((Just a note since this thread contains non-modded combat; it's pre-determined in the sense that we've agreed on sparring for fun and discuss outcomes in chat/MSN/PM. Thanks.))

Tristaan stood stretching in the afternoon sun, enjoying the sand in his toes and warmth on the scarred, bare skin of his back. He reached his right arm across his chest, bending at the elbow over his shoulder, wrist pressing against his upper arm to stretch now-healed muscles. The ache had finally begun to subside.

Their section of beach was purposefully secluded, for Tristaan figured it would be better to spar away from camp. While no one had so far objected to the lovely witch's presence, the swordsman thought it'd be more fun to not have to worry about a potential audience. He was used to sparring with Guaril; whacking each other with practice weapons was very much like old times. Familiar territory. No rules. Man stuff. The passive was only slightly nervous about the idea of sparring with Sarinah, not because he didn't believe she could handle herself so much as he hoped he wouldn't be too biased. Or distracted.

"Oes, I'm ready when y'are." Tristaan grinned, picking up and leaning on the wooden sword replica he'd chosen over an actual blade.

The dancer bounced from foot to foot, shaking her hands and rolling her head. She'd stretched with the passive and now shook out, a ritual she used before a performance too. Sarinah had begun to feel rusty, it had been a long time since she'd had a partner to spar with, but the idea - once put in place by those wooden swords yesterday - had gnawed at her till finally she asked Tristaan. And to her joy, he'd agreed. She'd almost decided to get a set of wooden sai made for the day, but they were to flimsy in theory and would snap. Instead, she had brought one of the swords, similar in shape and size to the one she'd bought off the smith in Old Rose all those weeks ago. A saber really, thinner than a regular sword and slightly curved.



Reaching down to take up the wooden blade in her left hand, she crouched, slightly side on to the man, holding the saber pointed slightly behind her.

"Oes, more than ready."

"Y'ent allowed t'let any hama get in th'way of a fair fight, neither." Tristaan teased while still grinning broadly, though he might have been warning himself out loud more than anything else. He shifted into a straighter, open stance, shoulders loose and left foot leading but still mostly facing forward. His longer, straighter blade was held in both hands and pointed downwards in a defensive position that allowed him a quick return with minimal movement.

"Guaril never did." He winked, roguishly.

Apparently, the passive was declining an opening move, hovering as he was just out of immediate reach.

The brunette smirked lopsidedly, taking in his stance. Tristaan was a swordsman, a mercenary. He had a solid stance and a confident grip. Sarinah was a dancer. She had a balanced stance and a light grip. The way she fought was reminiscent of the way she used the sai. This would be interesting.

Without warning, she brought the sword up in a low arch, arms straight in a sort of single pinwheel, sword coming for the passive's side. Her back leg pulled forward, bending at the knee as she did so. She looked like a crane standing on one leg, wings extended front to back.

Tristaan watched carefully, eyes straying only briefly from her blade to her stance, but mostly remaining on her face, meeting her gaze steadily. His stance allowed him a long reach, and as Sarinah found herself in the apex of her swing, the passive shifted his weight only slightly, lifting his blade in a quick semi-circle with a flick of his wrist.

He caught the dancer's sword towards the tip—he hadn't waited long enough—glancing her swing outward and away from his body only lightly. Weight returning to his front foot and maintaining his front-on position, Tristaan continued the circular motion of his arms to bring his weapon arching upward toward Sarinah's legs.

Following through with Tristaans deflection, the brunette used the swing of her arms to spin around, bringing her hands together on the landing to block the passives sword with a loud crack! The painful recoil through her arms made the dancer realize that even checked as he was, Tristaan was a lot stronger than she was. She would have to try and use speed and agility against his own style. But even then, the woman wasn't sure she could best him. Raising an eyebrow at him, she quickly took a few steps back, crouching low and holding the sword with two hands, leveled horizontally at shoulder height. She looked down the blade at him.

"Don't hold back kov, I ent expecting the next person I have to protect myself against would." Sarinah said with a grin.

((Classic 80's movie goodness, though only slightly related: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PtFok6jY ... annel_page ... If you can't view that, it's the Red Sonja sword fight between Kalitor and Sonja. Wining line = "Why's she fighting so hard? She doesn't want to win ..."))

"What of mine ent you got already that makes y'think I'm holdin' back?"

Tristaan scoffed with obvious humor, returning her grin as he shifted his stance, right shoulder forward, recovering from his blocked upswing by closing the space between them, wrists finishing their interrupted motion to bring his blade vertical and parallel to his body. He understood that strength was a deceiving advantage—it only worked for you if you were fast enough to put it to use.

Without hesitation, he kept his side-on guarded position, swinging over-handed in a diagonal arch over Sarinah's extended left arm, the longer reach of his weapon headed down toward her shoulder.

Tristaan moved faster than she expected and with a twist of her body, she turned and tilted the blade to block his downward cut, still crouched low. But she wasn't quite strong enough and his wooden weapon touched her shoulder briefly. Frowning, she shoved off his sword with her own, then spun, bringing the blade around in a horizontal arch, aimed at his exposed ribs.

The passive managed a chuckle as Sarinah shoved his attack away, turning into her deflecting movement as she began to spin. Instead of coming around with his blade, he waited, weapon raised, aware that his side was rather open to attack. Tristaan twisted while throwing his weight forward, right shoulder catching the dancer's extended arm mid-swing to stop her blow, turning so his back took the impact of her own forward motion. He grunted.

Slowly lowering his blade, he pushed away, slipping sideways out of their short impasse in an attempt to put swinging distance between them.

Instead of waiting, however, Tristaan twisted quickly as he side-stepped, bringing the pommel end of his weapon upward at the dancer's stomach. It was an instinctual, stunning move; a small indication that he'd stopped thinking about who he was fighting and begun to focus on what he was doing.

She knew she was open as soon as she ran into his shoulder, arm still out. There was no room to maneuver, and she had exposed her whole side. Her grip on the hilt had been jarred, and she was too sluggish in recovering, in spinning away. The pommel of his carved sword caught her hard in the abdomen and she let out a pained grunt, quickly back stepping and putting her free hand to her stomach, sword held low and useless. Slightly winded, she coughed, looking up at him through thick black locks, tip of her wooden sword raised slightly to keep him back. Grinning, she breathed hard, catching her lost breath. A soft laugh came from her.

"Wasn't expecting that, although I should have been. Benny work kov." Straightening slightly, she held the sword in both hands, raised up diagonal across her body. She would be sore for a while for sure, already a purple mark had come up on her stomach, just under her right ribs. Without warning she started at him in a run, at the last moment she twisted, right leg spinning up and over, followed by the left. The sword extended out, aimed at his shoulders. Landing on her right leg she began hacking at him with a criss cross, right left pattern, hoping to find an opening in his defense.

"Epa—"

"Heh."

Tristaan frowned instead of returning her smile, struggling to maintain his focus with the realization that his presence of mind had drifted from light-hearted sparring into something more trained and serious.

"Bomeo."

The passive didn't have much time to feel apologetic, however, finding himself suddenly forced into the defensive, moving backwards with a surprised exhale of breath through his teeth. He did his best to keep up with Sarinah's offensive, parrying while carefully taking in their differences in style, a slow smile blooming despite his concentration.

While he was far from slow, Tristaan often relied more on surprise force than speed. He managed to keep the dancer's blows from landing on his body, but only at the price of a few scraped, bleeding knuckles and sore, smashed fingers. Once he tired of retreating and observing, he set his feet and squared his shoulders, becoming a compact roadblock to her advances. He caught her next blow low on his blade, twisting out and downward while stepping, bringing both their weapons tip-first towards the sand.

Wrenching his blade away, the passive sprung forward, swinging under-handed for Sarinah's legs again, forcing her to either leap back the way she came or get knocked over. To continue pushing her ahead of him, he allowed for a few solid follow-up swings, aimed more mid-body for minimal recovery time.

The forced downward stroke of her sword pinned the dancer in a slight hunch, adrenaline now kicking in, heart racing. She had no strength to pull up from this angle, and had to let go of the sabre as he sprung, sweeping at her legs. Turning into a back flip, she felt the edge of his sword clip her ankles. Jumping back from his broad sweeps, she stood panting, looking down at her weapon. In desperation, she dived for the sword, grabbing it and rolling over onto her feet. Crouched, she tried to find a way to salvage what could end up being her final move. Twisting, she swept her foot out at Tristaans legs, hoping to topple him so she could gain the advantage. She was covered in sweat and sandy dirt, all attention focused on the fight.

The passive turned, shifting his stance mid-swing as Sarinah leapt for her weapon, slicing only air with his wild arch well over her head. He laughed once he realized he was over-extended and already off-balance, not fast enough to compensate for the dancer's much more graceful sort of agility. Her sweep caught him behind the knees and he landed hard on his tailbone and back with a sharp, winded grunt interrupting his amused laughter.

Breathing hard but perhaps not entirely exhausted, Tristaan managed to keep his grip on his blade, and as he raised it into an admittedly disadvantaged parrying position, he made it clear he didn't consider being grounded cause enough to yield.

He had way too much hair in his face and sweat in his eyes, but that didn't keep him from grinning expectantly, drawing his knees up to prepare to stand if he could find an opportunity.

Sarinah made a triumphant little noise as Tristaan landed heavily. She felt bad for a moment, what if he'd hurt himself? But then he was grinning, sword held up in a defensive parry. Getting up on her knees, she turned her own blade, swinging downwards with both hands from over her head, hoping to force the man to drop his weapon so she could deliver the final blow. It wasn't exactly graceful, but ground combat often never was. It was usually a last desperate attempt to kill or be killed.

Their wooden swords met with a distinctive, dull thunk. Tristaan grit his teeth, just barely parrying her downward blow. His mended right arm ached in protest at the strain of his disadvantaged position, both weapons just a fingers' breadth from his body as he struggled to push upward and attempt to roll or stand.

The passive grinned mischievously, deciding a distraction was in order. Jaw clenched, he spoke through his teeth and ragged breaths, "Guaril thinks I should settle down an' have a few bochi."

He winked without waiting for a response, inhaling sharply and arching his back to shove upwards with his legs and roll out from underneath their blades. Like a loaded spring that had been waiting for the right moment to be released, he turned and stood with surprising quickness (though he wobbled slightly), leveling his own weapon towards her head, "Says it would be good for me t'stop worryin' so much. Seems like you made quite an impression on th'old man, eh?"

The dancer pushed down on her weapon, muscles straining against the stronger passive. As he shoved against her, she was caught by surprise and off balance - center of gravity to far over.



Sarinah landed in the sandy dirt with a small grunt, turning onto her back, staring down the length of Tristaans sword into his face. She panted and lay her sabre on her stomach. He was just so much better with a sword. She knew she should have used the sai.

"Wha...What? Bochi?" Laying her head back, she stared at the sky for a moment. A little set of feet running around, a small part of her and him encased in an entirely new person. She had thought about it once or twice in passing. But not like this. But bringing a baby into their lives? An exotic dancer and a mercenary? Maybe...they could do something else? Settle down, she could get a real job in a bar or something. He could...he could stay at home with the child? Maybe they could take up the spoke life? Travel with the Crows, explore Vita?

Looking back at him, a small smile reached her lips. Reaching up, she pushed her hair out of her face, not bothering to move.

"I never really thought about it before kov, not...wait." The smile turned into a wide grin, and the dancer bent her knees, feet on the ground.

"You tricked me! Tristaan!" She said in a sort of disapproving way, chuckling as she rolled to her feet. Slowly standing, keeping her weapon low, watching his own sword, she shook her head.

"That was playing laoso." Hefting her sabre, she spun towards him, swinging her sword hard at his own, trying to knock it from his grip.

"Oh har. It wasn't a trick. It was truth." He arched a slim eyebrow at her tone of voice, shifting his stance to face Sarinah right side-on, sword back in both hands in a higher position than before, grinning broadly. The passive taunted, "It ent my fault that it also happened t'be distractin'."


"Ne, y'said not t'hold back. If I was playin' laoso, you'd never've gotten a chance t'stand up." Tristaan laughed, stepping into the dancer's spinning swing. The blow was hard enough to cause him to hiss uncomfortably, and while it didn't knock the blade entirely out of his hand, it slipped from his two-handed grip. His left-hand kept its hold on the hilt, leaving him almost completely open. His right arm was flung wide as well, and so the passive was forced to improvise.

As Sarinah finished the arch of her spin, Tristaan crouched and pushed forward, right shoulder catching her in the stomach as his arm wrapped around her waist. In an instant, she was off the ground and staring at his scarred, sweaty, sandy back. He wavered and straightened, chuckling, obviously bordering on the tired.

He stood there a moment, resting the tip of his blade in the sand and leaning against the hilt, right arm firmly holding the lovely witch over his shoulder as if wondering what to do next.

"I'd ask if you'd like t'yield," The passive breathed, turning and facing the river, suddenly more than a little tempted. His hand slipped a little, but he seemed unconcerned about his hold on Sarinah, body still tense and ready, "Seein' as I've gotcha rather compromised at th'moment ... but if you've got more fight in you, I ent gonna complain."

Sarinah screamed as she was lifted into the air and over the passives shoulder. She laughed as she realized there wasn't really anything she could do, legs in the air and head to the ground, trying to regain her breath.



The dancer dropped her wooden sabre as he turned, pushing herself up using his back so she could turn and glance a little at the new direction. She saw the glimmer of sunlight on water and laughed again.

"Don't you dare! I yield, I yield!" Sarinah said through giggles, happy, sore and perhaps not as against the water as she seemed. They were both sweaty and dirty, it would be good. But she was fully clothed! He wouldn't do it, not really. Not good, kindhearted Tristaan.

"Don't I dare ... what?"

Came the coy, mockingly clueless response, even as the passive meandered with calculated obviousness in the direction of the water's edge, letting his words hang in the air without comment tauntingly. Stopping just short of wading in, Tristaan broke his purposeful silence with a laugh. He shifted his hold on the dancer, sliding her from over his shoulder to support her in front of him with both arms.

His grin was slyly disquieting.

"Y'ent thinkin' I'm laoso enough t'throw you in, are you?" It was, admittedly, tempting, and he made a very convincing move to toss the lovely witch.

Only he didn't.

Teasing with a quiet chuckle, he added, "Maybe if you didn't know where I slept, it'd be worthwhile. I might not have fought entirely fair," the passive winked, still rather proud of the success of his distraction, as revealingly honest as it had been conveniently mistimed, "But I ent mung, neither."

Sarinah giggled and kicked her legs as he moved towards the water. She felt like a child with all this teasing, but it was nice. The dancer was so used to being serious that it was a refreshing change.

"Ne! Tristaan, its gonna be cold!" She said desperately, before finding herself quite comfortably in his arms. Looking up at him, she quickly wrapped her arms around his neck.



Sarinah gripped him tightly with a little squeak, laughing all the while. It was just a feint and she loosed her hold with a giggle.



The brunette grinned, looking into his grey eyes, thoughts returning to what he'd said. Bochi? Why not? Why did this passive business have to be so cruel. If they just...stayed away from Vienda, wouldn't he be safe then? Her grin turned into more of a thoughtful smile.

"Ne, you didn't fight fair." She paused, searching his face.

"And what did you say to Guaril?" Her voice was quieter than before, not quite as teasing.

"I didn't say anythin'! It ent my fault he's old an' single-minded."

Tristaan chuckled, feigning defensiveness, "I might've mentioned settlin', but I was talkin' location. Not necessarily ... life. Guaril sorta took it from there, an' there was nothin' I could do but play along, of course." The passive looked away, past Sarinah to the river, no small amount of color reddening his aristocratic cheekbones, "It ent like I really minded th'thought, but it ent necessarily somethin' I've ever seriously considered. Da jus'wants me t'live my own life an' stop livin' as I think I'm expected to."

He sighed, shifting his gaze back to the dancer's face, "I distracted you with somethin' important. It was a little more laoso than I intended, though I meant it in fun. Mostly. Epameo."

Sarinah listened to his stumbling explanation, watching the color rise to his cheeks. Slowly she realized that the idea of little people under their feet wasn't something he was even close to considering. Which of course, was fair. Still, she tried hard to keep the slight disappointment from her face.



The dancer smiled as offhandedly as she could, slapping his arm playfully with a slight scoff.

"Ne kov, no need to apologize. Ye ent done anything wrong." Impulsively, she pulled herself up and kissed his cheek, giving him a hug, looking over his shoulder where the slightly crestfallen expression on her face was easily hidden.

"It's a little too soon for that sort of talk anyway, ye chen?" Pulling away she grinned.

"Ye gonna put me down soon, I did say i yield."

((Oh my, how'd this get so clockin' long?))

Tristaan hovered a bit without setting the woman down, uncomfortable with the disquiet in Sarinah's voice. He frowned softly, narrowing his gray eyes as she briefly looked away. While he couldn't place exactly what he felt he'd said wrong, the passive picked up on the subtle, internal conflict that was somehow only accentuated by her grin,

"Well, I s'pose it depends on what you mean by too soon, macha. T'be honest, that's a matter of perspective, an' I can see that you're currently assumin'bout mine."

He chuckled, expression suddenly rather mysterious but warm, almost coy. Tristaan put the dancer down gently and continued speaking, his voice quiet and serious, "I ent got a word t'say 'bout timin', considerin' meetin' someone like you an' findin' myself havin' th'feelin's I got now weren't anythin' I had in mind for my life. Period." He sounded almost pained at such an admission, "There's a great many things I've either been told'r'come t'believe ent allowed, but Alioe knows that doesn't mean I ent ever found myself wantin'em."

"But I've said that before, an' it's prolly gettin' old, eh?"

The passive stood there, awkwardly sincere, hooking his slightly battered thumbs in his belt, steadily meeting Sarinah's gaze, "What Guaril's had t'say since I've been here on Surwood an' th'way I've come t'feel 'bout you have gotten me thinkin' on more'n'a few things. I ent gonna lie—it's only a slight understatement t'say it'd be t'my own shame if I didn't bother t'consider changin' my ways for someone like you."

He let his words hang between them with an almost calculated silence, though there was also a hint of fear peeking from the edges of his expression and hiding in the genuine undertones of his voice. The swordsman was well-practiced in all kinds of bravado, but it was hardly enough of a front for the magnitude of the situation he found himself in with the lovely witch.

"Who's t'say I ent gotta plan, anyway?" The passive arched an eyebrow tauntingly, "Maybe I've got more'n'you think."

Tilting his head in the direction of the water and making a slightly suggestive motion toward discarding his breeches, Tristaan grinned, not at all interested in really changing the subject so much as changing the location of their current conversation, "Cold'r'not, you comin'?"

The dancer looked at her hands, before looking up at him again with a little chuckle. She shouldn't be like this of course, it was just the talk of bochi, something in her had started ticking. Quite suddenly, little baby faces and hands seemed sweet and nanabo.



She blushed under his sincere gaze, altogether flattered by the man. He said so many nice things, and they were never just a falsity so she would sleep with him.



Sarinah grinned, tilting her head slightly. Plans? She wanted to ask more, but instead, kept her tongue. Nagging the man wouldn't win her any respect. Undressing quickly, she turned from Tristaan with a sly smile, anklets jingling lightly she walked into the water, tattoos and hair her only coverage. Without hesitation, she dove under the water, rising with a slight gasp. She stood on the bottom, covered up to her chest, looking at the man with a laugh.

"Cold ent the right word for this water kov."

Tristaan watched the lovely witch undress with a coy, all-be-it exhausted sort of smile. There were some things the passive knew he couldn't tire of, however, and he could only chuckle distractedly as he left his breeches on the shore to follow Sarinah into the water.

"O-oes. It's a bit ... ah ... chilly." He mumbled, voice shrinking in an echo to his physical response to the shock of wading in above his waist, forcibly reminding him that it was still early spring. With a sharp intake of breath and an almost pained kind of expression, Tristaan dunked his entire self under the surface.

"Wo chet!"

The passive came back up in front of the dancer with a watery grin, struggling to toss the entirety of his hair from his face, exhaling slowly as his body reluctantly considered getting used to the cold. He hovered closely, not entirely comfortable with the concept of swimming, especially considering he sank like a stone instead of floating.

"I'm refreshed an' ready t'spar again." He teased.

Tristaan smirked, somewhat caught off-guard that Sarinah had yet to pursue his comment, half-expectant to have been asked to explain himself already. Trying to will some feeling slowly back into his extremities against the river's chill, he wondered briefly if he'd hurt her feelings in his playfulness.

Running a slightly numb, bruised hand over the lower half of his face, the passive added quietly, "Well, maybe not today ... but hopefully I ent ruined another round some other time?"