|Sarpedon VS Ham| Sparring for Glory!

[Sarpedon]

The Arena, as it was known to most of the fans, sat right in the middle of the city. It was the primary source of entertainment for the masses, and a swift path to glory for a skilled fighter. At one point it had been given a grander title, but it was mostly forgotten now, and 'The Arena' sufficed for the needs of just about everyone who attended. It was a massive circular structure, starting below ground level and rising up far above the earth, though not so far that the people in the furthest seats were unable to see. The fighting ring itself was about thirty metres across, give or take, and it was surrounded by a wall about four metres high, at the top of this wall was a heavy wrought-iron fence to keep the peasants out of the ring. The floor of the ring was hard-packed earth, not sand like most other colosseums liked. The fights here were always savage, and the masses preferred it when a good battle didn't end because someone lost their footing. Inevitably there were rocks embedded in the dirt, and many of them had seen use as weapons of last resort when the ground became slick with blood. In the centre of the ring was a slight mound, rising no more than half a metre above the rest of the ground, it was about six metres across, enough of a slope that when you neared the top it was noticeable, without being too steep. And making a rough square around this mound were four pillars rising out of the ground. They were about three metres high and just under one across, and heavily scarred from battle. When it came down to it, these blocks of stone helped make things more interesting, especially during uneven fights.

Despite the hour, it was getting on in the evening and the sun was no longer glaring down into the arena, the crowds still packed the place, hungry for blood and eager to see the headlining fight of the day. The slave bouts were all done, having entertained the easier-to-please crowds, and now they got to see how two free men fought when brought together with nothing but a bit of steel between them. The raging masses howled for death, and several people had met such a fate, crushed against the heavy fence that ringed the fighting area. No one seemed to notice though, and the corpses were still pressed against the grates as people struggled for a better view. Despite the best efforts of the arena's cleaning crew, the ground was still obviously covered in blood, much of the ground was permanently red, and would be a bit softer than it normally was. Finally, trumpets blared, drums beat, and the crowd quieted for the announcer.

"WELCOME!" boomed a very large man, who was shouting into a horn, "TO THE FIGHT OF THE EVENING!" the crowd began to howl again as he shouted, but they quieted swiftly to hear the introductions. "Behind the right gate! We have a man who needs no introduction! The man with no fear! No pity! No remorse! No mercy! TANCRED SANTORO!" At that the crowd screamed again, just as the heavily-armoured man stepped up behind the heavy iron grate. He hadn't drawn his sword yet, and stood at ease, waiting for the second introduction. His jaw was clenched tightly, and as he waited, he regretted not taking a helmet. He wasn't fond of this place, but the crowd loved him, and it was the only way to get where he needed to go. And unfortunately, part of their love for him was due to the fact that he didn't use a helmet, like so many of the other fighters. But that meant he had to keep not using a helmet, and it just wasn't safe.

"And, behind the left gate! We have a newcomer! A man who wouldn't tell me much, but who clearly knows his stuff! The only warrior to date who might defeat our reigning hero! TOMA THE VIGILANT!" at the announcement of the second man's name the crowd turned savage, hissing and booing, and throwing themselves at the fence to get a look at this new challenger. "ARE YOU READY?" the announcer bellowed after a moment of indulging the crowed, and the blood-thirsty masses roared in approval. "THEN LET'S GET READY TO RUMBLE!" the giant man shouted as loud as he could, and his voice boomed throughout the arena. In just a brief moment, the gates would be lifted, Tancred would draw his sword, and step into the ring, and hopefully he would get to walk out again...

[Ham]

Toma's body was lean and fit from constant training back in the barracks, or at least when he used to be a part of one. His skin a darker shade than most from baking in the sun all day, but in the shadows he would look a lot darker. Strapped behind his back would be worn out quiver with thirty arrows inside. Down by his waist, set at a cross would be a long sword and a short sword. Both weapons were double-edged and have been with Toma for as long as he can remember.


Toma's fighting ability stems from the fact that he is vulnerable to some extent. He wears a sort of steel vest that protects him from the front and back. The sides are exposed as they are used to tighten the piece of armor onto his body. It is armless therefore exposing his arms completely. The vest provides enough protection for Toma as it gives him freedom to move as he freely as they would let him. Going down, he wears something that protects his waist and thighs. It surrounds his waist, and comes down as hardened leather strips at certain intervals. This is to allow his legs freedom to move while offering some protection from miscalculation on Toma's part.

Toma never wore a helmet not out of pride or ego, but because a helmet always obscured his vision. He preferred to see what's coming to him rather then have his peripherals blocked. Being called Toma the Vigilant also played into the idea that Toma never liked helmets and preferred to keep his field of vision as clear as the battle conditions would permit.

---

Standing behind the gates, the smell of blood filled Toma's nose. A smell he would never forget, a smell that went hand in hand with every battle. Though, he has been told today's battle would be different. He wasn't sure what this meant, but he knew what must be done.

Toma's nerves were fired up again, and what some people noted as nervous energy, Toma recognized as pure adrenaline. His training kicked in, and he began to survey the battlefield through the iron bars. Outright, Toma spotted four pillars setup around a mound. The mound was raised, but Toma was never good with figures. He would have to say up to his knee or so. If you laid about four or five men across the ring they could touch from one end to the other.

The iron gateway prevented total vision of the battlefield and Toma hated this fact. However, being an excellent soldier meant you needed to be flexible so he supposed that he would find out what else was out there for him once the gates lifted. His initial thought is that the spectators and the other fighter would expect him to do one of two things:

1. Stick around the gated area.
2. Proceed towards the middle.

Toma felt the first option made more sense, afterall, he doesn't know what could be waiting for him. It was better to be cautious than to be arrogant, especially in a situation like this. Toma formed his strategy in his mind as the crowd's cheer grew louder.

"Welcome," boomed a loud voice who seemed to be shouting through something that magnified his voice. "To the fight of the evening!" The crowd began cheering even louder. The man continued, "Behind the right gate! We have a man who needs no introduction! The man with no fear! No pity! No remorse! No Mercy! Tancred Santoro!" If Toma thought the crowd was loud before, he was definitely wrong. The crowd bursted even louder and this sent a chill down Toma's spine.

"And, behind the left gate! We have a newcomer! A man who wouldn't tell much, but who clearly knows his stuff! The only warrior to date who might defeat our reigning hero! Toma the Vigilant!" The crowd's cheery disposition seemed to be pepper with a different sound. A sound of jeering, a sound of boos filled the arena, and immediately Toma knew where the home town support went to.

"Are you ready?" The announcer bellowed after a moment. "Then lets get ready to rumble!" The man's voice boomed and the booing crowd began to cheer again. The spectacle was about to begin and Toma knew this fight would determine his own future.

Toma stepped towards the iron gate as his hand went to take off the bow off his back, and the free hand took an arrow. He notched the arrow, and with little effort drew the string back half-way. Good enough for him to fire off a quick shot, and loose enough for him to keep the arrow notched and move if he needed to. He drew in a big breath, and exaled.

And then the iron gates began to lift...

[Sarpedon]

Tancred calmly waited for the gates to lift, and then he stepped out into the arena. He took only one long stride before he stopped to draw his sword. The massive flammenschwert found his hands easily, and he smiled into his bevor as he hefted it. With his left hand resting just beneath the parrying hooks on the ricasso, and his right hand just above the pommel, he advanced. He moved slowly toward his opponent, saluting them with his blade before letting it rest, angled upward to his left across his chest. The knight's advance was slow, not because the armour was terribly heavy, but for effect. His opponent had a bow, he could see that, but it didn't look terribly heavy, so he was quite sure that unless the man was a brilliant archer, he would be fine. His bevor was high enough that he didn't fear an arrow to the face, though a helmet really would have been nice.

He continued to advance, regardless of the odds, going back would surely getting killed, as would stopping. That left going forward, so he did just that. He trusted in his armour. All he had to do was get within striking range. He pictued himself running the man through with the wavy blade of his sword and couldn't help but grin savagely. The crowd was surely going to love this fight. They bayed angrily, screaming for death, begging Tancred to slay this upstart and mount his head on a post. That was a bit too far, considering that the knight had no quarrel with this man, but he had every intention of being merciless. Winning this fight was necessary, and he would relish it where he could, but it was merely a means to an end.

He would step up his pace after about a third of the distance. There had to be a progression, that would make it more intimidating. The sight of a fully armoured man bearing down on you with a two metre long sword and every intention of killing you had to make for some interesting trains of thought. Hopefully his opponent wouldn't have the focus to get off more than one shot. Eventually, probability said that the man would hit something vital, so the fewer shots he took, the lower the chances. That was the theory at least. In reality, the Gods of Battle did whatever they pleased, and the bodies fell where they might...

[Ham]

As the iron gates lifted, Toma quickly stepped forward. In Toma's experience, he may not have known what the term mean at the time, but he knew "psychology" played an important role in fighting. He was told this back in camp, the higher your intimidation factor is the less your opponent wants to fight you. To dictate this, you must show no weakness and when you're hurt, you pretend you're not. The mind, Toma has been told, was where the real fight existed.

Toma's eyes spotted his opponent advancing slowly towards him. The slow methodical movement, in a full suit of armor, with his blade drawn was quite a sight. However, Toma wasn't a rookie nor was he an amateur when it came to fighting. His experienced told him to focus on a weak point, or the very least to send him a message that Toma was not afraid.

Toma knew if he spent too long thinking and not doing the gap between him and his opponent would be closed.

"Brother," Toma called out. "What is your name? I'd like to know the name of the man I am about to kill for the." Toma knew these words were not trash talk, but a sign of respect from a man who has seen countless of battles. Toma always believed no soldier should die an unknown. The effects of this on the other opponent is unknown to Toma.

All the while, Toma's arrow was notched securely in the bow's drawstring. He readied it and aimed at his opponent's only armorless part, his head. Aiming at the "T" which is formed with the eyes, and crossed at the nose. Any arrow successfully shot here meant instant death, but Toma's intention was not to end this with an arrow. He wanted the image to last long enough in his opponent's head so he can counter the oncoming arrow, or dodge it. Giving Toma enough time to make a tactical advance towards his enemy, and prepare himself for close quarters combat.

[Sarpedon]

((sorry about the wait, I'll work on it, I promise.))

Tancred chuckled to himself as his opponent called out to him. Did this Toma not listen? He was Tancred Santoro! He supposed the man probably wanted formal introduction, or it could be a ploy. He wouldn't be distracted though, he was going to win this fight. "I am Ser Tancred Santoro! Slayer of Witches, Daemons, and You!" he bellowed, breaking into a run. He could see the arrow aimed at his head, and so he adjusted his sword accordingly. He had no desire to get shot between the eyes before the fight began, and being eaten by hungry tigers was no death for any good man. He figured that the fact that this man was in the arena with him made him at least somewhat honourable. Animals had no business killing honourable men. So he held his sword in front of his face to protect him as he ran. The blade was wide enough to deflect anything launched directly at his face, and while he could see around it, he did not fear an arrow finding one of his eyes and killing him, it seemed very unlikely.

Despite his armour, Tancred managed a full-on run quite easily, and now that he had some momentum, simply crashing into his enemy would probably do some damage. He trusted the suit of steel that encased him, as it had yet to fail him against mere men, and while he longed for the suit of massive red armour he had once worn into battle with others of his order, this suit was sturdy enough that he did not have to fear most enemy weapons. Some were quick and crafty enough to take advantage of his joints, but even then, one had to be very lucky or very skilled to do more than inconvenience a man who was hell-bent on destruction. He did not fear for his life, and protected it merely as it allowed him to go on killing.

Adrenaline was pumped into his system as he neared his opponent, he was just about ready to drop his sword-point forward and try to skewer Toma, and the knight was eager to do so. He growled to himself as he braced for impact. Most of him doubted there would be an impact, but he braced nonetheless. If he didn't crash into his opponent, for whatever reason, he would stop, pivot and see if he couldn't bring up some kind of defense to ward off whatever the other man was planning...

[Ham]

ooc - It's okay, I don't mind. I have a lot of stuff too.

Toma's mouth curved into a smirk, Tancred's response was all that was expected of a man. At least this was something to Toma as he deconstructed Tancred's next move. Tancred picked up a full-on run and used his momentum to carry him towards Toma. The pacing was fast, but Toma knew Tancred couldn't make dime-stop changes in that full-on motion.

Toma bided his time until Tancred was close enough and rolled towards Tancred but at an angle so he would come up behind Tancred. From Toma's position towards Tancred, the line the roll would take would be like a "V", with Tancred being the bottom point of the "V" and Toma on the right. The spacing just enough for Toma to be in full effect of his long sword's range.

Toma would spring up and in one fluid motion would draw his sword and leap towards Tancred's right shoulder. While the attack won't cut through
Tancred's armor, the combined momentum from Tancred's original position, and Toma's attack was enough to send Tancred to the floor if Tancred allowed it.

[Sarpedon]

Tancred grimaced when his opponent slipped out of his way. He didn't even have time to swing his sword or adjust his heading, he was now careening toward the wall. The added push from his enemy's blade was not helping, but he knew how to resolve this. He kept going. The knight had practiced this next move enough to know it worked, and it didn't hurt anymore. He did his best to slow down, but he didn't work too hard at it, instead, he just let himself bounce off the wall. It stopped his rush, and when he crashed into the wall, he bounced back, spinning around to face his enemy. He would admit to it being an unpleasant tactic on his head, the clatter of his armour smacking into the wall wasn't kind on the ears, but often just the fact that he was crazy enough to bounce off a wall gave him a window of opportunity. The feeling of his metal-clad shoulder smashing against the stone wall was just part of his playbook now. Angled properly, like in this case, the bounced twirled him perfectly, and he was now facing Toma once more.

He intended to take advantage of what he could, and dashed toward his opponent. This time, he only took one sprinting stride, over-shooting was almost impossible. As he lunged, the warrior swung his massive sword laterally at the other man's chest. With his grip so wide, he had plenty of control, and if he needed to block, bringing some part of it around wouldn't be difficult. His favourite, when he had to block, was the blade-on-blade parry. Watching his opponent wince as his wave-edged blade jarred their hand was priceless, and so was the look on their face as he disemboweled them while they tried to reset their grip. But it seemed not many wanted to engage in a proper sword-fight any more. Winning was so much more important than a noble fight, and even Tancred had to agree. He liked winning much more than losing, and if that meant he had to bash in the head of his enemy with a rock, rather than neatly behead them with his sword, he was okay with that.

Allowing for the possibility of retaliation, the witch hunter planned to play it safe. After this attack, he was hoping his opponent might back off a bit, giving him a chance to reset his stance, change things up a bit. If his enemy didn't back off, he would stick with playing it safe, the defensive game was riskier, technically, but he could obviously take hits better than the man across from him, so he wasn't too worried about it. And with Toma on the offensive, he would just need one slip-up to take control...

[Ham]

While in midair, there was little Toma could do except follow through. He braced himself, and set his blade so that it would collide with Tancred's oncoming two handed sword. Toma's longsword would protect him from getting hacked into two pieces, and tightening up so his limbs aren't exposed, Toma takes away the chances of losing his limbs. However, the impact Toma suspected could knock the wind out of both of them, or just himself.

Toma would let his entire body with his long sword collide into Tancred's two handed sword which in theory would transfer onto Tancred's upperbody, knocking him off balance or down. That all depends on Tancred's ability, and Toma was taught to respond and not anticipate. If Toma hits nothing, he would be sent flying to the floor and that would set Toma at an extreme disadvantage. Toma wouldn't calculate something that hasn't happened yet, and put all of his energy into one goal: Knock this man down and use his armor against him.

[Sarpedon]

Tancred had swung with all of his might, and despite his opponent's swiftly-thought mid-air trick, he managed to stay mostly balanced. Toma had braced the majority of his weight behind the blade he used to block, turning what might have been a lethal strike into an unpleasantly jarring impact. The cry of steel on steel rang out through the arena as the knight's blade found his opponent's, and he struggled to hold onto the hilt of his weapon as it jarred his metal-clad hands. Barely, he managed to keep his grip and retain his balance. He grinned to himself now, knowing he had the upper hand, so long as he could stay on his feet, with Toma mostly in front of him. After a very brief assessment of his flammenschwert, making sure it wasn't damaged, he pressed his attack, considering the state of his opponent. It was pretty clear what his opponent wanted, so he had to avoid that.

Being struck, while in mid-air, by a fully armoured knight wielding a three-and-a-half kilogram sword was not the witch hunter's idea of a good time. In fact, it sounded awful. Unfortunately for his enemy, that his exactly what had just happened. The amount of force that he had put into the blow had surely left the man bruised, if nothing else. Certainly, he would have a hard time landing properly after something like that, at least in theory. Tancred reset his stance, recovering and shifting his grip on his sword. His fighting stance improved, and both of his hands beneath the cross-guard, right hand on top now. He then advanced, hoping Toma might continue to put up a fight, despite his state. The crowd wouldn't like it if the enemy just died, and neither would Tancred, they might release the lions if the show wasn't good enough...

[Ham]

Despite Toma's armor, the blow was enough to knock him down in midair. All the wind had left his body in a violent fashion. There must have been a broken rib somewhere in there. His arm immediately went towards the broken rib to check - it was definitely broken. His breathing became erratic and his vision was obscured with the pain that now riddled his body. If Toma wanted a chance, he wold have to put himself back together now, or risk Tancred's blade finding its mark and doing Toma in.

This is not good, Toma thought to himself as Tancred advanced, each step seemed to make Toma's heart palpitate. Then a feeling of dread swept over him and Toma was paralyzed between pain and fear. The type of fear one experiences when they know they are about to meet their end. Clumsily grasping for his long sword which had parted from him when he was struck was nowhere in reach. His eyes scanned the ground, and the long sword laid a few meters too far for him to successfully grab and counter. This left his remaining weapon which was his short sword at his belt, but even grabbing that out would take a tremendous effort.

Toma never felt fear in the sense that he was never afraid of any man but Tancred seemed to be different. Tancred had a vibe of a killer who enjoyed his work. This scared Toma. Wincing at the pain, Toma tried to move himself back, but the pain of a broken rib was too great. It would seem that no amount of adrenaline could help Toma come back. Toma was now a sitting duck.