[@Drifting Pollen]

[i]The chain halfway encircled Catskull #2's legs as he was recovering from the brief stumble, however he still had his eyes on Tekla, saw her jerk her hands, felt the chain as it belted across the back of his rear left leg and swung about on the axis of his knee to snag at his other limb, right before he was set to pick up his next stride. The weight swung about, and completed its encirclement of his right leg. A common warrior might have kept charging in a foolish panic. Catskull was level headed. He knew he had to unfuck himself as cleanly and quickly as possible. Before Tekla could jerk his leg out, he paused to let go of the hilt of his sword with his right hand and batted his right fist down to smack the weight, sending it back around his leg the way it had come so when the inevitable pull came, the thing would just spin off him. If Tekla were hoping for this to serve as another distraction, the lusterless eyes glaring into hers put such notions to rest. Perhaps if the Terminator existed in this realm, she'd have been able to draw a comparison between the mechanical technical efficiency and unshakeable tenacity both entities bore. Were he to free his leg, then he'd continue the chase once more, striding quickly after her, both perhaps sharing in the knowledge that no one trick or technique would work twice.

Catskull #4 was wary, but without hesitation. He had an array of concealed knives on his person, and was aware that no warrior worth their salt was without the same. Knives were to be carried religiously, and to be used with tact and slight of hand. He was under no illusion that she probably had one of her somewhere, and given how she'd nearly caught one of his temporal clones, he knew for sure she was cunning. That being said, Catskull had a saying. "Don't mistake a horse for a zebra". If you look too closely for something that isn't there, you'll only deceive yourself. She chucked her chain at him, and as she had let go with her other hand and had aimed at his head, he felt comfortable ducking the shot without fear of her somehow trying to wrap him up again, but he was quite sure she had wanted him to duck. There was no point in aiming high with the chain other than provoking him into a predicted position. He was fine with that. He ducked no lower than he had to, and at no point did he take his eyes off her. He himself had thrown many a knee, foot, and blade into the mugs of fools who ducked carelessly, and Catskull had no intention of being caught off guard. As he did so he spaced out his hands on the handle of his Dane sword, left at the top, right at the bottom. Since she'd stopped, he'd slow down considerably, that when her body came within range of his blade (if it were at full extension) he'd only be moving at a slow pace favoring his right leg forwards, heel-toe, heel-toe, mindful of the position of his feet and her reach relative to his. He had considered only for an instant chopping at her arm when she had thrown the chain, but as a rule of thumb he attacked only when at his optimum range. He wanted to make no mistakes, risk no needless injury, whether she was unarmed or not.

Catskull #3 intently studied Tekla winding up her chain as she slowly backed up. He wanted to see how much she was going to shorten the leash, so to speak. Did she want more control over her swings, or perhaps she felt like trying some sort of Kung-Fu iron arm thing on him? There was but one way to find out. He'd either slow his pace or increase it, depending on how quickly she was winding up her chain. He wanted to adjust his stride so that the weighted end would be in front of him, and he wouldn't walk past it, letting her draw it back to that degree before continuing.

Catskull #1 saw the attack coming, one that he'd evaded twice before. He was aware that she might mix in feints and other ambiguous techniques after the basics failed, but he considered himself experienced enough to pick such things out at a glance, so long as he could put a pin down on the physical abilities of his opponent. She'd startled him a few times already, and his ego was bruised, despite how she was clearly a class above even respected knights. To Catskull a peasant was a peasant, and he would not let this lowly woman see him sweat. If anything, he wanted to crush her resolve first. He curtly sidestepped the downwards stroke (to his right), replying without missing a beat.[/i]

[b]"Should not a butcher save the flame for after the beef hath been parted by the knife? Ye' have not yet warranted thy fate, for mine blade be only for they who are fit to touch the hem of this, mine tunic. Ye' cannot yet touch even the wind that follows my footsteps, [i][u]knave[/u][/i]. Thou art not ready for the blade or the flame."[/b]