let's get down to business

[whattaprick]

Who: Nightrunners and whoever wants to make use of the training yard for whatever reason.
When: S2 D1-D5
Where: The Training Yard
What: Training, or pointing and laughing at people training.
Warnings: Explosions and swearing, probably.

Though it's never really been off-limits, once they're down off the moon, Lambert wastes little time informing the nightrunners he officially expects them to get back to training and getting in shape. They can make ample use of the training yard facilities to learn how to work with each other after their extended vacation, or just get to know their newer coworkers in an environment closer to what their actual working conditions will actually be like.

The yard, as usual, isn't limited solely to nightrunners. Anyone who wants to work on their physical or magical skills are welcome, as well as anyone from the other departments who have anything they might want to test out that requires a combatant, for some reason.

Lambert's generally a constant presence at the fringes, sometimes participating in exercise or sparring himself, but mostly just watching and making sure no one's about to put someone's eye out or break the equipment, because that would be bad for obvious reasons.

[ ooc; this is an open log, so bring your own toplevel! ]

Comments

closed for syrlya

[whattaprick]

Of all the people in the Carnival, Syrlya's the closest to another witcher Lambert can get. There might be differences, and Syrlya's all too obviously a far more capable mage and he's obviously physically stronger, but the combination of evasion, swordplay, and magic usage as each of them seeks an advantage is a familiar dance. It's a pity they're fighting with wooden prop swords -- Lambert would much rather have real silver in his hands, and get used to these movements with the weight -- but it's useful enough to fight with props when he's still trying to get the hang of something new.

Namely, in this case, fighting with the shield Syrlya gave him. It still fits oddly in his arsenal, and when they finally call for a much-needed water break, Lambert groans, unfastening the straps holding it to his back so he can roll the kinks out of his shoulders. He's sweaty, and aching, but it's a good kind of burn, more satisfying than wrestling with magic spells.

"Fucking thing really slows me down," he bitches, though it's less of a complaint in itself and really more the sound of Lambert trying to work out a solution to a problem. He lets it rest on the floor of the arena, though he has the discipline not to drop it. The alien-looking eyes roll crazily, and he makes a face at it, grabbing his canteen and taking a long drink before looking up at Syrlya.

"Best out of five?" he smirks. He lost to Syrlya this time, but they're tied right now. He's lost track of time, but they've been at it for a while.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya's grip on the training sword slacks as he lets out a heavy breath of his own. He slides his shield off his arm, digging the base into the dirt so he can lean against it as Lambert hydrates himself.

"You get used to it," he assures. Which is true, and that shield is luckily lighter than it probably should be. Of course, with Syrlya's evasion being largely magic based, he has less shape to get used to--just mostly weight.

He raises a brow at Lambert's suggestion, a wry smile growing on his face. "A tie-breaker? You do not need to rest, first?"

[whattaprick]

"I could do this all day," Lambert laughs smugly, taking another swig from his canteen before grinning at the Sylvari. "Not with the damn shield, though."

It's not really so much that it's heavy as much as it limits his range of movement in annoying ways. He needs one hand for the sword, he needs another to cast, but the shield on his back isn't useful when it's just on his back, either. He still has yet to find a compromise he's happy with.

"Don't know how you manage to get those spells off so fast," he grumbles. He wasn't entirely sure what Syrlya was trying to do but the buzz of his medallion had been nearly constant.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya shrugs. "My spells are designed to be cast quickly. It would not be as effective if you had the chance to anticipate and avoid them, would they?"

It's definitely the strength of such intangible, utility-based magic. What he lacks in power, he makes up in speed and diversity. It has a few weaknesses, though, one of which...

"But they still did not seem to affect you as strongly as they should," he inclines his head for emphasis. "Did you ward against them?"

[whattaprick]

That's the same idea as witcher signs, but Syrlya's spells look and act much more complicated than witcher signs. Are spells really just that straightforward in Syrlya's world all the time, or have those been boiled down to their basics too.

Although the next part surprises him, making him blink and glance up. "Ward against them?" he echoes, head cocked. "I wouldn't even know what to ward against. What are you talking about?"

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya taps the side of his head. "How much did you hurt here? You seemed to shake off all my influence much more easil. Either it's warded, or you are remarkably resilient."

Not that he doubts Lambert's ability to take punches, but he'd hardly flinched. Normally Syrlya's magic should rend far more deeply.

[whattaprick]

"Witchers are supposed to be, but whatever they fucked up, they didn't make us that much better at resisting magic." Lambert frowns, straightening up at that. This is news to him, that much is obvious, but then again, most things about magic are. He caps his water canteen again, turning to Syrlya.

"Try it again now," he orders. Before, he'd been too caught up in adrenaline and the need to win to pay attention to what was going on.

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya pauses for a moment, before muttering a mantra and tracing the pattern in the air to generate the magic charge. Then he points a finger at Lambert, and a burst of magic explodes around Lambert's head, although it can't be felt. Instead, the spell is designed to shock his mind directly to stun him.

Syrlya thought his resistance was intentional, so he watches just as intently for Lambert's response.

[whattaprick]

Lambert isn't exactly sure what he's expecting, either, but now that he's anticipating it -- there it is. A sudden sharp jolt lancing through his skull, something that means to command his muscles to lock up, and it succeeds as far as making his jaw clench while his fingers curl into fists at his side.

And then his brows furrow and he tosses his head, breaking out of the brief numbness the spell had dropped him into.

"That sucked more than I remember," he complains, but there's a confusion and interest in his voice now. "How bad is it supposed to be?"

[chronosynthesis]

"Enough to disable you, at least for a few seconds." Syrlya frowns, although it's more pensive than irritated.

"You don't know anything about--" He spins his hand in the air. "Resistance to mental influence?"

It's effectively what Syrlya does--not mind control, but certainly an alteration of perception and coherency. The kind of thing someone is either naturally resistant to, or fights off purposefully.

[whattaprick]

Lambert shakes his head.

"Not a lot. Witchers practice using Axii on each other, but that's about as much as I know how to do." Given its Lambert, one can't help but wonder if his own being a stubborn asshole is more the factor there than any skill.

[chronosynthesis]

It definitely takes more than being a stubborn asshole to ward of potent magic.

"I find it hard to believe you haven't noticed before in sixty years." In fact, he sounds a little incredulous. "So is this recent?"

[whattaprick]

"Must be," Lambert agrees, frowning. "Couldn't tell you when, though. Don't exactly make a habit of getting my head fucked with."

His expression darkens. "And it didn't exactly do me any good at the manor."

[chronosynthesis]

"Neither did my expertise." That's not entirely true, because being aware enough his head was being screwed with meant he knew more ways to forcibly focus himself even if he couldn't remember everything. But it sure didn't stop the initial brainwashing.

"Ingestion and direct magic are different things. He slipped something into the food at breakfast that day that... I suppose either made us more susceptible to his magic or fogged our minds from the start."

[whattaprick]

"Gotta wonder if that was his plan all along, or if we just pissed him off enough that he finally decided diplomacy could fuck itself."

Lambert shakes his head."Guess it doesn't matter. He wanted us screwed in the end, anyway."

He lapses into silence for a moment, thinking. And then--

"Not much use having resistance you don't understand, isn't it? It's like trying to train a muscle you don't know exists."

[chronosynthesis]

Syrlya won't argue that. The Prince had it out from the beginning, and he thought he was smarter than all of them. In truth, he almost was.

"Well then, my first recommendation would be to understand it," he responds with a wry smirk. As if it's really that easy. He holds up a finger. "But without knowing where it comes from, that will be a lot of trial and error. You already know an instance where it does and does not work, however!"

[whattaprick]

Lambert groans.

"So what, should I ask everyone in the Carnival who can fuck with my head to try it?"

[chronosynthesis]

"If you've nothing better to do," he says with a shrug. Although Lambert probably has a lot of other better things to do. Unfortunately for him, Syrlya doesn't know about Rita's detailed magic-deciphering abilities. So without and origin Syrlya figures they're just at a loss.