Closed [Fighter's Pit] Clash of Manliness! (Aren)

[Kreig Messer]

16th of Spring, 515 AV. 14th Bell 13th Chime.

It was another busy day at the pits and for Kreig that meant another day of kicking at the air with his well…legs, otherwise it wouldn’t be kicking and thus perhaps something silly. The point being given however, was that he was training his unarmed martial prowess as he raised his legs to strike at some imaginary foe+ and followed up it up with a variety of kicks. As was the usual, he was dressed down to his breeches with the remainder of his items, which included his studded gauntlets, being placed in a nearby corner.

It was a good way to warm up, truth be told. Before any more strenuous exercises it was a good idea to prepare the body physically, like boiling water before preparing the food though certainly not quite the same. It certainly would work up a sweat as he threw a high-kick at some imaginary face, stepping on the balls of his feet to gain elevation whilst raising his foot to an arc as he swung his leg. Of the three kicks Kreig had been practicing on, two of which were the low kick and mid kick, the high kick was certainly the more awkward to use in the sense that it needed to be more physically flexible. The low kick was definitely the easiest as he didn’t need to his position his body as awkwardly and in fact was very easy to get used to whilst the mid kick was the halfway point.

One thing they all share in common however was they required practice, as in all things really and with practice comes perfection as it were. So with that in mind, he swung his left leg at the midsection, rotating his hips as he did so to add the necessary weight into his attack.

It relieved his stress when he did this, always preferring a handson approach to his battles rather than make use of a blade or a crossbow. Not that there was anything wrong; he’d long ago lay rest any complaints about using them if only because he became competent in their use. It just didn’t seem to have the same personal rush as when he did the battles with his own body as the weapon. It certainly lacked the exhilaration he felt as when he just performed a straight punch with his right aimed at the center of the chest.

Still, his training could use something more, well….it always felt like it needed something more. Sparring shadows was all well in good, but having an actual person to combat was always a much more interesting way to test his skills. It was rarely a problem back in Sunberth, then again Syliras didn’t have brigands, thieves and other depraved individuals wandering all bells of the seasons.

“ Don’t mean I shouldn’t be able to find a sparring partner either way” In fact, this being the fighter’s pit, there should be plentiful of people to fight. Question was, who’d want to face some like Kreig?

x

[Aren]

Another day in the Pit, another wholeheartedly disappointing procession of bean poles and milk drinkers. He was a mercenary now, in need of constant practice to keep his skills sharp, but how was Aren supposed to do that when all he was presented with was this sorry collection of malnourished cabbages? About to once again leave in frustration, the Akalak noticed -out of the corner of his eye- a particularly invigorating kick being flung at the air. His gaze immediately repositioning to focus on the specimen from which the attack was emerging, the warrior could not argue with what he saw. "That guy doesn't look half-bad," Seros was forced to admit, although not without a caveat in order to protect his pride, "If a bit on the small side." Aren, for his part, heartily agreed, proceeding to eye the man over so that he might confirm what his initial assessment told him. Not too skinny or anemic looking; good, good. Not shying away from a display of his abilities like a well trained amateur, excellent. Those kicks looked like they could do some damage, the Akalak noted gleefully, continuing his mental checklist. There was something off about the man, however; or rather, something oddly familiar. It was hard to tell from the back of his head, but something tugged at the recesses of the warrior's mind, urging to be remembered. He couldn't place his finger on just what it was, or why this random stranger was provoking such a sensation, but a lot of things were possible in a life as long as his. Could this guy be someone Aren had met years or decades ago as a child? It had happened before. Could he just be that type of person, and he made everyone feel this way? Magic was a powerful force, and nothing was impossible when you took it into account. There was really no way to be sure, however, without more information. Shrugging the feeling off, Aren made a beeline towards the only other individual currently residing in the Pit which looked even remotely formidable. "I don't suppose you're looking for someone that actually hits back? I know it can get frustrating swinging at imaginary enemies for too long," The Akalak said, with a friendly smile, as he came up behind the fighter in question. Creaking his neck in anticipation of the acceptance of his vaguely worded proposal, Aren couldn't imagine that anybody who was here would say no to a spar with a worthy opponent. There was such a paucity of worth, after all, that two relatively equal fighters running into each other here was nigh unheard of, or so had been the mercenary's experience. This, then, was an opportunity not to be squandered by either side, he earnestly believed.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig, at the moment, was blissfully unaware that he was being watched as he threw a left uppercut, merging what little he knew of boxing into his unarmed martial skills. This had the effect of adding more variation into his style; A good number of punches to equal the number of kicks, allowing no shortage of strikes to be performed when needed and definitely allowing to practice different combos and techniques. Something exemplified as he threw another right straight then followed up by performing a left knee strike presumably aimed at the chest. It would probably be a devastating strike to be sure as the kneecap was one of the strongest bones in the human body, so it would have been comparable to a wooden hammer to the chest.


It was about this time that his focus was interrupted by the seemingly-sudden appearance of an Akalak. A big Akalak, one that was nearly a foot taller than him. This meant Kreig was about neck high to the man and quite literally had to look up at him, not that was a problem but something he found himself doing far too frequently for his liking. Still, all thoughts of height inferiority vanished as it was replaced by a look of surprise. He recognized the face quite well really, as he interacted with very few Akalaks in his life so it wasn’t a difficult thing to recall memory of the man who stood before him.

Before Kreig could speak, reason being he was gathering his breath and the fact that the man spoke first; offering a chance to spar with the brawler. Kreig immediately grinned at that, it was as if the Wysar or something was smiling upon him and sent of his kids for him to beat up. He also found it amusing that the man seemed to bare no recollection of him ‘ Though…if memory serves correctly, he was the wandering type. Must’ve met a lot of people’ And Kreig had only interacted once with the man, although it was quite a memorable occasion in Kreig’s mind. It was particularly memorable as it involved them being outnumbered by a small gang of thugs, with the Akalak handling the leader and Kreig being outnumbered by his cronies.

Needless to say, they survived. Back to the present Kreig simply nodded as he motioned for the man to take a battle position at a spot a few feet adjacent to him “ By all means, friend. I’ve been hankering to get my fists bloodied a bit. By the looks of it. I’ve been needin’ for something to be hurtin’ all day.]”

With that said; Kreig resumed taking his battle position, which consisted of hunching slightly and raising his close to his body as to provide protection to his face and torso. The stance of his legs consisted of his left foot standing straight and turned at an angle whilst his right stood on its ball slightly, ready to spring into any straightforward attack as needed.

“ Fair word of advice, me friend. I shan’t go easy, savvy?

x

[Aren]

When the young man turned to face the Akalak, the feeling that had pulled on the back of Aren's mind swiftly returned. He felt like had seen the fighter before, although the blurry image of the person he had in his head was of an individual significantly... bloodier. Where had he seen this guy before, the perplexed warrior questioned. A hundred years was a long time when it came to the face remembering process, but this fellow couldn't have been older than twenty or thirty years old, maybe forty. Could be fifty. Even after a century, Aren still had a hard time telling the age of humans. At what point was it that their faces started to look like they had spent too long in the bath? Yet, again, the Akalak had to shrug off the odd sensation and the confusion which it provoked. His new acquaintance seemed eager to take him up on his offer, and Seros was particularity interested in the impending clash because of his foe's challenging turn of phrase. "Does it look like I do?" The scythe wielder's face transmogrified into an alarmingly alien facsimile of itself, a wild grin and an excited look lending a slight air of madness to the unusual procession. Taking a long step back, the blue skinned warrior tugged at the straps on his chest and his weapon swiftly fell into the waiting hand behind his back. Twisting the large curved blade forward with a flick of his hand, he assumed a similar stance as his opponent; legs spread, the one behind bearing the load of the massive Akalak, and the one in front ready to accept the burden of shifting all that power into an attack. "Wait... Karl? Krin? K-krieg?!" Finally, it dawned on him, the identity of this man, and where he had seem him before! Gods, that had been driving him insane, but now Aren's mind could clearly place the where, the when, and more importantly, the whom. "Sunberth, right?" The warrior queried, his previous, combat ready stance completely deforming as his friendly and outgoing nature suddenly came to the fore. "I honestly thought you'd be dead by now, with the way you liked to block punches with your face. But here you are, in Syliras. The gods truly have a sense of humor, don't they?" All thoughts of training or sparring completely vanishing from his mind, Aren could feel Seros' ire boring into the back of his proverbial skull. "We can train later. For right now, let's go get a drink, on me, in celebration of your continued existence. If you're still eager for a contest, we can see who drinks the most," The azure giant offered, with a hearty laugh, completely oblivious to the fact that he barely knew this man, but was already treating him like an old friend. A bond forged in battle might be forgotten, but it was not easy to break. They had shed blood together (although Krieg had done most of the shedding) and it wasn't every day the long life of an Akalak allowed for a reunion between warriors. Most humans he had ever fought besides were long dead, and it was a rare occasion to see the ones that weren't, in good health. "And if you need something to hurt, your head will certainly oblige, soon enough," The warrior's intention to fight had clearly disappeared, replaced only by a desire for merrymaking, the boasting of outlandish claims in a drunken stupor, and the need to consume intoxicating beverages until the line between obvious lie and perfectly plausible story started to blur.

[Kreig Messer]

‘Ah, so he does remember my name’ Kreig chuckled, but unlike the man before him is intent to battle had not left the forefront and he was clearly relishing the chance to fight against the scythe-wielder as he stood firm in his stance, a feral grin on his features “ Glad ta see ya still remember me gent, but I don’t have much interest in drinkin’ at the moment” Kreig looked at the man with savage interest, and definitely not the romantic kind though perhaps that is more a blessing than a curse.

Kreig was offered a battle, he wanted a battle, he didn’t want to go drinking….not just yet. Blood, sweat, and toil would make the drink all the more worthy to drink rather than just let this desire for battle subside. Besides, it was just bloody proper etiquette; afterall, ye didn’t want yer mate to pull out the last minute after offering to buy you a juicy meal and that was how Kreig felt about fighting. “ Sunberth not might have killed me yet, but that don’t mean I didn’t stop findin’ ways to get me head chopped off an’ yer just the next in line. Figuratively speakin’ considering where at, not like any of us actually have to die” ‘Course Kreig much rather his rivals live rather than die, means a good chance of fighting again later. Unless they’re the enemy kind of rival, then ye’d better off choppin’ of their privates and shove it down their own throats.

It was a fault of Kreig, he knew that, but he was just too psyched up to back down now. ‘Sides, he never went up against a scythe before and with the Akalak wielding the long pole-arm it was definitely a tempting thing to go up against. Nope, like an incessant child he wanted to go up against the guy and no would not be an answer he would take “ As a matter of courtesy, I’ll wait for ye ta take yer position. But if ye still insist on not fightin’ then I’ll just go ‘head and make ye, savvy?” Kreig had announced, cracking the knuckles of his left finger with his thumb. The way he did so was challenging, challenging a warrior before him to finish what he was about to start… It should be common courtesy for him to accept. Yep, jus’ plain ol’ manners.

x

[Aren]

Seros prodded his brother to finish what he started with a sort of long, annoying, childish groan. Aren wasn't much in the mood to fight, but since his Other was, perhaps he could go ahead and accept the challenge Krieg had given... in response to the challenge he himself had given. He really felt like drinking, but it seemed his old acquaintance wasn't willing to give him a choice. Eyeing the man with a deliberate gaze, the Akalak tried to determine whether he was prepared to make good on his threat. He knew the man enjoyed a good fight, but that was the word, wasn't it? If Aren was not willing to defend himself, would the fighter really attack? The azure warrior did not believe so, but perhaps it was wise not to put the notion to the test. Seros was itching to go at it, anyway, so he might as well. "We can drink when we're dead, right?" The darker's Other's radically different voice and intonation rang out. Taking two steps back in order to gain a little distance, the Akalak returned to his earlier stance, with a more determined look in his face. "Or something like that!" The savage grin which decorated his lips was a distinct departure from the genial friendliness the warrior displayed a moment before, but there seemed to be no apparent reason for the sudden change. Turning the handle of his weapon, the scythe wielder reversed the direction of the blade so that now it was facing backwards. If he hit, it would be with the blunted back of the metal; it wouldn't do for lethal wounds to be inflicted, here. This was a spar, after all, not a fight to the death, and while it still sometimes felt strange to fight without the immediate inclination to kill, not every fight should be resolved in such final terms. It went against everything he had learned to strike a blow that either wasn't meant to be the last one dealt, or a prelude to such, but that was the nature of training; something Aren had sometimes neglected once he was outside the demanding shadow of his father. "Your move..." Seros offered, every muscle in his body tightening in preparation for the moment he would have to react to his opponent's movements. His eyes faced straight straight ahead, absorbing the entirety's of his foe's body, he wanted to be be able to notice any motion, no matter how slight, and act appropriately to defend or attack.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig grinned, both with excitement and relief as he didn’t know if he could actually back up his words. One, because a willing fight between two opponents should be fun and two, it would be unknightly and Kreig wasn’t much of a rule breaker unless the situation demanded it. He felt disarmed however by Aren’s change of demeanor, if only for a bit. It was weird seeing the annoyed exasperation he felt about havin’ to fight suddenly changed to a blood-thirsty excitement that rivaled Kreig’s own in just such an instant. For just a tick he wondered if he’d been struck in the head but then shook the thought out as he realized that would apply to Kreig as well.

‘ Don’t get distracted, ye wanted this Kreig and so ye got it’ He nested his eyes on the Akalak’s physical form and stance, seeing the way he held his scythe. With it he took in the Akalak’s arm length and the length of his scythe, a decidedly deadly combination. Kreig didn’t discount the Akalak’s leg however, a good swift kick would be just as devastating as a strike from the scythe if not as near is its lethality. Much like Aren, he also wanted to watch for any motions and knew that either one of them needed to move les it becomes more of a starting contest of uncomfortable proportions rather than a fight that would end with a bloody nose.

As such, Kreig took this moment to formulate a bit of a plan. Keeping the scythe in mind, as well as the possible distance, he suddenly took a couple of quick steps forward to the Akalak and into the perceived maximum range of the Scythe with the hopes of goading the Akalak to strike, whether it was achieved or not didn’t matter as he moved back and lowered his head to avoid it. If an attack came he’d be safely out of harms way and in a prime position to move forward with an uppercut position to strike at the Akalak’s sternum. If an attack didn’t come, however, he’d at least still be safe and in a position to evade other strikes if it comes to it. To him, it felt a like a simple and efficient tactic that had quite a bit of risk attached either way, but any battle was high risk high reward and he hoped to reap the latter.

x

[Aren]

Seros' eyes focused on every twitch of his opponent's body like an eagle eyeing its prey. When Krieg moved, he wondered if he should take the bait so elegantly presented to him, and soon figured he might as well. The man had taken the first step and offered himself up like a lamb to the slaughter, so it would have been rather rude not to take him up on his offer. The Akalak swung his scythe in a 180 degree arc parallel to the ground, earnestly hoping that he wouldn't catch Krieg's head with the blow. The attack was fast and vicious, and though the blade may have been turned in the opposite direction, he wouldn't escape a cracked skull if he got hit, which would likely bring about an end to their contest. Though he understood the conundrum of holding back whilst earnestly trying to fight, Seros was not very familiar with how exactly to go about it. He brought his weapon down with all the force he could muster, as his training and experience instinctively demanded. Perhaps his gaze could tell that Krieg was skilled enough not fall victim to such an obvious attack, or perhaps he simply could not help but doing what years of practice told his muscles to do. "Try not to die," The azure warrior said with a grin, as his scythe came down on top of his opponent's position, the excited look in his eyes belying any concern his words might otherwise seem to suggest. Aren and Seros knew their weapon, if nothing else. They knew that a large pole with a curved blade at the end was an unwieldy weapon at the best of times, which meant that the manner in which it could be used to attack was limited. Generally speaking, horizontal and vertical blows were the order of the day, making such a weapon very predictable. Fortunately, this was also a devastating enough instrument that it usually HAD to be avoided, meaning that a target's actions could usually be guessed within a limited number of possibilities. In this particular instance, the Akalak's experience told him that Krieg had three options. Move back, move to one side or the other, or move forward on a diagonal plane. Of these, the last option was very risky, because if you weren't fast enough, part of your body could be hit by a piece of the weapon as you were lunging forward. On the other hand, moving back or to the side was practically guaranteed to avoid any damage whatsoever, so Seros assumed that his foe would go for one of the two much smarter options. Knowing that there would be a huge opening in his defenses, the warrior expected a swift counter attack. It's what he, himself, would do, certainly, so he had to brace himself for the possibility of an impending strike. This didn't mean defense was his only option, though, and if Krieg came at him, he would leave his opponent's scythe at his back. Such an opportunity would certainly not be missed, he thought, with a devilish smirk.

[Kreig Messer]

Kreig felt that familiar rush of excitement rush over his body, a feeling that truly made a person feel alive. It was a lot like sex really, not that Kreig would really know since he never had any, but it was the closest approximation one could imagine if they asked anyone but Kreig of what it feels like to be in such excited bliss brought upon by danger. A danger that was presented with the Akalak’s parallel swing, a swing that could crack his skull if it had struck if he hadn’t stepped back, something that went according to what he thought. The simple step back allowed for the head of the scythe to narrowly miss by a mere small gap, then Kreig dashed forward, his eyes on the prize.

But for some reason, his prize was smirking, not unlike Kreig whenever he’d put someone in his own pace ‘ Wonderful, so either I’m expect a punch, a kick, or his oversized farming implement had one more trick at its sleeve‘ Of course, it could have simply been a smirk brought up by bloodlust, but that fact he looked more like some sort of scamp than a wolf with its prey seemed to spell a different manner.


His mind gave him a possible scenario, he had just dashed forward to the Akalak who’s farming implement was now widely in the other direction….with its deadly blade pointing to the opposite and could be pulled back to cleave Kreig like a weed ‘Wonderful, its like a straight punch that missed but suddenly turns into a backhand’ And of course with this farming implement, if it is indeed going to do what he thought it was, there was only one way Kreig could probably avoid this.

With the suddenness of a drunkard, he faked a trip and fell faceward on to the dirt floor, his open palms resting atop of the dirt yet slightly arched and ready to pick up the dirt for his overused classic. “ This is embarrassing…” He mumbled, with any luck his foe would be infuriated enough to take a closer look or insulted enough to turn his back, or insulted enough yet prepared for a strike to the back. Either way, a fistful of dirt was coming his way and a repeated pummeling was due. Of course, if neither of that was done, he could just suddenly get up and step back, ready for another tussel.

x

[Aren]

Krieg avoided his attack with positively gorgeous grace, moving only the absolute minimum amount necessary to avoid being struck. Seros had to applaud not just the man's skill, but the bravery (or recklessness) it took to risk such a close shave. The fighter's reply to his strike seemed equally deft, if a bit predictable, right up until the point he fell on his face as he rushed towards the Akalak. It was such a jarring contrast, in fact, that the darker Other wasn't sure how to react for a moment. On the one hand, he could pull on his scythe and rake Krieg's back with the dull edge as he returned it to a more stable stance. On the other, however, he could use the opportunity to really press his attack. Unfortunately, he had seen his opponent's nimbleness and the idea that the man had simply tripped over himself struck the hundred year old warrior of duplicity. Skilled, well trained men generally had to be forced into making a mistake in battle, and when they did, it was not one so blatantly idiotic. Wary of a trap, Seros yanked his blade back with a single motion that did not even allow it to drape over the back of his foe as it swiftly settled into his grip. While he took a long, quick step back, the Akalak simultaneously eyed the downed figure with as much suspicion as his gaze could muster, "If you wanted to pretend you were clumsy, you should have been doing so from the beginning," The darker Other commented, a slight grin revealing that he did not believe Krieg had really tripped for an instant. Certain in his belief that he had avoided his opponent’s mischief, Seros assumed a combat ready stance once again. He held his scythe parallel to the ground, legs wide and knees bent, expecting that this early lull would not last too long. If Krieg was anything like the man he remembered, it wouldn't be too long before he was heading face first at something other than the ground again; all the Akalak had to do was wait. “Your turn now, I suppose. It’s only fair,” The giant’s dour voice rang out like an angry bell, but the smile on his face revealed that he was clearly enjoying himself. A spar, whilst not truly combat, was very much like a dance. There were moves and counter-moves, and one had to judge the mood and intent of their partner to truly be able to predict where the next step should be. At least, that’s what the Akalak imagined. Truth be told, he hadn't really done much dancing over the last hundred years, but he understood the basic principle well enough. Unlike a dance, however, a spar generally involved bruises, blood and, on occasion, a few less teeth. "I wanna driiiink," An utterly petulant and childish expression suddenly decorated the azure warrior’s face, but an instant later it was gone, replaced by the excited look of moments prior. “Quiet.” Seros barked in a whispered tone, his brow visibly furrowing at his brother’s annoying interruption.