You lost me at ALALALALALALALALA!
I was lost in thought, well not really just sizing up the competition; I saw Molotov and made a mental note to pay him a visit later. The heat was picking up due to the rustling of all those bodies. Mixed with the sun beating down on them, and the sand would be more than enough to create that oven affect. But then my calm reverie was ruined by the atrocious bellowing of an oncoming combatant. My hand dropped to my sword as I looked towards him grinning. Eyes scanning his body, making note of his rate of approach along with his outcry was more than enough to make me laugh slightly.
*“Sila ol."
I muttered under my breath shaking my head. Soon though dropping my weight off to the right I side-stepped the warrior, his foot kicked up dust which I quickly shifted left again I squint my eyes just in case. My sword swinging around to situate against the small of my back hanging at an angle, watching the side rise I instinctively grasped the hilt with my right gloved hand. Pulling the weapon upward to block the coming sword, the weapons clashed making an X, but with the stopping force of my weapon I had a chance to change the momentum. Pressing subtly forward to distract my opponent from my leg which I slipped behind his own, and with a feign back to draw the fool in I applied pressure.
The timing of which was likely to go through, so in a secondary precaution I grasped the hilt of my weapon with my left hand. My hands drawing the sword up the length of my opponent’s sword, nestling the blade against the opposing weapons hand guard and blade. Twisting it down like a cork hoping to flip the bottom half of my opponent’s weapon outward, and make a slash of my own to the hasty warrior’s right shoulder.
Now I knew what I looked like approaching Molotov with such a fool hardy attack, maybe this insight has come from experience in the previous round. More over maybe I was growing stronger. Lips curled as I powered my way inside with the slash; if it connected it would open more than a flesh would the weapon aimed for a slit in the armor which exposed the shoulder. Confidence flowed through out my every move, my sword dare not waver for it had no reason to.
*“Satiir l' tril d' ussta killian.”
I spoke matter of factly it seemed, my lips evening out to a frown as I realized I had slipped into speaking Drowish instead of common. Dah would be proud to hear me speaking that language, I assume he fells like he failed to teach it to me.
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Translations:
*Bring it.
*Taste the bite of my blade