Dale lingered around the edges of the last few frays, cutting off any Sun Birth filth who would attempt to flank any of his Brothers too caught up in their own battles to take heed of their surroundings. His first opponent, one of many Dale suspected, stepped his field of sight and marked himself as a target. Armoured, shielded and glistening in what little sun managed to wrestle its way through the furrowed clouds that canvassed the winter sky his opponent made no mistake of his allegiances by appearances alone in every conceivable way he looked, dressed and fought.
Their blades clashed quickly, cutlass against broadsword, as Dale got the first close look at him. He young but old enough to be a man, his skin was smooth with no scarring meaning that he was either inexperienced or had a natural talent. Dale hoped it was the latter, some people would find it reprehensible to a young man in his prime who looked handsome enough to have a pretty young lass on his arms and deserved to have a good craft to make them both happy, but Dale was not that man.
"Back off boy, don't die for this" He warned through gritted teeth before they stepped from each other's blades. Perhaps it was because he took little pleasure in slitting a man's throat anymore or because he didn't want to deny a young man a shot at happiness one day but the point was moot as all the lad did was sneer at Dale's attempts at peace and lunged forward with his blade slicing forward through the air with lethal force and speed as Dale parried the blow, his own cutlass twisting to meet the sword's course and knock it off.
It was only the lad's shield that prevent Dale slicing open his guts and showing him what he was really made of, instead his cutlass glanced almost uselessly of the metal clad shield, leaving both of them to the mercy of their momentums as the stumbled off in opposite directions. Some might see Dale's attire as one seeking death but in moments like this his weakness turned to a strength as he quickly regained his footing, unhindered by amour or shield. His opponent would not take much longer, these moments seldom lasted for a two ticks so Dale made little attempt for precision as he heaved his blade.
Across, blocked, downwards, blocked, left hook, success. He continued to press on aggressively, his opponent dazed from the painful contact with Dale's fist while forced to never regain his balance as Dale's almost wild slashes continued to bear down on him. The dragoon tried to a risky retaliation but it was ill-concieved. As his arm stretched out, the blade tip locked on to Dale's torso but he was too slow. Dale cut across, the blade twisting down to smash against his armoured forearm.
With a sickening scream Dale could see the man's face contorted with clearly excruciating pain as the arm presumably broke or shattered under the force. Raising his boot he slammed into his opponent's gut, sending him sprawling backwards into the ground. The boy was out of the fight, still cursing and begging to all the gods of Mizahar as he clutched his arm, Dale didn't desire the death of a man still young enough to turn on his past.
A familiar face ran towards him through the chaos, blood stained and grinning like a twat he patted Dale on the chest with a tired hand
"We got 'im Dale, we got the War Marshal's son" He said gleefully as the last of the fights died down and they stood alone in a war torn market place. The battle was still not over yet but slowly people on the edges of the market were cautiously stepping back, weighing up the risks of their lives compared to their wares.
"Shit..." Dale said, hacking up a piece of thick, bloody phlegm before sptting out onto the ground
"This ain't gonna end well. Wait, why are you wet?"
"Well you 'eard the order right? Me and the boys headed to the sea."
"Moron..." NoteSorry, I know I said I'd drop out by I realised I was one post away from this counting as a job thread .