Wrestling was not really Sigurd’s strongest area of fighting but he was not a complete amateur. In simpler, happier times he had often competed in bouts with friends and rivals in his home village, it was a popular past time in the rather martial society he belonged to. Still, if he could stick to striking it would be ideal. One could argue everything Sigurd did upon entering combat had been an attempt to maintain this advantage, that range where he excelled. However his foe had pinned him, in a metaphorical sense at least, and he was going to be forced to play his enemy’s game for a while. The mud beneath him was slightly wet and made movement a more difficult prospect than it needed to be, but he still managed to roll to face upwards with success. There was even a sharp crack as his elbow drilled into the big man’s ribs. The Northman had a glimmer of hope then, the moment he had felt his enemy’s great strength he knew that should he get a hold of him it was over. Rolling onto his back had two effects for Sigurd, one he was able to see what he was doing, two he was able to enact a plan of escape using the tools available to him.

The Northman was surprised upon facing skyward and then turning to look for his foe that he had been knocked clear off his back. He was down-right confused when he witnessed the large wrestler conduct some strange form of hand-stand, supporting his weight with his right hand as his legs were planted upon the soil. Sigurd had no fucking idea what his enemy was doing, essentially.

Still, the Northman was acting on instinct rather than a careful analysis of the fight, so while he had no idea that his foe was transitioning and preparing to drive his weight down into the Northman’s gut, Sigurd was still able to react in a fashion that could change the events to follow. Upon spinning onto his back the Northman’s right arm came free from under his body, and as if by magic a longsword materialised. Still clutched tight in an ice-pick grip Sigurd used his weapon in an incredibly unorthodox fashion worthy of facing his enemy’s own improvised assault. Using the momentum of his roll, the Northman simply continued to throw his weight leftward by rolling his shoulders. The effect of which was fairly evident, as Gigue completed his transition he would be faced with an evident danger, should he collapse upon Sigurd he would risk injury as Sigurd drew the hilt (with the end pointing at him) of his blade across his body as if carrying out a very short-range haymaker. As he also rolled leftward the end result was a strange form of cut in an arc directly in front of Sigurd, ending with about ten inches of the point of the blade crashing down towards Gigue’s waist. Should he still choose to dive upon Sigurd he would risk life and limb on the edge of his sword, not to mention the Northman’s stone arm had rested low over his torso to ease the passage of the cutting sword, and would prove a powerful obstruction.