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 Posted: Thu Nov 13, 2008 4:18 pm
Imrak watched Mica scramble away with a predatory look in his eye and a mirthless smile on his face. It was moments like this that made life worth living. "Sorry ta keep ye waiting fer so long, I not be as young as I used ta be. I be 'old' an' all." As if to demonstrate the point Imrak rose up to his full height, rotating his left shoulder and kinking his neck, creating a series of barely audible pops from his joints.
"Ye be lucky I not be the type ta favour ranged attacks. Had I been an archer or assassin ye'd be a dead man by now. I prefer ta get may hands dirty if ye be knownin' what I mean. The feel as a blade pierces da skin, scrapes bone and tears flesh, the warmth of his blood oozing down the blade. An ta be close enough to watch the life flicker from yer opponents eyes. In da chaos o' da battlefield, ye rarely get ta savour da kill like that, so I be intendin' ta enjoy this."
With that Imrak advanced slowly, his smile broadening slightly and revealing teeth, his eyes rapidly playing over Mica's body. Partly in search of obvious threats and also in debate of where to strike. Imrak was undecided between ending it now and going for a quick kill, or to meerly wound his prey and toy with him, extracting every excruciating moment of pleasure he could before bleeding Mica to a slow death.
"Tell may pup, have ye ever fought before? I don't mean kill, like stabbin' some old crone in da back as ye lift 'er purse. I mean fightin' as if yer life depended on it, struggling with another an' knowin' da slightest slip up could be what gets ye killed. Ye don't know what it be ta live till ya done that. An I be doin' it fer a livin' "
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Posted: Thu Nov 13, 2008 6:12 pm
As Imrak rose up to his full height and took the time to mock, Micarreth felt a stab of envy once more at the warriors physique. Tall and strongly muscled in compare to his slight and slender frame, it was only natural that Micarreth would feel a sense of lacking in the masculine manner when compared to the warrior. His eyes flickered with a intimidated light, though his body language did not display a cowed spirit in the least.
What honestly unsettled Micarreth the most though was the following comments. Spoken in such a conversational manner it only sharpened the edge of shames blade with each cutting word. He should have had the sense to realize that he would have left himself utterly vulnerable up on the roof. He should have known to find a place where he was concealed and better situated if he was going to stop and try to face the warrior. Micarreth had never wished to get so close to the veteren. He did have enough common sense to realize the other had more combat experience then he did.
"Oh shut up..." He murmured rather softly as he fought the urge to skulk towards the ledge he'd been watching earlier.
As Imrak spoke, Micarreth was not simply standing like a gawping bystander. His fingers, shaking much to his dismay gripped at his darksteel sword and dagger to jerk them free of thes that held them to his belt. The sword fit to his right hand while the dagger to his left, the Weapons master had admonished him for months now over his stubborn insistance of learning to weild the weapons in what he called a 'Backhand manner'. Micarreth was determined though, as he had felt that by weilding the weapons comfortably in a manner that was not the usual norm, that it would throw off opponents, or at least make them awkward when they attempts to counter a pair of weapons in a position they were not familar with.
Of course... that edge Micarreth had been training for could be utterly null and void when facing off against a well practiced warrior. Someone whom was superior in skill didn't have to worry about facing something unfamilar, they would be skilled enough to face and adapt. Micarreths stomach felt terribly hollow. Micarreths response to Imrak's painful taunting was not fear or anxiety however. In truth...Micarreth felt his fingers tense slightly on the black leather wrapping of his blades hilts as a familar heat flushed through his veins. The muscles of his scarf wound jaws relaxed as a slight wetting filled his mouth. There was a weird sense of excitement that came after those words. Oh no, not for his own pain and prolounged death! Micarreth personally abhorred suffering pain himself, even so much as a paper cut! But to inflict that on others! His mind flickered back, just for a moment, to the aftermath of the ill fated mage, or rather apprentice. The way his fingers had trembled as he dug into the ash and attempted to imagin the agony of the drow's body as it was rent asunder, disintergrated, melted, and destroied so utterly. The desire he had to immerse himself in that moment of death, and knowing he had been responsible for it....
"If your intention was to intimidate me or unsettle me Old Man,your failing pretty miserably." Micarreth replied with a widening grin of his own. Even with his facemask on he was certain the outline of his rather excited smile could be seen.
Micarreth felt such a...a...desire rushing through him. He was not nearly so frightened at that moment when Imrak began to advance towards him. He turned his longsword before him, the point faced downwards as he bent his knee's into a half skulking crouch. His elbow he kept tucked against his body so as to keep it as small a target as possible. His dagger arm he bent up behind him and placed the flat of the blade almost protectively against his lower spine. He felt spindly and small in compare to the prowling Imrak. While Imrak advanced, Micarreth shifted back a single step and assured himself that the surface under his feet was firm and stable. Imrak's following question was answered first by a mild dampening of the lit look within Micarreths amber eyes. Eagerness for pain and blood was not going to teach him the lessons he had come to learn. Imrak's questioning helped ground the young drows excited and somewhat blood whetted appitite.
"What do you think I came here for? To pick a fight with some random drow?" Micarreth's voice, much to his surprise, remained low in tone. He didn't even detect a hint of a tremble. Actually, as he spoke, he felt a hint of eagerness upon his lips. "I can only learn the basics of killing in a training room. How to hold and move a weapon is meaningless until your actually fighting with a true intention to kill. I can't possibly learn anything useful in a damn training room with it's rules and wards and damn healers waiting to jump the second you get a vithin scratch. What good is training if you can't actually hurt your opponent? Or get killed yourself!? Where is the lesson? Where is the experience? Where is the blood!?" The last word Micarreth hissed between his teeth. Goddess! Even knowing he was already tired from his previous battle Micarreth felt, for a few moments, completely revitalized...and eager. Perhaps a bit too eager. Common sense and caution were disreguarded as Micarreth, unwilling to wait for Imrak to complete his advance and begin his attack, lunged forwards. His body twisted so the arm holding the sword before him in a shield like position remained fixed, his elbow snapped up and over his head to complete the turn. When his body neared the completion of the spin, Micarreths fingers loosened on the blade and his wrist snapped about in a quick piviot of it's own, so that he could grasp it again before it dropped and return to the stance he had held before. The purpose for his spin, was to gain momentum for his other hand. With the dagger held behind his back, he uncurled his arm and used the motion of his body's spin so that he could attempt to whiplash the blade towards Imrak's leg in a gashing slash.
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Posted: Fri Nov 14, 2008 11:50 am
Seeing Mica draw his sword, Imrak took a light grip of the hilt of his own sword but didn't draw it yet, just raising teh dagger before him slightly and continuing to slowly close the distance between them. He slowed his advance only as he listened to Mica's tirade, a spark in his eye as he looked over teh man before him with new appreciation. Perhaps Imrak had misjudged the boy? Good, he thought it would have been a shame had this all ended too easily.
"Good! Good! What be the point if'n der be no danger? Where be da thrill if der be no risk, no pain, no blood?"
When Mica went on the attack, Imrak's face took on a wolfish grin. He held nearly still, lowering his stance, but holding his ground until Mica was near the end of his spin, then he advanced. Bringing the dagger in his left hand round in an arc to catch and block Mica's sword. Imrak then stepped his left leg forward, inside of Mica's reach, using his thigh to block the arm swinging the dagger.
As the left side of his body swung forward, Imrak used the momentum. Placing all his weight his left leg, Imrak pivoted on his heel and continued into a spin, his right leg coming up in a kick aimed at Mica's midsection.
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Posted: Fri Nov 14, 2008 4:42 pm
Micarreths sword vibrated in his hand as Imrak's own met it. His grip had not been completely secure as he had not finished his spin, so it trembled upon being struck. The vibration caused his fingers to ache as if he had swung and struck a steel pole. However he did not drop the blade, he forced his fingers to tighten, and he let his wrist be moved by the force of Imrak's blade. So his own sword tipped upwards, and began to slide over the top of Imraks weapon. Whatever movement he had been intending to follow through with was interrupted though, as Imrak rammed his leg into Micarreth midsection.
He had felt the impact of Imraks thigh against his dagger weilding arm, effectively blocking it, and allowing him to move into the gap his spin had not been quick enough to close. Micarreth was forced to a halt quite effectively. When the kick struck at his midsection, Micarreth was flung terribly easily backwards.
His footing had been firm, the cloth soles of his boots allowed him to feel the surface of the ground beneath him easily. So it was not due to a unsteady footing that caused him to collapse so easily. Ah no. Micarreth had relaxed his body upon impact, causeing his form to fold fowards as he was went down. His hands still gripped his weapons with a deathgrip's fierceness as he was thrown backwards and to the ground. However, with his body relaxed as it had been, he was able to continue his momentum backwards in a head over heels roll right over the ledge of the roof.
Micarreths rib muscles felt like they were being torn as he twisted during his fall. His legs kicked out towards the walls, splitting so wide he could feel a definate pain in his thigh muscles as the soft soles of his boots caught against the stone surface of the walls. Of course his arms were thrown outwards too, the heels of his hands pressed, and were effectively gouge by the stone. Tears beaded in his eyes at the pain, but he managed to catch himself little over halfway down to the ground. He trembled in his place. His head tilted downwards to look at the ground, then thrown back as he peered upwards at the ledge. he couldn't just cling there, as he assumed Imrak would probably crawl down...or vith..just jump down and see if he could slice through a limb on his way down... Thats what Mica would do if he had the muscular bulk the other drow had.
With a small choked sound, he relaxed his limbs and allowed himself to fall the rest of the way to the ground. The impact was jarring, as Micarreth had never had to actually let himself fall before. His knee's collapsed and his body crashed shoulder first against the wall of the building he'd just rolled himself off off.
"vith...vith...vith...that...hurts..."
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Posted: Fri Nov 14, 2008 5:07 pm
seeking to press his advantage Imrak chased after Micarreth, reaching the edge of the roof just in time to witness the other Drow landing on the street below. Imrak made a mocking wince as he yelled down. "That look like it hurt boy. But don't ye be worryin' I'll be done in short order ta end yer misery!"
Imrak looked about quickly trying to decide teh quickest way down to Mica, but turned suddenly and then started talking to someone else who was up on the roof. From Mica's position it would have been impossible to see who Imrak was talking to and their voices failed to carry down to teh street, that is until Imrak started to raise his.
"Those Blasted Bumbling Buffoons!! What be they thinkin'?! Startin' a fight with Desparn's lot... Drunken louts!"
"Sir, it was their man Riztran tha-"
"I don't give a flamin' s**t, who be cheatin' at dice or who be pullin the first dagger! We've got a job on da morrow, those meat heads should be knowin' better den this!"
There was a moment of silence followed by another brief conversation again too low to be heard by Micarreth. Eventually Imrak appeared at teh edge again and glared down at Mica. "It seems the Dark Mother or whatever God ye cry to at night be smiling on ye this day. I be needed ta knock some heads together else where, so yer execution will have ta wait till da next time ye meet. Hope fer yer shake ye see may a'fore I spot ye."
Imrak pulled away from the edge and there was silence as Imrak raced of to break up a bar fight before things got too far out of hand and he was left training in more new recruits. Imrak hated having to train in new people, worse of course was teh fact his men were fighting and he wasn't there to join in. He'd knock some skulls together over that fact alone. Infuriated over his troops lack of discipline, any thoughts of hunting down a random Drow he met in an alley were now forgotten.
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Posted: Sat Nov 15, 2008 3:31 pm
Leaning against the wall to his right, Micarreth looked with dismay at the palms of his hands. Deep painful scrapes had peeled the skin away and blood slicked the handles of both his blades. He should have used the blades to stab at the wall, as he had used his dagger prior to climb the wall. But he had not been thinking of that as he fell. As Micarreth very slowly shifted his legs beneath him, and felt the painful protest of both stomach and groin muscles, he felt validated in a way. A calm was upon him as he rationalized his situation to himself. His actions had definatly had a consequence, and for these consequences he was learning valuable lessons. Lessons he never would have learned in a training room.
Of course, he had to survive in order to come away with the lesson learned. Micarreths head lifted upwards as Imrak would call down to him. "Quit your boasting and get down here then old man." Micarreth responded, though his words lacked the strength of the call that Imrak had used. He felt a little winded from both the kick and the fall he had taken so he wondered if Imrak had even heard him.
He really should not be trying to provoke Imrak... another lesson he was having a hard time learning that would probably be rather fatal. Though, as Micarreth shambled down the length of the ally a few steps, he could hear the sounds of shouting above. With his legs hurting as they were, he was not going to be able to run. He was lame prey right now and quite easily caught by more then just Imrak. Plus the blood on his weapon hilts made them slippery and hard to grip. As much as he loathed to do it, Micarreth was going to have to use his healing flask. With minor difficulty Micarreth slipped his sword back into it's leather loop, and likewise his dagger. With blood coated fingers he picked the front of his shirt open and worked a slender metal tube out from a sewing inside his shirt.
It was as Micarreth was nipping the cork out of the tube that he head Imrak's second addressing to him. he looked up again, blinking with more then a little confusion. "What? Hey...Now wait a...! We aren't done!" He cried out at first. Tipping the tube's open top into his mouth, he up ended it and swallowed the bitter liquid after it pooled onto his tongue. Imrak was just abandoning him? While he knew that he should havbe felt relieved...he actually felt a little...insulted. This wasn't right! There were only three acceptable outcomes to thins! One, he killed Imrak. WHich really wasn't likely. Two, Imrak killed him, which he really didn't want. Or three, he escaped on his own by useing his own skills. At least then he would have been able to credit his continued survival to his own skills!
Micarreth flushed as he felt the poiton working on his muscles, easeing away the pain so he could stand and move easily. Rubbing the blood from his newly knit palms he stumbled to the front of the ally and cast a upset glance up and down the street. "Vithin Elg'caress!!"
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