Dance of the Dragoon

Log Info

• Title: Dance of the Dragoon
• Emitter: Skielstregar
• Characters: Skielstregar, Aelwyn, Eztli
• Place: The Colosseum
• Time: June 12th, 2022
• Summary: Skielstregar and Aelwyn finally have that dance that Aelwyn had been wishing to partake in. By dance, however, he means a sparring match with his glaive versus Skiel's halberd. Eztli just barely manages to catch most of the fight, egging them on from the stands with a bag of peanuts in hand. After a handful of misses, and a couple of rough blows and flings, Aelwyn yields, promising a better show next time for the small mixed scale. They end up formulating lunch plans, and head out.

The Colosseum, Midday

Unlike the other past couple of days where it's been sunny and fair, today is hazy and hot. Almost like the glare of the sun drains the color from the stone construction of the Colosseum. A giant arena devoted to the gods of strength and war.

The arena floor is awash with a wide swath of folks working on training with one another, getting a feel for tactics and styles none are too used to. Amongst them, glittering brightly (and annoying some around them) is a towering, silver scaled sith-makar. He's currently holding a large wooden shield in one hand with a flail rustling in the other, his vertiable armory put away on his back and over his person as he blocks a few strikes from a sword.

And being very delicate about it. "What? 'fraid to get your scales scraped?" his training partner jabs.

The next block is met with a powerful bash, sending the other person ass over teakettle. "... no, ssso that doesssn't happen," Skiel rumbles in a chuckle, leaning over to offer a hand.

Some grumbling and their back on their feet before excusing themselves for some water. (They limp away.)

Hot and hazy days don't necessarily bode well for dedicating oneself to art of battle - even if it was just training. Though for the certain ruddy scaled dragoon, he was definitely welcoming the heat over the constant chilly rain that he'd been inflicted upon as of late. Polearm balanced across his shoulder with a hand resting at the end of it, he walks closer towards the towering sith-makar.

"Silver, peaceful nest." Aelwyn greets as his rolling gait brings him close enough, or close enough without being accidentally swung over by the wooden shield. The smaller sith-makar was wearing his usual garments and glaive, though he had wrapped some cloth around his arms and legs. Still, confident enough not to be wearing much armor beyond the shoulder guard and few other straps. "The mind has become one with the body again?"

Skielstregar rolls a shoulders as he waves with his shield towards the limping figure, him stashing it away on his side belt as he twirls the flail into a coil. Though, he perks at being addressed, and turns. Weapons softly clanking on his back

"Ah. Purple. Peassse on your nessst," he hums, sliding the metal-ball-on-a-stick into a loop. "Thisss one isss working on it pressently. How are you? And your shinsss?"

Aelwyn narrows his slit pupils, subtly shaking his legs at the mention. "Never anything wrong with them." He claws at the ground. "There was talk of a large silvery figure, so it felt prudent to have a look." He grabs his glaive with both hands and moves to stretch his shoulders; slowly rocking the weapon back and forth.

"Is Silver in search of a new dancing partner?"

A chuckle leaves the fanged makari. "Of courssse not."

He looks to the glaive, his head tilting to the side before straightening up. "Sssure. The sssoftskinss here are cocky and thiss one could ussse a change of pace. How do you wisssh to go about it?" he inquires, resting a hand on leather wrapped sap on his hip while the halberd on his back sways in its frog.

Aelwyn rolls down the glaive, leaning it against his shoulder. "Spears?" The smaller sith-makar suggests, looking up at Skiel. "Have not had the chance to practice against a good spear in a while and Silver seems to know how to carry one."

And anyway, the Dragoon's eyes kept darting towards that halberd. The curiosity in those orange eyes seemed to be endless.

Skielstregar nods once, him reaching back and pulling out one of the longer hafted spears in the quiver on his back. "Certainly, thisss one can use a spear, it wasss their preferred weapon for a time."

He trails off, watching Aelwyn's gaze drum to and fro in time with- "... unless you wish for thisss one to ussse their halberd?" he inquires, hand reaching behind him to still the weapon.

Ink still slowly drips off the blade tip. It never stopped. And never will.

It was a certain sight of wonder to see all those weapons on the larger sith's back. "Hm?" Aelwyn lets out, snapping out of his focused daze. A moment, and then a wide toothy grin spreads on his face. "Naturally." He answers, as he slowly swings his glaive out in front of him. The bits of cloth quietly fluttered with the motion.

"Will that darkness stain the red ribbons?" The Dragoon asks, as he makes few testing movements with his weapon - stretching out his muscle memory. "Until what shall we dance?"

Skielstregar shakes his head. Him putting the spear away to instead heft out the heavy and ominious looking halberd. The dripping ink hits the arena sand and vanishes in a wispy black smoke. "It won't. Thisss one will ussse this. The flat of it."

He takes a few strides away, then holds it with both hands. The dripping becomes more frequent. "Until yield?" he suggests.

Aelwyn nods his head. "Very well." He reaffirms his grip on his glaive, taking a more wider stance. With a final roll of his shoulders and neck, he calmly breathes in - and darts forward.

The draconian's fluid body movements became obvious as he neared Skielstregar, but he displayed quite a bit of restraint and wariness as he neared his larger opponent. His first swing of the blade wasn't even trying to hit - he was just scraping the ground just outside of reach, to gauge Skiel's reaction."

Eztli has arrived.

For all of the way the massive makari moves, it's clear that his careful movements and gentle actions bely a power behind it that he's far too aware of. He takes a deep breath as Aelwyn dashes forward.

And a twin trail of frozen air spouts from his nose.

The gauging strike extracts a cautious step backwards. Experienced enough to know that a glaive would outreach his halberd. But also experienced enough to step forward and into it afterwards to bring up his own weapon and-

A massive, taloned foot rears up and shoots outwards, looking to knock the Dragoon back.

Skiel doesn't seem to be much for flair.

GAME: Skielstregar rolls cmb: (16)+12: 28

Aelwyn pulls back his polearm, cautiously moving around the range of his weapon. When the far larger sith-makar raises his weapon, he was already getting prepared to dodge it - unfortunately, he wasn't taking in consideration that Skielstregar would just flat out kick him.

Eyes grow wide, as the Dragoon gets a solid hit on his chest, sending him tumbling dozen feet backwards. "... urgh." A faint groan leaves his lips, as he rolls back over on his front and his feet. "Silver has a way of talking with his feet." He calls out - and then spits to the ground, shaking off the fresh metallic taste in his mouth.

Scorching heat was not of much concern, if any, for the small makari. It was just another day to wander around and not do much. At least this time she had something to look forward to. Eztli had a large bag of peanuts in one hand as she found a seat low in the stands to find where the two makari were supposed to be sparring.

She blinks, then huffs, waving the bag in one hand. "Hey! You started without me, that's not very fair. How am I supposed to get an unbiased view of events now!" She grumbles from up high. "Get him back for that, Aelwyn!"

A lot of sand suddenly kicks up as the large makari isn't a slow one. In fact, he's fast. Really. Really fast. And he's already looming over the Dragoon with his weapon pulled back to the side for a hemorrhaging downward sideswipe. "Thisss one tendsss to not leave room for wordsss," he lowly growls, tightening the grip on his halberd. The dripping in turns into a steady stream, wafting miasma leaving a sickly scent in the air. And down it-

It pauses, and it looks to the side up to the stands. He rubs his neck. "Ssssorry!" he calls out, bashful and totally dropping his guard.

Aelwyn pulls back his own polearm, getting ready to block the intimidating strike. Perhaps if he had more awareness about the fact that Skielstregar was really, really big and his blade was really, really scary, he'd even have a sense of danger to his movement.

A pause happens when Eztli calls out - but the Dragoon hesitates only a second before he brings his own weapon in an upward slides, aiming to bring the brunt end of his polearm between Skielstregar's legs.

GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon1: (16)+4: 20
GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage1: aliased to 1d10+3: (7)+3: 10

The small sith-makar continues to grumble from up in the stands. "I missed the start of the fight, now I don't know how you sent Aelwyn flying like that." Eztli huffs. "And now I'm making it biased again with unterruptions. Still, nice job Aelwyn, keep it up! But you don't need to stand for that either Skielstregar, get your focus back into it!"

Eztli silences herself by skewering a peanut with one claw and slicing it open with the other.

An ill-fitting, high pitched 'ack!' suddenly erupts from the massive silverscale, him going stock still after a thwack echoes through the arena.

Serveral onlookers wince in pain.

Forcing himself to uncurl his fingers and toes, he lets out a shuddering groan as he takes a step back. "... now thisss one iss going to have to explain why there isss a bruissse there to their mate..." he grumbles, glancing back to Eztli egging the two males on.

Well, let's give the people what they want.

With barely contained stength, the halberd abruptly twirls upwards, turns sideways towards the flat end, and cleaves downward in a viscously fast pace. Though, it's clear he's holding back.

Ink splatters across the sands from the movement, but it vanishes just as fast as it sprays.

GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon25-4: (8)+13+-4: 17
GAME: Skielstregar rolls damage25: aliased to 1d10+8: (8)+8: 16

Combat is cruel and unjust, especially those that are distracted. When the massive swing hits down, the small sith-makar steps aside, the dark blade barely missing him. The ruddy scaled combatant lets the momentum drag him forward, his body sliding besides Skielstregar as he repositions himself behind the larger male. "Give her my apologies." He grins toothily in passing.

The glaive is held up against Aelwyn's armpit, and he swings the polearm around, trying to hit the silvery-scaled beast with a spin.

GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon1: (10)+4: 14

Wait, skielstregar wasn't a girl. It took a moment to sink in but the small makari winced afterwards. "Low blow, Aelwyn! It's a colosseum, not a bar fight! Doubt you'd want the same to you." She calls out over the arena. "Get ahold of yourself Skielstregar, you aren't going to stand for that, right?"

There was no clue who she was cheering for. Seemed she was just egging them both on.

GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon25-4: (15)+13+-4: 24
GAME: Skielstregar rolls damage25: aliased to 1d10+8: (7)+8: 15

Skiel chuffs as the black blade sends a spray of sand up into the air, all but obscuring Aelwyn twirling behind him. "Thisss one isss /trying!/" he shouts back at the small makari.

Metal strikes across his back with a dull thunk. Thankfully breastplate covers front /and/ back. "They will, and will tell her they left a bigger mark."

The halberd is held cocked back, and it looks like he's going for a simple wide swipe to try and chop at the Dragoon. But instead he pivots around on a foot and arcs the flat of the polearm right into Aelwyn's chest in an upward swing towards the sky. Ink splatters instead of blood from the blow.

He doesn't dance. He just barrels forward to whatever step works best for him.

Aelwyn probably should wear armor. He also should not trust Skielstregar's halberd - it obviously knew nothing but lies. The polearm knocks the ruddy scaled sith-makar pretty solidly in the chin, sending him off his feet and onto the sand. Blood spills out from between his lips and he spits into the ground, rolling over on his front. "... hrnngh. Will remember that."

Kicking himself up standing, he gives his glaive's bottom end a kick and sends some sand in the air - just to bring the business end of it down towards the larger sith.

GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon1: (18)+4: 22
GAME: Aelwyn rolls damage1: aliased to 1d10+3: (4)+3: 7

"Then try harder!" Eztli shouts back, stopping to eat more of the bag of peanuts. One gets spat out when Aelwyn start coughing up blood. "Hey, you are you oka-" She begins to call out, only for the smaller makari to send sand flying into Skielstregar's face. "And to think I was worried for a moment." Eztli huffs.

GAME: Skielstregar rolls weapon21-4: (3)+13+-4: 12

Skielstregar winces as the damage he does is quite a number on the ruddy-scale. Though, he holds his stance, half expecting a yield to be called through the sand. "Thisss one isss not sssure, Eztli-"

But then the glaive crests down and bonks Skiel atop his thick skull.

A line of black and red blood traces itself through the ridges of his scales, and drips off his chin. He sighs.

A leather wrapped glove jabs through the sand in the air, and whiffs Aelwyn. But that's not entirely the point. "You should yield," he grumbles in warning. The blood on his face wafts the same as his halberd.

Aelwyn easily slides out of the reach of the hand, moving easily in the sand with the motion. When he wasn't busy being battered down to ground, he did seem to have a good sense of movement in the combat - even when his body was obviously struggling with the pain. "Shoulh I?" The ruddy-scaled Dragoon mouths around the blood flowing from his mouth, dripping all over his orange blossoming chest and the red loincloth. Another firm spit and a bloody toothed grin. His teeth are miraculously in one place. "She came for a show."

The sharp and straight horns swing upward to jab at Skielstregar's arm, trying to knock his grip off.

GAME: Aelwyn rolls weapon0: (7)+4: 11

"It was more about using the sand like that." Eztli huffs. Whatever fervor for the battle she had was dissipating. "I wanted to see you both sparring, not bloodying each other. And I don't want to see you coughing out all that blood, internal bleeding isn't good. You should see a cleric and yield, Aelwyn. You both should after this."

The small makari sighs and watches to see what happened next.

GAME: Skielstregar rolls cmb: (14)+12: 26

Skielstregar glances back as horns jab into his arm. He's got tough scales. "... a ssshow..."

He grunts to himself, nodding. Instead of thinking of it like that, he's just been treating it like training. Fine. A show then. "Very well," he rumbles.

The halberd starts to drip more until it's a steady stream, some ichor seeping out from between his hands as he brings the weapon up-

Then plants it into the sand, lifts himself up with a twist, and shotguns both legs into Aelwyn's frame to send him flying.

The smaller sith-makar was pretty bull-horned about learning. Aelwyn's eyes widen once more as those feet raise up - and he is quickly and quietly send clattering across the sand, a good distance back again.

There's a brief cough and then after a moment, he rolls over his back and groans. He holds his hand up. "Yield." The Dragoon calls out, holding onto his chest. "... felt the ribs shift with that..." He quietly hisses by himself as he rolls back over on his side, getting up by his polearm.

The small makari sighs as the fighting seemed to be continuing on. Eztli huffs when it seemed to be over. and she bites down on the bag of peanuts so she can clamber over the edge of the stands and hop down. "That's a yield, right? That's good." She says once she's able to jog and stumble over. "That was starting to look a bit bad, are you alright? I can fetch a healer, if you both need."

Skielstregar lets out a huff of relief as the hand goes up to a cease. He shakes his hands off, ridding it of the ink before stashing the ominious weapon away on his back. He bobs his head to Eztli as she joins them. "Thisss one isss fine. Asss will be the Dancer," he rumbles, wiping off his face with his cloak.

He jogs over to the Dragoon, sits on his haunches and holds a hand out to help him up the rest of the way. "You fight well," he hums. "Thiss one apologizes for busssting your lip. Do you wissssh for a cold rag?"

Aelwyn shakes his head as he gets up to a more seated position. Blood still drooling from the side of his mouth, he turns and bows his head towards Eztli. "Humblest apology for the bad show, Spellcrier." Then turning towards Skielstregar, he eyes the hand for a moment, before he accepts.

And as he gets up, he attempts to playfully jab the larger sith-makar with his horns once more. "This one needs more practice with how to perform." Then a very bloodied grin. "Yet Silver moves his feet better than many out there on the stage."

A momentary pause, and then Aelwyn bends over, leaning against his spear. "... hnngh, that is lunch..."

"No, it was a good show, you were both working hard." Eztli sighs. "But I just hope that blood is from your mouth and not something more serious. Still, it was all really impressive to see you both fighting like that. I couldn't even begin to think about how to manage it all."

"But you really should be careful, Aelwyn. I know there's nothing dangling, but you can still cause a lot of damage aiming between the legs like that."

"And that wasn't how I was expecting to find out you were a guy, Skielstregar." The small makari snorts."

Skiel lifts up Aelwyn to his feet, and finds his arm jabbed once more. He chuckles, reaching over with a large hand and patting the Dragoon between the be-ribboned horns. "Thisss one is fasster than you may think."

He rifles around in his many pockets on his bandolier, pulling out a rag and looking off to the side. Fanged maw opens, and a veritable gout of frozen air spills out, bathing his hand and the cloth until the fabric is snap frozen.

He offers it. "Here you are, Dancer. And can give you lunch later to help with that."

Though, he looks to the small scale, blinking once. "... it's a valid strike if you're sssmaller. But..." He snorts, "Thisss one iss. Aelwyn isss asss well."

Aelwyn shakes his head, letting out a grunt as his head is patted. "The big ones are always quicker than they look." The Dragoon grunts, and graciously accepts the fabric. He opens his mouth and gnaws on it, letting out a quiet exhale of relief. "Still, let us focus on the legwork next time."

The ruddy-scaled sith-makar turns towards Eztli when he gets scolded, but he tilts his head at her. "She was not aware?" Then towards Skielstregar. "Silver looks like one. Surely I look like one?"

"I never took you for being particularly slow either, no." Eztli snorts. "We could get lunch ,yes! I've still got some peanuts if you want them, too!"

Then the small makari grows a touch embarassed, and nodded. "No, you look like a sith-makar. I guess you both kind of smell the same, but that means nothing to me. Not to mention you've got all those pretty looking ribbons hanging on you, so, hard to tell."

Skielstregar bobs his head at the mention of legwork. "Thisss one will fling you more about the place next time then," he rumbles in a chuckle.

He tilts his head to Etzli. "... thisss one thinksss hisss ribbonsss make hisss hornsss ssstand out and look nice. Thisss one hass been missstaken as female due to their ssscalesss many timesss."

It seems to start to remember something.

Aaaany minute now...

... really?

"Ah! Right. Eztli isss not usssed to being around kin, Aelwyn. Sssoftskinss have a hard time telling usss apart. Thissss one thinksss thisss might be a topic to eat over, no?" he suggests, eyeing the peanuts.

Aelwyn glances up at Skielstregar with a sharp look. "Only if this one will be doing the kicking." The Dragoon rumbles around his frozen mouthpiece. The bleeding had at least stopped. "No flirting in the ring either." A bloody grin.

With a flick of his horns, he turns to look towards Eztli. "Little customary blessings for the flames." He raises his head - and his stomach burbles. "Hnh. Perhaps so, Silver."

"Well, that's weird. Silver is just a color, I used to know an old guy who liked to wander around the city and talk with people." Eztli snorts. "I'm not flirting, either. It's just a compliment, and I didn't even know what you were until a moment ago, anyways. Well, gift or not though, they do look nice."

She holds out the bag of peanuits, and nods. "Yeah, I don't know many sith-makar, especially not until ending up here. So, learning experience! But food sounds wonderful right about now. Lunch? Know any good places, Skielstregar?"

Skielstregar coughs into a fist, and looks down at the floor. "A-Ah, thisss one wassn't trying to..." he trails off, embarrassed. Tease successful.

The proffered peanuts breaks his stupor, him accepting them with a rumble and taking a few. "It'sss the shiny," he elaborates before returning the bag and standing up straighter. "But alas, yess, thisss one doesss. To... the TaRaCe!" he declares, pointing a finger upwards and marching onwards out of the arena and leading the duo unto places less hot and drop-kick prone.

-End Scene-