The Youngest Mentor [Ronan]

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el moved swiftly out of the way, his own dagger flashing out in a warding gesture that didn't connect, but might have blocked Ronan if he managed to change course mid-strike. He made no offensive move of his own yet, trying to gauge Ronan's skill, his strengths, and his weaknesses before he committed to anything unless some glaring opportunity presented himself. But merely judging by the skill of that one strike and the lack of obvious opportunities to counter, he figured Ronan was better than him, which was all to the good. He would need skills to impress the powers that be among the Watch. Even Sama'el, who could ride better than most, held no sort of seniority over most of his brethren. They utilized his skills, but had not yet made him a leader. He chafed at that sometimes, but now he set it aside, not wanting distraction to take its toll upon his hide in the form of Ronan's dagger. His feet moved carefully, padding like a cat's, in circles and circles, keeping Ronan before him and his blade at the ready. This was an entirely different game from the long arc of his scimitar.

[Ronan]

Sama'el was playing the waiting game, moving from foot to foot, watching Ronan carefully. He made several quick thrusts with the dagger, both blocked by the Watcher, then swept round again. If he didn't prove himself today, there would be no future. He'd just be a laughing stock. He wanted to be in the Watch more than anything else at this moment, and so he struck again and again, not blindly, but with the little remnants of skill he had picked up from his hunting - and from Darus, his brother. "Hyah!" he cried, hopping from one leg to the other, and swinging in yet again. The muscles in his arms gave him the momentum he needed, dagger on course to hit its target... and then he stumbled. His ankle twisted awkwardly, and he fell forward, crashing to the ground. Shame hit him like a tidal wave, and he was only too aware of Sama'el's eyes above him.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Each thrust proved more difficult to counter, whether dodging, parrying, or otherwise. In the heat of early autumn, with adrenaline in his blood and a knife fight going on, he began to perspire. The thought occurred to him that Ronan did not have too much to learn with the dagger, and if he could pick up some skill with the bow from horseback, he would be well on his way to being acceptable to the Watch. He didn't think he had ever seen Ronan so serious, not even on their trek into the Sea to look into that lead, but Sama'el was quick to banish his thoughts as they would not help him keep his skin intact. With Ronan's cry, Sam wasn't sure he could evade injury, but a stone or something turned under his friend's foot and he went down. Blinking, the Watchman couldn't believe his luck, wished he could trade this in to use later when it really counted, when his life or the lives of others might be on the line. "Get up," he said tersely. A Drykas knew that the only thing to do after falling off the horse was to get back on. A Watchman knew that the fight wasn't over until it was over.

[Ronan]

"Get up," Sama'el said firmly. For a moment Ronan was frozen on the floor, breath shaky. He'd momentarily knocked the wind out of himself. And then his vigour returned... tenfold. He forced himself up with his hands, quickly creating distance between himself and his opponent. He regained his grip on the dagger and stared Sama'el in the eyes. "Don't think that will happen again," he growled, wiping a speck of blood from the corner of his lip. He began to circle, like a Glassbeak cornering its prey. This time he would strike - and he would not fall.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el nodded with approval when Ronan quickly responded, not giving up, gaining confidence even after his fall. If that flare of bravado was a sign of temper, well, the Watch would hone him until he was a cooler blade, but even Sama'el had plenty to learn before he was ready to take on more responsibility and more glory. He kept his knife before him as well as his off hand, ready to strike or block if he got past Ronan's guard, or grapple as the case may be. There was a flicker of a smile, though, hoping that sooner rather than later, they would be brothers in the Watch. His feet moved carefully over the flat terrain, moving clear of any impediments in his camp. The last thing he wanted was for burning embers to fall upon one of the tents and cause a conflagration before he could master the fires. The tick of that thought lit an idea in his mind, and another smile flickered across his face as he began to exude dully glowing res out of his palm to twine the length of his blade, darkly red as sleeping embers.

[Ronan]

Sama'el looked pleased with his response, facing him down with just the hint of a smile. Ronan let one of his own flicker, but only a little. Focus was on the task at hand. He began to circle again, watching carefully, when all of a sudden the air felt different. Tingly almost. He began to see wisps of crimson air pour from Sama'el's palm, wrapping itself around his dagger. Was that... reimancy? Up until now he had been in his comfort zone. Holding his dagger, he was planted firmly in the world his brother had showed him, of hunting and skinning creatures, of tracking and survival. Yet now... how was he supposed to face this? He looked at Sama'el almost fearfully, but the Watcher was engrossed in his casting. Now! He darted forward, leaping like a wild animal, dagger held to one side ready to swing into the gap at the last moment. It was now or never.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam was glad of the answering smile; sometimes he too got so worked up, so engrossed in his practice that when he made a mistake it felt like the end of the world. He worked on that, and he didn't want Ronan to have the same problem. Too much tension and technique failed. A warrior had to balance somewhere between tension and relaxation, the better to move between them as the need arose. The small distraction of the res emerging from the hand that gripped his blade slowed him down, tripped him up when Ronan pounced on the opportunity as any wily fighter would. He dodged by the skin of his teeth, stutter stepping backward and brandishing his blade. The res suddenly ignited, twisting away from the blade so as not to burn his hand, but keeping close to it. Ronan was better than him, so he would have to resort to what advantages he could muster. Ronan was lucky, though. It was just a spar and they were friends, so there would be no fireballs as there might have been were they battling in earnest. He made a quick feint and then a more serious thrust, overextending himself a bit as he was overcompensating for the lack of reach he was used to with his longer scimitar.

[Ronan]

Ronan ducked and dived, Sama'el's blade glowing with what he presumed to be reimancy. He stabbed out with his dagger, then dodged a long sweep from his opponent's. Despite what he had feared, Ronan was growing in confidence over his skills. All that time in the wilds, hunting and killing, had surely paid off. For he was more deft with the dagger than he could ever have imagined. Endurance was an issue though. As he dodged and ducked, he grew more weary. A thin sheen of sweat was soon glistening on his skin. Lean Sama'el on the other hand, looked like he could play this game all day. "You're a good fighter," Ronan managed to blurt, as he ducked, and then shot back up bringing his dagger diagonally in a short slash. "I'm not sure how much longer I can last..."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el was playing a conservative game due to his lesser skill with shorter blades. He knew this would not be their last spar; he could learn a great deal from practicing against those who were his betters. Someday, perhaps, they would be equals and he might fight without the benefit of Fire on his blade to distract Ronan. He too was sweating, though he had control of his breath. Any day he was in Endrykas, some time was spent with metal in his hands. He was a guardian of his people, after all. It was his duty to be the best that he could be. His training in acrobatics, mostly tumbling and tricks on horseback, made him a bit more nimble, his feet surer in finding stable ground, but this was an oddly even match. All Sama'el's little skills were pitted against the reality that Ronan was better with his blade. He laughed a short bark. "Show me how long you can last," he said. He paused, making sure he didn't use up too much breath in talking. "Then. Next time. We last longer." Ronan's answering swipe sent Sam backward too fast and when he felt himself losing his footing, he committed to something risky, but for which he had rehearsed, heaving his centers of gravity, chest and pelvis, one over the other into an acrobatic roll, back arched as his belly took most of the impact. He was only lucky there were no rocks in his path, and he pushed his momentum to rock back from his knees to a crouch. He coughed, wincing, and sent his own blade out flashing to fend off a killing strike, or the practice version of one. "If I don't... kill myself... first."

[Ronan]

Ronan was in awe over Sama'el's sheer tenacity. It was obvious that the Watcher was not fully comfortable wielding a dagger, but he fought on so valiantly. There was a self-sacrificial edge to his combat. He would plunge in and out of battle, aiming for the kill regardless of his skill. "You've shown me..." Ronan began, ducking another strike, then hacking away with one of his own, "the meaning to endurance." He swung over and over, suddenly more resolute. But Sama'el did the same. Though his skill with the dagger was not up to Ronan's, his agility and acrobatics were far superior. Sometimes he made moves that Ronan could not anticipate, moving quicker than he could follow. Sweat dripping from his forehead, the combat suddenly came to a head. Their daggers clashed, in a deadlock against one another. It became clear that the winner would be decided here and now. He stared into Sama'el's eyes - what would the Watcher do next?