08-20-2008, 09:25 PM
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He had been wordless until now, but he knew that he owed some sort of explanation to Iskata. He wasn't sure he would have time to give it, or even a chance to later, but she deserved more than his cold shoulder, didn't she? It had never been his intent to hurt her. Though the words, the voice, may not be inflected as she expected, given that he was in a fundamentally different frame of mind now than he had been when he met her, he decided to speak.
"You may be right, that there is no honor in this," he said over his shoulder. "But it isn't for ourselves that we do battle, not for selfishness. We've both lost those we care about already to one another. One of us will explain it to you. After." With that, his sword sang from its sheath, the two-foot blade which had always been there, but had avoided her notice during his time in Phoenix Valley. His left went to another compartment, drawing a concealed dagger. He walked briskly toward Skoll, his eyes devoid of his old self, bent entirely on his purpose. The bronze warrior didn't miss a beat, his axe leaping from its resting place in a heartbeat, and a long stiletto the next.
The Golden Warrior's prowess with the axe was legendary, though legends often exaggerated. He knew that his sword was the superior weapon. He just needed to be good enough with his better weapon to defeat a legend. Obviously the people around here didn't revere him as such, which was a good thing. It meant that the stories were probably embellished, hopefully a good deal, because he himself was no legend.
The first contact was blade on haft, the edge of his sword deflected by the wooden handle of his enemy's axe. Driven back by the long knife, he attempted a stab of his own, but quickly realized that his reach was shorter than his adversary's...Skoll's knife was bigger, and besides, his arm was a few inches longer as well. This point was driven home on the second pass, when his sword was fouled again by a swinging axehead, and that narrow blade in Skoll's left hand swept by his face. Instinct tilted his head, protecting his eyes, but his left ear fell to the sand as blade passed through tissue.
The grey wolf gave ground, his enemy being faster than anticipated, moving the axe in tight and controlled arcs. His training kept well in mind, Asmodai was back in full-force for the next pass, and the one after. For a full minute they entered repeatedly into the range of the other, and knives, sword, and axe, stabbed, swung, and parried. He had grazed his enemy twice, but given his lighter, more agile weapon, Skoll's defenses should have been easier to move through. Seeing an opening, the axe at the end of a failed swing, he moved in, sword-point aimed to pierce his foe's chest.
War-knife caught his sword, blade to blade, and held it there for a brief, terrible moment, in which the axe--not drawn back far enough for a blow--hooked his sword, preventing escape. A wrenching pressure, and the sword spiraled out of his right hand, and into the sand. Forward. The gray werewolf moved forward that very same moment, as the axe cast his sword away, coming in for the kill with his dagger. The large knife came in to intercede as the bronze warrior stepped back, but as the dagger's met, the tactic changed. Asmodai's hand came up, and twisted the wrist as he applied pressure through the blade-lock. The massive knife came free of Skoll's hand, granting him enough time to leap away before the axe swung into his side.
The two stood off, each with a weapon in the sand between them. Skoll could not move to retrieve his knife if he hoped to keep his axe in position, but Asmodai knew his sword would be unattainable with that axe poised to strike. Simultaneously, both drew a second knife. The weapons were twins, each stylized after some long forgotten human aesthetic, kitchen knives in truth, but killing implements to the werewolves who stood at odds now. Both weapons from half a continent away, used by a now dead wolf named Art. The two each stayed where they were, poised for a last exchange of blows.
I am at a disadvantage. I have lost my primary weapon, while he has only lost his knife. With only these two knives, I can't match his range with the axe. There's no way I'm going to be able to get to him without getting hit...I'll have to pass through the axe's range to cut him, and he isn't careless enough to let me pull that off without dealing a grievous, even fatal wound while I'm on my way. Nevertheless, I need to kill him. Sorry, Varn, it doesn't look like I'm going to be able to achieve sixth position like you said. He prepared himself for the final pass.
He had been wordless until now, but he knew that he owed some sort of explanation to Iskata. He wasn't sure he would have time to give it, or even a chance to later, but she deserved more than his cold shoulder, didn't she? It had never been his intent to hurt her. Though the words, the voice, may not be inflected as she expected, given that he was in a fundamentally different frame of mind now than he had been when he met her, he decided to speak.
"You may be right, that there is no honor in this," he said over his shoulder. "But it isn't for ourselves that we do battle, not for selfishness. We've both lost those we care about already to one another. One of us will explain it to you. After." With that, his sword sang from its sheath, the two-foot blade which had always been there, but had avoided her notice during his time in Phoenix Valley. His left went to another compartment, drawing a concealed dagger. He walked briskly toward Skoll, his eyes devoid of his old self, bent entirely on his purpose. The bronze warrior didn't miss a beat, his axe leaping from its resting place in a heartbeat, and a long stiletto the next.
The Golden Warrior's prowess with the axe was legendary, though legends often exaggerated. He knew that his sword was the superior weapon. He just needed to be good enough with his better weapon to defeat a legend. Obviously the people around here didn't revere him as such, which was a good thing. It meant that the stories were probably embellished, hopefully a good deal, because he himself was no legend.
The first contact was blade on haft, the edge of his sword deflected by the wooden handle of his enemy's axe. Driven back by the long knife, he attempted a stab of his own, but quickly realized that his reach was shorter than his adversary's...Skoll's knife was bigger, and besides, his arm was a few inches longer as well. This point was driven home on the second pass, when his sword was fouled again by a swinging axehead, and that narrow blade in Skoll's left hand swept by his face. Instinct tilted his head, protecting his eyes, but his left ear fell to the sand as blade passed through tissue.
The grey wolf gave ground, his enemy being faster than anticipated, moving the axe in tight and controlled arcs. His training kept well in mind, Asmodai was back in full-force for the next pass, and the one after. For a full minute they entered repeatedly into the range of the other, and knives, sword, and axe, stabbed, swung, and parried. He had grazed his enemy twice, but given his lighter, more agile weapon, Skoll's defenses should have been easier to move through. Seeing an opening, the axe at the end of a failed swing, he moved in, sword-point aimed to pierce his foe's chest.
War-knife caught his sword, blade to blade, and held it there for a brief, terrible moment, in which the axe--not drawn back far enough for a blow--hooked his sword, preventing escape. A wrenching pressure, and the sword spiraled out of his right hand, and into the sand. Forward. The gray werewolf moved forward that very same moment, as the axe cast his sword away, coming in for the kill with his dagger. The large knife came in to intercede as the bronze warrior stepped back, but as the dagger's met, the tactic changed. Asmodai's hand came up, and twisted the wrist as he applied pressure through the blade-lock. The massive knife came free of Skoll's hand, granting him enough time to leap away before the axe swung into his side.
The two stood off, each with a weapon in the sand between them. Skoll could not move to retrieve his knife if he hoped to keep his axe in position, but Asmodai knew his sword would be unattainable with that axe poised to strike. Simultaneously, both drew a second knife. The weapons were twins, each stylized after some long forgotten human aesthetic, kitchen knives in truth, but killing implements to the werewolves who stood at odds now. Both weapons from half a continent away, used by a now dead wolf named Art. The two each stayed where they were, poised for a last exchange of blows.
I am at a disadvantage. I have lost my primary weapon, while he has only lost his knife. With only these two knives, I can't match his range with the axe. There's no way I'm going to be able to get to him without getting hit...I'll have to pass through the axe's range to cut him, and he isn't careless enough to let me pull that off without dealing a grievous, even fatal wound while I'm on my way. Nevertheless, I need to kill him. Sorry, Varn, it doesn't look like I'm going to be able to achieve sixth position like you said. He prepared himself for the final pass.