Post by Verus on Feb 12, 2012 14:44:58 GMT -6
Verus: The sun was ruthless, bearing relentlessly down on the figures occupying the sand. Practice swords clashed to the sound of bestial grunts as men of various shape and size wrestled for that ultimate prize: the recognition of their Doctore, and the honor born from his praise. Sweat beaded at Verus brow, stinging his eye and clouding his vision as he heaved himself across the sand, sword hand in high guard. Even though he pushed his body to it's physical limit daily, there was still a cocky grin toying at his thin, cracked lips. He tolerated the training, but he enjoyed the bloodshed. -e-
Doctore: --Numidean complexion threatened to darken under the relentless glare of the sun above, yet still those footfalls bore their mark upon the sand without hesitation. Calm strides carried him through the ranks of men, dark oculars perceiving their movements as their daily training commensed. His pace only slowed in moments of correction, while words of praise very sparcely escaped his lips. His duty was not to cottle these men, but to set their mind to purpose. His observation had become increasingly more vigilant, recent events having manifested a tension in the Ludis that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep at bay. Calloused digits gripped tightly against that leather whip, coiling it around his dominant hand as if holding a serpent. Very few words of praised had escaped his lips this day, replaced by words of correction. He moved as if he were a hawk, surveying the landscape for weakness in an attempt to correct the flaws running rampant amongst the inner workings of his home.--
Varro: Sweat beaded on brow like blood beaded on skin. The vigorous training was to be treated as if each wooden sword bore a real blade of metal. That broad chest heaved up and down as breath was exhaled and freed from abused lungs. Varro worked his sword and shield to parry the weapon that came hurtling toward his weaker side. That shoulder was still in repair from the fight a few days ago in the arena, but it was a mark he bore proudly. The Gods saw too it that he survive and his son and wife stay fed from the coin won in Varro's name. Heavy foot falls drew attention briefly upward as he saw a shadow stretch across the sands. Doctore's ever vigilant eyes searching out flaw with the whip as means to correct each man's folly. That wide trunk twisted as he pivoted upon a heel to strike back at the Mountain of a man who would be his partner. Using the other's blind side to strike at the collar bone which was left open in a moment of hubris.
Verus: He had earned the sting of Doctore's whip a time or two in the past, when he had been a stubborn, ignorant youth, with thoughts steeped in pride. Verus was still a proud gladiator, but he'd found balance in the ludus, and purpose in serving his Dominus. Sparring alongside his brothers, Verus took advantage of his opponents distraction, humiliating the younger man with short bursts of pressure each time he glanced toward the balcony, and the women watching from above. "Doctore," He called, tossing his weapon to the ground as the youth as struck for the third time. "Present challenge in place of jest. These boys no longer amuse." -e-
Doctore: --His title had become audible in the Ludis, drawing those dark eyes for his current mock contest to attend another. He would hold tongue but a moment, long enough to deliver a stare that could have easily have pierced through the fallen youth. He would offer no word to Verus directly, not out of disrespect but in agreement with his request. Another short moment was spent surveying the available options to offer the challenge the man required.-- "Varro...Pair with Verus. He requests challenge. I trust you won't disappoint." --Simply spoken yet commanding respect. A familiar trait to his dialogue when addressing the men. He would ignore the others momentarily in favor of the more competitive pairing, interesting in seeing the outcome.--
Varro: Pride would always be man's downfall, even Varro knew of such things. Cobalt blues dipped downward to look at his fallen brother, the man wiping the blood from his flesh. When that commanding voice struck the shell of his ear Varro turned to look toward Doctore, his head nodding in understanding. " Yes Doctore..." Sun stained digits ran beneath his nose as he sniffed, gathering the sweat that peppered his upper lip. Verus matched him in size and yet no interaction had truly gone on between the two. From afar they broke bread under the same roof and trained in sands spilled with both their blood, but conversation had never left their lips. Varro's sword was spun within hand as that thick wrist rotated. Strong legs broke apart as he took up proper footing after approaching Verus, muscles ripe with ache. The stitching that danced along his right shoulder was healing nicely, but still pain occasionally would slither down to bone.
Verus: Once his weapon had been retrieved, Verus approached, rolling his large shoulders in an attempt to loosen his muscles before striking a defensive pose. "The Champion's pup, come to face a beast." He mocked, though there was no sign of mirth in his bright eyes. Much like his sword, his tongue was a weapon itself, and those words merely a tactic to unsettle Varro's composure. His fingers flexed, his grip tightening before he moved forward, lounging forth to test the blond gladiator's reflex as he aimed a blow toward that injured shoulder. -e-
Doctore: --The Doctore was confident in his choosing of opponent, carefully observing the two of promising merit. Though many lessons could be learned through patience and instruction, neither became prevalent when failure was greeted with the sight of blood and bruise. His attention swaying only to maintain the strict order he demanded amongst those under his watch, his attention continued to maintain primarily on the two individuals engaging in combat before him.--
Varro: Pup? Varro let out a haughty laugh as Verus taunted him. Mistaking his bond with Spartacus for weakness was not something often spoken about in the barracks. But such insult not an insult, for in Varro's mind it was relationships that built strength, not muscles. Although bulk did help to match wit. " Younger blood to replace old flesh...." A grin was sported across his face as he waited for the other to make his move. Doctore's eyes were fixated upon the duo and so on his mark the challenge began. Verus lunged forward and like any Gladiator who had studied his opponent the other man went straight for the injured shoulder. Agility was on Varro's side as he raised that wooden shield to block the blow which threatened the sancitty of his stitching. A grunt escaped as the weight of the wooden sword pressed down upon his sheild, causing his knees to bend. Varro pushed upward to shove the other off, attempting to swipe low at Verus' exposed side to smash rib and muscle.
Verus: Verus made a sound, something akin to laughter as Varro made his comment, winning the man's respect, albeit grudgingly. Still, he had much to prove if he wanted to know the full extent of Verus' admiration. Varro did not have to try hard to dislodge his opponent, for Verus was not keen on feeling the swipe of a practice sword against his exposed side. Thus, he bounded backwards, narrowly missing the full force of the blond's crushing hit. Still, Varro had felt impact, a whisper of what the gladiator was capable of, and he readjusted his mode of attack, becoming more defensive as he reached for the shield that Ashur tossed his way. "The pup has bite." He barked, circling, surveying, calculating. -e-
Doctore: --A predictable yet effective method of attack, lashing out at the injury of one's opponent. It was a testament to Varus' observation, and the crushing blow to impact shield a test of his might. Though despite injury, the block and counter were executed well, and capable of regaining comfortable distance. This altercation may have proven more interesting than the Doctore originally anticipated. He would resume his rounds, though straying from the main contest was far removed from mind.--
Varro: " And old bones still have strength yet...." Varro rolled his shoulder, stretching out the muscles that lay abused below the bronzed surface. The sun beat downward from the heavens' causing skin to boil and sweat to drip from his brow. The strength from Verus' blow still resonated in his arm even though minutes had passed since the first strike. The blow to his opponents side missed it's mark, agility matched when Verus moved out of the way to narrowly escape impact. Much like a vulture circling it's prey Verus began to dance around the blonde and in turn Varro turned his back on audience in the balcony to follow in footsteps. Joining the other in a tango that was met with sand beneath ones feet. Muscle worked against bone as Varro lunged forward, but then twisted his body to weave between the swaying Gladiator in an attempt to get beneath the guard of the shield. With a twist of his wrist the wooden sword was struck upward as he tried to center the tip so that it would hit the other's breast bone.
Verus: The blunted sword found it's mark, causing Verus to gasp as impact was made. Limbs tangled with Varro's as he grappled for enough leverage to dislodge the man, using every resource available as his feet were burrowed in the sand. He grunted, spittle flying with each breath he exhaled, as he concentrated all of his power into his shield arm, which jerked upward, toward the younger man's skull. -e-
Varro: When Varro had hit his desire mark a grin surfaced, though all amusement faded as arms became entangled with Verus'. There was a struggle to remain upright as the other Gladiator used such force to push him back into submission. Finally when Varro was able to free himself from the binds of flesh and sand, he stumbled backward. An upright position was regained but it didn't last long for that shield came hurtling toward him. His skull was in danger of being smashed in as that muscle bound arm brought the shield upward. Such skill could not go unnoticed as brute force overthrew Varro's agility. The blond barely managed to avoid his head getting severed, but the wood still met with bone. His jaw cracked and bled as the blunt side of the protective gear rammed into his chin. Crimson spurted from his mouth, followed by the swipe of his hand across stained flesh. Balance wasn't easily found as it took Varro a moment to gain control of his senses once more. Knees bent as he hurled himself forward, using the thick end of the sword to return the favor that was just bestowed upon him. Attempting to strike at the neck once more, Varro sent the side of the sword downward toward the elongated bulk of Verus' neck.
Verus: He'd fought hard for a moment to breathe, only to find the damned gladiator on his feet again, spitting blood as though it was merely another day in the ludus. Verus cursed the Gods, braced himself and raised his shield in an attempt to deflect the jarring blow. He felt the spray of blood on his face as he tumbled backward from the force of Varro's blow. His own weapon was knocked away, leaving him on his back and vulnerable before the bleeding and bruised man. There was hesitation as Varro moved to strike, then .. with as much dignity as any defeated gladiator could muster, Verus raised two fingers, the universal symbol of surrender...the missio. -e-
Varro: The sight of crimson being drawn was a sign of Victory. The other Gladiator fell upon his back, staring up at him in defeat. The pup had bested the beast and it was the display of two fingers that had Varro discarding his weapon and shield. A hand was extended downward to help his opponent up, a newly gained respect drawn outward from a man only seen in passing. Blood coated teeth and chin and occasionly the crimson filled his mouth . He spat to the side, waiting for the other to take those waiting digits. " Dare I say the beast has been slayed..." Good humor was offered with another grin.
Verus: Verus slid his palm down his face, collecting the sweat and blood in one rough swipe before behind hauled to his feet by Varro. "He slumbers, put to rest by a similar animal. We will meet on the sands again." He promised with newfound respect for his brother, heartily clapping the man's injured shoulder before limping toward the shade, where the medic was camped. -e-
Doctore: --Numidean complexion threatened to darken under the relentless glare of the sun above, yet still those footfalls bore their mark upon the sand without hesitation. Calm strides carried him through the ranks of men, dark oculars perceiving their movements as their daily training commensed. His pace only slowed in moments of correction, while words of praise very sparcely escaped his lips. His duty was not to cottle these men, but to set their mind to purpose. His observation had become increasingly more vigilant, recent events having manifested a tension in the Ludis that was becoming increasingly difficult to keep at bay. Calloused digits gripped tightly against that leather whip, coiling it around his dominant hand as if holding a serpent. Very few words of praised had escaped his lips this day, replaced by words of correction. He moved as if he were a hawk, surveying the landscape for weakness in an attempt to correct the flaws running rampant amongst the inner workings of his home.--
Varro: Sweat beaded on brow like blood beaded on skin. The vigorous training was to be treated as if each wooden sword bore a real blade of metal. That broad chest heaved up and down as breath was exhaled and freed from abused lungs. Varro worked his sword and shield to parry the weapon that came hurtling toward his weaker side. That shoulder was still in repair from the fight a few days ago in the arena, but it was a mark he bore proudly. The Gods saw too it that he survive and his son and wife stay fed from the coin won in Varro's name. Heavy foot falls drew attention briefly upward as he saw a shadow stretch across the sands. Doctore's ever vigilant eyes searching out flaw with the whip as means to correct each man's folly. That wide trunk twisted as he pivoted upon a heel to strike back at the Mountain of a man who would be his partner. Using the other's blind side to strike at the collar bone which was left open in a moment of hubris.
Verus: He had earned the sting of Doctore's whip a time or two in the past, when he had been a stubborn, ignorant youth, with thoughts steeped in pride. Verus was still a proud gladiator, but he'd found balance in the ludus, and purpose in serving his Dominus. Sparring alongside his brothers, Verus took advantage of his opponents distraction, humiliating the younger man with short bursts of pressure each time he glanced toward the balcony, and the women watching from above. "Doctore," He called, tossing his weapon to the ground as the youth as struck for the third time. "Present challenge in place of jest. These boys no longer amuse." -e-
Doctore: --His title had become audible in the Ludis, drawing those dark eyes for his current mock contest to attend another. He would hold tongue but a moment, long enough to deliver a stare that could have easily have pierced through the fallen youth. He would offer no word to Verus directly, not out of disrespect but in agreement with his request. Another short moment was spent surveying the available options to offer the challenge the man required.-- "Varro...Pair with Verus. He requests challenge. I trust you won't disappoint." --Simply spoken yet commanding respect. A familiar trait to his dialogue when addressing the men. He would ignore the others momentarily in favor of the more competitive pairing, interesting in seeing the outcome.--
Varro: Pride would always be man's downfall, even Varro knew of such things. Cobalt blues dipped downward to look at his fallen brother, the man wiping the blood from his flesh. When that commanding voice struck the shell of his ear Varro turned to look toward Doctore, his head nodding in understanding. " Yes Doctore..." Sun stained digits ran beneath his nose as he sniffed, gathering the sweat that peppered his upper lip. Verus matched him in size and yet no interaction had truly gone on between the two. From afar they broke bread under the same roof and trained in sands spilled with both their blood, but conversation had never left their lips. Varro's sword was spun within hand as that thick wrist rotated. Strong legs broke apart as he took up proper footing after approaching Verus, muscles ripe with ache. The stitching that danced along his right shoulder was healing nicely, but still pain occasionally would slither down to bone.
Verus: Once his weapon had been retrieved, Verus approached, rolling his large shoulders in an attempt to loosen his muscles before striking a defensive pose. "The Champion's pup, come to face a beast." He mocked, though there was no sign of mirth in his bright eyes. Much like his sword, his tongue was a weapon itself, and those words merely a tactic to unsettle Varro's composure. His fingers flexed, his grip tightening before he moved forward, lounging forth to test the blond gladiator's reflex as he aimed a blow toward that injured shoulder. -e-
Doctore: --The Doctore was confident in his choosing of opponent, carefully observing the two of promising merit. Though many lessons could be learned through patience and instruction, neither became prevalent when failure was greeted with the sight of blood and bruise. His attention swaying only to maintain the strict order he demanded amongst those under his watch, his attention continued to maintain primarily on the two individuals engaging in combat before him.--
Varro: Pup? Varro let out a haughty laugh as Verus taunted him. Mistaking his bond with Spartacus for weakness was not something often spoken about in the barracks. But such insult not an insult, for in Varro's mind it was relationships that built strength, not muscles. Although bulk did help to match wit. " Younger blood to replace old flesh...." A grin was sported across his face as he waited for the other to make his move. Doctore's eyes were fixated upon the duo and so on his mark the challenge began. Verus lunged forward and like any Gladiator who had studied his opponent the other man went straight for the injured shoulder. Agility was on Varro's side as he raised that wooden shield to block the blow which threatened the sancitty of his stitching. A grunt escaped as the weight of the wooden sword pressed down upon his sheild, causing his knees to bend. Varro pushed upward to shove the other off, attempting to swipe low at Verus' exposed side to smash rib and muscle.
Verus: Verus made a sound, something akin to laughter as Varro made his comment, winning the man's respect, albeit grudgingly. Still, he had much to prove if he wanted to know the full extent of Verus' admiration. Varro did not have to try hard to dislodge his opponent, for Verus was not keen on feeling the swipe of a practice sword against his exposed side. Thus, he bounded backwards, narrowly missing the full force of the blond's crushing hit. Still, Varro had felt impact, a whisper of what the gladiator was capable of, and he readjusted his mode of attack, becoming more defensive as he reached for the shield that Ashur tossed his way. "The pup has bite." He barked, circling, surveying, calculating. -e-
Doctore: --A predictable yet effective method of attack, lashing out at the injury of one's opponent. It was a testament to Varus' observation, and the crushing blow to impact shield a test of his might. Though despite injury, the block and counter were executed well, and capable of regaining comfortable distance. This altercation may have proven more interesting than the Doctore originally anticipated. He would resume his rounds, though straying from the main contest was far removed from mind.--
Varro: " And old bones still have strength yet...." Varro rolled his shoulder, stretching out the muscles that lay abused below the bronzed surface. The sun beat downward from the heavens' causing skin to boil and sweat to drip from his brow. The strength from Verus' blow still resonated in his arm even though minutes had passed since the first strike. The blow to his opponents side missed it's mark, agility matched when Verus moved out of the way to narrowly escape impact. Much like a vulture circling it's prey Verus began to dance around the blonde and in turn Varro turned his back on audience in the balcony to follow in footsteps. Joining the other in a tango that was met with sand beneath ones feet. Muscle worked against bone as Varro lunged forward, but then twisted his body to weave between the swaying Gladiator in an attempt to get beneath the guard of the shield. With a twist of his wrist the wooden sword was struck upward as he tried to center the tip so that it would hit the other's breast bone.
Verus: The blunted sword found it's mark, causing Verus to gasp as impact was made. Limbs tangled with Varro's as he grappled for enough leverage to dislodge the man, using every resource available as his feet were burrowed in the sand. He grunted, spittle flying with each breath he exhaled, as he concentrated all of his power into his shield arm, which jerked upward, toward the younger man's skull. -e-
Varro: When Varro had hit his desire mark a grin surfaced, though all amusement faded as arms became entangled with Verus'. There was a struggle to remain upright as the other Gladiator used such force to push him back into submission. Finally when Varro was able to free himself from the binds of flesh and sand, he stumbled backward. An upright position was regained but it didn't last long for that shield came hurtling toward him. His skull was in danger of being smashed in as that muscle bound arm brought the shield upward. Such skill could not go unnoticed as brute force overthrew Varro's agility. The blond barely managed to avoid his head getting severed, but the wood still met with bone. His jaw cracked and bled as the blunt side of the protective gear rammed into his chin. Crimson spurted from his mouth, followed by the swipe of his hand across stained flesh. Balance wasn't easily found as it took Varro a moment to gain control of his senses once more. Knees bent as he hurled himself forward, using the thick end of the sword to return the favor that was just bestowed upon him. Attempting to strike at the neck once more, Varro sent the side of the sword downward toward the elongated bulk of Verus' neck.
Verus: He'd fought hard for a moment to breathe, only to find the damned gladiator on his feet again, spitting blood as though it was merely another day in the ludus. Verus cursed the Gods, braced himself and raised his shield in an attempt to deflect the jarring blow. He felt the spray of blood on his face as he tumbled backward from the force of Varro's blow. His own weapon was knocked away, leaving him on his back and vulnerable before the bleeding and bruised man. There was hesitation as Varro moved to strike, then .. with as much dignity as any defeated gladiator could muster, Verus raised two fingers, the universal symbol of surrender...the missio. -e-
Varro: The sight of crimson being drawn was a sign of Victory. The other Gladiator fell upon his back, staring up at him in defeat. The pup had bested the beast and it was the display of two fingers that had Varro discarding his weapon and shield. A hand was extended downward to help his opponent up, a newly gained respect drawn outward from a man only seen in passing. Blood coated teeth and chin and occasionly the crimson filled his mouth . He spat to the side, waiting for the other to take those waiting digits. " Dare I say the beast has been slayed..." Good humor was offered with another grin.
Verus: Verus slid his palm down his face, collecting the sweat and blood in one rough swipe before behind hauled to his feet by Varro. "He slumbers, put to rest by a similar animal. We will meet on the sands again." He promised with newfound respect for his brother, heartily clapping the man's injured shoulder before limping toward the shade, where the medic was camped. -e-