by Sorgram on Fri May 21, 2010 12:45 am
His honor was high and in questioning it, perhaps, he had chosen foolishness. Taking a strip of her blouse, he used it for a blindfold, making himself as blind as she was. Perhaps moreso, to him, it did not matter as he was not about to lose this battle. Having found the prey he wanted, he let the Razor sing. As the sword cut through the air, the gas parted as meat parted to a sharp cleaver. Her hearing would no doubt alert her to his position, but he allowed himself only even breathing and a sharp ear. Sensing a step and a tell tale whisper from the air, he raised his sword and blocked, inches from his shoulder, her blade. She had struck well and her skill was evident. Silent, he stepped carefully around, waiting, observing as he had been trained to catch what another does.
Her first strike had been half luck and half skill, she had felt him and struck out, coming high. Her stroke had struck metal and she felt a bit hopeful that he may not be that skilled. She struck again, believing that he had moved to another spot and again, her strike was well landed, but his blade was present as a block. She now felt his strength in the blade as it had moved barely as she had struck with significant force. Also, she felt another softer resistance, as if she had landed in flesh or leathers. Gaining confidence, she struck rapidly a quick succession of blows, driving forward to gain ground. Perhaps he was wounded, as he gave way, but each blow was met with metal and not flesh, that strike began to seem lucky.
She had shown skill and even managed to cut his shoulder slightly. He had misjudged the strike and held his sword too close in. The blade had found a bit of flesh, but it was only a scratch and would heal rapidly. He resolved to not allow her to land again and increased his effort and concentration to that end. She rained several skilled and quick blows towards him and he managed with no lack of luck to block them all. He almost admired her talent, but he believed he had a measure of her now as well as a thought she might be tiring. The drak had let this continue for a bit longer than he planned and now must go on the offensive.
The moriel sensed the change almost immediately and realized her mistake. The dark woman had been giving her all, thinking that the had done the same. However, she came to the knowledge that he had been only defending, to get a measure of her. Managing to twist at the last moment, she felt his first offensive blow come at her, the swirling hips and dropping shoulder saved her a knock on the head. Moving around again, she tried to attack but he was moving fast now and he presence seemed larger and wider as he spun in a whirlwind of strikes. Managing to block them all, she was feeling more winded as his fury of blows came at her, again and again. At last, she felt the blade against her neck, the point pressing in as she had been lazy with a block. A hand grasped her wrist and squeezed. She bit her lip to remain silent and held on as long as she could.
His thumb pressed into her wrist at a point to make her release the blade, twisting slightly. Nodding in respect, he removed his blindfold as she had made no sound during the disarming. A smile broached his face as the moriel hissed at him. 'Well, kill me, cur, I will not submit.'
'Nay, I would not want you to. However, I do have need of you to be cooperative.'
As the blow landed, she realized that she felt the heat of sun on her face and that its warmth would forever be a repulsive feeling. Blacking out, she would not awaken for much time. Only to do so, bound on a cold metal surface, in a dark cavern. Looking around, she could see a large room, many pews for people to sit and a great pit. Below her, she saw a figure, knelt in prayer, chanting. Whispering, she smirked, 'I see you kneel for me.'
A chill bled her face as she heard the reply, 'It is the Fire for which I kneel, to await his acceptance of the sacrifice.' She saw no fire, but off in the distance, what was that...