She was good, of course - he'd known that from the moment he'd realized she'd snuck up on him. Familiar with a blade, more so than him, from how eagerly she'd unsheathed her own to offer challenge - however couched in the pretty word of 'sparring.' But hearing that she'd been an assassin had changed how he viewed both her and the match, from cautious game to something far more intense - at least for him.
Sword fighting had always been more about the dance, for him; the graceful footwork, the sinuous spin of body and wrist. He hadn't set out to become a fighter, after all. He would never have survived as one, without his magic to rely on, or his friends to hold the front line. In more recent years he hadn't had much choice... but then, the opponents he faced had not been nearly so impressive, either.
Ashetta... was.
She evaded his first, light strike and the second more debilitating one with a fluid grace a part of him couldn't help but admire, even as a different part ground his teeth in frustration. All he outwardly showed, however, was the intense concentration and grim determination he had begun the fight with, feet moving over the ground in pattern that he'd hoped would provide an opening--
She spoke and the bard's eyes sharpened in recognition. This was his trick: distracting his enemy with clever wordplay so his sword could slip inside their guard. Wait for it... When she moved he was ready, stepping back to pull his hip out of reach and pulling his own blade back into short guard to protect his body-- the right move as she slashed and he once more deflected, though the nature of the guard prevented him from riposting as he turned with her. It didn't stop his counter attack a moment later, however - his right arm rising to the third quarter, crossbody and shoulder height as he twisted his wrist, bringing his stick around the outside of Ashetta's in a deft move that would be difficult - or at least, useless - with a longsword, even as slipped back with his left foot to present her a very narrow profile of his body. They were close enough from their last exchange that he only needed to extend - a jab at the assassin's face, aimed right between her eyes, and none too gentle.
"Not particularly," he spoke as he attacked, giving her back the same medicine, though with the breath control of one used to speaking and moving at once. "This world... suits me."
Sword fighting had always been more about the dance, for him; the graceful footwork, the sinuous spin of body and wrist. He hadn't set out to become a fighter, after all. He would never have survived as one, without his magic to rely on, or his friends to hold the front line. In more recent years he hadn't had much choice... but then, the opponents he faced had not been nearly so impressive, either.
She evaded his first, light strike and the second more debilitating one with a fluid grace a part of him couldn't help but admire, even as a different part ground his teeth in frustration. All he outwardly showed, however, was the intense concentration and grim determination he had begun the fight with, feet moving over the ground in pattern that he'd hoped would provide an opening--
She spoke and the bard's eyes sharpened in recognition. This was his trick: distracting his enemy with clever wordplay so his sword could slip inside their guard. Wait for it... When she moved he was ready, stepping back to pull his hip out of reach and pulling his own blade back into short guard to protect his body-- the right move as she slashed and he once more deflected, though the nature of the guard prevented him from riposting as he turned with her. It didn't stop his counter attack a moment later, however - his right arm rising to the third quarter, crossbody and shoulder height as he twisted his wrist, bringing his stick around the outside of Ashetta's in a deft move that would be difficult - or at least, useless - with a longsword, even as slipped back with his left foot to present her a very narrow profile of his body. They were close enough from their last exchange that he only needed to extend - a jab at the assassin's face, aimed right between her eyes, and none too gentle.
"Not particularly," he spoke as he attacked, giving her back the same medicine, though with the breath control of one used to speaking and moving at once. "This world... suits me."
