Garble licked his finger, rubbing a smudge off of his breastplate. He had to look his best for this one. He hefted the large two handed axe from its place on the ground. It felt better to have a real weapon in his hands. He was gonna have a hard time going back to his dinky little sword as a Bulwark, but man did he like swinging around a big weapon as a Rivener instead.

He slung it over his back as the gate opened, and he strode into the arena, ready to show off. The crowd was… well none too impressed. Garble scowled to himself. It’s not like nobody looked, but a lot of people were still talking and milling about. Fine, he thought to himself. I’ll give them a show. He hoisted the axe above him and spewed a blast of flame. That got some interest.

Garble looked around, trying to find the swordsman. He couldn’t clearly tell. The swordsman seemed to know, like, everything that happened, and Garble wondered if the swordsman knew this was his first night.

His reflection was cut short as the other gate opened. What came out was somewhat disappointing. A small little red… thing was there, with a thick neck and an oversized head for its body. At least it had claws, but it looked around like it didn’t really know what was going on, peering about quizzically.

The crowd, however, grew quiet, and Garble heard what he thought was excited whispering. It was strange.

He walked on over to the monster, who at least noticed him and bared it’s little teeth and claws. He sneered and hefted his axe up. If this was his opponent, he might as well end it quickly. He lifted his axe high, the monster making a high pitched hissing noise, accompanied with a lower pitched rumble.

He brought the axe down, and the monster’s mouth opened as he did, a tremendous burst of air and sound blasting upward, deflecting Garble’s axe which, to be frank, he wasn’t really swinging with all his might.

Garble blinked and stared at the small monster, as it inflated it’s head and neck with air, puffing itself up to nearly his size, and it blasted an airy roar directly at Garble, knocking him off his feet and a few feet back.

The crowd roared with a mixture of cheers and laughter, as Garble stared at the once small monster, now comically oversized. It looked like a very angry joke, it’s skin puffing up with air again, it’s face contorted in anger, and it bellowed another scream right up, a terrific noise being made from the once small creature.

"Alright... that's... more like it." He steeled himself internally. A real fight was what he had asked for, right? Clutching his axe and bouncing back up to his feet, he scowled at the suddenly huge creature as if a good glare would be enough to send it packing.

The crowd was a mixture of cheers and jeers, as if just as desiring of a good fight as a thorough stomping. Great claws came in, and Garble smiled. The thing was huge and noisy and all kinds of things, but it wasn't nearly fast enough. "Brute strength does not a monster make." He rolled forward under the reaching claws. "Quick slices for my sake." He came up, dragging his axe along the underside of the thing. It only left a little line, but the first blood was his.

The thing's little tail suddenly twitched, knocking the smug Garble forward away from the creature. He went like a top to face it, knuckles paled from the force he was holding his axe. The crowd roared with delight at the show. "He ain't quite as artsy as the other poet," he somehow managed to hear despite the crowd full of people.

"Yeah yeah, I ain't slingin' poets, I sling beats. I deliver beatings, Hold on to your seats." Sure, he had gotten the rhyme off a little, but he felt good enough about it, deflecting claws aside with a mighty roar of his own, flames washing out in a great cone of battle fury.

The creature was not intimidated by the fires. "Figures," he grumbled to himself. Of course they wouldn't send a flammable creature against a frickin' dragon. That wouldn't make for a good show. He swung his axe in a great arc as the creature swung its entire body. The two collided, his axe biting into one of its claws, but the tremendous momentum of its great paw proved too great, lifting Garble into the air and sending him flying.

He snapped out his wings and hit the ground feet first. "Nice try, now die." It was short, but the beats were on point. With rebounding confidence he stalked towards his would-be prey. Or he meant to; great wind rushing at him with the deafening roar of the creature as it seemed to be releasing all its air at once, forcing him back then off his feet. Spread wings did little but help carry him away uncomfortably quickly, slamming into the opposing wall of the arena.

The crowd was wild at the show, cheering on the shrunken beast. "Tear that 'dragon' apart!" someone shouted down.

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Garble groaned, pulling himself to his feet as if using his sword as a cane. The walls of the arena were not soft. "Fool me one, shame on you." His axe glowed with power. "Fool me twice, Rager's Rush!" He propelled forward, carried across the field in one great leap, coming down on the thing with his axe first. "Kyaaaa!"

Wind buffeted him, the little thing trying to blow him away, but he refused to be turned aside, slicing right through it, his axe serving as the sharp point to divide that wind, clearing a path as he came down. The crowd went silent for a single tense moment.

It broke with new cheering, and groaning. Some had lost their wagers and cursed at the victorious dragon. A swaggering human emerged from the darkness. "Ladies, scalliwags. That was a fight, but only a taste. Our arena warrior, Garble the Great, has proved he might deserve the name. With this, he officially graduates from the baby pool and you'll see him going up against real combatants. Let's put our hands together to welcome the newest warrior to deserve being called an arena battler!"

Even the sore losers seemed to join the clapping and cheering. There would be more chances to wager on him, to win or to lose. Garble raised a fist into the air, the axe dangling from the other hand. "Yeah! Don't you suckers dare bet against me." He stormed off the stage into the shadowy back hallways of the little arena.

"Sloppy."

Garble saw his leader there, standing stoically. "Yeah? I won."

"But it was without grace." He pushed off the wall, fully blocking the path forward. "You can fight, this is good. But fighting is more than brute determination. You must have grace. Your first, least, hit was impressive. It showed a hint, a shred that I would pursue."

Garble's teeth set, a low growl in his chest.

"You approached me," reminded the warrior. "If you wish to learn to turn the words in your heart into power, you will follow. Go home, savor your victory. Tomorrow, we train."

"No!" Garble took a firm step forward. "Not tomorrow, today. Let's do this."

"So soon after your bout? Surely you have aches."

"I'll get over 'em," he assured with a rolling of a shoulder. "No more delays. Show me."

"There is grace to be found in conversation as well, but that is a lesson for another day." The felisurra warrior turned away. "Come then. Watching you battle did not tire me. The pain you will feel is on your own head."

"Bring it." Garble hung the axe on his back as he prowled behind his teacher. "So what's the first step?"

"We are beyond the first step. I have brought you this far, but there is more to be done." He looked over his shoulder at his draconic student. "I would hear the words of your heart. Speak them."

"Wha?"

"I wish to hear the words." He led Garble out away from the arena, towards a dark field, the grass softly compressing beneath their feet and only the sound of night insects around them. "Speak them. You said you were a poet."

"I am! Just... Look, I don't usually--"

He turned, arm out towards Garble, a blade held, its tip dangerously close. "I heard you attempting to speak them in the battle. If you cannot speak your heart's words, we are both wasting our time. They are your strength, not a weakness."

It was a strange way of looking at it, contrary to how Garble had up to then. "A strength... You have a drum?"

"A drum?" He lowered his hand, sheathing his blade along the way as if it simply wanted to be there. "Ah. I wish you had simply told me earlier. You will not march into battle with drums, but you carry them regardless, and your enemies provide them unwillingly. You will strike and beat your rhythm into their resisting flesh as you impress on them the words." He pointed to the tip of Garble's axe peeking out over his back. "That is your drumstick. Tonight, I teach you how to play it."

Garble wrenched his axe free, a wicked smile on his face. "Oh yes. Now you are speaking my language! Let's do this." He swung his massive blade left and right only for it to strike against metal with a clear single note, his teacher blocking it with his own without any seeming effort. "What?"

"You are swinging wildly, not in tune with the words, or the song. We will begin slowly. Speak the words, strike with them. Do they sound slow? Strike faster, but never faster than the words themselves. You will march to the beat of your song."

"Right, right... Okay..." Garble took a slow breath, raising his axe to a ready position. "Teacher, man, teaching me, teaching how... to dance." He cleaved the air with each word at first, a slow procession, each swing, one word, but his teacher did not stand idly, meeting the blade, starting a slow spar at the pace that Garble set.

"Ostentatious--" Garble met his master's blade, stepped aside with a two-motion shuffle and brought his blade in, moving with every syllable of the word. "--displays. Victory... mine? I will not... give up."

"Yes, yes..." He was easily avoiding being struck and pressing in more firmly, keeping Garble on his toes and forcing his song to accelerate to keep up with the flow of battle. "Let the words of your heart free. Impress on me the strength of them."

"Sassy... sisters. Dorky not... dragon." Garble began to press back, swinging with irritation. "Bare--ly holds a... candle to crying humans!" He brought in his axe, caught by his master's sword but pushing him back and away with the momentum of it.

"Impertinent whelp." The teacher swatted aside his heavy blade and slide in close.

"Filled with the anger of youth." With a sharp stab of the hilt of his blade, he knocked Garble back, stumbling to the ground heaving for breath.

"Learn as the sun rises." The teacher bowed softly towards Garble's fallen form. "You show promise. Good. I was considering abandoning this, but you have changed my mind with the strength of your words. They are as crude as your swings, but we can take a whetstone to them."

"Yeah... good..." He pulled himself to his feet, scowling at the sudden defeat handed him. "Hey, wait! You aren't changin' my beats."

"I will. Do you think you are at the pinnacle of your art? I should imagine not. Your words will be sharpened as your hands become true." He put his blade away with a casual wave. "Go home and rest. We have much to do."