[Bronze Woods] Kegger Crasher (Rhuryc)

[Xalet]

32nd Day of Fall, 511 AV

In Xalet's hands, anything could become a training device. Most were formulated by his Patron, whom had a wise and creative mind when it came to exercises meant to engineer the body into a more powerful and efficient machine. Over the years Xalet had trained with many objects. Chunks of rock, rope, chains, even a wagon meant to be pulled by beasts. Today his device was unlike that which he had used, as when he had awoken outside of his normal dorm area was what appeared to be a large keg meant for storing beer or ale. It's planks were strong and solid, it's top nailed shut securely. A fine device for holding a large quantity of beverages.

Attached was a rope with some rather overt directions. Included was a poorly drawn diagram of a stick figure completing a set of strength training exercises. The inked man composed completely of lines hefted what Xalet assumed was the barrel, as on paper it was simply a cylindrical set of spheres above his head and nearly to atop his shoulders, only to bring the barrel back down to the ground. There was a scribble that appeared to be a set of numbers, which the squire assumed was the amount of repetitions to be completed. The number looked large. Large enough that the Akalak immediately sought to put it out of his head.

With his armor and weapons attached to their various slings and sheaths, Xalet reached down to grip the barrel and began to lift it up, only to feel the hefty slug of mass wrenching his body back downward. "Uugn...oh come on..." he grunted, shuffling the barrel up and over into his back, laying against the plates that covered his shoulders, protecting his skin from the weight. He tried not to think about what was inside. Probably dirt, or rock.

Once out into the Bronze Woods the Akalak unslung his shield and placed it down upon the ground, but his short blade stayed secure to his side. Removing his helm he turned the dented piece of armor upside-down and utilized it as a bucket for his gauntlets. With his bare hands he reached down, bending his knees and gripped either side of the barrel. Sucking inward he steeled his core, tightening his abdominal muscles and powered his shoulders upward. His head ducked downward as the barrel came to rest above just below his neck. Then, with a deep grunt he stepped and allowed his fingers to bite deeply into the sides of his training partner, slamming the barrel in front of him and onto the ground. "One." he chimed. He had to keep count out loud, as he dared not to lose count.

[Rhuryc]

Quite the morning. Rhuryc enjoyed these strolls to a point. Now that he was close to Syliras and his mishap journey was near an end the trek was no longer a chore, but rather a pleasant jaunt down a familiar path. So he clunked along, the various gear clashing together to create that tell-tale man-made ruckus. He stood out among the trees. A large fellow, clad in leathers and all sorts of junk, he was prime and knightly to the point of simply owning a Syliran nature. The bastard belonged in the city. His cant was lazy in its stride and despite the hassle of equipment the man himself seemed at ease, unconcerned with the immediate surroundings and the additional weight he bore. It was not until he came about the obnoxious counting that the man showed even the slightest sign of concern. Four! The voice bellowed. The echo was followed shortly by a quick 'thud' and Rhuryc, overtaken by his curiosity, inched forward. Akalak. Damn. Twice damn. Thrice damn. There was always something off with the big blue bastards; albeit, this one was purple. Purple? Did they come in purple? And what in all the hell was he doing? Confused, Rhuryc approached with a quizzical countenance. Beneath the mop of unkempt blond hair and the equally untreated mess of a beard it was difficult to determine his intent. With all the what-not he carried and the sword he very much resembled a common bandit. Rugged, dirty. Dirty. Very dirty. Nevertheless, Rhuryc settled his ever-green gaze on the Akalak and offered him a jovial grin as he made his way from the nearby bushes. "Hail, friend." His thick baritone cut clear against the wild ambiance. "I know it's little of my business, but did that keg perchance wrong you in some way? The hardly seems a good way to treat a companion."

[Xalet]

That big barrel rested itself atop the trapezius portion of Xalet's muscles, right as Rhuryc had entered the picture. The squire was fairly focused on his training, and he found it lucky that the Human introduced himself prior to any further interaction. His hands released the sides of the barrel as he stood up, the heavy instrument of exercise hitting the ground with a weighty thud. That old keg could have filled the quenched the thirst of many a tavern going customer, but now it was filled with who knew what and was being tossed about by an Akalak. Fifty gallons of pure muscle building science. Never question your Patron, that was something Xalet had learned as a Page. It didn't still have ale in it, did it?

The purple tinged man turned to look toward Rhuryc before taking a moment to ask himself, "What in the world am I looking at?" Was it a homeless man? Out in the Bronze Woods? He certainly looked worse for wear, but Xalet couldn't imagine a transient person living out in the woods, as Patrolled as it was by the various members of the Knighthood. Rhuryc could most likely see Xalet's eyes moving from his feet to his head, taking into consideration his general lack of cleanliness. His words seemed polite enough, for a filthy, beggarish looking sort. That didn't mean Xalet wasn't cautious about taking the time to introduce himself while looking about to see if there were any other grudgy people waiting out in the trees.

"I am Xalet, squire to Sergeant Irine Braklin. The keg has been repurposed for training, by the decision of my Patron." he responded, an answer that had little humor to it. Akalak's weren't exactly known for their glowing fancies of comedy. Luckily, Xalet had grown up in a Human dominated society, so he knew how to take and make a joke now and again, although some of them didn't always make the best of sense. "And it looked at me wrong." he added, trying to take advantage of the man's apparent laid back nature.

"Have you been in these woods long? You appear to be in need of...some hygene services." Try as he might, the heavy framed Akalak couldn't think of a suitably refined way of bringing up Rhuryc's state of being. Xalet knew what it was like to sweat and to get his hands dirty, but this man appeared to be beyond the simple stains of hard labor.

[Rhuryc]

Rhuryc wasn't sure if he should smile or not. Instead, some kind of odd amalgamation between a grin and confusion graced his countenance in response to the 'joke', if it could even be called that. Akalaks. Hell, the entire culture could use a bit more humor. Maybe a little less head bashing. At least with the admission of an official patron Rhuryc felt at ease knowing that he would not be squaring off against this fellow. At least he hopped so. The commentary concerning his traveling condition forced a silent balk as he leaned to the side and took a whiff or two. He half recoiled at the result. Ah. True. He had been walking for quite some time now and the consistency of wilderness bathing spots was hideously low. It was only after this that the man realized he had yet to respond. Right, squire, best to be respectful. And all that. "Rhuryc. Wandering despot and blacksmith. I've actually come from Denval, so yes. I am in dire need of a bath. Or even just company. I seem to have lost my companions along the way; you haven't seen a man dressed like a yeti and a playful tiger, have you?" There was a long pause there. Bit of an odd fellow. Rhuryc offered the Akalak a grin before too long and managed to close the somewhat awkward distance between the two of them. He glanced down at the keg and then back up at Xalet, considering, and otherwise making a spectacle of himself. "I don't much believe you would have. Anyway, it's probably a fair bit of fortune I stumbled across you, you wouldn't happen to have anything to drink, would you? My wetskin just recently ran dry and my luck followed suit in the means of locating a suitable replacement."

[Xalet]

What did he just say? A man dressed like a yeti and a playful tiger? What in the world was a yeti anyway? Xalet had little worldly experience outside of Syliras, and so when the man spoke of Denval he could only file the name of such a place back toward the rear of his mind for later use. Must have been a small town. Xalet knew of a few key places, like his birthplace of Riverfall, but he could never recall the home of the Akalak. That had been lost many years ago, and now it too was just a name. Perhaps one day he would visit and learn about the land in which he once came from, but the distance was great, and his duty was to Syliras and the Knighthood now. There was no time for personalized quests of self-understanding.

"I have not. Perhaps you may find them within the city." Xalet responded, but the answer was somewhat hollow. He didn't know many tigers but was certain that a playful one would have stood out. Instead he watched as the man walked forward. He seemed harmless enough, or at least not immediately hostile. The squire hadn't met many that were hostile within the confines of the province of Sylira, but that didn't mean it wasn't possible. Complacency was one of the major flaws his Patron often spoke of. Don't trust too quickly, at least not until you were within the walls of the city.

"You're not far from the city. But I do." Xalet said as he bent down to the area where he previously removed his equipment pack before initiating his exercises. Hydration was a key element to a successful session in strength training, he learned that early on the hard way. From inside he pulled out a waterskin, fairly standard issue. It was beaten and weathered, clearly a hand me down from the Knights to a squire for daily use, but it worked well enough. He hadn't been working out long, so it's contents were still fresh enough, although he was hesitant in letter someone like Rhuryc use it.

Finally he shrugged away any caution and tossed it to the man with a soft underhand gesture. He was still left wondering though, "What happened to your companions? What are you the despot of?" Xalet was left to realize he wasn't exactly certain of the proper use of the word 'despot'. It was left out of the training manual for squires which seemed to be highly malleable and, in general, subject to immediate change depending on your current Patron. Syliras worked well that well. A set of rules to govern, highly left open to interpretation by the Knights.

[Rhuryc]

He snatched the vessel out of the air. Quick fellow. After a few gulps of delightfully cool water Rhuryc returned the skin and spoke up once again. "They wondered off." He said simply, his attention flickering between the quizzical Akalak and his barrel. "Easily distracted bunch. I imagine the Vanthan made his way to the Myrians to see how many he could kill before they ate him." He finished with a shrug and went about removing the pack from his person. The heavy collection of objects clattered against one another as he set them down, intent on resting for whatever little trekremained on his journey. Without the mess of gear he was lightly armed, a shield strapped to his back and a sword at his side; it was as if the fellow expected trouble. "Tell me, would you be up to some real training? I rarely get to test myself against a Syliran warrior. Much less so an Akalak." Rhuryc neglected to mention the plethora of Xalet's kinsmen that made a habit of trying to kill him. Probably the best. A metal shriek accompanied his request as steel scrapped against leather. The weapon was unimpressive, a bastard sword of suitable size, without decoration except for the unintelligible inscription carved into the blade. The shield was brought about next for good measure. "What do you say? Or did I just make all that fuss to look like an idiot."

[Xalet]

Xalet listened to everything the man had to say, but had absolutely no idea how to comment upon it. Killing Myrians before being eaten? Assuming Xalet took those words as literal, was this man traveling with madmen? Not that there weren't people within Mizahar that found themselves driven by bloodlust and violence, but even then...no, no he had to be joking. It was clearing a Human joke, only Xalet could not immediately find the humor in it. That must have been the explanation, as the squire didn't even wish to move this thoughts beyond being wrong about it.

His eyes probably would have glazed over at such things, but luckily the sounds of clamoring metal break Xalet's fragile concentration. Focus was difficult when you were constantly struggling with a second set of thoughts trying to breach the surface of your persona. He looked at the weaponry Rhuryc carried, a sword and shield. They appeared to be made of decent enough craftsmanship as well, not like the worn hand-me-downs Xalet was utilizing. He drew it easily enough as well. Typically blacksmiths had at least some idea of how to defend themselves, Xalet wondered just where this man's realm of skill began and ended. The blacksmiths that worked directly for the Knights were often well versed in the various items they made.

Xalet thought about that title, 'Syliran Warrior'. He sought Knighthood daily, it was the very dream he lived and trained for. The Akalak could still recognize his inexperience, although it lessened day by day, "I'm just a squire." he replied as he turned the barrel until it was long ways between the two men. With his left foot as an anchor upon the forest floor, he pushed his right leg against the wooden exterior of the keg and shoved, sending the container rolling out from the middle of the men until it came to rest against the side of a protruding root extending from one of the many large trees. "But I wouldn't make anyone look like an idiot."

The wide framed Akalak dropped to a knee and retrieved his gauntlets from his helm, taking out the articulated plates before pulling them over his hands. His helm he spun in a half circle until the opening faced downward before lifting it up and lowering it over his head. Within his sheath rested his beat up short blade, forged like a short sword, but not with the same precision as the weapon was simply meant for training. "You have some skill at that sword than, yes? What did you have in mind?"

[Rhuryc]

"Just a squire?" Rhuryc almost snorted. Instead he grinned to himself and lowered his head, eyeing his own arms compared to the weapons of the Akalak. Huh. This wouldn't be so much a test of skill as it was an exercise in caution. "Just an Akalak with a blade. Believe me, friend, there's little worse than facing down a raging, blue giant. Now." The man gave his weapon a twirl then lowered the blade, the edge set an angle from his hip toward his back while his shield remained forward, poised, ready to intercept whatever came his way. In more ways than one Rhuryc looked the part of a Knight, his stance, the manner he carried himself in. Even the confidence the bolstered from his form. A blacksmith, sure. "How about a bit of sport? Show me what it is they teach squires these days, and I'll see if I can do much of anything about it. Just, you know. I'd appreciate it if you stopped before you killed me." Rhuryc offered Xalet a grin and there he stood, waiting.

[Xalet]

Xalet set about watching the man carefully. Understanding the way a man handled a sword could tell you a lot about his abilities. His stance, his grip, whether his sword or shield led the way. Xalet wasn't a professional at reading opponents, but he had trained with enough skillful opponents to know the difference between a blundering nobody and someone that had some actual training with a weapon. From what he saw so far, Rhuryc was one of those 'actual training' sorts. He spoke modestly enough, but Xalet knew better than to rush things, that hadn't gone so well against Markus. Of course Xalet wasn't the novice he used to be, the Akalak had a few things up his sleeve besides a pair of enlarged biceps.

"I'm good at that." Xalet admitted, trying to put the man's mind at ease, "I've never killed anyone during training." True enough. The Akalak knew of restraint, he knew of moderation, the problem was...half of him knew of restraint and moderation. The other half knew of rage and power. Those types of priorities did not bode well when they took up residence inside the same body. Best not too linger on such things, focus on the man before him, that was his best medicine. Reaching over his shoulder he slung his shield from a broad shoulder and affixed it securely to his left arm. The dark wood of the heater shield was rimmed with dulled metal banding that had long lost it's shine years ago.

His right hand reached down across his waist, pulling a short bladed weapon from his unadorned leather sheath. It seemed non-lethal enough, so long as whoever was wielding it lacked the strength to plow it's blunted head through another man's chest cavity. Xalet began to move forward before dropping into a loose stance, there was ground to cover after all. He let that armor settle down correctly across his body, his memories pulling forth the weight and feeling of it's encumbrance. He was conditioned for that armor to an extent. It's plates had been upon his skin for so long it felt more familiar than his dorm room. "His weapon, it's just like Markus'. He's tall as well for a Human." Xalet mulled a few pertinent facts about the man before him. It was best to get in close, quickly. The only warning of Xalet's increase in speed was his slight drop as his legs bent further than they had been. His weight shifted forward to ease his forward momentum. He had some decent power in those long legs as he made large strides toward Rhuryc.

His shield led the way, as if he was attempting to shield charge Rhuryc off of his feet, but Xalet knew better. Just outside of both of their sphere's of attack he slowed down slightly and brought his left leg forward and he moved to sweep the rim of his shield outward. His right arm had transferred it's position from the side to a straighter trajectory from his belly button, his elbow brought in close to his center. The attack was meant to come from the same location as the previous shield swipe, using the shield as a faint and cover, concealing the location of the point of his short sword until the last moment when he could sweep his right leg forward to follow his left, still channeling his previous momentum. With a bent knee and an extending arm, a properly performed lunge executed by his long arm could reach a deceptively far target despite the length of his blade.

[Rhuryc]

In all the time Xalet was watching him, Rhuryc was returning the favor. Armored, with shield and a short blade, there was room enough to be difficult. Maybe even enough for a strike or two. In their brief moments of introspection Rhuryc took in more than just his opponent; the terrain, where they stood. The wildlands outside the city were ravaged by uneven ground, unsure footing, and shadows that served any warrior well. As his opponent prepared Rhuryc moved. One foot stepped over the other, both pointed forward, his legs carefully picking their way past the roots and leaves until he had poised himself with the sun at his back. The Akalak came fast. Shield first. Rhuryc moved. The step was simple. He shifted his torso to the right of Xalet's strike by curving his motion, his legs bringing him beside the squire and removing his body from the blow. The maneuver left both of his own arms open for attack. His countenance never shifted. Eyes narrow, he somehow watched every motion from his opponent and simultaneously kept the surroundings in mind, almost flowing from one set to the next. The blade was next. Rhuryc watched it come in behind the disk, dulled, quick, but not fast enough. His own weapon came about, lifted from his side in an overhand strike that sunk it down onto the outstretched Gladius. A glorious, metal clang echoed throughout the woods in a blow meant to disarm, or at least unbalance, his foe. With that, Rhuryc spun and brought his shield along for the ride, the brunt of its surface following the momentum of the man's hips and seeking its mark at Xalet's chest. The strike could have been harder; at any impact, it would be apparent that the blacksmith was not acting at his full capacity.