wrathlead
LeeRoy
OhmThrum.
Throughout the darkness, a cacophony erupted as the defense that the smaller man enacted had been expected, tragically so. He parried the war sword. He passed forward with the right foot beyond the left, leaving his body in an incredibly compromising position. Then he completed the error by advancing the left foot and leg again into an utterly defenseless position.
Such were the errors made by those unaware of the speed a war sword can be wielded by an experienced fighter. Deep in the darkness of the Galdhr voices began to rumble, argue and contest the action made by Scion. Perhaps he had mistaken the length of Skallagrim’s reach with such a weapon. Perhaps not though, by virtue of his movements he expected to ward off the sword in such a way that it would not be subject to counter his parry.
Drawing forth the thousands of fights, hundreds of thousand wars and millions of practices the gathered Dreamers ran through the myriad of moves, counters and openings available to the Cughtagh. Filter after filter were quickly applied then dismissed as they debated every nuanced action and the possible outcomes. It seemed as if aeons passed as the Dreamers studied and played out the movements in their dreams, each action studied with every permutation calculated out to the nth degree.
As the war sword made contact, already it was in motion. Carried a bit by the parry of the tonfa, but more so under the guidance of the arm wielding it. With a simple pass of the right leg back so the left was fore, the war sword was swinging around in a swift cut aimed for Scion’s left leg and hip that were firmly implanted as the man execute his tonfa strike.
It was a beautiful and deadly ballet, Scion’s foot passing forward, and Skallagrim’s passing back leaving opposites fore. It was this movement that allowed the war sword to enact the cut imitated by the parry. The dagger shot forward . . . and through the dark substance of the Galdhr, almost as if the darkness wanted the man’s arm within reach of its roiling substance. Yet what did the dagger hit? Naught but air, as it sailed several inches above the arm of the Dreamer.
Darkness descended on the man’s arm. Swirling and swarming energy lashed out, grasping, clutching and racing along the man’s arm. Studying the weapon, seeking to understand its powers and why the man known as Scion had such faith in the dagger. But besides that, and more importantly the Galdhr was rapidly altering the man clothing, changing the very nature of the cloth threads, every fourth one would slowly transform into silver thread.
The question of course was an age old one that occurred between warriors throughout history. What would you be willing to suffer to win? Skallagrim took the impact from the tonfa striking his chest. The blow crashed against the chainmail with some force, casting the Dreamer back. However tit required tat. The cut to Scion’s leg and hip would also connect simultaneously since Scion had no way to avoid the blow. The cut, below the hip bone and just above the socket for the thigh, would bite with the accelerated force of a ton of kinetic energy. Yet, the shimmering silver-blue energy continued to race along the blade in increasing loops. How deep would it bite? How would the blood flow? How would Scion’s movement be affected? All questions unanswered.
Stepping back several feet after the concussive blow, with the war sword continuing to cut through the wound, grinding deeper; Skallagrim resumed his stance with the shield forward and the war sword in a low guard. Again a six-foot gap lay betwixt them. The energies of aesr swirled and danced. The fight would begin in earnest now, both sides had struck the other; the remaining question was how badly had Scion been cut?
Throughout the darkness, a cacophony erupted as the defense that the smaller man enacted had been expected, tragically so. He parried the war sword. He passed forward with the right foot beyond the left, leaving his body in an incredibly compromising position. Then he completed the error by advancing the left foot and leg again into an utterly defenseless position.
Such were the errors made by those unaware of the speed a war sword can be wielded by an experienced fighter. Deep in the darkness of the Galdhr voices began to rumble, argue and contest the action made by Scion. Perhaps he had mistaken the length of Skallagrim’s reach with such a weapon. Perhaps not though, by virtue of his movements he expected to ward off the sword in such a way that it would not be subject to counter his parry.
Drawing forth the thousands of fights, hundreds of thousand wars and millions of practices the gathered Dreamers ran through the myriad of moves, counters and openings available to the Cughtagh. Filter after filter were quickly applied then dismissed as they debated every nuanced action and the possible outcomes. It seemed as if aeons passed as the Dreamers studied and played out the movements in their dreams, each action studied with every permutation calculated out to the nth degree.
As the war sword made contact, already it was in motion. Carried a bit by the parry of the tonfa, but more so under the guidance of the arm wielding it. With a simple pass of the right leg back so the left was fore, the war sword was swinging around in a swift cut aimed for Scion’s left leg and hip that were firmly implanted as the man execute his tonfa strike.
It was a beautiful and deadly ballet, Scion’s foot passing forward, and Skallagrim’s passing back leaving opposites fore. It was this movement that allowed the war sword to enact the cut imitated by the parry. The dagger shot forward . . . and through the dark substance of the Galdhr, almost as if the darkness wanted the man’s arm within reach of its roiling substance. Yet what did the dagger hit? Naught but air, as it sailed several inches above the arm of the Dreamer.
Darkness descended on the man’s arm. Swirling and swarming energy lashed out, grasping, clutching and racing along the man’s arm. Studying the weapon, seeking to understand its powers and why the man known as Scion had such faith in the dagger. But besides that, and more importantly the Galdhr was rapidly altering the man clothing, changing the very nature of the cloth threads, every fourth one would slowly transform into silver thread.
The question of course was an age old one that occurred between warriors throughout history. What would you be willing to suffer to win? Skallagrim took the impact from the tonfa striking his chest. The blow crashed against the chainmail with some force, casting the Dreamer back. However tit required tat. The cut to Scion’s leg and hip would also connect simultaneously since Scion had no way to avoid the blow. The cut, below the hip bone and just above the socket for the thigh, would bite with the accelerated force of a ton of kinetic energy. Yet, the shimmering silver-blue energy continued to race along the blade in increasing loops. How deep would it bite? How would the blood flow? How would Scion’s movement be affected? All questions unanswered.
Stepping back several feet after the concussive blow, with the war sword continuing to cut through the wound, grinding deeper; Skallagrim resumed his stance with the shield forward and the war sword in a low guard. Again a six-foot gap lay betwixt them. The energies of aesr swirled and danced. The fight would begin in earnest now, both sides had struck the other; the remaining question was how badly had Scion been cut?