I'm So Sick

[Rhaenar Talon]

Instinctively, Rhaenar steps back putting a good amount of distance between him and his opponent as he feels the sharp blade cut into his leather helmet, luckily the helm holds to its purpose and protects the blade from doing any major damage to him. Yet, the blade caught the end of his chin and a small trickle of crimson drips down from it staining the golden grains of sand into the same obscene crimson color. Still gripping the hilt of his sword he wipes the blood from his chin with the back of his knuckles as he stares at his reflection in the crimson beads of blood on the sand.

The days spent brutally fighting with no order, no control, no technique; just pure savagery and brutality has taken a toll on not only his mind, but his skills with his swordsmanship. Staring back at him was not the man that has spent years fighting against the horrors of the Fallien desert, no it was just the husk of the man. There was no cold, technical glint in his silver orbs, instead they were dead with no true spirit in them.

He stops down and grinds his foot into the blood, he looks up at the burning inferno of the sun. The beating sun doesn't only burn away the sweat beading off his forehead, it burns away the brutality that has festered inside of him like parasite since his first battle in the Citadel. He turns his eyes back upon his opponent the glint that has left him now back.

He stabs his sword in front of him and grabs the top of the grip with his left hand as he bends on one of his knees, "My name is Rhaenar." His other hand grips the sand, and then he catapults himself forward over the sword sprinting towards her. He throws the sand in his left hand at Ashla eyes confusing her. Rhaenar lunges forward with his left foot as he swings his right hand armed with the knuckleduster aiming at her head. Pivoting on his left foot he swings his foot in a roundhouse.