The duel · 9:08pm Mar 2nd, 2017
The two would-be warriors gave each other wary glances while they held their swords at the ready. Moonlit’s face was a stone mask with no emotions visible, but his twitching ear gave him away. Flicker took this as a sign of fear, but the paranoid voice in the depths of his mind warned him that the twitching ear might be a ruse. Anything might be a ruse.
Neither of them seemed to be in a hurry to make the first strike, but kept circling each other, blades ready, eyes narrowed, their mouths pinched into tight grimaces. Flicker, for all of his seeming size, was a bit on the small side compared to Moonlit, who was taller by a head and a half. They had one thing in common though, both of them had bodies that appeared to be carved from granite.
When a foal joined the guild, they were puddles of cupcake batter, but this deplorable condition was sorted out in due time. The different masters of the guild all took different approaches; mental, physical, magic, but the end result was all the same. The sewers were dangerous, unforgiving places, and the training had to prepare them.
The crowd began to murmur, growing impatient; the purpose here was blood and pain, and thus far, not a single strike had been made. Some matches ended within moments of the bell being rung, others stretched on for a few minutes, but at least there was action. Flicker kept his sword tucked close to his head, while Moonlit held his out in a horizontal defensive pose.
Their styles mirrored their natures. Flicker’s position showed that he was ready to attack or defend, that he was open to either, while Moonlit’s pose showed that he was ready to defend. It was reasonable stance to take, as Flicker was known for his overbearing, brutal aggression. It was strength and power versus speed and finesse. Both were valid, both were good, both were acceptable, but only one could win.
Much to everypony’s surprise, it was Moonlit who moved to make the first strike, and with a whirling blur attack, he launched a flurry of blows against Flicker. Put on the defensive, Flicker stepped back and parried, blocking each blow as it came in, and when an opportunity presented itself, he took a quick swipe at Moonlit, who lept away.
“You’re faster than I expected,” Moonlit said as he squinted at Flicker.
Flicker had nothing witty to say and no reply, so he remained silent and focused upon the task at hoof; taking Gambit down with a good clean strike. He studied Moonlit, looking for signs, a sudden blinking of the eyes, tensing muscles, anything that might indicate a strike, all while trying to prevent his own body from giving him away.
“Mister Balister does not give you credit,” Moonlit continued with his sword raised, “and he goes on and on about how slow you are.You know, I think he slanders you, Mister Nicker. You might want a word with him at some point.”
This was distraction, and Flicker knew it. He kept his eyes on Moonlit and not on Mister Balister. It was time to test Moonlit’s defenses and see what the colt had. Flicker feinted left, appeared to slash right, and with a shocking amount of speed, he made a quick reversal back to the left, whipping the sword around, and striking out with the grip, using it like a hammer. It was a move that Doctor Sterling had taught him, and Flicker considered it one of his finest.
There was a loud cry from Moonlit, who was caught off guard and only just managed to bring his sword around to parry. Flicker’s halted blade was inches from his foreleg, and vivid, shimmering fear could be seen in Moonlit’s eyes as he realised that Flicker’s supposed slowness was either exaggerated by Mister Balister or an act of fakery by Flicker himself. The blow would have been bone shattering, had it connected.
Retreating, Flicker did not press his advantage, but drew himself back into defensive crouch. Fear was eating into Moonlit’s confidence now, it was like drawing blood from a wound, and all Flicker had to do was wait. Flicker, when necessary, had infinite patience.
It's taken a while just to get this. I have more, but it isn't fit for public consumption yet. It's taken so many edits just to reach this point, and it still isn't done, but it's getting closer. I should have a WIP link up in the forums later, so be on the lookout for it if you wish to join the party.
It's difficult to write an action scene between two careful, methodical killers. It isn't a rush of action, wham-boom-bam! These two just keep testing each others' defenses and taking measured swipes at one another. The combat stretches on, and that's actually really difficult to write, because, hey, extended combat can become boring if nothing happens. The frustration has almost caused me to rip the nappy hair right off of my head. I get four or five hundred words in and realise, 'this is shit.' And then those words vanish because I can't even bear to look at them long enough to fix them, so I just start over from scratch. Nobody wants to read four hundred and seventy six words describing how two colts are staring at each other while doing nothing. Blargh.
As always, thank you for your patience.
Better than the extended combat of Dragon Ball Z where they spend 5 episodes letting out a yell of supreme constipation just to power up.
Blarg! Blarg I say!
4441913
Yeah, the cat box is smelly, ain't it?
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4441897 Or Elmo needing to finish his song first?
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Well you've done a good job so far both are professionals. They are looking for any advantage before striking I'd saying they were getting a feel for each other but they've spared before. Only other alternative would've been one of them going on the attack immediately hoping to catch the other by surprise
4441897 Obviously that doesn't work because they're still upset after all that yelling.
Loving that detail. Mordhau was a technique used in medieval swordfights where the blade was held as a handle and the pommel or guard was used in hammer-like strokes. This was a technique mainly used for delivering stunning blows against heavily armoured opponants such as knights.
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