04-04-2010, 04:30 AM
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:3
He thrust the sling aside; it could be retrieved later, or he could easily make a new one. The other surprised him; not by having a weapon, because this was to be expected in a raid. But the blind thrusting of said weapon, and the lack of fear in his opponent was not what he had expected. Trained eyes studied the other's motions carefully, stepping aside at the right moments. The attempted uppercut failed before it was close to landing; scraping it along the ground slowed the movement down, and allowed the warrior to move correctly to make it miss. Semyon did not smile, even if he enjoyed this in a strange way. The calculations, his own skill at this game, how everything fit into place and the empty, ready state of mind he had when fighting; it was his own essence. His left arm reached for his blade as he stepped aside again, but this time the blade scratched his leather protection, though not deeply enough to wound him. The smaller coyote was pushing Semyon backwards; an unwanted situation. It was time for the warrior to take the lead in this fight. In a combined movement that he'd trained for years (one of his favorite moves, one could say), he stepped quickly to the side and aimed to slash his three-bladed knife into the smaller one's side. The coyote didn't seem too experienced, but Semyon misjudged the possibility of luck; the wildly swinging sword soared through the air and landed on his thigh protected by leather, but now it slashed through in the weak parts of the armor; the seam. Blade pieced skin underneath, and Semyon growled and jerked the leg towards him, taking a few steps backwards. More than a growl of pain, it was a growl of annoyance. He should not have allowed this to happen. Ignoring the pain once he had taken a moment to analyze it and realize that it was not a mortal, but a superficial cut (if long), he aimed for a revenge; taking two decisive steps forward, he thrust the blade out in front of himself, aiming for the soft skin of the stomach. There was no surviving that one, and Semyon would not have this annoying little coyote wound him again. Someone was bound to lose an eye when swinging swords about like that, and he didn't intend it to be his own. The stomach was not what he hit, however; it was the flailing sword. As the warrior twisted his weapon and jerked it aside, having caught his opponent's sword between the three blades of his own knife, the sword flew to the left and landed on the ground beside them. His opponent now unarmed, Semyon took a threatening pose, knife in hand, and a small smile crept up on his lips. Haku would be satisfied with this, without doubt.
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He thrust the sling aside; it could be retrieved later, or he could easily make a new one. The other surprised him; not by having a weapon, because this was to be expected in a raid. But the blind thrusting of said weapon, and the lack of fear in his opponent was not what he had expected. Trained eyes studied the other's motions carefully, stepping aside at the right moments. The attempted uppercut failed before it was close to landing; scraping it along the ground slowed the movement down, and allowed the warrior to move correctly to make it miss. Semyon did not smile, even if he enjoyed this in a strange way. The calculations, his own skill at this game, how everything fit into place and the empty, ready state of mind he had when fighting; it was his own essence. His left arm reached for his blade as he stepped aside again, but this time the blade scratched his leather protection, though not deeply enough to wound him. The smaller coyote was pushing Semyon backwards; an unwanted situation. It was time for the warrior to take the lead in this fight. In a combined movement that he'd trained for years (one of his favorite moves, one could say), he stepped quickly to the side and aimed to slash his three-bladed knife into the smaller one's side. The coyote didn't seem too experienced, but Semyon misjudged the possibility of luck; the wildly swinging sword soared through the air and landed on his thigh protected by leather, but now it slashed through in the weak parts of the armor; the seam. Blade pieced skin underneath, and Semyon growled and jerked the leg towards him, taking a few steps backwards. More than a growl of pain, it was a growl of annoyance. He should not have allowed this to happen. Ignoring the pain once he had taken a moment to analyze it and realize that it was not a mortal, but a superficial cut (if long), he aimed for a revenge; taking two decisive steps forward, he thrust the blade out in front of himself, aiming for the soft skin of the stomach. There was no surviving that one, and Semyon would not have this annoying little coyote wound him again. Someone was bound to lose an eye when swinging swords about like that, and he didn't intend it to be his own. The stomach was not what he hit, however; it was the flailing sword. As the warrior twisted his weapon and jerked it aside, having caught his opponent's sword between the three blades of his own knife, the sword flew to the left and landed on the ground beside them. His opponent now unarmed, Semyon took a threatening pose, knife in hand, and a small smile crept up on his lips. Haku would be satisfied with this, without doubt.