✫ Common ✫ Xanthea ✫ Rakahi ✫ Draketh ✫
20th of Ymiden, 717The woman before him lunged, sword slicing the air between them when he leaped back, throwing his own weapon upwards to meet the downward cut. Steel hissed and Andráska immediately pushed forwards, throwing the opponent's arm backward and watched as she tried to regain her footing, but he was already pulling his shield close and slamming forward. The female's armor clanged loudly against the metal and the nobleman gritted his teeth, absorbing the vibrations that electrified his arm. Shield fighting was an exhaustive task that worked his muscles and kept him strong – no doubt he would pay the price tomorrow.
The woman, Margery, was knocked backward and Andras struggled to see over the metal on his arm. His shield was a large heater, and while providing ample protection, he was learning that it made it harder to see ground attacks. He tried to twist his body, to counterattack the boot she shot towards his shins, but his feet stumbled over themselves, unable to predict her movement. He absorbed the blow, taking in her attack with stride, with his toes curling secretly within his shoes.
“You've gotten stronger,” she commented, abandoning her shield and rolling quickly across the floor, “I'm pleased to see you've been taking my advice.”
Andras thought to what she had said – to drink green, gelatinous shakes and how to care for his body. 'Muscles can not get stronger without proper rest', she had said. The noble had done more than enough of that. Since slaying his sister in Rharne, he had been resting, unable to use his arm and slow from his injured leg. Now he was healed and training harder than ever.
“I need to make up for lost time,” he commented, using the conversation as a distraction and trying to swing his sword low, towards her hip where she was vulnerable. Margery flinched, catching the blade with her own before it could bite flesh. Andras realized how close he had been and grinned, “Every opponent has a weak spot when fighting,” He attacked a few more times, each one being met with a respectable guard, “Yours are your hips.”
Margery was backward jogging away from him, widening the combat area. Making him come to her. 'Controlling the battlefield,' he thought.
“Thinking of my hips, Venora?”
The comment instantly made his cheeks go scarlet. Margery, standing almost at six feet and built like a lumberjack was not the kind of woman he would normally prefer in that way, and when he hesitated, she seized the opportunity.
Moving with a speed he had not anticipated, she charged, arms and legs pumping until she leaped like a roaring, warrior goddess. Knees to her chest, Andras hardly registered her feet hit the base of his shield until she kicked off, the entirety of her weight sending his body flying into the ground. The air was seized from his lungs and stolen as a trophy, the handsome noble suddenly coughing and gasping for breath like a dying fish. Trapped beneath his shield as pain shocked his shoulders, he squirmed, sliding out from beneath it.
What... what was that?
Meanwhile, the former knight rolled expertly to her feet, breathing heavily as she looked down upon his sprawling form, hand outstretched with a smug expression “You still need more practice.”
