How did it begin? Of course, simply putting your foot down and showing your intentions. By standing up to those above you and being prepared to throw down everything to get where he wanted, even if it meant having his name slated and his being ridiculed. And so when Corneliun found himself within the ring of sand, a blunted long sword in his hand, a scorned weapon did he realise the next challenge he had put himself into. A fight no less with a Sagal Jackel. He tested the weight of the sword in his hands, testing it with both, and then one, feeling the weight as his opponent readied himself.
“No questions,” Corneliun responded as he brought up a stance. He placed both of his feet firmly apart and square with his shoulders. It was perhaps at this point that he did not come across as some simple sword swinger, and had at least some competence. His knees bent slightly, his mind clearing as he focused himself. This was no training this was a fight. He felt his fingers wrap around the hilt, the grip being pulled up to his outside so the cross-guard hovered before him. Corneliun Frik stilled himself.
“Begin!”
It was a flurry of movement came as the daggers came racing forth, pure speed giving the mixed blood barely anytime to defend. The sound of metal against metal sounded out as the mixed blood felt him take a step back, and whilst he was preoccupied with one dagger, the other came forward a dull thud against his arm. But still he reacted bringing the sword in close so served more as a shield. It was more that obvious he was being played with, made to look a fool to the watching, silent audience. He had to think, he had to attack, even as the bludgeoning blows came racing down upon him, he had to make himself better. To allow himself to be overwhelmed would give him no chance in surviving.
Corneliun threw his weight against the blade, putting all his strength into it. He shoved the Jackal back, a moment of breathing space before he brought the hilt up. He stepped into the swing, the sword being raised above the tip pointing to the sky. It came hurtling down, cutting through the air, and a clean slice towards the torso of the Jackal. Metal rick shaded off metal, ringing through the air. The combatants were locked once more, but this time Corneliun was the one to press upon the Jackal, even if it was only through methods of brute force. He recoiled his blade back, quick feet giving him the time to bring the blunted steel back. The guard was brought up, and a step forward was taken as the point thrusted forward. He followed it through, the Jackal bringing his daggers and shield up to block, an attempt to catch the long sword. And as the blades once more made contact, Corneliun did not struggle against them. Instead he simply raised his arms higher, curling and weaving the blade forward, before thrusting the new angled tip down into his shoulder.
There was a grunt of pain, a momentary weakness in the Jackal’s defence, and one that the mixed blood did not hesitate to exploit, even with the wild slash made by the Jackal. He could not loose, not yet. The blade recoiled back, before it struck against the gut of the Jackal. He watched the Jackal let out a gasp a brief double over before he found the blade tip hovering between his eyes. Corneliun’s chest heaved slightly as he stared down at the Jackal, his eyes meeting his as he gently pressed the tip of the blade against his forehead.
For a moment there was silence, until the spat words of Jet’a “Return and start anew.”
There was no announcement of the winner of this bout, but in due time it would be revealed even if it was much to the onlookers reluctance. The two parted, and went to the opposite edges of the ring, the dull ache of bludgeoned blows existing against their flesh. Corneliun clicked his neck, rolling back his shoulders as he eyed his opponent. Now the first round had passed his opponent would no doubt be raising the stakes now both had received a taste for each other’s abilities. Meaning Corneliun now had to try and match.
Steel rang against steel. For no sooner had the second round been called had the two charged each other. But the air was on fire this time; the Jackal had his play time and now used his full force and skill against the mixed blood. As the pair clashed it became clearer that Corneliun was the weaker one of the two, if not because of the multiple limbs but also for the vast difference in skill. If the blades were live, it would be a deadly battle. A blow came from the buckler that clipped him around the head, sending the mixed blood back into a daze. His guard for a moment was broken, his head swimming as a second blow following shortly behind. Metal hit metal again as Corneliun parried the blade away, a stagger to the side as he did. His head swum, his focus torn between his opponent and the dull ache that rung out against his skull. It was a distraction to say the least. Corneliun was pushed back to the edge, the daggers pushing him in that direction, the determination in the face of the Jackal having now turned into something a lot more frightening. He teetered briefly at the edge, before he threw himself back into the blades. He could not loose, not yet. He swung the sword, letting it slice through the air, metal hitting metal once more. He pushed back, pouring in his energy into making space between them. It was clear that the difference in length was vital, for the moment the Jackal came in close Corneliun was at his mercy, but as soon as there was distance, Corneliun received the upper hand, until the Jackal blocked at least.
It was so easy to play with those who were far less skilled than others, to lead them on into a false sense of security. And that is exactly what the Jackal did to Corneliun. He controlled this bout every step of the way, leading the mixed blood on, steel clashing against steel. And when the Jackal became finally bored of toying with the mixed blood, he simply pushed back, using full force and speed to guide the daggers forward. For despite the entire prowess he held, it was still easy to deal with him. A slice of a blade with the buckler crashing against his side sent Corneliun toppling out of the ring and flat onto his back. For a moment he laid there, time having frozen as he tried to comprehend what was going on. His chest heaved, taking in the air before he propped himself up on his elbows. His chest for a moment stung with the feel of a dull blow upon it, the tell tale marks on where he would have been stabbed. It was obvious that he had been defeated, if not for falling out of the ring but for the blow upon his chest.
“Return,” he announced with a sigh.
With a low grunt Corneliun pushed himself up once more. A bitter taste rested in his mouth, a few bruises and grazes running up his arm. Over all he felt rather sore, but the most distinctive amount of pain was the one that was ringing from his head. He raised his fingers to where it hit, feeling the swelling grow, and the seeping of blood from a shallow graze. Had it been a live blade it would have no doubt left a slice in the side of his head, and had the original attack been a swing instead of a stab it would have been a death blow regardless. He gripped the sword hilt tightly with both hands, his stance neutral, but prepared to either block or attack. The Jackal took his position, clapping the dagger against the shield, a taunt designed to lead him on.
And a taunt that Corneliun found hard to resist. Enough was enough, and this was the final bout. It was quiet simply now all or nothing with no more room for hesitation. The mixed blood charged, swinging the sword through the air, only to have it thrown off by a simple swift rise of the buckler. A dagger came up the inside of his blade, snaking its way forward. The other meanwhile had caught Corneliun’s blade, and begun slowly pushing it away leaving his torso ready for an onslaught of stabs and strikes. The sword was twisted in his grip, the sound of metal being dragged out before a loud clang of metal filled his ears. The blade spun out of Corneliun’s hand, leaving him defenceless. For a moment the mixed blood froze, unarmed and unable to fight. But the round was not over yet. He leapt to the side, raising his arms up to protect himself. Cowardly perhaps, but as his mind raced he tried trying to think of a way.
Your left arm is a guard. He grasped onto a memory from several days before, a vital one It will take most of the damage, A dagger came racing towards him, a blunted blow against his left as he blocked. He pulled his right arm back, allowing him to shoot freely with it, Here you can be both defensive and offensive without using too much energy.
He took another flurry of blows, ducking and diving around them, a deadly dance between an unarmed man and a weapon. His feet moved quickly, changing his position quickly around the Jackal. He needed an opening. He heard a grunt of annoyance escape the Jackal, a sign that he was no longer interested in simply playing. A sign that the battle was about to turn for the worse. He lunged at Corneliun, the dagger aimed straight for his torso. As the blow came racing through, Corneliun grabbed at the wrist of the Jackal, using the momentum of the swing to an advantage. He remembered his training well. He side stepped, pulling the rest of the Jackal down, whilst placing a firm hand behind his back. There was no time to waste. With a final push he released the Jackal and sent him tumbling to the floor. Corneliun sprung away, claiming back his sword with speed before charging. A stunned opponent was an easy one to deal with. Without a second thought the blade came racing down onto the Jackal. His opponent barely had any time to block, with the blades buckling under the downward force of the long sword. It struck against his chest, the low thud filling the air as sword met flesh. And there Corneliun hovered the blade tip above his throat, a foot planted on the chest of the Jackal, his stance firm and unwavering, and his features grim as he held his stance. He gently tapped the tip against the blade against his throat before withdrawing it and releasing the Jackal.
by Colombina on January 14th, 2013, 2:25 am 
You have freedom to self mod your training using the resources of the Courtyard. You can choose to live in and take less salary, or keep your own place, but be occasionally assigned to staying in the courtyard when "on call" in the evening.