Avatar of Liliya
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    1. Liliya 8 yrs ago
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7 yrs ago
Current "all I've ever learned from love was how to shoot somebody who outdrew ya,"
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7 yrs ago
Ahh! That awkward moment when you've spent the whole day talking about stupid stuff with your whole roleplay group, and in the middle of the night after everyone went to bed? A wild idea appears!! >.<
2 likes
8 yrs ago
All of a sudden, there's this sharp, stabbing, "whack," feeling shooting through me, and I'm like, "oh shit, just got bit by a spider," right? Throw off the jeans, and a bee crawls out. A f*&@ing bee!
4 likes
8 yrs ago
So I'm stepping out for a minute, right? Take off my pajamas, put on real clothes, struggle into my jeans, normal shit. Suddenly I feel something crawling on my thigh, so I swipe crazily at it.
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@Silver Carrot Sure thing, post whenever it's convenient to you/you're not sleep deprived.
@Doc Doctor I didn't see any question above, "Just one more question," but her hand would be at three quarters of the length (so I'd say two feet between the tip of the spear and her hand, and about a foot and four inches from her hand to the tip of the axehead) and the length of a forearm (around seventeen inches sounds right to me for a five foot ten woman) so I'd say Zande is three feet and five inches from her left flank, and the rest of her torso minus bust is around fifteen/sixteen inches to the opposite flank, so anywhere between three feet and five inches to her leftmost and closest to Zande point of, "torso," and four feet eight/nine inches to her furthest away, "torso," from Zande's perspective, if that makes any sense. Her left foot is leading and across her right in the Chinese style (picture below) not because she was taught to fight that way, but because she was still working to keep her left flank opposite from Zande's face/blowgun and it felt like the most natural stance/stepping point when I worked through it. So her left foot has just planted, and her right is couched behind, though not flat so that she could still step back and around or launch a spinning donkey kick or something (not that she'd have the background to think about doing that) So technically her right foot is closest to Zande, but her left is leading (she side-stepped so it isn't as straight forward here as lead foot is closest). She isn't much of a sprinter, so I'd say that she's hitting around fifteen miles per hour at top 100m dash kinda sprint which is super standard for an athletic woman below thirty five (for reference the London Olympic Women's qualifying 100m speed was 19.8mph.

The feet would be like this, but standing higher/taller at the legs and hips and obviously raised higher at the arms and shoulders as Aibhilin is swinging for Zande's head and not trying to whack his leg. Also her torso is quite far forward, Aibhilin's would be tucking into the blow and bent slightly at the right hip while thrusting it forward and into the hit.
@Silver Carrot Oops, sorry, forgot to tag you earlier again. Post's up, and you're doing great. I can find and post a picture of an armlock from guard (what Aighrit would attempt to do if he got his legs locked around Rag's waist and she threw a left handed punch at him while he was on his back) if you want some visual clarity.
@Doc Doctor Absolutely.





That, but steel axe/spear/pick and a bronze haft (presumably a two piece weapon riveted together, but I didn’t think ahead far enough to specify that in the sheet. The pick itself would be thinner and not conical like the above, more similar to the below picture).

Sorry about the wait, but I wanted to be absolutely sure that I wasn't missing something so I went back over everything and ran it through on paper, in my head and irl a few times.

I absolutely think Zande could get the weapon deflected off the line, he’s the physically superior opponent and besides, a hundred pound trained fighter can deflect a blow with a strike to the correct angle, but I'm a bit confused as to where you think the weapon is being deflected to. Directly stopping the blow from a standstill against a charging opponent seems unlikely to me, and I ran it through in a kata/scripted fight all Hollywood Dojo style earlier to make sure I wasn’t missing anything obvious, but if you think Zande could do it I'll totally give it to you. To my thinking it's a terrible position for him, though.

My timeline is that Aibhilin moved toward him and covered the thirty feet or so, giving him ample time to draw and load his blowgun and the secondary pouch of venom (super cool idea by the way, I've never seen that in a fight before) before she could reach him. As she was still moving he turned and fired, the dart hitting the broadside of her halberd's axehead. She then stepped to the opposite direction he had turned (you said counter-clockwise, and he was facing away from her so I take that to mean left) to which she stepped opposite (now Aibhilin's right, his left) to put the maximum distance between herself and his dart gun while swinging with her polearm and, at this point she was most open to the spit attack which I'm assuming occurred simultaneously with her strike. If it did not he'd be spitting, not using a hose or water gun, spitting a little ball of liquid eight to six feet at best at an opponent who had not yet struck with her axe and would still have been holding it over her face and most of her eyes, head tucked and moving, which I consider to be an impossible hit.

Assuming he spit as she stepped and began the slash he'd have to fire across his entire body or step to the side to square off with her (which if he's swinging with any intent with his right arm toward her blow I assume he would want to stay planted rather than try and step in time with his swing into a blow he didn't necessarily see coming). If that's all correct then her left eye would be mostly visible to his perspective, but if he's swinging right as she is swinging from his right (she is physically to his left side and forward of him, but the halberd is held at three quarters of the length in her left hand, thus the strike at a tucked elbow length would still be to his right traveling left). The problem is that if he is actually doing that while holding a blowgun at his mouth in his left hand and firing the spit attack to my thinking, and what seemed to be backed up when I ran through it is the deflection is actually sending her blade into Zande's left arm, currently crossed over his left side and gripping a blowgun at his mouth.

There are two problems here. First Zande is traveling directly in front of his blowgun as it's pointed toward Aibhilin's face with his axe if he blocks from the right, which would absolutely mean the spit attack would land on Zande's right arm, axe, Aibhilin's weapon, her left arm, and helm with almost no chance of landing in her eyes through all the traffic (it's a little ball of venom after all, this isn't a fire hose that has equal water pressure over a large surface area) and in addition to this Zande is actually deflecting the blow into his own arm while holding a blowgun. This isn't a strong enough blow to do much to Zande’s steel mask beyond knocking some teeth out from the kinetic energy of the strike and maybe knock him on his butt, but to my thinking if that went into his forearm it would go through it, and then through the bicep behind it, and the fight would just be over. I can't see Zande making that choice.

Otherwise he could loop under the blow and try to deflect it up, which would be a much longer journey then Aibhilin's straight lined slash and she has the advantage of proactively rather than re-actively striking or blocking, or loop up and then slash downward to try and tank it into his breastplate, the safest option I could see running through it but still a longer journey then her strike. The second issue I noticed is that because he pivots to fire, he’s almost certainly too planted to get off the line enough to entirely deflect the blow away from himself. Unless he pivoted and side stepped directly away from Aibhilin which wasn’t mentioned but is of course doable, in which case from his perspective he would now be facing her axe head or, if he really jumped backward, her spear point, both of which would be easily reacted to by her as she moved either into Zande’s right leaning momentum or completely (in the case of his having moved backwards entirely) geared toward a simple lunge/thrust and place Zande’s momentum either going into her strike or backward, which would mean that he’d now be facing down a spear point while going backwards and totally able to deflect it but not without being caught by the thick of the pick (or axe if she twisted the haft with the thrust in the Chinese fashion) while moving backward, almost certainly putting him on the ground and very open to a follow up.

I mean, I’m just doing this for fun, so if you want to say the spit landed, or missed, and Zande deflected the blow and just reset from there I’m totally game for that, but in any realistic fighting sense I think turning your back on an opponent with a halberd who then runs at you and swings, to which you respond with spitting in their eyes through a blowgun while trying to deflect the blow from a standstill and toward a strike at the same level as your head (keeping in mind the strike, and your blowgun are both at Zande’s head level so there isn’t any difference in strike zone as there would be if you were striking at the shorter Aibhilin’s head or she was firing and holding the blowgun) is a zero chance of survival situation. Mostly I just wouldn’t turn my back on someone with a halberd, but again, I’m doing this for fun. If you want to say Zande legitimately sidestepped while firing and blocking against a strike whose angle he couldn’t have predicted and reacted to quickly enough to outpace a proactive and aggressing opponent all accurately and simultaneously I’d just as happily go from there, especially because otherwise I think the fight is going to end quickly and who wants that? I’m here to cross some blades and bleed while making him bleed after all. If I’m missing something by all means let me know, but I ran it out a few times and I’m pretty sure it’s just an unwinnable position except through the acceptance of it just went good for Zande through a turn of fate type of deal, which I am open to and highly recommend.

Just let me know where you want them positioned and whether the spit hit or missed, and if the halberd was deflected and in what direction relative to Aibhilin's position when we pick it back up.
This one had some fight in her. Aibhilin was impressed as she sat behind the fighters, still picking at her meal while watching the two meet. Not just anyone would attempt to start a grapple with a larger opponent, and she’d thought it through pretty well. His left arm was down, his right high, and she had gone for his shoulders in a full speed tackle. It wouldn’t have worked if the angles were different, had he not spun away and struck low just before she hit him. He was too large to be taken by a simple tackle from a physically lesser opponent should he have been on balance and had both of his hands prepared to start a standing grapple, but by hitting him when and where she did she would send him to the ground. She did wonder if the girl had experience in ground fighting, however. It wasn’t necessarily as simple a notion as get on top of the opponent and win, and there was little and less chance that Aighrit was going to drop his blade or let the girl take his shoulders in the process of taking him to the ground. A bite, a chew, and Aighrit was down, though as she suspected it wasn’t without the positioning of an experienced grappler.

Aighrit decided that he liked the newcomer. Not because of the bow or her wishing him a well and good bout, but because she was so clearly determined to fit in here. He wasn’t trying too hard to fit in himself, he was fairly sure that Aibhilin really didn’t like him actually, and he and the newcomer were hardly shaping up to be all that similar. She was all animal instinct and toned, predatory lizard-brain while he liked to think of himself as the old-souled, ever smiling kid from the badlands who had wanted to be a healer but wound up a killer in training through a supreme twist of fate, but he had the personal experience to understand empathetically that she was trying because she was curious though scared, proud despite being intimidated, and above it all desperate for something more. It must have been confusing here, he’d seen others from outside of the Empire’s sphere come into the villages and camps of the Wastes, had known the look of someone who hadn’t realized the world was larger than the handful of faces and places that they had known their entire life. Most rejected the overwhelming number of people and places and returned to what they had left. She had no choice but to learn something new, so she gave it her all.

Aighrit hadn’t expected to be taken by a full on tackle, but he welcomed the change in pace. She had dropped her weapon, he had not, and it left him with a number of options. His opponent had closed with him at too tight a distance for him to dodge effectively, too close for him to easily reposition his blade into her open belly from her lower leg or move off the line after having just planted to her side to launch his strike, a strike which she had dealt with better than he would have thought a newcomer usually would have. He could have dropped the blade and attempted to use his left hand to lift at her right leg and his right hand to push hard on her left shoulder, which would likely have sent her into a spiral and snowballed collapse to his left, but thought better of attempting it. She would have to go through him if he did knock her off balance, and from here his chances of stopping her in her tracks entirely were poor at best, still recovering from his swing and being newly planted in his current position as he was. Better instead he figured to let her have her way, at least to an extent.

She hit him head on and ferociously hard, and the two went rolling into the sand with his back landing first. Aighrit was not an inexperienced fighter, however, and he controlled himself well during the fall for a student. On the sand entering a grapple was a common state of affairs, and he was certain that he would have had more practice at ground fighting then she was like to have had. Still she had hit too fast and too hard, from too close a distance for him to attempt to flip their position in the air, and getting landed on and skidded across the sand on bare skin was a painful experience. He wouldn’t stop fighting just because of a little pain, however. While still in the air Aighrit had tucked his chin close to his clavicle to protect the back of his head from being the initial point of contact with the solid earth below, and yanked upward with his legs, hips and groin, aiming to get his thighs around her waist and his legs locked at the knees and ankles, right knee below his left knee and right ankle over his left ankle to create the maximum amount of pressure and the strongest grip on her as he could before hitting the sand.

Unless Rags managed to struggle out of the lock before they hit the sand she would likely be too late once upon the body of her opponent on the ground. He would have enough leverage over her, and enough of a size and mechanical strength advantage to keep her from being able to get her knees onto his body, a position he was more than happy with. If caught in the guard she would have all the arm length she would need to launch blows with her hands toward his face, but too little to get her mouth anywhere near his face, something you learned to make sure of if you wanted to keep your ears or nose clear of an opponent’s teeth. The blows he could deal with. He wasn’t strong enough to thrust himself up with his arms and reverse the girl’s position, and didn’t even attempt to. Being on your back wasn’t the same thing for a trained fighter as it seemed to the inexperienced, or at least inexperienced in this form of combat, average wastelander. They were generally more used to lobbing crude projectiles and closing on the opponent after softening them and their ranks to employ heavy stone clubs or old world junk weapons meant more as a finisher than a proper weapon for melee combat.

Simply being on the ground was not the same thing as a pin. From here he could keep her from getting her knees on his shoulders, and still had full use of his own arms, the left of which was still gripping his practice blade. He would smile up at her regardless of whether or not the she had struggled out of his guard in the air, or whether her waist was now being gripped tightly with his thighs locked in place at his knees and ankles. He’d have been smiling even if she’d passed his guard, drawn a secondary weapon and thudded it down on his head. It wasn’t meant to be facetious or mocking and his eyes didn’t betray any ill intent behind the gesture. This was simply the way of life here, two potential future friends having a bout on the sand. It wasn’t necessarily fun, he didn’t enjoy fighting, but it was life. It was living, breathing movement through time and space, above ground and with a still mostly hot meal, and a reasonably comfortable bed of animal skins and old world extension cords formed into a makeshift hammock to look forward to, and he even had reasonable company. Why let his distaste toward fighting ruin an otherwise happy, healthy day.

Aighrit would simply wait a moment for her to launch a blow and, assuming she was still going through with her earlier plan and punching toward his shoulders despite the guard, he would use his left arm to lash out at her right bicep if a blow was thrown from that hand in an effort to hit the nerve cluster located on the spot and deaden the attack mid swing or at least soften the impact upon his body, and if a blow was thrown with her left hand he would use his right hand to grab her arm after she made contact, and would attempt to keep it straight while he shot his left arm, blade in hand, between her ribs and underarm and her extended arm, before violently twisting to his left side at an angle that, should it be successful, would overextend her arm from the rotator cuff of her shoulder with enough force to cause her significant pain. He wouldn’t roll over on top of the arm if he caught it in a lock, he didn’t want to dislocate her shoulder, but he would steadily turn further to his left inch by inch in an effort to get her screaming and thrashing about on top of him, her subconscious desperate to end the pain and save the arm.

It would be the least damaging way to make it clear that she needed to be let go, have the Doctora call it and stand the pair back up and set them to their blades upon their feet once again, at least in Aighrit’s thinking and assuming he managed to achieve the lock whatsoever. These were the few moments his smile did not shine through, when he had an opponent in a disadvantaged position and was actively twisting or tearing away at them. He wouldn’t hurt her, not really, whether he had achieved the lock or not. It wasn’t about his fear of causing permanent or at least long lasting injury to others that concerned him, he had enough self control and enough skill to know how much pressure he could put into a blow, twist, lock or whatever else before causing actual damage. It was one of the first things impressed upon the students here, cause as little actual damage to your fellow camp mate as possible, they’re too much of an investment to risk making ineligible for future paid bouts on the sands of the arena. It was the knowledge that one day he would be expected to do this for real, and that on that day he would have to roll over onto the arm if he had caught and locked it, shove it out of place and then run his blade through their spine as they twisted on the ground in agony. He shuddered, disturbed at the thought, though it was unlikely any would notice it as anything more than a spasm caused by fighting for every inch toward twisting Rag’s arm out of place.
@Doc Doctor Post is up.
A single quarter of a single second can be all it takes to mean the difference between life and death upon the sands. As she had suspected the man had a blowgun and was making to fire it toward her face, a futile effort that died upon the steel of her axe blade before it could so much as even create enough difference in pressure or momentum to even catch her attention. She had spun away from the direction, his left, that he had turned, and launched a left-to-right slash toward his head as he fired with the blowgun, and short of his having superhuman reflexes there would be no chance that his right arm, having just spun left, was going to get to her halberd blade in time to stop it, or with enough force to actually stop her slash. She was three quarters of his size, but had the massive advantage of having been moving dead on toward him and stepping into her slash, while he would be depending on the upper body strength of a single arm alone to try and stop her blow. He didn’t look three quarters the size he would need to be to outweigh her advantage in speed with his sheer mass alone, and she was entirely sure that within a quarter of a second she’d have knocked his teeth in at the least.

Firing across her body the long way around and as she was tucking to the right, and considering the arm and the polearm in between his blowgun and her face the chances of making a meaningful contact with her face with a solid projectile had been almost zero. What she couldn’t have seen coming, didn’t see coming and wouldn’t even have had the time to react to if she had was an actual liquid strike against her, still of dubious efficacy considering he was firing past a solid obstacle across his body and toward a moving opponent, but the single action of her having thrust forward, downward and to the right with a tucked elbow and the precision of a master combatant would give him the opening he would need. Had she continued charging, had she struck at a different angle or even moved past him before striking he would have had absolutely no chance from this angle, but she had not. She wasted exactly no moments with her actions, and struck with as absolute a precision as any normal human could have. This placed her half helm’s top left quarter, and the tip of a visible eye ball just in sight from Zande’s perspective.

There was no precedent for an actual liquid attack from a mouth operated weapon system in the wastes. Liquid weapons in the form of acid in vials did exist, and were used frequently as lobbing projectiles much in the same manner as burning pitch in other cultures, but that could neither be held in the mouth nor spit through a blowgun. Only a quarter of a second had passed, her strike would either land or somehow be deflected by the clearly inferior positioned opponent with his right arm alone and from a standstill which would prompt her to immediately draw and thrust forward with her punch dagger into his then open neck or, should he lean backwards and swing around with his axe to connect with her weapon from his own right side into his flank. He had almost certainly worked himself into an unworkable position, but his gambit would find itself proven effective, if only barely. The chances of hitting her right side of her face from his position were near zero, but her arm, her polearm, and her angle coupled with the manner of her strike put the smallest amount of an eye visible and open to her own left. Her mind wouldn’t have time to react before her strike would land.

That did not change the fact that a single globule, as though itself propelled forward in a time and place slower and clear as crystal in quality of picture, moved past its fellows who landed harmlessly upon her polearm, the arm behind it, her half helm and her pauldron and landed true, mostly caught in her eyelash and the slightest corner of the smallest of particles visible by humans landing directly in the white of the top left portion of her left eye. It wouldn’t register or have any effect in the time it would take her to hit him, or even to draw and strike with her punch dagger should he somehow manage to block her strike, but it had landed and would register. An attack like this could not have been predicted, would not have been understood by those in attendance least of all Aibhilin. There were no spitting cobras in the wastes. No one here knew of anything that was venomous but could be held in the mouth before spitting it into a person’s eyes without harming oneself. It was not going to cause the damage a full strike in the face would have, but it was toxic and would be painful. Within a second she would understand.

This however was a quarter of a second. By waiting until she struck he had ensured his secondary gambit would have the maximum chance of success. It would also give him the least chance of stopping her from clobbering him to death in the next moment of his life, she was upon him now and it was far too late to roll away without her running him through with the spear point upon her halberd. Should he somehow survive the second to see her overcome with the pain her mind would rack her with in an attempt to convince her to wash her eye out in time to save it, however, her advantage would naturally wain. It wasn’t effective like a sword through the gut or an axe cleaving off a limb was effective. Those stopped people based upon the instantaneous drop in blood pressure, something no grasp over your own mental fortitude would grant you the strength to overcome. She would fight through the pain if he wasn’t dead yet, but she would soon be half blind and dealing with the erratic screaming of a mind whose prerogative to save its own left eye takes precedence over allowing the woman whose skin the brain wore peace of mind in her continued life and death struggle upon the sands.
@Silver Carrot Post is up.
“Aighrit, arm up. You two, back to your food,” Aevaur neither smiled nor snarled in response either to the girl curling her lip at him in distaste nor toward not having been chosen. His expression shifted between a general grumpiness and blowing absently at his mop of hair as he picked up his clothing from off the ground and began walking back to his seat. Revhinult had frowned, however, but whether that was because he had been denied the chance to show off or because he had legitimately thought she would pick him was not clear, before following after Aevaur with his own clothes picked absently off the ground in his hands. Aighrit was still smiling, though his face did not waver from his straight ahead gaze. He drew his own practice blade into his left hand, and crossed it over his chest before giving a low nod and slight forward leaning bend at the waist. Rags likely would not have understood the significance, but it was meant as a show of respect for one’s opponent and was usually relegated to fights between already trained combatants rather than as something meant for a newcomer straight from the wastes. He stood at attention once more after the other two had made way, and only then looked toward Rags.

There was a purpose to this ceremony, however seemingly pointless it might be. It was the behavior and reflected the mindset required to appease the Imperials who paid for the professional bouts that they would attend and gamble upon, a cut of which went to the schools participating. It was something that must be done in order for the camp to eat, and was hammered in with sharp and immediate disciplinary action from the first day of one’s training at Australos. It would be hammered into Rags as well, should she stick around after the bout had run its course. None of the potential choices the girl could have made would have shocked Aibhilin, after all she had laid them out for her for a reason. It did tell her that the girl wanted to win more than she wanted the glory of a fight against a stronger opponent, and that she was aware her chances would be greatest against the most physically inferior opponent. Aibhilin had never had much trouble with the bigger opponents herself, she was almost always smaller than any she faced in the arena despite her considerable height and weight. It was usually the ones who were the most experienced and dedicated to their training who presented the obstacles and hidden dangers which would get you killed.

Everyone within a thirty foot radius of Aighrit had cleared out of the way of the fight, less concerned about being in the way as interested in making sure no happenstance blows were to break their bowls and spill their food onto the ground. This included Aibhilin, Devlin, and the rest of the staff, all having taken a seat outside of the makeshift fighting pit measured more by eye and practice then by any physical barrier or obstacle, and set at the task of eating while watching the entertainment. It was time, and whether or not Rags was ready for it Aighrit would be. Blade in hand, opponent before him, he had been through this all before. He smiled at the girl, made a concerted effort to catch her gaze. He expressed neither pity nor remorse with his gaze and features, however, and neither did he seem to be enjoying this with any kind of vicious or brutal nature. His smile seemed more to suggest a peaceful ease of his nature and passively happy character. He neither looked down on the newcomer, nor felt bad about what he intended to do to her, neither was he going to enjoy the experience. Win or lose they would fight. It was a part of life here.

More realistically it was life here, but he had known worse ways to live. He hadn’t always been all smiles, but long ago he had come to understand a fundamental part of nature and his place in it which had brought forth the ease with which he carried himself despite the pain and the unsavory nature of the pit fighter lifestyle. He could neither change the past, nor in wishful desperation hope to change the future. All he could do was persevere and survive, causing as little pain to others in between cycles of day and night in the meantime. It wasn’t an unhappy state to be in, not for him. Every day above ground was a good one, and one that he had no guarantee to have again. Why be an Aevaur and be down about it? “Fight well, friend!” he called out merrily to the girl, genuine grin plastered to his face in a way that probably made him look stupid but felt right. He did want her to fight well, and he had no animosity nor grievance with her, or much of anyone else. He would do as the Doctora asked of him, though it would be unpleasant. It was always unpleasant one way or the other. It was also necessary.

The boy wouldn’t have understood the necessity in the way his Doctora did, she concerned with the girl’s long term survival as a professional arena champion and he with her short term health, happiness, and the superior nutrition she would have here rather than in the village across the mountain, but he did recognize that if he did not swallow the knot forming in his throat at the prospect of hurting another person with whom he had no qualm then she would be forced to do the same to him and would be made to face down another, likely Revhinult who would not share his concern. It wasn’t just this barbarian girl he uniquely didn’t want to hurt. He didn’t like hurting anyone, perhaps because all are special and yet the same. Neither would he hold back, for the both of their sakes toward another day of breath above ground, as happy, healthy and well fed as they could be. He extended his legs to his sides, facing her dead on and with his shoulders and head low in a half sit over thin air. His right hand was held a few inches out and to the right of his face, his left gripping the practice blade pointed straight toward Rags and held at his mid-torso.

If she advanced to strike at him he wouldn’t do anything to stop or slow her advance, waiting until she had come to within his own striking distance to move or react whatsoever. Should she not move to strike at him and either remain where she stood or move backwards or to walk a circle about him as the cave lions do before leaping upon their opponent he would instead break his stance and charge toward her, left hand and the blade held by it kept straight at his mid-torso height and pointed directly at her. He would not attempt to tackle her however, and would stop before covering the distance entirely to begin to deliver a high poking jab with his blade toward her face and, should he not be stopped or intercepted by the girl cut low by bending at the right knee towards his own right side, thrusting his left hip forward while leaning right and downward with his left shoulder, his left arm making a slash across his body with a whiplike chain reaction sending the blade traveling from a foot or two in front of her face forward and down toward her right leg unless stopped or blocked by her.

Should she instead charge toward him as he charged toward her he would attempt to spin off course in whichever direction her sword was not being held in and deliver the same high jab feint, low leg slash as before while she either stopped to cross blades or continued to move forward, assuming she would either block or move past him but simply to test the waters without committing to a more aggressive strategy right out of the gate. It wouldn’t do either of them any good for him to go and commit to a particularly heavy or difficult strike only to be parried and knocked to the sand on his backside in the first exchange of the contest.
@Doc Doctor Forgot to tag you earlier. Post is up.
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