Night Sparring

Log Info

• Title: Night Sparring
• Emitter: Stjepan
• Characters: Shalethiste, Stjepan, Cryosanthia
• Place: A03: The Colosseum
• Time: Monday, April 19, 2021, 11:42 PM
• Summary: Stjepan is practicing late in the Colosseum, when his sparring partner, Shalethiste shows up. The two get into it, and are observed by the white-scaled sith'makar, Cryosanthia. After a few exchanges they stop to speak to her. She hasn't resolved the issues with her wings, but has spoken to more people. Prayer is suggested, and Cryo considers it. The two fighters re-engage and their observer notices someone she needs to speak with, and bows out.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-<* A03: The Colosseum *>-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

Crafted largely of stone, the Colosseum sits heavily in the midst of the district. Effectively a giant arena, seats form its sweeping sides like the forefront of a great stage. At its center is a stained, stone floor. Each end is overseen by the opposing statues of Kor and Angoron, their arms raised and each holding weapons in gestures of triumph. Staged at a crossroads, their stone gazes stand in eternal challenge over the battlefield floor. Angoron's statue appears to have something of a smirk, opposing Kor's dreadful scowl.

Construction here is on the massive scale. The Arena's stone form was carried piece by piece from the Redridge. Borne on the shoulders of ancient oruch and formed by the tireless hands of the khazad, it is second to none in ancient craftsmanship. Old tribal and clan symbols, nearly worn away, reveal themselves when blood and sweat pools in their minor crevices. Their unusual display brings to life, if only for moments, memories of warrior traditions past. It is for this reason the Arena serves as a diplomatic grounds for some cultures, as well as sport and competition.

Beneath the arena's stage are preparation rooms for competitors, and retiring areas for the wounded. Here, warriors are tended to by aids and medics, by coaches and priests. Tarianic laughter echoes from the chambers on the Angorite side. These unseen areas run alongside a cleverly, khazad-designed system to flood the arena's floor for certain performances. When flooded, the arena draws waters from the nearby Tornmawr. During these occasions anything is possible, as even the Nar-Sektoth have been known to visit from far off Am'shere, and display their powers beneath the gods' banners.

The encircling seats provide a grand view, while vendors often walk the aisle ways between, selling food or taking bets. Clear as blood is the single, red line drawn down the arena's center between the twin statues, daring an opponent to cross.

-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=-

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=  Appearing, in Order  =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
Stjepan      8'0"     534 Lb     Giantborn         Male      Big, blonde jotun. 
Shalethiste  4'6"     96 Lb      Shadow Elf        Female    A copper maned elf maiden, hued in the night sky.
Cryosanthia  6'9"     291 Lb     Sith-Makar        Female    A dashingly tall, elegant white-scaled lizard woman.
-=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=--=

It's late, long after the crowds have left and the most ardent student cleared out, there's still one shape left out on the sand: the hulking form of Stjepan. He paces quietly in the darkness, as the cloud scud across the sky. It's... atmospheric.

All things in their time...

Stepping into the Collosseum seeking her dance partner between her rounds of braving the night streets to discourage ne'er do wells, a Silver Guard moves on graceful, light steps. Shalethiste, her hair plaited down her back, makes out the form of Stjepan basking in the quiet expanse and lifts both hand and voice to convey her fond, "Greetings!"

Stjepan looks up, and grins in the darkness. "Greetings! I'm so glad you came to dance!" He sounds just a little surprised, and definitely pleased. He's preemptively raided the racks for some practice swords, and they rest in the sand next to him. Pulling off his cloak, he uses two of the greatsword-sized trainers to weigh it down against the wind, and shrugs his shoulders to loosen them up.

Shalethiste considers the training weapons as she finishes the rest of the journey, "I wouldn't miss it! You've been well, I hope?" she replies lightly, a grin at her lips. She, for her part, unlatches the scabbard of her primary blade, a narrow bastard as long as she is tall, from her belt and lays it gently near the cloak before taking up one of the trainers. She looks up into the moon for a moment as it is unveiled by clouds and lays her hand on her heart. After several heartbeats, she eases back, twisting this way and that, then affords him a graceful curtsey.

Stjepan grins back at Shalethiste. "I have, indeed." He steps back, taking up his very large longsword, and saluting Shale formally only when she curtseys. He bows to end out the salute, and then steps back one step, sword held lightly in a low guard.

Shalethiste gives a smile the impish side of charming and brings her sword up in a flourish, longblade one-handed, which levels into a mid level guard as she sets the ball of her back foot into the sand.

"On your word, sir." the Mul'niessa intones warmly, "I'm ready."

Stjepan flashes dimples at the Silver Guard, "Ready." Then he stalks forwards, circling to his right as he approaches. They're small steps (for him), but they still chew up the ground quickly enough. He stays in low guard, before switching to a left middle guard, thumb on the flat of the blade as it point towards her.

It's late. Her youngling is in bed. She can't sleep, and while Cryosanthia is still playing the Shell game, the last handoff just happened and the next one won't be for an hour. It will be behind Iron Bru, but the sith'makar isn't about to hang around in the alley the entire time. Especially with the colosseum nearby.

So the whitescale wanders in and looks for activity. Two fighters are on the field, engaged. She approaches. Drawing nearer, she recognizes them. She doesn't interrupt.

Shalethiste steps forward on the path She has lit before her. To that end she meets the advance with a nearly skiplike juke into the inside of his field of engagement. Her wrist rolls and flexes as she moves to try and sweep the Jotun's weapon up and across.

The arrival of the Sith Makar is only caught peripherally, as her focus is primarily upon the dance of step and blade betwixt her and Stjepan, a little smile at her lips.

Stjepan steps back, wrists twisting to snap his training blade into a horizontal position -- a barring motion against the sweep, backed up by his crossed wrists. His next step is forward and to the left, a sudden change of direction accompanied by the quick pushing of his hands forwards and to his left, rotating the point forwards into a sudden thrust at the center of Shalethiste's chest.

Stjepan has a fair bit of tunnel vision, focusing on his practice with Shale.

Cryosanthia isn't about to interrupt a combat, even a practice one, so she watches. Her arms are crossed over her chest and somewhat tightly held against it. She moves find, but with a very erect posture that is less elegance or self-assurance and more muscle ache.

Shalethiste's sidestep ends with a certain abruptness at the inward fold of Stjepan's guard, and she soaks the inexorable impetus of his reversal by twisting clockwise and swinging her back foot out in an arc too wide to be called a pirouette. The counterthrust prompts a slight widening of her eyes at the man's reflexes and she leans to her left, forced to continue to twist as her quillions meet the flat of his sword to get just that little bit more elevation in hopes to keep her evasion under it. She expects, despite his youth, the Jotun has much more experience in these sort of dances than she. Mayhap she may yet give their audience a good show.

Stjepan doesn't force the thrust. Instead, he moves with the push, crossing his wrists again rising high, his sword rotating through into a rising cut that comes up from his left hip. It's sharp and at a nasty angle. He is, apparently, bringing some of the fun tricks to the show. Stjepan's apparent youth, however, seems to be well-seasoned, indeed.

Cryo rolls her shoulders forward, hunching and making her back crack. She watches the lay of blades, dropping down into a slight stance and bouncing her weight back and forth. She keeps her arms crossed, for now.

There is the crisp hiss of wood flat skating against the chain sheathed side of her chest as the force of the push overtwists the Mul'niessa's evasion, spilling her to the ground.

She'll feel that in the morning.

Ok, she's feeling it, now, but later? Oh, boy...

Shelly, hand still about the hilt of her faux sword bows her head slightly where she spawls, "Well struck, sir." she notes, graciously. Her ears perk a little at the ghost of a sound, and she looks to the presence she'd noticed earlier, "Hello, miss Cryosanthia, Splendid evening, yes?"

Stjepan steps back, guarding against the afterblow that never comes. He reaches down, offering one big hand up. "Thank you." He turns, head sweeping around, centering on the watching sith. He gives a nod of greeting. "Hey."

"Yes. Peace on your Nests. This one felt to watch." Cryosanthia says, stepping closer now that there's a moment of parley. She blinks and shakes her head slightly, "I'd offer advice, but would have to demonstrate it, and can't currently. You were both very interesting to watch. Educational."

Shalethiste, probably following some internalized doctrine of some kind, reaches across with her empty hand as she accepts the help up, rather than switching the sword out of her dominant hand. Happily, she is slight as any Mul, and even in her armour, barely weighs as much as a Jotun child. There is a moment of dusting her skirts free of the sand and she observes, "I haven't seen anyone your size move that fast, before."

She turns back to Cryosanthia with a little smile, a mite humbled, perhaps, but still in good humor, "Please do, I don't mind." she says, "How are you," a glance to the partial wings, "and young Lily doing?"

Stjepan lifts her up easily, careful, apparently, not to lift her bodily by the hand. He lefts go and steps back. "Mm. It's not speed, just efficient movement," he says effacingly. A glance over, "Still looks like it hurts -- or were you wrestling earlier?" He glances back at Shelly. "Try me again -- you'll see that my speed, it's just an illusion."

"Lily is fine. We went to Mictlan, she met some newcomers from Am'shere and was treated to Durrankar's stories. She was happy to come back, wanted things from Goblintown. She's asleep at Mikilos'." Cryo says happily. She shakes her head at Stjepan, "Not wrestling. They still hurt. Time clearly isn't the solution."

She grins just a little, "My speed isn't an illusion."

Shalethiste nods, "Still, efficiency, with that level of response and strength is still formidable." she replies. She frowns a little as she regards Cryosanthia, "Have you checked, perhaps, with the elder Seers? I would... offer what blessings I have at my disposal, but I've had to use them, already, I'm afraid."

Stjepan nods slowly, "At least so far. Some further growing?" He's not that helpful in this regard, and sounds slightly mystified. He nods to Shalethiste's words. "It's a learned response."

"The trip to Mictlan was to do so, I spoke with the Shaman-Caste." Cryo says, grin fading to a more neutral expression. She keeps her arms crossed, it seems to assist with the support or bracing. Her head shakes, "There's no injury. Pain and discomfort, but not worth using a blessing on. Warm baths help as much."

She uncrosses her arms enough to wave a hand around briefly, "Mikilos, has assisted and examined me, Cesran provided an opinion. Both seem to be in uncoordinated agreement that it's some Sith'makar latent draconic heritage that She interferred with. Her manipulations either causing it or slowing it. I've not... prayed..."

She shrugs, "Ceinara would simply say 'make the best of it, work it into your act'. Which... this one doesn't really need her to say to know. I didn't meant to interrupt your practice with my body issues. I couldn't sleep."

Shalethiste bows her head, "If you say so. Still, I'm sorry I can't be more help." she says with some concern. She regards Stjepan a moment, then looks to Cryo again, "I don't mind you watching if he doesn't. It just felt rude to ignore you being there, and... well, the oppurtunity presented itself." She gives a wry smile there, with a little shrug and shoulders the sword.

Stjepan steps back, bringing his sword back to a low, inoffensive guard. "I don't mind." He shrugs his shoulders at Shelly. "Ready again?" His smile splits his face. it's happiness lurking there.

Cryosanthia nods, taking a step back, her tail coiling from side to side. She smiles, "Thank you. Well, Lay on!"

Shalethiste smiles to Cryo and nods, "Alright." and she sidles out a ways to level her blade in a low guard of her own. She gives a little toss of her head to get her braid back over her shoulder and, "ready."

Stjepan raises his sword up over his head into a high guard. "Well then," he grins, and starts to advance with measured steps. For all that it emphasizes his height, he's careful in the approach.

Cryo takes another step back, arching her wings, grunting slightly. Watching the fight helps, a little. A distraction, a bit of adrenaline. Not enough to do anything. She keeps to the sidelines, playing through her observations of where there might be openings and what the two opponents are likely to do.

Shalethiste, better acquainted with Stjepan's reach, and how he manages within it, decides to go all in as his guard goes high. With her feet almost sliding forward over the sand that she can solidify her footing in an instant, the brings her blade up in a diagonal slash with her elvish reflexes, eyes trying to hold the entirety of him for his response.

Stjepan steps back, giving ground diagonally backwards, trying to void the attack entirely, even as he drops his sword to his right shoulder, chambering for a response the moment his left foot plants...

Cryo hops, matching the movement, growling slightly as her back hurts more. She exhales forcefully, hugs her chest more firmly. Her toes dig into the colosseum sand.

Shalethiste checks the slash as the Jotun gives ground, blade pointing about at his collarbone though still barely crossing what would be the full extension of his sword. Her leading foot rests toefirst in the sand, and the Mul' sinks slightly into the trailing knee, a coiled spring.

Stjepan rives back in at her, eyes on the tip of her sword like he's going to bat it down. However, his progress trends to the right, and the sword turns the other wise in his hands, presenting the false edge of his blade first as it start to ride down her blade towards her face. Tricky!

Cryo watches the two edge around each other, their adjustments to gain advantage, the quick movements of the blades. She nods, following, a foot tracing in the ground, mimicing movements.

Shalethiste's experienced this, before, at least. The Mul'niessa's guard is compressed under the Jotun's press, and her wrist inverts, shoulder and elbow flexing into her parry as the torques at the waist to bring that shoulder high, off hand bracing against the ricasso. Her hilt inverts diagonally and the little elf unleashes the tension in her back leg and she jabs the pommel toward the man's chin in reposte', a constrained thing intending more to suggest the strike than actually land it.

A friendly dance, after all.

Stjepan aborts his strike midway in, taking a skewing step sideways into Shale's incoming pommel and momentum with his arms. Exploiting to the full the size differential, he creates a mess of limbs in from to them both, then lets go of his hilt with one hand to try to grapevine both of hers. It's definitely not full-on, and the delighted 'o' shape of his mouth is something to see, like a giftbasket was left at his front door -- the gift of grappling!

"Ha! Nice one." Cryo laughs, clapping as the two become entangled, "Nice."

Movement at the corner of the colosseum catches her eye. A shadowy, stooped figure. The whitescale nods abruptly, "Apologies, this one must go. I wish you luck with your fencing and peace on your nest."

She makes the slightest of bows, takes a step back, then turns and heads off for her rendevous.

Shalethiste is a somewhat lean basket, but her momentum carries her to the doorstep. The Jotun's intentions are easy enough for her to read in the instant, and her empty sword hand is ensnared as the one on the ricasso retreats to try and keep the weapon in play, though the situation is swiftly becoming untennable.

Stjepan presses in and up with his hilt, trying to stretch her out -- he's not really going for a disarm here, and snakes his arm lower. Why grab an arm, when you can grab a waist? Insofar as he's trying to separate Shalethiste from her connection with the ground, it make fulfil certain values of untenable.

Awkward.

Shelly is not comforted by the absence of terra firma beneath her feet.

The curl about her waist.

Her grip on the ricasso slackens just a touch as the retreat reaches its climax, the quillions stopped at her fingers. With a deft play of thumb and fingers, she gets the weapon into proper orientation, though her tactical situation is very nearly that of a cat with one claw clutched by her nape. She looks up into his eyes, a thoughtful purse to her lips, "One way to pick up nice girls, I suppose." she quips dryly, then, a gracious, "Point to you, sir."

Stjepan grins down at her, taking a moment to study her eyes. "It seems to be effective, and an awful shame to put you down." However, he bends his knees, and lowers her down with eye-contact. "Thank you. That pommel-strike was inspired." He straightens, colouring a little, like he's taken a half-step too far.

Shalethiste's eyes glitter under a sliver of moonlight and she smiles a bit awkwardly, "It's the hair, I think." she says lightly. As he sets her down, she dips into another courtsey, "Thank you. I was charged by an Aesir that way, once, though he wasn't nearly your equal. Most people think the blade is the only part of a sword."

Tonight's gone, well, very differently than she imagined, stil, it's been fun, if humbling. "Still, you're an astounding warrior, and you've given me a great many things to consider." She seems to take no real issue at present, aside from the grim reminder that her talents are not insurmountable. A vital thing, given the... changes in her psyche as a holy blade.

"It's not the hair." He says a little roughly, then he straightens up and bows. "It's been wonderful. You're a real, uh, handful." No, wait! "You're very kind to be so free with the compliments." Stjepan stumbles a little. "You have fantastic footwork -- do you do other kinds of dances?"

Shalethiste laughs a bit, "Many kinds!" she says with a grin, "Still... I haven't practiced many of them since..." Her smile turns wan, "Well, in quite a long time." The Mul takes a moment to straighten herself out some, then, "I'm only being honest." She sets the point of the training sword into the sand and steps back, "Still, we seem to have the floor. There's a wonderful breeze, and Her light is upon us." The little elf edges back just a touch, tuckings the toe of one foot behind the heel of the other and extends a hand his way, the other set against her hip as the start of a harvest dance. "What do you say?"