|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 Posted: Sun Feb 26, 2012 5:54 pm
A little surprisingly, Samuel decided to dodge, rather than face him head on. Afton laughed at the contradiction of puffing one's self up, only to chicken out at the first sign of any real opposition. As he charged and his opponent rolled to his right, it was another ill omen for poor Sammie.
Being a knight meant a lot of things, but being a Crusader, a knight of the cross if you will, meant even more. It meant that he had to be polite to womenfolk, courteous and giving to children, the foil to every evil, non christian, thing he ever encountered. It also meant that he had to be right handed. Back when he served under the Lord Richard, people where still massively superstitious, and took the phrase 'right hand of god' a little more seriously than they do today. Anyone left handed would certainly be called hell spawn, and killed in the most colorful way imaginable back then. So it was only natural that Afton's trained sward arm was his right hand. It meant that as Samuel rolled past, even if he did nothing he would at least be nicked by the large blade. Unfortunately the Knight wasn't about to let him of easy, especially since he was diving for his weapon. As he charged past, Afton swung his blade outward in an upward arc at his opponent. It sang through the air with deadly accuracy, with the aim to finally draw blood and get the crowed really screaming. With any luck he'd hit Sam's other arm and make using the hammer a painful experience.
It took two steps to stop most of his momentum. His feet fell with resounding thuds that echoed across the arena floor with the effort it took to stop the bull rush. In that instant when he lost all his momentum and stopped moving, combat ceased, and the two massive men stood staring at one another with determination in their eyes. Samuel seemed cold, and unwilling to speak again, clearly having learned his lesson. Afton huffed out a quick laugh at this.
"Be'st thou a woman? Or has all fight gone from thee, thou burly-boned ill-breeding foot-licker?"
While usually he frowned upon taunts and pissing contests, this guy seemed determined to at least have a bit of words exchanged. A sparring of the tongue, as it where. The knight felt secure in this momentary cease fire to throw out these few harsh words, only because of his trusty shield, and Samuel's apparent inability to deal with it. Even as he spoke his shield was at the ready, prepared for an assault, should he chose to interrupt the verbal sting.
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Posted: Sun Feb 26, 2012 10:13 pm
Swoosh!
Slice....
Splat...
Black blood splattered across the ground as the sword sliced across his right shoulder just as he rolled out of the way. His roll disrupted and did not go as smoothly but got him effectively out of the way none the less. The big man gritted his teeth but kept moving, letting the adrenaline get him to where he had planned. He ignored the Knight's words, his eyes peering with a cold and calculated hatred. He despised men like this, people who thought themselves beyond the good of others, who thought they were so damn righteous that they had the right to do as they saw fit based off an ideal of a corrupt organization. He had seen it with Dante, what made Afton any different....
But he made it a point to try and never judge people, his right arm shaking and with each movement the sting of that cut shocked his mind, waking him from a mild mental slumber. He felt the warm trickle as the gash had formed just over his right shoulder and on his back, his eyes looking back on it as he frowned. The vest had protected him some what by ensuring the wound was not deep but he would need stitches, for now the fiber twined armor was keeping pressure so he would not bleed out. He held his maul in his left hand as he thought things over for only a second. Words had little meaning now, so as he stood, shoulder bruised and bleeding he sighed a little. His eyes darting to the crowd for a moment as they cheered him on. He always seem to be the under dog, but then again he always put himself in that situation, to test himself. His rumbling voice a single response to the knight's harsh words. "Just shut up and lets finish this, my daughter needs me."
His left arm twitched for a moment as his strength allowed him to casually toss the weapon to the side. Having recovered it for no reason now for with an injured right arm it was useless too him. His durability would allow him use of his right arm but there was no way he could wield the maul effectively with it, it would only slow him down. He breathed deep as his left hand lifted in front of him, his right side sliding back as he took a smooth and relaxed stance. He had been approaching this fight all wrong, and now he would lose for it but to a man like him what did it matter. He held the Thrones of Five Gods, he had his daughter, and he had the Heaven or Hell tournament this year.
If he lost to this p***k and made the man feel more righteous what did it matter, he knew who he was, and he had nothing to prove. "Ready when you are Sir."
Psionic Charges: 46
Mental Stability: 95%
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Reply
