Ice Ballet (Rhuryc)

by **Amondaris** on April 2nd, 2011, 5:47 pm

Spring, Day 47, 511 AV.

The steady susurration of their breathing mixed with the regular crunch of boots impacting upon snow as the two men made their way through the forest, the constant rhythm the only sound that permeated the chill air. Tall as the warriors were, even they were dwarfed by the gargantuan flora of the Talderan wilderness, made minute in comparison to the simply immense trees that surrounded them on all sides. It was a humbling experience for any man, to walk beneath the boughs of such behemoths, and it was a feeling that one never failed to experience, no matter how many times one might trek through this unique, verdant forest.

Breath pluming before them in the crisp cold of the fresh air, the pale clouds drifting lazily upwards to fade into peaceful oblivion, the two men presented similar, yet intrinsically different sights. Both tall, certainly, taller than many in this frozen paradise, and both clearly men suited to the visceral art of war, yet one could never mistake one for the other. One, clad in a dark fur coat, was possessed of noble features and blonde hair that lay somewhere between short and long, carried himself in a manner that suggested he was a knight, fresh from the stories of old. Strong and well muscled, bearing more than a few scars, it was obvious he had seen his share of combat, and lived to tell the tale. Belted to the man’s left side was a plan bastard sword, the weapon without undue ornamentation or decoration, the only hint of such being faded, illegible writing upon the flat of the utilitarian weapon. A plain weapon, certainly, but one well suited to it’s purpose. Almost as suited, one might say, as the man that bore it.

His companion, on the other hand, was far from the epitome of a storied knight. Standing taller even than the warrior by his side, the man was nothing short of a giant, towering over all but the largest of men. Clothed entirely in white, his attire was that of a hunter, or a warrior who spent a great deal of time away from civilisation. An enormous, hooded white fur cloak hung from his shoulders, a strange symbol emblazoned upon it with black dye, the hood drawn up over the man’s head, obscuring his features in shadow. He wore leather armour constructed from overlapping bands of white hide and metal plating over his torso, the protective covering enamelled in the same pristine white as the rest of his clothing. His hands, and the majority of his forearms were bound in hundreds of thin straps of white fur, secured there by dozens of ropes of white fabric. By his sides hung two long swords which curved vaguely at the tips, contained in excellently maintained scabbards of white leather. The gait with which the man stalked through the forest belonged more to an animal than a man, each movement possessing a strange, almost feral grace. A hunter, then, from the way he moved, and how his eyes constantly flitted back and forth, ceaselessly roaming the forest floor for signs of any potential danger.

Together, then, they made a strange duo, one the epitome of civilised, composed honour, the other of wild and feral nobility. Yet they walked in companionable silence, relaxed in each other’s presence as they made their way through this vast and imposing wilderness. They hadn’t spoken since initially setting out from the frozen city of Avanthal, content to rely on simple gestures and body language to communicate when necessary. More often than not, they simply walked, perhaps appreciating the natural beauty that surrounded them, or each lost to their own thoughts. Now, however, they approached their destination.
The frozen lake stretched out before them, a timeless mirror coated in a soft blush of white. The ice was perfectly smooth, as if livingly polished by some caring hand, promising to provide a treacherous and unsteady footing if one were foolish enough to attempt traversing it. It was a simple, yet breathtaking sight, another of such in an vast expanse of wondrous vistas and natural works of art. No mortal could ever hope to produce something to match such, for Nature was an artist of unparalleled patience and skill, infusing each and every one of her pieces with the utmost of care.

The magnitude of the lake’s beauty was not lost upon the hunter as he gazed across it’s surface. It struck him that this lake was as good an analogy as any for the hidden depths to a mortal’s soul. Calm and composed upon the surface, serene in it’s beauty, yet beneath awaited treacherous currents and depthless waters so cold as to steal the life from you with the faintest of caresses. The slightest bit of pressure could send one plummeting down to their doom, forever lost and entombed beneath that pristine work of beauty.

Removing his cloak and placing it reverentially upon the snow, it was with these thoughts that Amondaris stepped out onto the ice, taking great care as he slowly set one foot after another upon the flat, unyielding surface. He could not afford to look behind him to see if Rhuryc followed, for this would require all of his attention. His boots, specially constructed to provide purchase upon such wintry terrain, fared little better than if they had been silken slippers. The spiked points struggled to gain a hold upon the slick, glistening sheen of the ice, yet he forged onward until he stood in the middle of the lake. This was, he reflected calmly, a very dangerous idea. The concept was, in essence, wondrous, yes, but..In practice, it would prove extremely easy to incur permanent and serious damage, or even to lose themselves in the unfeeling currents below. They would have to proceed with the utmost of care.

Turning to face back the way he had come, he slid his twin blades from their sheaths. The weapons were long, the metal a dark grey in colour, yet polished to the extent that they gleamed in the faint, stark light that managed to filter down through the clouds above. Exquisitely maintained, it was obvious the young man took great care of his grosse messers, the swords holding a great deal of personal value to him. Upon the flat of the blades, near to the plain hilts, was etched the very same symbol that was dyed upon the great cloak which now lay upon the shore which now seemed so far away. Taking a deep, long draught of the bitingly cold air, Amondaris closed his eyes and began to prepare himself for the battle to come. This would, he thought to himself for not the first time today, prove very interesting.

by **Rhuryc** on April 2nd, 2011, 9:48 pm

There was a strange sort of appreciation between the two of them. Communication was nonessential. One walked and the other followed, one looked left while the other stayed on the right. Perhaps it was a warrior's spirit, or just common sense, but through their journey each action spoke louder than any meaningful conversation. Their relationship was almost guttural. Uninvolved. In a sense Rhuryc much preferred it that way. He did not have to worry about tripping over his own tongue or saying something offensive, there was no language barrier or misspoken sentences. Kinship was rare enough, but this? If the world should fall apart at least his venture to the northern wastes would have brought him one service.

When they stopped Rhuryc took the moment to rest. He unslung his pack and set the amalgamation of items aside, clearing the weight for their apparent ascent onto the ice. The cloak came next. He could barely walk in the damn thing, there was no way he would manage to fight wearing it. So it was that he exposed himself to the cold. Again. He did not seem to mind. Bearing only a sodded suit of leather armor - the upper halves, he had little cover for his legs - and a set of breeches, he removed his sword from his belt as well and laid it carefully over the exposed fur. Was he stalling? Most likely. He leaned over his pack and from the side he removed a furled bundle of cloth, untied the bindings, and fanned the items out onto the snow. Three blades clanked atop one another. Dull, large weapons, two that mimicked Amondaris' strange blades and one that was little more than a dulled bastard sword. With a hoist Rhuryc tossed the two blades over the ice to his companion.

"A precaution. I'd rather not be stabbed today." His baritone cut clear over the tundra, even in Vani. How in the hell did he do that? Some things would forever be a mystery. Set now, Rhuryc stepped onto the ice. His movements changed almost immediately. Although his gaze remained firm on Amondaris his step lightened, his knees bent, his black straightened and his arms refused to swing, keeping low and close, balanced at each side without so much as a minor variance. He had done this before, apparently. Despite the thick boots he managed to stay on the balls of his feet, his pacing switching off before a single heel could touch the icy surface. It was like he was dancing. There was an image. In a matter of candlemarks Rhuryc came up next to the taller - if just - warrior. Fighting over ice. What a terrible idea. Maybe that was why he liked it so much. Without much ado he took his shield from his back and slipped it into his left hand, the straps coming up over his wrist as he allowed for Amondaris to prepare.

The shield was brought up to his chest, extended just out over his leg as he moved it before the other. His knees bent and his shoulders tensed, the opposing blade held down with the blade diagonal along his hip, the tip hovering just over the ground. Formal. He held himself at bay as his gaze flicked to his companion, eyes steady and focused. A soft, cool wind blew between them. The issues at hand were far beyond just the opposing weapons. As he had discovered the terrain was far more dangerous then any blade. Rhuryc remained stiff, ever still, his statuesque form a buffeting force against the wind.

by **Amondaris** on April 4th, 2011, 6:30 pm

It would, he decided, be foolish to plunge into this bizarre form of training without at least some experience in moving at more than a snail's pace upon the ice. Oh, he could walk on the ice just fine. Odds are he'd be able to walk all day on the lake without falling over, but combat was an altogether different creature than a sedate walk. Whereas with perambulating, you could suffice with a steady, dull plodding manner of locomotion, when fighting, particularly with his own preferred style of combat, fluid and constant movement was a must. Unless you wore thick armour and had a heavy shield, but he possessed neither of those things. What he did possess was two blades, and fighting effectively with two weapons required a certain mode of movement. When he was waxing particularly lyrical about such, he was fond of likening the two-sword style to dancing, or to the flow of water. Fluid, one had to move with serene, deadly grace that made even the most gory battle a thing of macabre beauty.
In theory, anyway. He expected he would eventually reach such awe-inspiring heights of grace and style, but for now he could barely swing the two blades at once and hit the same target. He was sorely, sorely in need of practice after spending so long without sparring or training properly. To his shame, he had essentially been using the beautifully crafted weapons as hunting implements, little more than something to finish off troublesome prey. Now, though, he had decided to put hunting aside for the time being, and grasp the opportunity Rhuryc presented. Easier to train against a live opponent than your own shadow, after all.

Nothing, however, would be remotely easy when conducted upon a sheet of ice. So, while Amondaris waited for Rhuryc to approach, he set about attempting to get used to the drastic change in physics when standing on ice.
Breathing steadily, he flexed his knees gently and extended his grosse messers to either side of him, level with his hip, tips pointed towards the frozen water below. Cautiously, he swung the right blade forwards in a basic horizontal arc, bending his knee slightly to adjust to the sudden shift in his center of gravity. The weapon sailed out without incident, and he remained on his feet. Good. Now, the same again, but faster. Again, the weapon swung out, this time more rapidly, the increased momentum causing Amondaris to revolve slowly to his left. The lack of friction on the ice would mean gliding back and forth like that could be a common occurence..It would take getting used to, and he would have to do it first, if he didn't want to be brained by Rhuryc's shield right away. The man in question had just divested himself of his pack and seemed not far off from being prepared enough to begin. The mixed blood was short on time in which to give himself a crash course in icefighting.

This time, he would be bolder. A descending diagonal slash followed by a quick horizontal sweep from his other blade, then a rapid stab forward with his right. Nothing too complex, not too bold. He hoped.
Wasting no further time, he bent his knee forward once more and brought his right sword down in a quick arc from his imaginary enemy's shoulder to it's knee, his left blade swiftly following suit, blurring out to eviscerate the figment's abdomen. He brought his right grosse messer back, then suddenly lunged forward in an attempt to impale his fictional foe. This abrupt change of weight served to send Amondaris' feet flying out from under him, the unyielding, mercielessly hard surface of the frozen lake rushing up towards the young hunter with alarming speed. A dull thud resounded quietly from the impact as he sprawled on his back spread eagled upon the ice. A quiet groan emanated from the prone warrior before he gingerly climbed to his feet, silently thanking Morwen for the lack of alarming cracks in the ice. The lake's surface was solid, at least for now.
Sliding his weapons back into their scabbards, he turned back to Rhuryc just in time to catch the practice blades lobbed his way, his fur-strapped hands snapping out to snatch them from the air instinctively. Grunting, he curled his fingers about the leather grips of the dulled copies of his weapon of choice and nodded as the other man approached. His soft, musical baritone lilted through the gentle wind with surprising ease, "You have a point. Getting hole in you, easier out here on lake, I think. We are very stupid."
Favouring the other man with a wry twist of the lips, he settled into a defensive stance, knees bent, his right foot shifted back while his blades were brought up, each at fourty five degree angles, one hovering over his abdomen while the other was raised in front of his face. He dipped the point of his topmost weapon towards Rhuryc and spoke simply, "After you."

by **Rhuryc** on April 4th, 2011, 6:47 pm

Before the words even left Amondaris' mouth Rhuryc acted. He snapped forward, relentless, his back foot lifting off the ice as his balance shifting to his opposing leg, the full front of his weight set on his planted foot. Distribute the pressure. That was the task. Too much force on a singular point and the ice would break. His shield come forward with the first assault, not the blade, the mass of metal thrust forward in a head on collision with his opponent's chest. He was forcing the man to move. The shield was wide, enough so that it covered most of Rhuryc's upper torso, and he turned his body to the side as he moved, presenting a narrow, thin profile of which he could abuse his protection. He knew how to maneuver around two weapons. Why anyone would go into a fight without a shield was far beyond him.

His motions did not end with the impact. Once the shield was thrust his feet moved again. Footwork. He continued forward in an attempt to press his opponent pack, taking the advantage. The dulled blade followed in a swift, sure strike, the point brought from his hip and around with a wide, scything arc that was meant for Amondaris left side. The intention was not so much to score a hit as it was to force the other man off balance. His own footing was unsure, wavering, but so long as he could keep moving Rhuryc knew he could remain upright.

Or at least he hoped so.

by **Amondaris** on April 4th, 2011, 7:17 pm

He barely had time to react as the foreigner surged forward, the man's shield snapping forward with alarming alacrity. How did he manage to move that thing so fast? Dodging it on ice would be difficult, if not impossible with how unused to it he was. Only one thing for it. He twisted his swords so that the flat of the left layered over the broad side of the right, bracing against the impact soon to come. When it came, it arrived like a runaway sleigh horse, hammering into the crossed blades with staggering forced, the strength of the blow jarring his wrists painfully. The swords were pushed back but he managed to keep them from contacting his chest, having slid back a ways over the ice from the force of the shield thrust.

The man did not let up. His blunted sword followed the shieldbash, blurring out towards the hunter's flank. Shields were tricky, and new to him. Swords, though, he could deal with. He brought his left blade up to intercept the blow, the right sword snapping out towards Rhuryc's wrist with faint hopes of disarming the man, or at least loosening his grip. Attempting to flow with the momentum thusly generated, Amondaris bent and twisted, spinning about in a peculiarly graceful twirl, bringing his left weapon about in a horizontal arc aimed at Rhuryc's legs. Hopefully the lowered center of gravity would help keep him from toppling as a result of the chancy maneuver. The hunter had a theory. if he could just keep moving, keep a steady flow of swings, thrusts and twirls going, then he could use the momentum to stay on his feet and keep up a ceaseless blizzard of attacks. If he stopped, though, he'd fall flat on his face.
Hurray for field experiments.

by **Rhuryc** on April 4th, 2011, 7:28 pm

Petching fast bastard! Rhuryc released the grip on his sword and abandoned the blade in light of 'losing' his wrist. A reckless clatter followed. Weaponless, he nevertheless continued, his front foot stepping into his opponent and settling itself between the man's own legs. His now free hand came next and grasped for Amondaris' collar whilst the shield flung down and was thrust up into the man's exposed right side. With the jab he took what he could get form the possible impact and threw his weight forward, pushing and pulling back with his foot to trip up his opponent and send him reeling to the ground.

The only issue was the ice. Rhuryc slipped. Instead of gracefully withdrawing he instead fell forward with the take-down, the brunt of his weight coming down atop the other fellow. Oh. He flailed with a disturbing lack of confidence, muttering something about ice. And cracks.

by **Amondaris** on April 4th, 2011, 7:38 pm

What the petch was he doi- He'd just thrown away his sword. Was he insa-Oh. Oh gods. The shield impacted painfully into Amondaris' ribs, eliciting a rough grunt from the hunter, who simply gritted his teeth and bore it. Pain was debilitating. You ignored it in combat unless bits of you were falling off.

Difficult, however, to ignore someone falling on top of you. Which is exactly what happened as Rhuryc lost his footing and sent the both of them sprawling atop the ice, the second such occasion for the young mixed blood. He was not pleased. Miraculously, the cracks that now spread throughout the ice were as of yet shallow, and not worth overly worrying about. Not that Amondaris was concerned about ice, or cracks at the moment. The heavy petcher had just fallen on him, and it bloody well hurt. Snarling, he bared his teeth and made his displeasure evident.
Struggling wildly in a flurry of elbows and knees and vicious biting, he fought with bestial savagery, drawing his knee back to hammer it up into the other man's groin. If it connected, he would capitalise on the momentary respite and scramble away to regain his footing, to prepare for the next onslaught. If not, well..More elbowing and knee-thrusts were the order of the day.

by **Rhuryc** on April 4th, 2011, 7:52 pm

Rhuryc rolled aside. He felt a knee slam into the side of his leg - dear lord, was he aiming for the groin? - but he ignored it, merely grunting and removing himself from his opponent. Any other situation and he would have stayed, beaten the crap out of the man, and broken his head under the ice. For now though it was in his best interest to not try to kill his training partner. Instead Rhuryc allowed himself a moment to breath and observe. Those cracks were superficial. Morwen be praised. With a nod the man pulled himself away and made a fuss of standing, one knee brought up while he held his shield against the surface of the lake to remain steady. Some fuss later and Rhuryc was on his feet again. He offered Amondaris a curt nod before he reclaimed his weapon and turned back around to re-assume the combat.

His stance was predictable at this point. The shield came up, the sword down. He held the advantage. He could defend all day against two blades, especially when his partner was not the most proficient in their dual use, but his own lack of offense made the encounter a strange one. That or he could just beat Amondaris with the flat end until he gave up. He smirked. Watching, he offered the other man a slight bow, his knees bending as if mock him.

"On you."

by **Amondaris** on April 4th, 2011, 8:06 pm

Sweet relief. The weighty mass of the Syliran removed itself from atop him, alleviating the pressure on both himself and the ice. Something Amondaris was grateful for. That fellow was heavier than he looked, and he didn't look like. Coughing faintly, he rolled over and slid his knee up, pressing his knuckles into the ice and slowly levering himself back onto his feet. Turning to face Rhuryc, he studied the man's form impassively. The shield may as well have been a wall separating them, for all the protection it granted the man. Amon's swords could well have been twigs, useless as they were against the flat slab of metal. Still. It would be interesting practice. He'd have to formulate a strategy for defeating an opponent with a shield at some point, or life would prove difficult.

Cocking an eyebrow at Rhuryc's bow, he gave a soft grunt of amusement, flexing his knee as he returned the gesture, albeit in a more elaborate manner, blades out to the side. Inwardly, he sighed. Today was all about experimentation. And it seemed that experimentation had a habit of being painful. Taking a deep breath and gripping his weapons as tightly as was humanly possible, the skin covering his knuckles whitening with the intensity of the grip, he set his right heel slowly against the ice. He bent his right knee and lowered himself until he was almost kneeling, building up enough pressure so the spikes in his boots sank into the ice. Grip. Excellent. Abruptly, the man launched himself forward, twisting as he did so to send him flying directly towards Rhuryc across the ice on his side, swords held out to his right. If he by some miracle managed to pull this off as planned, the swords would rap painfully against the man's knees as he went sailing past, "severing" them neatly. If not, well..This would hurt. Supremely. He was, after all, attempting to use himself as some form of sled with swords sticking out of one side. This was a stupid move. An insane move. But maybe crazy enough to work. Not like he could do anything more effective as things stood, so it was worth a shot.

by **Rhuryc** on April 4th, 2011, 9:53 pm

What was he? Huh? Rhuryc canted his head to the side. He watched as Amondaris did something. Or another. He could not place it in his mind. The man buckled. That was the best word he could find for it. Somehow he managed to get tension on the ice and he charged, but not in any way Rhuryc imagined. Setting himself back, he firmed up his own stance and lowered his body. That was easy. Already balanced, he bent his knees and brought his torso lower to the ground as his assailant slid across the ice. The swords came, but there was no denying the shield. With a solid, quick swing, Rhuryc brought the wide, metal slab through the air and slammed the flat into the side of Amondaris' head. Thwack.

Taking the moment alloted to him, he took a wide step back and turned about, his sword coming to rest at his side. The shield remained forward. It was apparent that his companion had never fought a man wielding a portable bulwark before. Rhuryc took a step back and lowered his weapons. In Vani he spoke as plainly as he could, watching the man as he recovered from the rather nasty impact. He had let up on the swing, not daring to use his full strength. He saw men die with less.

"Have to stay mobile." He spoke, his baritone doing what it could to lessen the accent. 'Wait for shield to commit then get around. Under. Must get inside the defense. Make it useless. Forward offense not good." He nodded and set himself back over the ice, patiently waiting for his companion to recover his wits.

"Try again, yes? Maybe use one weapon to get around side?"