Fight:Khitti vs Lionel

This is a Warrior's Guild RP.

Summary: After penning nonsense as an opening statement, Lionel cat fights Khitti to complete her application for Warrior's Guild membership. Khitti then kills Lionel, but not really.

Frostmaw: Snowless Training Yard

Lionel flies in on a gods-damned straight-up mother-frakking wyvern. This fabled man is literally irrelevant next to his honest-to-gosh literal wyvern of splendid awe-striking badassery. Wind from the wyvern’s ample wingspan assails all in this training yard -- it had snow but then it didn’t. Because wind. Because of the resplendent #wyvern2k17. Incredibly, Lionel’s writer intends to submit this as a formal RP, so it is with profound out-of-character respect that he bows to the she, the woman, the legend, the unforgettable probably-inedible fanciful animal Sa-to-shi. Hopping off his gods-damned straight-up mother-frakking wyvern, Lionel will tap her on the nose -- her name is Psychedelica Mark II, by the way -- and send her off to lay in perch and await his operative whistle. For now, he arches his shoulders, eases his back, grabs two training swords and tosses one to Khitti. “Let’s mosey,” he’ll tell her, and she’s undoubtedly still blindsided because of the aforementioned wyvern.

Khitti just kinda throws up her hands into the air as Lionel and that damned wind beast lands, "What zhe actual hell." Her writer definitely imagined that kid from The Neverending Story riding around on Falcor. Yes, Lionel is definitely that kid. Sorry, no luck dragon for him, though. I hear there's a horse he could pry out of the swamp, however. Of course, she catches that sword, squinting at its clearly wooden make-up and scrunches her nose up at the warrior-duderino, "Vhat? Too scared to let me have a real one?" Regardless of his answer, she'd take up the sword in her right hand, eyeing him carefully as she awaited whatever had been plotted in that crazy, wyvern-loving brain of his.

Lionel may in fact be too scared to let Khitti have a real sword at this juncture. The world may never know, because the very instant she catches the blade, azure eyes narrow and Catal’s last prince bends at the left knee, kicks into the dirt with his right foot, and then races at an arc that will take him just beside her. He spins his wooden sword right ‘round -- baby, right ‘round -- in such a flurry of frenzied motion that it begins to crack and zip through the cold night air to the tune of his fast-paced boots. Two-thirds to Khitti’s person, Lionel abruptly changes direction, flickering straight eastbound and thus wayward of his target. Yet something is off. The man slams his whole body into a nearby stone pillar and rolls across the earth as it leans into a shatter. He rolls behind this collapsing structure but he’s vanished before the fall. Ten beats of the heart later, he will attempt to appear behind Khitti -- silently. Training sword is held in one hand but drawn downward in a perfect vertical slice for her skull; his right hand is up, tight-fisted and blocking.

Khitti had been taken off guard by the lack of an answer, and then the crazy theatrics Lionel goes through in order to disappear. Not often does Khitti utilize those keen vampiric senses she was gifted upon her turning, but now she was nearly in predator mode--she was now all ears, eyes, and nose about the situation. He was damned quiet, she'd give him that, but there was no mistaking the Catalian's scent. There'd be no use of her enhanced strength against him, but instead just a fair bit of the agility to spin about and bring her own sword up to clash with his, barring it from hitting her in the head, both hands wrapped tightly around its hilt. With the focus up above, the vampiress would shift her position just enough to try to snake her leg around his and pull it forward sharply in an attempt to trip him and gain the high ground of sorts.

Lionel feels the feedback of wood against wood and slides his sword across hers in a backwards hop. There’s no reason to bring strength to a dodge fight. Her leg is a harder gamble; he’d not thought she’d bring extra limbs to the party. Their legs do meet, but then two become three -- Khitti’s leg snakes around Lionel’s left, but his right pivots at the knee and slides behind her with a firm press to the back of her thigh. A bold, questionably platonic move in any other encounter, but here on the battlefield it is a mere gesture to trap an opponent’s footing and hopefully collapse them either forward or behind. All-the-while, the Catalian’s acrobatics bring his hip twisted ridiculously aft; he is now leaning his upper body at a sharp but relaxed angle nearly half a meter behind the rest of him while his legs weave around the foe. It is almost as if the man is playing at limbo, not spar. And of his sword, it can only be said that it’s zipping toward Khitti’s side as hers remains held forth. Should she go for the strike? His body is, clearly, wide open. Would that be wise? Would the man leave himself no defenses…?

Khitti would likely give him such a smack for the way he moved his own leg, but thankfully for him she was well focused--there was quite the smirk, however, and a raise of an eyebrow. She does her best to keep from toppling over either backwards or front as neither really felt it'd be in her favor. Khitti does release his leg finally, slipping her leg out from the trap Lionel's own had created, even going so far as to removing her boot entirely in that one fluid motion as his sword made its way to her side. He -was- open. Why would he do that? Taking no chances, her sword catches his again, but only briefly to stop it and hold it in place, though it wouldn't last long with just the one hand wielding it. She'd use all of her human strength to press sword to sword, letting the wood scrape together again as her free hand shot out towards his stomach with the intent of pushing him back and allow room between them again.

Lionel lazes his trapped leg as Khitti releases it, his face as blank as a malnourished anchorite in spite of her smirk. What is he playing at? Surely, he knows that -she knows- that he’s a smart-talking cynic whenever she’s around. Why would he behave any differently now? Their swords tap noisily and his opponent presses against his, ferocious in his strength. Lionel keeps this hold as he maintains his sideways composure, putting muscle into the bladelock to lend further believability. But it isn’t even his blocking fist that seeks to take her lunging hand. Rather, it is his sword. In a swoosh of speed, Lionel lets go of their bladelock and gives her that victory as if it were any true victory at all. Momentum must surely have an effect on her when all that strength of hers succeeds, but Lionel’s sword moves to square against Khitti’s free hand with a resounding thud. The Knight-Commander straightens and swings his closed hand for her neck, swerving out of the way of the sword with a flourished sidestep. But now he’s directly to her left and his sword is caught on her hand. If she were to strike again now, with his hand near her throat, she’d have free range to smack him.

Khitti takes a half-step forward, moving into the sword that threatened her hand. First hand, then wrist, then her entire forearm wraps about it like ivy, tightening around it, aiming to hold it fast so as to keep him from moving it again for the time being. Not exactly a technique one would use for a sword, but with the lack of danger of losing a limb, it did the trick for now or so she hoped. The smack was so very tempting, but instead, the vampiress went for the kill--there'd be no chance for a smack or something of the sort in true battle. With a bit of flare, the wooden blade spins about like a baton in her right hand, stopping with the point aimed directly at his chest. Then, and only then, does the life of Lionel, prince and warrior of Catal come to an end, blood spurting endlessly from the hole in his torso where the dull, wodden sword pierced him like a stake in the heart of a vampire. No, wait, that doesn't happen. Khitti does indeed go for the kill, but her target is a little to the right as she plunges the aforementioned weapon into that space between his side and his arm.

Lionel discards the sword Khitti has taken, freeing up both hands. One of those hands misses her neck -- did he slow it? Would he do that? The other hand zigzags about incredulously as the vampiress moves her sword toward him. It slaps the wood to stifle its pace considerably, bashing into the weapon repeatedly, obnoxiously, in a furious rapidity. Here a slap, there a slap, everywhere, a slap, slap. Khitti’s sword will eventually reach its target, taking Lionel right where she wants him, but it’s a sluggish hit and he’s plainly kicking at the -other- sword with a full-on roundhouse temper tantrum. Simultaneously, the man dives forward into a total roll to come up behind Khitti as if to punish. Instead, a neck band of twisted bronze is tossed onto her shoulder with pinpoint precision. “The fight continues until you land a hit. My own intent is not to hit back, but to prolong. Many of my troops back at the fort have taken hours before hitting. You took fifty-seven seconds. The torc is yours. Welcome the Warrior’s Guild.