Out of Step

Log Info

• Title: Out of Step
• Emitter: Skielstregar
• Characters: Skielstregar, Aelwyn
• Place: Colosseum District
• Time: August 11th, 2022
• Summary: Skielstregar is working on his halberd as Aelwyn happens up him. They speak of their weapons, and how one of them come across theirs. Lines get blurred a bit as Skiel asserts his stance, to which Aelwyn makes himself clear on intentions. All is well, and they go beat each other up.

Colosseum District, Midday

Everything is veiled by a grey mist. Affording a humid, still air that's warmed by the sun beyond the low swooping cloud. Such weather is not too grand for spectacles within the Colosseum, so much work surrounding it tends to be done. Be it weapons being maintained, drinks to be had, or companies to be formed. The latter is popular, as of late, due to the undead.

Though the former is currently being practiced by a shiny silver scaled makari. Absolutely massive unit of a man, him taking up half a stone bench by himself as he has a polearm in his lap. A rag passes over the steel, dead silver eyes carefully inspecting the halberd for any nicks, cracks, crannies, bends, dents, so on and so forth.

The Colosseum did attract quite many-a adventurer, and a particular ruddy scaled Dragoon was no exception. Glaive stretched across his shoulders, arms laid across its length, Aelwyn slowly strolls his way along. Tail twisted this way and that, as the autumn colored sith-makar glanced around the area; perhaps looking for training partners, or someone to challenge.

Though for a while now, his direction was clear - the shiny silver scaled makari was easy to spot, even through the grey mist. "Silver." The smaller draconian greets with a bow of his head. "Long time." He grins toothily.

Skiel raises his head from his weapon towards the ruddy scaled makari. He blinks, and smiles lightly. "Ah, Purple, peasssse on your nessst. Yesss, thisss one hass been busy asss of late. How fare you?" he inquires, patting the empty spot of the bench next to him.

The tip of the halberd drips once of ichor as there's a silver gleam to the blade.

Aelwyn's eyes inevitably draw towards the dripping blade. It was such a fascinating thing to watch - but his own glaive is slid down off his shoulders. It's reworked shaft and new blade seemed to gleam their own little brightness; far cry from the more ordinary, dull one. "This one fares," The Dragoon rumbles and sits down besides Skiel. Then a bit farther away, so he doesn't have to crane his head _so_ much. "Outside the city walls?" He asks, in regards to being busy.

The blade was... different. It's hard to say. It's certainly off putting: the way it leaks this necromantic miasma through the striations of the metal. But the rest of it seems almost... unmarred by this fact. Shining, even. Catching Skiel's reflection easily as it bounces off an eye full of life.

Dead silvers drop to Aelwyn, him giving a grunt along with a nod. "That isss good you are faring, rather than unwell," he rumbles warmly. "Your weapon looks hearty and well treated."

A huff, and he's wiping the halberd down once more. "Yesss. Mictlan needsss defending, ssso thisss one hasss no shortage of thingsss to fight. Though thisss one isss here to quickly ferry people to and fro jussst in case."

"Hmmh? Should Silver not take a time and rest his weary scales? Enjoy the city he is so stricken to defend?" Aelwyn grins, tail swaying behind him. At the mention of his blade, he rolls his shoulders and flexes his mane of quills, letting the sharp poitns slowly settle down. "Yes, it was repurposed and resharpened. The old smith did not understand the word 'fireproof'."

The Dragoon's eyes turn back towards the blade. "... why does Silver wield such a blade specifically?"

Skielstregar chuffs, a gout of frozen air spilling forth and joining the fog. "Thisss one resstss at their camp with their chuiaa," he rumbles warmly, getting a bashful look across his features before shaking his head. "Thisss one knowsss their pace."

A look over to the glaive, and he rubs at one of his fangs in thought. "Hmm. Have you conssssidered finding a ssshaman that can imbue the weapon with fire? That sssort of weapon could look like it could hold the magicssss well."

Now, down to the halberd. His fingers curl around it. "Thisss... weapon. Wasss the firssst weapon thisss one had after they... came back, after they, well, erm, died," he admits slowly. "Thisss one perfersss to use a ssspear, asss isss that what thisss one's tribe usssed, but thisss one hasss that and a little more."

He turns the weapon over slowly. "It hasss been with thisss one, reliable, and accepting of the magicsss that thiss one hasss. It holdsss well. Dealsss well with thisss one's strength. And remindsss them of a time when thingsss were very difficult."

The large man coughs. "... thisss one apologizes, they did not mean to blabber on."

Aelwyn grins at the larger silvery makari. "This city has many things to keep up with Silver's pace, he must know." He stretches his arm up along his polearm, grabbing the end of his blade. Just stretching. "Hmm? A shaman?" The draconian glances up at the blade then. "... probably too many coins for this one." Teeth. Tongue. Grin. "For now."

While later, Aelwyn turns his head sideways, listening the larger silver scale talk about their blade. "Hmmh? What for? One's blade is an extension of their body, is it not? And if one cannot tell tales of their body, what can they tell tales of?" Tail sway.

"Thisss one findsss pleasssure in sssimple things, they do not need much to ressst," Skiel rumbles warmly before looking at the weapon being stretched upon. "Yesss, it isss many coinsss for that. But well worth it." A blink to Aelwyn, then a large hand smacks against his face. "Ah, right, ssssorry. Cassste terms. Sssshamansss mainly ussse magic. Erm... Wizzzzardsss?" he tries to say, his accent making it hard.

He rubs his neck. "Ah, thisss one doesssn't blabber about their thingsss often to othersss, undue burdensss and what not. But..." His attention falls to the halberd. It drips once more, but then slowly recedes the inky black. "... extension of one's body..." he muses.

He looks confused for a beat. "What do you mean? Ssstories can be told of many things, the Lorekeepersss are well at sharing many-" Pause. Face falls into hands, embarrassed, but chuckling at himself. "... ah, you're being silly. This one feels as if you'd enjoy tales of the body. Though thisss one's tales regarding that aren't ever good ones."

"Ah, but surely Silver has long tales of valor and glory," Aelwyn spreads his hands, seeming to exclaim it to the courtyard. "Teeth biting stories of how he befell one after the other, the straining of one's limits," He continues, motioning with his hand in the air, "The lyre of a stalwart stance when the darkness slowly settled in." Slowly lowering his hands and then the cheekily smiling sith-makari turns towards Skielstregar.

"... or what kind of stories did Silver think this one meant?" Tail swaying behind him.

Skielstregar shifts a bit to face Aelwyn. "Ah, erm, thisss one isss not one to boassst and brag about glory," he murmurs. The halberd's ichor recedes further. "The Dragonfather's light doesn't shine well on being cocky. But, they have a few ssstoriesss. Mossstly of trying timesss and getting out incredibly bloodied after crushing sssomething to piecesss. There wasss one moment were thisss one froze a swath of undead with a breath," the towering makari mentions, looking a bit proud at that fact.

He blinks. "... thisss one... erm..." The mist in the air makes frost and icicles form on his cheeks. "You know."

Aelwyn leans over and gives Skielstregar's side a brief bump with his elbow. "Shun the thought," The smaller makari rumbles, but his tail still sways behind him. "Of tales of Silver's indomitable prowess -" And at that point, his lips begin to make movements as if he was speaking words, but no sound come out. Still, it left his tongue swaying in the air, grinning from cheek to cheek. Most likely he was making the motions just to taunt the taller, poor makari.

"Hmmh, this one finds one thing in Silver interesting." A clawed, purple tipped finger reaches out and tries to flick some of those icicles of Skilestrager's face. A low amused rumble leaves his chest. "Getting cold feet?" Teeth to teeth.

Skielstregar is not, and has never been, a smart man. Not only that, he's also denser than chunk of pure silver. He stares at Aelwyn with a perplexed expression. From the soundless movement of words, and lulling tongue. Only to be snapped back to reality like the little ice that gathers on his face.

"... what?" the silverscale grunts out.

Aelwyn tilts his head, and then after a moment, gets up on his feet. Taking a step over, he stands in front of the larger sith-makari. "Silver is freezing." The Dragoon clarifies, with his own orange eyes carrying a little bit of the fire he loves so much. He attempts to take a light hold of the other makari's frozen cheeks. "Or is it just me?" Teethy grin.

The ruddy scaled makari standing comes up to eye level with a sitting Skielstregar. "Thisss one isss silver, they are always cold," he says dumbly, dead silver eyes tracking orange.

His face is gently held. He is cold. Freezingly so. And each breath makes frost dust across Aelwyn's hand. Skiel blinks. "... Purple, what are you doing," he asks, more of a statement. The icicles on his face only gets worse.

Then, finally the silver chunk that's his brain shifts a bit. He blinks again. "... are... you... making a pass on thisss one?" he blurbles out.

Aelwyn has to slide his fingers off quickly enough; though they were probably quite a lot hotter than the silver makari's cheeks. Grinning, he leans back and lays his polearm across his chest. "A pass?" One hand rests on his tilted hip and he rolls his shoulders. "Hmmh, this one was looking for a sparring partner." The Dragoon leans closer, hands on his glaive. Snout close to snout, he rumbles with a sibilant hiss. "See how our spears match up."

Skielstregar was slow to get rolling, but the grin is met with a furrowed scaled brow. And he leans back a bit as Aelwyn draws closer. The halberd drips a few drops before ceasing. "I do not like thisss," he huffs. Speaking in the first person for a beat. A hand reaches up to stiff arm the Dragoon to make some space. "Ssstate your intentions clearly, Dancer."

Aelwyn leans away when Skielstregar moves to push him aside; and he moves to give the other makari space. Perhaps gladly as well - considering the other one was nearing twice his size. His incessant, teasing grinning stops, and he tilts his head curiously at the taller male. The male takes a step a bit closer, but then moves past Skielstregar and just stands by his side. "I would like to have a dance with a good friend," He explains in his more native tongue. His finger slides along the shaft of his polearm. "And blade or spear, as long as it ends up in rough and grins." His tail moves to lightly smack Skielstregar's own. "This is my intention." <draconic>

Skielstregar isn't upset, he's mostly annoyed and confused. But above all, listening closely. He chuffs, his muscular tail twitching from the thwack to it. "This one sees," he rumbles back in his native speak. "This one has had their heart yanked in many directions before. They do not do well with toying play. Jokes are well and fine, but this one's being is to their mate Vaera, and you are drawing close to a line where it's not a joke."

He rises to his feet, the butt of the halberd clanking against the stone as the blade shines silver as a hand pinches the space between his eyes. He sighs. "Please understand that they enjoy your company, and your dance, Dragoon Aelwyn. But your methods may leave you in some straits with confused souls, or worse."

It was his turn for his tail to smack Aelwyn's. Which was... like a whole arm flopping against it. Not very agile. His expression softens. "Does this one make sense?" <Draconic>

Aelwyn's tail dies under the heavy weight of its counterpart. "Dance is a precarious thing, Silver. One can never quite tell where it leads." The Dragoon responds, but he bows his head all the same. "This one sees." Picking up his own glaive's butt off the ground, he slowly slides it across his shoulders and stretches his body out. "And as gracious as Silver's being is, this one has no intentions for it. A fire cannot hold ice."

Stepping a walk over, he slides his blade off his shoulder and stands squarely in front of Skielstregar, staring up at him. "So how about that spar?" With a toothy display, he rolls his blade in his fingers. "My glaive still lusts."

"Yesss, but a dance ssstill needs a willing partner." Skielstregar's softened expression morphs into a light smile. A chuckling rumble. "Funny you sssay that, asss thisss one'sss mate isss a redssscaled asss they come. Fire and ice can work." He reaches out to put a hand on Aelwyn's shoulder. "Thank you for understanding."

Amusement flickers across his dead eyes. "Oh doesss it?" he rumbles. The halberd shifts from one hand to the other, a reflection of the massive makari flashing by with a cocky grin. "Well, lets see if we can sate it then. And they promise to not clobber you this time around and actually try and dance," he offers with a weak smile.

A gesture towards the Colosseum. "Ssshall we?"

Aelwyn moves to bump his hip against Skielstregar's. "One hasn't felt this one's heat." The Dragoon rumbles challengingly. Quills raking across his back, he flashes a grin up at the taller makari. "Silver has learned the lesson of dancing; yet the dance is long, and winding." The draconian lets out another gruff grunt, thwapping at the other's shoulder with the end of his glaive. "Full of surprises, he feels. Or Silver will feel soon, when he tastes the blade."

Grinning over his shoulder, he steps ahead, tail swaying behind him. "Remember, don't kill one's partner on the first step."

-End Scene-