[center] [h1] [color=d72525] Sergio della Gherardesca [/color] [/h1] [/center]

[i]Ser[/i] Nicomede's magical attack, whilst overly exuberant and pretentious in execution, was effective. I feel some sense of purity befall me, like my sins were momentarily absolved so as to make me light enough to be swifter than these forsaken butchers. And to the crestfallen near-charlatan's further credit - it was well timed. 

One brave but stupid mercenary lines up a flank in the blood and chaos to catch Lady Veilena, but I don't let him get that far. Mayon's blessing guides me across the field to the marauder - who by now has spotted my approach. A fearsome and brutish weapon is swung my way and thrusted thereafter - resembling an angry hedgehog on a stick. The man sneers at me from behind his buckler in his other hand. 

Exponentially lightfooted I spring forward, feinting a swing for the man to attempt to deflect with his heavy bludgeon only to then, with ferocity, make my actual move. My teeth clench behind my visor - steel meets the oak of the shield, splintering chunks off and very nearly knocking it out of the man's hand. It's only then that my own iron rampart comes forward with my shoulder behind it - slamming into him like the payload of a trebuchet. A desperate swing as he falls over himself just about catches me, knocking my teeth into my tongue. The taste of metal pollutes my mouth but I refuse to stop the advance. My foot comes down with a clang and frees his weapon from his hand. 

I wonder if he finds himself able to catch my glare from behind my helmet - daring him to make a further move. He certainly stares back at me, unsure of the right action to take. He'd almost definitely be hung if captured but perhaps he might prefer that to the gory end he'd earn otherwise. 

Predictably, though, he goes for the shortknife at his waist, but not anywhere near quick enough. The axe end of my weapon blazes across his neck like a pendulum, and his head rolls across the grass.

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