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> “Very pretty. Against a single human opponent, at least.” The man doubtless has skill, but all the same you’ve little intention of dallying with foreign killers in the street. You continue on your way and pass him by without comment, this time with Jess more readily keeping pace. Hopefully you’ll wrap up this little harebrained distraction before the sun sets. [Haughty]
>The forms of the truly talented Langlish swordsmen are like nothing in the Cantôn playbook. You are already considering what warforms would best be suited to counter such an opponent, or how you can adapt ill-advantaged stances to better match this school of swordsmanship. [Gain +1 Blademaster Re-Roll against Langlish opponents]
<span class="mu-i">“Very pretty.”</span> You remark to yourself, watching the bravo wipe the blood off his blade. <span class="mu-i">“Against a single human opponent, at least.”</span>
You can’t help but ponder how useful such a style might fare in the deadly gruelling press of battle, or against a monster several times the size of a man ahorse. It’s a fighting style for show, flashy and admittedly lethal to a single unarmoured opponent. But it is the style of a man who fights for himself and his own glory… Or at the very least it is not the style of a man who has any intention of risking being struck down in turn.
Still, you have to respect the advantages this foreign martial school offers in terms of speed and accuracy. You run through your head what stances you would rely upon if you had been in the dead bravo’s stead, how you might use your shield, armour or different weaponry to confer an advantage over a faster and slimmer opponent. It’s all just theory of course, but turning your mind to it now is better than doing so when you’re pressed into putting it immediately into practice. You nod as you pass the bravo, keeping one eye on him and another on the now demure Fae archer. He pays you little heed, sighing heavily as he sheathes his rapier.
<span class="mu-i"><span class="mu-g">“Nessun applauso per Giorgio? È stato un Perfetto "Scarta le Rose".”</span></span> The man shakes his head and continues on his way, the slaying of a man seeming to weigh but little on his heart. <span class="mu-i"> <span class="mu-g">“Queste folle sono state viziate da me.”</span></span>
You press on westwards to the town’s edge as the victorious bravo walks east to the dockside. You offer a short prayer for the soul of the dead man you leave behind you in the street. He did not strike you as a particularly beloved or faithful man, a heathen Langlish vagabond with a blade. But if no one else will pray for the dead so in the godless land, it might as well be you.
[1/2]
