Thrum. 

A moment passes. A singular aspect of time condensed from a thousand fragments of separate linear instances to one complete now.  In this frozen moment a hundred, a thousand different dream fragments merged into existence as Dreamers separated and analyzed the events of the opening gambits. 

In an instant the guard was at once in a middle position as the Cughtagh felt the combined dreams merge into a thousand variables open to Scion at this moment. Even with that, Skallagrim understood too well the intricacies of combat.  The man known as Scion faced him in an odd stance. A skillful warrior is adaptable, fighting to the enemy not to the plan. Thus for all the myriad of options, Skallagrim expected the unexpected. And the next few seconds certainly were unexpected. Neither man had moved thus the six-feet remained between them, a distance easily with in the deadly reach of the war sword. 

Scion maneuvered his weapons into opposite hands, indicating that the man was right-hand dominate. Something Skallagrim had already surmised based on the first exchange.  It was the next move that played towards the Dreamers favor. Scion charged at him, he would close the scant six-feet in a mere fraction of a second. The war sword, in the middle guard simply angled up as Skallagrim passed his right leg forward and met the oncoming Scion. 

The sword would strike towards the man’s neck, between Scion’s left shoulder and clavicle. The thrust, accelerating with the passing guard would strike with as much kinetic force as possible. If the blow were not met with equal force, it would pierce the man through his neck, and possibly nicking his spinal cord on the way out. Since Scion had the smaller dagger to use as point defense against the quick thrust, and it was quick indeed, as the six-feet dropped to nil by both of their moves he would have the possibility of injuring himself on the glass sharp edges of the sword trying to shuffle the blow away. 

A thousand voices cried in delight as they watched the trap being laid for the man known as Scion. It was clear he had several options open to him; however the one he chose would determine his physical well-being in the next few moments.  The shimmering, swirling silver-blue energies on the sword crackled and hummed with excitement as the two men were now in close quarters.  The swirling dark shield on Skallagrim’s left arm, roiling with anticipation for the next moves to be enacted, barely contained the savage glee within. 

Whatever plan Scion may have had, most certainly would be placed on the back burner with the prospect of being run through the neck looming.