Unlike the knuckleheads she's encountered in her years of service, this one is no slouch. The ronin, with unmeasured adroitness, stunts the progressive edge of the Blazefire Saber. It will not wander into a fleshy excursion, but into the cold steel body of a brand. The partially unveiled sword in the squeeze of a steady left hand. Claire shows a glimmer of surprise in her eyes after her effort was staved off. Her failure is chimed by a warrior's defiance, for his blood will not be spilled.
Next, in his right hand, the swordsman thrusts his katana downwards for an angled prod. A transfixing counterattack threatening to plunge into Farron with meat-tearing results. But that wasn't all. The ronin's tricky swordplay made it challenging for Lightning to defend herself. The manner in which his sword is presented doesn't allow her gunblade to be brandished. Meaning a strike of some sorts would be an arduous task.
In such a situation, Farron's only option is to pull back. A harefooted retreat with her knees already arched to jump away. It comes in conjunction with Lightning freeing the gunblade from its sworded crux. There are no hooks or latches to prevent the weapon's withdrawal. And with that, leaping a foot shy of two yards from her skilled adversary, she narrowly escapes.
Claire makes a light landing while keeping her gaze focused upon the samurai. What will be her next move is a viewer's wonder.
Last edited by Farron; 11-14-2012 at 02:48 PM.
A mask of stone would be more expressive than the hardness that cast his stern features, an elusive shimmer caught in the icy depths of his eyes. It was impossible to tell if he was amused or enraged, his form statuesque in its stillness. Slowly he straightened by bringing both feet together, his shoulders still angled to favour his right as he brought the glistening arc of steel overhead The exposed edge of his second sword vanished, retreating to the confines of its wooden prison until necessity bore it forth.
Snapped downward, the sterling katana whistled as it aimed true, his focus the cusp of the young woman’s throat. Sunlight shattered off the polished surface, a fiery gleam that swept along the graceful curve. Gradually his left hand sought the kashira, administering a firm hold with the last two fingers alone. His stance resumed, his weight distributed itself evenly over the sand, his mind clear. This time he did not rush into action, but rather allowed the woman a moment to savor her hard-fought distance. It was a risk to afford an enemy the slightest opportunity in battle, yet the platinum-haired swordsman seemed just as interested in what this skilled adversary would bring to the table.
It seems that Farron's getaway might've surprised the ronin. Though with that look on his face, as whist and dispassionate as a monument, makes it hard to tell. The same can be said about the rest of his body. It's like a mannequin exhibiting the finest wears of Edo fashion. Complete with his katana extended and second sword unfinished in its unsheathing.
Meanwhile, after her retreat, Claire annex the stiffness of her opponent to guard herself. An opportunity that brings the gunblade to the acmic level of her shoulders. It lies horizontally, matching the arch and angle of her elbows. Lightning narrows her baby blues at the ronin's actions. His katana becomes lofty and falls into a sterling rush from the pull of his right arm. Only to stop and point the vertex towards the sergeant's throat.
Claire took two steps back because she thought it was an attack. Though after realising it's a postural reset, Farron reverts to her usual stance. She's turned sideways with the front of her body in dextrality. The Blazefire Saber is held soundly in her right hand with a downward slant. And her left arm is bent like an ell as if ready to block or throw a punch. But in the palm of her gloved hand is a flicker. Too faint to be seen by her dual-wielding adversary.
The time to use her l'Cie might has arrive. She launches what is dubbed as magical energy from a single wave of the arm. A glittering ball of non-elemental force, about an inch in diameter, shines its way towards the ronin. It has a long tail like a comet, streaking the coastal scene with monochromic colors. And if it hits, the damage will minimal at best. Enough to stun the swordsman for a second or two.
Not her strongest spell but the best is yet to come.
Last edited by Farron; 12-10-2012 at 06:04 AM.
Reason: Word change.
He observed the keenness of her reflexes, the sharpness with which her well-honed instincts reacted to the mere threat of violence. It served only to bolster his ever improved opinion of the woman. Yet the slant and stance of the femme fatale maintained a lethal edge, her left arm poised for an unexpected offensive.
As the scintillating orb streaked through the air it was his responsiveness that would be tested. To one experienced in the machinations of the spirit, the resonance of sword and soul would chime with angelic clarity as a plume of semi-translucent energy enveloped the swarthy swordsman. As though cloaked in violent winds his clothes rustled, his hair tousled erratically in the maelstrom. Raw and unrefined, the eldritch forces collided in a burst of fragmented light as they repelled one another like oil thrown onto the surface of a pond.
Such displays were not often in his repertoire for they lacked the discipline he, at the very least, expected from himself. Yet there was no way of knowing what damage the arcane assault would have done, for he was far from acquainted with such mystic arts, and he was in no hurry to find out. As the crosswinds faded around him he steadily exhaled a breath which turned to pale mist as it streamed from his lips, an odd sight for the middle of summer.
Last edited by Tenshumaru; 12-18-2012 at 03:05 AM.
The Ruin awakening is just a whit of l'Cie potential. Just a single shot possess enough power to retard one's movements momentarily. Almost comparable to a bee sting, but the fey impact won't be felt. It collides with the ronin's gauzy wall, a spiritual veil that repulses the sheeny round. Much like a mirror reflecting sunlight.
For Claire to have used this spell is to do the unexpected--the unpredictable. But all it'd accomplished was improve the swordman's defenses. Though more than anything, it was his uncertainty that bred the ghostly obstruction. Not allowing a chance to be harmed, even in the slightest. The only thing the Ruin spell does is sink into the sands of Satsuma. And like a mole burrowing away furiously, fine debris shoots out from the self-made hole.
Seconds later, three at the most, Ruin diffuses and blends beneath the coastline. Even though it had failed, Lightning doesn't desist. She casts Ruin three more times, keeping the action in a state of flux. Farron knows her volley will not best the warrior's occult barrier, so what is her plan? It is a fold that's yet been uncreased.
Last edited by Farron; 12-21-2012 at 01:14 AM.
Reason: Lost words.
For all the flare of his improvised defence he earned himself little more than a few seconds to catch his breath. A bead of sweat rolled down his cheek as the sun glared balefully upon the white-hot sand, the ends of his unkempt hair frazzled by the midday heat. With both temperature and tensions rising, it was only a matter of time before one of them made a fatal mistake.
Suddenly beset by a triplicate of glittering spheres, he realized immediately that shielding himself in the same way wasn’t an option. His knees genuflected, empowering him to shift quickly to the left just as the first orb would connect. Even as it ripped past the agile swordsman had to push himself to outpace the continued onslaught, twisting as he ran to avoid the second translucent missile. As the final projectile neared he mustered a desperate shove that pitched him into a forward roll, his shoulder cushioning the blow as he tumbled adeptly and soon recovered in a crouched position.
From here he wasted no time, his momentum carrying him fluidly into a renewed offensive. In total he had circled left some fifteen feet before vectoring toward the woman a second time, his feet as swift as the tide as he flowed over the sandy terrain. The cool arc of Japanese steel clutched tentatively by his right hand was garnered at waist level, his left hand hovering as always near the kashira.
In the lineaments of danger, the swordsman took refuge. He eluded the swarm to close in on Farron, as they drown in the thalassic depths. Her Ruin spell dives into the ocean and explode upon impact. They create small blasts that, for a second, disrupts the oncoming current. But in the instance after, the sea regroup and continue its wavy stride. This can be symbolic for both warriors, to exceed drawbacks and march ahead.
Lightning ambulates to the left as her argent-haired adversary approaches. Along with her footwork, she brings the gunblade to her left side. It's to preset an attack, a strike that could louse up the ronin's predetermined action. Their every move seems tantamount, but how long will it last?