Quoted By:
>Strike.
>No. Wait for a better opportunity.
She lets out a throaty little laugh at your accusatory tone. "Well, I suppose that's true, mister. Can you really blame a girl, though?"
The sing-song question is undercut by a sudden sharp whistle–
>AGI DC: 20/30/50 | Roll: 2d6 + 10(Tailwind) + 7(Vanguard March) = 25
–and with a snarl, you bring up your blade at an angle. Sparks fly as her glass-like edge skitters down the side of your own wrought iron, blindingly fast.
"After all," she continues, "I don't normally have to try to hide to begin with. The mist is enough."
>STR DC: 20/30 | Roll: 5d6 + 5(Ogre's Force) = 26
Your eyes widen slightly at the sheer strength backing her blow; rather than pull away and move for a rapid thrust, she clearly wants to meet you in a contest of strength. Gritting your teeth, you face her challenge head on. Caught at a bad angle, your hand trembles slightly–but as the seconds crawl by, your tireless strength reinforces and reaffirms your grasp, reducing the tremors to nothing as you continue to fight.
A distant part of you notes the enthused expression on her face, a hardline focus constricting her pupils before she narrows her eyes in glee.
"You're really something else, mister."
There's a breathless emotion in her voice, vaguely unfamiliar to you, yet oddly recognizable. If your hands weren't full just keeping her here, you'd analyze her words for some deeper meaning, and–
"Is this what love feels like?"
