Marvey's sword comes up to block a Goumin mace; he holds it off long enough for me to whip a throwing knife across the battlefield between us, under his guard, sinking deep into the Goumin's throat.
I'm already spinning before it's reached its mark, because in the space of time it took for me to attack, another Goumin mook has gotten the idea in its head to try an attack on my throwing arm, where my guard is presumably lowered. The short sword I've braced across my chest, pommell driven forward in the palm of my off-hand, slices fast through its breastbone, ensuring no future generations of Goumin inherit the bright idea to attack a duel wielder under his dominant arm.
I've already reversed the grip on my short sword, slicing backwards and then sweeping out and around. But the mook on my blade is stuck there, the uneven bones of his ribs tangling on the serrations of my blade as it twists in my hand and his body. He's dead, but also dead weight, slowing my movements.
Slashing wide and low, with my cutlass I clear a half-second's space for myself, enough to twist my whole upper body in a forceful lunge. Like a stone from a sling the dead Goumin is flung from my blade, crashing through a rank of his fellows in the process.
Despite the ease of this fight, I can't relax. If I make it too evident how easy skirmishes like this are to me, Marvey will start asking questions. And I haven't yet decided if I'll tell him the truth about my heritage.
Situations like this, where it's clear AkaRed knew what he was sending us into and neglected to warn us, make me rather sure what our Captain would tell me to do. Were it any of his business, which it's not.
"You hanging in there, Cabin Boy?" I holler, grinning across the corpse-littered distance between us.
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I'm already spinning before it's reached its mark, because in the space of time it took for me to attack, another Goumin mook has gotten the idea in its head to try an attack on my throwing arm, where my guard is presumably lowered. The short sword I've braced across my chest, pommell driven forward in the palm of my off-hand, slices fast through its breastbone, ensuring no future generations of Goumin inherit the bright idea to attack a duel wielder under his dominant arm.
I've already reversed the grip on my short sword, slicing backwards and then sweeping out and around. But the mook on my blade is stuck there, the uneven bones of his ribs tangling on the serrations of my blade as it twists in my hand and his body. He's dead, but also dead weight, slowing my movements.
Slashing wide and low, with my cutlass I clear a half-second's space for myself, enough to twist my whole upper body in a forceful lunge. Like a stone from a sling the dead Goumin is flung from my blade, crashing through a rank of his fellows in the process.
Despite the ease of this fight, I can't relax. If I make it too evident how easy skirmishes like this are to me, Marvey will start asking questions. And I haven't yet decided if I'll tell him the truth about my heritage.
Situations like this, where it's clear AkaRed knew what he was sending us into and neglected to warn us, make me rather sure what our Captain would tell me to do. Were it any of his business, which it's not.
"You hanging in there, Cabin Boy?" I holler, grinning across the corpse-littered distance between us.