Fort Weyr — Guard Area — Training Field
Separated from the guard area by a pocket of caldera, this field is enclosed and devoted to those being trained in emergency response. A noteboard is tacked on the rockwall nearest the entrance into the grounds, where scenarios can be posted up, conditions to be fulfilled and the environmental conditions to be played through described there. Props scatter the wide open area, allowing for the training scenarios to be constructed and staged for greater realism and there is enough space for several dragons to land and take off with ease, allowing for ariel training alongside ground manoevers.


Morning has come and gone, with his particular day feeling more like summer than spring in Fort. The sun shines strongly and with no wind to stir a breeze, it feels far more hot than a proper mid-spring day should. But it makes for the /perfect/ time to be outdoors and much of the weyrfolk do not waste the chance. And on a day like this, the Weyrleader is thankful that no meetings or pressing duties keep him holed up indoors. In fact, his only "scheduled meeting" has the bronzerider out in the Guard training area this day, dressed comfortably in sturdy clothing and half-armor. Sparring attire. And he's armed with his sparring sword too, of course. Th'ero is not alone either, as two others stand on either side of him and both he seems to be in deep discussion with. One is an older man, well in his prime and just from his bearings he is obviously a man of some rank among the Guards — and it is none other than the Captain himself. The other is a woman, well into pregnancy and there is no doubt who she may be. Breshir is speaking to both in a low tone, having already sent word to Yurolt for him to report to the training area. "… and I'll remind you too, Th'ero. Both of you. He's been doing nothing but training since this challenge of yours was made. Like a man possessed — best way to describe it. Fueled no doubt by… Well, you know of what I speak." Indeed, the Weyrleader does nod. He knows of the young Guard's mother's death. Knows and understands. There are a few more words murmured, likely reassurances, along with a few more details.

Kimmila is that pregnant woman - who else would it be? She stands with a clipboard in her hands, tapping her stylus against the scoring sheet. She nods, a crease furrowing her brows, but then she quirks a smile. "Don't hurt him," she teases her Weyrmate with a knowing look, reaching out to rest a hand against his arm.

With due haste and righteous vigor Yurolt quick marches towards the gathered people. As proper as he can he approaches from the Captain's right side and stops ten paces in front of Breshir and Th'ero. He stands at rigid attention and gives his 'famous' crisp salute. Though the lad is dressed in proper guard attire he carries his sparring gear in a pack strapped to his back. His duty sword hangs from his belt…Perhaps hanging a bit lower than the previous meeting with the Weyrleader. A second sword is seen tucked into the pack holding his gear. He will not drop his salute under it is returned but says, "Recruit Yurolt, reporting as ordered, Ma'am and Sirs."

"I won't hurt him," Th'ero assures Kimmila with a tone that sounds both amused but a touch incredulous. He's not out to pummel Yurolt to the ground — but he's not about to hold back on the recruit either. Where's the fun in that? He steps a little closer to the bluerider when she rests a hand against his arm, adding in a lower tone. "Just be sure to keep the scoring fair, hmm?" he teases lightly, before Captain Breshir clears his throat and the Weyrleader gives him a subtle nod. Somehow it all seems fun, yet there's a hint of seriousness there too. Yurolt arrives then, which has both Guard Captain and Weyrleader coming to attention, the crisp salute returned as is proper and befitting. Th'ero will only speak once the Captain has and not before, though he does dip his head in a respectful nod now that stricter formalities have been observed.

Kimmila snorts, elbowing Th'ero in the ribs. "I am always fair," she says firmly, though her eyes are amused. When Yurolt approaches, she rolls her eyes a bit at the ma'am, and waves off the salute too. She knows he has to, but doesn't mean she has to respond in kind.
Captain Breshir pops his body into attention and salutes the young guard in return. "Recruit Yurolt, congratulations, today is your lucky day." The smallest smirk crosses the Captain's face as he continues to address the lad. "At ease lad. The Weyrleader will address you now. Hold your tongue and wipe that smile off your face!" With that Breshir marches before Th'ero and salutes saying, "Sir, Recruit Yurolt is at your command." The Captain quick steps back to his spot next to the Weyrleader and falls to parade rest.

Th'ero only grunts for the elbow to his ribs, though he likely hardly shifted from the gesture. The look he gives Kimmila then speaks all. Somehow he doesn't quite look convinced! He knows the bluerider well enough. Not that he does not trust her, but he knows she would not be against a few playful tricks. There is no correction either when Kimmila just waves off the formal salutes, as the Weyrleader's attention has focused now on Yurolt, likely taking note of the younger guards attire and the weapons visible to his sight. Once Captain Breshir has finished and stepped back, Th'ero will step forwards, but not with one final look to Kimmila. Is she ready? "The rules will be simple," he addresses Yurolt, cutting straight to the chase and the heart of the matter. "The winner will be determined by the first one to either be "killed" — determined by a max number of faults — or disarmed. No attempts are to be made that will actually cause serious injury." So no stabbing. "If you do aim to strike, it must be with the flat of the blade. I do hope you've not brought all sharpened swords?" Scratches and nicks happen, but the Weyrleader isn't looking to be slashed and vice versa. "We will go for as many rounds until either a winner is determined or it is a draw. Points will be rewarded for any successful "strikes" as well. No dirty tricks — we're to keep this clean and fair. Understood?" Th'ero will hold Yurolt under his gaze until the Guard gives his answer, but then turns to Breshir and Kimmila as well. All clear?

Kimmila waits out the formalities, nodding as Th'ero speaks and making a few notes on her pad. "Understood," she says with a smile, eyes flicking between both men. "Good luck to you both. I'll be over there," point to bench, "and since I can't get too close, there will be a bit of the honor system in use as well. Please let me know if I miss something." With a nod to them both, off she waddles to sit carefully on the bench, adjusting herself until she's settled and ready for them to begin. A recruit even brings her a pillow for her lower back. How sweet!

Yurolt gives an honest, "Understood, sir!" Yet the smile Captain Breshir warned him about still lingers on his face. He about faces and moves to the benches to change into his sparring equipment. With pure military neatness he removes first the pack, then his belt and guard jacket. These he folds and stack next to the pack, though his duty sword remains attached to the belt and makes a rather louder clank than it should against the belt. With his jacket removed, the weights tied around his wrists are now visible, though he removes these as well. Finally he pulls off his undershirt, standing only in his trousers and straps an arm guard over his left shoulder. He attaches the second sword, apparently the one chosen for the match, onto the shoulder clasp of the arm guard. Now the sword hilt points out from behind his head, clearly for an overhead draw when the match begins. The young guard glances at Th'ero and says, "Are you to wear that shirt? I'd hate put a hole in it…" Ah, the arogance shows it's ugly face.

Captain Breshir nods his approval of the rules set forth by the Weyrleader and moves to a better vantage point. Apparently he will not be playing referee for the match. He calls out to Th'ero, "Ah! He's been using weights, I'll wager he's quicker than he looks, Weyrleader." This is followed by a commanding and warning glance directed at Yurolt, which the younger guard notices and takes to heart. This promises to be good.

Th'ero's attention drifts to Kimmila for a moment, watching as she turns to take a seat on a nearby bench and settle as comfortably as she can. At least a recruit looks after that, which may or may not explain why he smirks a little. Guilty perhaps that he failed to look after his own weyrmate's comfort? He nods though to her well wishes and even manages a small smile of thanks before turning back to Yurolt. Breshirs warnings are met with another nod and a frown, his gaze now studying the young guard in a completely different light. "I hold no sentimental value to my tunics," Th'ero drawls in response to the display of arrogance, smirking as he adjusts his sword at his side and then the armor he wears. Which is simple to say the least: leather greaves for the arms and one shoulder piece that covers most of his left shoulder and part of his chest. In this warmth, it will not be comfortable but the Weyrleader does not seem concerned. "Shall we? Or do you wish to squander the afternoon with jabs and barbs?" Th'ero snorts then in vague amusement before taking a few short strides to bring him more or less into the open field. His posture has begun to shift, tense and ready and his focus is solely on Yurolt. Watchful, cautious. Let it begin!

Kimmila settles, is comfortable, and watches. When Yurolt strips off his tunic she bites back a laugh and looks down. Oh, this boy. Looking up again, she grins encouragingly at Th'ero. Teach this kid a bit of humbleness! As much as she likes Yurolt, she's looking forward to the assumption that Th'ero will win. Looking around, she catches the other recruit's eye and hisses, "Three marks on Th'ero." Startled, the recruit glances around and then nods. Bet placed!

Giving an honest to Shards guffaw, Yurolt nods to Th'ero's retort. In the sparring ring rank holds no meaning, it is only two men, and the better will win. Yurolt has already been preparing the joke he'll make at the weyrleader's expense after he's been Th'ero. He steps onto the field and makes his way only a few paces from Th'ero. He takes no stance, simply standing with his arms shaking loosely, getting the blood flow to increase in his limbs. The guard eyes the dragonman for a brief moment and says, "I've ground down the blade, there should be no sharp edges…" With that a strange sound is heard, metal scraping leather? In less time than it takes to blink an eye Yurolt stands armed. His left arm held extended, the palm of his hand facing Th'ero. His right arm hovers over his head, the sword in hand, much like the sting of a scorpion. Without a word he's closed the distance to Th'ero, though in his haste his footing is less than stable. He swings his blade…

Captain Breshir, snorting at the two men, watches with detached enthusiasm. It's truly a win win for him. Either the weyrleader shows the young guard to be respectful and humble, or the lad wins, showing that the Captain has trained his guard well. "I told you he'd be quick!"

Betting at a friendly spar? For shame! Or… not. Perhaps expected (and maybe encouraged — hey, it's all innocent and fun, right?). Th'ero is oblivious to it though and to Breshir's renewed warning to the young Guard's skill. The Weyrleader is only focused on Yurolt now, eyes watching every move from noticeable to subtle. He shifts as well, one hand pulling back to the hilt of his sword, drawn only when the young man draws his. So that gesture is answered as it should be, though the bronzerider does not settle into any fancy pose. Just the simple defensive one, weapon raised and his side turned to his opponent, knees braced and center lowered. As if expected, he's ready for Yurolts charge, an almost smug like smirk curving his lips. "Predictable." he taunts and immediately swings his sword up to parry and block his attempt. There's a clang and ring of metal, Th'ero grunting a little as he attempts to push Yurolt back enough, likely taking advantage of that weak footing as he uses the weight of his body to his benefit. If he's successful, he will then take his own swing at the young guard, likely going for any unprotected spot.

Kimmila sits up a bit straighter when the spar begins, her stylus poised and ready to mark down the points as they happen. Glancing briefly to Breshir, the bluerider nods. "So is Th'ero," she says, though the Captain already knows this. "And strong and most importantly, he's experienced. I think he'll win easily."

Admittedly the young guard hadn't expected to actually hit the weyrleader so easily. However, his loose footing appears to have been planned as he tucks his leading leg behind Th'ero's off leg. He allows Th'ero's push to roll him onto the ground and he comes up in a defensive stance behind the weyrleader. Clearly the lad intends to make this as hard as possible for his opponent.

Breshir nods knowingly to Kimmila. However, there is still skeptisism in his voice as he says, "I'm not so sure." He has to been supportive of his own guardsmen, doesn't he?

There is nothing but the fight and his opponent now, Th'ero too focused to even register much else. How can one predict what will happen? Just as Yurolt may not have expected to actually strike the Weyrleader so easily, neither does the bronzerider expect to suddenly have his off leg targeted. Damn, that was sloppy of him! But he recovers, but slow enough that the young Guard can get behind him. Whirling to face him again, Th'ero also drops into a more defensive posture, sword held up and ready, brows furrowed and mouth drawn down and back in a grimace. He does not stay rooted to the spot though and with slow steps begins to start a sort of wary circling around his opponent. Biding his time, it seems, to see if Yurolt will charge again or if it's his turn to. And if so… when best to strike.

Kimmila arches a brow at Breshir, again brief as she keeps tally of the points. "You've seen Th'ero fight," she says. Truly fight. Not just spar. It's very clear the bluerider expects Th'ero to be the winner of this contest, as she makes another mark on her clipboard and turns back towards the fight with a small frown. Focus, Th'ero.

Rather suprised his manuever actually caught the weyrleader of guard, Yurolt loses his momentum. The suprise shows on his face for a brief second, but long enough for Th'ero to notice. As the weyrleader back pedals Yurolt again presses the attack. Though his blade is moving almost a if it's gone *between* he's form is sloppy in his haste. As hiss of the word "Shards" is heard as he throws multiple strikes at Th'ero's torso.

Breshir grunts sorely towards Kimmila. "Of course I've seen the man fight. This is different. He'd better not pull any of that here, I need my guardsman in one piece." He gives Th'ero the full benifit of the doubt but hopes that the reduced pace of the sparring ground will give his man an advantage…Or not. Again, the Captain wins either way.

Brief is all the Weyrleader needs. Th'ero catches it and exploits it, sensing a weakness there and swiftly followed by Yurolts heated attack. Too soon. Does the young Guard not know patience? Bracing for an attack he can see coming, likely even before the sloppy movements and form come into play, Th'ero only smirks as he lifts his sword up to block and ward off Yurolt's attempts. Those strikes won't meet their mark and with each miss it seems to only feed the bronzerider's confidence. And maybe a bit of ego! So Yurolt wants a fast paced spar? Th'ero can oblidge. Pushing the young guard back again with a good shove of his sword next they meet, the Weyrleader voices a rather low yell and presses forwards. His form is controlled though, practiced and honed and he swings the sword in an ever increasing pace and never quite the same way twice. Now they're edging into the dangerous territory of sparring. Here is where the nicks and bruises may happen.

Kimmila snorts, smirking a bit as she leans forward eagerly - as much as her rounded belly will allow. "You don't think Yurolt needs a butt kicking? His ego is starting to promise things his body can't provide." When Th'ero steps into the attack, Kimmila grins, and there is a definite expression of pride on her face. That's her weyrmate.

Yurolt falls back from the unexpected shove Th'ero uses on him. He does a tight roll and crunches his body down into a low crouch, sword help high with his left hand supporting the blade tip for added defense. Sweat now drips down the young man's body, both a blessing and a curse. The guard now seems to reconsider his fast paced approach. Perhaps he'll let the weyrleader move this time.

Breshir smiles to himself, he won't let Kimmila know that she's right about the boy. Instead he merely grunts in her direction and squats down onto a bench, tired of standing.

Th'ero will make his move and it will come fast and without much pause, not about to allow Yurolt a moment to rest. Sweat has begun to bead the bronzerider's forehead now and perhaps deep down he is regretting wearing the tunic now. But that is a far and distant thought. All the Weyrleader has on his mind now are basic instincts. Swing, attack, swing, defend. Block, brace, dash, duck, turn. Around and around they'll go. If he makes any strikes, they'll be glancing blows, quick and "non fatal". Likewise, Th'ero may take on a few of his own — Yurolt won't be entirely unlucky and the Weyrleader is not invincible. In fact, his weakness lies in the fact that his stamina is much like his bronze: good for the short run, not for the longer durations. It, along with his emotions, are what lost him his battle with Laris… not that that is known. Kimmila has good reason to have pride in her weyrmate, but she should be able to see the fault. Pushing Yurolt back again, Th'ero will ease back on the relentless pace and put a few steps between them, dropping down to circle in a defensive and cautious posture. "Is that it then?" he taunts with a crooked smirk.

Kimmila notices his faults, but she isn't going to point them out to him. Not while she's watching, at any rate. She makes careful notation of the strikes, adding up points and being very fair about it all. Green eyes flick between the two men, back and forth as blows are traded and blocked, her stylus moving quickly from one column to the next.

The weyrleader's taunt bruises the young guard's ego. His eyes positively glow with rage, though his body remains controlled in that brief pause. Suddenly he smirks back at Th'ero, "Why? Are you getting tired old man?" Just as suddenly he's back on the attack. This time around he swings his sword in low knowing that weyrleader will easily block it. It's nothing more than a probing attack, testing Th'ero's defenses again. However, once the weyrleader makes his expected block, Yurolt uses his arm guard to knock Th'ero's blade aside and smacks him smartly on the rear end with his own blade. Perhaps a bit underhanded, also rather cheeky…Mostly in bad taste, especially since this mocking attack now leaves the lad open to a counter attack.

Captain Breshir frowns and shouts out at Yurolt for his disrespectful attack. Technically it counts as a strike, but the Captain will definetly have choice words with young guard after this match is over.

That could have been the point of the taunt: a low shot at the other's ego! And Yurolt falls for the bait, which does not entirely surprise Th'ero. The retort is met with a sharp snort, the words rolling by with no challenge. Really? Instead he only taunts with the barest of grins and as the young Guard attacks again, he falls for that trap all too easily. Glimpsing the arm guard a second too late, he grunts when it knocks his blade aside. The blade to the rear though? Gets quite the colorful curse that'd make a Seacrafter blush. Underhanded and unexpected, but Th'ero is /not/ pleased…both for Yurolt's choice or the fact that he actually allowed it to happen. Who's ego is bruised now? The bronzerider's counter attack will be swift and rather harsh, blade striking for that open and undefended spot. Even if blocked, Th'ero will use a foot to snag, or an elbow to nudge or some form of close combat to throw Yurolt off balance. Maybe not enough to topple the Guard to the ground, but neither is the Weyrleader being "gentle".

Kimmila shouts something rather unladylike at Yurolt's choice, her cheeks flushed with anger on the bronzerider's behalf. Glancing sharply at Breshir, she's somewhat mollified to discover the Captain shares in her assessment. With a muttered curse, she stabs that point into Yurolt's column.

The guard pays sorely for his previous attack. So pleased is he with the mocking of his opponent, that he completely fails to block Th'ero's attack with his sword. He only manages to bring his arm guard to bear in time to take the full power of Th'ero's anger. Such force is behind that blow that Yurolt falls hard to the ground. He lies in the dirt for a few seconds longer than he should, clearly cursing himself and trying to recover. He draws himself up and glares at Th'ero…But what was he expecting, it was his own brashness that got him hit. Shaking himself off he rises his guard again…However his cocky smile has completely faded from his face.

The Captain bolts to his feet as if he intends to rush onto the field. He is clearly worried that his guardsman has been hurt gravely. Only when Yurolt stands and raises his blade again does Breshir settle back down. A smile crosses the Captain's face as he notices the shift in Yurolt's attitude, calling out, "That one got him!" He laughes and winks at Kimmila. Th'ero clearly has the upper hand now.

In those lingering seconds, Th'ero could have easily brought his sword down to point the tip at Yurolt's throat and end the spar right there at a "kill". But the Weyrleader holds his blade and keeps his distance, crouched in a defensive posture once more. Another chance to prove himself, it seems and this time without the attitude. He will watch the young Guard pick himself up with a narrowed and darkened gaze. Learned his lesson, has he? Not that he will give the poor young man long enough to think on it, as the moment Yurolt is steady again, Th'ero charges in and this time there is no anger behind his movements. But there is certainly an edge to "end" it. With the weather warmer than it is, even the Weyrleader is tiring. One last round should do, now that the taunting and posturing and display of ego and cockiness is done. Now it should just be a plain and simple spar of skills and wits and in that Th'ero is relentless as before. He moves swiftly, swings hard and hits hard. Not enough to hurt or effectively "win", but just enough to chip away at Yurolt, bit by bit. Likewise, the Weyrleader won't escape unscathed. He's prone to leaving a few chances to strike or a few brief weaknesses to exploit for a slight upper hand.

Kimmila is on the edge of the bench now, watching intently as she marks the hits. Smiling a bit when Yurolt's smirk is wiped from his face, she nods a little. Pleased, clearly, at how things are progressing.

Yurolt does not get the ammount of rest he needs after that last hit, but he's young enough he can manage. His rage builds at the blows Th'ero sends his way, as he blocks over and over, each time a bit slower than the last time. He's failing quickly and he knows it. With a last resort of his strength, he counters Th'ero's next attack and brings a heavy blow down on the weyrleader. Though it's apparent Th'ero will block this attack, Yurolt continues to strike, again and again and again. The lad is comparable to Th'ero in strength but he has rage from Th'ero's attacks and the anger he's stored from the lose of his mother. He brings one final strike down on Th'ero knocking the man back a few steps. Did his blade hit flesh?

Th'ero can sense that rage as he's often a victim of it himself. It's an old and familiar "friend", that's for certain. But he has had Turns to control it and control it he does even now, simply pushing and pressing Yurolt further and further. Dangerous tactic, but how else will a Guard learn? The heavy blow has the Weyrleader grunting, the shock of it traveling up his arms and causing him to falter slightly. That smarted. Eyeing Yurolt warily now, he's beginning to sense and perhaps second guess having pushed the young man so hard. There is a line the bronzerider did not want crossed… But Yurolt strikes again and Th'ero has to block and strike back and his strength begins to wane a little under the continued assault. The second blow does knock Th'ero back and a hissed and spit curse is hint enough. Blade did hit flesh — a rush block placed his arm within reach of Yurolt's blade when he went to push the Guard's sword away with too much force. No matter, it's just a minor scratch and what will perhaps be a bit of an ugly bruise later. It's enough to annoy Th'ero though and spur him into one last round with Yurolt and likely seeking a bit of payback.

Kimmila shifts on the bench, glancing at Breshir briefly. Is it time to call it? Or do they let things go until the men are finished? She can sense - even from here - that there is more to this match than a simple spar, at least for Yurolt. Squinting, she tries to see better from her spot on the sidelines, squirming a little in agitation. Especially when that strike hits Th'ero's arm. It is /hard/ for her to sit on the edge and simply watch.

Slightly ashamed that he drew the weyrleader's blood, Yurolt does not stop or let up. He continues to throw blows at the weryleader and block blows sent his way. It would appear that as their stamina drops the men become more and more equal in skill. Perhaps not. However, the young guard does manage another arm guard block as both men are moving slower than before, sweat flying with every movement. As he pushes Th'ero's sword arm out of the way he swings his own blade at the weyrleader's neck. His sword stops inches away. He sighs and smiles, confident he's won.

Breshir again bolts upright and cheers. He can't believe his own eyes, his guardsman bested the weyrleader? Only…Something's not right. He snorts and burst out in laughter at the scene before. "Well fought…Well fought!"

Does no one find it odd that a young guard recruit and the Weyrleader seem so well matched? Either the claims to Th'ero's skills are a little blown out of proportion or the bronzerider is holding back. To the very end, he will match Yurolt's attacks and blocks, returning as many as he can and seeking to do as much "damage" as possible before the final call. Another arm guard block is nothing, but Th'ero grunts again as his sword arm is pushed, having to counterbalance and twist awkwardly. By then though it's too late — or almost too late. Pulling up sharply as Yurolt's blade stops short of his throat, the Weyrleader inhales slow and deep, dark eyes lowering to it and then calmly meeting those of the young Guard. Confident, is he? Because Th'ero is smiling too and it's usually dangerous when the bronzerider smiles so… easily. He will find out why too. Unable to lift his sword up to Yurolt's throat, he does manage to twist the blade around enough to aim it high enough to press firmly against the young man's lower gut. He /could/ have lowered it to a more… private spot or a too risky spot along the leg, but he's not about to stoop so low. Draw?

Kimmila finds it odd! And she's assuming Th'ero is holding back and she's rather irritated at it. However, spar or not, instinct kicks in when Kimmila watches that sword sweep towards Th'ero's neck. She just can't help herself as she pushes herself to her feet with a cry that's quickly cut off, bitten back as she sways and sits down again, heavily, fumbling for the clipboard that fell to the ground. If her cheeks are flushed crimson, perhaps it's just from the change in her blood pressure? Pressing fingers to her temples, the woman dips her head down, shoulders rising and falling with deep breaths.

The lad glares into Th'ero's smile, how can the weyrleader be so coy when he's been beaten? It's at that moment he feels the cold steel pressing into his gut. His eyes flicker quickly to confirm what he feels, it's true, double killing blows. A draw indeed. "Bastard," is mumbled under his breath and he lowers his blade from Th'ero's throat. His posture shows he not only agrees with the draw but has utter and total respect for his opponent now. He straitens up and gives a curt sword salute. It's obvious that as the match just ended, adrenaline is still coursing through his veins, shown by how jerky the salute is. He tries to speak but only a wheeze escapes his mouth. He continues to breath heavily as he stares at the weyrleader.

Breshir beams at Kimmila across the sparring field and points to the scene before them. "Who keeps your money now?" He calls to her.

Kimmila's cry momentarily cuts through the bronzerider's concentration, his head turning just enough to cast an abrupt and sharp look her way. But then she's sitting and picking up her clipboard and while he /knows/ something is not quite right, he cannot rush to her. Th'ero only snorts when Yurolt curses him, his head turning to face him full on again and once the blade is lowered from his throat, he will withdraw his own, as is fair and proper in a draw. The salute is returned, respect given where it is due as the young Guard has proven his worth. "Well fought." the Weyrleader begins to say, but the rest is left unsaid as he gives Yurolt a lingering look. He notes the jerky salute, the attempt to speak. Th'ero is no fool, he knows something is not quite right there either. But he is a man torn between two obligations. So the only solution? "Let us retire from the field, now that the sparring is done. We can talk where Captain Breshir and Kimmila wait." he murmurs, sheathing his sword as a clear sign that done is done. The Weyrleader will then turn briskly on his heel and walk with quick strides to where the bluerider sits. Without pause, he steps to her side and rests a gentle, but firm hand to her shoulder. "Wingmate? You have the scores for Captain Breshir?"

Kimmila snorts, giving Breshir a crooked grin once she's composed herself. "There was no bet for a tie. No marks will change hands." Looking up when Th'ero and Yurolt approach, she leans a bit into Th'ero's hand and nods, passing the clipboard over before she's eying her weyrmate. No doubt looking for serious injuries that might need tending to right away. She also looks at Yurolt, nodding slightly. "Good match," she says quietly.

Though the lad's ego may have taken a beating, and perhaps he won't be such a braggard, the arrogance that is Yurolt still lingers. He does nod and smile to Kimmila saying, "Thank you." He does look at Th'ero with that hero worship twinkle in his eyes. He does not, however, carry himself as if he just nearly got himself killed by the weyrleader. Instead he sheathes his sword and turns to slightly to Th'ero, leaning closely and whispers, "I'm sorry I broke out there, sir. It will not happen again." With that he turns to Captain Breshir and salutes.

The Captain takes the clipboard Kimmila has handed him and quickly checks it over. He absently returns Yurolt's salute as he looks at the final tally. "Not that it matters, seeing as it's an agreed draw…Th'ero holds the points over Yurolt. Well fought men, but you'd be better to learn some patience and restraint." Though he looks at the young guard as he says this, his eyes flicker ever so slightly towards Th'ero. Breshir snaps to attention and salutes the weyrleader. "The match is called, sir. Everyone is dismissed as they see fit."

"What's this about marks?" Th'ero asks, only now aware of the conversation between Kimmila and the Captain. "You bet on us?" he adds, sounding incredulous and yet… mildly amused. He should have known she would. Kimmila will likely only see that one welt on the Weyrleader's arm — nasty looking, but not requiring any first aid. If anything, he looks healthy and whole, his breathing now steadying to slower breaths though his skin is still beaded with sweat and his hair damp with it. He is exhausted too and hot, but masking most of that as well as he can. Neither does he brag or boast or even gloat over any part of the spar, content to leave it at a draw and not nitpick the finer details. Th'ero does, however, look a touch uncomfortable when he notes some of that hero worship type glint to Yurolt's look. "Consider it a lesson learned," he replies in a low and quiet tone. At the Captain's barely subtle remark, the Weyrleader only nods his head, but as the dismissals come, he reaches gently for Kimmila's arm. "It was a worthwhile challenge. But I, for one, need to rest. Again, well fought Yurolt. And my thanks for allowing the use of your training fields, Captain Breshir. If you'll excuse us." There is a knowing look that passes between the Captain and the Weyrleader then, before Breshir salutes and takes his leave. Perhaps there is more to this than meets the eye?

Kimmila shrugs one shoulder dismissively as she accepts Th'ero's help to rise. "I bet on you," she says unapologetically, even with Yurolt standing there. She gives the recruit another nod and smile. "Take care, Yurolt. I'm sure we'll see you again soon." Noticing the glance between Captain and Weyrleader has her brow arching, and no doubt she'll be pressing Th'ero for details later. But right now, she also looks rather tired. "Let's head home, wingmate," she murmurs, "I need to rest." Not that he needs it or anything.

Yurolt watches as the others take there leave. He gives a tired wave to Kimmila. Clearly he's used far more energy than he thought. He sits on the bench and removes his arm guard, now dented deeply. His left arm is darkly bruised and a gush of bloods emerges once the arm guard is removed. He sighs and packs his gear up and stalks back towards the barracks. He will sleep well tonight.


'The World of Pern(tm)' and 'The Dragonriders of Pern(r)' are copyright to Anne McCaffrey (c) l967, 2000. This is a recorded online session, by permission of the author but generated on PernWorld MUSH for the benefit of people unable to attend.