For the sake of the current practice fight, it was for the best that Ellia wouldn't be able to hear the possible response to her daydream. Confusion and concern would completely override her want to have her mettle tested, and the answers her partner would provide would only lead to her frustration and disappointment at the functioning of her current land of residency.

In her life, military strength was a big deal. Most of that likely came from spending the majority of her lengthy lifetime growing up in a military city, where the concentration of 'civilians' who could act as a short-notice city guard was nearly unparalleled in any surface settlement. As if this were not enough already, her city-state held an organisation that was entirely dedicated to keeping their ears and eyes open for any sort of criminal activity, especially that of the organised type, and shutting them down with various means (often fire). Their track-record wasn't spotless; they made bad calls more often than one would care to discuss. Perhaps that was a boon for the general populace though, thought the elf, as people in general not only stayed away from illegal dealings, but really anything that could be thought of as too suspicious. It became horrendously difficult for a group of like minded individuals to have anything resembling a hide-out that was within the city, a fear which eventually spread outside the city walls. Few outlying places would develop, but making them last for a notable amount of time required keeping such a low profile that it was decidedly not worth it.

Worse than being unsavoury, though, was angering them. It simply wasn't a viable tactic for anyone that desired to wake up in the morning. Though they were officially at the beck and call of both the city and its people, and most of their actions did indeed benefit society as a whole, there weren't many who opposed them when they overstepped their boundaries. Of course, they couldn't completely abuse their freedoms, since ruffling too many feathers in the city would find their buildings just as burned as a criminal hideout, but people did go quite out of their way to make them feel welcome.

Had Tiam informed the elf that crime was condoned by the general populace out of a combination of fear and greed would be baffling. And infuriating. Such weaknesses of person is what ultimately lead to her death, and the same weaknesses that drove her to bargain with a terrible demon for a second shot at being around. Connecting her new friends, or at least Tiam, with her source of rage would certainly ruin their date.

It was about that time that the witch decided she really wanted to invest in some throwing weapons. The bandit was closing in fast, thereby putting an end to her game of whack-a-candle. She watched him duck underneath the make-shift projectile that sailed over his head, and wanted nothing more than to punish the man for moving in a straight line toward her and slowing down enough to get pegged with a follow-up attack. While a quickly cast spell would have likely accomplished this effect, it wouldn't end up doing much damage, and tossing all of your spells in a short time span was a sure-fire way to find yourself helpless. So, instead of trying to capitalise on every perceived opportunity, the witch took her short moment to prepare for the imminent clash. Resuming her earlier stance she used to bat away Tiam's feint, she gripped her staff in both hands, holding the pole nearly vertical with her hands apart as far as comfort would allow.

When the spear thrust came, the elf took advantage of her centre of gravity and rushed preparations to knock the offending weapon away with general ease. The first swings of combat weren't so horrifying to her... it was just being forced to stay at that range for longer then that. Such a disadvantageous situation was likely about to be upon her, as her desire to create an advantage brought her right to the edge of the basement, practically pressing her against a wall while Tiam was in striking distance. In an effort to not get herself pinned into a loss, she quickly dropped her right arm after the spearhead was in no danger of hitting her without some heavy readjustment, which brought her quarterstaff to a high horizontal position. As smoothly as was possible for the elf, she swung to her left hard, that is, if a high elf wizard's swing could ever be considered as such. Even if Tiam took a square hit to his head, he probably wouldn't really care, since she was too far twisted out of form to get a full and proper swing to her attack. Still, depending on the outcome, it could buy enough time to get a few steps away from the wall - something that she was very interested in earning.


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Hearing damage ended this post, as did the Ghost Armor.

Pretty roughly swatted the offending spear to the side in a defensive motion with her staff. That was good, at least she wasn't totally inept. The lack of true muscle behind the block, however, was quite worrying. Had he possessed any other weapon and made a vertical or horizontal slash with all of his strength, he doubted that she would be able to stop it nearly as effectively as the straight-on thrust. The thought gave him the brief idea of a group-wide training regimen. He would work to add a little muscle to the bones of his sparkle-loving compartiots, while they could perhaps teach him more about sparkles in turn. Yes, that seemed like a fine idea.

Fine as the idea was, it lasted only a brief moment before Tiam realized that Pretty wasn't quite done yet. The beauty of the staff was that it was such a versitile weapon, it had two ends to strike with instead of just one, and was much faster on the recovery than just about any other weapon out there.

Proving that she knew at least mildly what she was about, the scrawny elf quickly brought up a waxy staff end and swung it horizontally at Tiam's head. A good defensive strike that would no doubt cause many opponents to back away despite a lack of momentum. Backing off was a better option than getting brained, and would likely force an enemy to rethink his strategy. Tiam almost did the same, though mostly from the fear that she might somehow be able to channel a spell through her weapon - that would be a very painful indeed. Well, there was only one way to find out.

Tiam's left hand, holding his javelin near the pointed metal tip, shot up into the path of the swing. With the javelin braced against his arm as it was, he was saved from the brunt of the impact as the shaft dissipated the blow across the entirety of his forearm. While the elf was quite weak, her strike still elicited a grunt of pain as the wound in his arm -forgotten soon after it happened- took some of the impact. It was like stubbing a toe that had just been injured hours before - you forgot about the previous injury until the new one only served to aggrivate it. That was the case here, but the pain was nowhere near enough to make Tiam back off, because now he had her trapped. Her back was to the wall, he was in front of her, and now his spear was barring her passage to her left, leaving only the right as an option for escape.

Tiam took a step toward Pretty and the blocking javelin shot forward, turning the tip horizontal as it did so. The strike was awkward and lacked power due to the javelin's previous orientation, but that was probably preferable. The attack itself was aimed at a non-lethal location: the meaty portion of the elf's chest just below her collar bone and next to the shoulder joint. The slender point of the weapon would have little issue passing between her ribs if it struck. Once again, he would pull the attack as best he could if she failed to block it (which was likely) to help prevent real damage. Pretty's choice to use the lethal ends of his weapons was making this more difficult than it had any right to. Did she not expect him to be able to hit her? Of so, then she was a damned fool, and was likely to be learning that very shortly.

With the grace of a man who was confidant in his ability and the intelligence to not let an opportunity be wasted because of something foolish like being too cautious, Tiam calmly prevented the quarterstaff from making him see stars, choosing instead to irritate the small wound on his left. Since she twisted to her left to add a little extra strength to the swing, her right shoulder was a little closer to the man than would have been favourable, given his next attack. Like a dagger, his grip on his javelin lacked reach, but reach wasn't required at this point. As soon as the elf saw the elf rattled his forearm rather than his head, she began to twist back, knowing that the bandit wasn't about to just stand around waiting to see what sort of spells she could conjure in close quarters.

She didn't get too far before the tip of the javelin laughed its way through her robe, and chewing its way through the flesh underneath. With her slight twist away, the tip ended up hitting closer to her neck than intended, scraping against her collar bone and sliding downward off of it, which left a deep scratch about an inch in length before Tiam pulled back, not wanting to hurt the woman too much. It was obvious, she thought, that the man was doing little more than babysitting her.

"The hell is wrong with you? If I wanted you to take it easy on me, I wouldn't have asked you to flip your weapons around! If we came down here just for you to waste my time, I'm done battling you. If, on the other hand, you feel like being a man, stop pulling punches and help me get better at this!"

He was certainly able to land blows, at this point, and since she couldn't properly flee except if she wanted to corner herself further, she prepared for more wounds by channelling her defensive cloak for the second time. She wanted her opponent to start taking things seriously, but it didn't mean she actually wanted to get torn apart. Having leather-strength cloth was a really handy thing, and would have significantly reduced the damage she took from the awkward stab she just took. Since she wasn't about to get out of the way of more stabs in the immediate future, her situation definitely warranted using the last use of Ghost Armor.

Not waiting for a reply to her latest statement, the elf decided to keep pressing the advantage of such a fluid weapon. Though her right end was blocked near Tiam's head, or easily could be with the quickly retracted javelin, her left end was still between his spear and his right side. As she pulled back her right hand, she struck out with the lower half of her staff, expecting to hit Tiam's right leg at the knee with much more force than the swing at his head allowed. His mobility was such an important factor for his success, and a solid strike to worsen his benefit would be amazing. Since her arms were able to keep closer to her torso, she was much more able to put her entire body into the strike, and weak though she was, it might be worth more than a wince if it hit. She certainly hoped so; tensing up her fresh wound caused her to wince and clench her teeth, and hurting yourself more than hurting the foe wasn't very cool.

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Ghost Armor, none remaining, charging.

Tiam's attack landed as he had expected. There was next to nothing that Pretty could have done to avoid the attack barring crumpling at the knees and falling to the floor. That may have set her up for a prime punch to the pirate's groin, but that also would have put her head at a perfect level for kicking; really, she had no options.

Tiam knew that though and had anticipated the hit, managing to pull the strike only a moment after it hit, leaving Pretty with only a minor wound that would have little overall effect on her aside from limiting the motion in her right arm slightly, and maybe make her robe sticky and clingy - a definite plus. As Tiam pulled the red-slicked javelin back a look of displeasure crossed her face and she tore into him for pulling his punches. Was Pretty crazy? Tiam could only assume so - she bled just like everybody else, meaning that she could likely die like everyone else too. This was a sparring match, not life or death combat - even the most hardened warriors did not practice with lethal arms.

Tiam may have called her crazy and told her to shove her staff up her ass, that if she didn't want to do things his way she could just forget about the whole exercise. He probably would eventually, but right at the moment, Pretty was intent on pressing her defence and trying to get Tiam out of her face. She swung the left end of her staff low, avoiding the blocking power of the elevated spear altogether, and aimed a blow for Tiam's right knee. That may have proved to be a much more painful blow that the most recent one due to the additional motion, but Tiam had already begun stepping forward.

Because of the step, the staff painfully rapped Tiam's knee more across its side than the back, the opposite end smacking solidly into a cold candle laying on the shelf behind her at the same time. Tiam would have rathered the other staff end get caught on the wall before the attack hit, or perhaps under the shelf afterword so that she would not be primed for another - much more powerful - strike at his head. That was not in the cards however, and now pretty could easily make that strike.

That was, if she was able to make another strike. The motions resembled those that Tiam had used in several brawls before, but were sloppier due to a lack of empty hands. Tiam's left arm shot over Pretty's shoulder in an attempt to grab on to onto her shoulder and pull her forward at the same time that the now-damaged leg rose to deliver a powerful knee to Pretty's abdomen. Tiam resolved that he would pull this attack too, but do his best to make it less obvious than the last one, perhaps powerful enough to make her fall to her knees, but not enough to complete knock her out. Yes, that sounded like a fair balance of both desires, now to just time it right...

Well, there it was. Her desire to conserve her spell-casting to last the course of the expected match was, once again, torn apart by opportunity. Against a spear user with both javelins and voice-based magic to keep her out of arms reach, she expected her Vibration spell to be less useful than normal over the course of the battle. The idea was certainly solidified by the first time she cast that spell - though it did end up quite helpful, it was far from what the spell's capabilities allowed, especially after putting so much force into the delivery. But here Tiam was, violating the advantages his reach gave him, being aggressive and expecting that his superior strength will let him play the Martial Artist.

It was a good thing, though. They were both here to learn, and if time allowed it, she'd mention how it was probably wisest to combat a sparkle user a range where your weapon has the greatest advantage, no closer, no further. Martial prowess was classically lax in such individuals (who practices swinging a piece of steel when they can practice exploding things instead?), so it'd make sense to take advantage of the benefits of your weapons against them. Moving away from that sweet-spot, though, was denying yourself your advantage over them, for as far as the elf knew, magic was typically decent at any range.

She saw where her staff hit from a quick glance made to ensure accuracy, and saw that, yet again, the staff failed to act as a deterrent from staying so close. The man seemed intent on using little energy to deal with her attacks. Frustrating. To make things worse, he hardly seemed bothered by the rap to his right leg, and since he was coming even closer than he was before, she was running out of room to swipe at him with her staff. Fair enough; though it wouldn't be as awesome as she wanted it to be, she began casting her second use of Vibration. Maybe then the bandit wouldn't stand so close after taking a solid blow.

Vibration {1/0/4}

He reached over her, thankfully still armed, as it gave the elf just enough time to understand what he was up to before it happened, and react accordingly. She freed up her left hand so as to have a way to deliver her punch-force spell, a quickly cast variant that would still be noticeable thanks to her being able to back her spells with extra force. She tightened up her mid-section and braced for impact, a solid knee that was thankfully dulled due to the ethereal armor that now enveloped her robe. Mind you, it was still painful enough that it wasn't to be ignored, but it didn't jostle her enough to shake off her attack, and probably wasn't quite the effect the man was expecting. Both her arms swung in to hug the leg as it connected, though her right was notably slower due to the weight and size of her staff. While air left her lungs, her left hand, and its nails, tried to dig into the back of the man's damaged knee, trying to ensure the released energy that would feel like a solid punch reached damaged the wounded knee even further. Blood, her blood, then decided it wanted to follow her air, and jumped from her leathery-robe onto the man's attacking knee. The elf wished it was his blood, rather than hers, but oh well.

In her attempt to recover precious oxygen, she wondered at the possibility of her opponent pushing her back and into the candles. Surely, one who pulled their attacks, even after being told not to, wouldn't be so cruel, but there was always the chance. That'd be quite the candle-date, if it happened. She let go of the leg, hoping that this would finally persuade the man to get out of her personal zone, something that wouldn't happen while she was hugging him. It was also probably easier to breath without a knee pressing against your lungs... testing of this hypothesis was to begin immediately, if possible.

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Vibration, 0 remaining
Ghost Armor, 1st active post, 4 posts remaining.

His knee connected and she doubled over. He pulled the strike despite her request not to - she would probably be happy for that later. He had several options available to him now that Pretty was comprimised. He could throw her into the candles (not a good move for a sparing match) stab her in the back with his javelin (also not a good move for such a match) or just back off and let her recoup so they could continue. That seemed like the best course of action and was indeed how most every sparing match would go. This one would not follow such a pattern, but Tiam didn't know that quite yet.

He was just beginning the motions of putting his knee down, letting go of her shoulder, and backing away when Pretty insinuated her hand behind his freshly bruised knee. Pain bloomed through the joint shortly afterwords, causing Tiam to grunt, swear, then call Pretty a bitch for the second time. How she had managed to cast a spell after having the wind effectively blasted out of her, he did not know. Tiam always thought that magic required a fair bit of concentration to work properly - he would need to ask about that after - and so would be disabled after the blow.

That was for future thought though. At that moment Tiam was too pissed off to care. Pretty should have just stopped, because she was royally screwed now. Unable to plant his leg to regain his shifting balance, Tiam was going to fall, but he would use that to his advantage. He released the javelin in his left hand and grabbed a fist-full of robe which felt strangely stiff for cloth. He dropped his spear from his right and grabbed a similar fistfull of her hair and then pushed off with his left leg as best he could.

Pretty's vulnerable and unbalanced posture would nearly guarantee the success of the maneuver, and the added force would make her head's connection with the stone ground quite solid and punishing. The move would land Tiam on his knees with a pained wince, his damaged knee shrieking in pain. Luckily the blow from the spell had been weak enough not to pop the knee out, but it would still leave a nasty bruise and lead to a limp for a while.

Fortunately for him, it was quite likely that he would incapacitate Pretty with this. If not, well, maybe he would just bash her brain-case against the floor again to smarten her up.

With a combination of pulled strikes and a subtle defensive spell, the Vibration spell went off without a hitch. So long as one only focused on the casting success, that is, and not what immediately followed.

The bandit's anger soared. She imagined it was due to be a lack of anticipation, which led to surprising pain, as if the man simply expected for her to stand around while he took shots at her. It was amusing, really, and she desperately wanted to tease him for his misguided assumptions. Even if they were likely sensible, one should always take circumstance into consideration. Unfortunately for the elf, she was far away from being in a place were she could make jokes at Tiam's expense, or explain what had just happened. The angry and wounded weren't known for their kindness.

The man quickly put his comparably large frame and new-found adrenaline to work, forgoing the use of his manufactured weapons to punish the elf for actions. Things happened fast enough for her to not really comprehend what was going on, partly due to her lack of sight of anything save legs. Once she felt the grabbing of her robes, she tried to shift backwards, risking the chance of catching the candles for the panicked hope to get away from him, but to no avail. Just as quickly, he had a hold of her hair, which put an end to whatever small hope she had that the wall behind her may have been farther away than she remembered it being and she would be at least able to flop onto her rear.

Instead, all she managed to do was make sure it was the side of her head, rather than her face, that met the cold floor beneath.

She lay motionless for a time after that, her panic subsiding when she realised there was little left to do aside from watching her peripherals debate between sticking around and leaving. Whatever damage she caused since she backed herself against a wall certainly didn't outdo what she ended up taking. It was obvious, then, that being close wasn't in her best interest unless she could then quickly retreat, regardless of what type of weapon her opponent favoured. Not that she was really pondering such things, given her condition, but it was certainly an observation to be made.

Tiam's attack would have been rude to another human, but with her frail bones, there was certainly more damage caused than rattling her think-pan about. Were this a fight to the death, Tiam would be in position to win the day in a very short manner at this point. Getting up immediately after the attack was physically beyond the wizard, and the concept of proper self-defense was little more than a joke.

She waited a little longer, collecting her thoughts and breath, then spoke up in what wouldn't ever be described as a confident, strong tone, but she wanted to focus. Talking seemed like the thing to do at the time, since she wasn't about to lift her head to find out the extent of the damage. At least not yet.

"Better... thank you. But such ugly anger... you are a terrible sparring partner. Remind me to decline... next time you suggest this."

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Ghost Armor, 3 posts remaining.

Pretty's head hit the floor with a crack that echoed through the room. Tiam felt a mild twinge of regret, but there was nothing to be done about it; she didn't want to stop, and wanted the fight to be as real as possible, so he granted her wish. Now, hopefully, she had learned the error of her ways with bone against stone. If she didn't, well, he tightened his grip on her hair.

They sat like that for a time, Tiam shifting only to take the pressure off of his badly damaged knee - he would definitely be limping after this was over. Still, he was leaps and bounds ahead of Pretty in terms of general well being. She just had to keep going, didn't she? Well, hopefully she learned a few vital lessons like not backing herself into a corner and giving up when she was beaten in a sparing match.

He thought over the battle while they sat there, Pretty groaning and Tiam watching her closely, and wondered just how she had managed to break that other opponent's ribs. He clearly hadn't understood the concept of getting in the face of sparkle users and making them pay for all those years spent with tomes instead of swords. If Pretty was any sort of analog, getting in their faces worked far too well - just press them and they would fold. Braytz had taught his crew that once and the lesson had stuck fast.

Pretty finally collected herself enough to speak though her tone was shaky, marking the full effects of the blow. She was complaining. Leave a woman to complain after things turned out exactly how she asked for them to happen. There was a reason that Tiam didn't spend more than a few nights with the same one.

"You can't complain. You wanted a real, dangerous fight, so you got one. And then, when you were clearly beaten, you didn't give up as would have been normal, so you ended up like this." Tiam released her hair, figuring that he would have no more need to bash her head again. "As for my anger, I was more pissed off that you decided to keep busting my leg up instead of just giving up. This is a practice fight, not the real thing. Tiam crossed his left leg before him and slid closer to Pretty. He was starting to feel bad now that his anger subsided and he saw a bit of blood seeping from under her head.

He offered her the option of resting her head on his undamaged leg until she was ready to get up. He didn't mind the blood getting on his pants - just one stain that would surely be joined by more. "So, it's up to you what happens next. We can take a break and then start over, or we can just call it a day once you're ready to walk and we can head back to the Seahorse for a drink. Tiam smirked, "Either way, I promise not to be so rough on our next date"

Things were pretty much about as well off as they could be, in the sense that things could have become much worse had Tiam remained angry any longer than he had. One chance encounter with the cobbled floor that housed the dead allowed her to remain only damaged enough where a complete recovery would be expected. That was ideal; she doubted the man would accept 'magic' as an excuse for any weird amounts of recovery. Like death. Explaining that one almost always requires more than a single word to wave away, if the topic ever has the chance to be swept under a rug at all.

Feeling what the elf would later guess to be sympathy, or perhaps regret, her relatively new friend offered his leg to be a temporary pillow. It took her a couple moments to understand the gesture for what it was, as her mind was still working through his speech, words which certainly didn't mention resting on something that wasn't rock. A further moment was taken after she understood the offer to decided if the move was desired. The floor, coarse as it was, was probably more chilly than a person, and cold felt pretty good right now. She did make the transition, though. Cold wasn't enough to get rid of that grating pain that came from small movements like breathing.

She rested for a bit before replying, letting her focus creep back into the front of her thoughts. So much more pleasant than haze, even if the pain was sharper, too.
"Wasn't complaining, just kidding around. Need to lighten up a bit. Acting like you've never caused anyone a headache before. Hah. Should be used to that by now, Tiam."

"Yeah, I think I'm done for today. I'd rather not feel worse than I do right now, and I'd just about kill for some drinks."

So long as it wasn't the plan to leave immediately, she thought. She was probably able to tie something to her head and leave at this point, but she now had the opportunity to chat with Tiam without others around and without drinking involved. It was a good opportunity to get to know more about the guy, so she made herself as comfortable as she could. Were it not for the blood involved, it'd almost look like a half-attempt at cuddling, and the elf knew this. Such can be the heavy cost of attaining comfort.

"Tiam, do you ever think of the future? Not just yours, but as a whole. Where do you see people going?"

Seems like Yoz is taking a break/leaving DI. I don't see a reason to keep this battle 'rolling' any longer.

I'm timing him out.

Rewards:

MSS - medium skill/special/spell and 3 gold

Yoz - weak skill/special/spell and 2 gold