[Darkblade Fortress] A song of steel, a storm of swords (Eyvind)

[Cyrus Marius]

TS: Third cycle of Cryaxtium, in the season of Summer, Era XIV PF

The suns were just reaching their zenith overhead, casting their warm rays down upon Telath's inhabitants below. Cyrus, with the blood of the ice-dwelling Rhagrhnd in his veins, never much abided the heat of the southern province, but neither was he the type to complain much about it. Instead, he was garbed in a loose-fitting, flowing sleeveless long-tunic of light, white linen that reached to just below his knees, and open-toed, leather sandles that laced up the bottom half of his muscular calves. His mane of golden locks was loosely bound back behind his head in a leather thong, but several stray ringlets had fallen loose, framing the legionnaire's angular face. Cyrus also wore matching brown leather bracelets, smaller and thinner than true bracers, on his wrists. A thin black sash was wrapped around the legionnaire's waist, not a true sword belt, and amazingly, no weapons were to be found anywhere on his person.

This would be soon remedied however, as Cyrus entered onto the training fields within Darkblade Fortress and headed straight for the fighting circles. All around him, members of the elite Black Shields were hard at work with the instructors brought from Prime's Jade Legion, training and drilling the core of the Provincial Army. Over to one side of the field, a centuri formation could be seen practicing with their pikes, thrusting in unison and then recovering in unison with their large, protective shields. Their skill was growing rapidly, Cyrus observed with some pride, however the instructors knew their time was precious and would be satisfied with nothing but the pinnacle of Imperial discipline. Their voices could be heard at every corner of the training field, harshly turning the collection of farmers and field-hands into a true Legion capable of meeting the ferocious Horde on the battlefield. It was an emboldening sight, to see these men becomming soldiers, and it lifted the young legionnaire's spirits as he strode through their ranks and into the sandy floor of the fighting circle.

Several attendants were already waiting nearby with towels, skins of water, and various pairs of training armaments neatly arranged on the grass outside the circle of sand. These were not the basic, wooden replicas used to train beginners, but true steel training arms, blunted in the way of tourney weapons so as to reduce their lethality. There were the customary longswords of the Legion's infantry, as well as training versions of daggers, spears, poleaxes and hammers, mauls, handaxes, as well as many a type of shield, ranging from bucklers to mock tower shields. Cyrus smirked upon sight of the array of weaponary, his sapphire gaze roaming over the familiar forms as though they were intimate friends, but his true love caught his lone eye. The young soldier strode forward and picked up one of the training longswords by it's worn leather hilt, giving the weapon a critical appraisal and testing it's balance and weight with an expert hand. His small smile grew slightly, and he nodded in satisfaction with his choice.

Striding back in to the ring again, Cyrus accepted a padded breastplate from one of the attendents; cloth, stuffed with down, to cushion against blows but to ensure that they are felt and sufficiently appreciated in mock combat. One must learn the cost of one's mistakes if one does not seek to repeat them in the future. The breastplate slipped easily over the soldier's light tunic, and he silently allowed the attendents to secure the leather thongs at the armor's side. One of the men offered Cyrus a helmet, and another offered him a wooden round shield, and he accepted both of these with a nod of thanks before securing them on himself. Thus armed and protected, the young legionnaire stood and waited, his cobalt eye open for the man that would be meeting him the sands of the fighting ring.

[Eyvind Redbeard]

It had been a tiring morning with formation drills and combat lessons for the new recruits. Eyvind had even been forced to mustter some twenty Black Shields to give an example of what he wanted to a small group of recruits. The majority was learning fast but these were slow and not much motivated. After two candlemarks they finally understood and from there they caught up with the remaining trainees. Now they were doing things right, thrusting forward as one and closing the gaps of the formation with their shields. If he had enough time he'd train them all into proper Phalanx Pikemen, for the time being he had to focus in teaching them the basic, if they had more time he'd train them harder, even harder than the training he'd implemented to his Black Shields.

Stretching his body the Vagaran felt it tense and rusty, it had been a while since he had had a proper spar with anyone. Letters and plans for the mission to come, training programs for the new Provincial Army and few Darkenings of sleep were all he had had since he arrived in Taralon. He was only wearing pants but still he was sweating, using his hand to cover his eyes from the light of the Suns he looked around the courtyard of the Fortress. Suddenly something called his attention. A golden spot. A smile appeared on his face.

"Senior Legionnaire Rabalyn."

"Yes, Sir?"

A man answered few seconds later. He stood some six feet in height and his body was muscled. With the dark hair cut short, the large shaved jaw and the curved nose he resembled the stereotype of a Heavy Infantry Legionnaire.

"It is time for the new recruits to see some real fighting. Call a halt to their training and give them a half a candlemark break, make sure they all watch this."

The Senior Legionnaire followed Eyvind's look and saw Cyrus. A grin showed up in his face and he answered with a bit of a mocking voice.

"Yes, Sir. I hope you know what you are doing Redbeard, that man is a daemon."

The Vagaran laughed.

"I know, and that is why I want to spar with him and not with someone else."

The Senior Legionnaire nodded and turned to the recruits starting shouting and giving orders. While he followed Eyvind's order, the Vagaran advanced to the fighting circle. An attendant looked surprised to see an Officer of Eyvind's patent entering in it, but this was exactly what he intended. Like the man who stood on the other side of the fighting circle he lead by example. With a nod and a smile to his brother-in-arms Eyvind grabbed a towel and cleant the sweat out of his face, arms and hands. After drinking some water he let an attendant dress him a padded breastplate, although he didn't let the man attach the padded arms to the armor leaving them exposed and therefore more moveable. He knew Cyrus was fast as a lightening and he didn't want to slow down because of some piece of cloth, if it was his choice he wouldn't even use it.

"Which weapon do you want, Sir?"

"A longsword, please."

With the weapon on his hand the Vagaran entered the circle and saluted his friend.

"A good day for a spar, isn't it?"

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus smiled as Eyvind entered the ring, likewise armed for their battle. The Vagaran was a daunting opponent, standing nearly a full foot taller than the blonde legionnaire himself. The rigors and demands of the military life could be seen in the red-haired Daekin's muscular and imposing physique, and when the attendent handed him his blunted longsword, the Vagaran officer handled the weapon with an ease and familiarity that spoke of his prior training and experiance with a blade. Cyrus' smile grew with the prospect of the comming match, and he nodded in return to Eyvind's greeting.

"Serale, my friend. Indeed, a fine day for a spar."

The young soldier could then see the other recruits pausing in their various training excersizes and turning to watch the impending fight between their commanders. Though Eyvind loomed over his blonde opponent, the one-eye'd legionnaire had a growing reputation amongst the soldiers; one that had followed him since his first day in the Imperial ranks. Some glint in his lone sapphire eye, some subtle word spoken with his unconcious body language, told all who watched that they looked upon a natural warrior, a killer born. Yet now, surrounded by his comrades, the young soldier was entirely in control of himself. This was a contest of skill and precision, where savagery and bloodlust had no place.

Still smiling, Cyrus assumed a defensive position with the smooth and graceful motions he had long implimented into his personal fighting style. He lowered his center of gravity by flexing his knees slightly, then extended his left leg a half foot's length and turned his back foot forty-five degrees to the side, planting himself in a solid position much like what one would assume when on the front lines of an infantry unit. His body was slightly turned to the right, so that the surface of the round shield secured to his left forearm was better presented to his opponent. The bottom edge of his round shield hovered just above where his flexed lead knee rested, where the protection of his greaves would cease when armored, and the top edge of the shield hovered before the legionnaire's face, just beneath the soldier's remaining cobalt orb. His right arm was cocked back, holding his longsword horizontally at his hip with the rounded tip hanging still and ready in the air just behind the shield.

It was the stance that Cyrus would adopt in the tightly clustered and chaotic ranks of infantry once the battle had begun. In an environment like that, and with the other soldiers to account for, he would have to focus on keeping his feet beneath him at all times and his shield between him and the enemy blades. His arms would work in sequence, his left arm moving to block and bash strikes and foes away on the left, while his longsword did the same for foes on his right. It was a basic, pragmatic means of combat, but with the iron-clad discipline of the Legions and the steady hands of the warriors behind the weapons, it could mean the difference against the undisciplined, savage marauders of the Orc Horde. He could feel the eyes of the soldiers watching him and Eyvind, the respect they had for their officers making them pay the utmost attention to their stances and the combat that would follow.

"Prepare yourself, my friend." Cyrus said as he lowered his gaze and completed his stance. "We begin."

With that Cyrus began to advance, shuffling forward lightly and swiftly despite his defensive posture. He pushed off with his right foot and lifted his left foot so that it barely glided over the sand of the training circle, then smoothly brought both feet down in unison before advancing another fluid step. His longsword was tensed and ready to strike, like a cobra hidden behind the protective barrier of his round shield. Within a heartbeat Cyrus had closed the distance between him and his Vagaran comrade, and with a deft shift of his shield, the young legionnaire launched a straight thrust directly at Eyvind's chest.

[Eyvind Redbeard]

Eyvind had seen Cyrus' prowess with the sword in spars and combats ever since he'd met him but never had he had the chance of crossing blades with the blonde Legionnaire. It was now the moment of truth, or so he thought. The Vagaran didn't know how would the troops react if one of them lose. Eyvind was their leader and the respect they had towards him was very important, if they didn't respect him they wouldn't follow his orders and therefore would end up dead. The same would happen if Cyrus would lose. It would be a hard fought spar with the outcome dictating the future of their Centuri. Commander versus Second in Command. The epic duel the men wanted to see, the duel the both of them were eager to start.

The Daekin swinged his sword to get used to it. The balance wasn't exactly as his, it was slightly heavier in the blade meaning he would need to do a little bit of extra effort to hold moves, but it wasn't something he couldn't deal with. As the red haired man lowered his gravity center he examined his opponent. It seemed Cyrus had adopted the stance of a Legionnaire in formation. It was a good stance when used in a unit but in a duel it was mainly for defensive purposes. Luckily for him, Eyvind knew the Sword Daekin and he knew the man would never stay on the defensive for long.

The Vagaran prepared. His left foot forward and the right one backwards and pointing to his right. The sword he held two handed, the hilt at the height of his waist and the blade coming up making a thirty degree angle with his straightened body and pointing slightly forward. It was a basic and comfortable stance.

The singing of the blades began when Cyrus thrusted trying to reach Eyvind's chest. The Vagaran rotated, advancing his right foot and parried the attack while using his right shoulder to slam his comrade's shield. It wouldn't make the Sword Daekin fall but it was certainly a powerful slam coming from a seven feet tall muscled men weighting more than two hundred pounds. Then he would give some space and wait for the young man's next move.

[Cyrus Marius]

The young legionnaire's thrust met his commander's parry with a sharp ring of steel on steel, and as it was deflected away, Cyrus quickly raised his shield to meet Eyvind's charge. The force of the red-haired Daekin's attack stopped Cyrus in his tracks, and even caused the young soldier to momentarily slide in place, dirt rising around his sandles as his body absorbed the shock of the blow. His teeth clenched slightly as he struggled to maintain his position, much as he would on an infantry line, and the watching soldiers could begin to see how valuable a shield would be in the face of an enemy attack.

With a shove from his left shoulder, Cyrus tried to force Eyvind from his proximity, even as the Vagaran officer was back-stepping to allow some space between the combatants. From the comfortable and familiar way that Eyvind wielded his longsword, Cyrus could discern that room for manuverability was the last thing he wanted his opponent to have. The Daekin could be downright deadly with room to move, so the one-eye'd legionnaire decided to concentrate on increasing the pressure on his commander.

As Eyvind took a step back, Cyrus sent a rudementary, basic overhand slash in his direction, comming in from up high on the right side. The Daekin's swift footwork placed him outside the range of attack and the blow whistled harmlessly through the air, however Cyrus followed-up with a combonation attack, swinging his longsword up from it's lowered position in a rising diagonal slash, aimed at Eyvind's torso. He anticipated that the Daekin would meet him steel against steel, and then Cyrus would execute the second phase of his offensive strategy.

[Eyvind Redbeard]

Cyrus resilience didn't surprise Eyvind. As expected the one eyed Sword Daekin advanced to continue with the spar, trying to close in with the Vagaran who had two choices before him: trying to parry and step back to replace some distance between the two or advancing using his superior strength and weight to gain some advantage over the shorter and quicker man. A thought came to the red-haired man's mind. Why not closing in to disarm his fellow Legionnaire? That was something he wouldn't be expecting. Or would he? Cyrus was known for his prowess with the blade and although Eyvind had never seen him fighting unarmed, except for the brutal demonstration of leadership against the Hammerhand, he could consider the azured eye man a capable oponent.

Stamping his feet on the ground Eyvind reverted his movement. His body was propelled forward and he advanced while parrying Cyrus slash. The Vagaran's hands moved diagonally from his right shoulder to his left hip with the blade in an almost horizontal position with the clear intention of parrying and pushing Cyrus' blade while moving forward. But this time instead of slaming the shield the Vagaran wanted to take advantage on the opening in the blonde man's guard to perform the slash and place his right elbow between Cyrus' body and his shield. If nothing would stop him Eyvind would then use his left hand to hold Cyrus' right one while pulling his right own right right back to push the shield aside or even force the Sword Daekin to drop it.

It was a risky plan but the Commander of the Black Shields was a man who didn't mind taking risks to achieve victory. And he knew that his second in command would find a way of preventing the intended outcome, after all Cyrus was his best man, a position of honor.

[Cyrus Marius]

Cyrus' fingers clenched tightly to maintain his hold on his training longsword after Eyvind's strike, the Vagaran's parry a glimpse into the power the skilled Daekin could generate. By reflex, the young soldier was bringing his right arm back tight against his body to return it to it's ready position behind his shield, but Eyvind moved like quicksilver into his proximity, and the red-haired soldier's experiance with wrestling and unarmed combat allowed him to place his own arm between Cyrus and his shield.

The blonde legionnaire felt his blood begin to sing with the combat, and he had to check his initial instincts and remind himself that this was a friend and comrade that he was fighting with. Though he could be a merciless beast who would damage his opponents by any means or medium necessary, without a moment's hesitation, Cyrus did not seek to harm Eyvind, but to test himself against the Vagaran that had proven so bold and able in the past. His most recent manuver, which caught the young soldier by surprise, was testament to the Daekin's combative abilities.

Then the red-haired Vagaran's left hand shot forward and locked around Cyrus' right wrist, his sword arm, and Eyvind's superior physical strength allowed him to force the arm off to the side somewhat. At that same moment, Eyvind pushed with his right arm as well, presumably intending to move the shield aside and enter within Cyrus' guard zone. If the Vagaran had been a motivated enemy, he would have proven just how dangerous it could be to allow an opponent into the close, personal proximity of the first soldiers on an infantry line. One gap in the wall, one missing link in the chain, and the phalanx would lose the cohesive strength that made it so formidable.

Still, all was not lost yet, however. Refusing to let himself be disarmed, the young legionnaire took a half-step back with his left foot and turned it at an angle to better push against or forward from. His balance thus secured for the moment, the soldier raised his right leg swiftly, hopefully before the Daekin rushed in too close, and he threw a basic, rudimentary front kick aimed at Eyvind's armored chest. If the blow struck and the Vagaran was forced back a step, Cyrus would bring his shield back before his body and his sword arm back behind it, poised like a serpent before the strike. He would likewise retreat a step, putting some space between him and his sparring partner, before the next pass.