Training Session (Sathanas Rex vs Skallagrim)

[Sathanas Rex]

Semner surveyed the battleground, shielding his face from the sun. His opponent had chosen a tricky arena -- the ghost town provided many a hiding place inside the derelict wooden homes or between the sandy alleys. Above the town loomed the rusty iron titan that was the water tower. He had scouted the area beforehand, the town would make for an interesting combat. Some areas could collape with the slightest pressure.

Semner heard a noise to his side and turned quickly. Sure enough, his opponent was there, waiting for him. Semner scrolled his shoulders back and put a hand on the pommel of his bastard sword at his hip, the other slipped to the dirk strapped to his left leg.

"Greetings," he said, formally.

[Skallagrim]

"Greetings"

Balfour watched with curiosity as the man entered along a street into the ghost town. Deep-set gray eyes watched every movement, every subtle nuance that the man portrayed with his body. This Semner, by his appearance a warrior, perhaps a skilled on, perhaps not, either way he had come to the town by the Wode and that showed Balfour the man was earnest in his desire to fight.

Slipping the dark hooded cloak from his form, the dull and battered plate armor now exposed as the crumpled cloth impacted dully on the dusty street. A dust devil rose swiftly and danced hauntingly before Balfour then simply fell apart, collapsing back to the earth from whence it came. Taking a swift, sure step from the gloom, Balfour emerged from the shadows, as the plate armor susurrated against the padding underneath.

A hot wind cascaded through the town, a hellish pummeling of the elements to remind both warriors that they were always at the mercy of a far greater force than themselves. Eyeing the hand and half sword that hung from the man’s hip, Balfour bowed slightly as he stepped out to face the man. The wooden and metal braced heater hung on his left arm, a long, heavy headed mace dangled from the frog and belt that wrapped around his hips.

The sweat began to drip down his back and along his neck, the heat would ensure this fight ended quickly least both men pass out from heat exhaustion, or unluckily should one pass out the other would be the victor by default to do as they will.

Narrowing those gray eyes a moment as Semner spoke, Balfour tried to place the dialect, but he could not, perhaps after this he would seek those lands. Lowering his head a fraction, his baritone voice echoed throughout the town, “Well met. “

[Sathanas Rex]

"Well met."

The man was taller than him, standing at at least a meter ninety, and much bulkier than Semner's lithe, wiry build. He carrier his mace with accustomed ease, and wore plate armor. He had the air of the surly Marak Field knights. The man's outfit meant he would be harder to wound, but his agility would be decreased drastically. Semner wore only a tough leather sleeveless vest over an undershirt, and horse-hair leggings.

Semner brushed his long blond hair, already plastered with sweat, away from his forehead. He had no doubts he could outlast the knight in terms of stamina, but he'd have to be careful not to be overwhelmed.

Holding his blade out in front of him, Semner advanced diagonally towards his opponent, eyeing his every move.

[Skallagrim]

Narrowing his eyes Balfour took the measure of the man. Slightly smaller than he, and blond, perhaps the man came from the northern lands. He wore leathers and hide, not the attire of a noble, but then the world was large and different customs for different peoples. Drawing the bar mace slowly from the frog, Balfour sucked in a breath of heated air then expelled it forcefully.

Semner was taking an odd approach to him, his movements taking him at an angle. Stepping forward, with two quick sure steps to close that angle, Balfour’s left foot fore, landed heavily on the dusty road as the right slide back on the ball, a slight spring in both knee joints. The heater forward, at the mid-guard ready to react while the right hand extended back and low so that the tip of the bar mace hovered a scant few inches above the ground. Betwixt them still a goodly six-feet of space.

A grim smile crossed his lips as he eyed the approach, for sure, the man was a grand figure in his armor and his looks, but his movements seemed amiss. Knurling the handhold beneath the heater, Balfour prepared himself; the first blows of a fight often ended them. How many times had he faced desperate men, fighting for their lives, men who had little knowledge of weapons and war craft. Valiantly standing their ground against the muscle and steel that crashed against them, breaking down their defenses in swift sure strokes, leaving broken bodies before him before moving on to others. The business of killing was a foul one, sadly one that Balfour was good at.

Exhaling softly as sweat dripped down his back, Balfour focused on the man before him, his right foot digging in the dirt as he prepared. The soft creak of the padding beneath his plate as he moved filled his ears. The sun moved with a grim determination over them, as a baleful eye waiting eagerly for blood to spill.

[Sathanas Rex]

Semner stood, unflinching, as the knight surged forward, mace held just above the ground, crouched in a stance that would facilitate movement. His opponent was evidently skilled, very much so. He had the air of a hardened, battle-weary veteran about him.

He contemplated what to do. A frontal attack would be nigh suicidal, he had no idea how fast the knight was with his mace, however, it would be quite useless at close range, for which Semner had his dagger. Furthermore, a mace could deliver crushing blows, but it wasn't designed for stabbing or slashing. Semner was unaccustomed to fighting against these heavily-armored, thick-set warriors of the east. Left foot forward, both legs bent slightly at the knee, Semner made a quick feint to the knight's right side, using his wrist strength, testing the waters. If the knight took the bait, which he doubted, a quick flick could send his attack slashing to the left, at the hip.

[Skallagrim]

The leather clad warrior paused in his movements, a sly curl of grin rose on Balfour’s lip, the man was uncertain of what had just happened, and why. A subtle adjustment on the bar mace’s handle and a slow measured breath, exhale then another inhale. Gray eyes focused on the middle section of the man. It was a small thing, to watch the midriff of an opponent in the purview of watching them. Every sense now acute, every fiber in Balfours being taut and ready, but the breathing calm, measured and even.

Sweat trickled down his back, his armpits wet and a stream of the salty fluid moistened his chest, the heat was brutal but no more so than the fiery deserts of the painted lands where he and his fellow knights laid siege to the city of Jasphur, taking it during the harsh summer months. A feat the Caliph thought impossible.

A quick lick of his parched lips, Balfour watched the large sword flick out towards his right, a snarl escaped him as he slide stepped to his left, his left foot moving with certainty as it hammered the hard earth, the right following suit allowing him to settle once again in a middle-guard. Torqueing his body slightly so that the shield flowed to cover his midsection, having placed an easy eighteen inches from where he was to where he now stood, Balfour executed a swift strike to the ground with the mace kicking up dirt and debris to strike the warrior in the face in a miasma of swirling particles and pebbles.

An old trick perhaps, but a trick that warriors had used for Aeons, and sometimes the oldest tricks worked the best. As soon as the cloud launched up towards the blond warriors face, Balfour moved to his left again two steps and one-step closer so that he was flanking the man who presumably had to deal with the sudden blinding dust to his face. Regardless, even if the dust trick didn’t work, the man would have to change footing to face Balfour who would be seeking the opening to end the fight as quickly as possible.

[Sathanas Rex]

Semner had underestimated his opponent. The knight, despite his size and burden, was fleet-footed. Quickly he dodged to the side, protecting his mid-guard with his shield, then smashed the mace down onto the ground.

Dust and debris were kicked up, plastered to Semner's face by his sweat. Instinctively, he was forced to close his eyes and back away. A dirty trick. Semner was not beaten yet, though. He was one of the greatest swordsmen of his land, respected throughout. Now he cursed his ignorance. Perhaps he should have waited before seeking a challenge from such a skilled opponent. Nevertheless, he could not back down now. Surrender was a crime worthy of death.

Keeping his eyes closed, relying on his other senses, Semner backed away, standing on the balls of his feet, sword-point flickering in front of him, evidently surprising the knight, who had evidently expected Semner to continue his attack. He backed up until he felt his shoulders press against something, a railing probably. He tried to open his eyes, but they streamed furiously, tears blending with the glaring rays of the sun to form an inscrutable haze. Flinging his arm out, Semner decided it was, in fact, a railing.

Without hesitation, Semner sheathed his blade, grabbed the railing, flexed his legs, and vaulted over it, twisting his torso as he did, landing smoothly on his haunches, then rolled and came up facing his opponent again. Sliding sideways, one hand instinctively reaching for his knife, he found the doorway, or rather, what remained of it. Semner kicked it down hastily and ducked inside, not bothering to check if his opponent was following. Once inside, he wiped his eyes and opened one, trying to get his bearings.

The floorboards creaked, some were missing, revealing a small but painful drop onto the trash-and-splinter-strewn packed dirt. A few other gaping frames led to what Semner assumed to be other rooms, but he wasn't interested in those. He was looking for... yes! The stairs. They looked solid enough. Hurriedly, Semner dashed up them three at a time, feet planted firmly on the borders of the wooden stairs, which should -- hopefully -- have been more solid, wincing at each creak. Semner thought he heard cautious movement outside, and doubled his pace. Let him come. He knew this town better than the knight... probably.

Once he reached the landing, Semner turned his head left and right to take his bearings. He saw more stairs, which led to a solar no doubt. He wouldn't be taking those, there was no telling in what state the roof shingles were; however, there was a rather large window, with a ledge. Picking around pieces of smashed furniture, Semner kicked the window-frame, and again when it didn't budge, then a third time. Finally, it gave away. Breathing heavily, Semner bent and, without hesitating, flung himself, latching onto the neighboring balcony, conveniently lacking a banister. He cried out as a splinter pierced his palm, but gritted his teeth and wriggled to 'safety'.

The little escapade had bought him some time, at least. Let the knight wear himself out trying to find him. From his vantage point, Semner could easily move amongst the roof-tops.

[Skallagrim]

Like the majestic lion hunting on the Serengeti, so it was with Balfour as he stalked the blond warrior. The dust and debris had the effect desired, it blinded the man, and blinded he would have to rely on his other senses but like all men, those senses were not as developed when one held sight. Every step the man took back and away, Balfour took forward staying to the right of the man, whose bastard sword hovered and dangled before him in attempts to keep away the predator whose movements mirrored his own.

Semner continued back until he butted against a railing, Balfour however continued another few steps until he stood with in range, after all martial combat takes place with in a 10-foot distance, the killing zone. Balfour inhaled deeply as he blinked sweat away from his eyes, heated breath escaped his nostrils as he grit his teeth. Left hand gripped the enarmes tighter as the right rolled slightly so that the heft of the bar mace, which now held low and forward the tip still scant inches from the ground, yet facing the man who was reaching behind him to feel the railing.

Thus, the opening became apparent. Semner having verified that rail sheathed his sword, the minute Balfour saw this movement he acted. In a quick step he moved forward, the bar mace rising behind him in an upward angle as the shoulder and arm torqued power into the blow to fall. As the cross guard of the sword met the throat of the scabbard the arm was descending down with the fury of the gods. It was a perfect storm as Semner flexed his knees to vault over the railing the bar mace would crash into his shoulder and neck as he attempted his vault with considerable impact. The intent Balfour had was to break the collarbone, and possibly the neck as well. The 4 lbs of steel driven with the force of a man accustomed to delivering such blows would be incredible at the point of impact. Moreover, considering that Semner wore a sleeveless leather vest, the protection would be less than a sleeved and padded shouldered shirt provided.

After the blow struck, and missing a blind man preparing to vault a railing was neigh impossible, the mace would draw back into a mid-guard with the tip pointing at Semner. While the shield held before the body ready to react as the feet planted rose slightly on to the balls, whatever happened next, the swordsman was in a decidedly bad spot.

[Sathanas Rex]

The mace hit Semner's neck, and, in a sudden explosion of pain, he felt bone snap and skin tear. He blacked out.