Ready, Set, Go

Repetitive. It would not work again on him - especially since his arm was still cocked back and he blocked the stunning blow easily. Sand whipped into his face - his head turned and his eyes closed on instinct, but he had no particular need to see his foe, they were so close together. If any grains had gotten into his eyes, he did not cry out to indicate such a thing.

His head whipped back in the direction of the Queen of Thorns, the relentless darkness where his eyes should have been glaring back at her. He tugged on her arm - hoping that the force would not cause visible damage, for the condition was no blood drawn - to draw her closer, and brought his free arm around in a mock elbow to the head.

Fremelda's bell ring was deflected, she knew he was going to expect it but she hadn't realized how fast he could move in that armor. She grit her teeth as pain shot up her arm while Griffinhart pulled on it. She could feel her heartbeat in her ears. He looked to be about to elbow her, so she ducked and sent the heel of her palm upwards, attempting to smack him in the jaw beneath the helmet. This would be a tricky maneuver due to the nature of his full helm but she had to risk it. I never lose. Not for long. I always find my mark. She mentally reminded herself.

One of the reasons she was so successful as an assassin was her tenacity. She would pursue a target until it died. No matter how long it took. Here was no different, she would fight until one of them lay defeated. Griffinhart was encumbered in armor while she was able to move freely without. Her agility would be her advantage, even if it was difficult to find a weak spot.

Thrust. Parry. Counter. Riposte. The serenade of steel on steel, the deadliest dance combined with the shrieking melody of life straining against life...
All simulated, of course. But even a counterfeit could contain a flicker of delight. No matter how hard the dolls fought, one could pick them up and set them in motion again, flinging them into battle over and over until their steely symphony forced them to grind to a halt, and even then, it was so easy to wind them back up. And then the dance would begin again, to be repeated for as long as the conductor wished it. Sophia sighed. She could only dream. Men and women became tired, their techniques rusty. And in a dance already marred by restriction, fatigue only distorted the music of combat further. In the long run, however, it was just as well... Sophia felt her stomach coil inwards at the thought:

It would be horrible for Griffinhart or Fremelda to fall...

From her perch above the practice court, though, the scuffle seemed safe, if painful. The Implacable Griffin tore at the Rose-Red Dragon, but neither would suffer any lasting hurt: a few plucked feathers, perhaps, or a broken scale. Sophia settled back into the shadows, a book dangling, forgotten, from her fingers. As long as the Symphony played, she would be more then content to watch.

There was no soft spot there, no chink in his armor at such a vital location. He took the blow with barely a check of his head; but nonetheless, Griffinhart released his foe, letting what little momentum her blow gave him push him back.

In the same maneuver, he finally - finally, finally - drew his swords. Wicked things they were, two-edged and long, silver glittering even against the gray, dreary day. There hung death in his hands-

But they would not be used for killing. Not here, not now. And that frustrated him, because he was not a fettered warrior in head or at heart. He fought to kill; or, failing that, he sparred with weapons meant for sparring.

But his foe was tenacious, and had landed far more blows than he on she, if only because his armor allowed him to take such attacks with barely more than a breath. His foe was tenacious, and he respected that; and so he showed his respect.

The swordsman stood at the skirt of makeshift circle that the fight took place in, and pointed one blade at Fremelda, catching her breath in the respite he allowed. "Get your sword," he said flatly, and waited; or she could come at him with nothing more than her fists and her feet and sand, and see how well she did against a Griffin with talons and teeth.