Late Night Practice

Log Info

• Title: Late Night Practice
• Emitter: Knightmare
• Characters: Knightmare, Skielstregar, Zofija
• Place: The Collosseum
• Time: March 9th, 2022
• Summary: Betrys is training using a bow while on the move at the Collosseum, as Zofi is keeping her skills sharp. Skiel arrives, looking for something to tear into to abate his anxieties. The makari is confused by Betrys' unqiueness, and Zofi gets a lesson on how to tell makari sexes apart (it's the eyebrows! Honest!) before Skiel heads off to vent his anxiety.

It's a moderately noisey night at the Collosseum, as Angorites, Korites, and -ites of just about every militant stripe drill, spar, roughouse and brawl accross the grounds.

A tall, gleaming figure is at one of the archery ranges, pounding the sand with evasive hoofwork before drawing, nocking, and loosing an arrow with what haste and accuracy the Knightmare can muster.

Some of them land.

Some even stick.

One figure that has yet to step foot on these sacred showgrounds is that of a towering, silver scaled makari. A cloak covers him and his arms, his head the only thing the air touches. Ambient light makes the metallic scales glimmer bright, but it's dimmed by the halberd he carries. Each step with it on his back trails a shadowy haze behind it. And his gait is... timid.

"... should... ssshould let loossse..." he murmurs to himself, as he looks over the training area.

His eyes settle on the mounted archer, his head tilted to the side as bits of that shadow harmlessly splash against the top of his head.

In one of the areas with many sparring matches going on, there was another who looked out of place, due to their state of dress. An Arvek-nar, shorter than the rest present, but clearly built sturdily in spite of it, was finishing up with a match of their own. The other hobgoblin they were with was walking off with a slight limp, rubbing their shoulder.

"Chin up, it's not that bad." The hobgoblin woman chuckles, slapping them on their not bad shoulder before they are off. "Just need to work on your movements and dodging, since you're gonna have a bad time trying to block this."

Finished, she took a look around, crossing her arms to regard the others present, which had the unfortunate problem of appearing as if she was glaring at everyone.

If the Knight, Betrys, is displeased with her showing, it does not, can not, show in visor, nor Reaper's grin.

Being careful that her lanes of fire are unnoccupied (always know what's behind your target) the Knightmare comes out of another pivoting evasion to loose another shaft as her tail lashes to counterbalance her stay of momentum.

The gleam to her peripheral brings the Dragonieri to a pause in the wake of the bassy twang of her mighty bow.

The arrow, well, the half of it still outside the mannekin, vibrates like a door stop.

"Ah..." comes the cavernous intonation toward the silvern silhhouette, "Well met." in time to catch a... glare(?) from up the way.

GAME: Skielstregar rolls 1d2: (1): 1

The massive silverscale blinks as he realizes he's being addressed. Standing up straighter, he weakly raises a hand. "Peasse on your nessst," he rumbles out, tone deep and matching his stature. "You.. um.. shoot well?"

He's a bit perplexed by the sight before him, as his head cants the other way. ".... your existence confuses thisss one."

Seeing two that seemed to be out of place more than the others, the arvek-nar strode over, and stopped nearby to regard them. "That is a strange thing to say. Their existence is what it is, nothing confusing about that." They note. "Hard to shoot with hooves. But the stability might balance things out in another way."

"You are kind." the construct replies in response to the Sith's first words as she straightens to an almost 'parade rest' posture, "Peace upon your nest as well."

The plumed head lists in seeming counter to his as his second intonation, "How do you mean?" <draconic>

As they are joined by another soul, the Dragonieri bows her head respectfully and remarks, "I am trying to... get out of my comfort zone." and affords the Arvek a polite, "Well met."

The makari shakes himself off as the native tongue seems soothe him slightly- he looks off put and jumpy. "Thisss one apologizes, you just ssseem.... ummm..."

He flounders for a word, a hand rolling through the air. "... extra." <Draconic>

Ack. "No, erm, not like that, um..."

His head thuds against the flat of his drippy halberd.

The arvek-nar huffs and looks between the two as the language takes a turn to something she does not understand. "Right, fair enough." They note, before she is looking around elsewhere. "Nothing wrong with expanding horizons. Though I can't say I know much about how war-golems work, if you can improve at throwing a javelin the way others can, or if you're better off improving your form with a bow. Sorry for interrupting."

The wrought warrior shakes her head, "We are only just acquainted, Madame. Fear not." to the Arvek, then regards the silver one again.

There is time for those with hearts to beat once, maybe twice, then comes a quizzical, "Extra?"

Clank. Clank. Clank.

The flat of his weapon thuds against his thick skull. Any versed in makari body language could tell he was beyond embarrassed. "... jussst forget it..."

A long exhale makes a gout of frozen air spill from his maw. "... just put thiss one back in the grave," he mumbles.

"Ah, well, seemed like he would probably prefer if I was elsewhere. Ah, I think he, sorry, don't spend a lot of time around lizar-er, sith-makar." Zofija shrugs, turning back around and rubbing the back of her head. "Extra tall maybe? If you're bringing it up, might as well finish the thought, and not leave people wondering."

The Knight doesn't shrug, it's an anthropomorphism she hasn't justified the energy in mastering.

"I am... relatively unique." she confesses, "I understand my ways are uncommon outside of my homeland, but I take no offense at your bewilderment."

"Unique!" the scaled man gasps, latching onto the word like it was his way out of the hole. "That iss the word. Sssorry. Thisss one hass not ssseen sssuch a make before."

The massive makari turns towards the hobgoblin. He points to his eyebrows. "He. Yesss. Thiss one isss male. Look at the ssscale ridge to tell the difference. Male isss more flat. Female hasss more bend."

"Ah, that would make sense. I have never seen a war golem with hooves, I wasn't sure if it's something that can be replaced, and you were trying to learn how to use a bow with them on or not. That would make it much more important to have a better grasp on it."

The hobgoblin leans up on their toes, and reaches up to push the sith-makar's face down so she can peer at where he was talking about. "Can't say I have much of a clue what the bend looks like, but at least I have a comparison. Thanks." She states, before stepping back. "So, relatively unique wargolem and sith-makar I'm fairly certain is male unless they're playing a joke on me, what are your names?"

"I was built with them." Betrys affirms with a nod, absently bending her bow to unstring it, "I have not done a lot of archery while being evasive, not on my own hooves."

She gives a little bow and, "I am Dame Betrys of Dragonier, Knight of the Lost Crown, and yourself?"

Skielstregar is about to kneel down further- the man quite used to towering over others- but soon his face is pulled down, and he's on a knee. He blinks. "... thisss one iss in no mood for jokesss, so no..."

He rises to his feet, then gives the war golem a polite, two beat thud on his chestplate. "Skielstregar, Warrior caste. Though... you can call thisss one Skiel."

His massive head cranes down to the hobgoblin. "And you?"

"Why not? You aren't training yet, so you don't need to be focused. I mean, if someone came around to me and had no clue what I had in my pants, I'd mess with them at least a bit to see how they'd react." The Arvek-nar offers, chuckling just a bit. "Skiel, fair enough. I am skyguard Zofija Voght, formerly of the sixth cavalry regiment of Blar. What has you looking so out of sorts here? Need someone to train with? I'd offer to help show you around, but this is my first time here anyways, so there's probably other people better to do that here."

"Good to meet you Dame Betrys. Take care with your training, and I hope you can learn much from it." She offers to the departing warforged. "The movements for being evasive are different with hooves, but maybe if you speak to some horse archers you can pick something useful up from them on the matter."

Skielstregar slowly blinks. "... thisss one just... isssn't in the mood..." he quietly intones, rubbing his thumbs together. "Pleasssure to meet you Zofija..."

He peels his gaze off of the well-dressed hobgoblin and looks out to the training area. "... jussst.. these past few daysss have been hard on thiss one. They were hoping they could... let loose, so to ssspeak on some training target or ssssomething. They are tired..."

"Not in the mood for jokes? Shit, must have been some pretty bad days then." The hobgoblin states, looking up, and frowning, before resting one hand on her side. "Well, tell you what. I should more than qualify for an adequate 'or something', so how does that sound? Unless by let loose you mean, pulverize something into a million pieces, in which case, I'd rather avoid that today."

Skielstregar stares back at Zofi. Dead silver eyes watching her. Fangs glinting in the underglow of the arena. He breathes in deeply, and there's a slow exhale that rolls out from him.

"Zofija. Thisss one carries entire treesss for lumber. Thisss one isss tired. Thisss one iss... anxious."

He points to a wooden dummy set into the sand. "Thisss one will crush that thing until it isss nothing but splinters and they are dead tired. And they will drag themssselves back to bed to passs out next to their mate."

"It'sss bessst you avoid that..."

There's a certain... meaning aura that surrounds him. Like looking at a tired dragon, knowing what they're capable of if provoked.

"I've build garrisons before, I've moved tree trunks around for building palisades, even if I'm not nearly as tall as you." The arvek-nar huffs. "Not sure why you want to be more tired if you're already tired, unless you think you can get rid of the anxiety in the process. Still, there are worse ways to deal with nerves I guess."

"You're right, I don't particularly want to do that. So, you probably don't need the extra anxiety of someone watching your every move while you're just trying to work off steam."

Skiel half turns. "... thisss one meansss they uproot trees," he mentions, him glancing off to the target. "... you can watch. Jussst... ssstay away."

He takes a step away. His polearm leaks more black ichor, splashing against the ground. "... nice to meet you. Find thisss one again after tonight, they will be in a better headssspace to talk."

And just like that, the makari bounds off towards the target in the distance. There's a plume of black miasma that puffs off from him, and he crashes bodily into the target, lancing it fully before ripping it free and absolutely. Crushing. It. Viciously. Each swing has this twinge of uncertainty and doom with it that makes one wince with each devastating crush. And one could just barely see crimson eyes in the distance.

One of the Korites training, stops their routine (among others), then comment, "... what the fuck..?"

"Just make sure you're paying for that training dummy afterwards." Zofi shrugs again. "They're not meant to be trashed to uselessness even if they're really lenient with the training here."

The Arvek-nar stops to watch for some time, wincing just a touch as she sees the target taken apart, before she turns to leave the colosseum.

-End Scene-