remember that you can't save everyone
remember that you have to try
She listened, applying the changes in direction, altering them beneath the wooden fathoms of his blade. He wasn’t afraid to meet her eyes, a subtle smile intertwining along the edges of his mouth. “And you will have your shield.” He hadn’t forgotten.But it wasn’t here now, so they had to dictate and rampage where they could, where assaults, sieges, or other implications that might manifest without the familiar weight of steel in her hands.
He scored a hit, however, either in the distraction of thoughts and mischief, or simply because she hadn’t been prepared for the minor onslaught, a tap against her hip. Point, ricocheted along his mind, mostly to be obnoxious, impish, and pull her away from the melancholic edges.
Therein the feral aspects of the Shield was exposed, and were he not actively involved in the midst of it, he might’ve stopped to admire the alteration. Instead, he rushed to evade the nimble, swift pursuits, already at a disadvantage in terms of movement, much larger, much broader, where she could quickly sneak in amongst his defenses like a cat. His eyes caught the ruminations, the slightest of shifts from his abdomen to his side, but the raising of his blade to catch, to snag, was too slow. Her sword grazed the side of his ribs, and he laughed, despite an impending bruise.
“Good. Use your speed and size.” A nod, indicating his pride in her prowess, before maneuvering into another series of instructions. “You can disarm your opponent.” At this, he lowered his blade beneath hers, a funneling of power and strength coming from muscles, from days and weeks and years of doing the same motions, honed and keen. Had he had purposefully hit, instead of shown, the intent was to force the blade completely out of her hands. “Or incapacitate.” Make them incapable of continuing on and on, maneuvering his sword above her, then shifting it downward, like it would crush a blow to her hand, with either the hilt of his pommel or the flattened portion of the training instrument. The General also maneuvered the sword behind her, along her legs, a pretense of cutting and slashing, to ensure an enemy was going nowhere, or would be in too much pain to offer an assault in return.
Once his directives were complete, he moved again, mischief and tactics lancing through his munitions. “Try to block.” He ensued a similar motion from before, intending to cut and sweep along her left leg.
out for vengeance
DEIMOS
