Quoted By:
>6 Damage Inflicted
>Einar Witchbane is <span class="mu-s">SLAIN</span>
<span class="mu-r">Gain +1 Step on the Path of Cain [21]</span>
With a furious howl the red-maned berserker launches forward, wicked longaxe held aloft with all the terrible promise of a lightning bolt cast down by one of their capricious pagan Gods of yore.
The fearsome fury and deadly skill of the Norsikaans is known throughout the world, even for those of their number that have not proven themselves worthy of earning a Name or joining the Dragon Guard. The sight of the wild-eyed howling warrior charging you down is enough to chill the spine and widen the eyes, to set a lesser man to trembling.
But you are without fear. It is not a brag, a thing men say in arrogance or ignorance. In this moment, in this place, the conception of terror or panic or apprehension of failure is alien to you. The touch on your shoulder, warm and comforting under the pauldron of full-plate, is all the reassurance you could ever need. Heaven has need of you yet, and thus your victory here is already writ in stone.
Closing the distance in complete silence, you keep your shield in front despite the aggressive approach. Later those who witnessed the feat of arms would debate whether you were feinting a shoulder charge or inviting a swing onto the shield front-on to retaliate. But what is clear to all that had sharp enough eyes, at the very last second with near-uncanny timing you shifted your final step and ducked as Einar Witchbane’s devastaving diagonal swing across aimed to visit its promise of terrible ruin upon you.
The longaxe sweeps over mere inches from the top of your head, the edge of the blade catching no more than a strand of your helmet’s plum. You twist, shifting your balance and turning so that for a moment you and your opponent are shoulder-to-shoulder. For that split-second the whites of his mad eyes are less than an arrowhead’s span apart from your own stare of pure focus from the slits of your helm.
[1/3]