Genesis 036
Jan. 11th, 2006 09:11 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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yrae
Title~ Challenger
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still~ mine
Notes~ Genesis 036. 'nother swordie fic, cos swordies are fun =3
~ ~ ~
Rumal leapt backwards from his opponent’s increasingly savage swings, defending with a loud clash when needs be with his own glinting blade. He’d noticed, too, that the young man’s face was becoming more and more angered through the encounter, until it was a mask of pure rage, and his swings were no longer calculated attempts to break Rumal’s guard and nick into his flesh, but brutal slashes that made it seem like he had something personally against the Own rider.
Rumal finally decided that enough was enough, and swung out at an opening the swordsman had deliberately left. Rumal wouldn’t normally have fallen for such a trap, but he was just sick of this guy now, and knew he was fast enough to get in before the little upstart had a chance to defend himself. Sure enough, he felt his blade resist slightly as it caught in the challenger’s flesh, and Rumal made sure to leave more than just a graze there as he had with every other challenger. It was something more like a gouge, but he’d deserved it.
Being beaten though only seemed to fuel the man’s anger, and instead of stopping the fight, he dropped one hand from his sword to grip at his wound, then continued to lash out with his other hand still on the hilt.
Rumal could hear the boos, hisses and other irritated noises the crowd made around him, well aware about the rules of engagement in an Own challenge.
The southerner swore briefly under his breath, then whipped his opponent’s sword roughly from his grip, gouging again into his flesh before levelling his blade tip at the challenger’s throat. The regulation army sword clattered to the cobbles well behind him, so that Rumal was firmly placed between the challenger and his weapon.
Instead of conceding, the swordsman spat on Rumal’s blade, drawing more sounds of displeasure from the crowd, and glared down the gleaming sword’s length.
Rumal inched his sword forwards, drawing another drop of blood from the challenger’s skin. He was sorely tempted to just slice him straight through, but there was far too much reasoning in his mind to allow him to go that far.
“You’ll have to lift your game much higher than that if you want to get in,” Rumal told him menacingly, his anger drawing some of his long-shed southern accent back into his words. “Yield.”
The challenger spat again and bared his teeth at the veteran Own rider. “To a southerner? Not likely.”
“Rumal,” the General called, approaching the two combatants from the sidelines. “Cool down, he’s not getting in.”
Rumal twisted the end of his sword just slightly, cutting deeper into the challenger’s throat before slowly lowering his blade and flicking the blood and saliva from its tip. He shot the upstart a warning glare and strode from the circle to where the other swordies had been watching.
“If you don’t kill him,” he told Emon, the next to take the man’s challenge, “I will.”
Author~ Annarti
Disclaimer~ Still~ mine
Notes~ Genesis 036. 'nother swordie fic, cos swordies are fun =3
Rumal leapt backwards from his opponent’s increasingly savage swings, defending with a loud clash when needs be with his own glinting blade. He’d noticed, too, that the young man’s face was becoming more and more angered through the encounter, until it was a mask of pure rage, and his swings were no longer calculated attempts to break Rumal’s guard and nick into his flesh, but brutal slashes that made it seem like he had something personally against the Own rider.
Rumal finally decided that enough was enough, and swung out at an opening the swordsman had deliberately left. Rumal wouldn’t normally have fallen for such a trap, but he was just sick of this guy now, and knew he was fast enough to get in before the little upstart had a chance to defend himself. Sure enough, he felt his blade resist slightly as it caught in the challenger’s flesh, and Rumal made sure to leave more than just a graze there as he had with every other challenger. It was something more like a gouge, but he’d deserved it.
Being beaten though only seemed to fuel the man’s anger, and instead of stopping the fight, he dropped one hand from his sword to grip at his wound, then continued to lash out with his other hand still on the hilt.
Rumal could hear the boos, hisses and other irritated noises the crowd made around him, well aware about the rules of engagement in an Own challenge.
The southerner swore briefly under his breath, then whipped his opponent’s sword roughly from his grip, gouging again into his flesh before levelling his blade tip at the challenger’s throat. The regulation army sword clattered to the cobbles well behind him, so that Rumal was firmly placed between the challenger and his weapon.
Instead of conceding, the swordsman spat on Rumal’s blade, drawing more sounds of displeasure from the crowd, and glared down the gleaming sword’s length.
Rumal inched his sword forwards, drawing another drop of blood from the challenger’s skin. He was sorely tempted to just slice him straight through, but there was far too much reasoning in his mind to allow him to go that far.
“You’ll have to lift your game much higher than that if you want to get in,” Rumal told him menacingly, his anger drawing some of his long-shed southern accent back into his words. “Yield.”
The challenger spat again and bared his teeth at the veteran Own rider. “To a southerner? Not likely.”
“Rumal,” the General called, approaching the two combatants from the sidelines. “Cool down, he’s not getting in.”
Rumal twisted the end of his sword just slightly, cutting deeper into the challenger’s throat before slowly lowering his blade and flicking the blood and saliva from its tip. He shot the upstart a warning glare and strode from the circle to where the other swordies had been watching.
“If you don’t kill him,” he told Emon, the next to take the man’s challenge, “I will.”
no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 03:55 am (UTC)And angry/insulted Swordies make me happy
in my pants.no subject
Date: 2006-01-11 03:58 am (UTC)