There was a distinct difference between the way Zande and Nicoli fought. Though just about anyone looking from the outside likely wouldn’t be able to tell the difference between them to Nicoli it was as clear as could be. Zande, to Nicoli, attacked with an open ferociousness a sort of controlled fury that was guided by instinct and experience. On the opposite end of the spectrum Nicoli was a classically trained swordsmen, having started his training in fencing as a youth. He had evolved since then, but the core of his movements were practiced, defined tempered by his own experience.

Of course that wasn’t to say that one way was better than the other, simply different. For Nicoli who was only three inches shorter than his opponent, he was moving even as Zande came to grip the axe on his back. He maintained balance and proper footwork, the essentials of fencing. He also moved in a straight line, this time it was straight back a single step. If his opponent was going to use what Nicoli thought of as a cumbersome weapon than a change in tactics would have to follow.

Nicoli would have liked to attack the open right side of his opponent, but that method of attack would certainly be impractical. Instead he leaned back slightly with his back-step, his opponents elbow falling short of its mark, it simply didn’t cover the distance Nicoli’s legs carried him away. That being said, Nicoli knew what followed and as he withdrew his shortsword his other hand snapped out and down.

A ceramic ball struck the ground between the two and within a few breaths a dark grey smoke would spill out thirty feet in all directions. With the protection the decrepit buildings and trees gave from the wind it meant that unless his opponent had another way to get rid of it the smoke would last for a full minute before beginning to disperse.