[ 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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Thus he would let the templar come to him. "Ah, you call it dancing, do you? Perhaps you should wish to lead?"
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"I usually do, if only because I know all my own steps. Let's see which ones you have up your sleeve." And he moved forward with speed, coming in at an angle at his good eye, moving to shift his weight so he could swing his sword across the other man's blades to test his speed, then immediately drop down the shield before he was skewered twice.
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Norrington swung in hard and fast- Zevran's response was simple muscle memory- Block and parry. One blade brought up to prevent the cut, the other snapping out to glance across the shield. He leaned into it, attempting to get some leverage with how he was braced and pushed to give them both a bit of breathing room. "So vigorous."
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"Oh, you have no idea."
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To test the bad side, just to see how Zevran's muscle memory, he brought his shield up underneath it as he shifted his weight to the right, turning it more to swing than a push.
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On the defensive but- expending less energy. Which was good seeing as he needed every scrap for focus-
Movement on the blind side and he jerked his head about swordtip snapping up a hair too late to avoid the blow. "Brasca."
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He didn't pause, but followed through on the attack. However, since this was to help Zevran and not simply bludgeon him about, Norrington slammed his shield in against the man's raised swords on his blinded side, speaking calmly, "That's because you know I shall give as good as I get -- if my noises don't scare you away like a shy maiden."
He'd worked with enough men who had their eyes scarred over -- they always found Norrington by merely the sound of his movements. Zevran's hearing, Norrington knew, was sharp enough to make this a major asset where there was currently a weakness.
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In full armor this would be a simpler task- it was impossible to fight quietly in full plate. But like this? It was far more challenging.
And all the more enjoyable for it.
Zevran darted in for his own offense, blades flashing and dipping, one arcing high at Norrington's guard, the other flicking out to seek out openings. "Now tell me- what might I do to make you truly sing, mm?"
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The shield flew up, slapping away the blows, as his sword danced in turn. The high one at his guard just slipped by, nicking his arm. He let out a soft, "Maker's Breath!", before he brought up his arm with force to knock the blade up and away from him, moving in with the shield for another slam against Zevran's front.
"I would say if you wanted to get me to sing, you'd have to reach some sort of holy status, my fine friend."
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Zevran, however, learned everything by leaping to the highest stakes, the greatest possible falls and failures. Perhaps he ought to dial it back.
Or he could pivot about the shield and lock the crossbars of their blades, leaning in to smirk. "I have heard 'oh Maker yes' more than my fair share. Perhaps you ought to hum."
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Which is when they locked blades, those eyes flashed again as he leaned in kind, "Humming seems rather tame for what you've promised, my fine fellow." And then another push forward, and he moved, bending down to use his strength to basically lift Zevran up by the blade and shift so he could use the twist to throw Zevran off, and away.
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Flip with it, even, backwards in a show of dexterity that was all coiled instinct. And, to the catcalls of his students, hardly impressive. 'a fledgling could do that!' cries Settimo. 'kiss him already!' cries Vita.
Children.
"I have promised nothing as of yet." Key words there being yet as he found his feet, found his opening- and darted in once more to the right, coming up at Norrington's shield at an angle.
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Luckily, they had taught him to duck in the Templar Order, so he rolled, shield, sword and all, out of the way and up to his feet again. "That is true. I am the one who promised that this would not be an easy dance. How are you liking the steps so far?"
Step back, shifting his weight to have the man go on the offensive once more.
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Sun high and sweat beading upon his forehead, Zevran began to circle around Norrington, keeping his good eye on the man. An apparently idle roll of the wrist brought the tip of his sword around in a wide circle; a flashy way of adjusting his grip. An underhanded tactic meant to flare the sun's light in his opponent's eyes for a moment.
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The sun's glare flashed him right in the eyes, and he lifted his shield up to deflect the light, taking another step back as he did so.
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He had not half so much fun in the ring in a fair while.
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Even he looked a little surprised that he managed it.
"Ta-dah."
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Both Norrington's eyebrows shot up, and he looked damned impressed.
"Well, I shall never fault your agility and flexibility as being twice mine."
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That was not the best lesson to teach his kestrels, but they were applauding.
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"Shall we continue, or have we both run out of tricks and witty retorts?"
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Another beat.
"Well perhaps these swords."
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