Sparks sprinkled upon the floor, as metal chafed metal. Iolanthe watched the steel sword slide to the ground, and slip out of view and in to the eclipse of her shield. Her desperate measure of defense was a testament to her skill adorning armour, its success proved her footwork competent, yet she would be forced to dance longer. A sweat drop would trickle down from her temple, she'd taste it by the time she rose back to her feet.
Iolanthe was a sitting duck in her current position, she knew this would be the case even before she bent, and did not plan on kneeling like a peasant for long. Once Sigurd's sword was out of view, its threat renewed, however she could estimate a path; He was drawing it to his right, and so she began to shift her hoplon leftwards, after it bounced off of the Northman's impressively durable sword. As her frontal guard opened slightly, she both felt and noticed her opponent's approach. He was tall enough to tower over her, so his next attack wouldn't go completely unnoticed; As well, she felt her spear pressured back slightly, while his shadow loomed closer. The signs were all there, he wanted to tussle! Normally a Greek would accept this challenge immediately, however Iolanthe always preferred to just watch the other Olympian heroes wrestle... usually in the nude.
Whilst her upper torso continued twisting leftwards, Iolanthe's left leg sprung from its bent position, using her impressive calve muscles to propel herself backwards, and slightly off to her right. During her body's trajectory, her right leg would unbend to its full extent all at once, keeping stationary until her left leg fully slid backwards in to a solid position behind her. Afterwards, she would have attempted to progress with her right, however a change in plans denied her the right to continue leading with her left for now.
During the transition of her stance, Iolanthe was given too small a gap in time between falling and rising back up to fully dodge her opponent's follow-up. However, as strong as Sigurd was, with his swing meant to break Iolanthe's guard, he would find himself overextending his arm a knife's length before indeed, as he intended, the two warrior's shields would clash loudly. The force of his punch, exerted through the edge of his shield, struck low on Iolanthe's hoplon as she rose, and threw it a short distance back. Iolanthe was lucky in a sense, for she did not know the capacity and strength of Sigurd's left arm until now; had she tried to resist, her shield would be crippled, and her wrist likely fractured. Instead, in a metaphoric sense, Sigurd was attempting to kick down a swinging door. Iolanthe's left arm swung back, leaving her chest exposed briefly. She did not resist the attack, but embraced it, and with a twist of her stomach and all above it, she let her left shoulder flow far away from her opponent, releasing the kinetic force of his attack in to the air. For a second, she would be unable to block with her left arm, however a delay in that arm's defence was a better trade-off than letting him have her shield or wrist.
Sigurd might be surprised that his opponent wasn't knocked back down, or the fact that her balance seemed completely unaffected. This was one of Iolanthe's unique traits. She knew instantly here that she could not overpower her opponent, but like many other giants she had fought, she would have to use Sigurd's strength against him.
The first of Iolanthe's stabs sliced against her opponent's ankle, and she'd hope for minimal damage in the form of a secondary slice as Hyperion made its way out. Iolanthe's right arm was outstretched past her hip by the end of her transition, fully extended; She could not draw her arm back quickly whilst dashing backwards, else it would counteract the defensive measures she put in play. This left her with only a few primarily risky offensive options. Given that her new placement would be a bit off to Sigurd's left, she'd both distance herself from the immediate threat that was his longsword, and swing her lance-sword's fuller under his stone arm. In its current position, Hyperion might seem idle of use, however it's gimmick might shine through the dark. As the blade's angle adjusted, it slid closer to Sigurd's heel tendon, a likely unarmoured area. She tried her best to keep the weapon pressed against his boots, knowing it'd pay off in time. The metal plates would gradually melt, flowing in to open wounds, an extreme and persistent pain would follow, the kind that numbed and disabled many a great fighter. Iolanthe's tactic was beginning to unravel.
On an ending note, Iolanthe would begin sliding her right leg further back, in an attempt to keep herself diagonal of Sigurd, to his left. In a moment's notice, if that longsword returned, or the northman followed up with a shield bash, Iolanthe would be prepared to call upon her famous legwork once more.
