KORBIN
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed,
That blushed and bloomed,
The problem with fighting his sister was that he never managed to surprise her. Not ever. Not once in all the years they'd sparred together. She was there to parry right away, and though he felt the contact of blade to skin, he still hadn't landed the blow where it was supposed to go. And then, of course, she retaliated straight away.
It really was a downside to be unable to hear anything. While his balance wasn't as impaired now as it had been in the beginning, he wasn't fully functional either, and it showed, his reactions ever so slightly slower than they should have been. The fire that flared up singed the arm he threw up to shield himself with, and instinctively Korbin recoiled from it. But with his one arm occupied with shielding his face, he had no defenses left to ward of her attack with. Korbin was only able to twist to avoid being impaled; Weaver's dagger snaked in and cut a long gash over his ribs, snagging on the ursur-wool shirt he always wore.
Korbin hissed in pain as blood bloomed from the cut. With gritted teeth he tried to embrace it and set it aside, even as he countered. Stepping forth to invade her space, he reversed the knife with a quick flick of the wrist and tried to stab towards her gut in an underhand thrust - counting coldly on her ability to dodge away from any serious damage.
If she wanted to play rough, then by all means. Today, he would indulge her, in a way he rarely had ever done before.
It really was a downside to be unable to hear anything. While his balance wasn't as impaired now as it had been in the beginning, he wasn't fully functional either, and it showed, his reactions ever so slightly slower than they should have been. The fire that flared up singed the arm he threw up to shield himself with, and instinctively Korbin recoiled from it. But with his one arm occupied with shielding his face, he had no defenses left to ward of her attack with. Korbin was only able to twist to avoid being impaled; Weaver's dagger snaked in and cut a long gash over his ribs, snagging on the ursur-wool shirt he always wore.
Korbin hissed in pain as blood bloomed from the cut. With gritted teeth he tried to embrace it and set it aside, even as he countered. Stepping forth to invade her space, he reversed the knife with a quick flick of the wrist and tried to stab towards her gut in an underhand thrust - counting coldly on her ability to dodge away from any serious damage.
If she wanted to play rough, then by all means. Today, he would indulge her, in a way he rarely had ever done before.
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.
Of the old time entombed.
