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[Isana Lin]

4th of Summer, 514 AV

Inhale.

Isana lowered the point of the spear to level, overlapping the right edge of her shield. Held centrally, the weapon was almost perfectly balanced. Almost. She raised the point a fraction, let her grip slide forward a half-hand, and settled back in to position. That was better. Not perfect, but better.

Exhale.

She lurched forward, disc-shaped shield clutched close to her shoulder, spear darting forward with the pace, wrist extending. The point went high, raking the dummy's side and skittering off in a brief spray of hay. Too much force, not enough direction. Clumsy, clunky. It didn't matter. She imagined an off-balance opponent, thin wound bloodying his side, axe arcing at her skull.

Inhale.

Recover. She tugged the spear back, inching her shield across again to cover her body, rim still keeping most of the weight on her shoulder. It was a poor manoeuvre, inelegant, and she stumbled a half-pace as the shield's weight shifted with her feet, the shield dropping an inch before she recovered. The phantom axe buried itself somewhere in her shoulder.

Isana swore under her breath, letting the shield sink to the ground, breath coming in gasps. Once, when Vathan had first introduced her to formation fighting, she'd thought the weapons involved - spear and large, heavy shield, - to be poor, clunky substitutes for a proper knight's weapons. The spear, too short for use on horseback, too long to use easily with one hand. The shield, too large to carry atop a mount, too heavy for the twisting, turning melee of dismounted fighting. She had been right, at least in part. They were heavy, impractical, inflexible. But only for a lone fighter.

She imagined a line of similarly-equipped knights standing alongside her, heavy shields interlocking, spears jutting forward like a tremendous armoured porcupine, feet moving in unison, the entire formation moving, fighting as one, and her lips curled into a tight little grin. Proper heavy infantry, where all that spinning, duelling nonsense that they practised in the shield games counted for precious little. Only a fool fought alone. She shrugged the shield up again, arm protesting the strain. She'd been using the lighter heater shield for too long, she'd almost forgotten what a proper shield felt like. Isana slowly made her way to a nearby boulder – one of the dozen or so that dotted the training grounds – and set the spear and shield against it, taking a long drink from the waterskin resting at the stone's base, water pleasantly cooled by the the rock.

It was early in the day, and Syna's ministrations had yet to turn the rocky region of the training ground into the sweaty, baking, hell it promised to become once the day began in earnest. A rough handful of knights and squires dotted the grounds, more than usual – likely a product of the upcoming games, bane of her existence that they were - but it was far from full. Isana liked it that way. Training was private, a time for self-administered trial and error, not a public exhibition. Publicity bought egos into the equation, and there were few things that robbed a training session of value more rapidly than ego. Difficult to admit to a mistake when there was a crowd watching, after all. Difficult, when it became about looking good instead of getting better.

For all her efforts to avoid the games she had been roped into them nonetheless. Come breakfast, she would find herself clawing at a desk yet again, organising pavilions, water, weapons, registrations and the two hundred other small, crucial things the order needed to run a successful tournament. It felt as though there was a war on the way, and Isana had to organise the entire thing herself. Logistics, as she had very rapidly learned, were not her strong point and with only seven days until the tournament began, her calender was looking very crowded indeed. All this time, for training would be better spent in grounds. Oh, she could recognise the value of competition, but there was no need to make a spectacle out of it.

Still, even amidst the administrative chaos that was the shield games, she found time for practice. There was always time for practice. She shouldered the shield, settled her grip on the spear, and advanced on the helpless dummy again.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

"Go again! Make your attacks stronger! You're barely scratching, lad!" Ser Iros barked over the few others that had gathered in the Training Grounds. Once again, the squirrel was forced to react quickly and hop back barely a few steps while the patron knight lurched forwards with his Lakan and slashed at the empty air for the.. fifth.. seventh.. he couldn't count. The knight had been going at it for the better part of the morning, although little had sunk in. Not because the squirrel wasn't paying attention, but because it was so much easier to just hop out of the way of most of the patrons attacks. Stubbornly, Ser Iros had continued and here they stood, some unknown bells later, and with only some minor scratches and bruises on both of them. Of course nobody would ever see such a thing on the Pycon - what little marks the Lakan had made were soon filled and forgotten.

For all of his lack of.. agility, however. Ser Iros had an amazingly tough skin, and one that the Pycon simply could not graze. Not after repeated attacks, involving punches and kicks, and even a full-body tackle. Nothing ever seemed to do enough for the man to call it a day, and so they continued on and on. Even though it would make no difference. The squirrel was made of clay, that squished against itself and could not put sufficient force into attacks to make them as powerful as he hoped. Not with the knight constantly moving, lifting legs and walking around the rather wide field that they had picked out much earlier in the morning. Few rocks and boulders littered the fields that the Pycon could use to any kind of advantage, and fewer restrictions kept neither knight nor squire in one place for long enough that the other could make any significant advantage.

One point came when the squirrel thought he could end this match. In truth, he just wanted it to end, and part of the clay squirrel wanted to lose quickly so that he could get their session over with. But the other half thought it would be bad to lose - after all, he could continue fighting. He shouldn't try to play himself off weaker than he actually was, he'd just be undermining himself. When the Akalak launched himself forwards once more and stabbed down with the tip of the Lakan, the squirrel took little time at all to hop to the side and watch the elaborate dagger gain a new coating of dust. But afterwards, he broke off into a sprint using all four of his legs, and aimed to shoulder right against the right foot. The Akalak wasn't stupid - he could see what was coming and immediately rose the right foot, to kick at the squirrel. But Archailist was used to people constantly trying - and failing - to use their feet in a fight with a creature barely a few inches off the ground. His long, heavy tail swooped around in a wide arc, and his direction suddenly changed.

The foot sailed through the air and hit nothing but air - and the left foot, still on the ground and the only thing still holding the Akalak up, received a jarring full-body slam of the squirrels weight into its ankle. Jarring for the squirrel, of course. If Ser Iros felt anything at all, he didn't deign to show it as he lowered his right foot again, and leaned down to pinch the Pycon and lift him up. There was a lot of anger on that red-skinned face, but a bit of disappointment too. The disappointment hit him more, of course. He could handle anger from the man that had pretty much voiced his displeasure since the first meeting wit the squirrel that would become his squire, but disappointment cut through him like a knife - after all, he was trying to impress the knights. He wanted to be a knight himself. He was doing the best he possibly could, given the fact that his body had no bones or muscles or.. anything. But apparently it wasn't enough. He couldn't even knock the Akalak over - heck, he couldn't even pick up a sword, let alone swing one. Let alone cause harm to anyone. "I'm done for the day. You're not, Squishy. You need to learn how to... put some damn strength into yourself. Stay here and practice with a dummy - or better yet, another knight. And you're NOT leaving until you impress them."

The knight dropped the squirrel and turned on his heel before Arch could ask how he was supposed to impress a wooden dummy. But, it was a knights order.. so he'd have to live with it. And swallow his pride as well - after all, he had absolutely no clue what he was supposed to do now. He could never impress another knight if he couldn't impress Iros, and there was no chance that he was going to get any better in his combat if he didn't spend more time down in the Fighters Pits, with Fist. She was the one person in this entire city that could help him, if it was going to be any one person at all. Yet he couldn't go down and see her. What a damn nightmare this was.

As the squirrel glanced up and down the dummies and searched for a free one - given that the few knights and squires that were also dotting the Training Grounds, at regular intervals, were all busy training with one-another - he found one solitary... knight? Hmm. With the ungodly spear and shield, it would be an odd match to make.. but the squirrel had been given an order and he would follow it, no matter the risk to his pride or his body. "Excuse me? Hello?" Being still.. somewhat new to the Order, the squirrel was entirely unsure whether 'Ser' was still an appropriate term for a female knight. But, he disregarded this, for now. "I was wondering if.. oh, goodness, this is awkward. I was wondering if you had some spare time to spar with me, if that would be.. alright." Well, the important thing was that he hadn't shyked himself.

[Isana Lin]

It was a simple manoeuvre. Jab, roll, return. The dummy convulsed as her spearhead rattled along a thin oaken arm. A step forward, hand clenched tight around the spear, extending the wrist to jab the spear at her hay and sackcloth foe. A roll of the shoulder, twisting the wall of a shield to let the weapon extend. Finally, the same in reverse, spear retracting, shield rolling back into place to protect her yet again. Return. A simple drill, among the first a spearwoman learned.

Why, then, was it so damnably difficult?

The shield slipped when she rolled, flapping against her shoulder like a sail - albeit a sail with a fist on the other side of it - punching at the sword slung on her hip. The spear slipped and sliced around the target like a sword blow on plate, defying the twists of her hand. Rather than gliding smoothly back into place she stumbled into the recovery, feet flapping at the flagstones. She tugged the shield up, edge hovering above the stone, jabbed again. Weighed against the memory of the wildman, steel darting and flowing like a winter river her drills felt fabricated, clunky and horribly, fatally, rigid.

It was the sort of drill intended to be instilled into a formation, moving in lock-step, individual soldiers no more than blood-oiled gears in a ruthlessly efficient machine of war - more a group reflex than a conscious movement. Perhaps that was it. Practising by herself was a vastly different prospect to moving with someone else alongside, judging spacing, holding formation. Another jab. A puff of hay drifted free of what would have been the dummy's ribcage. Here, it was a different sort of combat. Jab, roll, return.

Near anyone could manage a fatal hack with a blade at a similarly armed opponent, given they intended to meet the gods as the sword slid home. Such a blow took a special sort of fanatic, completely devoid of fear - or perhaps driven mad by it - people were strange, unpredictable, creatures. Her arm jerked as the shield flailed, rim dragging across stone for a heartbeat before she tugged it back into place, forearm flailing. Drought, famine and flood take this cursed shield! Isana bit back a curse and wrestled her focus back, a gentle flame of heat flickering in her arms. Jab, roll, return. Such suicidal men were rare, made rarer by their own foolishness. Blessedly few human opponents possessed the sort of manic fury that drove them to throw themselves on an opponent's sword in their lust for the kill. Blessedly few here. Outside the narrow protection of Syliras' walls, where her Green Company patrolled the wilderness, few opponents were men, and precious few of those that were could claim full possession of their wits.

So Isana jabbed. Jabbed and rolled and returned until her wrists ached and her chest heaved, until sweat slicked her braid, until she felt as though she would cook in her own armour. She struggled on, each brief success followed by a dozen new errors, a dozen fatal mistakes, fighting her own equipment as surely as her imagined opponent. A misplaced foot, a poor grip. All a fantastic way to become a carcass. All unacceptable. Her back ached, her arms burned, wildlife talked.

"Hello?" Wildlife talked?

Isana stopped mid-lunge. Paused for a moment. Then, with deliberate care, settled the butt of the spear on the ground. A squirrel was talking to her. Storms. Was this what madness felt like? She hadn't even noticed the transition. After a long moment of staring her brain caught up with her breathing enough to blink and lower her shield arm. Another moment's observation rewarded her with the realisation that this was no squirrel. Oh, it looked right enough, at a glance, but it wasn't alive. Not as she was. There was no breathing, no rise and fall of those brown-flecked flanks. Most tellingly of all, where Isana would have expected to see eyes there were only dull brown spots staring back at her, more pottery than pest. A pycon, then. She heard tales of the clay men, perhaps glimpsed one here or there in a busy marketplace. Never had she found cause to speak to one. The squirrel, though, was something new.

And it was in the training grounds. The order's training grounds. Asking her to spar. The world truly was full of the most ill-timed and misplaced wonders. Privacy, for one training session, for two measly bells, was evidently too much to ask. Sylir, spare me. The heavens remained silent. Evidently Sylir's domain did not extend to peace and quiet. Isana let her breathing return to normal before she spoke. ”I trust you are aware that this ground is restricted to the Order? Assuming you are a member of the knighthood - a fact which is very much in doubt - I am not in the business of offering duels to those who cannot offer their names.” She took a pace toward the clay squirrel, mail rustling. ”Mine is Isana Lin. Green Company of the Fourth Regiment. Forgive me if I do not shake your hand.” She nodded to her hands, one grasping the spear and the other the shield and gave an apologetic shrug, but her eyes told the real story. ”I would know yours. If it does not include 'Ser', 'Sera', or 'Squire', than I must insist you leave.” And leave me to my practice, if you would.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

While he was waiting for the knight - and he could pretty confidently assume she was a knight, given the sigil branded with all knights. Though, she certainly didn't use knightly weapons. Or what he had assumed would be knightly. The vast majority he ever saw were using smaller shields, better for horses and general movement, even if they protected less. And spears, too.. another odd weapon, given the majority of knights using swords and other weapons of a similar nature. He'd been blessed with one of the few knights that actually used a spear as well, and the occasional heavy shield.. but not often. They were chunky and inefficient, and he'd never seen the reason for it. Of course the squire himself couldn't use either of the two things - a spear would be far too chunky, and utterly useless when compared to the much more flexible Py-Pole. He wished he'd brought such a thing with him now - it would have, at the very least, made a fight fair. One using a huge shield and a massive spear, and the other with absolutely nothing but two fists made of clay that couldn't throw a punch.

At least she seemed to use the thing... for lack of a better word, inefficiently. He could only wonder how she would compare when faced with a moving target not made of straw. Let alone one as small as the squirrel was - after all, the spear wasn't a short weapon. The knight didn't even have two hands free to grasp it and steady its weight, and the squirrel couldn't handle his Py-Pole with two paws, let alone one. Perhaps it wouldn't be as one-sided as he previously thought, but nevertheless.. well. He felt nervous, and it showed. His paws were fumbling, filling the air with short clicking as his claws rubbed against his palms. Even his tail had begun to twitch, as it often did, when he didn't pay all that much attention to it.

All that faded when the first words came tumbling out of her mouth. And it only got worse as she continued. He was really doubting that who he spoke to, even was a knight herself, but he kept his mouth pinned shut until she'd finished the last insult. He was used to being ridiculed, somewhat, by knights. He could understand, somewhat, that it must have been funny to see a squirrel running about the city, and a squirrel riding a dog, and a squirrel standing in the Training Grounds with his Akalak patron knight. He could take a few mild jests, even if some of them were borderline mocking. This was completely different - she had not only question his rank within the Order, but doubted its existence without giving him time to open his mouth. By the end of it, he was seething. There were few things that could really get under his clay, but she'd managed to touch most of them within a matter of ticks.

"Well, excuse me, Sera Lin. My name is SQUIRE Archailist. Under Ser Iros. I must have wasted my time, because of course a lowly squire's attention is not worthy of such a prestigious knight for a simple sparring session in the hopes of joining her honorable ranks." His eyes stared blankly up at the knight, almost alien, so wide and completely pupil-less. Like so many other Pycon, a statue come to life. "Forgive me, if I likewise do not shake your hand. As you can see, I would be too short to reach it in the first place." At first, he'd felt silly for coming to the Training Grounds at a busy day, even though his patron had insisted. Now he just felt plain foolish for bothering. The few knights that even noticed the squire in the first place, often either doubted, judged or simply didn't believe that he would ever be allowed to join the Knighthood, without seeing anything about him but his race. And these were the knights that were supposed to be preventing discrimination in the city. And yet, there was so much, amongst its own ranks!

[Isana Lin]

Touched a nerve, did I? Isana gave a tiny, self-satisfied smile, inconvenience briefly forgotten. For all the physical difference between pycons and humans, prick them and it seemed that their egos bled just the same. It was shockingly predictable, really. Almost dull, like dropping a stone. One simple movement and the same knee-jerk response, time and time and time again, men and pycons alike. Then, that was why she tolerated this stifling city, was it not? Someone had to notice these things, and anyone with eyes could see that the order would be the last to so much as blink. Arrogance was too normal to them, too common to so much as merit a glance. It was as plain as the stone beneath their feet and, for most, worthy of no more attention. But, little pycon, I am not most.

She looked at the pycon for a long moment, grey eyes meeting clay spots. A tiny little statue. Isana had a moment's sensation of standing among the Stone Gardens, gazing at an altogether different sort of monument and wondered how the pycons buried their dead, if they had such a thing. If looks could have killed, she doubted she would ever have a chance to find out. Contempt from the pycon, and so quickly? Most humans at least tried to contain it, maintain some semblance of respect for her station. But not you. There must have been little time to wait on such things when the world towered above you. What did station matter when all things stood so far above? Ultimately, it was she who broke eye contact first, blinking before her eyes dried. Staring was unprofessional, after all. One did not win a staring contest with an ornament.

Slowly, Isana meandered over to the rock with her waterskin, lowered the shield down alongside it, taking a moment to ensure the straps were tucked carefully away. Why hurry? Her training session was already close to done. The pycon had evidently been watching for a time, he could wait a little longer. She unstopped the waterskin, took a long, cool drink, and wandered back to the pycon, spear in one hand and waterskin in the other. Isana dropped to a crouch before the squirrel, knees protesting the movement after a half-bell under the shield, bracing herself with the spear. It was not yet so late in summer that the grass had dried out, and the dirt beneath it shifted easily under the butt of the spear.

"You are excused, Squire Archailist. On this occasion." She exhaled, smile darting across her face as if at some private joke. "Likewise, you are forgiven. However; if you are wise, you will choose your words more carefully in future and save us both the need for apologies. Now, while I do not consider myself prestigious, the compliment is appreciated." She tugged at her shoulder strap, where the shield had rubbed at her pauldron, felt it slide back into place. Better.

"The implication that you are somehow beneath my attention is not." Isana's voice was soft, friendly, but there was a trace of steel sheathed in that conversational tone. "I am neither your patron nor one of your instructors. You were either a squire or an intruder, and there are few enough pycon squires. As I expect you well know. Am I to know which of the two you are by appearance alone, bereft of patron, sigil or seal? I am not a mind-reader. Nor, I suspect, are you. Speak as you will, but do not presume to tell me what I think, Squire Archailist." Her eyes were hard. "Do not ever presume to tell me what I think. Do you understand me?" Isana let the silence drift on.

"That aside, the answer to your original question is yes." She slid the waterskin to the pycon. "Drink, if you have a mind to. If we are to spar, you may need it." She stood, brushing the dirt from her spear, and reclaimed her shield, sliding her arm through the straps. "I would not want this morning to be a complete waste of your time, after all. I will exchange this for a training spear. Do you require anything? Weapons? Armour?" Fighting a pycon promised to be a strange experience. Something told her that ensuring a sparring partner's safety would be a little more difficult when they didn't reach your knee.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

Through all of the knights rebuff, the squirrel could only stare. And oh, how he did stare. The only thing that truly stopped the squirrel from exploding at her, was the fact that she was a knight and he was merely a squire. Eventually it would all change, he knew.. eventually, he would make himself well-known enough that not even the lowest pages would not be able to recognize the squirrel by name, if not by figure. Really, it shouldn't have been all that hard for the moment, either. How many squires were also squirrels in this city? How many squirrels were there, in the city, that could be even remotely related to the squirrel? Surely, there could be few imposters that could take the squirrels exact shape. Fewer still Pycons that could be mistaken for the squirrel, and the squirrel alone.

Unfortunately though, while staring at the knight, he could not help but recognize and understand what she meant. He would definitely have to rethink his words in the future. Although, perhaps, it would simply be better to not bother talking at all. He didn't want to really mouth off to one of the knights, because he knew it wouldn't gain anything good. But he definitely didn't want to be seen as 'that one squirrel that couldn't stand up for himself'. He didn't want people stepping on him because given the chance, most of them would. And most of them could, too. But then, most of them could walk over him now, and they did. With the numerous flashes of little smiles that Isana threw at him, he knew she was definitely enjoying herself. But he'd love to see what would happen when she was forced to put that spear and shield to the test, oh, how he couldn't wait for that now.

"Yes. I understand. Although my patron was with me but a chime ago." Perhaps the squirrel was softening a little - or he was just packaging up that anger and storing it away in a small little corner of his little clay body. Another little thing to remember, and learn from. Maybe he'd need to actually buy a sigil to wear, as some kind of poncho. "And you are not the first to question my status inside the Order, by far. Sometimes, I get testy on the subject." He shouldn't have to explain that, but he did anyway. His wide, unblinking eyes weren't very good at showing much emotion, but there were still some subtle shifts in them.

At least it looked like he hadn't driven the knight off completely with his attitude. That could be something to be pleased with - although, he did refuse the water almost immediately. "Water makes my clay soft. I'd prefer not to drink now." Perhaps later, though. "I'd hope you wouldn't presume what I would need, anyway. All I need, are my own two paws." Although, if they were to have a serious spar.. they would need to find a good area to do it in. The squirrel didn't need many obstacles to jump off and gain extra height.. but it would definitely be something nice to have. Which was why he almost immediately begun to gravitate to one of the wider spaces, filled with small rocks and boulders. Usually somewhere he wouldn't have chosen, but with a spear and a shield like that.. it seemed the perfect place to be. "We'll need a good place. How about here, hmm?" He didn't even want to wait for her to get a good training spear. If the squirrel had his own way, he would have urged her to keep on the metal tip. Add a bit of suspense to their fight. As long as she didn't get him in the head, they'd be fine.

[Isana Lin]

Just your paws? Isana's eyebrow crept up, but she remained silent. How he fought was between him and his patron. If she squinted, she could just about make his paws out, little balls of clay beneath the pycon. They hardly looked suitable to lift a blade, much less fight with one. The squirrel carried no weapons she could see, natural or otherwise. Fighting a woman in armour with nothing but one's bare hands was a fool's errand for a human-size opponent, much less a pycon. Did he intend to punch through mail? No, Isana could see the virtues of pycons as scouts and observers, even mages, but not as soldiers. You had to play to your strengths, after all. There was nothing to be ashamed of in that. Not that Squire Archailist seemed to share that view, the pycon winding his way through the training grounds ahead of her. Honestly, she felt like a child. Chasing squirrels through the training grounds was a pastime that even the younger her would have frowned upon. How things change.

"Here will do nicely." Isana nodded. The clay squire had led the way to the training ground's would-be mountain plateau, large boulders jutting out of the stony earth like a giant's teeth. Albeit one with exceptionally poor dental hygiene. Despite the odd stone, most of the area was bare, both of other people and of terrain which suited Isana just fine. Plenty of room to take advantage of the spear's reach. The shield could be problematic, but all in due time. I'm not yet sure how exactly he's proposing to fight.

"A moment, if you will." She set the spear down against one of the boulders, her waterskin alongside it, retrieved a wood-tipped training spear from one of the racks dotting the grounds. Irritating and sarcastic as the squire was, it wouldn't do to cause him any lasting damage. No, fighting him out of frustration was entirely the wrong start, entirely too close to fighting for her own reasons, entirely too close to that cursed tournament. She exhaled, hoping that some of her irritation would leave her along with the stale air. You sparred to improve. That was the only reason, the sole motivation there could ever be to level a blade at a comrade. No matter how the pycon set her teeth on edge annoyance was something to be settled with a patron, not with a spear.

"I must admit, I've not fought a pycon before." Or a squirrel, for that matter. "Nor am I entirely familiar with your anatomy. I trust that body blows will not cause haemorrhaging, or something similarly unpleasant?" A dead pycon was the last thing she needed. Ser Iros, whomever he was, may not have seen fit to supervise his own squire, but she somehow doubted that his approval would be forthcoming in the event she injured his charge. Another patron, leaving a squire to the training grounds. It was an infuriatingly common practice. Were they expected to train themselves? She resolved to ask Iros why later. In the meantime it seemed she would have to train his squires for him.

"Whenever you are ready." She settled into position, shield rolling over her shoulder, spear extended before it, waited for the squire to make his preparations. A full knight, fighting a squirrel. The very situation was ludicrous. She resisted the urge to laugh and focused on settling her breathing. "Begin."

Isana kept her eyes on the pycon's spots, wooden spear tip pointed toward him, feet braced. Twice in recent memory she had committed herself too early. Both times she had been made to suffer for it. She would not make the same mistake again. Let him be the first. The spear and shield were weapons of defence, and they were to be used accordingly. The squirrel had far further to travel to attack than she did. Plenty of opportunity for an opening.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

Fighting with his bare paws would be about as effective as fighting with any other weapon, unfortunately - his Py-Pole would give a noticeable increase in damage potential because of the extra force behind his kicks.. but at the same time, heaving the thing about would restrict his agility. And he wanted every bit of speed he could muster for a spar with a real knight. It didn't matter if he really managed to get much of a hit on her - as long as he didn't get punched straight into the ground by a training spear, he'd probably be able to come out of the fight reasonably pleased with himself. Who knew - if he could put all of the weight of his attacks close to the ankles, he could still topple her... even in those sheer masses of mail and armour she wore. There must have been a weak-spot or something, somewhere, that he could use. Somewhere like a joint or an open point...

Wait. Of course. He just needed to work on the weak spots. Not that he actually knew anything about finding the weak spots on a persons armour, or on a person themselves. He could make educated guesses on the matter but that was about as close to tactical superiority as he was going to get. It was actually one of the few times he'd gone against someone wearing full armour. Most of the opponents he met around the Training Grounds, and in the Fighters Pits, wore simple clothes or - at best - light armour that didn't really seem to limit the damage that he could put into them. Since the knight would be using a very long spear, even if it probably would be a little lighter than a real spear, he could probably be able to get in pretty damn close and then all he'd have to worry about would be the feet. And those things.. well, he'd dealt with a lot of feet before. Nearly everyone used them when they wanted to beat down a Pycon. Except they never seemed to work. So big and clumsy.

The fact that the knight had never fought with a Pycon before was no surprise to the squirrel. "Some people didn't even know our race existed. And those that have, have never fought with us. Body blows will cause no damage - just mind the head. That's the part that's valuable." Not that she'd be hitting it any time soon. Not with the odd wooden training spear she pulled out - and even then, she'd have to be pretty fast with the thing. He'd been proven wrong before by one or two others around Syliras, but he still felt quietly confident in himself. For one reason or another, at least. With such a heavy shield and chainmail, and a large spear.. she was ready to take on a boulder but not a squirrel. In his personal, professional opinion - she probably should have lost a lot of her armour before they began. It was actually something that most of the others had done beforehand. Then again, when they saw they were fighting something barely a few inches off the ground, they usually just got rid of their weapons as well.

At the signal, he bolted. In a straight line, right for her. Running on four legs always had an advantage - it meant that the squirrel went from being five inches off the ground to barely two, and it meant that his center of gravity remained much closer to the ground than before. One could never say that for a creature shaped exactly like a squirrel, he didn't embrace the art of fighting like a squirrel. If all went well, he'd probably be able to make it between her feet before she'd have a chance to move that giant shield around to stop him.

[Isana Lin]

Isana stared, unable to entirely mask her surprise. The squire was charging. Straight towards an outstretched spear. It was the sort of recklessness she'd grown to expect from yukmen, blind, straight-line velocity, little clay paws flying across the stone. Isana took a pace back, bought the point in-line, loose stone crunching beneath the leather of her boots. Avoid the head? It's the only thing I can see!

Archailist was a small target, there was no denying that. This close though, with the squire running straight at her? He may as well have impaled himself and saved her the trouble. She watched him, judged the distance, pulled her arm back a fraction and thrust the weapon forward. The point of the spear lunged at the squirrel, arm extending out behind it –

And cut empty air as Archiailist darted to one side like a startled rabbit, settled back on his mad charge, feet a blur beneath him. Not such a straight line, then. The pycon's speed wasn't impressive in itself – he was probably moving no faster than a man at a sprint, but on the scale of squirrels, that was painfully quick.

Too low for a proper blow. The squirrel was a three-inch blur on the stone. At that height, her spear may as well have been a particularly menacing raindrop, for all that she could strike at him with any degree of accuracy. What good was a weapon for keeping an opponent at a distance when it couldn't even do that? Isana cursed under her breath and dragged the spear back, halting the point just short of the stone, rolling the shield back into –

Too slow. Again!

The squirrel darted beneath the point of the spear, inside her reach. Why hadn't she listened to Titus and studied his blasted hammer? Isana twisted her arm, rolling the spear's point up, swinging the weapon's steel butt towards the charging pycon, rolling the shield across her body at the same time, pushing with her shoulder as much as her hands.

Too storming slow! The squire darted past the oncoming shield in a haze of clay, brushing past the heavy wood like it was an autumn breeze. Isana scowled and kicked at him, using the shield for support. She didn't need to hurt him, didn't need an injury. What she needed was some distance, some room to get him back on the spear's point. She aimed another kick at the darting pycon's side.

[Archailist]

My Words | Your Words | My Thoughts

As always, there was strategy to his madness. Every time the spear lurched towards the diminutive Pycon, all he needed to do was swing the heavy tail behind him and swiftly shift balance. The spear, so long and heavy, never really stood much of a chance. Every time the knight reeled back for another attack, he was given plenty of time to think about where to move, prepare to move, and then move. Soon enough it became like clockwork- no. It became like a dance.

Every time the wooden point swung down from above, he flipped left and right with flourishes of his tail, bounding gracefully. He could imagine an audience surrounded him and suppressed a light giggle at the mere thought of what they would be doing at that moment. Thankfully there were few other knights or squires around at that moment to watch the knight dutifully, and unsuccessfully stabbing away at the ground while the squirrel merrily spiraled around. Although there were some Weaponmasters patrolling the grounds as usual, and.. the looks they gave in his peripheral vision were more comical than grumpy. Even amused by the spectacle. Well, he'd give them a show, that was for sure. And he'd teach the knight a lesson or two about how squirrels could make good knights after all.

When the kicks began, he seized the opportunity. Although the knights feet were larger, they were by no means more accurate, and the squirrel found very little difficulty in swiping around or even under the abusive feet. When a particular kick came a little too fast for his liking, his front paws buried themselves in the soft dirt of the arena, while his back legs swiftly released all of the pent up energy inside, and launched his lower half right over his upper in a hand-stand that just about evaded the toe, and left the knight kicking nothing but air while his arms folded and his chin tucked in tight to his chest. From there, he rolled forwards and used his tail as a spring to make sure that when he rolled back over a complete cycle, he landed on all four legs before turning sharply and running straight for the opposite leg. This would be the moment where the squirrel would put all of that climbing into good use - the chainmail that the female knight wore, was essentially a ladder for the smaller Pycons.

His nimble claws easily sank into the gaps and he practically flew up the leg in the few moments that he had, while Isana was left trying to catch up with the squirrel. Every step he took made his claws sink a little deeper - and his clay almost conform to the rungs. There'd be no shaking the Pycon off while he did his work, no sir. And his work was to explore the armour and find a weak point in it, while Isana was busy. Maybe with the squirrel actually climbing up her body, she'd realize that picking a spear and a huge shield was probably the worst possible idea - and that perhaps it was time to ditch them before the squirrel found and climbed into the first open gap he could find. And obviously, the first place he looked was straight up the inside of the thighs. She'd be in big trouble if he ever actually managed to clamber inside there - because once he was in, there would be no chance of getting him out again. Not even a little one.

And maybe now, she'd realize why he didn't bother bringing a weapon with him - it would just get in the way, after all. He didn't want to injure the knight but he did want to prove that he wasn't just a piece of clay that couldn't defend itself. He'd probably proved that when he'd danced about her attacks like it was they were playing in the middle of a summer meadow instead of training for battle in the middle of a knight training ground, but he still wanted to continue and make sure that he really pushed the message home.