| Shores of Pyke |
| Summary: | Nares' and Morvydd's early morning rituals coincide |
| Date: | 10/March/2012 |
| Related Logs: | Sort of follow on to The Fight to Heal |
| Players: |
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| The beach below the Bloody Keep, Pyke |
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| Sandy beach, there are waves and everything. |
| Tue Mar 06, 289 |
It's early morning on Pyke but that is not to say that people aren't yet busy at the Bloody Keep. Bakers are making the days bread, sentries are changing on the walls and numerous others are already crisscrossing their way across the courtyard. There is tension in the air what with Victarion's return and the preparations underway to defend the place should it come to it. No doubt the older Princes Greyjoy are already about their work planning defenses.
For some though, there are a few minutes free at this hour and one at least can be found down by the rocky shore. Already decked out in his mail and with his sword at his hip, Asvard Nares is listening to the crashing of the waves. It's a sound he's grown up with since birth, a sound that sets every fibre of his body alight with joy. Today though, that's lessened. He stands facing east and a little north, the direction he judges Harlaw to be. He has work to do on Pyke, but in his heart he wishes he could be back home, cutting every single damn foreigner on -his- island into ribbons.
From the moment every Ironborn sputters saltwater from their lungs and draws the first breath of the unliving, their heartbeat becomes synonymous with the roar of the surf. The sea is in their blood, almost as much as battle-lust and vengeful greed. For Rodrik's Witch, all this is true.. and tenfold. Was she really birthed in the ocean itself? A gift from the Drowned God himself to the royalty of Pyke? So they say. So most believe. Including the woman herself, of course.
Such an hour for Morvydd is spent always the same way, regardless of where the squabbles of men over dry land might demand she be taken. Strolling through the shallows, her oddly colored eyes out on the breaking waves a short distance from shore, the silver-haired creature wanders unhurriedly along in the grey morning light, apparently not caring that her skirts trail, sodden, upon the water's surface in her wake. A strange ritual, perhaps. But Morvydd is nothing without ritual and routine. Though she notes the intrusive presence of another figure upon her shore, she ignores it for the most part. He's not bothering anyone, so neither shall she. Pausing, standing barefoot upon a seaweed-slick rock, she stoops to pluck a small pebble, worn smooth by time and tide, and roll it in her palm contemplatively; her gaze only then drifting toward Nares in some recognition, golden eyes studying him through the strands of white hair whipped across her features by the fresh breeze. Who's interrupting who, really?
It is ritual too that first brought Nares down to the shore in the pre-dawn. Just as the salt is the first thing he tasted after birth, whenever possible he ensures it's the first thing he tastes after waking. A priest could probably go to some length about the symbolism of it, but to him it's an affirmation of who and what he is and a confirmation of his utter faith in his God. This morning though, he'd become distracted by thoughts of home, and the battles he's playing no part in. Not so distracted though, that he doesn't hear the progress of someone through the water and turning towards the noise he watches her progress in silence for a few moments. She's recognised, of course but he hasn't seen her much since Prince Rodrik's return from Seagard, just fleeting glances around the keep and wards. For now though he neither says, nor does anything, waiting to see just what the Chosen of God does in the tide at the start of a new day.
Oh, alas, he missed the skinny-dipping portion of the morning activities. But what he doesn't know won't hurt him. Still rolling the small white pebble in her palm, Morvydd calmly redirects her steps to carry her toward the brooding man.. though she never steps free of the lapping waves. Not yet.
True enough, since Rodrik's return - and given the state of him - the young woman has been scarce seen. Everyone knows the Prince is her greatest priority, no matter what.. and restoring him to his former strength is undeniably important to every man, woman and child upon this stony haven. Things turn dour enough with the foul mood of Victarion.. imagine how much worse they might have been had she failed to properly care for the Greyjoy heir? The stress and fatigue of recent weeks does, actually, cast its shadow across Morvydd's pale features even still. Even in tending to Nares, she was diligent and never departed for more than an hour or so. Has she slept at all, lately?
Arriving close enough, by her estimation, the fey woman halts, not directly blocking Nares' line of sight, but rather drawing up to one side, thumbing at the little rock in her hand. After a lengthy, thoughtful pause, she offers him one of those half-smirks before speaking aloud. "..you replace old burdens with new ones, yes?" For while he's healed, and very well by the way, there's now a whole new host of concerns to plague him.
"New?" Nares asks with an almost derisory half-laugh, "Same as before. There are battles and I am not in them." Well, there are armies maneuvering, and barring an unexpected and entirely implausible sudden outbreak of diplomacy, that’s basically the same thing. He's not sure that constitutes a burden, more a deep annoyance, but still, royal orders are royal orders. His hands, clasped on his belt either side of the buckle, flex slightly as he keeps his eye on the witch. In truth, he'd thought little of her over the past few weeks, but now she's in front of him again, talking to him again, he's curious again. Curious and wary. Okay, so he beat her in a fight, but there are the stories… Before his mind gets too sidetracked he asks bruskly, "The Prince's health continues to improve I trust?" He puts thoughts of his own due devotions to one side for a moment, he can always complete them once he's alone once more. Not, mind, that it'd likely hurt to see to them in the presence of one such, but he'd got into the habit of being guarded about it while on the mainland, and he's finding that hard to shake with the keep still being a new and unfamiliar place to him.
"It does." Her answer is even, and quietly voiced, without trace of self-congratulation apparent in the steady amber gaze leveled upon Nares. She never does seem intimidated, despite her build being tiny in comparison. Flexing her bare toes in the coarse sand underfoot, she folds her arms comfortably and simply regards the man for a time.
Uncomfortable silences are not the sort of thing to concern Morvydd. Matter of fact, she actually rather enjoys them. As much as any other method to making men squirm. So it must be genuine interest that has her speak further, rather than any thought of etiquette and smalltalk. Nodding subtly toward his side, she then tilts her head curiously askance. "You are growing strong again." A macabre grin reveals her crimson teeth in a brief flash of amusement. "..perhaps soon we can spar again. And I can have less concern of hurting you." Less. Not none.
Nares doesn't need to glance down to Morvydd's waistline, he spotted the fact that she was armed before she even started to approach. He nods once, curtly, to the new of Rodrik's progress then raises one eyebrow at her appraisal of his own condition. Not that it's a questioning expression he offers towards her nor a surprised one, it's a faintly mocking one. Not quite contempt, but certainly arrogant and self-assured. He watches her expression for a moment before a faint smile touches the edges of his lips. "I'm not sure the Prince would appreciate having his healer return to him in need of attention herself," he retorts almost managing to hide the amusement in his voice. "I don't know how they do it here on Pyke, but on Harlaw we don't fight with anything less than live steel." His left hand moves a few inches and lightly taps the hilt of his word a couple of times, "anytime you feel like it though."
"No, you wouldn't know." Entirely unperturbed by the subtle condescension, Morvydd brushes it aside, not even bothering to watch the man now as her gaze wanders toward the horizon, perhaps seeking out the very same isle he himself had been thinking of. "Pyke? Much the same." Her own lips quirk in momentary amusement, plain enough to see even in profile. Raising a hand, she pushes back her silvery locks as the wind tosses them awry. "But, usually, I only spar with the Prince. Failing that, his kin." Turning her eyes back upon the soldier, she likewise quirks a brow, equally careless in her dismissal of his abilities. "..not commoners."
Nares is evidently quiet amused by that final statement. His expression softens and he actually laughs briefly, arrogance morphing into something more closely resembling smugness. "Your loss," he answers with a casual shrug. He's firmly of the belief himself that sparring against as many people as possible is the way forward and besides there are always those rumours about his own arrival in this world. Still though, with the tension seemingly gone, at least on his part, he figures he may as well get on with things before he's missed in the castle above. Crouching down to avoid kneeling in the wet sand, he cups his hands into the waves and scoops out a small amount of water. A sip is drunk, and the rest that does not manage to escape between his fingers is allowed to fall over the top of his lowered head. That done he moves to stand again, not caring any more what the witch might make of it.
"No doubt." replies the fey creature, with an unconcerned smirk that says she thinks quite the opposite, actually. Absently watching Nares as he crouches and partakes of the seawater, she sweeps her palms across her skirts lightly and tosses her hair - yet again - out of her eyes. "..on the other hand.." Morvydd's tone, it seems, never rises above a murmur, almost difficult to hear against the backdrop of the tide. But her golden eyes fix upon the man levelly as he rises back to a stand. "..I have already faced you once. You wished to practice more?" Reaching back, she deftly unbuckles the slender strap that keep a blackwood spear secured across her back at a diagonal, never shifting her gaze. "Very well. So long as we are unobserved. And with my assurance, should I accidentally kill you, I shall return your body to the holy waters with all due ceremony."
Folding his arms across his chest, Nares makes a great show of glancing around to make sure there is no one else within sight. "You are too kind," he replies, amusement still very clear in his voice, "and you I accidentally kill you… well, what do we commoners know beyond our right to the iron price." The last two words are emphasised slightly, even if he isn't actually fool enough to do such. He's fairly certain the Crown Prince would be less than impressed. "Afraid people might talk?" he asks as he draws his sword from it's scabbard and ensures the saxe behind his back is sitting correctly should it be required, "I'd have thought that Rodrik's own wouldn't be so insecure about a mere commoner. "Or does His Highness prefer to think of you as his and his alone?" He drops his stance a little, lowering his centre of gravity and increasing his mobility. Ready now he watches for her move and of course, any reactions to the barbs thrown.
Does Morvydd ever laugh? If she did, surely it would be now. But no. Just that smirk and a gentle shake of her head as she lightly plants the haft of her spear in the sand by her foot, leaning on it like a staff. "..you misunderstand. I do not usually spar outside of the family. Fight, yes. Not spar. So yes, perhaps I am too kind. But I suppose you have earned a treat, following your recovery." As to the matter of any claim Rodrik might have upon her.. well, the woman makes no remark upon that at all. You don't discuss the desires of a Prince with a 'mere commoner', do you. With a heavy sigh, though, she turns a little to more fully face Nares, gripping her weapon with widely spaced hands as she brings it aloft. He might hurt her, admittedly. But that's all.
Nares comes back out of his more combat orientated stance and stands tall again as Morvydd replies. He fakes a yawn at her explanation and attempts to think of a quick and witty retort about her initial silence compared to her now seemingly talkative manner. He fails, so leads with an inswinging uppercut instead. It's not a precision shot, but then his aim is to simple get within her guard first, then stay in close so she can't use the range of her spear to it's best advantage.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=spears
< Nares: Great Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: Nares wins - Marginal Victory
He prefers her silent? Fine. Settling her mind to the task at hand, Morvydd watches his initial approach. A spear is an unwieldy thing, but it does at least offer a wide reach, when needed. As his blade strikes, the haft is knocked upward. Not that she had been striking at him - all it does is leave her defenses briefly open. Reacting instinctively - and with a faint frown - she simply lets the butt of the spear drop, as it seems inclined.. but makes sure to place it behind the man's heel, shoving forward with the main body in an attempt to unbalance him.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=alertness Vs Morvydd=spears
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: Morvydd wins - Marginal Victory
Maybe it's the earliness of the hour, maybe he's distracted by the Witch's hair blowing in the wind, more likely though, Nares is just a little out of practice when it comes to fighting against a polearm and doesn't quiet have his eye in yet. Whatever the cause, the effect is the same and his ankle does clip the butt of the spear as he steps to avoid the shove. It's not enough to take the foot from under him, but it does stagger him for a slight moment and cause a rueful smile. He doesn't particularly want to give up the ground within Morvydd's guard, but he has to to steady himself again for a moment. Sure on his feet again though and he's back into the attack. His aim is simple, get past the head of the spear and attack. To aid the endeavour he reaches round behind his waist and draws his saxe in his off hand. It's only a short blade, shorter than her short swords, but it should do to help deflect any incoming blows of hers, as well as serving to inflict damage itself if he ends up too close to effectively use his sword.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=spears
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
Morvydd allows herself a slight crimson grin as her opponent is staggered, promptly jerking the spear back toward herself and into its original position; held aloft before her petite frame. Blow for blow, thus far. Of course Nares doesn't want to give up any ground he gains.. but it's just so pleasant to force him into it. Arrogant bastard. Oh, look. Now he has two weapons to her one. Perhaps he's intimidated by its length. Seeing the strike coming, but alas not swift enough to offer riposte, the silver-haired young woman simply settles for a parry, keeping him from maneuvering himself inside her guard quite yet. If ever. Forced to reconsider, having come to a stalemate, the witch twists in order to sling the haft of the spear under his blades and aim a forceful jab at his midsection. With the blunt end. She mustn't be angry yet.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=spears
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Success
< Net Result: Nares wins - Marginal Victory
Nares sweeps his off-hand down and outwards to parry the incoming thrust towards his gut. The blade of the saxe catches the butt of the spear and the blow is diverted past the left side of his torso. With the spear out of the way, for a moment at least, he pushes forwards again, bring his sword arm up to try and position his blade along her throat. Well, it worked last time.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=alertness
< Nares: Great Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: Nares wins - Solid Victory
-Damnit-. With her spear knocked wide, Morvydd finds herself briefly defenseless. Or as close to it as she ever comes. But then, she's still playing fair, even if she's barefoot in the surf. As Nares sweeps his blade toward her throat, she halts abruptly - for a fleeting moment meeting his gaze with eyes that widen a touch in surprise. But this time she won't surrender so easily. The dainty fey throws her weight back from the waist, seeking to stretch her nubile form beneath and under the arc of his solid arm, that she might whirl out of these close quarters and afford herself the chance for a strike back.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=reaction Vs Morvydd=body
< Nares: Failure Morvydd: Success
< Net Result: Morvydd wins - Marginal Victory
Nares almost can't believe how easy this contest has become and allows himself to smile a thoroughly pleased smile as he sees Morvydd stop stock still and her eyes widen. Preparing a suitable celebratory jibe for when he has her chin lifted on his steel he misses that first sign that all is not perhaps as well as it might be. As his opponent shows far more flexibility than he could ever manage he fails to react in time to prevent her drawing backwards. In other circumstances he might appreciate such mobility, for now, it's just irksome. Still though, he might have lost some ground, be he still has the momentum and he continues to push forwards, sword coming round this time to strike for her knee, that might solve any mobility differences.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=spears
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Great Success
< Net Result: Morvydd wins - Solid Victory
Having swooped low, ducking under Nares' arm and seeking to spin away on his offside, the young woman is already whirling her spear to accompany her. How fortunate for her. The flash of the blade toward her leg is just caught on the periphery of her vision and the sturdy length of the weapon in her hand is snapped at an angle to intercept, providing her the true chance to regain some breathing space. Nobody wants to be in the position of having this man's sword-tip at their throat. Morvydd is no exception, though out of pride rather than fear. Narrowing her eyes, she still offers her opponent a smirk as she comes upright facing his shoulder from a pace or two away. A simple forward shove of her heel in the water sends a spray of it splashing over him, up to the hip. But it's just saltwater. It could have been worse and likely he knows it. She's playing with him.
Well, now it really is back to square one but Nares is definitely of the opinion that he's had the best of the opening encounter. He says nothing as she soaks his legs with spray, nor does he move to avoid it, instead he just smiles back. It's really the sort of smile a tolerant parent may offer a tantruming child, to be followed by a gently 'have you finished yet', but needless to say, the last section is not vocalised. With the momentum gone there's a quick moment to breathe again and take stock and then he’s moving forwards again, this time a downwards strike to the shaft of the spear itself, between where Morvydd's top hand rests and the tip. Remove the dangerous bit, then move onto the stick, and of course, the wielder.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=spears
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Great Success
< Net Result: Morvydd wins - Solid Victory
In spite of herself, the young woman grins at Nares expression. This little bout seems to be wavering, in matters of moments, between a genuine test of skill and.. something else entirely. Is this how the daughters of a God flirt? By trying only half-heartedly to kill a man? Charming. The slice toward the head of her spear, though, has Morvydd's focus snapping back. It's not something she'd anticipated, so she relies on mere instinct to avoid Nares' intent, jerking the haft aside just in time. Oh he did not just try to.. apparently attempting to hurt the woman herself is permissible. Seeking to ruin her weapon? Unforgivable. With a rare flash of real annoyance across her expression, she slams the upper length down hard toward her opponent's forearm in reprimand, seeking to perhaps cause spasm enough for his blade to drop. And God help him if she succeeds.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=spears
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Success
< Net Result: Nares wins - Solid Victory
There's a reason Nares takes two blades into a fight against a two handed weapon and right now he needs the experience he's gained over the years. Spotting the downward stroke he crosses the blades and pushes them upwards to meet it. Ideally, the blades would have been a better match in length but they seem to do the job of splitting the force of the blow between them and only allowing a fraction of it to push his arms downwards. The blow stopped he pushes upwards and outwards at the same time to free his weapons and, if he judges it right, force the spear down past one side of his torso again so he can step in for his own blow, this time aimed towards her shoulder. Spears need two arms to wield effectively after all, and if one is numb, then his work becomes that much easier.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=alertness
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: Morvydd wins - Marginal Victory
He's fast. That's perhaps something the woman missed, in her dismissive appraisal of a man she previously considered little more than a brutish thug. She can't help but admire the reflexes. Briefly, of course. He's already moving forward and her spear is, for the time being, not much help; knocked to one side. This time, rather than try to evade the blow so languidly, Morvydd immediately closes the distance, stepping inside the man's reach as his blade scythes toward where, a moment ago, her near-bare shoulder had been. Bastard!
Finding herself a mere breath from him and with only one hand to defend herself, the petite witch draws her arm up and aims her elbow toward the side of his jaw with all her might, and the full, albeit scant, weight of her body behind it. That's going to hurt in the morning, unless he can avoid it…
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=alertness Vs Morvydd=unarmed
< Nares: Great Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: Nares wins - Solid Victory
Nares has to snap his head away somewhat sharpish to avoid the blow but he can scarcely believe his luck as she closes towards him rather than pulling away. Moving quickly to limit what time she may have to reconsider her actions he moves to encircle her torso with his sword arm, since she's helpfully put herself within the space needed to do so. Working on the principal that her leathers would reduce the impact of holding the saxe to her gut he moves his off-hand up and once again makes to force the blade horizontally to her throat. "Any time you want to yield," he almost whispers in her ear, "just say."
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=unarmed
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
Sheer dumb luck on his part - that blow could have dislocated his jaw, had it landed. And now.. with a sharp exhale, Morvydd finds herself securely jerked against her opponent and held tight. Too tight to escape without some serious consideration, anyway. Furious golden eyes regard Nares, her free hand barely snapping upward in time to grasp and restrain his own by the wrist. But she manages it, and continues to study him in defiance as the short blade is held between them.
"So you can get angry," Nares states, sounding more than faintly smug, "good to know." Now if this were an actual fight during an actual raid, or war, Nares would have a choice of many options. He's close enough in for both the old favourites of biting and headbutting and while the former is right out, the latter is a potential if other options fail. What with Morvydd being a she, there's no nadgers to crush with his knee cap although to get a decent shot in he'd need to create a bit of room and doing so might grant her access to the two shortswords, the hilts of which he can feel through his mail. Tripping would far too easily lead to pinning his swordarm beneath so in the end he figures it's just going to come down to a good old fashioned game of brute strength. Still grappling her with his right arm he tries to swing his left, the one holding the saxe, upwards and outwards to utilise both his strength and height advantage to free his wrist and allow the knife to come into play once more.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=unarmed Vs Morvydd=unarmed
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Success
< Net Result: Nares wins - Marginal Victory
Oh, Morvydd can get angry all right. It's simply that most men have the sense to let sleeping dragons lie. Apparently Nares lacks that particular quality, however; his taunt eliciting a flicker of tension along the young woman's jaw as she grits her teeth. She can see him weighing his options, in the splitsecond it takes him to do so. But it's the subtle flexion in his form that she reads, rather than his expression. As soon as his shoulder begins to roll back, awareness sparks in those honey-colored eyes. While reflex demands her fingers to grip tighter at his wrist, for however long she can keep her tenuous hold there, it's pure annoyance rather than fear that provokes a squirm of her petite frame. She's trying to free herself. And failing. His arm's just wrapped too tight about her waist and she lacks the footing, in the sand, to scramble away. Damnit. Now what?
While most of the women he's held this tight and who've squirming this much haven't been Ironborn, this is not a particularly new situation for Nares. He's still trying to free his wrist by out stretching Morvydd's grasp but as he does so he leans in again, so his mouth is next to her ear. "Relax," he mutters, "yield now, and I won't tell Maron that his brother's witch is just as beatable as any other woman, and you can tell him that there's no doubt on my fitness to fight." Win-win see. Not that he's easing up his grip mind, not until he has her surrender confirmed. If he doesn't get it? Well, then he'll just have to resort to methods that might actually leave a scar.
Indecision assails the so-called witch. Freezing momentarily as her opponent leans inward of her, letting her reaching hand draw back as he pulls the blade beyond her outstretched fingertips and holding her breath when he speaks, Morvydd flits a brief glance toward him in sidelong proximity. Yield, did he say? What sort of Ironborn would she be if it were as simple as that? So long as she -can- fight, she will. There's simply no option, and he wanted to play this game.
Tightening her grasp on the shaft of her spear, the silver-haired healer tries to bring the butt of it over Nares' head while he's distracted, in hopes of being able to wield it in both hands once more.. and to have it in timely place to keep that blade from her throat while she seeks to thump the blackwood to the underside of his jaw. It's a long shot, admittedly. But regardless.. she's not yielding. Not yet.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=unarmed Vs Morvydd=spears
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: DRAW
Nares should probably have been able to sense that something was up given the proximity of their bodies, but the blow to the jaw, when it comes catches him by surprise. Fortunately for him, given the current situation, she isn’t able to get enough momentum behind it to stagger him though and so he keeps his grip firm. Well, he's got is answer so while she’s distracted with her spear he brings the knife back in, aiming once more for her throat. It's not the most original of moves it’s true, but as they're still grappled there's not any targets actually available to him. This time though he's aiming to put the sharp edge to her flesh, even draw a little blood if he needs to to get his point across.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=unarmed
< Nares: Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: Morvydd wins - Marginal Victory
What began as a game or a bout of training is wandering perilously close to becoming something else entirely, now. If it comes to blood.. well, cross that bridge when they come to it. The satisfaction of landing that jolting, glancing blow to Nares' jaw does rouse a faint smirk from the young woman. But she's still trapped, and that's beginning to concern her. When it comes to brute strength, she's simply not going to win - she stands only an inch above her opponent's shoulder, at best and is hardly stocky of build. No, strength and brutality are his specialties, not hers. Seeing the flash of that wretched blade coming for her throat again, Morvydd unthinkingly snaps a hand toward his forearm, batting the saxe off course as it soars toward her throat. Speed appears to be her own notable trait, in a tight spot.
Nares looks faintly annoyed as his blow is pushed wide by Morvydd's quick reactions. "Don't say I didn't offer," he mutters as he moves his booted foot to where he can apply pressure to her bare one. "Yield, and I'll leave no scars." After all, people talk about scars, and he’s fairly sure she wouldn't want to have to explain having been beaten by a mere commoner. That said though, he shifts his saxe so the blade is pointing out the bottom of his hand and brings it round in a fist to punch her in the temple which she's distracted by her foot. Quick and dirty, that’s the plan.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=unarmed Vs Morvydd=unarmed
< Nares: Success Morvydd: Failure
< Net Result: Nares wins - Marginal Victory
A reluctant hiss escapes the young woman as Nares presses his weight down on her bare foot. It's not her fault she knocked his blade wide! Options, options.. she's similarly too close to bring a knee upward. She's pinned by a foot, as well as by the circle of his arm still securing her waist. Her spear is rendered fairly useless in such close quarters.. This time, she really doesn't see it coming. The blow to her temple is a solid one, and she dizzily shakes her head, faltering briefly and sagging just a little against the man's chest. Briefly. Casting her weapon down to the sand, Morvydd turns incredulously angry eyes to meet his gaze.. then suddenly lunges forward, going for a right hook to his jaw in retaliation. Which means foregoing any control over that damned blade. But needs must.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=alertness Vs Morvydd=unarmed
< Nares: Success Morvydd: Success
< Net Result: DRAW
Pleased with the landing of his own blow, Nares is not quite distractedly smug enough to miss the change in Morvydd's stance as she makes to attack. Their proximity makes it impossible to get completely out of the way, but he does manage to limit it to another mere glancing hit. Still though, she's cast aside her spear, giving him the advantage of range. It's one he's reluctant to use though, for he knows well enough that if he breaks the grapple then she can bring her shortswords into the fight. His options, giving he still isn’t actually aiming for lasting harm, are limited and he keeps it simple with another strike to the side of her head.
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=unarmed Vs Morvydd=unarmed
< Nares: Good Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: Morvydd wins - Marginal Victory
Alright, this is getting beyond ridiculous. He's that determined not to lose the advantages in keeping her close? Fine. Jerking her head aside as Nares goes for another strike, feeling his heavy knuckle swish past her in the salty morning air, the fey creature elects to try and gain -herself- an advantage. One of height. Despite that arm still being in her way, Morvydd slings her legs up around the mans hips, the better to maintain some semblance of balance when, a splitsecond later, she launches into a flurry of strikes and swipes at him. Clawing, raking, slashing, punching.. everything but slapping. Slapping is altogether too petty. Drawing back her upper lip in a silent snarl, she furiously works to free herself. She'll blind him if she has to. And all the while, she's wriggling like an eel in his grasp. Feisty, for such a little thing.
In all his years of fighting, it's probably safe to say that that's a first for Nares. Maybe that's what comes from not having any siblings. "Fucks sake," he mutters out of shear surprise as pulls his head back sharply. With her new position though it's clearly not enough to actually escape the flurry and he takes quick action to try and turn the situation back to his own advantage. Moving his sword arm back round across the back of her body to her left hip so as not to pin it, he simply launches himself forward, aiming to drop the struggling witch onto the ground betwixt his own torso and the sand. There's no rocks so there should be no lasting damage, but hopefully her impact followed rapidly by his will at least wind her sufficiently to end this.
With an audible 'umph', Morvydd lands solidly on her back in the sand. It's not exactly comfortable, with that sort of descent. Less so when shortly followed by the weight of an Ironborn thug. Wincing, the young woman does halt for a moment, struggling to draw a breath thanks to the ache in her ribs. Wary golden eyes study Nares' features above hers with blatant suspicion, which is only to be expected. What will it be, another blow to the skull? A black eye perhaps? The matter of quite where the man lies, for the moment, doesn't seem to be the most pressing thing on her mind. Not when she can still contemplate ways to hurt him. But God help her if they're seen..
<Missing pose – Nares sheathes his sword and uses the freed hand to try and take Morvydd’s shortswords from her, while bringing his saxe up once more towards her throat.>
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=unarmed Vs Morvydd=unarmed (disarm attempt)
< Nares: Success Morvydd: Good Success
< Net Result: Morvydd wins - Solid Victory
<FS3> Opposed Roll — Nares=blades Vs Morvydd=unarmed (blade to neck attempt)
< Nares: Great Success Morvydd: Success
< Net Result: Nares wins - Crushing Victory
Well, would he yield just because someone asked him to? Of course not. And what sort of opponent would she be if she gave in so easily? With a shift of her hips beneath his, Morvydd instinctively tries to avoid his hand as it drops toward her waist, probably uncertain of his intent. Oh. Hilts. Good intent. Snatching her own hand downward, she gets her fingertips to the beautiful leather of the grip.. then feels the cold pressure of that blade at her throat. Fuck. While she doesn't withdraw her hand quite yet, the girl goes very still, blinking up at Nares with that mutinous expression of earlier. Swallowing, just once, she waits; lying in the dark sand with her silvery hair strewn behind her and the formidable silhouette of the man above, against the backdrop of grey clouds. She's not going to say it. No chance.
Nares tuts slightly as he lifts the blade a little, hoping to force her head back a few more degrees and re-enforce the realities of her situation. "Hands away," he says flatly, still alert for any move she might make, however suicidal it would be. He reckons he's made his point though, or will have done once she's properly disarmed and he moves his hands to strip her of the blades, assuming she'll comply.
A soft growl escapes the witch's throat as her head is forced to a further tilt backward.. but she obliges, if only to keep that sharp point from drawing blood. If she cared to, she could probably go for a jab to Nares' nose, when he reaches for her blades. If it weren't for the saxe, maybe she could have attempted to bowl him to one side with a shift of her weight and pin him. But really? Why bother. Let him have his victory, where no one can see. Slowly, she draws her hands away from the hilts and lays them in the sand - passive at first, but curling to tightly clenched fists when the man draws her blades from their sheaths. Who does he think he is?
Nares is mostly a man who wants to ensure his opponent doesn't get any fancy ideas about the fight not being over that end up with him with a knife sticking out of his gut. He doesn't look as he tosses the blades, one at a time, out to the side, but he does here them thud dully into the sand a little distance off. "Not so hard was it?" he asks cheerfully, not really expecting an answer, or at least, not one that answers the question. He keeps the saxe firmly where it is as he shifts himself in preparation for standing up. Shifting to her left side until he's practically kneeling beside her, only then does he withdraw the blade and stand, keeping an eye out for any form of retaliation as he moves over to where her spear is lying a short distance away.
For her part, Morvydd waits, perfectly still, until the man withdraws entirely, before she begins to rise carefully to her feet. One hand rubs lightly at her ribs, just for a splitsecond, lest Nares notice. Other than that, and the rising bruise at her temple, she seems alright. No doubt she's had worse. It's just the principle of the thing, is all. To be defeated by that swaggering bastard. Watching him as he moves toward her spear, the girl pulls her long white hair forward with one hand, remaining where she is, barefoot in the sand. And no. She doesn't answer.
If Nares does notice then he makes no indication so, moving instead to simply pick up the spear from where it rests. Turning back to face Morvydd directly though he shifts his saxe to his right hand and takes a lift hand high grip on the spear. "Tip for you," he offers as if this were any old training session anywhere, "I got within your range and you had nothing." Taking hold lower down the shaft with his right hand, which still holds the saxe he continues, "strap a knife down here, then when someone gets within your guard, drop the end, draw the blade and slice them up." He demonstrates briefly, slashing the air in front of him a few times before resheathing the smaller weapon. Wisdom imparted and morning ritual already completed he starts to walk back towards the path to the keep, tossing the spear towards Morvydd as he gets closer.
<FS3> Nares rolls Instruction: Good Success.
Snatching the spear from the air as it's tossed in her direction, the young woman keeps her amber eyes upon Nares while he speaks.. and for a long moment afterward, watching him walk away from her. Was he just.. 'nice'? How genuinely unnerving. "You got within my range. Because I didn't run you through. Can't be gentle with a spear, Asvard." Sore loser. It was, admittedly, a decent tip. Her eyes flit down along the familiar length of the spear in contemplation, now that he cannot see. Because she doesn't need his help, of course.
