Thrum.

The life of a warrior was hard, brutal and oftentimes short. More so when faced with a warrior of Skallagrim’s caliber and Scion would soon discover this simple fact. The thrust enacted perfectly, a texted book example of passing guard and attacking the weak point, in this case the man’s throat. He expected Scion would manage a counter to the thrust and so, it happened. 

A moment of pure unadulterated beauty occurred as the tonfa connected with the war sword. A cacophony of sound reverberated throughout the small space they occupied for the blunt object was hefty enough to cause the war sword to sing with a sweet percussion.  How sweet the sound. 

A menagerie of voices cascaded through the Galdhr as Dreamer after Dreamer noted the dark portals created by Dennis; worm holes of limited dimensional space connecting two points in relatively close proximity. Skallagrim felt the swirling of energies, recorded them and noted their signature, for they would become a herald song in any further attempts to use them during their fight. 

How the fortunes of fate twisted when the life of a man hung precariously in balance.  The sword would indeed miss its mark, sluicing into a portal that Dennis created. However, Dennis was not omnipotent, and while his intent was clear and clever, he didn’t understand the full extent of Skallagrim’s attack.  In such close proximity, the attack became clear as for some inexplicable reason Scion dropped the tonfa grasping for the right hand of the Dreamer.  

Time slowed as the tonfa hung a moment before gravity took hold of it, before it began its descent to earth. In that moment the skeletal warrior struck. The war sword coming back into a wide circle, even as the tip passed through the portal it was pulling back.  Left arm tucking in tight as the left leg shot up like a piston, drawing the knee towards his torso. The shield shimmered before transforming into a writhing black mass of a dagger as the left arm drew in tight to Skallagrim’s torso. Then with incredible power, Skallagrim’s left foot shot down towards the exposed right foot of Scion in a purring motion designed to break the top most bones of Scion’s right foot. 

Grasp. 

Scion’s hand encircled Skallagrim’s armored forearm with limited success as his dagger shot into the armored wrist. For certes, the dagger pierced the armor, nicking bone as it causing the Dreamer a moment of discomfort as bone chips broke loose, flying away. However since there was no flesh, nothing but amethyst energies encapsulating bone, there were no muscles to tear. There were no tendons to cut and no flesh to pierce, for the Dreamer had relinquished such frailties’ millennia ago.  As such, the punctured bone did not create pain, nor did it create a structural imbalance by virtue of the size of the wound to cause the Dreamer to drop the sword.
Like a piston, the shod boot of Skallagrim would hammer into the exposed right foot, intent to break through the foot and touch earth. Twenty-six hundred pounds of force would land on the top of the foot. As it did so, the tip of Keefe grazed the back of his left calf, a shower of sparks rained down on both Skallagrim’s left foot and Scion’s right. 

The racing silver-blue energies on the war sword hummed and crackled with such ferocity it seemed alive. Eager to bite again the flesh of Scion, the sword vibrated enough that Scion might be able to feel it through his grasp of the Dreamer. 

Once again, the exchange of blows required an assessment of damage exchanged. A perfect hole in the black armor of the Dreamer as well as chips and fragments of his forearm floated in the energies that constituted Skallagrim’s life force. 

The situation now would be tenuous for Scion should he remain in close proximity to the Dreamer. Open to Skallagrim were a number of holds and moves that could end the fight, perhaps even end the man’s life. If Dennis or Scion were of quick enough mind, they would have realized all of the actions taken thus far were to inflict damage, but not kill. The thrust to his throat, aimed for the outside portion of his neck. It seemed under careful scrutiny that it was nick Scion’s neck, causing a shower of blood and pain.  Every move seemed intent to hamper and cause pain, but not to kill.