Waldemai wields Smith's Hammer.

Malachi arrives, following Bethany.

Waldemai is waiting patiently, a large hammer clenched in one fist. Looks like some dummies could get hammered. "Hey, pup," he greets Malachi. "And you, too, Miss Bethany. Lord Ainsley hasn't arrived yet."

    Arrives, with a morose wolfhound. Bethany is practically panting from the hellbent run over here. A hand lifts toward Waldemai in greeting - until she catches her breath, exhaling out: "Noticed that. Are we sure that it's - it's today?"

Waldemai waves the hammer toward a dummy (not the one with the sword sticking out of it, since swords are sharp until they are beaten into plowshares). "Thought so...some fellow came around and announced it. Were you planning to get some coaching, too?"

    "Well," Beth recovers finally, in less than fine mettle, hands planted on hips. Hand on her hip, "I *was*. Or, planning to. Not that that the potential for social interaction is a terrible thing, Master Waldemai, but I need to hone my bladework - not my conversational skills."

Malachi yawns noisily and flops, wholly indifferent to the entire situation.

Waldemai waves the hammer around some more. "I could probably do with a little of both," he admits. "But I heard there were animals sneaking out of the zoo and such. If one of them finds me at the forge..." *swish* He waves the hammer inexpertly. "If they held still like a piece of steel it would be easy."

     Bethany snorts, nostrils flaring - irritated and getting (brattier) more impatient. "Should we just -" she loosens the hasps on her rapier's scabbard, shrugging a shoulder. "- try this on our own, Master Waldemai?"

Bethany has joined the fighting grounds.

Bethany wields Wit.

Waldemai eyes Bethany's sword. Hmm. Sharp. "I suppose we could give it a try..." he starts. If Malachi doesn't start biting. He uses the hammer to salute the new person arriving. "Lord Ainsley?" he asks.

Waldemai has joined the fighting grounds.

Waldemai wields Smith's Hammer.

Moving at a brisk pace, Brogan approaches the training yard, eyes skimming the place with a brightness to them. At Waldemai's greeting, he offers a wild laugh, grinning broadly and shaking his head- his auburn hair tumbling about with the motion. "Please do me th'favor o'not thinking me some form o'prince, much less spirits forsake-me, a knight!"

    Bethany draws herself up to standing, wielding her sharp-eged Wit. She pauses - definitely uncertain - and salutes the spectator. Then, her opponent.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Bethany.

Bethany inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai is careful while swinging his hammer around, which is probably nbot too smart since the rapier is longer and sharper.

Bringing his hands together in raucous appreciation of battle-joined, Brogan whoops meaninglessly from the edge of the training ground, "Yeah! Beat 'chother!"

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Bethany.

Enjoying the sight of combat, Brogan's hand falls to his hip and rises back up with a drinking bladder- which he duly begins to empty down his mouth, eyes following the trading blows with close and eager attention.

     It's honestly - not the noblest fight to ever occur between a young woman wielding a rapier against a smith wielding a hammer. Beth cannot miss those first couple of swings which catch her fairly decently in her side (thank goodness for some protection) and she is quick enough (or, lucky enough) to thrust in at Waldemai. He has strength, and she has quickness. To a degree. She parries, tries another (useless) thrust - and she is to slow to withdraw from another blow by the hammer. "--Vexation!" She curses, but grins all the same at Waldemai.

Waldemai is not an especially funny fellow, but he can see some entertainment value in this whole show. Look, someone else new. He wisely jumps away from the pointy sword and then waves his hammer at the others. "Any advice, shout it out!"

"Hit her wit' the heavy end!" Brogan shouts out in encouragement, and then adds, a moment later, "An' I'd also recommend y'stop lettin' her block!" The oversized man draws another drink from his bladder, squinting at the exchange of ineffectual, or missed blows. "Preten' y'fighting for your life!"

Bethany says, "What about me --" Beth shouts toward Brogan in the stands before she dodges once, parries another with a hesitant flourish. She hitches up her skirts (scandalous, those ankles) and prepares for the next."

    "What about me --" Beth shouts toward Brogan in the stands before she dodges once, parries another with a hesitant flourish. She hitches up her skirts (scandalous, those ankles) and prepares for the next."

Waldemai inflicts moderate damage to Bethany.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Bethany.

"Y'seem to have things in hand! Though, I ain't going t'say either o'you will be soldiering anytime soon," Brogan answers, even as his words turn to Bethany seeing herself struck. "Get 'im while he's gloating!"

     "Master Waldemai does *not* -" Bethany mutters through gritted teeth, jaw tense from the rather spectacular blow given by the smith. She huffs, catches her breath, "- seem like the sort to gloat."

Bethany inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai takes the man's advice and uses the heavy end. Ouch! That'll leave a mark! "People don't hold still like metal." Of course that leaves him open for a pinking.

Waldemai inflicts serious damage to Bethany.

"Oi, sorry tha' was m'next bit o'advice," Brogan pitches towards Waldemai, waving his drinking bladder vigorously, "Gloat! Loudly!"

As a particularly sound blow is struck, Brogan redoubles his advising, "Aye! Def'nitely gloat now! Tell 'er what y'think of her!"

    She hisses, her grip on the rapier weakening as she drops. She also happens to drop a few interesting words in another language (Ravashari, maybe.) She might have enough left in her, "Silas said if you start it - finish it. Or, the next best thing."

Bethany inflicts moderate damage to Waldemai.

Taking the other man's advice, which has been good so far, Waldemai says, "I think you're a charming young woman young enough to be my daughter."

    "-Thank you for saying so, Master Waldemai," Bethany huffs out and forces a smile. "I think that this was an important learning experience." Pale and quickly losing steam. All but for the determination in her stormy blue eyes.

    Julea slips quietly into the training center and moves towards one of the benches. Taking a spot on the end, she settles down and pulls her tricorn hat forward over her right eye, casting her face half in shadow.

Bethany inflicts moderate damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai inflicts moderate damage to Bethany.

Julea has joined the Benches.

"Oi, yeah jus'-" Brogan begins to cheer, and then pauses as the man's words sink in. He looks a little dubiously between the pair- lips pressing into thin, and thoughtful lines as the wheels start turning. Finally, he shrugs, and takes a lengthy draught, his expression settling into a broad, toothy grin.

Waldemai circles carefully, holding the hammer as though his opponent is a recalcitrant dent in someone's helm, and not like he knows what he's doing with it outside a forge.

    Bethany is faltering, and fast. She attempts to keep her own spirits up, grumbling toward the stands, "Some encouragement, please?"

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Bethany.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Bethany.

"Who shall fight Brogan th'mighty!" The words are all bluster and cheer as Brogan drains the last of his drinking skin, squeezing the final drops and returning its diminished form to his hip. "None dare!" He intones, stretching and rolling out his neck as much of his attention lingers on the fight. At Bethany's shout for encouragement, he growls wordlessly and charges into the fray, barreling right towards the smith, bare-handed!

    Julea squints over towards Brogan, watching him from beneath the dip of the hat she wears. She doesn't put her hand up just yet, nor push up from the bench, but she does pull off her hat and start to tug on gloves.

    "And now - we add some interest," Beth remarks mildly, maintaining her defensive stance now that she had some time for her good sense to return.

Brogan inflicts moderate damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai inflicts serious damage to Bethany.

Bethany falls unconscious.

What? Wait... "All's fair in love and sparring, I guess," Waldemai says, waving his hammer at the newcomer.

Julea wields a curved, steel kukri with an inlaid mirrored pommel.

    "If you are after a sparr, or well, anyone really. I could use some practise." Julea says as she finally pushes up from the bench and takes a moment to stretch and twist her arm about, testing the motions.

     " I feel ... fantastic." Bethany remarks, wry. "After this, think I'm going to vomit."

"You've bludgeoned th'poor lass into senselessness!" Brogan declares, putting real pathos into the proclamation, even as the well-trained training ground aides likely stand ready to take a look at anything serious. The oversized figure takes on a true brawler's stance as he weaves and bobs, lashing out with meaty fists at the smith, even if he now turns that hammer to a much bigger target than the woman.

A hammer thudding into his gut, Brogan grunts with irritation, but seems to shrug off the blow as he lashes out with another strike of his own, his fist doing little to dent the leathers that the smith has garbed himself in. "Th'fuck're you made o', iron?" He wonders aloud, lashing out again.

Waldemai manages to avoid being injured by the unarmed man. "I think from now on I'll stick to rivets," he grunts.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

    Julea lingers towards the edge of the fighting ground, still warming up, and following the fight with some interest as she waits or her turn.

"Y'should've ducked!" Brogan says, even as he himself weaves, leaning just to the side of the man's hammer swing and bringing a hammer-like fist swinging into the smith.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Brogan.

Waldemai has barely laid a hammer on the other fellow yet. "I'm beginning to look like a monkey here," he grunts. Actually, with his broad shoulders and bandy legs...well,

Taking his first true, solid hit on the bare length of his arm, Brogan had maneuvered himself into the blow, and followed up with another punch of his own, though his own barely grazes the figure opposite him. "Y'ain't half-bad f'a man who ain't in th'fighting trade," The oversized northerner compliments, hardly breathing any harder than he was when he'd began as he sidesteps another hammer blow and lashes out...

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

SWISH! Swing and a miss! A bad swing leaves Waldemai open for a pop in the chops.

Brogan would not be so bold as to claim that the smith had missed! In fact, his hammer had found leather. Unfortunately, it did very little to slow the ale-addled northerner's next punch, and the man seems to be in a wild rhythm now as he swings and swings, the blade at his hip jangling with the motions.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Brogan.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Brogan.

A noisy thud greets Waldemai's hammer as it finds his foe once again, the fault of an overly-enthusiastic fist thudding that-away as Brogan gets a little carried away.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Brogan.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Brogan inflicts moderate damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai inflicts moderate damage to Brogan.

The fighting seems to finally be picking up as Waldemai lands a few heavy, heavy blows that almost serve their purpose in slowing down Brogan. But, he's still swinging, and wildly at that, doing his best impression of an enraged bear.

Waldemai is beginning to look a lot like one of the training dummies...and like he has about as much sense. "Doesn't anyone stand still while they're fighting? I've got some hammering to do."

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Brogan.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Brogan.

Seeming to take that as a challenge, Brogan practically stops moving, just focusing on pummeling the smith in-place.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Brogan.

Brogan inflicts serious damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai inflicts minor damage to Brogan.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Waldemai.

Waldemai falls unconscious.

Waldemai twitches like the proverbial pole-axed mule.

    Julea watches the fight with some interest from the sidelines, one of her arms flexing to test out the movement. She twists her head to the left then the right, and when Waldemai goes down, she whistles.

Finally having worked up something approaching a pant towards the end of the slugfest, Brogan grins broadly and toothily as he finally sends the smith tumbling. "Y'almost a fightin' man," He compliments, likely the kindest thing he knows how to say. His hand moves instinctively for his drinking skin, grunting as he finds it empty. "Shi'."

Waldemai has left the fighting grounds.

    "While you're fighting smiths.. if you feel up for another round?" Julea asks Bogdan, a touch hesitant as she directs the tip of her blade towards the fighting grounds.

     Dazed, confused, and just starting to feel what ragdolls feel when battered around by over-enthusiastic children. Bethany rolls from her knees to her feet, looking slightly green as the world tilts on its axis around her. "Oh. Oh." She bends, slowly, to pick up her rapier - sheathe it. And gingerly leaves the fighting ring. "Good lesson. Summation: practice. More practice. Also, armor."

Bethany has left the fighting grounds.

Waldemai gets dragged away by the local healers and revived with something appropriately powerful. "Well, that was an experience and a half, wasn't it?" He checks to be sure he still has all his teeth.

Damon enters the training center and leans against one set of the taller benches, arms folded across his chest.

Julea has left the Benches.

Julea has joined the fighting grounds.

Tonguing his cheek, Brogan wheels towards the challenger, all toothy grins and bright eyes as the fever of battle seems to subside. "Y'look like one I migh' even want t'pull my sword for," He murmurs, a bawdy laugh following the words as he shifts himself, a crude-looking length of metal sliding to hand, something between sword and knife, too long for the latter and too short for the former. "Y'fight as good as y'look?" He pitches that way, loosely ready for a fight.

Brogan wields a not-so-short sword, or a very-long knife.

Bethany is leaving the field. Headed for the benches, she spies Lord Wyrmguard: leaning, arms crossed. She attempts to measure his expression as she approaches, "Lord Damon," mildly as she offers a shallow bow. Or, a deep head nod.

    "You will want to pull your sword for this." Julea is quick to echo Brogan, doing up the couple of buckles beneath her chin as she moves towards the center of the fighting grounds. There's a quick intake of air as she eyes up Brogdan. "I'm just a smith." She jests, curling fingers around the hilt of her Kukri. "Let me know when you're ready."

"Unfortunately I only caught as much as you pulling yourself back up, so I can't comment on the quality of your fight." Damon says, his expression, while not jovial, it's also not displeased, "Got some time?"

Waldemai pulls himself up straight when the nobleman is addressed and pulls his cap off, exposing his shaved scalp.

    "It was terrible," she offers the summary with a hint of a wry expression. Without a smile, "So. I am rather glad you missed it." Bethany hitches a shoulder up, wincing faintly. "Yes, my Lord, plenty of time. Lead on, if it pleases..."

"I've never been not ready," Brogan offers in response, rolling out his shoulders and putting on a casual air. To any practiced fighter, though, his readiness is clear- eyes focused on his erstwhile opponent, his stance loose yet once the bout should start he moves with a surprising quickness for a man of his stature. "Y'jus' be thankful I lef' th'axe at home," He remarks quietly, waiting for Julea to make the first move.

Damon nods to her extending his hand for her to take, "Be sure to put your sword away. It's unseemly waving around a blade." He quips, offering a respectful nod to Waldemai, if only because of his respect towards him.

Julea inflicts moderate damage to Brogan.

Malachi leaves, following Bethany.

Bethany leaves, following Damon.

Apparently was not quite as sportsman as he might have lead one to believe, lashing out with his blade once Julea closes the distance. It doesn't have much effect, however, as he's given a right proper thrashing before re-engaging.

    Julea is fast, and from the first moment their blades clash, this becomes evident. She easily parries Brogan's initial thrust and retaliates with a quick swat at the man's rear with the flat of her blade, before circling around slowly. "I'd be curious to fight against an Axe."

Julea inflicts moderate damage to Brogan.

Waldemai watches the fight, on the grounds that he couldn't possibly NOT learn something.

In the midst of it all, Brogan's helm clangs at his hip, hanging from a loop on his belt. As the fight's tide turns somewhat against him, his hand falls to it and he hoists it up, retreating a few paces before driving forward again.

    Julea tips her head towards the hanging helm, encouraging Brogan, "If you want to.. gear up, I don't mind waiting any." She suggests even as she moves around, looking for the next opening and taking it when she can, another quick flick of her curved blade finding the man's leather.

Julea inflicts minor damage to Brogan.

"'Ow about we drop th'blades and see who wins a wrestle?" Brogan retorts to the woman's offer, grinning ferally before the front of his helm cracks shut, obscuring his features behind the maw of a beast- even if his fighting is not quite as bestial as he might like, sword clattering ineffectually against the woman's much finer weapon, his armor providing a reliable cushion against the next blow.

Waldemai notices. If you have a helmet, wear it. Check.

Julea inflicts serious damage to Brogan.

    Julea grunts lightly, another solid thunk and her small curved blade finds leather and she gives her opponent a good whack, before darting just out of his reach. "I don't believe that's typically called wrestling."

Waldemai might also learn the valuable lesson of 'don't fight smiths with flashy swords, and an attitude to match', though Brogan would never admit it as he struggles to keep on his feet beneath the weight of her finely-honed swords. Abruptly, he throws away his blade and slides into a brawler's stance, throwing himself within the reach of his opponent's weapons as he seeks a solid blow.

Waldemai cheers. "Now that's the way to even things up!"

Julea inflicts serious damage to Brogan.

Whoops a sound of satisfaction as his fist finds Julea's leather, even if it does nothing through the fine padding that's meant to ward off far weightier weapons, and his wild stance opens him up to a particularly brutal blow, though for the moment he seems quite adept to shrugging it off.

    For a moment, Julea pauses, considering the second of her sheathed blades, but there's not enough time to draw it, so she presses on with the red steel. There's almost an apologetic look to accompany the sizable swat that the smith gives Brogan, and she whistles.

Julea inflicts moderate damage to Brogan.

Clearly slowing now, and not even bothering to weave out of the impending blows, Brogan seems single-minded on scoring blows against the woman. He once again succeeds, though once again it has all the impact of a feather tickler in light of the woman's fine leathers. Nevermind that he's clearly flagging, his eyes are narrowed and he lunges in again...

    After that last hit, Julea seems surprised at Brogan's perservance, and she pauses just for a moment, waiting for the man to recover before he comes at her in a lunge and she moves to intercept.

Brogan inflicts minor damage to Julea.

"Ha!" Waldemai shouts. "A touch!"

Julea inflicts serious damage to Brogan.

Brogan falls unconscious.

A touch, indeed, just not one with any measurable impact- except to expose Brogan to a vicious, vicious counter that sends him to his back with all the noise that his frame would suggest.

    Julea is quick to slide her red steel back in her sheath, and she strides forward to offer out a gloved hand to Brogan, intent on helping him to his feet. "I'm Julea. Firesmith, and of the Valerous Few." There's a pause and an awkward cough before she adds. "Would be happy to .. make you a better blade sometime."

Waldemai shakes his head as the fight ends, well, a lot like his. "That was educational, I'd say."

It's a groggy few seconds before Brogan has the awareness to take the offered hand, and it's clearly a struggle to get himself up to his feet, help or not. He's quite unsteady when he finds himself straightened, wincing at the bruises that have already begun to form quite colorfully wherever he was struck. "Brogan," He answers, rolling out his neck gingerly as he finishes, "Nightgold."

    "I have a shop on Redrain grounds." Julea continues on with her sales pitch, letting go of Brogan's hand once he's on his feet and waiting a moment for him to steady himself before she takes a sliding step back. She dips her head once to Waldemai. "Give Redrain's a bit of a discount on standard rates." She reaches up and pulls her helmet off next, showing off that scar that cuts down over the right side of her face.

Waldemai tells the others, "Thanks for the show. I'm Waldemai Isenhu. You can find me in the Crown Arms." But for now, he's got to realign his jaw. "Take it easy." Checking to make sure none of the spare body parts lying around is his, he limps off home.

Seeming to finally remember the witness to his thrashing, Brogan's attention cuts over to Waldemai, squinting over at the fellow- as if assessing the risk of him retelling the story to all of his friends. The narrow cast to his gaze lingers there for a moment as the man departs, even as he answers aside to Julea, "Aye, I'll keep tha' in mind. Seems th'yard is flush wit' smiths."

    "Never under estimate someone. Always bring your best." Julea touches a hand to the leather gear she wears, "Need to get you fitted out properly, but if you're looking for work any, you should look up my boss. He's always looking for new fighters."

"I fight f'the family, an' for fun," Brogan answers easily, testing his weight on each league at a time as he gives Julea another look-over, "I def'nitely came t'the city a touch under-dressed," He admits, a toothy smile parting his beard.

    "I started fighting because.. I figure if I'm forging steel, I'd do it a fuck load better if I know how to use it too, you know?" Julea says, backing up towards the bench, she plucks up the tricorn hat and sets it on her head, pulling the corner down over the scarred right eye. "Want to join me at the Spriits? Could use a drink after that."

"Y'know, I'm never th'sort o'fellow t'turn down a drink, bu' I've a date wit' some very comfortable cushions," Brogan answers back, offering a somewhat pained laugh as he rolls his shoulders. "I'm sure I'll see y'around, if y'work wit' the family much."

    "Yeah, Prince Darren is my patron, and I live on Redrain grounds, I'm sure we'll catch up again soon. And you can always stop by my shop. I'll hook you up with a blade that hurts." There's a final nod of Julea's head towards Brogan before she starts to move out of the training center, heading off towards the north.

Julea has left the fighting grounds.