He, of course, had no reason to turn down a 'demonstration' in swordplay, whether or not said demonstration entailed a spar with his assistance or not. If it wasn't magic they were primarily using, then an elven opponent was little more than light entertainment- about as invigorating as a tavern brawl with a sober mind, and about as heavy lifting involved as it took him to stride over, scoop his brother up and strap him to his shoulder and continue forward in his advance without a lapse in stride even if captive fists found shoulder blades to beat on. "What, you askin' to dance?" He teased with a click of teeth to tusks, already convinced of what sort of spar he'd get from such company, and though the idea of it might have amused him, he wasn't at all missing said 'dances' from the high borns at the fencing lessons he usually served as a moving prop for. "Call me presump'tious, but- 'heavily doubt with this build difference we'd ah... sync up." In swordplay anyway.
Though he would admittedly flinch as he noticed the other reaching for the hilt of a belted weapon, the shine of silver presented along open palms gave him pause shortly before he swiveled in his seat to take the edge under his gloves and the weight of it from his company. Tucking the blade between the bar top and the lower chest padding of his jerkin, he set about turning the blade over in search of any decorum, and grinding his thumb along where the low candlelight of the outdoor tavern caught in its shimmering surface. "Huh, not the cheap stuff, I take it." He surmised through his appraisal. He was no blacksmith by any means, but he could and had swung just about every weapon there was in the Cragdew's armory to know when swords like the rapiers used in training exercises were cheaply made...mainly because he'd end up bending them with the force of his blows. It was why a two handed ax sat on his back now- and at times a rather large hammer...though the lute strapped there with the imposing weapon was a bit on the frailer side, by far.
"Bit 'uv a two-hander, m'self. Sometimes when you got a lot to give, best throw it with your weight into one whole end. Feels like you're short changin' yourself with just one arm and all. But I guess this here's a two-hander fer you, huh?" With a second glance over at the size of the elf's hands, he confirmed they wouldn't be suited to just swing the long sword around with one hand like he would...hands being a bit too large to wrap both proper round the hilt and all.
The admission has him shifting, and after he's done with the sword- he lifts it up and sets it onto the bar in front of them with a bored flick to the flat of it to send it off. "Birvor." He grumbled after a moment's pause between the unusual introduction, shoulders shifting around under his skin for a more comfortable angle hunched over the table as they were. "S'what you can call me if you're drawing a blank on any punitive substitutes." Though he'd yet to hear any as of yet from this company, surprisingly.
Still reeling from choking mid beer-appraisal with the other's untimely admission, Birvor testily grinded his jaw in place as he regarded him with eyes swiveled up through his lashes and a grip fastened tight round the handle of his mug. "Ways to find out-...? You can't be serious..." He huffed, shifting the mug around the table as a way of distracting himself from elf's words, though it only seemed to coax him into a more antsy frame of mind. At the suggestion he preferred gentle things, his nostrils flared and his ears tucked ever so slightly against his skull. He wasn't sure why he thought an elf to be of tame drinking company, but he was certainly seeing why that wasn't the case now. "...this you suggesting what sorta attention you're after, or?" He grumbled, giving himself a firm shake before he slid the sword across the bar top back to its owner. "'Cause I can guarantee you... to risk these tusks near your main arteries izza mistake. Dangerously fun...but a mistake." A shift into his own shoulders later, he leaned in to place his hand over the sword's hilt before Sorros could claim it again, eyes flicking up to pierce the elf with a sharpness unlike that at the end of his tusks.
"Sounds like it's you needin' the 'demonstration' now." On necks over swords, anyway.
