RP:Unorthodox Training
This is a Warrior's Guild RP.
This is a Healer's Guild RP.
Synopsis: At the request of Eirik, the Liaison, both the Healers Guild and the Warriors Guild meet up for an unorthodox training day. Hildegarde and Sabrina duke it out. Lionel and Chekhu do the same. Valen and Thamalys have a go at each other and Pilar and Eirik seem content to move to the sidelines to watch and chat. At the end of it all, each garnering a little respect for the other, and all injured are healed!
Snowless Training Yard
One would never know this patch of land once held the bloody remains of innocents killed long ago, for all have been cleared away and given proper burials nearby so that this area could be reborn. And reborn is has been, transformed from a battered street to a wide yard fenced in by a low, black stone wall. The yard sprawls out on either side of the iron gate that serves as an entrance, and the expanse seems to be sectioned off into four large rectangled areas by strange white lines drawn upon the ground--deeply embedded strips of marble, if one were to examine these closely. The ground itself is a peculiarity too, a soft, golden sandy surface without a single speck of snow upon it, as if the weather refuses to go near it. In fact, even the numbing chill in the air seems to be buffered while within the yard's boundaries. You suspect the four orbs of pulsing fluorite--white in the north, black in the south, crimson in the east, and cobalt in the west--that decorate the corners of the fence have something to do with this, riddled as they are with elaborate etchings of runes, sigils, and other arcane markings. Here lies the training yard for those learning the art of outdoor combat in Frostmaw, a blank slate to be altered as teachers see fit in instructing their students through the rigors of environmental conditions, for it takes no more than an adjustment upon the fluorite spheres to produce any arrangement of climates within their given battlefield. Rain, sleet, arid desert, howling wind, or boggy swamp, the four fields are infinitely mutable in their existence, as is to be expected of an institute devoted to the art of combat around the world. To the west looms an immense building, even by Frost Giant standards, with behemoth double doors of a darkly colored pine bearing the stern facade of Aramoth, God of War, chiseled across their collective front. One can safely assume this is the training academy proper, where various dojos, studios, and classrooms can be found, and unimaginable lessons attended by eager students of the art of War.
Eirik can be found standing near the center of the training yard, silver eyes affixed to the entrance of the training yard; watching and waiting. As usual, a chainmail sleeve works its way up his left arm and weaves into a single fur covered, leather and steel plate pauldron. A silver stitched black leather jerkin the only thing to protect his torso. Matching pants give way to scuffed steel greaves which protect booted feet. A grin tugs at the corners of his lips revealing rows of ivory, which twist the rather long scar over his features. A hand raises to wave at each newcomer and after each has arrived the Northman finally speaks. “I am Eirik, the Liason who has invited you all here today.” A single digit points to himself. “As we all know, this is a meeting between the warriors guild and healers guild. In order to spur on further relations between the guilds.” Silver hues flick from one person to another. “Healers, I’ve invited you here to help us train, and to provide services should it be needed. I feel that we should all know each other far better than we do. Its you who often save our hides. This is also an opportunity to train with us as well.” Hand waves to the weapon racks off to one side of the yard. Wooden variants of many kinds can be found there. “If you so choose, feel free to gather an item of your choosing, and introduce yourselves before we get started.” At this Eirik falls silent waiting for each to make their choice. If they choose to not participate in combat, there are benches which line the field itself and they are more than welcome to watch.
Hildegarde had selected Eirik to lead this event because she had faith in his abilities. He had ties in Larket too, so it was handy to have him there to liaise with the large Larketian faction! Hildegarde stood near the door of the Royal Academy of Aramoth, hanging back to allow Eirik to do his thing and welcome all to the event on this day. She watched him with eager interest: curious to see how he would perform and curious to see how well he handled himself. Hildegarde would wait a while before selecting any item.
Lionel hasn't slept, but there's nothing unusual about that. It's one or the other for the Catalian; either exhaustion knocks him down no matter the circumstances or stress keeps him from finding peace with dreams. Today, it is the latter, although it would be difficult to detect this sleeplessness given the casual confidence of his stride across the courtyard. He's dressed in his thin black silks, perfect for the agile combat style he has pursued, and a wooden training sword of his own design is strapped to his back, loosely. He whistles a familiar tune as he nods about at those gathered, and under any other scenario one might suppose he's no leader -- but just another fellow come to spar and to suss out his own weak points. Yet Lionel has a face that is known to most gathered here now, and there's no avoiding the compelling directness of his azure blue gaze. He is ready.
Valen would arrive with a cheery gaze as Eirik introduced himself, silly pupper...he already knew who Eirik was. eyes would travel to the weapon racks, as Maldor would scoff internally, making no visible noise. No, if Valen was going to be training, Maldor was going to make sure that his brother fought with honor, and shadow. Besides, there was certainly something he had been wanting to try out anyways, and hoped Valen would play along. After all, both were in ths guild, not just the Red-head. Valen, however, was in control for now. Seeing as how no one went to gather a weapon just yet, or spoke after Eirik, Valen would take the initiative and look at all present, a sheepish and shy blush on his face as he actually hated public speaking. "My...My name is Valen Veldair, from the once-Kingdom of Arcadia." Here he would offer a bow, before outstretching his right hand. Shadows would flit and fly to it, forming a weapon with a long pole, and a rather large curved blade at the end. The Vampire, had summoned a massive scyth, and with a soft sheen along all it's edges and outlines, it would become solid and reflective...like alabaster, or obsidian. Shouldering it, he would step off to the side and await the next one to introduce themselves.
Chekhu scampers across the large training yard toward the large lycan near its center. Her ears twitch as he speaks, poking out from her mass of frizzy red hair. Just as she is about to reach the fellow, he mentions the weapon rack and suggests that those present should either arm themselves or find a spot on a bench to watch. Chekhu has no particular desire to fight, but suspects that with all the people nearby, a brawl might ensue. Thus, she turns aside, moving even more quickly toward the weapon rack and plucking up a slender wooden spear. She holds it as if she knows how to use it - and she does, sort of, though her expertise is mostly in ambushing prey whilst hunting - then stalks back toward the center of the large open space, moving with obvious reluctance. Her big blue eyes flick back and forth, and her nostrils quiver slightly as she takes in great gulps of the cool evening air. Despite her obvious hesitancy, there is an incongruous smile on her vulpine face. "I am Chekhu Makira. I am healer, but if you want to be fighting me, we can do that too." She gives her spear a little flourish. "Not so good at fighting, me. But if I hurt you I will fix you up. Won't hurt a bit, nope!" She barks a laugh, then settles into a more relaxed stance.
Thamalys wearily glided through the chilling clouds surrounding those snowy peaks much as a lazy bird of prey looking for a long-awaited - and possibly well deserved - rest. Having presently pinpointed a number of tiny shapes hastening on the ground, he eventually resorted to furl those huge silvery curtains to dive into the frosty air, an awful lot of height losing in a matter of mere seconds. Nebb, the massive Red Kite faithfully flying at his very side, obviously took that as an invitation to a much entertaining game of plunges, consequently following the Avian into his swift descent toward the Frostmawian soil. With an immense, swooping motion, the wings of the Blue commanded an outstanding portion of ether to slow his slender shapes almost down to a halt, moments before the heels of the Spellblade actually connected with ground with the loudest of the thuds. Nebb, definitely more elegantly, limited himself to perch is flurry features on the right shoulder of the Winged Beast, a loudest squawk throwing into the mix. Eventually, the Blue arose, wings furling neatly across his shoulders, there where the towering presence of the Gossamer Halberd seemed to greet the onlookers with her metallic gaze. Rather unusually, the Avian sported a long, silky robe, the deep blue fabric embroidered along cuffs and neck with many a motif of stars and moons. Much of his pearly white dreadlocks were running freely across chest and shoulders, caressing the icy-shaped patterns of the countless tattoos covering almost the entirety of his skin. Once more not really bothering to show any footwear at all, the Spellblade did bring with him a rather bulky, leathery satchel, presently swaying on his side. Not a moment too soon, in fact, as the Lycan is already introducing the very aim of the meeting. After having entered the yard, he would have just listened in utter silence, eagerly eying the wooden collection standing nearby, till manners required some voice. “Thamalys…” he just uttered, a respectful bow proffering to the Guild Leader first, and soon after some brisk salutation adding toward the rest of the onlookers. Not entirely sure about circumstances dictated for him to cross some blades or to taking care instead of some bruises, the Avian shook his shoulders, soon after taking some solid strides toward the rack and opting for the plainest of the weapons, a tall wooden staff. Seizing the latter with a single, fluid movement of his left hand, the right one at the very same time seamlessly unlaced the far more deadly metallic counterpart perching from his shoulders, gently laying it against the rack. Nebb acknowledged that particular choice by immediately pecking the hardened wood, probing and tasting.
Sabrina is dressed in her standard uniform, today she leads with no colors for any region though, maybe she just forgot. Rohk showed up for the sake of his duty as a Tugger; his job consisting of hauling bodies from the field to the med tents and nothing in between. Sabrina took a place b Hildegarde, observing the first training session with much curiosity. As a well-seasoned war-time healer she was interested in how the newer ranks would adjust to a field-based scenario. She winces at Valen’s choice of weapon, certain Eirik had chosen the rudimentary tools for training purposes- to level the playing field and limit injury. She makes mental note of a lack of following directions, wondering if in battle should he be so hasty, that his behavior would meet with the compliance needed for his care. The elfess gives Chekhu a firm nod, praising her in the interest of sportsmanship. Thamalys is regarded similarly, but the Master Healer does not take to arming herself just yet. Her arms cross over her chest, watching and waiting to see -if- her intervention was required. With Eirik at the helm and the prestigious ranks of the Warrior’s Guild present she gladly took the position of observer until she was truly needed.
Eirik would nod to Lionel as he entered the field aware that his silence was an awkward thing to notice. Usually his own position was switched with the Catalian; Eirik being the silent one. Eyes flick from one to the other as weapons and introductions are taken care of. Valens scythe is looked upon for a moment and so is Chekhu’s spear. The Northman pulls free his own wooden variants; a long sword and shield holding them out for all to see that even he had wished to participate. “So today, we are doing something a little different. We are being assigned a partner.” Eyes shift from one person to another. “Valen with Thamalys. Chekhu with Lionel.” He smiles again knowing this must seem odd. “Sabrina,” eyes shift to Hildegarde who stands off in the distance. “And Hildegarde, if you two would like to join, and myself with Pilar.” The Berserker takes a step forward, “These will be our partners for today. Remember it’s only training today. So Valen, I’d appreciate it if you used something a little more suited for the task at hand.” Valen wasn’t being insubordinate, Eirik and the Vampire carrying the same rank as the other. “The partners I’ve named will have a small spar with the others.” The northman moves to wherever Pilar can be found and readies himself.
Hildegarde ’s posture straightened up when Sabrina came her way, the other guild leader given a respectful dip of the head. When Valen conjures the scythe, the Silver cannot help it as she folds her arms across her chest and watches with quiet interest. This would likely come up in conversation during a Warrior’s Guild meeting, that she had no doubt. Hildegarde is in the dark, much like the other participants of the day, so when Eirik pairs them all off for a fight she is pleasantly surprised! The Silver turns her head to look at Sabrina, offering her now proposed partner a warm smile. “Well,” she began, uncrossing her arms. “Shall we, m’lady?” she asks, extending her hand in a bid to so nobly lead Sabrina to a training tile where they might begin their fight. “There are many weapons for you to choose from, should you so wish to take one, m’lady. That is, if you wish to fight. I understand that you may wish to opt out in order to survey the field for any healing.”
Valen 's eyes watched as the most adorable foxkin he had ever laid eyes on made her introduction. She was so cute! In any other instance, had they been alone, he may have just come out and asked her if he could adopt her, but felt that would be a bit awkward. Still though, his piercing gaze of blue watched her with great interest, and found himself to find her most different than a Kitsune, much to his relief. He hated Kitsunes, one in particular. Seeing that Lionel had his own training weapon, and that Eirik had told them that if they chose to, they could gather an item of their choosing. Due to Valen's thought process, he had taken this to mean that any weapon was up for grabs, not just the ones from the rack. It was not lost on him though, that the other weapons were made of wood. Problematic, he would now think. Still, no need to sacrifice the sleek and black style of his weapon, a simple touch to the blade portion, and it would take the same hardness level to match what was being offered, the blade dulling and doing the same. But the fact remained, he was using his shadow-scythe. So occupied with this however, that he had miss Thamalys' entrance. At Eirik's insistance however that a different one be chosen, understanding came to him, and the shadows would disperse without a second thought, as he trod over to the rack again, picking out just a club. A bit on the barbaric side, and certainly lacked the sleekness, but this was one of his best friend's events, and he was not about to purposefully not pay attention. Moving back over to where Thamalys was, he would offer a smirk, playful in nature. "I hope you arent nervous Tham...I know for a fact I never wanted to face off against you...goodness knows what you thought about facing against me..." The club felt awkward in his hand, but so help him he was going to do his best. He felt embarrassed though that he had been the only one to be corrected, in front of Lionel and Hildegarde no less. Humility, was not a nice feeling. After Thamalys would bow, or quip back, he would commence. Today he wore no armor, possibly a mistake, but his range of movement would easily make up for it. Springing forward club shooting forward like a fencing blade in mid-lunge, he would aim for a touch to the Avian's chest.
Sabrina was not expecting that, but in fair-game she looks to Hildegarde with a small shrug that meant she was about to comply. “Can’t ask a man to do something I am not willing to do myself.” She smiles, fully trusting Hildegarde would more than likely go easy on her for the simple fact that the Healer was not a natural fighter. Hesitantly she makes her way to the weapons rack, looking over the selections before eyeing a broken shaft from one of the older and well used pieces laying on the ground. Eyes settle on the Silver but for a moment to give a respectful bow of head. The toe of her boot slips under the splintered but seasoned segment and the piece is shot up about shoulder high. In one fluid movement she gracefully performs a swift spinning kick, sending the projectile towards the Queen’s left shoulder… she was aiming more centrally but she had yet to grow fully accustomed to the use of only one eye. When she settles, her feet are shoulder width apart, hands fall casually at her sides.
Chekhu trots eagerly toward her designated partner, but now her foxy face is set and grim. "Big man with the axe, but no axe today. Lionel? I remember you." She dips her head in a mock bow, then issues that single sharp yap of laughter which denotes both nervousness and excitement. Without warning, the foxkin breaks into a sprint, hefting the wooden spear. She flicks it out to the side as she approaches, but then, moving with surprising dexterity, she suddenly brings her arms across her body and then jabs them forward, so that the spear arrows for a place between Lionel's knees. This is a simple strike meant to trip him up, to rob him of balance as the foxkin barrels forward. She is rather artless in her attempt at combat, but if the axeless hero isn't careful, he might well end up on his back with an energetic foxkin ready to pounce on him...and that says nothing of the spear, which can very easily be flicked upward for a most embarrassing and painful strike to Lionel's groin should Chekhu feel the need to drive the point home.
Pilar blinked when Eirik said they'd be fighting. "I... Wait, no, I-I'm with the healers, I don't..." She looked down in embarrassment. She thought she'd be training her healing, not her fighting. Had she misunderstood? Tears of shame came to her eyes.
Eirik smiles to Pilar, "You do not have to fight. Its merely a formality so that we may learn of each other. I'm More than willing to stand off to the side and chat." The Lycan would wave an arm to one of the benches, and march over there to it himself. If Pilar wanted to heal, she was more than welcome to do just that.
Hildegarde probably didn’t get that memo about taking it easy. As Sabrina selects her weapon of choice, Hildegarde has selected nothing at all. She has forsaken a weapon and essentially selected herself as the weapon of choice here. As Sabrina bows her head and then begins to ready the broken shaft, Hildegarde propels forward: lurching forward and dipping side-to-side in a zig-zag formation to best avoid the broken shaft. She is not wearing her usual mithril regalia today, a mixture of chainmail, cloth and leather in the traditional Frostmawian fashion is what she wears today and perhaps that is why the broken arrow does make such a bloody impact against her. With her wild zig-zagging, the chunk of flesh where shoulder meets neck takes the broken shaft and sinks far given Hildegarde’s now close proximity to Sabrina – she wasn’t going to wait over in the corner for Sabrina to attack her! The Warrior Queen drops low and sweeps her leg out in a circular motion in an effort to knock Sabrina off her feet or at least off balance. Regardless of whether Sabrina merely teetered or fully fell backwards, Hildegarde would lunge for the Head of the Healer’s Guild and rely upon her bodyweight to pin the much lighter woman to the ground; positioning her shoulder with the protruding arrow shaft as near to Sabrina’s face as possible with a rather vicious snarl.
Lionel doesn't remember ever wielding an axe. His life is rather tumultuous, however, and it is entirely conceivable that he has forgotten some axe-wielding moment amid the flurry of every other damnable memorable moment in the colorful tapestry that is his past. It is precisely this pondering which occurs when the Catalian cants his head sideways, briefly dumbfounded his opponent is a tiny adorable foxkin. He's fought all sorts of things, but this is a genuine bona fide first. "Holy shh," Lionel exclaims two-thirds of a derogatory proclamation, the tiny adorable foxkin in question in a nontrivial pursuit of his flesh. With a start, he hops on one foot, extending himself such that his upper body is balanced harshly to the left of his center of gravity. In this peculiar acrobatic stance, he draws free the wooden sword from the loose strap on his back, holding it forward and horizontally in one soft grip even as Chekhu's knee-bound jab meets the open air he's crafted by way of his acrobatic maneuvering. Now, the creature barrels ahead, and Lionel makes a jump from the one foot he'd kept planted on the ground, but in that jump, he seems to have allowed his foe to tackle him. Her spear may well miss its mark, for Lionel's body is already in motion, a twist of his hips to bring him further off to the side. Be that as it may, however, the impact smacks into his lightly-garbed chest, smacking the breath out of him, and it forces his training sword to sweep heedlessly over her short stature. Hips continue their twist, swirling the Catalian in an elaborate evasive motion, and then he's off -- he's running away! Or is he? After all, he's a mere twelve paces southeast before he turns, charging toward Chekhu at a more awkward rush than he'd envisioned. Her attack has winded him slightly, but not enough to prevent him from a crude zigzag -- to the left, to the right, Lionel's everywhere tonight! -- designed to bewilder the foxkin. He feints a forward slash to her face once the gap between them has closed, and then feints for her neck as well, before suddenly tossing his sword to the heavens and moving quickly to kick her in the ribs if he lands hid true strike.
Thamalys recoiled to the tiniest extent following the announcement of the pairings. Of all the creatures in Hollow, the Shadowmancer would have definitely been his very last pick. No point in arguing, though, so that the Blue just steeled himself to the task at hand, desperately trying to ignore the fact that he was about to engage against the one to whom he owned his very life - even a friendly spar such that one brought a note of sorrow into the Avian’s eyes, faint streaks of gold veiling that otherwise solid blue gaze. A sigh, and the Vampire was already approaching, a most peculiar choice of blade in his hand. “Nervous does not really capture the whole of it… and yet, I daresay that is close enough. Well, then, if me must, my friend…” he conceded the Spellblade, waiting for the Immortal to opened the dance. Which he did swiftly enough, forcing the Blue to a rather hastened parry, the staff perpendicular to the ground, his right hand squarely holding it tightly enough right in the very middle of its length. With a single motion from right to left, the Avian would have aimed to deflect the blow, with mixed outcomes. Wood found wood surely enough, but not as quickly as the Spellblade anticipated, the tip of the club still connecting with his left shoulder. Not a teeth-clenching blow in the flesh, but his Avian pride was somewhat damaged nonetheless. || Dead, are we not? || chuckled the Ageless Black, a split second before the Spellblade, taking advantage of the reciprocal position of the woods, would have in turn reversed the motion that brought said parry into an offence, the angle of the staff tilting that much he needed to aim squarely for the Immortal face. The intent being close to zero, his body would have still followed much of the Black’s angered fury, a solid blow producing swiftly enough toward the Red Headed comrade.
Eirik let his silver gaze twist to Pilar, studying her mood. "This is a training day for both guilds. Fighting and Healing. It's not mandatory to practice with a weapon at all. I just thought it would be nice to learn of the others craft, and come to respect the abilities of both." He offers a smile to Pilar. Gaze sweeps to the field as they all commence their own version of attacks. "Did you know your own Guild leader had it in her?" He points to Sabrina with a single digit, obviously trying to lighten the mood. Her skills as a healer would definitely be needed.
Sabrina was squared up to her opponent and in those swift moments as she moved that little distance in their tiny field she is surprised when Hildegarde takes that hit, so much she winces that it might have hurt. Her hands come up to block the snarling woman only to have her feet taken from under her. Even in all this she understands it is the method of the game and when she moves to rise is pinned roughly again, head dead focused to that point of arrow so nearing her still-good eye that had gone completely white given the Queen’s proximity. She opted to lock her gift down, least she cause real damage to her attacker. She is frozen for a moment, wondering if she was the only one here to embarrassingly take such a fall. Pilar’s bench looked mighty inviting right about now.
Pilar glanced up just in time to see Sabrina tumble to the ground. She said nothing, only went back to staring at her feet.
Chekhu knows only a little of combat, and most of that has been gleaned by observation both of the creatures of the wild and of other far more experienced fighters. She is far more tricky than anything else, possessing the fox's mythic propensity for fiendishness. Her words, her bow, all intended to confuse her foe, or at the very least to give him the slightest pause. When she runs into him and then continues her forward momentum, Chekhu releases her two-hand grip on the spear so that she can slap her left palm down on the sandy ground. She yelps as if with pain, remaining crouched over on hands and knees and feigning injury by immediately lifting her left hand, as if the jarring of palm against earth has wounded her wrist. Cradling her arm to her chest, still clutching her spear in her other hand, Chekhu looks back over her shoulder in time to see Lionel beginning his staggering charge. When he begins to feint, Chekhu simply makes as if to cower, tucking her chin down a little and whimperingg as those sword-slashes pass close to her at face and neck. It is the scuff of the man's boots she is waiting for, and when she hears it, the wiry little foxkin moves with the speed of an ambushing apex predator. As Lionel's boot sweeps toward her ribs, the foxkin falls to her belly, rolls to her left and brings up her spear-arm; the man's boot still manages to clip her in the hip, but by this point Chekhu is lunging into a forward crouch and snarling, bringing her left arm around to attempt to trap Lionel's extended leg against the left side of her body. What happens next is as easy as breathing for Chekhu; she drives the spear-point up at an angle toward Lionel's belly while pistoning her little head forward, meaning to batten on the Catalian's leg with her teeth. If she can get a good hold, she will soon begin to snap her head back and forth, grinning and growling while trying to topple the man with her superior leverage.
Valen watched as the blow connected with his shoulder, Maldor in his head though was chastising Valen for making such a rookie opening attack. He had left so many areas open. The parry, should have been anticipated but instead, it seemed that the Immortal had some things to learn still. As the attack towards his face was commencing, Valen would shift his right foot, and pivoting with a duck with his left,rolling the club to slide underneath the other weapon, and would continue with the motion to carry the momentum, clockwise, to aim the club to the back of the Avian's head. No quarter here was being given in way of shaving off the raw power of his attack, though he certainly would lament any brain damage done. He so liked this friend.
Eirik would stand then, raising both arms “And thats it!” He bellows, eyes shifting to each partner before a grin settles in. “Warriors I hope you enjoyed meeting the healers today and Healers, thank you for joining us in an odd training day. We greatly appreciate your presence.” Silver eyes shift to Pilar, still carrying that same smile. “And now that we’ve shown our craft, its up to the healers now.” Often the medical employees of the world caused plenty of harm in the practice of their craft. We all knew it too well. “Please ensure you’re all looked over.”
Hildegarde would hold her position above Sabrina with what seemed like ease. Her muscular form did not seem to tire as she held herself above the woman beneath her. Salacious. “Are you all right?” Hildegarde asks Sabrina quietly, just before she carefully pushed herself upright and off of Sabrina; extending her hand to the fallen healer in a bid to help her to her feet. The Silver would gladly help Sabrina to her feet, should the healer accept her offer. Her arm is losing a bit of strength, though. “The arrow was smart.”
Lionel is on his back and there's a spear and a snarling woodland creature and a jaw snapping and claws like hell's razors and probably even a flashback to Elazul because goodness gracious this may be a run-on sentence but Chekhu is frakking merciless. He threw away his sword and didn't think twice to perceive her as a non-issue and as a result she's thrown the proverbial wool over him. And the jaws. And the claws. Lionel is still a heckin' good fighter, though, I mean, like, pretty damn good, so he does some things like twirling and ducking and dodging, and he does them in such a way that all gathered will say he is okay, and he sustains a gnarly cut on his left cheek because -- again -- feral woodland creature, but he's alright. He's alright. He's fine. It's okay. He's on his feet again and dusting off and lifting a brow at his opponent with renewed intrigue. "Seven frosted hecks," the Hero of Hellfire observes dryly. "You really pulled your slashes 'til that last one. Could have used you in about a baker's dozen wars. You ever come looking for a fight, I'll be much obliged to point you at someone else instead."
Valen suddenly remembered things. In a split second, he would try to halt the club, as would Maldor...guy had plans for Thamalys later after all, but the combined effort of host and parasite, proved to be a bit surprising and the club would actually be jerked back, hitting himself full force in the face as he careened backwards and hit the floor, skidding a bit as the club twirled off on the floor somewhere. Holding hs face, blood pouring from his nose, Valen would simply look most embarrassed...but at the same time...he was laughing. Something had struck his funny bone, and now he was a giggling mess. "Oh tham...It's a good thing I stopped that."
Chekhu gets lost in the thrill of the fight, so wrapped up in the melee that Eirik's bellow comes as a surprise. She quite literally lets her mouth fall open - loosing a bit of Lionel's pant-leg in the process - before coming back to herself with a shake of her red-maned head. She looks dubiously at her spear, which she appears to have let loose of at some point, then bounds to her feet. She winces only a little at the sore place on her left hip, but she eyes Lionel up and down. "Don't much like to fight, me. Just learned in forests, when the killing was necessary for eating of meat if I wanted it. And often I did." She runs her tongue out to lick her lips. "Animals, they have no mercy. Can't train with mercy. But that's why the weapons, they were wooden and weak. Would've stopped before I hurt you, if I could've, me." Her eyes land upon the cut on his face. "Does it hurt much? Can heal it if you want." Then, in a loud, shrill voice, "I can heal, me! You need help and can't come to me, yell out so I hear you, and I come!" Lowering her voice again and addressing Lionel, Chekhu shakes her head. "No wars, not for me. No big combats. I fight the way I have to, and when I have to, and that's enough."
Pilar stood and lifted her eyes just enough to see the warriors. She would wait until someone came over for assistance before moving.
Thamalys managed to marvel at the absolutely unexpected turn of events. He barely registered the rapid flurry of wood swirling around Vampire and Avian, but the final result was clear enough. “Why… oh, well, it does not really matter, does it? Glad you held your hand, Kindhearted. Now let me see…” he commenced, in fact collecting the club from the floor and pairing it with the staff, shortly after leaning his tallest, willowy shapes onto the Immortal to probe the damage. Not much, he reckoned, and yet some antihemorrhagic would have probably be in order, given the fountain of blood presently blossoming on the Shadomancer’s face. “We shall have this mess fixed in no time, my friend…” he added, hastily assessing the bigger picture. That one, still sit on the bench, he did not even know, but evidence put her within the Healer’s ranks, so be it. Offering his left hand to the Vampire, he would have helped the latter on his feet, moving swiftly toward yet another Immortal. “M’am, it is very much likely we could use a hand with this…” he pleaded addressing Pilar from two steps away only, a bleeding Shadomancer carrying with him in an oddly enough duo.
Sabrina nodded to Hilde, completely silenced. Gloved hand accepts the offer and the much larger woman would find her petite form equal in weight to hoist to her feet. Effortless. “It was supposed to keep a safe distance.” She dusts off her thighs and motions to the ghastly arrow poking out of the Queen’s arm. Her face is a bit squished up. “Didn’t that hurt?” If not for the protrusion it would leave one to wonder if she took a hit at all. Even the Ardent found the whole ordeal somewhat painful and she only suffered a double Nala pin to the ground. Startling, more than likely. She hated to think the condition of an enemy given her tactics. Eyes flick over to Lionel and Chekhu, it was a nasty gash upon his cheek, somebody would heal that in no time, right? She brings her attention back to Hilde’s shoulder which had stared to ooze a little gravitation fluid. “Here. Let me.” She wraps thin fingers around the very base of the foreign object and yanks one time, solid and smooth. There is a squishy sucking noise allowed by the wet vacuum of procured instrument. It’ll hurt in about four seconds, just long enough for the healer to drop the arrow, slide off a well-made glove and proceed to apply pressure to the wound. The pale palm of her hand is slide between the layers of clothing via the neckhole of Hildegarde’s shirt. Once placed, it would be an awkward number of minutes where the Silver would realize a shallowness to the burning wound. It'd still hurt like hell, but her patient proved a lot tougher than her male counterparts so the heal would be quick, painful, and highly effective. Awkward eye contact is made throughout, though, the elfess is not known for vast conversation skills so awkward was pretty much the whole of it while her hand was buried in Hildegarde’s garb.
Eirik turns his attention to Pilar who had chosen to remain out of the exercise of todays events. A polite smile is given to her as Thamalys asks for her help. Eirik himself would make his rounds and check on each himself, ensuring that every one is being taken care of as they should be. He had hoped only minor wounds had been suffered by either side. And after ensuring that everyone was okay, he would meander off to the side to let the rest of the events unfold.
Hildegarde gave 5000 gold to Sabrina. Hildegarde gave 5000 gold to Valen. Hildegarde gave 5000 gold to Pilar. Hildegarde gave 5000 gold to Lionel. Hildegarde gave 5000 gold to Chekhu. Hildegarde gave 5000 gold to Thamalys. Hildegarde gave 5000 gold to Eirik.
Sabrina releases the Queen at long last, leaving probably the only scar-free zone on her person. She steps into the middle of the gathering, making an announcement of sorts. “On a side note…” Rohk stands. “Should you find yourself downed in battle there are two things you should try to remember.” She crosses her hands over her chest, and then her ankles similarly. “If my Tugger needs to get to you, your journey from danger to relative safety will depend solely on our ability to get your there. Assume this position should you find yourself face-to-face with your Tugger. If he has determined you unfit, it would be wise to cooperate or he will likely -make- you unfit, for battle.” The hellbeast approaches Eirik, who elected to stand off to the side. Sabrina looks to the berserker to assume the position, and at least get a little dirty for today’s affairs. “Lock your wrists and your ankles like so.” She retightens her grasp. “Sprawling will likely get you snagged, or jerked into correct position.” The beasty looks at Eirik, practically daring him to assume a sprawled position. “This is all Rohk asks of you all, should you find yourself in need of his services. He will take you up and position his body over yours.” In this lecture the obsidian plated hellbeast would act out the procedure with the Lycan as his dummy. “This will ensure a barrier between you and further harm. Please keep your arms and legs within the confines of your shield at all times.” Her addition to the event leader’s course is done. “That is all, thank you for your time.”
Lionel chuckles at Chekhu's assessments, finding solace in the simple comfort of the foxkin as he had previously regarded her. Still, the image of her daring animalistic strike won't be leaving his mind anytime soon. "Could do with a bit of healing, if I'm being honest with myself and others." He smiles an easy smile and tilts to regard Sabrina's lesson. This event has transpired in a reasonable and educational manner, and the Warrior's Guild co-leader is grateful the Healer's Guild reached out when they did. Eirik is making for a fine liaison, and for all the troubles plaguing Lithrydel, Lionel is at least confident a new style of cooperative, border-crossing fighting force is rising to meet the occasion.
Eirik flicks his attention to Sabrina in disbelief. She wanted him to do what? Silver eyes flick to Rohk, the hellbeast nearby. Right. The northman takes a moment to decide if he’s going to even bother putting on such a display before the eyes of the guild. Eirik wouldn’t give in, or surrender to anything. A half amused sigh is given, “Just this once.” He eyes Rohk further, and does exactly as asked by Sabrina; of course only because she had asked. After a moment the position she has described as been performed by Eirik.
Valen would have done his best to pay attention to Sabrina's teachings but with how much he was giggling softly, one might assume that there was some definate head trauma. "No tham...I'm...really okay." Seeing Rohk though, a bright grin appeared on his face as the blood still gushed from him, those piercing blue eyes staring softly, hoping that Rohk was okay today, and that hopefully they would still have a chance to talk? Granted, the beast hardly spoke, but he at least wanted to make sure he was alright. A wave would be given, before looking over at Pilar with finally a sigh. "You uh....think you might be able to..uh?" He would ask, pointing to his poor nose. It looked as if it may have actually broken in several places.
Chekhu pads across the churned earth toward Lionel, hands already dipping into pockets sewn into her buckskin trousers and shirt. She comes out with a few bright red berries, a small glass vial, needle and thread, and last but not least a single cookie wrapped in paper. When she reaches Lionel, the foxkin looks up at him with her big blue eyes and smiles, showing teeth but not making any threatening gestures. Her ears twitch, and she makes a soft chuffing sound which might be a suppressed laugh. "Well, here is how it is," the foxkin states in her peculiar piping voice. "First you eat these. Berries will probably taste bitter but will make you relax a little. Stitches in the face aren't nice, no. So you eat the berries, and then I take this vial and put a little salve on the wound. It will sting just a little before it goes cold and numb. Don't worry though, this is good; means I can prick you with needles and you do not feel it." She raises the needle and makes a brief but eloquent little pricking gesture with it. "Then, you get a cookie!" she grins and chuckles. "Will get rid of bitter berry taste, and the moving of your face when you chew helps the salve sink in. When you finish, I sew you up." She examines the wound for a moment. "Four stitches, and only a little scar. Maybe none. When I start using the needle you must be still, even if you can't feel it. I won't miss, and poke you in the eye, me." Another low-throated chuckle, and the foxkin shifts from foot to foot as if eager to be about her business.
Pilar winced when she saw the bloody mess that was Valen's face. "Oh, Mister Valen..." she reached into her satchel and pulled out a vial and a rag. The liquid was a translucent green and it stained the rag as she poured it out. "This will hurt a bit," she warned before she, gently as possible, dabbed at Valen's nose. The salve would go to work immediately, and after a few moments, the bleeding would stop and the pain subside, and the cartilage would right itself. That was some powerful stuff. Frostmaw shamans had some good recipes.
Sabrina lets her hands fall to her sides as Eirik so graciously accepted the challenge. She is grinning though, fully aware that he might not be comfortable with the upcoming view. Rohk stands with a wide gate, clamping on to Eirik’s ankles with a surprisingly gentle yet snug grasp via many rows of pearly whites he takes up the newfound handle, steps over him so he is centered beneath his form and walks several paces before dropping him unceremoniously in the dirt. Mission accomplished. With his part finished he would begin to exit the field, that brief moment for the Healer to realize it was time to go was issued, and Sabrina was soon at his tails. She gives Thamalys, Chekhu, and Pilar a wave and a rushed bow of head. “Thank you all for coming.” They would find, at some point, and incremental rise in their personal accounts to cover expenses for travel.
Sabrina gave 5000 gold to Pilar. Sabrina gave 5000 gold to Chekhu. Sabrina gave 5000 gold to Thamalys. Sabrina gave 5000 gold to Eirik.
Thamalys turned his head ever so slightly to witness carefully the Guild Leader’s speech - well, that, and the impromptu demonstration by Hellound and Lycan alike. Some may have found the whole scenario rather amusing, but the Blue’s poise didn’t flinch by the tiniest bit. He just canted his cranium, a whole mass of knotty dreadlocks spreading across his robe, eyes nailed chiefly onto the bulky shapes of the hellish mongrel. He silently took note of the Elfess’ lecture, albeit the prospect of being carried away from the battlefield from the pesky cur did not exactly tickled his fancy. More pressing matters laid ahead though, first and foremost that bleeding nose. Nonetheless, he merely had to watch the skilful hands of the Immortal Healer taking care swiftly of the issue at hand. “That… was quick, ma’am. What was it in that particular brew, I wonder…” he sort of inquired, mostly to himself and yet loudly enough to be heard with no particular effort needed. “How do you feel, my friend? You definitely cannot afford a broken nose these days, can you?” he continued addressing this time the Shadowmancer, only to be interrupted by the relentless pecking of Nebb, merrily nibbling at the Blue’s ear. “Yes, yes, we shall be gone soon enough…” he soothed him, already evaluating the onlookers to maximise the efficiency of the upcoming round of salutations before his imminent departure.
Valen would make sure to take it like a champ, but would keep his eyes on Pilar with admiration. She was right, it actually hurt worse than the damn breakings, but once it was all said and done with, he would hug her...making sure to not get any blood on her, a kiss to her cheek. "Thank you Miss Pilar..." And thank goodness that his head no longer hurt, and the giggling had stopped. Turning to Thamalys, he would hug him greatly as well. "Thamalys...I really appreciate you taking it easy on me. Maybe one day soon we can have a proper one, but until then...I'm glad you were my partner."
Chekhu takes a nod from Lionel as encouragement enough, and gives him first the berries and then the cookie. "The bitter first and then the sweet," she admonishes, and sets to work prying the little cork stopper out of the neck of the vial. She dips a finger into it, comes out with a whitish paste, and gently smears it around the edges of Lionel's cut. "Am sorry I hurt you this way, me," Chekhu murmurs, and in this more hushed tone, her voice sounds much more...natural, much less like a bark and more like a woman with a slightly husky voice admitting to something shameful. "Battle, it is fierce, and I wanted to do it well by." She is rubbing gently, the better not to hurt the man any more than she can manage. By this point, he is eating the cookie with apparent enjooyment, and the foxkin smiles. Her hands are deft and quick as she stitches the wound shut, needle pricking skin and drawing sutures with easy precision. She begins stowing her gear away in its various pockets, but then an idea strikes her and she takes out another cookie. Before popping it in her mouth, the foxkin says, "You are not the only one who likes them, you see?" then bites off a wedge of the treat with her sharp teeth with a very satisfying crunch. That done, she offers the Catalian a little nod, then scampers off, eyes roving to and fro, to see if anyone else should need her.
Pilar stiffened in Valen's embrace, but returned it all the same. She still had such a hard time with people outside her little family... But he was breaking through her barriers. She looked to Thamalys. "It's a brew I learned from the shamans here... It's kind of complicated, but I can teach you the recipe."
Thamalys cracked something that most would have most likely interpreted as a rather cruel grin, but that indeed the keen eyes of the Shadowmancer would have surely recognised as the closest thing to a smile the Blue could put together. “A proper one, aye? No, my friend, we would end up soaked in shadows and flames alike… I value you too much for allowing such a thing.” Then, as the Healers offered a prescription even, he would have widened his eyes, taken genuinely aback. “Why, I would appreciate that particular bit of knowledge very much indeed, m’lady! I shall send you word soon enough, so that you can enlighten me about the murky mysteries of the Frosmawian herbs…” he uttered, having to stop that speech suddenly enough, though, the Kite growing rather impatient, now. “Till soon, gentlemen - and ladies alike, that is. Now, if you would be so kind to excuse me…” and with that he would have offered a stiff, if frank, salutation to each and every one of the onlookers, setting off toward some much-longed patch of open air, long, graceless strides collecting through the yard, Nebb floating around him much as a vulture encircling his dead retribution. A small deviation to retrieve the Gossamer Halberd, and the Winged Beast managed to squeeze those huge, feathery curtains through the doors, in a matter of seconds vanishing into the frosty air.
Valen would finally take a step back from her as he watched the Avian go, and looked to Pilar once more with a bow "I owe you for this. Unfortunately I need to take my leave as well. York and I...we still have many things to go over as far as the wedding and its only in five days!" Excitement, but an almost panic was in his eyes. So little time, so much to do. And with that, he would walk out into the harshness of Frostmaw.
Chekhu patters here and there across the training yard, but it is not long before she realizes that all and sundry seem to be tended to. The little foxkin slips surreptitiously away, still nibbling away at her cookie.
Pilar watched as one by one, everybody left, and after she gathered up her things, she climbed aboard her couatl and flew off, herself.