Pretty women were distracting enough for an eighteen year old man, especially one a little older than himself. There was the challenge of proving man enough for them, at least in one's own head. But he was glad she wasn't throwing rocks at him, and he was prepared to stop, call a draw, when she actually grazed Erzotol. He wondered if this 'Emi' was his wife to harangue him so, or perhaps some relative. When the Diamond clansman came at him, he knew there would be no pause for Emi's distractions. The placement of his guard made making the best of Erzotol's error difficult, but he could at least block the strike to his midsection, this time bringing his blade around for a solid parry rather than the circular style he had been using before. It was always best to keep them guessing, he had learned. The force of the blow made his blade shiver in shock, and he sidestepped into it to make another attack more awkward, seeing the ire rising in the man and keen to take advantage of that. Rage would make him wild and wasteful, and soon he would be as tired as Sama'el. Then Sam's skill would make this easier. So he parried the weakened counterattack, turned his shoulder into Erzotol's chest to knock him back a bit and provoke him, then blocked the retaliation, moving back and giving ground until he gave himself enough space to do some fancy footwork and cartwheel away, pretending to have more spring in his step than he ought. It was showing off, but to a purpose. Such things could taunt angry men, make them angrier. He smirked. It wasn't like Sama'el, but Erzotol didn't know that. He planted his feet into a wider stance, his scimitar held in an overhead guard with its point aimed at the other man. He waited. |