(OOC) Mon Feb 23 1998 03:28 PM by "Malachi" at "Holodeck 1" -->

Some greatly weathered and oft-places torn cushioned matting has been laid out, covering a wide area in the middle of the chamber, made of deeply tanned leather stuffed with an unidentifiable cushioning foam that yellows and crumbles near the torn segments. On the cushioned area stands a digitigrade feline, dressed in padded sparring armor. Instead of the standard protective cage mask that would be appropriate to accommodate her muzzle, however, this warrioress wears a ceramic-like mask/helm that allows her dark hair to spill down behind her back – though bound into a loose braid with magenta ribbons. She wields a couple of wooden stick "swords", made of several pieces of warpwood bound together.

Along the inner wall stand four felines – two digitigrade, two plantigrade – of very similar attire, though their masks are far less ornate. They stand in the same poses as the alcove statues, so rigidly at attention that if one would see in monochrome, they might pass for statues themselves.

Zoltan shakily steps out across the matting, unused to the feeling of the squishy material beneath his hooves. He holds only one wooden sword for the time being. Slowly, the Vartan takes his place and drops into a defensive crouch. "Ready, teacher," he says.

The Champion of Roses holds out one of her wooden swords. One of the 'statues' quickly moves out to take it away, and then return to her place. With only one 'sword' in hand, the Champion makes a warrior's salute to Zoltan.

Clumsily, Zoltan returns the salute. He attempts to mimic the way the Champion holds herself… something he finds a bit easier to do because of her digitigrade stance.

One of the Lancers – and it is not clear, nor does it really matter, which one – calls out, "Begin! First touch ends match!"

At the Lancer's call, Zoltan dances in and swings his weapon at his opponent.

Despite never having used this particular piece of wood before to spar, the Vartan handles it like a professional, seizing the initiative, without leaving himself open in the process. Air whips through gaps in the bound warpwood, making an unearthly howl as the stick swings, as if this were a battle with weapons of magical power, rather than merely practice sticks of wood. Deft is the attack, one which would – if it had the Vartan's strength behind it – cut through an ordinary warrior, and be hard to resist even as he pulls back now.

However, the Champion is not caught off guard … and seems to eerily anticipate every move the Vartan makes. A rapid exchange of attacks, parries, repostes and parries follow, the howls and cracks resounding off the walls of this timeless chamber. The light of the setting sun, as it dips below the mountain ranges of Nordika, silhouettes the two combatants as they pass in front of the panelled windows, back and forth. The teacher may be more experienced in this field, but the student has nothing to be ashamed of.

The hippogryph follows the warrior's movements with his eyes, seeking an opening. His weapon sings through the air as he stabs inward yet again.

Almost obligingly, the Champion presents an opening in the midst of a furious exchange. Instinctively, the Vartan goes in for the kill, not letting such an opportunity slip past. His attack is flawlessly executed … flawless except that it is batted away by a gliding – but effective – block from the wooden 'sword' held by the Rose. With a twirl, she spins underneath her own 'blade', moving against the Vartan's forward momentum of an instant.

A weakness presents itself in Zoltan's defense … a very modest, minor, puny opening. But the Champion takes it.

With a loud *crack*, the wooden stick slaps against the Vartan's posterior, making a noise that sounds far worse than any pain delivered … physically, at least.

"Gmph!" he squeaks out as the sword hits its mark. Zoltan smiles sheepishly at the Champion and then rubs his backside.

The Lancers don't sully the Vartan's pride by giggling or any such thing. They are perfectly silent … until one of them purrs, "That is the Champion's way of saying that you should not leave your flank exposed. Don't be blinded by your own wings." The Champion steps back, and gives Zoltan a quick salute.

Returning the salute, the hippogryph responds, "Thank you. I try to remember that for round two." He wiggles his wings for a moment… thinking on that line.

The Champion takes position again, patiently waiting where she first stood.

Zoltan does likewise, contemplating his wings a bit more. Perhaps there's a way he can use them to his advantage. He salutes the champion and waits for the signal to begin again.

A Lancer calls out the signal to begin again – first strike ending the match, and the combat resumes. Once again, it seems that the Vartan is destined to seize the initiative.

He holds his weapon out again, much like he did in his last attack, but instead of suddenly rushing in… Zoltan dances back a step and ducks down; he unfurls one of his wings just a bit and uses it to beat a blast of wind in the direction of the warrior. An instant later he skitters in, slashing at Rose's legs.

The stick makes a resounding CRACK when it hits the Champion's legs. The sound echoes through the room … but one of those echoes is a bit louder than the others … and is accompanied by a hard thump against the padded crown of the Vartan's practice helmet.

The Champion stands back. The echoes die out. She twirls a wooden sword in one hand, then makes a quick bow to the Vartan and a salute.

However, one of the Lancers calls out, "That is her way of saying, while your attack was admirable, and would have crippled her if she had no armor … you still would have been dead if you had no helmet."

"Never gone against anyone with armor before. Is very good lesson." Zoltan scrawks as he pulls himself back to his hooves. He readjusts his helmet a bit.

The Champion lets her wooden 'sword' rest, and slowly signs with one hand as soon as she's certain the Vartan has a clear view after fidgeting with his helmet. "It is not about armor. It is about come out of a battle alive. It may some day be prudent to sacrifice your life to cripple a skilled opponent so your comrades can finish him or her off. But you can only make such a ploy once. Do not try to make a habit of it. Even helmets break."

"And I," the Champion signs, after a pause, "should not be so careless or assume my opponent won't be making a suicidal move. I would rather keep my legs."

The Vartan takes his place on the mat and salutes again. "I hope I no find myself having to fight someone so desperate… buts is good to be prepared, I remember you words."

"It may happen," the Champion signs. "Some Kavis are less valuing of their own lives, as short as they are compared to others'. And there is the rare possibility of fighting a magical construct with no will of its own."

Zoltan winces. "I think I dealt with former and latter, Champion. But… " he furrows his brow, "I no really thought about it, what I do was more on instinct… how you decide what tactic is best?"

"That is the hardest part of fighting," the Champion signs. "It is a part that can never be mastered. Know your opponent. But you hopefully do not spend countless hours sparring with your opponent before fighting for real. You will have to learn … and guess. I cannot teach you how to guess. But I can teach you clues to watch for. Styles. Weaknesses. Misconceptions."

The Lancers patiently stand through the long process of signing this speech.

Slowly feeling the weight of the wooden stick in his hands, the Vartan quietly watches the Champion's signs. "I know none of this is easy, just like I know you probably bonk my head quite a few more times before I make much progress. But I here to learn, not to show off." He holds up his weapon, "Again?"

The Champion nods, and adopts the former stance … and gives another salute.

Zoltan returns the salute, and lets his sword drop… he holds it out and awaits for the signal.

The signal is called out, and the combatants resume their exchanges.

The hippogryph takes another step back, contemplating his wings again. They present an easy target… but most of the bulk of them are just feathers that he can eventually grow back, which means he could afford to 'sacrifice' them in a fight if need be. He tests his strategy by leaping in, and at the last moment dancing to the side and unfurling a wing. He attempts to smack the Champion's front with the feathers, hopefully blinding her for a few precious moments, and then striking her back.

It's an impressive display, one which does indeed seem to put the Champion off balance. However, she avoids his blow, perhaps alerted to the likelihood that he might use his wings, on account of the emphasis upon them in the two previous exchanges. She slips on the slick leather, dropping to one leg, but quickly recovering by rolling under the next attack. She strikes out at the Vartan, but it is an 'attack of opportunity' that is easily blocked. She rises again, behind the Vartan, but he is able to face her again before she can take advantage of the turn.

( Wow! ) Zoltan thinks to himself. His eyes follow the movements of the warrior, seeking an opening while his mind tries to go over more tactics. ( She's more nimble than I am, and obviously more skilled. But how long before she tires? ) He tests his theory by jumping in, just out of striking range and swinging his weapon rapidly… then attempting to dance back whenever the Champion tries to get in too close.

His swings miss, but come close enough to the mark to prompt the Champion to take the feints as serious and deflect the blows. The Vartan just may be up to something, unless the Kattha is engaging in some elaborate scheme to catch him off guard. Alas, it may take more time to learn whether that may be the case: The tactic keeps the Champion busy for quite a few exchanges, but just once – such a fleeting opening – she manages to move forward before he can retreat … and lightly but firmly pokes him on his padded chest, before spinning away.

Zoltan chuckles and lets arms drop as the Champion's weapon finds it's mark. "You amazing," is all he can say, before raising his own sword in a salute.

The Champion shakes her head as she returns the salute, then signs, "No more so than yourself, Baron. I do not wish to face you in a true battle."

"But let us not keep score," the Champion signs. "I would like to teach you some new maneuvers now, before I'm completely exhausted… "

"You flatter me, but I thanks you," he replies, rubbing his wrist. "I eager and ready to learn more, Teacher."

"Now, I will show you the Cursebreaker technique. It was invented by a long-lost Sylvanian order of monk-warriors, believed to confuse skeletons animated by necromantic magic of lesser quality… " And so the Champion's next lesson begins…