PM to join Pissing off a mountain (Aer'wyn)

[Bronwen]

3rd Day
Summer 518
Midday

Bron pivoted on her left heel, thrusting the right side of her staff forward, stopping part way, before halting the momentum to thrust the left side around and upward. The Syliran followed this up by stepping back, moving the position of her hands to one end of the staff, and swinging it low from right to left, a move that would take anyone's feet out from beneath them.

After repeating the movements several more times, Bron found a seat on a suspicious looking chair, and sat, drinking from her water skin. The tall brunette had found herself a quiet alley in which to train. Otherwise, she would draw the unwanted attention of those just drunk enough to challenge her skill and she was in no mood to fight.

After another, longer, pull from the skin, Bron stood, spreading her hands apart on the staff, holding it level before her, knees slightly bent, right foot slightly forward. In rapid succession, she punched out the ends of the staff - right, left, right, upward. Left, right, left, downward. She repeated this sequence twice more, and on the last upward punch, she turned her body and slammed the lower half of the quarterstaff into her imaginary opponent's left knee, used her own momentum, and the already raised left side, to crack her invisible foe over the right side of his head, laying him low.

Stepping back, Browen closed her eyes, feeling the quarterstaff spinning in her hands. The pole swooped down one side of her tall frame, and up the other, then spun like a fan in front. Bron turned in a complete circle, swiping at invisible legs, paused, staff rotating to turn the opposite way, then gasped, as her momentum came up short with a hard hit that radiated up the staff all the way to her shoulder.

Bron's grey eyes opened slowly, settling on her staff resting against someone's belly. Moving only her eyes, she trailed the figure upward, stepping back little by little, as her gaze went higher and higher. Finally, her eyes met with the giant's very blue face. Bron swallowed hard, raising her staff slow, defensively, eyes going wide.

"Oh dear Sylir," she breathed, "what kind of petching monster are you"

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

Vel was enjoying the new found freedom for sure. So long did he spend cooped up in the dark, boring corners of Aer’wyn’s mind that sincerely just being able to smell the shit on Sunberth streets was enough to bring a smile to the Akalak’s face. No, it didn’t take much.

A mid day stroll, or what would at least be considered a stroll in this god forsaken city, which was little more than getting from point A to point B as quickly as possible and hope to not run into any trouble. It weaved the Akalak though the city streets, between disheveled and crooked buildings, like a needle though burlap sack. Boots plastered by dust. The stench of misery around him as far as the eye could see. And out of trouble is precisely where Vel wanted to stay but as he turned an unfamiliar corner, trouble is precisely what found him.

And trouble was a pretty one. Tall and athletic and not a curve out of place. Her hair of bronze gently staid in the wind. Eyes looked up at him. Golden hands clenched around a staff pressed against his abdomen. The Akalak’s eyes met the woman’s and regarded her coldly for a moment that seemed to last an eternity. Lips didn’t part to answer her question.

A quick curl of the Akalak’s lip marked the very end of that long moment before the massive blue body sprung into a fury of action. His single hand grasped the end of her step and in one fluid motion he ripped it backwards, simultaneously lifting his boot to make contact with the bottom of her ribcage. Not too low as to not hurt the soft, squishy guts of the mortal, but not too high so to not knock all of the wind out of her. Just enough to kick the woman backwards. Just enough so that she’d feel it. If she held onto her staff, he’d let the weapon go flying with her. If he managed to rip it from her hands he’d toss it after her, seemingly with no intention to let her get away without a fight.

Vel took a step back. A mighty hand reached to grasp the hilt of his massive bastard sword and pull the steel from the scabbard with a bloodcurdling shiiiiing. His feet widened, a base of stability beneath the Akalak’s offensive stance. The tip of the sword pointed right at the woman.

“Monster, eh?” Words slipped from his tongue. That smile still lingered. He looked as if he was teasing her. Massive eyes glistening with bloodlust.

The Akalak stood at a massive 7ft and clad in leather studded armour head to toe. Facial features exquisitely handsome in blue hues, but seeming as if they belonged to someone gentler, someone more innocent than Vel who stood before her. A black cloak was draped around his shoulders, pulled back, revealing his left arm - or at least what was left of it. For instead of the usual five digit appendage that most races thought Mizahar shared, the limb ended just below the elbow with a long since healed scar. Something that looked like the product of cauterisation to knowledgable eyes.

Even still, without the use of his second hand, the monster man wielded the massive slab of steel with enough fitness of an Akalak warrior. A sword long enough to be unusable by most without both hands on the hilt, he gripped in one. That alone was enough to strike fear into some folks in Sunberth who would otherwise like to get a piece of him.

“Lets see what cuts deeper, words… or steel.”

Credit for template goes to Luminescence

[Bronwen]

Bron gaped at the monstrosity standing before her. Never in her life had she ever seen such a large being. Even her father, a 6 foot 6 inch brawney warrior paled in comparison.

Even as the thing advanced on her, Bron couldn't move. A massive hand reached for her staff as an equally massive foot lodged itself in her middle, shoving her backward. The girl remained on her feet, but her staff remained with the blue mountain. With a swift, flick of the wrist, the thing flung her staff back toward her and she caught it, immediately positioning it for battle, brow's shooting skyward as it spoke, a huge sword swinging around, pointing straight at her.

Shyke, I offended it..

At that moment all shock and surprise at seeing such a being in the streets of Sunberth melted away. Tightening the grip on her staff, Bron fixed her eyes on the things shoulders, watching for any hint of its next move, but Bron needed the first attack to gain leverage. If she could get the thing on the defensive, she might actually live, or, at least, live long enough to die from her injuries, later.

With the swiftness of a practiced fighter, Bron punched the right side of her staff toward the giants head. It was a feint. She stopped her momentum, reversed it, and turned full circle, using the movement to gain strength as the staff flew toward the sword. Bron heard the distinct thud as the thick wood of her staff slammed against the side of the bastard sword. Not stopping to see what she accomplished, Bron found herself defending against the same sword.

If the blade made a direct hit, Bron knew the giant was strong enough to cut right through her staff. So, instead of using her staff to stop a slash or jab, the Syliran swatted and batted away any blows that came too close. One, in particular, came very close and it brought Bron in arms reach of the giant. Not knowing what to do in such close proximity, Bron held the staff over her head, protecting herself from a pommel to the skull, and kicked out a long leg, landing a foot in the things middle, hoping to miss a spike.

it didn't even move.

Bron could have been tickling the thing for all the injury the kick had inflicted.

Wood on metal and metal on wood, the clang and thud the fight produced was near deafening. Swinging hard at the things head, Bron scuttled backward, barely managing to stay her footing. Panting, long, strands of hair clinging to her sweat dampened face, Bron circled the giant, hoping that trickling sensation along the side of her head was sweat and not blood.

With a war cry that would have made her warrior father proud, the Syliran lunged at the giant, feet coming off the ground even as the staff came around like a pinwheel, aimed for the side of the mountain's dome.

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

She moved with the swiftness and finest of a feline, whirling and pivoting her staff in defence of the Akalak’s sword. And indeed she was doing quite well. It was clear the two were a match against one another. If anything perhaps she wielded her weapon better than Vel did, but the giant had weight advantage. His attacks were slow but with the kind of power behind them that one wrong move would cut the staff off with the hands.

With blow after blow she got a little closer, a little more where he wanted her. She aimed a kick a Vel’s abdomen that barely even made it though the armour. Did she underestimate him? The Akalak’s brows pulled together in a gesture of confusion. Severe eyes pierced her though.

For a few moments Vel had the woman on the defensive but the battle moved so fast that the upper hand changed from tick to tick. He won’t make the mistake of underestimating her. For in less than a complete moment she managed to turn the tides of the battle and use the brute’s own strength against him. Exploiting an opening left by his last move, the woman aimed right for his head. A loud crack of wood against scull echoed though the street, setting Vel back a few steps.

A dull ache spread though his head. Slowly Vel raised his sword hilt to his temple and wiped it with the back of his hand. What his eyes saw was blood, almost fluorescent in it’s red hue juxtaposed by his dark midnight flesh.

His eyes locked on her and the look on the Akalak’s face made his previous demeanour that of a kitten in comparison. A heavy chest inflated, pushing air out of his nostrils much in the manner of a bull before a charge. Fingers spun his sword around full circle by his side, letting it rest comfortably once more in an offensive stance. He left a moment for the woman to count her prayers. Hopefully she worshiped the right gods.

And then time spun into action once more. Dust kicked up into the air as the Akalak propelled himself forward, using his weight to gain momentum. The bastard sword ready to swing at shoulder height. It was his time to put her on the defensive. To force her to block and dodge the attacks of the butcher. Each one of the pushing her further back against the wall of the building behind her, if he was successful.

Credit for template goes to Luminescence

[Bronwen]

The hard vibration radiating up the staff from the thing's head was satisfying. Bron had made a solid hit. But as her feet planted on the ground once more, she turned, and what was looking back at her nearly made the girl collapsed in fear. The giant studied the blood on his fingers and when his fury filled eyes rose to her, she knew she could not beat him. If there was an opening for a retreat from where she stood in the alleyway, Bron would have ran.

She barely had time to fall back into a fighting stance before the mountain was on her, his sword a glinting, silver blur as it danced in what little sunlight penetrated the passageway. Bronwen quailed under the barrage, her arms desperately twisting and turning to deflect the giant's metallic fury.

But she was no match for his strength.

With a jolt of horror, Bron felt her back press against the wall of the alley. Her father would never forgive her, had he known that she would allow herself to be outmaneuvered and trapped. It would soon be over, but for what? Why was this fight even happening? Bron would have screamed an apology for the insult she had given, begged for forgiveness for the hit to his belly, if only she had breath enough to utter a single word.

She could feel her knees begin to buckle beneath the shear strength of this adversary, her shoulders and back burning as if set alight. There must be a retreat, an escape if she was going to live, but there was none. She let out a scream of frustration as her quarterstaff deflected an arched, downward thrust that would have split her head from ear to ear.

Whatever this blue mountain was, did it ever get tired?

Bron deflected yet another arching blow and, to her horror, heard the sharp, telltale crack. The sound made her hesitate for just a moment, but that's all it took. The massive sword sliced downward, taking off two handspans of wood from one end of her staff, and she cried out as the blade sliced the back of her forearm.

Before the giant could raise his sword again, or, at least, she hoped before because at this point her eyes were screwed shut from pain, the Syliran threw herself sideways to her hands and knees and in a desperate attempt to flee, crawled one-handed, scurried, then half rose to run. Bron would see no lost valor in this retreat.

At all

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

He could almost smell her fear. In a flury of staff against sword and sword against staff, the battle was over in moments, drawn to it's finale by a loud crack that echoed though the alleyway. To her horror, and his, the wood splintered and gave way to her flesh. To seriously injure her, was the very last thing the giant wanted to do - at least not before he could confirm her identity. Was she with one of the gangs? If so, hell could have her. In for however, her face seemed a little to pretty to waste.

As the woman dodged sideways, Vel dropped his sword. Steel chimed against packed dirt, sending ash into the air. A bolt of pursuit, but as she came up from the crawl, a powerful fist clenched around the fabric of the back of her clothing, lifting her to her feet and then to her toes. If she struggled he’d lift her straight off the ground.

“Your name.” He demanded. “Who, the patch, are you?”

He didn’t yell however. There was no need for it. She was close enough too hear. A velvety smooth voice, cold as steel but not angry. Notes of tukanat twisted the words in common, marking him out well and truly as an outlander.

Vel would only finally let go of her once satisfied that she wasn’t going to bolt. Any struggles would be the woman’s own undoing. Clothing obscured her wound and so he gestured towards it. Truly the Akalak wasn’t one to beat around the bush. “Is it bad? Let me see.” He wasn’t a master medic. Far from it but years of training and battling taught him a thing or two about stopping blood flow and dressing wounds well enough to be seen by a medic. He hadn’t intended on hurting her, after all. And so now was the time to undo what he’d done.

Credit for template goes to Luminescence

[Bronwen]

Had someone been close enough to see, they might have laughed -Bron left the ground with her long and lithe body going limp and awkward, like a cat being hauled up by the nape of the neck, her face screwing up like a two-year-old in the middle of a tantrum. Bron was exhausted, somewhat confused, and absent any more fight.

Halfway to a tiptoaed position, Bron's quarterstaff came loose from cramping fingers. She made a weak grab for it, but it fell to the ground beside her feet and the Syliran glared at the weapon in the dirt as if it had personally offended her.

The deep voice that filled her ears was not stentorian, nor was it a harsh one, but it claimed Bronwen's alarmed attention all the same. Long, unruly strands of hair clung to Bron's face, dancing to and from cracked lips with every gasping attempt to fill tired lungs, as the giant pivoted her around to face him. It took a good chime for the girl to snatch enough breath, and nerve, to answer the mountain. "Bron..," she croaked. clearing her throat she licked her lips and tried again, "Bronwen Druva." she replied, chin lifting slightly.

The Syliran had a fleeting hope the name would mean something to the thing, had he any knowledge of the Knight families of Syliras, but if he did, Bron didn't think it showed. After a bit more scrutiny of her intention's the giant, seemingly satisfied that Bron would stay put, released her. Bron's knees promptly buckled and she went down....on a bench...thankfully, trying hard to hide the surprise on her face when she didn't hit the ground.

It wasn't until the blue swordsman inquired about the injury that Bron herself remembered. She gaped at the mountain, somewhat baffled he'd care, before bending her elbow to bring her hand up by her cheek, Bron probed the hot slash running across the bottom of her forearm, grimacing. The blade bit deep at first but slid out more shallow - it would heal without professional help. "It's fine," she said,"just a scratch."

Leaning forward, Bron rested the palm of her hands against the warped and weathered edge of the bench, squinting up at the giant, and, for the first time, got a good look at her foe, and one of Bron's eyebrows did a little involuntary jerk skyward; the thing was actually handsome! For all the blue skin, long dark hair, chiseled features, and those ears, the creature looked like an attractive, giant blue man.

Bron glanced away, color racing to her cheeks.

As her eyes diverted, her gaze fell on the giant's forearm, or, more accurately, the lack of a forearm. Eyes going wide, Bron's grey gaze slid to the fallen sword. Bron had just been bested by a one-armed swordsman...

Eyes returning to the face of her foe, Bron settled a hard gaze on him, brows descending into a frown.

"What...," pausing, she shook her head,"Who are you?"

[Aer'wyn Grisghul]

Even in face of defeat she still held her head high. A mighty woman with a mighty pride and honour to match. Vel respected that. Anyone else would have cowered, shown weakness or begged for mercy but not her. She gave him a name he did not recognise, but committed to memory instantly. A lip curling up in a smile broke though his severe facade.

He sat down on the bench beside Bronwen, moving her sleeve out of the way and holding her hand steady so that he could take a closer look. There was seemingly little regard in him for things like personal space, at least on this occasion. “A scratch eh?” he almost chuckled. “That’s some mighty big cat you’ve been fighting. Come on. Don’t be stupid and at least dress it before it gets infected. You don’t want end up like me, do you?”

From beneath his cloak the Akalak produced a waterskin. Then he asked if she had some bandages on her. If not he’d instruct her in how to make one out of strips of cloth but it wasn’t something he could do for her having a decisive lack of the correct number of arms for such a task. For a moment he felt a pinch of jealousy for Aer’wyn’s ability to manipulate his flesh in such a way that he could fashion himself an extra appendage. It was a skill Vel could utilise but he had more sense than to do so. The Akalak was a man of values held above all. The use of magic, to him, was unforgivable and so quickly the thought was banished from his mind.

“I’m sorry about your staff. In all truth I was expecting you to dodge that strike. I’ve been known to misjudge my own strength sometimes but I’ll make it up to you.” The apology echoed genuine enough. As he spoke, Vel began cleaning her scratch until the water, dripping from her arm, ran clear and any dirt or dust that might have clung to dried blood was swept away with the tide. “You’re really quite impressive, Brown, but you don’t need someone like me telling you that. I’m sure you already know.”

It was then that his eyes caught sight of the heat in her cheeks, pink as the petals of wild roses. Unaware of course of any thoughts going though her head, Vel figured it must have been something he sad.

“You can call me Vel.” He said simply. His voice baring the accent that marked him out so very clearly as an outlander, suggesting common was certainly not his first language. “I’m an Akalak, to answer the ’what’ part of your question. I assume you’ve not found yourself acquainted with many of my kind nor have ever visited the city of Riverfall that is my homeland. Pity. It’s far less of a shithole than this god forsaken town.”

Eyes looked Bron up and down for a tick or two. “Your turn. By the look of you, hmm, you seem human enough but refuse to believe you were born of Sunberth mud. You’ve got far too pretty a face on you.” There was little flirtation in his voice. Vel certainly wasn’t the kind to flirt often but he was a man who spoke his mind bluntly. If a complement or two hid among his thoughts, so be it. She deserve it.

“What will it be, Born? Tell me your story and I’ll tell you mine, if such peaks your interest. Seems a better use of both of our time. Unless of course you’d rather continue beating each other silly out here.”

Credit for template goes to Luminescence

[Bronwen]

It was all Bronwen could do not to slide to the opposite end of the bench when the large bulk of Akalak sat down beside her. When he ceased her arm, she flinched, failing at her brief victory of resolution, but allowed her wound to be scrutinized, nonetheless, and the large stranger's gentle touch surprised her, making her squirm slightly; such gentleness wasn't something Bronwen Druva, daughter of a Knight Commander, was accustomed to. The girls already reddened cheeks darkened.

"So you're a cat now are you?" she chuckled, carefully watching Vel's ministrations. Grey eyes fell to the staff as it was mentioned, looking at the thing as if it might offer up its own opinion of the apology. Bron Shrugged.

"Its okay, I can...Wait! What?" The girl swiveled her head around to regard the blue creature with astonishment clear in her eyes "So you expected to take my head off?!" glancing away, her brows remained skyward "Well, that certainly doesn't minimize your apology one bit." she mumbled, sardonically.

The cool liquid burned as it hit the wound causing the girl to grit her teeth, but shooting the Akalak a sideways glance Bron bit back the grimace with deliberate stoicism -no need to become the injured damsel in company of the one that injured you. Wound clean, she ripped off a dangling portion of her already ripped and tattered shirt -when had that happened- and wrapped her arm snugly.

Impressive she thought, repeating Vel's word in her head More like expectant

Bronwen's fingers worked at the makeshift bandage for far longer than needed for unbeknownst to the Akalak, his words had caused a sudden despondency to descend upon the Syliran. Impressive -a word she might have once thought defined her skill, but no more. How could she be impressive when she couldn't even find her sister, let alone escape her Father's ever watchful eyes. Expectant.

Clearing her throat, the girl glanced back up, forcing a smile to split her lips, revealing a row of white teeth, and gave a breathy chuckle. "Nice to meet you, Vel." Extending her uninjured arm, she offered the fellow fighter a warrior's greeting of friendship, clasping the larger man's forearm against her own.

"No, I cant say that I have had the pleasure of acquainting myself with anyone quite like you before" She shot the Akalak a teasing grin, "nor have I been graced by the beauty of your homeland, though, in all honesty, I have heard of its beauty."

Grey eyes trailed along the passageway, gazing distantly out into the muddy city beyond. "Not from here, either. Thank the gods for small mercies." she tilted another grin upward at the giant. No, I'm from Syliras, born and raised a Knight's daughter, trained by the best and whooped by even better." she paused, planting a stray lock of dark hair behind an ear "I came alone to the city, seeking answers and only finding more questions." Bron sighed, gray eyes searching out Vel's features, eyebrow ascending. The man was completely and utterly uninjured. "and getting my ass kicked by huge, one arm sword wielding Akalaks."

Turning sideways on the bench, Bronwen lifted a leg and bent her knee up and over the wooden surface of the bench to better face her new acquaintance. "What about you, Mr. Vel? Tell me of Akalak's, your homeland, and, if I may be so bold, why you are so far away from it?"

[Shiress]

Your Grades!

Bronwen

Skills

Observation - 5xp Solcialization - 1xp
Weapon (quarterstaff) - 3xp Unarmed Combat - 1xp Rheteric - 2xp

Lores

Fighting a one armed swordsman and loosing
Blue Mountain is an Akalak
Akalak's are very strong
Akalak - Vel
Vel - Oddly gentle healer
Riverfall - Vel's home

Rewards & Penalties

Notes