Desmond thought he read the attack well enough. His opponent came on, slashing at his weak side, feinting into an attack to get him to expose his torso as he moved his sword arm across his body to counter. A decent enough move, even though it was an intermediate skill for a gladiator.Â
Delwyn flashed the attack with some abandon, picking up speed as he went into the second motion, his red hair whipping about his face. Desmond performed the counter blocks with the absent-minded ease of someone who had practiced a thousand times.
He had expected firm pressure on the second attack but the spearhead glanced off of his gladius with barely any force. His eyes went wide as he realized that the other man was still spinning. More out of instinct than a conscious decision, he threw his gladius up as he went low and left. There was a clang as the two blades met and the spearhead zinged right beside his right ear on it's way by. Putting his left hand on the ground for support, he pushed off and straight up, leading with his shoulder.
The other man, still expending momentum, had no choice but to take the brunt of the tackle in the center of his body, sending him tumbling head over heels to the ground a few feet away. They stared at each other, covered in dirt and sweat.
'That was a suicidal move. If his opponent was ready for it, This man would have a sword in his gut.' Desmond thought, alarmed by the recklessness of it. Still, Delwyn had managed to fool him.
His opponent got to one knee, short-spear in hand.
"Hold, Delwyn! That's enough," Desmond held up his hand, he couldn't help but chuckle at the others perseverance. "Twelve, save some of that for the criminals. What do you call that move and how long do you expect to live fighting like that?"
Delwyn flashed the attack with some abandon, picking up speed as he went into the second motion, his red hair whipping about his face. Desmond performed the counter blocks with the absent-minded ease of someone who had practiced a thousand times.
He had expected firm pressure on the second attack but the spearhead glanced off of his gladius with barely any force. His eyes went wide as he realized that the other man was still spinning. More out of instinct than a conscious decision, he threw his gladius up as he went low and left. There was a clang as the two blades met and the spearhead zinged right beside his right ear on it's way by. Putting his left hand on the ground for support, he pushed off and straight up, leading with his shoulder.
The other man, still expending momentum, had no choice but to take the brunt of the tackle in the center of his body, sending him tumbling head over heels to the ground a few feet away. They stared at each other, covered in dirt and sweat.
'That was a suicidal move. If his opponent was ready for it, This man would have a sword in his gut.' Desmond thought, alarmed by the recklessness of it. Still, Delwyn had managed to fool him.
His opponent got to one knee, short-spear in hand.
"Hold, Delwyn! That's enough," Desmond held up his hand, he couldn't help but chuckle at the others perseverance. "Twelve, save some of that for the criminals. What do you call that move and how long do you expect to live fighting like that?"
