So You Wanna Fight Werewolves? has started at Harrow Hall - Camp Outside the Hedge.

Sen'azala ducks into the tent she's been using. She's only there for a minute or so, and when she reemerges, it's without armor, though she has her leathers tucked under an arm, and her sword still over one shoulder (the bow has been left inside, it would seem). She jerks her chin toward Ian, and then heads off for the edge of camp - opposite that of the Hedge - at a swift trot. The place she chooses isn't terribly far, certainly not far enough for anyone to get into trouble, but it's out of sight of the main camp, and within a small stand of trees for that extra bit of...privacy, apparently. Even though she just invited anyone who wanted to come.

Ian snags a practice sword on his way out of the camp. He isn't showing overt nervousness as he follows Sen out into the forest, away from the eyes of the common soldiers, but there's definitely a sense of him centering himself more than usual, sinking deeper into a state of calm. It's Ian's version of keying himself up and whispering self-affirmations. Even Ian isn't crazy enough, or confident enough, to volunteer for what he just volunteered for with no awareness of what he's getting himself into.

Sen'azala pauses to consider Ian's practice sword. "...Use an actual sword," she tells him. "Just don't cut me to pieces, and if I take off, definitely don't follow me. My control's good, but accidents happen."

Skaldia looks back to Cufre, still eating some bread and cheese snagged from the camp kitchen. "I'm not really sure, but I suppose we'll find out! Something to do with what to expect from the Mor'ral." She goes to follow Sen'azala, her expression curious.

Raymesin inclines his head to Skaldia, and then he too is setting out towards Sen'azala's chosen demonstration area, although he isn't moving at his usual long-legged pace.

Ian gives Sen a worried look, but, after a moment's hesitation, he nods. "My sword is alaricite. Should I find something made of steel?"

Sen'azala says, "It's not going to make a difference. Just be careful."

Breaking from quiet conversation with Raymesin, Cufre is jsut heading away from the Queen's shrine toward the kitchen. She stops as Skaldia heads off, looks to Raymesin, and, with a sigh, follows, as it turns out, them both to the gathering crowd.

Jan tilts her head and watches all of this curiously but she doesn't look particularly worried.

Sen'azala, so saying, picks a spot that's more open than the rest, and draws her own blade. That is *also* alaricite, it seems, but once she's drawn it she sheds the scabbard as well. Her 'ready' stance is more a shift of weight than anything more refined or styled. "So," she says, apparently addressing more than Ian now. "Your biggest problem with any of this is going to be speed. I'll show you near the end, but if you can't follow what's going on, you can't learn anything, so like any fight--" She tips the blade upward. "...we'll start with the basics."

Ian doesn't look like this especially sits well with him, but he nods, and sets the practice sword aside. He draws the alaricite sword from within his cane, lifts the blade, and studies it for a moment. A shimmer of pale silver light passes, for a moment, over his eyes, matching the color of the light that plays off of the blade. The cane part of his cane sword he leans against a tree, leaving his left hand free. His gait when he walks back to the center of the clearing is light, balanced, and very graceful.

Skaldia gives a nod to Raymesin as he joins the following crowd, and a quick smile to Cufre. She'll definitely stay back though, watching Sen'azala with concern as she gives instructions to Ian. The young Huntress has her bow and quiver with her still, and Libera is back at the Harrow tent, sleeping on her perch. The huntress keeps herself back warily, watching Sen'azala and Ian a bit nervously.

Raymesin finds somewhere in the shade to lean and watch, and if that puts him at a handy tree that's all the better.

Jan watches this, a small frown presenting at Ian

Jan watches this, a small frown presenting at Ian's apparent hesitation but then he draws the blade and all she sees is shiny shiny alarcite.

Ian and Sen have sparred before, and more than once, but neither quite like this. Sen begins as she has in the past; she circles, lighter on her feet than she has ever seemed - which is saying something - with more graceful movements than she has ever shown. She's slow at first, careful, studying him up and down, nostrils flaring in what's probably a bit...more than usual breathing. There's no unnatural change to her eyes, though they do seem rather bright. Eager? Perhaps something a little darker than that. Then she lunges, and unlike previous battles, this isn't a feint at all. She's *fast*, though true to what she said, not so fast that she can't actually be followed. It would seem she has full faith in Ian being able to deal with the attack, because she doesn't seem to hold back at all.

Aegis, a large red Oakhaven bloodhound, Rurik, a prodigal assistant arrive, following Mirk.

There's a cluster of people a little distance from camp - and it's a cluster including several of the usual suspects.

(OOC)The scene set/room mood is now set to: Sen'azala is about to show what to expect from the Mor'ral. A small crowd has gathered outside the camp.

With only a couple of exceptions, Ian has never fought like this at all. His iconic fighting style, planted in place, barely moving his feet, and relying entirely on his skill with a sword to carry him is gone. This is true fencing, complete with the footwork, but at a truly impossible level of skill. As the spar (is it even a spar?) begins, he's detached, deeply calm, fighting entirely defensively. But every step up in speed is matched by a building intensity in his eyes, electric blue, sometimes shimmering pale silver. And gradually, he seems to gain the confidence to begin to go on the offense. It's clear that he's a match for her right now, maybe even more than a match, although if there's a clear advantage, he's not pushing it. This isn't a fight that the point is for him to win. Maybe. Yet.

Liara joins those other observers, a quiet presence, accompanied by a few more experienced veterans. She doesn't ask any questions or pass any comment - she's just there to watch.

Eirene watches in silence. Occasionally she turns away to deal with a courier or an issue. But mostly she's an observer as well.

Jan watches in something close to awe, "Petrichor's untamed bush, this is so intense."

Mirk wanders into the crowd of observers, using a staff like a walking stick as he approaches. Leaning against it idly, he watches the fight with keen interest.

Raymesin watches in silence, pale eyes flickering between the fighters as he follows every move.

In the past, Sen may have tried - definitely did try - to conserve energy, but not now. Blades clash, fast and faster still, and while she maintains the same fighting 'style' she always has - a strange, low, rough sort of fighting that seems to have a great deal of focus at shifting direction in unpredictable ways - it's somehow so much more. Around and around they go, and indeed, Ian's more than holding his own. "Adepts," Sen says around this, not even sounding slightly out of breath, despite there being no pause in the battle, "are faster than you. Ridiculous reflexes, heightened awareness, stronger--" she demonstrates by bringing her blade down hard enough the force threatens to shear Ian's blade from its hilt; which might explain why she asked for a real sword, because the Alaricite holds that blow easily where the wooden practice sword would have splintered. "Hopefully we're not seeing any of those, but if there are any Sylv'alfar that take the field, expect it. That or mages." Her nose wrinkles. "Put arrows in the mages first, if you can. Adepts work by channeling magic through themselves," she slashes, she dodges out of the way of a return blow just barely, "so you'll usually see them engage in close combat, but don't rely on it. Channeling is a means of using magic, it's not a limitation on what magic they can do." This time, she twists...into Ian's blade. It's clearly deliberate, and also reckless, but fortunately what she gets for it is a blade through the arm and not her chest. Blood sprays as she staggers back. Oof.

Eirene steps forward out of sheer medic's reaction. But she stops. Waiting Sen and watching. If she's needed, she knows Sen"azala will ask.

Skaldia watches the spar, and listens to Sen'azala with intense focus as she talks about focusing arrows on the mages. The young Huntress gives a nod at that, and shifts the quiver of arrows on her back. Then her eyes widen as Sen'azala gets a blade in the arm, and then starts bleeding. She winces a bit, but she stays back, following Eirene's lead with a glance at the General. She glances to her sister as well, and to Raymesin, to see how they are reacting to all this. Then she looks back to Ian and Sen'azala, absorbing everything with those hawkish, perceptive eyes.

Jan frowns, "How will we know mages if they're wielding blades rather than flinging vines or what not?" there's a grimness about her as it sinks in the kind of carnage she should brace herself for.

"How are their defenses against mages? And arrows, for that matter?" Mirk calls out, since Sen'azala is polite enough to explain this all to them.

Raymesin's pale eyes continue to flicker over the scene, taking in as many of the nuances of the fight as he can; the spray of blood doesn't seem to bother him at all. "Depends," is his short answer to a lot of the questions asked.

Ian is still entirely reactionary, serving as a target for Sen's demonstration. Part of what saves his sword is probably the way he angles it as he raises it to parry, deflecting the majority of the force rather than absorbing it all into his weapon (and his arm), but even so, the sheer power of the strike makes the two swords spark off of each other where they meet. He doesn't pull his strike when Sen twists into it, but there's none of the horror from him that ought to come from unexpectedly stabbing a friend. This, too, is something he saw about to happen and didn't do anything to stop it. His pale blade is slicked red as he takes a step back, not pressing his attack, waiting. "I'm pretty sure I can parry arrows," he says, in response to Mirk's question. "Someone better than me might not need to see them coming. Magic would have to do a lot of damage to put me down."

Cufre is slower to it than Eirene, but she, too, starts for the inner circle. She's a few steps in when she catches sight of the Physicians' Guildmaster holding, so...she backs up.

Sen'azala hisses through her teeth. *Ow*. "The Mor'ral are adepts," she says, and there's a bit of strain in her voice due to the injury, even if the exertion of the fight itself hasn't produced any. "Each and every one. ...Or approximations, as far as this fight is concerned. If you catch them human somehow, don't treat them that way." She tips her head slightly toward the questions, though her focus remains on her opponent. "...If they're Sylv'alfar, they're wielding magic. Mages just handle it differently." There's a sharp nod to what Ian says. "...Not an occasion to hold back." Which she demonstrates, because she's at Ian again, as fast as before, as ferocious as before - or maybe more so - as agile as before...

Then, in less than an instant, there's no Sen at all, but a large, white furred, half-man half-wolf creature leaping at him and attempting to drag him straight to the ground with the sheer weight and momentum of the change. Her sword spins away forgotten.

There's a hiss of indrawn breath from Raymesin's direction, the tall man reacting to Sen'azala's sudden shift and leap with shock.

Comedenti, the Calderan Bearded Vulture arrives, following Titus.

Titus has joined the Valour's Veil.

Eirene is only mildly thrown aback by the sudden transformation. It's almost as if she anticipated it. She takes the same step back she took forward after the injury for some space between herself and the fight.

Eira, 2 Bone Wardens, 3 Bone Wardens arrive, following Volcica.

Skaldia is watching and listening to Sen'azala speak about adepts one moment, then she gasps as the woman disappears, and in her place is a furry, ravenous beast. The young huntress takes an involuntary step back, and maybe inches a little closer to her sister too. "Wow," she breathes, her hand rising to her throat, where her heart likely jumped to.

Ian knew what was going to happen. This isn't the first (or even the third) werewolf he's seen. But even from the depths of his serenity of combat, even with all of the confidence and self-possession from the magic he holds inside him, there's a moment where he catches his breath. But he's not frozen; he reacts even as she leaps for him, drops into a roll that turns into a slide on the forest floor that has him passing within a hair's breadth of her claws. He lifts his blade as he passes by her in what would have been a deep draw cut across her center of mass if he hadn't been using the flat. The end of the slide turns into another roll that puts him back on his feet, and already preparing to dodge again. "They'll go for guts." He's talking fast. There is no time for anything else.

Titus has left the Valour's Veil.

Comedenti, the Calderan Bearded Vulture have been dismissed.

Jan Sucks in a sharp breath and her eyes widen. She is also taken aback but there's a quick glance around as if more worried how others will react. She goes back to watching the fight, absolutely riveted.

Mirk whistles in appreciation at Sen'azala's transformation, not surprised but still very much impressed. He watches with rapt attention, not interjecting, merely watching the fight unfold.

Cufre, who was already poised to step back, now rushes back as the sight of Sen'azala's transformation. She nearly stumbles, but the press of onlookers combined with someone's supportive hand keeps her righted up.

The wolf - the Wolf - snarls and bares its teeth, but it lands like a cat on all fours, and then, with a push, it leaps a good ten feet away from Ian before twisting in the air and landing again. It growls now, though the growl is unusual, and - no, it's not growling, she's speaking, even if it sounds like she's having to force the words. "Guts. Throat," she says. "Like any predator." Rather than attack again, however, she holds up her arm. The blood is all the more start against the white fur, except...it's not bleeding any more. In fact, the wound looks smaller.

Raymesin inspects the arm Sen'azala lifts up, thoughtfully, then nods. "With yer," he murmurs, the moment of surprise apparently over. He doesn't seem too surprised by Ian's abilities, either.

"Let them chew your arm if you have to." Ian takes the moment where she's showing the wound she previously gave herself on his sword close to speak. "Better you lose it than your throat. Might give you an opening."

Eirene coughs. It's totally a cough and not a laugh.

Comedenti, the Calderan Bearded Vulture have been dismissed.

Skaldia grimaces at the mere thought of getting her arm chewed off by a wolf-man-thing, and she folds her arms protectively in front of her as she continues to watch and listen. "Fast healers too?" she asks, studying the arm as it is held up. "How many of these... Mor'ral... are we expecting?" she asks around, not really sure exactly who to ask.

Figures that Volcica would appear just as Sen transforms! Dark eyes widen, and she skirts around the gathering towards Raymesin and Cufre. Familiar faces, after all! There's a glance to Mirk, a nod if he catches her eye, but she doesn't bother with too many greetings while there's a werewolf distracting everyone!

Raymesin inclines his head deeply to the arriving Volcica, his gloved hand lifting so his fingers touch over his heart, but most of his attention is on Sen'azala and Ian.

Jan watches all of this grimly. Nope. Not having a grand time anymore. She fishes out a flask and unscrews the cap while she watches.

Sen appears to disagree, however. "If they've got your arm you're dead." Her ears twist back, and she considers their surroundings. "I am not Mor'ral," she grates. "I am Venandi. We might be different. But I'm one. They're Legion's pack." She's unhelpful about Skaldia's question, however. "I don't know." She turns her back to them. Beat. "Watch."

Maybe 'watch' is a joke, because there's the impression that she lunges again, just enough for the mind to register the idea of movement, but by the time that thought completes the tree she threw herself against is on the ground and in *pieces*, splinters and branches everywhere, bark shredded, already torn to bits by tooth and claw. If it had been a person, it would be unrecognizable as one.

Eirene turns to the soldiers watching the fight. "See this," she orders the dumbstruck rank and file. "DON'T SHOOT THIS ONE," is the barked order. "Aim somewhere else. Spread the word," the General continues.

"We didn't exactly have a census taken," Mirk says in a wry tone to Skaldia. "But they're a whole tribe. Not all of whom, if I understand, are capable of shapeshifters. It's safe to assume we'll be facing as many as they can bring to bear."

Cufre turns her wide eyes upon Volcica. It's a greeting, in a way.

Ian had been prepared to dodge out of the way, but he doesn't even begin to complete that motion when Sen strikes; she's not aiming for him, and he seems to be aware of that. "There were ten in the pack I know about." His eyes, still sometimes shimmering silver, are planted on Sen-The-Wolf; he doesn't dare look away to look at Skaldia when he addresses her. "But there might be more than one pack. Or the one I know of may have been whittled down."

Raymesin's eyebrows lift at the sight of the tree destroyed in a matter of moments, and he nods slowly. It just might be a coincidence, but both of his hands are visible, and both are empty.

Volcica dips her head to Raymesin, a ghost of a smile curving her lips. The same goes to Cufre, but much like the others? She's keeping her eyes largely on Sen'azala. "They might move as one. One thought, one mind, many bodies. One hand, many fingers."

"They do," Ian confirms. "The ones I ran into a few years ago shared wounds."

Skaldia gulps visibly as she watches that tree being torn to shreds, and her eyes glance around warily. Her gaze pauses on Mirk, and she gives a solemn nod of the head. Her gaze inevitably goes back to Sen'azala, then Ian as he gives a little more details about what they might expect. She gives a firm nod of the head, and somehow she manages to gather her resolve, and it shows in her expression, determination written on her features. Her gaze shifts to Volcica, and she gives a nod to her as well. She takes in everything that is said, and her expression becomes taut, but remains focused.

Volcica has joined the Altar of the Queen of Endings.

As Volcica speaks on the aspects of the Hive, Eirene shudders at something. Skin crawling all over shake. She turns her blue gaze back to the display.

For any whose focus isn't completely riveted by the human-wolf, the faint rustling of forest litter heralds the arrival of Avary, standing a few paces off behind the group of observers at a well enough distance. Her eyes are slightly wider than usual (one of those 'heard about it, never saw it') looks, but the looks doesn't border on the frightened or anxious.

Jan tilts her flask up against her lips and drinks deeeeep. she screws the cap back on and slips it away, watching all this.

Sen'azala spits bits of wood. A close examination would see the splinters in her jaw already starting to work their way out, however, as the injuries close. She twists sharply back and smacks the tree next to the one she just killed...once. It topples without resistance, the blow enough to leave a deep and visible impact. Then the monster drops to a three point crouch, and focuses - it clearly takes some - on actually talking in a way that's vaguely understandable. "Pay attention to this," she snarls at those soldiers that have gathered with the rest to watch, as if there was any danger that they were not at this point. "Faster than you. Stronger than you. I can smell everything, hear everything." She holds up her claws in front of her, so they're easier to see, she bares her teeth. "Horses are nothing. I feel everything, but it heals quickly - they won't care about pain. We'll be slower now. Watch. Pay attention." She prowls back toward Ian, and this time, when she attacks, it's with far more manageable speed. Still *very* fast, but a trained eye can follow it, and she's not attempting to feint or disguise her attacks. "Like any enemy. Any prey. *Know* them."

Skaldia watches and listens carefully to the growling from the wolf-Sen'azala, drawing in a deep breath as another attack is made toward Ian. She can't tear her eyes away, watching the pair carefully with the other soldiers.

Ian seems a little bit more comfortable with the circumstances he find himself in, sparring (maybe sparring? Is it sparring?) with a Venandi. Which is to say he doesn't catch his breath, this time, as Sen stalks back towards him. He matches his speed to hers, dodging and parrying rather than trying to attack. His parries are always focused on turning her strikes aside rather than catching them or forcing them back. Someone who knew what they were looking at might realize that he has an awareness of Sen's ability to just flat-out grab the blade of his sword, and he's hedging against the possibility.

Cufre is craning to see more than the falling of trees in the breaks between the soldiers' arms. She gives up on it momentarily to say something quietly to Volcica.

Raymesin continues to watch the two sparring; minute shifts of his weight and tiny changes in posture might just suggest that he's working out what he'd do in that circumstance.

Indeed, and she makes a few attempts at it as well, though there's a sense that she's demonstrating the possibility more than committing to it as a strategy. She claws and bites, but none of these touch Ian, even should she find the opportunity; at most he's going to be feeling those bruises. Again and again and again, tirelessly, sometimes faster, sometimes much slower, as if they were truly dancing, rather than fighting. After some time, she pulls back just enough to look toward the crowd. "You," she says, of one of the front row soldiers. "And you. And Raymesin. Come. Then you two." She starts picking people out of the crowd, anyone bearing a weapon. "Come. Learn how they'll move. Don't fucking skewer me."

Eirene gives a single nod as a few soldiers' eyes turn to her. "Go on. We know we'll have to deal with 'em, best we learn how from an ally. I would suggest pikemen, for distance, but blades are always our backup."

Volcica settles in beside Cufre, leaning to listen. There's something quiet to Mirk, as well. She's got a spear, but the blade is hooded in leather and she carries it more like a staff-- letting it lean against her shoulder now.

Ian has been fighting at beyond what should be full speed for a while now, but when he backs off to let Sen pick on... uh, demonstrate to other people, he doesn't look out of breath. There's a slightly fevered appearance to the way his eyes shine that is hard to recognize as the excitement that it is when contrasted with his slack, placid expression. The fingers of his left hand twitch, the only indication of keyed up energy, a desire that has built to really finish the fight.

Raymesin detaches himself from his tree and steps forward at Sen'azala's invitation; he draws the knives from their sheaths at his belt, and one is the brilliant white of diamondplate while the other is sooty black. "Try not ter rip up my armour," the street thug from the Lowers says, moving into free space. "This is all I got."

Skaldia watches as people are pointed to in the gathered soldiers, and her eyes tighten around the edges just a bit. She backs up a little more, making room for the added soldiers as they are called into the fight along with Raymesin.

Jan's eyes widen and she breaths, "I never imagined that he could get better than he was but somehow he has and it's like watching flame danced, anyone else seeing this shit?"

"Just wait," Ian says to Jan. He indicates Ray with his sword.

Eirene mutters, "if he didn't ... this kind of shit, ... be ... ... those ..."

Cufre pauses in her quiet conversation with Volcica and looks past the gathering, toward the hedges, before leaning into the conversation once more.

The wolf beast swipes a tongue over its muzzle, which is probably not particularly reassuring. When Sen comes at Raymesin, it's just as fast and vicious as she went at Ian, though still without the speed she took out on the tree. Like Ian, however, her focus seems less on landing blows - even blunt ones, though she does try - and more on emphasizing exactly how she moves. Where the blows come from. When she bites. How she turns, and how her weight shifts. Something changes up rather quickly about this, however; she's pushed into being faster, and there's even a moment of clear surprise before she adjusts. No dancing now; it's predator against predator, any grace is secondary.

Volcica keeps her eyes on the fighting, watching Raymesin, Ian and the other fighters -almost- as much as Sen. She's only murmuring to Cufre, otherwise quiet.

Eirene says, "I should be able to clean up anything Sen does, Raymesin." She says this after a long moment of internal debate. "Might be a good test of my own skill..."

Ian isn't currently one of the fighters. He was here merely as a target who Sen was reasonably certain not to seriously injure, and now that she's demonstrating to others, he's in the audience with everyone else, albeit in the audience looking like he'd really like not to be.

Onida, a boglands wolf-hound have been dismissed.

Due, a tireless Whitehawk hound have been dismissed.

Josse, a sharp-eyed Whitehawk falcon have been dismissed.

2 Whitehawk Guards have been dismissed.

Molly, a youthful Stormheart Bear Dog have been dismissed.

There is no indication whatsoever of what Avary might think of all this. She is just a silent observer with a poker face that rivals the most seasoned. She has a sword of her own but has made no motion to it. (It's basically tossed on her like an after-thought accessory.)

Jan eyes Eirene. then Raymensin. she knows no one here is a push over but there remains worry and her weight shifts restlessly back and forth between her braced feet.

Raymesin meets Sen'azala with speed and grace, and while he can't match the sheer physicality of the Venandi, with his height and his reach and the nature of his weapons, he's not far off. Brutal back-alley fighting is at the root of his style, and a sheer vicious practicality - but it's all done with elegance and a speed that has to be seen to be believed. He adapts to the new situation and the new sparring partner swiftly, and if he ends up leaping backwards at one point and then using a tree trunk as a springboard in order to launch himself at Sen'azala, well, it just seems fluid and an entirely natural act, as well as just plain spectacular to watch. And in the sparring against a genuine predator, Raymesin's true nature starts to show through for those who can see it. He's just as much a predator as Sen'azala is, even if he doesn't have the fangs or the claws. And by his bright grin, there's joy in this.

After quite some time of just observing, and a faint nod to something Eirene says, Liara eventually suggests, "We can section off several detachments of foot soldiers equipped with pikes to move to wherever along the line the Mor'ral might go. I expect they will make it past the first row of pikes, but if we have the soldiers yield ground in good order, starting the very moment the Mor'ral make contact, it may ward them off."

Ian shakes his head to Liara. "I'm not sure it'd ward them off," he remarks. His gaze is still fixed on the fight, but his voice is oddly relaxed, considering. "But the mor'ral, or at least the ones I've fought, don't show the reason Sen does. If you give them prey, they might be easier to slow down with arrows. They might be less interested in dodging." Slow down. Not take down.

Jan tilts her head and notes "I think I finally see something the swordfolk in my life been trying to tell me I wasn't seeing-I think I finally get what they meant. Well. What it looks like, anyhow."

Eirene says, "Ward off, no." She agrees with Ian's assessment. "But I'd rather see the foot soldiers try to stab them afar than get in range of those claws with a hand-blade..." her eyes stay fixed on the pair and the other soldiers trying to get in on it."

Sen'azala doesn't spar against Raymesin quite as long as she did Ian, but it's certainly lengthy enough for the watching fighters to get a very good look at how both of them move and fight. She leaps, she snarls, she tumbles, she takes opportunities for dirty blows.

When she pulls back, she immediately motions up the next two soldiers. And then the next. With these, she goes slower - they've only got themselves to bring to the fight - and certainly her blows, when she lands a thump, are much lighter, and much more careful (even if some of them might be rather heavier than intended). She snarls and snaps in their faces, she pushes them down, she gets close, she suddenly engages in bursts of speed to come at them from different directions. The Wolf isn't being subtle about her intentions, so they're easy enough to pick up on: it's practice of a sort somewhat apart from fighting. She's clearly trying to scare them, and if they are successfully startled into trying to run back, she snaps at them to return. There's nothing that will stop a werewolf being in your face from being *frightening*, of course - and there's a base instinct to want to desperately get away from such a predator - but there's a difference between fear and panic. She gradually adds more at once as well...she lets them circle, she lets those pikes get up, she lets them swing blades. Every now and then, she'll break into that blinding speed and terrible strength that can bowl them back and snap weapons, but never for long.

Get them used to it. Get them to react beyond instinct. Get them to at least try for strategies.

"It's a little terrifying," Mirk admits to Ian, watching the fight. "I'm half tempted to step up, if only to see how well that strength and sheer ferocity stands up to a mage - or a druid." He shakes his head slowly. "I have few illusions about its effectiveness, but it might be useful to let them see that magic is not a cure all, just because it's on their side."

Liara, still observing quite intently, gives a nod in understanding to Ian. "If not warded off, then we must be sure that they are killed. If they can be baited, then the principle of using pikes or long spears remains, but we need a means to draw them into such formations. I agree with the Lady General that it is preferable to letting them close to soldiers with short weapons."

Raymesin is good. Very good. He can't avoid all the blows, but he's got the instincts and the experience to make them less than they could have been, especially the dirty blows. He's breathing heavily by the time Sen'azala motions soldiers forwards, though, and when he staggers back it's to take a little sit down. He's fast - inhumanly fast, really - but he doesn't have inhuman endurance to go with it.

"You'll get more use out of it if you do it to stretch into what you're capable of," Ian advises to Mirk. He sounds a little bit distracted as he watches the fighting, which probably has a lot to do with why he didn't catch 'mage' and 'druid' as things to be surprised by, and just responds matter of fact. "The only reason I suggested doing this is because I've had the chance to get a sense of what I'm capable of in a fight."

Volcica has left the Altar of the Queen of Endings.

Eira, 2 Bone Wardens, 3 Bone Wardens leave, following Volcica.

Skaldia quietly slips away, a little thoughtful frown on her lips. She disappears into the Harrow tent, probably with a lot to think about.

Sen is not a particularly skilled teacher; but she *has* taught, and most of what she's taught is, at heart, exactly this: drilling soldiers relentlessly. She's merciless about it; while she takes them in pairs, and then in small groups, no one individual is allowed to rest for long, and by the end of it, she's making them all act at once. She's hardly immune to this - she takes a good few blows, some hard smacks from practice weapons - but she keeps going. They encircle her with pikes, she leaps the pikes and pounces one unfortunate soldier. "He's dead," she grates. "But one set of eyes. In!" And so it goes. Finally, she jumps free entirely, gives herself a vigorous shake, and is abruptly human shaped again. Human shaped with entirely shredded clothing, but that she expected; hence why she brought what she was wearing beforehand. She begins to dress, while still instructing. "You can't outrun them or outfight them. If you're alone, you're dead. If you're a handful, you're dead. They get one of you down, and you go *in*. They come at you, you back off. Do you know how wolves hunt bears?"

Skaldia has left the the Harrow family tent.

Libera, a quiet hawk have been dismissed.

Eirene motions to those done with their bout. "Do any of you need to be seen to," she asks as she steps forward from the audience. "Or your armor. I can see to it being mended."

Raymesin watches the rest of the lessoning from his new spot sitting against a tree. "Thanks," he murmurs, then hauls himself to his feet. "That were amazin', Prima. An' now I need ter go sleep." He definitely doesn't have Ian's endurance, staggering as he moves away.

"Sen." Ian speaks hesitantly once it starts to look like the lesson is getting close to breaking up. There's the slightest plea in his voice; it sounds almost childlike. "Do you have any juice left to really push me?"

Jan shakes her head and there's a small fond smile at that look from Ian. She turns to go find something to eat.

Raymesin has left the Altar of the Queen of Endings.

Scarf, the violet serpent have been dismissed.

Jan is overheard praising Sen'azala.

"Not as a wolf," Sen tells Ian. "I need to conserve." As if she's been conserving, though at least she looks a bit tired and sweaty now. "But if *you* want to be the bear--" she points at the center of the gathered soldiers, then looks toward the rest. "In the Everwinter," she says, "there are white bears that are much larger and much more vicious than any bears you'll have seen if you've never gone that far north. They're bad tempered even for bears, but they'll eat you for fun. Nothing challenges the white bears in the Everwinter short of a mammoth; they're the largest, nastiest predators around. They will always, always win." A beat. "Which is their weakness."

There's maybe a tiny bit of disappointment there, but Ian's disciplined enough to keep it contained. "I'm not sure anyone's imagination is good enough to fancy me a giant predator." He's a little below average height for an arvani man, and at least during this fight, was too restrained to seem at all like a predator. Raymesin he's not.

Jan gets a bowl of stew and finds a place to sit and rather unlike Jan, she doesn't immediately dig in like someone might try to take her food from her. Instead she seems to drift off in thought and toys with the spoon restlessly.

Eirene says, "I'm not dumb enough to take you on now." She barks a dry laugh to Ian. "Even before... you would beat me. I'm more useful after the fight than during now. But thank you. BOTH of you. I can drill our fighters with these tactics. Do what we can to keep them alive."

Sen'azala snorts. "Size isn't the point." Other than how much she just emphasized how big northern bears are. She finishes pulling on her clothing and armor, then retrieves her sword. "If you're the biggest, nastiest thing around, if you win every fight, if you have no enemies that can challenge you, if you're *invincible*, then you've opened yourself up. The white bears don't expect to lose fights because they've never lost fights. This is how I've seen wolves fight them. Look around you. Look where we're standing. Do you think the Horned God is afraid of us? Do you think he believes we can win? Do you think the Mor'ral are worried about your weapons and your courage? They don't *need* courage. You're nothing to them. Flies to be swatted. It's the same with the white bears."

The mention of the Horned God lifts Cufre's chin, sharpens her attention to the words being exchanged between Sen'azala and Ian.

"On the matter of bait," Liara starts, and then she continues, a question now directed more towards Sen'azala, "Has the man you directed to me since communicated the specifics of his plan? It occurs that it may be relevant to those here." What a vague question!

Ian nods to Eirene. He idly rocks back on his heels, another expression of that barely contained energy that isn't meant to be just left sitting there. As Sen talks, he might be starting to get a sense of where she's going with this; he sheathes his alaricite sword into his cane, and, leaving the cane behind, borrows a practice sword from someone. "Alright. You lot better not kill me. I'll try and pretend I didn't lose a fight last week."

"Nothing obfuscates Clarity quite like conceit." Avary has broken her calm reserve - which means she's arrived somewhere mentally with regard to all she has witnessed. And wherever she landed, it's not far from Sen'azala's declaration. But, she's also just an observer at the moment, and there's no force behind the words or intention to be inspiring, commanding, or important in any way at the moment.

"Not necessarily specifics," Sen says toward Liara. "Though he did mention griffins. I agree, best to let them know of any magical dramatics ahead of time. ...Though, if the plan is roughly the same, being extra inspiring won't hurt. You're leading them, after all."

"When I was a teenager," Sen tells the soldiers, and now she's pacing, hands clasped behind her back, "the master huntsman of my tribe took me to track wolves. We followed a pack for days, but when we'd caught up with it, we saw that the pack had caught up with a white bear. It was winter, the bear was hungry. It was winter, the wolves were hungry too. The bear charged the pack, fearless, because he had *nothing* to fear." And, since Ian is taking up that role, she points at him. "A single blow from a white bear can break a wolf's back. So the wolves leaped backwards. The white bear charged one; it ran, but the others circled behind, and came at it." Her eyes narrow. "Do that," she tells the soldiers. "Circle. Now. He comes at you, you back off. You can't match him. He turns his back to you, and you come at him. Push and pull. This is how wolves fight the white bears."

Eirene points to a few unlucky troops. "You go. Anyone who scores a proper hit on Lord Ian gets out of chores tomorrow," she incentivizes. She looks to Liara and asks dryly, "Anything I should know about, Highlord?" Eyebrows arch over blue eyes.

Ian isn't a bear. He isn't a predator. But as he turns slowly in the circle of soldiers, their blades and pikes pointed in at him, there's an easy confidence about him, eyes shining like blades. He's not the size of a bear, but projects that sense of invincibility. "You heard the lady," he says, his last words, before, suddenly, he's moving. He drops into a roll straight under pikes that swing far, far too slow to stop him comes up, and grabs the haft of one of the pikes. The soldier holding it doesn't let go fast enough, and Ian swings her at the person next to her, crashing both together hard enough to knock them over before wheeling on someone coming in from behind him who he really shouldn't have known was there. He was fighting defensively against Sen, matching his speed to hers. Now he's using a sword that's not going to seriously injure anyone in armor, and so he's not holding back.

Denica had returned back to the city for a couple days, probably to find more paint. Arriving back at camp, this time in the company of a lot of dour-faced and stern looking Islanders, who have come to assist with the efforts. The woman asks around wondering where some of the folks she knows are, not seeing them at the normal spots. It probably doesn't take too much detective work to hear they are gathered just outside the camp. Giving her escorts a break from her upbeat chatter, the woman wanders off to see what is going on. Seeing people gathered, the small woman approaches quietly, trying to get a better sense of what's going on and catch the words that are being shared. Once she's there, she stands on her tip-toes to see better.

"Dead," Sen announces. "Get up, you two, no time for bruises."

Pasquale arrives part way through this demonstration and stops at a good distance to watch exactly what is going on. More thought than awe in his gaze.

Jan is overheard praising Raymesin.

Liara nods quietly to Sen, then says, quietly, her words evidently not intended for many of the soldiers, though certainly for Eirene or anyone else particularly curious, "There will be magic to create the illusion of a griffin having taken the field, and to draw particular attention to me. There is, of course, also Elvesbane. The broad hope is to draw the Traitor's ire sufficiently that he overcommits forces. A fortuitous side-effect is the likely positive impact on the morale of our own warriors."

Jan has left the Field Kitchen.

Eirene smiles at Liara. "Do we fit you in armor like Queen Alarice?" She seems amused but it's not entirely a joke. "Griffons would be excellent, real or illusory." Mirk leans in and she listens carefully. Her expression is mixed between continued amusement and exasperation. "Thank you," she replies before responding more softly.

Faster and faster. The speed Ian is displaying isn't the same perfect grace that Ray showed. It's unlikely he's capable of that. This is a mix of the unnatural swiftness of magic actively used, combined with the skill of one of the best fighters the Compact has at its disposal. The shock that briefly immobilized the soldiers surrounding him wears off quickly, however, and they start to really press him. Fast he may be, and well trained, and capable (apparently) of jumping clear over someone's head. But he's one man against more than a dozen soldiers with training in the tactics of working together and Sen's guidance. As they begin to get a handle on the fight, and maybe even start to enjoy themselves, he's definitely pushing himself harder and harder, just to stay ahead of them. He's seeking the limits of what he can do, and it takes a little while and several more "dead" soldiers, but he finds them. A couple of people together manage to tackle him. He throws (literally throws, the guy actually gets air) one off, but two more are on him before he can roll back to his feet.

Pasquale watches Ian for a little longer before he starts to pick his way through the crowds in Sen'azala's direction. "Sen'azala" he asks once he's close enough to speak to her. "Do you know what it means for us that the Mor'ral are no longer thirteen?"

Liara flashes Eirene a smile. "I think I have that covered about as well as is reasonably possible at this point," she says. "However, if we have any means by which to raise the Traitor's ire yet further, they are well worth considering."

Standing on her tip-toes, Denica watches Ian carefully, thick Islander brows knitting together. Lips become pressed together as she considers while listening to the bits of conversation.

Cufre claps for the apparent success of the "bear"-hunters, that clap slowing as she looks in the direction of the conversation between Liara and Eirene.

The fight is over when one VERY overzealous soldier, the woman he swung into her friend at the start of the fight, tries to pop Ian in the face with a fist. Ian's able to catch the fist, but while still holding it, he says, with amusement: "Yield. Bear's dead. Can I trust you to give me a hand up, or are you going to break my nose if I let go?"

"In!" Sen says, with a sort of savage delight. She's not fighting anymore herself, but she's clearly *feeling* the battle, there's some thread of the predator in her that hasn't left at all. "*In*!" And when the soldiers do, indeed, pile on Ian, the tips of her teeth are visible when she announces, "Dead! ...Eventually. *Good*." She weaves closer to them, eyes faintly narrowed. "This is what happened to the white bear, and this is what my tribe's master huntsman told me: "When you hunt, when you fight, be the wolf, and not the bear. The bear is large, and powerful, and knows no one can challenge him, so he'll always be surprised when someone does, and always be certain he can win until he doesn't. The wolf knows his own weaknesses, and those of his father and mother, brothers and sisters. He knows when to stand, and when to run, and isn't afraid to do either, but most importantly," she makes that face that looks like a smile, but isn't a smile, "he knows just when to turn around and bite his enemy in the ass." She points toward the Hedge. "Legion pretends at wolves, but *you* are the wolves. You know your weaknesses. Know the weaknesses of the soldier next to you. This fight is not about the Mor'ral." She points again for emphasis. "*He* is the bear. He thinks you're nothing. He thinks he's invincible. He thinks he's already won. He thinks nothing can stop him and nothing can touch him, and I'm telling you, I'm *promising* you, that we're going to make that traitor, that kinslayer, that fucking butcher of children do *more* than bleed. He has no idea how vulnerable to you he really is."

Sen turns, snatches up her scabbard, and turns her attention toward Pasquale, with a squint. For all her pronouncements just now, her response to him is much quieter, not meant to carry to the soldiers they were just drilling. "...I don't know."

Eirene grins a little as she thinks on ways to piss off Orichalcum. "Raising any of Alarice's standards, in the old fashion. Anything symbolic of her victory over him... seriously; even replica armor if we're going to give him a target..." she looks at Sen at that. She looks past her to the soldier who Ian proclaims victory and claps her hands together. "I hope you all paid attention, because she just got out of KP and guard patrol for the rest of this campaign." A worthy prize indeed. "Are any of you hurt? Ian? Any of them bruise you up?"

Avary has been unshifting and playing the role of a silent watcher. Her eyes danced with the movement of the 'battle' as her only feature showing interest against the canvas of an otherwise dispassionate face. Sen'azala's speech is watched and heard maybe a bit more intently. She looks to Eirene in a spare second and, seeing the General in accord with the goings on, returns her attention to the happenings.

Jan has found somewhere not underfoot but in line of sight of where Sen'azala and others are training, removed from everyone else.

Denica looks over at Eirene, "I could paint it. Her victory over him, if there's any details on it. Like a really big painting, if you want?," she offers.

Cufre shudders and wraps her arms around herself for her silent walk back to the main of the camp.

Ian gathers himself up and rises. "I don't know," he admits to Eirene. "I'm not going to feel it until I let this go. I'm pretty sure I took a couple of pretty good shots to the ribs in there somewhere. You trained your guys pretty well." He eyes Sen for a moment, while he collects his cane again. "I'm not sure about winding up being a metaphor for the Traitor, but that was a pretty good speech."

"I know it is good." Pasquale says after Sen admits she doesn't know. Those words cast at the exact same volume as the original question. Just in case any soldiers caught it. It almost seems as if he might end it there but instead he notes the fight wrapping in and steps in closer to Sen'azala so that he can share some quiet words with her.

Eirene goes oooh at Denica's suggestion. "Aren't there paintings in the palace? Or in the Grayson estate? I'm sure something we can throw up as a battle standard will piss him off." She makes her way over to Ian and murmurs something, putting a hand on his shoulder if he permits.

"You were just the bear," Sen says, innocently. "Now Orichalcum's the bear." As Pasquale draws closer, she tips her head toward him and listens carefully.