Gym Rat

[Tarn Alrenson]

Timestamp: Summer 30, 518 AV A sharp crack split the air, ringing through the proving grounds where dozens of people, mostly Sun’s Birth, were training. Tarn fixed his eyes on his opponent, taking a retreating step and pulling his shortspear back from where he had raised it to block his opponent’s strike. The Dragoon he was sparring against bore a long wooden cudgel and a round shield. They circled each other warily, each poised on the balls of his feet, ready to strike or counterstrike at the drop of a feather. The man’s weapon hand twitched forward. Tarn prepared his spear to parry the strike before he realized it was a feint. The man flashed him a toothy grin. Tarn snorted. He shouldn’t have fallen for that. The man stepped forward, readying his cudgel to strike, but Tarn extended his spear point forward, warding the man off with his greater range. Due to the nature of his weapon, the advantage wasn’t as great as it was with users of other polearms, but it was still useful against many of his opponents. As his foe lowered the weapon, returning to his former position to wait for an opening, Tarn stepped forward into a thrust, aiming for the man’s head. Midway through the strike however, Tarn raised his back hand, pivoting the trajectory of the lunge along his forward hand and sending the spearhead towards the man’s thigh. Tarn had never done this particular move before, but his earlier attacks had all been frustrated by the man’s shield, and he was getting desperate. He hoped the misdirection of the strike would throw the man off. To Tarn’s dismay, his cockeyed thrust caught the lower edge of the man’s shield. Like a cat jumping on a helpless mouse, Tarn’s opponent turned the shield, letting the spear roll off it back and to the side. At the same time, he stepped forward inside of Tarn’s guard. Tarn was overextended from his lunge and couldn’t regain his balance in time to stop the man’s next flurry of movement. The man looped the cudgel through Tarn’s elbow, twisting the arm behind his back. Dropping the shield, the man grabbed the other end of the cudgel, twisting it even further, causing Tarn to drop his spear. Sensing that he was losing control of the fight, Tarn dropped to one knee. The twisting pain in his shoulder from his captive arm forced Tarn to lean forward in the motion in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure. Tarn desperately reached back with his free arm, feeling for his opponent’s leg. When he found it, he caught it in the crook of his elbow, securing it in a satisfyingly solid grip. Muscles straining, Tarn pulled the leg under his body, throwing the man off balance. The man nearly fell, but he managed to brace his back leg away from Tarn, steadying him. With a powerful kick, the man freed his leg from Tarn’s hold. Once his opponent had both his feet planted squarely on the ground, he stepped forward again, lowering his shoulder and grabbing Tarn around the waist, just as Tarn had raised himself up again. The man stood up, holding Tarn on his shoulder. With a grunt, the man made as if to slam Tarn onto the ground headfirst, but stopped at the last moment. With a grin, he crouched down, lowering Tarn closer to the dusty ground before dropping him the last meter feet in a heap.