Idriseth verses Zekaneth

Zekaneth follows Idriseth out into the castle's courtyard, sweeping a brief glance around it before he returns his sights to the other page. "Three rounds," he states in a business-like manner, though he still leaves room for input from Idriseth. "Is there anything else that needs deciding before we start? I'll begin unless you have a preference on the matter."

Idriseth walks over to the wall, selecting one of the staves leaning there from his last practice with Tarian. "Sounds good to me -" He walks back towards the center of the courtyard, taking a careful stance. "- you can start when ever you are ready."

Zekaneth nods agreeably.

Zekaneth selects a weapon from the courtyard rack with little ceremony, the mithril chainmail worn upon his chest glinting in the evening sun. Gloved fingers draw forth a wickedly-spiked mace from amongst its brethren, swinging it once through the air to test its weight. Apparently deeming it worthy of the battle that is to follow, the drow holds it down by his side, crimson eyes skipping analytically over the remainder of the rack. His left hand reaches forward to seize a shield made of unremarkable metal, the row of spikes along his knuckles now hidden from view behind this sheltering disc. At length he turns towards his opponent and strides out into the open court with a collected air. His bone white hair remains undisturbed by a passing wind, knotted at the nape of his neck. His eyes do narrow however to reduce its impact on his vision, his focus zeroing in on the elf that stands a suitable distance away from him. The shield is held in guard formation before him as he raises his mace, striding towards Idriseth and breaking into a energetic jog in the final few paces. This gives him the momentum he needs to power his blow with a jump, one with the force to deal serious damage to bones, should it land. The mace arcs down in a merciless strike for Idriseth's left arm, targeting his collarbone and the tender join between neck and shoulder.

Idriseth watches Zekaneth's selection of a weapon, a glint appearing in his eye when the drow makes his selection. Idri has no intention of waiting for the other page to gain momentum. Sylvan reflexes responding, he crouches and then jumps, feet landing nimbly on a tree branch as the mace swings through the air where he was just standing. As the force of the mace's swing carries Zekaneth forward, he leaps again, landing behind the drow. The dark skinned elf brings the staff up in a sweeping motion, aiming to take his opponent's legs out from under him, and possibly disarm him.

Zekaneth finds that Idriseth has disappeared moments before his mace cuts through the air where his opponent's shoulder had just been. The heavy weapon guided by his arm in that powerful blow travels all the way down to the ground when he lands, impacting with the hard stone rather than soft flesh. The contact jars his own bones rather painfully but he doesn't allow it time to affect him. The drow is savvy enough to understand that the elf's attack will probably seek to assault him from his most vulnerable quarter, that is, from behind. He jerks his mace once, but, finding a few of the spikes lodged between the stones, he curses softly and abandons it. Instead he ducks into a roll just in time, trusting in his instincts to guide him away from the point of danger. Forward he tumbles, this hasty maneuver just about clearing him from the arc of Idriseth's weapon. Rising at a crouch, he spins around with one set of fingers braced against the stones, managing to have kept a hold of the shield in his left hand. The fierce hue of his drow eyes hone in on the elf once again and he is springing forward, quickly transferring the shield to his right hand. A sharp punch is aimed at Idriseth's stave so that the spikes on his left knuckles may catch it, hopefully engaging it long enough to drive it out to the side. In the meantime the flat of the drow's shield is thrust towards Idriseth's chest. A trigger clicks somewhere behind the metallic disc and another set of spikes shoot out, arming the circumference of the shield with these wicked instruments. If there is any fleshy part of Idriseth in the way, specifically the under side of his jaw, he is likely to find one of them piercing right through his vulnerable area.

Idriseth quickly brings the staff up to meet Zekaneth's attack, spinning it in the air. Its horizontal spin coupled with the shove forward Idri gives it causes the spikes on both fist and shield to embed in the staff. The wood splinters, but the solid oak does not shatter. Giving the staff another shove forward, hoping that this will throw the drow off balance, the elf sprints for the weapons rack. He reaches out for what appears to be another staff, until he spins around suddenly. His hands are empty, a puzzle for a moment, until a blur reveals the spear arching through the air, aimed low, for Zekaneth's belly.

Zekaneth snarls softly, shaken out of his usual composure by the encumbering stave that is now attached to his fist and his shield. Releasing the latter, he tugs fiercely at the wooden shaft to pull it free from his fist. The wood jerks clear of his spiked knuckles with a crack and a small shower of splinters and the drow is quickly on guard once more to locate where Idriseth has run off to. He only manages to focus on the spear just in time to react, adrenalin pumping through his veins to thrust him into action. Spinning the broken stave around in order to grasp the shield that's still hanging from it, he pulls the disc into a protective position before him. The sharp head of the spear drives into the metallic surface, knocking him back a step or two with the weight of its force. By now the shield is so heavily laden that Zekaneth decides to spend no more energy holding it upright. He only takes a moment to jerk the spear free from the protective disc before tossing the rest aside, hearing it clatter across the stones as he strides once more towards Idriseth. The spear is then raised out before him and used like a pike, his hands guiding it forward in a sharp thrust towards the elf's chest. If such a blow doesn't fall he prepares himself to draw it back, intending on spinning the shaft around so that the blunt end can target Idri's left calf from the side. This will hopefully knock his legs out from under him, even if it doesn't cause much damage.

Idriseth doesn't waste time waiting for Zekaneth before grabbing another spear. He whirls bacl around in time to see the drow advancing. His stance is wide, and long fingers take a firm grap on the spear, as if it is a staff. Although the more slender haft won't take as much of a beating, the elf clearly doesn't intend to use is as such for long. The weapon clatters against its opposite, deflecting it from the stabbing thrust. Zekaneth's rebound smacks into Idri's calf, causing the elf to grunt as it leaves a massive contusion - but the elf is more solid than he looks, and doesn't go down. Rather, he thrusts forward with the spear on the drow's now unprotected side.

Zekaneth is left to frown at the spear where it connects with Idriseth's calf, resolving that not only is he more stable than he looks but the spear is weaker than it looks too. Either way, it doesn't seem stalwart enough to have knocked the elf from his feet, leaving him with the opportunity to thrust at Zekaneth's side with his own weapon. The sharp tip of his opponent's spear glances off Zekaneth's chainmail, tearing into some of the links and the material beneath them. The drow swings back on his heal so that his midriff is now parallel with the advancing spear, keeping his hands clear and minimizing the damage caused with this defensive movement. His own spear is brought up in a sweeping motion to compliment this new posture, connecting with Idriseth's to send it harmlessly out to one side. Returning to his previous position to face the elf, the drow lowers his spear, grounding the blunt end conclusively onto the stones of the courtyard. "Thank you for your time," he nods to the other page when he has caught his breath, maintaining a steady posture despite the encroaching fatigue.

Idriseth carefully returns the spear to the rack before offering Zekaneth a bow and smile, "And for yours."