She moved, she blurred. Eric was close to her form, but not close enough to be caught within the spinning trap she'd laid out for him this time. With his rage had come a sense of things that were and were to be; he was focused upon killing his opponent now, rather than lounging comfortably in the notion that even if either of them were slain by the other they would simply be resurrected by the monks overseeing the entire event. With his rage came a sharpness that had not been there before. He was far from blind with his emotions toiling like burning ants through his veins; everything in his vision seemed sharper and clearer than before, as if he'd been seeing the world through a foggy pair of glasses beforehand.
He knew the reasons for his fury were simple, and that they were ridiculous. To be angered upon simple coincidence and coinciding of fate was a feat more appropriate to a rampaging barbarian, or even more so to a woman suffering from her monthly flow and unable to think straight. He was neither, and yet he couldn't help the boiling, liquid anger that flowed through him like lava. It seemed to him that she had deliberately dressed and acted like his former comrade in order to taunt him forth, or the monks had placed her so for the same reasons. In either case it had succeeded, and here he was, running forward and propelling his body through that anger, wanting to kill a woman he had just met. Hadn't he just told himself the other day that he would not be subject to senseless killing and violence, would not be the pawn of those wishing to play him?
A twisting thrust from the woman before him stopped him from thinking further, those thoughts that were lost amongst the storm of his mind. His right arm snapped out automatically, and the prevalida dagger he held collided with that enigmatic violet steel as he deflected her polearm to the side with ease. A moment's confusion entered that storm as he realized how obvious the attack had been; did she underestimate him and his abilities still? No, there it was, the real attack; the staff blurred once more as she stepped forward to greet his charge and suddenly the butt end of the weapon was thrust at his armored chest.
Too fast! He barely had time to see the blow before it came. It was all he could do to momentarily brace his feet in the sand, letting the grainy particles flow in between his toes, before the wooden weapon collided and he had the breath knocked out of him. His iron breastplate served it's purpose, however, and he felt a moment's pride at the fact that the same armor must have protected his father from similar blows. The blunt attacked knocked him backwards, true, and the inertia combined with the incline of the slope on the beach sent him sprawling until he finally came to his feet by the sea. However, he stood with no hesitation and his breathing was fine; the blow had knocked him backwards but had failed to truly injure him. He'd rolled about ten feet or so, he estimated, and with an angered eye he re-evaluated his opponent quickly.
He'd been wrong on his first impression; she had magic, true, but like he she did not rely upon it completely; she had melee skills of her own, skills that she'd practiced and survived with from the way she held the naginata. This would be more difficult than he'd thought; he may even be defeated by her if he didn't start using his own magic. Gritting his teeth at the thought, the faint traces of his magic still crackling faintly around his arms, he stood up straight with his feet engulfed in the surf, cold water caressing the flesh of them. He watched his opponent with that same cold expression not gone from his face, his hand still on the hilt of his sword and the other still clutching his dagger.
"What is your name?" He suddenly asked, and inside he felt a jolt of surprise. Why was he asking this? The words just seemed to come out of his mouth, as if they were directed by someone else. "It doesn't seem right to me to be trying to kill a woman who's name I do not even know, despite whatever cruelty she may give."
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