[b]Birsi[/b]

As the barbarians were scooped up and squeezed, it was highly unlikely that they didn’t loosen their grip on Birsi’s belt, causing her to drop to the ground with a restrained grunt. The guardswoman would shift and squirm to get into a sitting position, then take a moment longer to get into a standing position, just in time to get confirmation that Silsila would be accepting her challenge and get her wrist bindings off. “Thank you…”

Then came her demands, which she was more than allowed to make. After all, Birsi was the one who challenged her to the duel, so by law and tradition the brute’s conditions were acceptable. Of course, such demands would be entirely more than humiliating for her should she lose this bout, but she had to at least try to fight. This was for the Honor of the Palace, the Holiness of the room they invaded, and her own Devotion to keeping the peace through Holy Law.

“Very well. Your demands shall be fulfilled should you win. Now, brace yourself.” The Royal Guard would retrieve the sword the drunken Fire Wheels had taken, brandishing the straight blade with an appropriate duelist’s stance. “En Guarde!” There it was. That weird phrase she learned from a foreigner when she was but a child. The phrase that stuck with her all this way to be the one thing she says before a conflict… But as per the rules of the duel, the Challenged gets to go first, so all Birsi did was assume a proper, defensive stance.

[hr][hr]

[b]Silsila Om[/b]

Silsila drew her sword--Ill-Omened Star, ebon black metal with gold edged. "Let's see how refined your technique is, then. Will it last more than a sword stroke against my Crashing Mountain style~?"

Swing! Chop! Slash! Cut!

Surprisingly… yes. Yes, it did.

Om planted her foot and swung ber blade, flat-side forward, only for it to be ducked yet again. She wasn't slow--so how did Birsi keep [b]dodging[/b] her? One solid blow to her blade should have blown it clear out of Birsi's hand, but the woman kept dancing around Om's strikes, leaving her sword clashing and clattering into the stone.

Om slowed down, chest heaving, little rivulets of sweat running down her form. Birsi had never held her off like [i]this[/i]–their hallway affairs had usually been quick and dirty. And here Silsila was sweating!

"What is with today and not winning easily?" Om complains, directed as an aside to the Vo siblings. "I thought you were ornamental, Birsi, but I guess you're good for more than just your smoking hot body." The Host rests her blade on her shoulder for a moment. 

…her eyes keep flicking down to Birsi's body. Stupid! SHE should be the one drawing looks and forcing distractions, not this prim guard. Her strikes become slower and gentler, the incredible strength behind them softening just a little bit--was Silsila going easy on her…?