by Erzotol Silverden on September 13th, 2011, 8:55 pm
The stray click of a steel against tin shook him from his daze, a grin of another sort coming to his face as he remembered pointedly something he was driven to do this day. Battle it called his name, and boiled in his blood, a physical need not to just exert himself as only he and Mae could, but to meet blades with another and work through the frustration that was a common place for one that had no father to guide him. It was all that satisfied him at times, pitched combat one of the second best ways to forget about everything else and simply let go. Besides riding, fighting was one of his favorite things to do, and though he often lost, he kept coming back for more, taking beating after beating in hopes of soon becoming adept to hold his own in a fight. You had to be strong, well learned with the blade, and just as comfortable on a horse as you where on your own two feet if you where to be a true drykas in his mind, and he still yet had to learn the intricacies of blade and strength, though no one could say he wasn't trying hard of late.
Erzotol sighed.
He didn't want to end the tender moment between him and Mae, but he needed to, and that was enough for him to untangle himself from her arms, and begin striding down a beaten path, offering a brief flick of his hand to let Laeon, and Airiat know to stay by the pavilion while he took care of business elsewhere. "I've been due for a good fight in the War Pavilion for far too long now. You can find something there as well I'm sure, or you could just watch. " Erzotol said as he strode ahead, soon finding his way to the large tent, and the open fields around it.
What he sought was inside the cooling shadows of the tent, and he moved into there with purpose, his eyes shifting from it's left side to the right, coming to settle on a pair of warriors sparring heatedly. One bore a twin short swords, and launched whirling maneuvers at his opponent, constantly twisting around, but still showing the straightforward style of attack that was common among the drykas. His opponent, a much larger man hefting a spear, constantly shifted to keep his foe away with the wooden end of his weapon, occasionally scoring a jab at the younger man's ribs and causing him to get the upper hand in the battle. The shortswords, covered yet in a protective padding made of wool and cotton crossed the blades before him in a X, catching the thrusting spear tip squarely before slamming it down to the ground and crunching a booted foot down hard on the middle of the spear's haft snapping it with a loud crack. A dumbfounded expression on his face, he stood there looking at the shattered end he held loosely in his hands, and it proved just long enough for the dual wielding swordsman to get in close and secure the victory as Erzotol watched him race up to the big man, and at the last moment duck a half hearted swing of the wooden haft, while simultaneously jabbing both of his short swords forward, jabbing the large man's sternum hard and sending him to his knees.
Erzotol, moved by the display clapped his hands, and moved over to greet the young, dark haired drykas that was in the process of helping his large friend back up to his feet. He didn't much catch the murmured words between the two, but neither did he care, his focus being on training with this man that knew so much more than he himself did. The dark haired youth shook his hands with a strong grip which Erzotol returned full measure, a appraising smile worn clearly on his face. "You handled him well, where it not for those moves of yours I think it might have turned out very differently." Erzotol said all in good spirit, his hands drifting down to his hips, as he studied the large man who was limping over to a empty patch of ground in a corner of the tent.
The younger man grunted. "It wasn't easy, but then again battle never is. I don't believe we have met, names Raven Steelstep of the Diamond Clan. You just watching or you going to put that sword of yours to work?"
"I am Erzotol Silverden of the Diamond Clan, always good to meet another clan brother. Your foot work was something to marvel at to be sure, and I'm sure I saw a clever feint or two thrown in their that I haven't seen in all my years. You have a mind to spar with a fresh blade?" His way was direct as the younger man's as it was how the drykas settled things. You got no where by talking in circles, and the fewer words spared, and the quicker they where put out their prevented many from wasting their time, as he was sure the dark haired boy had other things to do after this, just as he himself did.
The dark haired one nodded, and drew his short swords, the protective padding no longer covering the metal, and instead staying on the ground far behind him.
Erzotol smiled. He had picked up a lot from the man in their short talk, and while he watched the battle, and he was glad to see that the man had noticed some things about him as well, most noticeably his personality that might take affront to fighting with pads. After all what good was training if there was no danger to it, and he suspected that the battle he had observed before was just a simple exercise rather than a typical spar between friends.
He quickly took the shield off of his back before strapping it to his left arm, and with a hiss of steel he drew his long sword from it's sheath. Lifting the shield squarely before himself, and held the steel out behind him, his eyes just barely peaking over the wooden buckler. The young man charged, slashing out with his lead arm, and bringing Erzotol's shield down a fraction, before stabbing viciously forward, and knocking him back a step. Seeing an opening towards his right side where his arm had drifted down a fraction too far, Erzotol charged forward, jabbing forward only to have his longsword slapped aside, and have the flat of his opponents other blade slap hard against the side of his face.
He stumbled to side, and caught himself on the canvas of the tent, pushing off to turn around just in time to feel another hard strike slap against his lowered shield, and barely brought his sword up in time to catch the crosspiece of the man's shortsword, and could barely keep his hold as the short sword pushed through his guard, and slashed his shoulder, drawing a bright line of blood and soaking the end of the sleeve that poked from under the white leather of his cuirass. Just as hard as he had came at him, the dark haired youth backed away from him, twirling the blades in his hands, his dark eyes searching the shield bearing drykas thoughtfully.
Erzotol spat.
The man was going easy on him, missing opening he himself would have exploited. He supposed he should have been appreciative, but he could only feel his anger rise at this upstart that thought to go easy on him, and make a fool of him because of it. A growl escaped his lips as he charged forwards, his footwork sloppy and turing out to be more of a tackle than a practiced and measured strike. His shield provided enough of a defense from the other man's short swords, and as he realized he was going to fall to the ground, Erzotol tossed away his long sword, and released his arm from the straps of his shield deciding to favor his fists while the pair where on the ground. The younger man had tossed away his blades as well, but seemed to do it a bit slower than Erzotol who's hulking frame shadowed over to boy, his meaty fist poised to crunch fragile bone.
Down his fist went, striking the man square in the jaw, but the dark haired one made no move to block it, and in fact seemed to welcome it. His face twisted up in confusion, Erzotol opened his mouth to speak when the realization dawned on him, or rather slammed into him as he felt the man's knee jerk up to jab into his groin, doubling Erzotol instantly over, a weak groan spurting from his lips. The man with a rather disgusted look on his face pushed Erzotol off of him, before climbing to his own feet and walking away to retrieve his swords. For the moment, Erzotol just kept there, curled up on the ground, pain radiating through his body and making his knees to weak to stand on. It hadn't been the first time he had messed up so, and it wouldn't be the last, and once more he was dealing with the consequences. If only Mae wasn't here to see this.
