Sigurd’s eyes widened momentarily as he watched his foe carry out something he had truly not expected. A frontal charge against an enemy with a ranged weapon, with every intention of his feet leaving the ground where manoeuvring would be possible. Perhaps he thought Sigurd a complete incompetent, and that he would either miss or his axe would not penetrate? Perhaps, but unlikely, Sigurd had pierced iron plate with his steel tipped axes in the past, there was no reason today would be any different.

His shield side was forward as he held the axe aloft in his free right hand, his muscles bunching in preparation. The Tall man burst forward with a sudden speed and his feet left the ground, at which point Sigurd reacted in turn. His right arm curled as his forearm snapped forward whip-like, the iron grip on the axe-handle releasing at the perfect point, the armour-piercing weapon shot through the air to meet his foe. With no shield in his enemy’s hands there was no need for any special precision with the weapon, it could crush bone and rupture armour, destroying flesh with ease. 

The axe revolved only once over such a paltry distance, perfect range for an axe throw in many respects. The steel-tipped head of the axe was presented towards his enemy’s centre (or solar plexus if you will) as it reached him, perhaps luck, perhaps testament to Sigurd’s skill at judging his weapons effectiveness. How Gigue would react to the sudden axe-throw was uncertain, but having taken relatively poor precautions beforehand and with his feet off the ground, remaining unscathed would be a tall order. 

For Sigurd’s part he had no intention of standing and waiting to see the effectiveness of his weapon. After releasing regardless of the effect on the target he would side-step leftward on his back foot, and drag his front after it, effectively strafing his foe and his intended landing point. As he did this, his right hand sank to his waist to grab his second and last axe.