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OOC: Love the post, and no, a cemetary doesn't NEED to be desolate *grins*
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“Edgar Crowe”
Wolf kept his eyes on the gravestone, and his hands on the hilt. He smiled to himself, keeping his head bowed slightly.
“ Not content with putting me in this foul smelling graveyard? Now you want me to fight for my life?”
He felt his sword quake under his trembling hands, but they didn’t quiver in anxiety, but in aggravation. He hated being played like a toy; he needed to get back to Edar.
(You’re dead, I wonder how you’re going to do THAT. There’s a man in front of you who’s probably keen to hack off your skull, and you’re thinking about going back to Edar? What happened to regulation?)
Quite right, he would take care of this stepping stone in his course, and then shape out a way back to Edar. But how would he do this?
Without moving his head, his eyes gazed around his environs. Tombstone in front of him, challenger in front of him, what was it that was behind him? Images flew in a fury behind his eyes; recent memories of this barren place flew vehemently to the back of his head. No, nothing behind him he could use, blast it all. It looked like he would have to have a spar with this being if he wanted to get out.
Perfect, he was being played like an animal. He would educate those figureless bastards that a cornered Wolf was not a vulnerable one.
Without even thinking, the blade found itself drawn, and soon it was swinging in a horizontal arc towards the gravestone.
Carbon steel met stone, and no struggle was found on the part of the man-crafted rock. The top of the grave head was dismembered and it began its fall towards the ground, unhurriedly, as if not wanting to leave its other half. Without a hiatus between the swipe of the blade, Edgar brought the side of his foot towards the upper half of the tombstone, and hit the stone with the metal of his right sabaton.
The energy of this impact was solid, but not hard enough to crack the rock, and now the ex-grave was a projectile sent hurling at his challenger’s bulk.
This wasn’t meant to mar the opponent, it was just meant to make sure his enemy was of flesh and blood, and not some apparition.
Edgar quickly drew in his sword again, once again out of instinct and not thought.
(Know your enemy and know yourself, and the battle is as good as won.)
How would his enemy retort? If he knew this, Edgar could devise a scheme, and know he would, soon enough.
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OOC: Sorry mate, I didn't want to make it urnealistic and just attack the **** out of you straight away xD |
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100% Creamy Goodness
Last edited by Maldar the Incompetent : 02.21.04 at 02:28:21.
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