Abrupt though her words were, her face was undisciplined, revealing the joy she took in violence. At least her smile fell away as he went on the offensive, though in the end it did him little good. She dodged - just enough motion to carry her head out of danger and not a centimeter more wasted - and moved with the fluidity of a dancer.
Or a killer.
Such wasted potential, the part of him that appreciated beauty lamented, but he had no time to consider such distractions when she promptly shifted around - not riposting, but then, her black blade had been heavier. A weapon of brutality and slashing strength, not the clean cuts and pinpoint accuracy of his rapier. At least their sticks were more evenly matched, and the lightness of his 'weapon' was not so great a difference as it was for his opponent.
As soon as he realized she had dodged he was already pulling back into guard, and he moved his blade just far enough - and no farther - to deflect from his side, though he grunted with the effort as she nearly pushed his own sword back onto him. It was closer than he wanted to be-- and she gave him no chance to recover, lunging on the attack with the feral expression of a rabid dog.
Her angle of attack - trying to move around him - meant she had farther to go while all he needed was to pivot. Again, aiming for the back... His lips tightened in something between disappointment and anger at her predictability-- and her similarity to a fallen friend. He slammed the 'hilt' of his own stick down towards her hand - as much to disrupt her attack as to injure, though he wouldn't hesitate to actually strike her if he could - noting the changed grip grimly as he ghosted back to open up space again. Their retreats mirrored each other, a dance almost in truth as Jigano maintained an icy glare in an impassive mask at the murderer across from him.
"Or a death sentence, outside the barrier's protection," the bard growled. He didn't necessarily believe that... but he'd seen things in his past that made it possible.
Distance was safety, but it was also no way to win with their chosen weapons. Normally he approached combat with a cooler head, butAshetta's confident claim to her profession had riled the lorekeeper-- and he didn't know how much longer he could sustain the energy of the fight. Gritting his teeth he gathered himself, advancing at an angle and striking three times in swift succession - a feint to her wrist and a second to her shoulder, repeating his original attack, but this time when he started to pull back it was a ruse designed to lure her after him in a counter--
While he dropped his blade and stop-thrust at her solar plexus hard enough to crack his stick if it connected, trusting in his defensive free arm to knock aside the 'flat' of her stick-blade in its near-inevitable counter.
Or a killer.
Such wasted potential, the part of him that appreciated beauty lamented, but he had no time to consider such distractions when she promptly shifted around - not riposting, but then, her black blade had been heavier. A weapon of brutality and slashing strength, not the clean cuts and pinpoint accuracy of his rapier. At least their sticks were more evenly matched, and the lightness of his 'weapon' was not so great a difference as it was for his opponent.
As soon as he realized she had dodged he was already pulling back into guard, and he moved his blade just far enough - and no farther - to deflect from his side, though he grunted with the effort as she nearly pushed his own sword back onto him. It was closer than he wanted to be-- and she gave him no chance to recover, lunging on the attack with the feral expression of a rabid dog.
Her angle of attack - trying to move around him - meant she had farther to go while all he needed was to pivot. Again, aiming for the back... His lips tightened in something between disappointment and anger at her predictability-- and her similarity to a fallen friend. He slammed the 'hilt' of his own stick down towards her hand - as much to disrupt her attack as to injure, though he wouldn't hesitate to actually strike her if he could - noting the changed grip grimly as he ghosted back to open up space again. Their retreats mirrored each other, a dance almost in truth as Jigano maintained an icy glare in an impassive mask at the murderer across from him.
"Or a death sentence, outside the barrier's protection," the bard growled. He didn't necessarily believe that... but he'd seen things in his past that made it possible.
Distance was safety, but it was also no way to win with their chosen weapons. Normally he approached combat with a cooler head, but
While he dropped his blade and stop-thrust at her solar plexus hard enough to crack his stick if it connected, trusting in his defensive free arm to knock aside the 'flat' of her stick-blade in its near-inevitable counter.
