Closed Akalak will be Akalak (Tyral Moondrinker)

[Lydan Verdjak]

8th of Summer
Lydan walked into the Sasaran as usual, greeted by the sounds of flesh and wood pounding against eachother, cheers, and calls of victory and pain alike. It was your usual day in the Sasaran as he made his way inside and glanced around, gazing towards each of the available opponents but none seemingly catching his interest, he adjusted his stance to look like that of a ready one.

He found a wooden Lakan as he flicked it around in his palms and gripped the object tightly after nearly slinging the object onto the ground, his eyes then refocused to the scenery surrounding him. He stood there in wait, knowing that it would be soon before he found a worthy opponent of his skill group.

[Tyral Moondrinker]

Tyral strode through the crowded streets, enjoying the hot summer day. His left hand rested on the hilt of his grandfather's cutlass, gold and silver rings catching the sun from his fingers. He had heard tell of a place in Riverfall where the locals gathered to spar and train, so of course he had to make an appearance. It had been quite a while since he had sparred, since he had left the Flotilla, in fact. It was time to shake the dust from between his shoulders and feel the thrill of combat once again. He caught sight of the Sasaran in the distance and grinned, increasing his speed with anticipation. Already the grunts and yells of men hitting other men could be heard over the crowd.

Making his way into the building, he stopped a moment and looked about him. Dozens of wooden weapons were arrayed along the walls of more varieties than he could count. The scent of sweat and blood permeated the air, along with the ever present smell of the sea drifting in on the breeze from the harbor. As he watched a group of men spar with what looked like disks and staffs, he couldn't help but laugh with excitement, his bright blue eyes wide and alert. Now there was just the matter of finding an opponent.

Tyral picked up a wooden representation of a cutlass from the wall and placed his own near a similar pile, although these were real. He didn't want to pull a real blade in the heat of the moment and have the weight of the law descend upon him. A tall Akalak caught his eye nearby, messing with a wooden Lakan. He didn't seem to be doing anything so Tyral walked up to him.

“Ho, friend! It seems we both find ourselves without opponents,” he exclaimed, with a wicked grin. With a sweeping, dramatic hand he gestured towards an empty corner. “Would you perhaps be interested in a friendly spar?”

[Lydan Verdjak]

The Akalan turned his gaze upwards towards the human male, narrowing his eyes in thought as he chose to study the human thoroughly, intrigued by what he might pose in a fight as well as possibly the outcome of said fight, the man's perhaps inappropriate analysis came concluded moments later as he nodded.

Lydan tapped his chest with a balled-up palm and bowed his head after proceeding to the aforementioned corner, "Lydan Verdjak, I will be fashioning this as my weapon." He angled his arm across his chest now as he stepped back from the human, the tip of the Lakan facing the pinnacle of his elbow as his eyes gleamed with anticipation.

[Tyral Moondrinker]

Tyral smiled and followed the Akalak to the corner, his eyes studying every movement. How one held their arms, how they took their steps, how they breathed all reflected how a person fought. With this one he thought he had found an equal. His opponent stopped and turned to him, introducing himself as Lydan Verdjak. While he had never sparred with one of them, he had heard stories of the Akalaks' prowess. He was interested to see how this one held up to those standards. This would be fun.

Hefting his wooden cutlass, he bowed. “I am Tyral Moondrinker. May Laviku look upon our efforts with pride.”

With the hint of a smile, he gripped the handle of his weapon and spread his feet apart, holding the curved blade behind him and squaring off his shoulders. Tyral began to bounce a bit on the balls of his feet, loosening his calves and preparing himself for the first cross. When his weight landed on his back foot, he sprung, cutlass slicing through the air beneath him as he brought the weapon up from below in an arcing motion towards Lydan's torso. The distance between them closed quickly and Tyral followed through with the slash into a downward angled strike towards the Akalak's left shoulder.

The fun had begun!

[Lydan Verdjak]

Lydan eyed the man in mutual study as he stood there for a moment, his eyes gazing upon the human with all due interest but he made sure to keep his tongue still until the human spoke. He had never sparred with a human before, despite Riverfall's diversity in race. His eyes followed how the man carried himself, his eagerness and his hyper-activity, it was not a foreign personality trait to him, for he so well recognized it in himself. Not in this personality, though. A twinkle glazed in his eyes with anticipation, he was very well focused on the human's movements and it appeared he was day-dreaming momentarily, calculating what the Svefra's fighting style might be.

He blinked his eyes as he watched the man bow. A sense of honor, rare for his kind I heard. He adjusted himself to lower his torso and head, bowing in return. The dagger was still poised in a ready position which made the movement awkward, but he was shameless in the act regardless.

"Lydan Verdjak, may the best man win."

He adjusted and pumped his arms and feet slightly, sending a kick or two behind him and stretched both arms, but finally he adjusted and his eyes narrowed as he saw the man coming forth, he gritted his teeth with pain as the cutlass landed on his shoulder and blood had be drawn, but this was irrelevant to the right-handed Akalak. He lowered and poised himself down, sliding his Lakan past the man's armpit and attempting to embed the end of it into the joint of the man's right shoulder (back-bone).

[Tyral Moondrinker]

Tyral moved his body with the Akalak after his successful strike. He watched with satisfaction as his opponent winced, but he seemed to shrug it off quickly. As he turned, Lydan lowered himself and struck him in the back of his shoulder. Laviku's beard, he's fast. A pain shot up his arm and his grip weakened for a moment as he gritted away the pain. Taking advantage of the momentum of his turning, he brought up his left leg in a fierce kick towards the Akalak's back, pivoting on his right foot to follow his opponent's movement.

As he stepped back after the kick, the pain began to subside in his shoulder. He shook it out and a small laugh escaped his throat. Realizing he was creating space for the other man to get his bearings, Tyral rushed yet again, feinting a stab towards his left shoulder, then turning in a circle, bring the blade slicing towards his right arm and the Lakan. He had noticed the weapon looked weaker than his own and hoped to break it into pieces to give himself the clear advantage to win the fight.

[Lydan Verdjak]

The Akalak gritted his teeth as the foot tasted the flesh of his bare back, wincing slightly as he agreeably leapt back for breathing space, his eyes fierce and cold from the fight already as he flicked his Lakan around. We'll see about that. The Akalak's eyes widened quickly as he saw the man rushing towards him again mercilessly, bringing his Lakan to defend and then swerving to the right -- Straight into the human's arm as the wooden lakan flung out of his hand simply.

That was not a good idea on his part.

Without the Lakan to weigh him down, the Akalak simply cracked his muscular palms and attempted to uppercut the man's nose and then trying to grab the arm holding the cutlass to disarm him.

[Tyral Moondrinker]

The Lakan went flying as Tyral struck, thudding across the sparring floor until it rested a good ten feet away near a group of combatants wielding swords and staffs. Now he had the advantage, armed versus unarmed. It seemed he was getting the best of this Akalak, which was slightly disappointing. It was just starting to get fun, too. Tyral shifted his weight and began to curve the cutlass back around towards his opponent just as the Akalak's fist collided with his chin. Stars blossomed in front of his eyes and he stumbled back, only avoiding falling because of the man's grip on his wrist, twisting painfully. Oh no you don't, you blue bastard. No one makes me drop my weapon that easily.

Grunting through the pain in his jaw, he rolled his weight over the Akalak's arm, following the direction he had been twisting, locking his knees around Lydan's head and flipping him flat onto his back. His own head rapped against the floor, not made any more pleasant by the ringing in his ears from the uppercut. He tasted copper and salt in his mouth. Grasping the Akalak's wrist with his left hand, he positioned Lydan's elbow over his hip and raised them off the floor, attempting an armbar. His cutlass still remained in his grasp, but the wrist was sore. The man had twisted hard with quite considerable strength and the pain would only get worse from here.

[Lydan Verdjak]

Lydan's otherwise stoic expression grew into a grin of delight as it quickly shifted to that of a horrified one as he was thrown on his ass. "Shyke!" The man's legs and overall torso was inverted to a painful position, he could do little to nothing as he struggled against the quick movement. He tried kicking his legs out weakly to try and throw the man off balance, but momentum was otherwise in his opponent's favor.

He cried out in start, "Yield!" As he rolled to struggle, and if released, to a stand.

[Tyral Moondrinker]

Tyral opened his hand and allowed the Akalak to stand. He was surprised he had pulled off the maneuver, especially now that the pain was increasing in his head and wrist. It would take a couple nights to shake the after effects of this session off, but it was nothing that a few drinks couldn't help along. Grunting as he stood, Tyral laughed and clapped Lydan on the shoulder in friendly camaraderie.

“Friend,” he exclaimed. “I do believe I can call you friend now. I haven't had that hard of a time since I was a small boy, I tell it true.” The Svefra stretched his shoulders, the joints popping where the Lakan had struck him. There would be a bruise blossoming there soon. But it was worth it. Sweat made his golden skin glisten in the half light of the dojo, which meant that it had been a good day. “I believe I owe you a drink,” he smiled, bowing to the Akalak. “You do drink, yes?”

As he waited for an answer, he returned the wooden cutlass to its pile and retrieved his own, sticking the scabbard through the wide leather belt around his waist. The man had almost bested him; would have, if he had lost his balance at the last. But the knowledge and experience gained, Tyral knew, was far more important than a victory. Victory and defeat did not matter in a place such as this training dojo. It belonged only when true blades were drawn and the blood ran, when yield meant nothing except weakness. But here, defeat was a lesson that the victor did not learn and in that Tyral envied Lydan.