Now the follow up, did she think she could lift herself in armour so quickly as to avoid Sigurd’s forward momentum? Not a chance. The point of his longsword was fitting into place to the left of his shield as it made heavy contact with Iolanthe’s hoplon, depriving her of her precious guard. His right foot shot forward as her left leg tried to propel itself backwards, his foot dropping down, and without any upsets, just in time to catch his enemy’s own. It was almost childish to try to trample on someone’s foot in battle, but it could also be of extreme usefulness. With her momentum dragging her backwards, the sudden pressure clamping her foot to the ground as the Northman utilized his weight could easily unbalance her, at worst she may retrieve her foot and slip away, but it had cost the Northman nothing and would slow her regardless.

With her foot likely trapped momentarily and his longsword in position, Sigurd turned his shield to complete the bind, trapping her left arm on the outside line and getting his own shield out the way. As he did so she was simultaneously rising as she struggled to regain the distance between them that she should have secured earlier before Sigurd had moved in. Finally, after some speedy manoeuvring his sword was in position to strike as she had almost reached her full height. The threat would be evident by then, the point of the blade showing as the flat clung underneath Sigurd’s stone forearm. Using the smoothness and general hardiness of said arm to his advantage, it would be simplistic to stabilise a powerful thrust at a very specific target.

The thrust came quickly as her guard failed her and left her momentarily exposed. Naturally in throwing herself backwards her head had shifted somewhat, exposing the vulnerable flesh of her throat. That and her face were perhaps the only two viable targets on her turtle like body, and Sigurd knew this was his best opportunity to strike at them. As he stepped in his longsword shot under his left arm, his arms momentarily crossing as the blade launched forward to claim its price in blood. His strike was true, his target the throat dead-centre, striking at a slight upwards angle that could see it impale through the neck or even the lower part of Iolanthe’s face.

Once again Sigurd carried himself forward, momentarily pulling himself from the menace of the fiery weapon at his side. Another burned graze had appeared on his left leg just above his foot, almost unnoticed, as if he had brushed against a fiery stove. However, Iolanthe had perhaps made a mistake in relying on magic alone, as a more subtle examination would have realised something about Sigurd was weakening the effects of her weapon upon him, granting him extra time to finish the fight.