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The floor of the arena is oval in shape, stretching near one hundred fifty feet along the east-west axis and seventy-five along the north-south. The floor is made of slate set so precisely that it appears to be one solid piece. Five sparring rings are cut into the stone floor, three along the northern wall and two staggered with them along the south. Each of these rings is twenty feet in diameter with perhaps ten feet separating each from the other. A wall ten feet high surrounds this oval. A gate at the end of the north axis is the only entrance. Rising around the wall in a bowl shape are the stands, plain bleachers for the most part, although the east, west and south cardinal points have small areas separated off from the bleachers, filled with comfortable chairs apparently set aside for the nobility. On the floor of the arena at the east end of the long axis is a table with three chairs for the judges of the event.
Gaudior walks into the stadium, as the people watch him carefully. He does not look up, even while entering the stadium, a look of utter seriousness in his eyes. He says, as he moves to the middle of the arena, "As I dance this day, allow my to remember where my skills have come from, nothing." He then studies the crowd carefully, taking off his shirt and waiting for his opponent. There is steel in his eyes, and every muscle and sinew seemed to be caught on some perilous balance, ready to spring to action when needed.
Cordell steps through the gate and strolls into the arena, his cape flapping behind him with his movements. He takes his own sweet time as he makes his way to the weapons rack, apparently not at all mindful of the waiting judges or his opponent. After testing the balance on several, he finally settles on a practice sword, holding the hilt in his right hand and letting the tightly bundled lathes that make up the blade rest on his right shoulder. He hums softly to himself as if he hasn't a care in the world as he turns and begins walking towards the sparring ring.
Gaudior sees the man is intending to use lathes, and nods solemnly, moving to the rack to gain his own curved lathe. His shirt is off as his muscles ripple through the chest. He then removes his cloak and moves it to the side, moving back step after step to the side of the circle to face the man and study him. Slowly he begins to step to the left, in a circular motion moving forward towards the inner circle with every step. Carefully, he moves the lathe to 45 degrees as he bends his knees and planes his shoulders to the task ahead. His eyes hardly move from the man as they go dark and cold within the confines of the Void.
Cordell pauses just outside the sparring circle to take time to finally look at his opponent. The rather impatient looking official standing outside the ring snaps in an irritated tone,'Nice of you to join us, Lord Fenevall. You already know the rules, but I will repeat them for your opponent.' He holds up a bright red kerchief and jiggles it slightly,'I will drop this to signal the start of the match. Once it touches the ground, you may begin. When I call time, you will both stop fighting, immediately. Failure to do so will result in forfeiture of the match. Is this understood?' The man looks from Cordell to Gaudior and back as he waits for an answer. Cordell nods once, slowly, a smirk spreading across his face. He reaches up with his left hand to unclasp his cape and let it flutter to the ground behind him. Then he steps into the ring and falls into a ready position, left foot perhaps half a step ahead of his right, knees slightly bent and the wooden hilt held in both hands, perhaps a foot in front of his right shoulder, the tightly bundled lathes pointing straight up. His smirk grows into a full sneer as his gaze settles upon his opponent's face.
Gaudior nods with fervor of the rules, saying, "Of course, sir." His right foot moves about an inch from his left, the curved lathe, much like his normal sword. and with about the same balance held easily but not so lightly to fall out within his hands in front of his outstretched arms. Looking to the handkerchief once, he waits for it to fall, absolutely no emotion in his features as he studies his opponent carefully. Slowly, and in a rythm, he moves the lathe about 3 inches from side to side, easing his tensed muscles it seems into a stance that seems less unconfident. Calmly, and with deliberation, he waits for the kerchief.
Cordell waits as still as stone for the judge. The man turns loose of the bit of red silk and steps back as it flutters towards the ground. Off in the distance behind him, one of the judges turns over a sandglass to begin timing the competition. Cordell tenses slightly as the kerchief falls. The instant it touches the ground, he moves. He steps his right foot forward, letting it glide above the slate floor of the arena, as he extends his arms. Just as the sole of his boot touches down with a soft click against the stone, he snaps his wrists to add a bit of speed to the cut which arcs from his upper right to his lower left, aimed at the left side of Gaudior's neck. Although quick, the blow lacks much in the way of force, as if the wielder is either not terribly strong or perhaps holding back.
Gaudior grips the lathe in both of his hands easily, the lathe gliding as if by itself easily towards the man's, in a curving motion, the lathe curling to meet the man's with some bit of strength parrying it off to his left side before it touches his neck. Much of his power for the parry is within this grip He then steps forward with his right foot, and as soon as his leg moves towards the ground slashes to his left and downward, attempting to use the extra range to slash the man from upper right shoulder to middle chest. Once again, most of the power within the short slash is within his wrists, not yet calling on other muscles.
From the way Cordell jerks the hilt back towards his left hip, it becomes obvious that he was holding back on the previous strike. This pulls his wooden blade into a position where it angles from his left hip up to his right shoulder, but perhaps a foot in front of each. This easily intercepts the incoming slash, blocking it with a sharp clack of wood on wood and causing his weapon to recoil back towards him several inches. But even as the parry occurs, he is already shifting his weight more forward onto his right foot and pivoting hard, pulling his left foot back and snapping his hips to add speed to the spin move. As he turns, his hands ride up, perhaps halfway between his hip and shoulders, blade still held at the same angle. When his left foot touches down, he slashes out hard to add even more momentum to the maneuver, bringing the wooden blade down and to his left in a hard arc, his head following the motion, in a slash aimed to strike broadside across his opponent's lower back. From the total lack of hesitation, it should be clear to an experienced observor that he had planned this from the start.
Gaudior stays calm, not showing fear, not showing worry about the massive lathe slash that is coming towards him. As he sees the man spin, he bunches up the right side of his pectoral muscles, moving the blade out to his right ever so slightly and moving the lathe close to vertical, and stepping back. At the same time, he uses the power in his hips, his arms, and every other sinew he can muster to slam his own lathe into the man's, sending it with the extra power back to his left. Once the momentum of the blade has stopped, which, because of the massive power of the parry is about a half second more or so, he rips the lathe upward along the man's left side, going from horizontal from the parry to vertical, attempting to hit the man under the right underarm.
Cordell's body continues the spin for perhaps another eighth of circle after his right foot lands again, pulling his left side out of the path of the upward slash. He allows the recoil from the parry to bring his blade up and to his right briefly as he watches the other man's hard rip, teeth showing in a broad, disdainful grin. Then he steps perhaps half a step forward with his right foot and reverses the direction of his weapon, slashing down and to his left, aiming a quick, hard slash at Gaudior's left hip, shifting his weight to his right foot as it lands to add force to the blow.
Gaudior sees that his blade, at this juncture is out of position, and therefore merely, and with a feral grin, moves back to reset, the lathe missing mere inches from where his left side used to be. He is backward moving only for a moment however, attempting to not give the man time to reset as he lunges forward, feinting a hard overhand chop, and, at the last moment using his wrists to reverse the motion, attempting to clip lightly the underside of the man's chin, while putting a 45 degree angle on the sword for better defense of any incoming attack.
Cordell uses the time while Gaudior is backpedalling to recover from his slash, jerking his hilt up and to his right as he slips his left hand free and slides it along the back side of the wooden blade, stopping perhaps a quarter of the way from the point to brace against the coming impact. This brings him in position to block the chop with the weapon held parallel, more or less, to the ground and even with his head. He stops the incoming blow with a sharp clack of wood on wood and sidesteps maybe half a foot to his right, immediately lowering his hilt to his right hip and rotating his hips clockwise, from his perspective, allowing the wooden blade to drop to a vertical position before he quickly reverses the twisting of his hips and thrusts hard at Gaudior's abdomen. His left hand rejoins his right on the hilt at the end of the thrust for added power and stability. His lips are pulled back to expose his teeth in an almost animalistic snarl, sweat beginning to break out on his forehead from the exercise and the unseasonable heat of the sun beating down on the stadium.
Gaudior sidesteps the thrust to the right the blade missing wide left of his body. At the same time, for even more room he moves his body balance also slightly to the right. He now openly grins himself as he moves in a lunge that takes him three feet forward from where he is and somewhat sideways of the man. At the same time, the lathe moves in a leftward chop towards the man's exposed left rib, this time putting all of the crushing power and control he can muster into the wicked curving slash. However, if it seems he has done a good move, it never enters his eyes. Instead, there is only coldness there, and maybe the slightest bit of wanting coming to the fore as he regains his middle balance towards the man.
Cordell does not remain still through his opponent's repositioning. As the other man is lunging, Cordell steps forward and slightly to his right, leading with his right foot, and pivots hard to bring his body back square to Gaudior. As he spins, he whips his hands up and to his left, swinging the wooden blade down to an almost vertical position to catch the incoming slash near the hilt of his own wooden practice sword. He continues the leftward motion for just an instant, trying to push the other man's weapon further out of line to that side, then brings his wooden blade up to thrust hard back towards Gaudior's gut. His teeth bared in a snarl, sweat pouring down his cheeks now and visible in dark spots on his shirt, as he tries to spear the man through the middle.
Once more, Gaudior, as the man thrusts, sidesteps to his left, although this time in a more controlled fashion then last, sweat from the last move moving down Gaudior's brow in runnels, although he does not lose concentration. His own blade still below the man's, he chops down and to his left, trying to disengage while simultaneously to score a hit on the fleshy part of the man's right leg, making a try at hobbling him. And yet, in his eyes, there is no degradation of focus on the man in front of him. Indeed, it seems that the other man is the only person there in the world.
Cordell stops his forward motion as the other man begins his retreating slash, pulling his weapon back in towards his chest and letting the wooden blade fall down at a sharp angle to intercept the weak slash. With his forward momentum stopped, the parry occurs well in front of him, as the other man had been backing up. As the soft clack of the two weapons connecting sounds, the pompous official standing outside the ring calls,'Time!' Cordell immediately takes a step back and contemptuously tosses aside his wooden sword, not watching as it clatters to the ground, instead moving to wipe his brow with the back of his right sleeve.
Gaudior tosses aside the sword also, but, now says, "Great fight friend. You really had me going for a spell there, and I hope I did all right with the judges." He smiles, and extends his hand in a show of sportsmanship, if the other man will take it. He then looks to the crowd and smiles as well as the judges.
Cordell lowers his arm from mopping his brow just in time to see the hand extended towards him. He arches an eyebrow and looks at the appendage as if it is a poisonous snake or more likely just something vile and not to be touched. He turns sharply on his heel and begins walking to where his cape is spread on the ground, saying over his shoulder,'Good luck, warder.' If his voice carries any respect for that title, it is deeply hidden.
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