Tehran and Maxwell starting the spar by circling around the arena calmly examining each other.
Tehran was excited, but maintained his calm. He was wary of his opponents reach, given that their shortsword was nearly three times longer than each of his daggers. A standard combat dagger was somewhere between eight and sixteen inches, while a shortsword sat somewhere between sixteen and thirty inches. The difference was potentially large, but each had their own advantages.
Maxwell seem nervous from what Tehran could see, his grip was tightened a bit too much and he was already sweating. "Relax your grip," Tehran began, causing Maxwell to do the exact opposite, "A firm grip is good, but too tight and you'll not only wear out the muscles in your arm more quickly, but it'll also cause your body to react more slowly." Tehran figured that a spar isn't a spar if you don't learn. Besides, a nervous and exhausted opponent was hardly any fun to fight against. Maxwell didn't respond verbally, but instead nodded and relaxed visibly, his chest heaved as he took a single deep breath to alleviate accumulated stress without breaking his posture. "That's better!" Tehran grinned as he immediately bolted towards Maxwell, his left dagger still in front of him while his right moved a bit lower, still being held in a reverse grip. Grappling his opponent, while dangerous, was one of the best ways for someone using daggers to win a fight. He would stick close, prevent his enemy from using his weapon, and then find a way to disable him.
Maxwell drew back his right arm and swung the shortsword in a clean diagonal cut towards Tehran's upper body all while maintaining his distance as best he could. Reacting quickly, Tehran halted his forward advance, jumping back just far enough to dodge the blade before dashing forward once more towards Maxwell. Correcting himself from his missed swing, he brought the blade back towards Tehran from the opposite side in a horizontal sweep. Too far forward to dodge backwards once more, Tehran brought his right dagger downward to intercept the incoming blow, laying the dagger's blade across his forearm for support. The blades clashed, sparks bursting into life from the collision, but the blade was stopped.
Tehran released his right-hand dagger and grabbed onto the sword instead of letting Maxwell draw it back for another attack and pushed into his personal space, thrusting his left dagger in an upwards movement towards Maxwell's right pectoral. Maxwell showed his experience by releasing his sword and stepping back and away from the thrust, barely escaping the friendly shank that would have greeted his side otherwise. Tehran followed up, sticking as tightly as possible to Maxwell as he dropped the shortsword behind him and threw a punch towards Maxwell's face. It struck true and Maxwell lost his balance, falling backward onto his arse with a solid thud. Tehran followed once more, quickly placing his remaining dagger to Maxwell's throat to secure his victory in the spar.
"Bloody silver that was nuts," Maxwell spat, equal parts impressed and frustrated. "That fist came out of nowhere, I wasn't expecting you to drop my sword like that."
Tehran laughed before explaining, "True, I could have struck you with the hilt, but that would be an awkward swing for me and give you a better chance to re-arm yourself if you caught it somehow. Why give up the advantage against an unarmed enemy when I can just go for the kill without it?" Tehran offered his arm as he was speaking to help Maxwell stand again, "Don't forget that your fists are weapons too, Lamar said that just last week. What was it, 'you can lose a sword, but your fist is still there', or something like that."
"I remember that, yeah. Well, now I do anyway." Maxwell scratched at his head, then used his other hand to clasp Tehran's forearm and pull himself up. "Little late though," Maxwell mused.
Tehran chortled in response, "Just a little bit."
As Maxwell left the arena, collecting his weapon and placing it back onto the rack as he did so, Tehran retrieved the dagger he dropped and stood back in the arena, opposite of the onlooking crowd waiting their turn.
"Don't pretend you don't know the rules, asshat," Johnathan spat venomously, "One fight, win or lose, then you step out and the next two fight."
Tehran pretended to be hurt by his words, clutching towards his heart in dismay and feigning confusion, "Oh, dear Johnny-boy, I-I truly didn't know! Please, forgive my ignorance just this once, and…" Tehran bowed in an exaggerated manner towards Johnathan before he stood up straight and stared at him again, all the previous sarcasm gone from his face as he continued, "shove it up your ass." Tehran finished by tilting his head to the side and smiling from ear to ear in provocation.
Some hushed laughter sounded from the people close enough to hear. Johnathan's face became red with anger but Tehran continued to provoke him, "Come on up, Johnny-boy, I'll step down if you beat me one-on-one!" Tehran couldn't help but wholly enjoy Johnathan's reactions. It was too great. He was so easy to provoke and lost his temper quickly - Though, admittedly, Tehran himself was the same in that regard, if not worse at times.
Johnathan stepped forward, grabbing a bastard sword from the rack as he marched angrily into the arena. "I'll make you eat your words, Tulk."
"Is that supposed to be an insult? Calling me by my race?" Tehran smiled, though he was growing irritated. His thoughts raged inside him, "You insult my kind like we're lower than humans. Sure, it's rare for our kind to grow affinities for magic, but we're stronger and faster than you humans. We're superior in every other way!"
"C'mon dog-legs," Johnathan shouted, "fight me already!"
Tehran's thoughts ground to a halt, rage taking the place of any sane thoughts as he roared in anger, "You watch as this 'dog' kills you!" Tehran pounced towards Johnathan, daggers at the ready and more than willing to follow through with his threat.
As Tehran closed in, Johnathan swung his sword from his right to his left horizontally, forcing Tehran back for a moment as he dodged then quickly recovered and moved forward once more. Johnathan responded by gripping the bastard sword with both hands and returning with a downward diagonal swipe toward Tehran's shoulder. Tehran brought his dagger in front of him while stepping towards and ducking under the incoming blade, pushing forward as he did so and closed the remaining few feet between them. Tehran grabbed John's left arm, placed right his foot behind John's left, and pushed with all the strength he could muster. Johnathan fell backwards and landed on the flat of his back, slamming his head onto the hard-packed dirt under him. Tehran followed immediately and mounted him, kneeling down and forcing Johnathan's arms under his knees to hold him in place, and proceeded to strike him repeatedly in the face the the pommel of his left dagger. There was a point that Tehran felt John's nose break from one of the strikes and he was sure that a tooth or two had been broken as well. Angry as he was, he was conscious, albeit barely, of the fact that excessive wounds would be met with punishment. Johnathan has stopped moving or fighting back at this point, he was just groaning, whining and sobbing. So Tehran stopped. He didn't feel guilty, he didn't regret what he did, but he had beaten him. It was enough. Tehran was more upset with himself for losing control of his anger than he was for destroying Johnathan's face.
Seeing that Tehran had stopped, Johnathan's friends, who were too shocked up to this point to do anything, given how quickly everything happened, rushed over and shoved Tehran off of an incoherent Johnathan, screaming for the medical team all the while.
"What happened here?!" Tehran turned to to see the Thane he spoke with earlier glaring at him angrily. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" He continued shouting, "These matches are for sparring, not brutalizing your fellow Neophytes! I'll see you whipped and stockaded as your punishment for this!" The Thane marched over towards Tehran, who dropped the daggers he was holding and surrendered to the Thane.
"You two, strip him and hold him." The Thane commanded and the two nearby Neophytes did as they were told. They removed Tehran's shirt and each grabbed one arm bearing Tehran's back toward the Thane, of whom had unclipped his whip and kept it at the ready. There were already a number of scars decorating Tehran's back, a few more meant nothing to him, he just clenched his teeth and waited for the punishment to start. So that it could end.
"Fifteen lashes will serve as your punishment and your Thane will decide what to do with you after that!" His punishment chosen, the Thane brought his whip back and then struck Tehran for the first of many times to come.