Fight:Lionel vs Rorin
This is a Warrior's Guild RP.
Summary: To fulfill his tasks and officially enter into the Warrior's Guild at long last, young Rorin engages in a quick, evasive spar with Lionel.
Frostmaw: Snowless Training Yard
Rorin held his lance and shield at the ready. He had been training to this. "So, then, are there any rules bedore we begin?" He asked though he'd read more than enough to know. He had brought his usual armor, full helm, coat, grieves and boots. The green scarf he wore against the frosrmae weathers flew about his neck and a crossbow belted to his hips. He had already bowed, as per designation. All was accroding to plan and in order. He was simply pensive, waiting, gauging. It wouldn't be life or death but Lionel was good- damn fast as he was strong, accurate to boot. Rorin was planning to use a bit of his half elf agility in his medium armor to create some finesse over Lionels more direct strikes however. Currently the small talk was more or less room for him to plan how to do so…
Lionel shrugs, ill-equipped in black silk attire but with two thin blunted swords in his hands. He twirls them like some kind of jester, bends at one knee, eases his shoulders and speaks. “Just don’t kill me, will ya? I’m not ready to meet the Undertaker yet.” He clears his throat and watches his breath steam in the wintry air. “Let’s mosey.” Taking off in a sprint, the Catalian seeks to trick Rorin into believing there will be an immediate direct confrontation. But two-thirds of the way toward his foe, he twists at the ankle, shoves boots through snow, pivots in an arch and twirls his lithe body nimbly wayward of the initiate. In that twirl, he’ll swing one sword with hopes to land on neck and the other is sent to snake through the air in an erratic zigzag defensively.
Rorin readies himself, "I wouldn't kill you yet, Knight Commander," he said it with a measure of sarcasm, as he knew Lionel had complex feelings on the title. Rorin rushed lance forward- an unusual action for the shielded squire, because he had a plan. He sunk the tip into the ground and vaulted with it, becoming vertical for a moment before turning full over, landing boots down as Lionel turns about, deflecting a neck swipe with his lance upward, before using the space made to fully bash against Lionels defensive strike in the hopes of creating a further opening to use the full length of his battle lance.
Lionel is instantly appreciative he’s kept his protective sword motioning constantly, because he’s at least able to catch the broad side of Rorin’s lance and bat it away like a cat to a mouse. Unfortunately for him, the lance is thick, heavy like the weapon ought to be, and knocking something like this aside with a thin sword isn’t going to happen. Instead, he pounds his boots to the snow and loosens chiseled muscles to leap back from the unexpectedly vertical soldier. His sword slides across the lance in so doing, going with the flow rather than attempting to put strength where strength does not belong. Now standing opposite the lad, Lionel slashes hard to the nothingness at his side, feigning an eastbound travel when in reality he tags unseen momentum to step swiftly west. If the feint is successful, Rorin might well move in tandem with that east falsehood, rendering him open for the strike the Catalian now attempts to inflict upon the side of Rorin’s body. He holds both swords together in an x-arced pattern to (bluntly) skewer dramatically if successful.
Rorin joins the battle dance, watching carefully while Lionel swipes at his blade amd feints- the Catalian wouldn't miss so blatantly to Rorins shield side without a purpose, so instead of moving as expected a fencer, the young knight takes a short step in. Without moving to Lionels purposed position Rorin could keep his guard with both weapons toward his shield, at the same time propelling them both out of strike range. It was quite a dance indeed- but Rorin planned to cut it short. He charged, a bit brutishly, spinning to throw his shield as a discuss- before drawing his crossbow and leaping in after it, really giving Lionel something to think about. His lance was pointed down as Rorin somewhat flew inward, while his crossbow was prepared to glance around the opponent knights blades to a nom vital weak point.
Lionel tends to fancy himself the acrobat, but with two thin swords in the shape of an x at his arsenal, he’ll sooner play ball. The shield is summarily returned -- with ample stopping power -- back at his opponent even as he flies forward with the lance. Lionel maintains that focus as he twists his leg to take himself to Rorin’s charging side. The lance, downward in its trajectory, still slashes follicles clear off the Catalian’s bangs and a thin stripe of blood drips from a barely-grazed forehead. Frostmaw’s Knight-Commander would rather not toy with a crossbow; he flicks both wrists, sending his swords downcast, and then flicks upward again. In so doing, he creates what appears to be a primitive pair of scissors, and those scissors now move as if to take Rorin at the shoulders. But appearances are their own brand of deceit; Lionel pulls away at the last second, in an attempt to break that crossbow with the scissor pierce.
Rorin used his returned shield as his own jumping platform, managing to get a bit of spin into a slash. He had grazed his commander- first blood was good. Rorins crossbow went forward to fire, the bolt detracted by Lionels downward strike, before Rorin let go rather than dislocate his wrist. Instead while Lionel broke it Rorin thrusted up and over what he would think were Lionels lowered defences as his blades were busy, hoping to strike down the Catalians chest amd shove off a solide strike. If not the dance would continue, and Rorin had to admit the intensiry fueled him a little.
Lionel does what must surely be the single most infuriating thing to his friend. Aware of how quickly he’d intended this charade to carry, and aware also of the rules he silently ascribed, he’ll abruptly let go of both blades and allow himself to fall gracefully with his back to the hard-packed snow beneath their footing. It’s almost akin to faking one’s own death, really, and with two blunted swords landing just milliseconds before him, he uses the slight crease in the earth from their material to roll hard and fast out of Rorin’s line of strike. The lance will taste only useless swords and the Catalian will bow with an over-the-top flourish. “All I needed was to see you could hit me once,” he says with a smirk. “Welcome to the Warrior’s Guild.”
Rorin watched his lance fall flat, flick up into nothing, and almost let out a self disguisted breath that he wasn't keepkng up to the commander. Instead he shrugged and stood, offering Lionel a hand up. "Ah, well, it's good to one day I could be just as sharp," he would pull up the older knight and stsrt bringing them to camp. "Let's go," home- he added quietly to himself. Let's go home.
Lionel accepts Rorin's hand and leaves those two swords as symbol in the snow. Home, indeed, is where they'll go.