Closed The Tiger Warrior and the Horse Lord (Raz)

[Vanator]

Vanator looked into the Myrian's dark eyed smile, the filed teeth, and grinned back. Then he felt his knee buckle as Razkar pulled it forward and fastened a grip around Van's right hand. The Dyrkas' balance failed and he toppled, impacting the ground solidly with the Taloban on top of him, each with a grip on the other's weapon hand.

The horseman felt his hold on Razhar slip as the agile Myrian rolled away and onto his feet in one fluid movement. Van followed, hastily but without the smooth motion. The two warriors circled each other again, the universal dance of the fighter. Vanator was very pleased, the fighting style of the Falyndarian was different, challenging him. He lunged forward, taking a predictable swing at Razkar, who used his agility to help deflect the heaver ax with his own. Immediately Van threw his left shoulder against the Myrian, knocking him back several steps. Then the Drykas crouched, the ax chambered back for a horizontal swing at his opponents knees.

[Razkar]

Reach was proving to be a problem. Faster than the Drykas if not stronger, that wouldn't help Razkar if he was kept six feet away from the man at all times. That last blow was a test, a ruse, just like his first strike, rewarded with a shoulder in his chest that nearly sent him flying. And then that sweep-

Razkar had to jump back to avoid it, flashing horizontal arc of iron glinting inches in front of his knees. But that was the downside of the huge ax, he was finding: once it got its momentum going, it was awfully hard to stop it.

Vanator's swing continued to sweep through the air, swinging his arms around to the left with it as it went from right to left, leaving his side-

-but Vanator exploded upwards from his crouch, leading with his right shoulder this time.

The Myrian approved. The man knew his weaknesses and took steps to cover them. Or, even better, turn them against his opponent. But Razkar learned from his mistakes, chest still stinging from that left shoulder he ate a few moments ago, and sidestepped to the human's right. The heavy swing from the wood ax was still driving his arms to the left, and before he could bring it back around-

-Razkar brought his hand ax low and from the front horizontally, stopping an inch from the side of the charging Drykas.

[Vanator]

Van launched forward after his strike, sure that he could catch the Myrian off balance as he dodged the ax. But Razkar read the situation quickly, able to deftly avoid the shoulder check, and turn the advantage to himself. The Drykas saw the ax in Razkar's hand swing around and stop short of cutting his flesh. But Vanator could not stop his momentum, and he had to twist away awkwardly to stop from running into the warrior's pulled strike.

Van rolled on to his shoulder and back to his feet, nodding in acknowledgment of his opponent's ability to adapt. A sheen of sweat had appeared on his brow. He sucked in a deep breath, then lunged at Razkar again.

The horseman held the ax in both hands, raise on his right side for a strike. At the last moment, instead of swinging the ax head around at the Myrian, Van dropped his right shoulder low, bringing the end of the thick haft up and out, driving it like a spear towards Razkar's abdomen. If the strike made it through, Van would lever the weapon up so the iron head could be brought to bear against the Myrian's head.

[Razkar]

When the ax was raised Razkar felt a slump internally, disappointed the human seemed to be relying on his brute strength to carry the day. And he'd thought him a canny opponent. Well, no matter. He would dodge the blow, sidestep-

-then the thick oak shaft of Vanator's axe was jerked upwards, stabbing towards him-

Good man!

Ax raised to parry the heavy vertical blow, Razkar was too slow to block the strike, shaft thudding into her sternum. He grunts, forced back, ribs rattled around by the blow as Vanator re-gripped his weapon and brought it down, stepping forwards and not giving the Myrian time to settle.

Razkar growled and raised his ax horizontally, barely blocking the strike as the two shafts crashed into one another-

But it didn't help against Vanator's strength, and now that was truly an asset.

The big weapon and the big muscles powering it slammed downwards onto Razkar, forcing him down and back. He felt his balance go to rack and ruin, tottering on his feet, Vanator pulling his weapon back for another-

Move.

Razkar let himself fall backwards, bringing his knees up to his chest, rolling backwards onto the grass and over his head, feet touching down behind his head and jerking him back to his feet, hand ax held ready.

A fierce joy rose in his chest along with his heartbeat. This was more like it. The human was changing tactics, adapting, not relying on the same blow or strike twice in a row, making the fight more fluid, more desperate, unknowable...

More alive.

Both men panting, Razkar's chest stinging, he smiled.

"More?" He said, a little breathlessly, patting his gladius and nodding at the short ax in Van's belt. "Or change?"

OOCThanks, Jen!

[Vanator]

Vanator returned the Myrian's grin, both men pleased with the challenge of his opponent. The Drykas paused when Razkar inquired at the course of their sparring. He was enjoying practicing with his makeshift battle ax (soon, he would borrow some money to buy a proper one), it was his primary weapon, and his experience with it had given him some edge against the younger warrior. But what he really needed to work on was his weaker skills. Though he had always had one, Van rarely practiced or fought with the hand ax, always favoring the heavier weapon.

Nodding, he tugged the hand ax from his belt. He had seen the Myrian fight with the gladius, and knew his own skill with the smaller ax did not match Razhar's feel for the short sword. But this was how you improved....challenge.

Tossing the larger ax aside, Van hefted the lighter weapon in his hand, swinging it to adjusting to the difference in length and weight while Razhar changed his weapons as well.

Then the dance began anew.

[Razkar]

Reach was no longer a problem, but Razkar soon found that speed was. Arms used to hefting an ax three or four times heavier, Vanator swung the shorter version far faster, gleaming head slicing through the air as he came forwards.

But even Razkar could tell he was unused to the weapon, impulsive and uncontrolled, diagonal chop coming in to cleave through his shoulder-

-only to sail through thin air as Razkar swayed to his side, sidestepping as he did, going from in front of the horselord to at his right, bringing his gladius with him, blade flat and aimed at Vanator's stomach, stopping the blade just before the stabbing thrust hit flesh. The blond man growled under his breath and swung his weapon backhanded, on course with the Myrian's head-

Razkar jerked his arm up, gladius now vertical, and with a clang the two metal heads crashed into each other.

The second they did, still on Van's right, he gave a short kick to the back of the larger man's knee and the big man went down, Razkar's gladius sweeping in for his throat-

-only for his kneeling opponent to roll to his side, fast for such a large man, coming back up to his feet with short ax held ready. Razkar nodded, a glimmer of respect in his eyes.

And lunged again.

[Vanator]

It took Vanator a few swings to adjust to the smaller, lighter ax, and along with the fact that he didn't have the expertise with it that he possessed with the battle ax, the more adept Myrian easily dodged and blocked the attack before bringing the Drykas down. But a life time of leaping from horses (and sometimes falling), Van was able to take the tumble into a roll and drive himself back to his feet into a defensive posture.

Razkar took only a breath to flash a sharp-toothed grin before he drove forward, bringing the gleaming blade of the gladius straight at Vanators abdomen. The Myrian struck with the speed of a serpent, and the slower horseman rotated barely enough to avoid the blade, though the razor tip snagged his tunic and left a small tear. Hindsight told him he should have grabbed some armor before embarking on this proposal.

Before the horseman had a chance to react, the gladius was withdrawn, as quickly as it was launched. Vanator brought the hand ax around, the steely blade of the Myrian rising to deflect the ax head. Immediately, Van shot his left arm out until the palm of his heel rested on the man's chin, a blow that would have dislocated his jaw. In a true battle, that would have only delayed a warrior like this westerner, and Vanator followed through with the elbow of the same arm against the side of his face. Continuing with his momentum, Van found he could slide his hand down the inside of Razkar''s swordarm and trap it against his chest long enough to reach around and draw the edge of the hand ax across the Myrian's stomach. The impromtu hold lasted for only a moment before the spry, pierced warrior spun and slipped out of the older man's grasp.

Age versus experience, strength versus speed, East versus West, Drykas versus Myrian. The sparring was becoming more than Vanator had hoped for. Razkar understood not only how to fight, but how to practice fighting, and was proving of great value to the Denusk. Still panting, but invigorated by a healthy flow of adrenaline, Vanator planted his feet, relaxed his shoulders, then shifted to the left for a backhand strike to the taller man's neck.

[Razkar]

Razkar felt the patina of sweat over his body grow thicker as they circled each other again. This was truly refreshing: a challenging, skilled opponent who could truly test him. That arm lock even had him rolling his eyes a second later, hearing the barking voices of his old instructors in his head.

Watch your exposure, boy!

That was what he appreciated about Vanator: he adapted and didn't stick to convention. You got a taste of real combat when you sparred with him, the endless fluidity, duplicity and chaos of a battlefield. Now the Myrian flexed on the balls of his feet and saw the Dryska's arm whip up for the backhand at head level.

He waited for it to get going then ducked under it, hand ax trailing over his head, Van's swipe opening up his chest to-

Oh, no. Far from stupid.

-but before Rakar can thrust into his open chest he followed through, letting the momentum of that missed backhand twist his body so he could barrel forwards with his left shoulder aimed at the crouching Myrian-

But neither am I.

-who half-jumped, half-slid to Van's left, twisting his body so the Dryska barreled past him, left leg swung out to catch the heavier man across the shins, sending him sprawling to the ground. He barely managed to turn over onto his back before-

Razkar stood over him, gladius aimed at his throat. There's that sharp-toothed grin again.

"Yield?"

But Van was grinning instead, and Razkar feels a tap... tap... tap... looking down and seeing the shining head of that hand ax patting the inside of his thigh... and aimed upwards.

The Myrian sighed and cursed himself for his hubris. What do you never do? Take your eyes off the enemy's weapon, and not only had he done it, but he'd let it get all the way to his meat and eggs. Oh, the rack and ruin he'd endure if they could see this back in the Training Yards! But it was a fine session, and endlessly instructive.

He never knew when he would have to fight Dryska again, after all. If Van was anything to go by, they would be worthy offerings.

Razkar smiled wryly and shook his head. He lowered his gladius, sniffing the air and the smoky, slightly-charred taste on it. He sheathed his weapon and offered his hand to downed Vanator.

"Good. Meat is done."

[Vanator]

Vanator grinned. In reality, Razkar would have had his blade shoved into his throat before the Drykas could leverage enough strength to do any damage to the Myrian's stones. It was a good spar indeed. The grasslander accepted the westerner's offered hand cautiously, hand ax held ready, remembering the very first trick Razkar pulled when they started. But the warrior pulled no stunts as he helped Vanator to his feet.

The meat smelled....odd. A slightly offensive pungent odor was mercifully veiled behind the familiar aroma of garlic and other spices. Razkar motioned for his guest to help himself to the charred Zith flesh, and Vanator retrieved a dagger from the horse and speared a strip of the dark meat from over the fire. Unwilling to show hesitation to his new friend, The Drykas immediately sunk his teeth into the flesh and began to tear at it. With some effort, a chunk ripped off. It was still hot, and Van sucked in air to help cool it as he kept the searing food dancing on his tongue. Then he began to actually eat it. It was tough and gamey, with a greasy quality. The former Zith slave had expected a profound sense of vindication as he devoured the flesh of his former captives, and secretly, he still sought some sense of retribution against the Zith for murdering his wife Tamar. Killing them, one after the other, had yet to sate that desire. Apparently eating them would not either.

"Thank you.' Vanator offered, hoisting the strip of meat up in a salute. "Tell me, Razkar, why did you come here?" Vanator in all his days in the grass had never seen a Myrian, so he assumed they all stayed across the sea in their own land. For one to travel so far, there must have been a strong motivation.

[Razkar]

Just as his parents had taught him, Razkar waited patiently for his guest to eat before he even touched his own food. His eyes sparkled as he watched the Dryska's reactions. First mild abhorrence, carefully concealed to avoid causing insult. Then an honest, questioning, curious chewing, feeling out the flavor... and then, at least to his eyes, enjoyment. Meat was meat, after all.

The Myrian nodded in satisfaction and settled down next to the fire, blowing on the sizzling meat before ripping out a chunk. Not Myrian, by any means. Nor the salty tang of Charoda or the stringy flavor of Dhani. But... a good meal, and the food was only half the point. Myrians did not just defeat their enemies; they consumed them. Obliterated their bodies from the soil and devoured their strength with them.

That said, meat was meat, and Razkar hated anything going to waste.

"Tell me, Razkar, why did you come here?"

The Myrian's eyes flicker over to the Dryska, chewing becoming more contemplative as he ponders the answer... not to mention the question. Trust was not easily given among his people, with the exception of their Goddess-Queen. Letting others know your plans, your moods, your workings, only exposed you in the end. It made you vulnerable. He knew that one could deflect and avoid that by simply lying, but the thought of that alone rankled in Razkar's heart. He hated lies.

Better to draw blades and be done with it.

A wind blew over the tiny camp, chilling the sweat still in beads on his chest and forehead. It seemed to cool his mood. He had no real reason to distrust Vanator, brother of Kavala, whose life he had saved and whose kindness was given without an expectation of reward. He was a barbarian, true, but Razkar could forgive him that. It was not his fault to be born beyond the grace of Myri. The man was a fine warrior, and they had shed blood together.

He's earned an honest answer.

"I came to kill." He said simply, tearing another hunk out of the strip of Zith flesh, juices oozing down his chin as he does. "For Myri. More to kill here. More war. More fighting."

He grew silent for a moment, a shameful moment of introspection creeping into his mind. It was such a good plan. Working as a sword sell in the barbarian lands. But how much had he accomplished? Would he not be better among his people again, marching with the Taloba army? Maybe even leading his own fang? Falyndar was still not free from the taint of barbarians, savages, lesser races.

What are you doing here?

"Some time..." he said slowly, then shook his head, dispelling the maudlin thoughts. They profited him nothing. "Some time think was mistake. But most time? Not think so."

He gulped down the rest of his cutlet and licked his fingers clean. Not the best meat in the world, true, but it certainly was moreish. He stabbed his hunting knife into another one, but placed it before Vanator first, of course. Then he grabbed one for himself, this time eating it as it hung, skewered on the blade.

When he turned to Vanator again, his eyes had a calculating, curious quality in them that is very... un-Myrian. Or perhaps just the rest of the world's perception of Myrians. He had seen Vanator fight, and well, but against the Zith there was something more than defending his sister. There was hate there. Not the kind of hate that Razkar knew, that scorn and disgust for an enemy that made it all the sweeter when you ripped their heart out and devoured the contents of their skulls, but something... specific.

Something personaly.

"Why you hate them?" He said, noticing the subtly shocked look on the Dryska's face. He gestured to the sizzling hunks of meat on the grill, all that remained of some Zith, save a pile of rotting meat and bones in the Sea of Grass. "The Zith. You fought like you hated. Like they hurt you. Why?"

He shrugged, wry smile alighting his face in a way also very un-Myrian.

"You ask question, so I ask."