Fri Dec 16, 2011 1:49 pm by Malystrix
A certain apprehension, not unpleasant, gripped the warrior as his opposition started forward. The lack of hesitation in her stride, the purposeful boldness with which she met his advance, put upon Malystrix a certainty that, at the very least, the foe he faced would be a brave one. And that was good; she was possessed of a warrior's courage, and was, at the least, worthy of dueling. And while such a thing could not be determined at this point, the warrior's confidence in facing her opponent hinted at a competence in the art of battle.
Malystrix's pulse quickened.
Shifting direction, the warrior made a wide loop to his right, the arc of his path shallow, his course meant to bring him to the center of the arena, facing his opponent head on. Crunch, crunch, crunch; the sound of his boots against the hard, packed sand of the arena floor pounded in the Miraluka's ears, matching his slow, even breathing. There is little Malystrix values above this: the gut-wrenching handful of moments spent before the intitial clash between warriors. Once their blades cross, the rest of the battle will no doubt be naught but a blur; now, though, everything is sharp, defined, and moving at a slug's pace.
The distance between him and his foe dwindling, the warrior hefted his yari up, lifting the butt of the haft from the ground, and shifted the head of the thing down to point straight ahead, so that butt extended out behind him, and he was holding the shaft level with his right hip, though not against it. Using his right hand only, he gripped the weapon in its cener, with two and a half feet of shaft extending before and behind him, and the former beinig capped with a straight, edged blade about a foot and a half long. A few inches below the place where his hand gripped the haft, a small activation switch resides, which was capable of releasing the mechanism holding the other two blades of the yari in line with the dominant one.
The woman is nearly in range now, and as he toes what he considers- and, being possessed of his Force Sight, he can adequately judge such a thing- the center of the earthen floor of the arena, he stops, his head bowed, his frame still.
"What is your name, warrior?" And then, coming a moment later, regardless of the woman's response or lack thereof: "I am Malystrix. I hope our duel is an honorable one."
Despite the rather climactic tone of his speech, the warrior failed to move after speaking- an act meant to concede the first move, should the woman desire it. His efforts to draw the force in to him has begun, though he does so at a slow, methodical pace. Its energies begin to stir within him, but for now he did not ackowledge them.
What he did acknowledge, though, was the other sentient who entered the arena. Should he attack, Malystrix was determined to be ready. But engaged as he was, he saw no point in going after another opponent, when the one he was confronted with now seemed to be perfectly capable of giving him a run for his money, if not more.