[ OPEN ] Well I can't stand to be with myself, this liberation's seemingly rare
WHO: Zevran and Various
WHAT: Zevran sparring and dealing
WHEN: Throughout Drakonis
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Violence, swearing, usual Zevran Content Warnings Apply. Open prompt below, poke me on plurk for a closed starter. Prose or actionspam welcome!
WHAT: Zevran sparring and dealing
WHEN: Throughout Drakonis
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Violence, swearing, usual Zevran Content Warnings Apply. Open prompt below, poke me on plurk for a closed starter. Prose or actionspam welcome!
As much as he'd protested Alistair running off on some mission in the west- the time apart gives him that much more chance to train. He'd been doing so privately in the barn, occasionally squaring off against Settimo when they both had the time and patience for Settimo's paranoia and Zevran's over-adjustments for the blind side. Learning to fight with only one good eye is slowly driving Zevran to frustration. Settimo could not come at him hard enough to be a challenge, he could not learn his new limitations without a solid effort on both their parts.
Setting aside his vanity he takes to the training grounds- but working on stuffed dummies is only good for so much. Soon enough he is picking out soldiers and rogues to come at him in the dirt circle. Day to day it goes much the same. Zevran stands with bad eye covered and his swords, with his hands, with a single short sword and calls any that would step up to help him regain his awareness. It is, to be honest, slow going. More often than not if his opponent has any manner of skill he ends up on his ass. But he grits his teeth, stands, and goes at it again. And again. Afterward he recovers with the highlight of his training- a bucket of water to sluice off the sweat and grit of the day. Whether it's the relief the cold brings or the appreciative looks it tends to earn? He doesn't say. But thus he spends his days, training himself or wrestling with the fledglings, who will offer their own commentary and catcalling in Antivan during his other matches.

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Course having to argue with Fortitude in his head, it having sensed his pain, in the middle of the spar wasn't helping him try and figure something out. Having it talk wasn't distracting, but trying to explain what was going on and telling it not to react certainly was. In a regular fight the commentary and help would be most helpful.
For a moment he feels that he's made some progress when he manages to get one of Zevran's legs, but when the other moves to wrap around his neck he reflexively lets go to grab onto the other leg before it can fully get around his neck.
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Well it would be easier if he could keep his legs where he needed them and not scramble with Sam trying to pry them away. This has been one of the least successful attempts at pinning for the day by far since he'd gone at it wrong from the start, Zevran releases Sam's wrist and hang's in his grip for the moment it takes him to reorient himself and attempt to scramble away.
"I think I need to try this again, yes?"
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"Probably good to start over." A grin while he rotates the arm that Zevran had gotten into a hold. "For what it's worth that was a good move." Honestly if it weren't for Krem teaching him that probably would've landed him on his ass.
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"And if they go for the sleeper hold, slam on their knee, downward."
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The mention of slamming someone's knee has Sam wincing a bit, but he still nods. "Good to know." Hopefully he'll never need to use it.
Rolling his arm once more, Sam raises his arms again, this time lowering his center of gravity and beginning to step to the side, beginning a circling motion.
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Perhaps it is better to react defensively and follow his usual (non-lethal) instincts.
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This is awkward.
Half pinned in the dust by someone much larger than him and too bruised and tired to put together a way to squirm out just yet, Zevran grunts when Sam's weight bears down. Brasca. "You are at an advantage, here."
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Even though he hears Zevran give a grunt he doesn't let up on his hold, knowing that without hearing a 'yield' of some sort, the man was more than likely to take advantage and get away, or put him in a worse position. Still, he doesn't press harder.
"You did challenge me to a match after doing a few beforehand," he points out, tilting his head a bit.
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He is weary.
With a great sigh, he murmurs. "I yield."
It isn't half so fun as it could be, truly. "Perhaps tomorrow when I have learned to not push myself so far, we might try again?"
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"Or perhaps make sure I'm just as bruised and tired as you before." He chuckles lightly at that, not at all minding the snickers. "You know the least I can do after all that is heal you up a bit. At least so you aren't so sore."
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Not that he wouldn't try, truly. "I would appreciate that, Sam. I think I took, perhaps, a few hard landings more than I'd expected."
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"Sorry. I was trying to be as gentle as I could." He nods his head towards some of the hay bales once Zevran takes the offer. "You want to sit down for it?"
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