[@Drifting Pollen]

[i]Catskull #2 maintained his steady forwards pace, closing in foot by foot. As the chain came down, he weaved to the left with a grimace of effort, almost stumbling and losing a pace. He wasn't used to having to fight opponents on par with his speed, but...

He was a fast learner.
This variation of Tekla seemed more virile, and he figured that it wouldn't be much longer before she totally branched away from what the original was doing. He knew by now that she was at the peak of human ability, but she knew not the same for Catskull. The Maclungs were typically known for dark magic, dark hearts, and foolish deaths. Catskull himself made sure that his original didn't get his hands dirty in public, allowing his alternate selves to cleave opponents apart so that it appeared as if he had some kind of remote sorcery. As most fit men would still be about a half dozen meters per second slower than him, he figured he had a good chance of taking her by surprise. As the chain came swinging down, he abruptly let loose and darted to the left and past it with expert timing, like a running back avoiding a tackle. He broke into a full on sprint, boots pummeling out wild rhythm as he whizzed towards her much faster than she'd have probably liked. She might not even have time to fully recover her chain for another go-round, unless she turned full around and sprinted away from him to maintain that distance. He'd slow once he was within two meters of her arm reach, that he not overshoot the mark or be taken by surprise should she suddenly stop or reverse in an attempt to catch him off-guard.

Catskull #3 progressed quickly, eyes smoldering with purpose. As the weight was booted at his face, he dipped to the right like a boxer slipping a punch. It soared past his head, and as it did so he aligned his rapier perpendicular to the chain, running the blade along it like a dullard's xylophone as he sought to cross half the distance at a dash. He was using the weapon to judge how quickly she was withdrawing her chain. Each Catskull was collecting information, sharing it, filling out their roles.

Filling out their roles so #1 could continue running his mouth. He had just touched upon the unique facets of inbreeding and how the abnormally strong women it cultivated were still peasants nonetheless, when she finally got in range and swung for his body. This was probably the last attack in the order given the lackadaisical pacing, and thus this Catskull was the best prepared. As the chain lashed out, he waited until the last moment and then took a large step back onto his left foot and leaned backwards, letting the weight flicker past his body. It was a bit closer than he'd have liked, damn thing almost hitting his sword. Next time he'd have to pay better attention, he mentally chided himself. She wasn't expecting him to know of her speed, or the precise length of her reach, but even then he had accounted for the monstrous reflexes he supposed she had, such being the reason for how tight he'd timed his seemingly effortless evasion. [/i]

[b]"Hmph. Peasant! Lick these boots of mine, and mayhaps thy death shant be the final rectification for thine insolence."[/b]