[color=a0410d][h1]Jerod Staudinger[/h1][/color]

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Much to Jerod's annoyance, the Gladiator was throwing brute force tactic after brute force tactic his way, even recovering from a swift, very unsportsmanlike kick in rather rapid fashion that gave him little time to even retaliate. The hand on his throat, and blade that had pulled him close, did not last long before he was thrown, landing among the Varjan Warriors. Going for his rapier, he already found the damned thing had been lost, or stolen, after he was thrown. While he had no intent of dying on his ass, the dragon's fire breathing once again created an opening, the Prince Alfonse quickly rushing to his side and hauling him to his feet and asking after his health. [color=a0410d]"I still breath, Princeling, and that Gladiator owes me a new blade."[/color] The venom in his voice was clear, and if were in slightly better preparedness, he'd have already poisoned his blade before engaging the Varjan leader.

Cocking an eyebrow at the Silver Sword thrust into his hands, Jerod was about to question the Prince's plan to fight with a shield, only to see him storm ahead and start working the shield like a weapon. [color=a0410d]"...Fine, even if Silver isn't my usual style."[/color] No sense wasting breath, or time, the sellsword took off at a swift run, dirt freeing itself from his coat while he ran forward. He was moving low and fast, taking full advantage of the path given to him as he eyed another approaching and making their own assault on the Gladiator. Going for his arms and wrists, not a terrible idea, and he would take advantage of the opening made. Keeping an eye for the lance, or attempts to strike or grapple him [i]again[/i], he lunged low, aiming to slip the tip of the Silver Sword right below the ribs and upwards, aiming to avoid the ribcage entirely instead of attempt to match brute force with more force of his own.