, head fatter than the base, inverted like a giant kukri, it was hardly a subtle weapon. Something that was designed to cleave and rend.

Konrad would wait, but Khida's silence of consideration would eventually make him roll his green eyes and drawl out, "Ah, c'mon, girl. Ain' gun' hurt'cha. Ain't bein' paid, am I?"

[Khida]

A voice rang out, unfamiliar and unfortunately close. Khida's thoughts stuttered over the Common words, unexpected diction here in the midst of the Drykas city; and again over the accent they were spoken with, sounds dropped where her ears expected clear syllables and others made oddly sharp. By the time she had finished the mental gymnastics required to decipher those two phrases, the speaker had already drawn near, his manner without any question focused and intent upon her.

She straightened from her practicing stance, facing him squarely and drawing herself up to her full height, a height that remained considerably less than his. It was all she had, though, without wings to mantle at this presumptuous stranger. Grounding the butt of her spear at her side, Khida regarded the man steadily in return, cautious of his unfamiliarity but seeming unembarrassed by the mishap he'd manifestly witnessed.

The man reminded her of nothing so much as a coyote -- rangy, scruffy, sharp-eyed. Her gaze flicked off the scar and the hat, the blade he carried, the set of his shoulders and where his approaching steps at last halted. Khida considered his expression the least important part, particularly twisted as it was by whatever old injury had left that mark; it made the lines of his face difficult to read. His posture communicated much more, more clearly, and that posture... didn't seem overtly threatening. Not even when he drew his strangely angled blade.

She'd seen something similar before, passing realization not exactly relevant just now.

That aside, there was something in his tone she didn't... quite... like. Not that Khida could have named that something, in any language. Or perhaps it was that instant association of man with coyote, which were among the most likely creatures in the Sea to rob her traps; not a positive in her book. For whatever reason, she hesitated to respond, a delay which apparently pricked the man to irritation. That at least had the side effect of coalescing her decision --

She needed all the practice she could get.

Yes, Khida signed, before thought caught up with reflex. "Yes. I will practice with you." Her diction in Common was crisp and smooth, the syllables touched lightly by Pavi influence yet not weighted as those of native Drykas. At base her accent was just as much not from around here as the man's brogue... albeit from a completely different direction.

Her gaze alighted again on his blade, sharp metal glinting in the unblinking glare of the sun. Query came from the hand not supporting the spear, ingrained habit surfacing again. "What kind of sword is that?" Khida clarified aloud, curiosity practical and to the point. Where he came from, what he wanted, the story of the scar he bore, even his name -- she'd find out those things if and when they proved necessary, but the topic of the moment as the Kelvic saw it did not include them. She didn't ask.

Instead, she reset her feet with deliberation, thinking through a checklist of posture elements as only a novice would do. Feet, thus. Hands, thus. Spear, like so. Shoulders straight, back. Ready.

Or not ready at all.

Getting ahead of your feet, he had said. "I moved too much, before." Less a question than an expression of understanding, or at least acknowledgment. But ultimately, it wasn't something she could just think through; she didn't try to chase that thought any further. Understanding movement meant moving -- on which this man, from his words, seemed to be of the same mind.

"Show me what I should do instead."

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

True to Khida's perception of him, Konrad cocked his head a little to the side like a curious dog as he absorbed her accent... or her lack of it, in fact. It wasn't Common as a Drykas would speak it, caressed by Pavi on its way past the lips. Not Sunberth, either, with all the grinding latent aggression that language seemed to inject into words. It was... clipped. Chopped up like choice steaks. Proper, Konrad thought, and frowned at the idea.

Next to what?

Still, that was a mystery that could wait: for the moment she was gesturing his sword and Konrad felt a swell of fondness work its way from his hand to his face, tugging up one corner of his mouth. He turned the blade this way and that, letting the light catch it as he spoke.

"S'called a 'kopis'. Ever see a kukri? Kinda like that, but bigger. Much bigger. See the big head there? Means it's better fer-" He swung the blade diagonally from right to left, as iof laying open a torso from shoulder to hip. "-slashin', like this, y'see? Cuz it's heavier. Lot more force behind it..."

He'd long-since exhausted any awkwardness in not knowing the scholarly terms for such an effect; physics was hardly an eager subject of the average Sunberth ganger. But Konrad knew what worked, especially when he relied on it to live, and that last thought alone drew a chuckle like a wet growl from his throat.

"Been wiv' me fer a long time, this'n..."

"Show me what I should do instead."

The last time Konrad had heard such words, he'd been facing a slender, blue-blooded nob from Ravok, and it was a gladius Valerius had held, not a spear. That had been a good morning, once he'd washed the hangover out of his head with icy water from a horse trough. Of course, he'd been paid for that session, whereas this time...

Konrad's eyes flickered to the bow, and he promised himself he wouldn't leaving without at least some practice with this, most alien of the weapons he counted as his own. But first?

"A'right," he said, settling into a similar stance, right foot on his rear, left leading a touch. "No time like the now-"

He swung out in mid-sentence, but at half his usual speed. No need to hurt the girl, after all... and not yet, anyway. That would come when the lesson was properly underway. He swung his kopis backhanded at Khida, as if it would carve open her stomach.

But even as metal whistled through the air and a grunt forced its way out of Konrad's mouth, his mind whirred and thought. Two outcomes he saw, for the moment.

Either the woman would backpedal, sway away from his blow, letting it swing through empty air... and he would nod his approval. "Good!" He'd say, repeating his strike until he'd swung up, in front and enough for the sword to be far at his side. "See? Step away, let them miss, and they open up their guts for that spear a' yours."

Or perhaps should would meet his metal. But with what? Likely it would be the wood of the spear shaft that would block him, and at that Konrad would shake his head lightly, both weapons frozen against each other after their sudden clang of contact. "Careful," he'd say, voice lower, warning, scraping the fat head of the kopis down wood until he tapped the metal of the spear. "If yer onna block, use this... not the wood. Do that too much, some sod'll cut yer spear in half, y'ken?"

Regardless of which outcome, Konrad would then break contact, step back, and gesture lightly for her to come at him, this time. His kopis shook and swung in his hand, just twice, a whoosh-whoosh of metal next to him that cast the barest of breezes on his cheek... and Venger would smile. It had been too long.

She might surprise you, he thought as he swung. Just two ways to handle this? Come on, man... plenty you don't know... plenty more she might come at you with.

[Khida]

The man named his blade -- kopis, cousin to kukri, whatever that was -- and demonstrated its use. Its whistle through the air sounded as heavy as it looked, sharp and weighted and far more dangerous than any set of claws Khida had ever encountered.

Why was she standing on the field across from this thing, again?

The man's gaze flicked aside before he addressed her challenge, but the Kelvic didn't move hers to follow it; she didn't look away from the stranger whatsoever. He shifted his stance in a way that even she could recognize as ready to move; her attention sharpened, weight forward to the balls of her feet, skin prickling with sudden anticipation. His words flowed past her ears, sound without substance; she didn't care what was said, only what was done --

And what he did was move.

Light glittered, bright and keen, from the swing of his blade. Slow though its motion was in the scheme of things, instinct summed together coyote-faced stranger and attack into the implacable result fly!; all intentions overriden by visceral urgency, the Kelvic jumped back from the kopis, putting herself anywhere but where its edge split the air. Her shoulders rose, spear held in both hands but not precisely at the ready; it was all she could do to smother the primal desire to remove herself entirely from the field, holding on to human skin with its frailties and human feet so unfortunately bound to the earth.

The coyote-man spoke with a tone of approval, holding back from her position and repeating the swing. Khida struggled to refocus her attention on the words which followed; fortunately, she could play back the Common words, however odd their accent, and take their meaning after the fact. Pavi, she would likely have gone without understanding altogether. A miss meant an opening for a strike. That made sense, when said miss didn't involve flying past the target at speed.

She nodded, looking intently at where the man's arm had ended up, the stretch of gut left exposed by its rise. Khida spent a moment replaying the event in her head, taking a high grip on her spear and miming a potential response to the swing: a slash downwards through that opening. "But not a slash, if I move back so far." A step, not a leap; what she'd actually done left him where the spear's swung blade did not reach. But... Khida brought the spearpoint into position, moved through a thrust instead. That felt odd -- she was rapidly coming to prefer slashes, similar as they were to the falcon's strafing attacks -- but it fit their positions better; she would have been able to counter with a thrust.

Her eyes widened slightly as the significance of the spear's length truly hit home -- with it, she might hit across a range where a swordsman might not. It wasn't new knowledge, but experiencing the fact in action gave it a wholly different weight.

The man gestured for her to take the offense instead, accompanied by an edged smile. Pleased, but it conveyed a shadowed joy, one that spoke to the hunting falcon rather than the woman who stood guard over her family. Instinct prickled again; Khida willfully tamped it down, steeling herself to do what she had set out to accomplish -- to stand firm on the earth and fight in a way the falcon could not. When the Zith came again, or monsters from the wood, or whatever else the Sea spat forth to endanger them, she needed to do more, to be more.

She would.

Khida set herself to be ready, feeling the earth beneath her feet, the wooden shaft in her hands, the energy in her joints. She stepped forward, swung low, spearblade reaching not towards the man's center of mass but for his legs; not an attempt for a killing blow, but a disabling one, if the keen tip were to meet flesh. Obedient to the man's earlier instruction, Khida let the motion carry her through an angled step, taking her somewhat forward and a pace to the side -- and then followed by stepping away, a move that would cede ground to her opponent and his blade, regardless of whether he blocked or dodged, or how he followed up after.

Truth be told, his weapon remained a strong presence in her awareness, looming larger even than her own intent; it would hardly take any pressure at all for the man to keep Khida on the retreat, dodging rather than striking or even blocking. She had a long ways yet to go to tame those cautious instincts.

oocWound up making this pretty introspective here! Let me know if you need more action details or anything.

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

The spear swung, the woman moved quick as a bird along the ground and Konrad thought of Shy Henri. A lithe little sod who liked his thin blades, he got that name after the first couple of years brawling in the streets. Though "brawling" was the wrong word for it. Not for Henri the shuddering crash of steel on steel, flesh on flesh. No, he was a clever bastard, always dancing away from the fight, an expert in not being there when the blade or bludgeon came down, but always managing to get a slice or two in with his own.

After a few chimes, his bigger, beefier enemies were panting and cut to ribbons, finished off like bulls ready to be butchered... and Henri was barely breathing hard.

Not that it lasted, though, Konrad remembered as his own body moved, almost independent of his reflecting mind. Don't count for much when some cunny puts a crossbow bolt in your back.

"Good," he grunted as the spear swept low, looking to carve into his shins and take his legs from under him. He couldn't keep the glow of mirth from his voice, excitement at the unexpected spiking his nerves. "Dun' do what they expect. People see a spear, they think yer gonna stab 'em wiv' it. So your slash. You cut. Y'use the shaft and batter 'em. Keep 'em movin'-"

His kopis swung down to meet the head of the spear going for his shins, at the same time as he stepped back, following his own advice and putting distance between them even as metal clanged on metal and he parried-

But not for long.

Khida had barely settled into her second, backward step when Konrad surged towards her. He hacked at her with his kopis, seeking a parry from her own weapon or perhaps more movement away, but either result wouldn't effect his own actions.

Closing the gap. Getting close, close enough to smell sweat and blood and leather and fear-

-close enough that by the time Khida had made her choice, Konrad would have struck out with his left boot, slamming his heel towards her right thigh. Again, he would be... restrained, considering the nature of their bout. What could have broken or benumbed that bone would instead just hurt like a bastard; leave her hobbling for a few ticks, but with a lesson learned, instead of her limb robbed from her or a fracture within it.

He leveled his kopis at her, like a butcher over a wounded calf, and spoke.

"Dun' expect yer enemy t'fight fair," Konrad would say, whether she avoided the blow or not. There would be some sick, Sunberth pride in his voice, too. The amoral enjoyment that for all the martial prowess of Sylirans, the impossible archery of Drykas, and the bone-deep brutality of Myrians, Sunberth had something on them all: they didn't give a petch what they had to do to win. "Cuz he won't, believe me. Now come 'ead an' try'n do the same t'me."

He braced himself and shifted the kopis in his hand from pointing, to on guard, awaiting her response. His blood pumped faster now. His mind whirred but was oddly empty, as if it held its breath, tense and expectant as his body. His flesh was imbued now with memories, a hundred brawls and skirmishes and alley fights that trained his muscles to violence as well as the most brutal instructor.

"When yer ready..."

[Khida]

oocSorry for the delay!

Her opponent spoke as her spearpoint jarred against his blade, vibrations rattling none-too-pleasantly up Khida's arm. She listened with half an ear, filing his remarks away for later perusal; the greater part of her attention remained riveted to the sharp glitter of steel, the less-than-verbal language of motion and intention.

She stepped back, once, twice; he surged forward, preventing any opening of the distance between them. Metal flashed; the Kelvic slipped aside, leaving only absence in the path of his weapon. She surrended another pace, and another, but he wasn't having any of that; somehow her retreat only brought Khida right back into the man's path, not at all where she'd intended to be.

His weight shifted, his foot rose; she saw the kick coming, but instinct, reflex, and memory alike all yielded no recourse. Or every recourse -- duck, dodge, leap, fly -- all at the same moment, simultaneous demands which were simply impossible for one soul to fulfill. Khida was as good as frozen in the beat that his boot came down.

She hissed under the strike, stumbling back a pace; her thigh throbbed with flesh's outrage, but a somewhat diffident test proved the limb could still bear her weight. It would bear a spectacular bruise tomorrow, but wasn't broken.

It hurt to stand squarely, but stand Khida did, focusing on her opponent to better keep her mind from the pain. He leveled his blade at her, to which the woman unthinkingly raised her own chin; she wasn't down yet. This time, when the man spoke, his words commanded her full attention -- not least because he delivered them unmoving.

Fight fair was not actually a phrase in Khida's lexicon; she had no such expectation. A dip of her chin signaled agreement, and resolve; initiative returned to her, and she took a breath to consider what to do with it.

Do the same.

Don't fight fair.

Half an idea glimmered in the Kelvic's thoughts, nascent plan born from those concepts and the things she'd already tried. Letting the idea express itself through action, she stepped forward, once, twice; aligned the speartip on his gut and shoved forward in time with her second pace, adding her own momentum to that of the thrust. She expected the man to block, a downward sweep of his blade which would knock her weapon down in turn. Let that motion turn her slightly, reverse her grip, bring the butt of the spear up and around to crack on his upper arm --

Not the same as he'd done, but an extension of the principle. Imitation, after all, would have been expected, fair.

-- if he didn't parry the second swing as well. Or dodge. Not to mention the fact that Khida had no plan for after, for whatever riposte the man might employ in answer. If he did counter, it would be met with a frantic retreat at best and abject failure to parry at worst. She simply lacked the experience to project so far ahead... or adapt quickly to a plan gone south.

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

One she came, and Konrad's lips spread in a feral grin of approval. Affection was something he did nit often feel, but respect for a worthy enemy... he knew that sensation. Butchering the incompetent and helpless, well, it was a dirty business, profitable though it was, but testing his skill against one who could break a sweat out on his skin? Get his heart pumping faster?

That was a joy. That was where a man was truly alive: dancing on the cusp of Dira's embrace.

Konrad slid back a step as the spear came for his belly, kopis sweeping down vertically in a half-circle to knocking the spear away-

Eyes on, eyes on-

-only for his eyes to widen in surprise as the other end of the shaft came sweeping around towards his arm. The woman was learning, and quickly.

Time speed and slowed at once in the midst of a brawl. Every blow, every strike and riposte, they all seemed stretched out to the mind's eyes, but there was less time to calculate as well. Just time for your muscles to react, rely on your training. Konrad's head went through the calculations in the time it took the butt-end of that spear to swing around to him, and he concluded-

Brace yerself, lad.

The big man snarled as the solid wood smacked hard into his bicep, shards of pain shuddering up and down his limb. Thank the gods it wasn't his weapon hand. Khida was already backing away, but there was a point to Konrad taking the blow, absorbing it, sacrificing one blow-

-to birth another-

-bursting forward from his right side even as the blow landed and Khida began to withdraw, kopis held in front of his body in his parry now exploding forward in a punch-

-aiming to crash his knuckles into Khida's chest even as she withdrew, wrapped around the handle of his sword. If she managed to avoid that, to stay upright into the bargain, Konrad would keep his momentum going, left arm still tingling and yowling with pain as he spun to his right-

-left leg swinging out at shin level, seeking to sweep her legs out from under her and put her in the dirt. Or she might avoid them both, retreating fast enough and putting enough distance between them to save her flesh.

Which would be fine, too. The game whirled on, after all.

"Make yer blows count," he'd say afterwards, either looking her in the eye as she stood, or flat on her back. He was breathing a little heavier but there was no mistaking that sharp, juddering enjoyment in his eyes. "Dun' think yer enemy can't take what yer gonna give 'im. An' likewise? Learn t'take his, an' then some."

There'd be no helping hand, getting her to her feet. This was practice, yes, a facsimile, but reality would not be so kind. Instead he would step back and await for her to either get to her feet or start his way again.

[Khida]

Her strike hit home with a resoundingly satisfying thwack, its reverberations echoing up the spear shaft into her hands. She moved back, seeking distance and the opportunity to try again --

-- only to have that distance denied, and decisively so.

For all her attention to her opponent, her awareness of detail, just what the man did in the moment after her strike escaped Khida's comprehension entirely. He moved, sudden darkness filling the space before her, sudden agony smashing into the right part of her chest. She stumbled back, gasping, head drooping, both hands clinging desperately to her spear for support --

-- a support summarily swept aside as the man's leg knocked her feet out from beneath her.

Khida landed heavily on her rear, each struggling breath whistling hollowly past the edges of her teeth, gasps too thin to support any more defined sound. She had never -- never -- been so summarily dispatched, become so intimately acquainted with the dust of the defeated earth. Not as falcon, where mobility was the true name of the game, all rakes and dives and swift wheeling through the air. Not by hunting beasts of any kind, bursting forth in a few chimes of frantic action which was as apt to dissipate in a parting of ways as not. Such fleeting contests were ingrained in the Kelvic's blood and bone, woven into reflex and instinct -- and while they were brutal in their own ways, it was becoming abundantly clear they belonged to some other world than the battlefield she now stood upon.

The coyote-man spoke again, words as bald and blunt as his blows. For all that her body remained sprawled on the ground, her breath choppy, her spear fallen by the wayside -- for all that he held the position of strength and she that of weakness, the Kelvic met his gaze squarely, listening to the words he spoke and the chords they struck within her own soul.

Make attacks matter. Stand until the enemy does not.

Stand. It wasn't until her breathing had started to even back out that Khida felt capable of standing, no matter what resolve might lie within. Whether a matter of ticks or chimes, she knew not; she felt a little dazed, a little fuzzy in some undefinable way, and time seemed to both float by and stretch out all at the same time. At last she rolled to her side, right hand pressing to her chest where another mark had surely been set into her flesh. Limbs and digits all worked well enough; clambering up to her knees, Khida leaned over to snag her spear and used it to lever herself the rest of the way up until she was once again facing the coyote-man across a nonexistent ring.

Half her body seemed to ache now, loudly protesting the unaccustomed battering it had received. Khida set her will against those internal complaints, honing it on what had become the watchword for her resolve: stand. Stand she did, without the deliberate care of rounds prior, letting her feet and posture and grip establish themselves sans critical attention. She didn't think about how to attack, didn't take overt inspiration from lessons received -- didn't have mental space to do so, with physical complaints filling half her mind and the rest focused on her opponent.

No, the woman simply stepped forward to engage him, powering through the twinges of her bruised thigh. Closing, she thrust the speartip in the direction of his face, seeking a reflexive flinch the falcon often exploited. This time, she brought the shaft back to an angle across her body where it might be used to block... whatever the man did in response. For all the determination Khida had gathered to herself, though, it papered over a novice's fundamental fragility; lack of experience and flagging endurance made hers a less than solid guard, an obstacle which might be simply struck aside, an opportunity to be exploited in turn. Though she intended to follow through with a second attack, a slash aimed at the man's weapon-bearing forearm, such would be realized only by grace of her opponent --

-- and grace had precious little place in this arena.

Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi

[Konrad Venger]

She ached. She hurt. She twitched and winced and groaned and staggered before his eyes, but she neither shirked nor begged. Her legs were so bruised that she was using her weapon as a crutch, hauling herself upright over long ticks, but she did not flee nor stay on the ground.

She rose. She rose, and she came at him again.

Konrad smiled.

Good girl. We get some real, honest hate in your heart, and we'll make something out of you next.

Whatever damage he'd done to her legs, he arms were working just fine, and Konrad finally realized what an advantage the halfspear gave her. Konrad's head snapped back as the spear lunged for his face, bring his kopis up in a sweep before him to knock it away-

-only for it to swing through empty air as she already withdrew the weapon, and he backhanded at her torso-

-blocked, shaft of the spear already crossed in front of her chest to stop the blow, making him-

-grin.

"Good!" He rasped, words sweaty and urgent as the air between them. "Think ahead! Try t'see the move he'll make next-"

She was already moving. Konrad growled and any would think he was annoyed at the interruption; he was not. He was annoyed at this girl taking his own damn advice while he was still giving it. Still, he had to admit-

She learns fast.

The spear slashed for his right bicep and Konrad's body twisted back, kopis coming up vertically-

-to block the metal spear tip with a clang-

What would she do next? He'd have but a frozen half-tick to decide, and his body was already moving where he thought her likely to go.

With the slash stopped, Konrad left arm would snap out and grab the middle of the spear shaft, before she could use the angle and position to bring the butt of it around in a swinging blow against him again. Then, well, it was simple physics. He was larger, stronger, taller-

-he'd yank her closer and-

A knee in the stomach. In the crotch. His forehead crashing down into the middle of her face. His fist, holding the hilt of his kopis, whooshing in like the Wrath of Zulrav and sending a right hook smashing into her jaw.

No. None of these.

No fun to be had in ending this quickly. Doesn't teach her much, either.

"Not bad," he snarled, her body pulled almost flushed against his, spear caught between their torsos, his kopis still held out to the side. "Do better-"

Then he'd push her away, hard enough to make her stagger, even knock her over, but probably not. He would wait while she righted herself, flexing his toes in his boots, his shoulders shining with sweat, his head from side to side, and made a little "come hither" gesture with the fingers of his free hand.

"Come!"