Dravenkt
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Apr 5, 2011
- Messages
- 28
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( Just a fun little fight to shake the cobwebs off my RP skills)
The dueling ring was typical of it's kind. Measured to conform with some sort of tradition or law and soaked with the blood of a great many combatents. Unlike a few he had seen the ground here was hard, rather than being made soft by sand or somthing similer. Landing on it would cause greater inuries than normal. Stripped of his armour and naked to the waist, Dravenkt, with that mile eating soldiers stride marched out to the middle of the dueling arena and surveyed his surrondings. He didn't appeal to the crowd or boast. He merely stood and waited.
He was an impressive sight. His pale skin patterened by even paler scars that criss-crossed his skin. A warrior born, his shoulders were broad, his chest deep and his waist wolf lean. His features were far from handsome, and yet not ugly. Or at least they wouldn't have been if the scar bisecting his lips wasn't present. The cold, winter storm cloud eyes fixed on the entrance, waiting for his opponent.
Most of the time he prefer to be a walking arsenal of weapons but the point of todays duel was to shake the cob webs out of his close quarter combat skills. so only a large combat knife was clutched in one of his large hands. The blade wide and thick, ending in a slightly hooked point, the blade was held in reverse grip. A style that obviously favored slashing and downward stabs rather than fencing grip, which favored forward stabbing.
The entrance was dark, but he saw someone step across it ready to enter. His knife came up and without a flinch, or any sign of pain reading across his features he dug the tip in and cut a long furrow in the flesh of his chest where several other, similer scars had been cut, obviously keeping some kind of tally. When that was done he waited, his stern features were expressionless as he awaited his opponent.
The dueling ring was typical of it's kind. Measured to conform with some sort of tradition or law and soaked with the blood of a great many combatents. Unlike a few he had seen the ground here was hard, rather than being made soft by sand or somthing similer. Landing on it would cause greater inuries than normal. Stripped of his armour and naked to the waist, Dravenkt, with that mile eating soldiers stride marched out to the middle of the dueling arena and surveyed his surrondings. He didn't appeal to the crowd or boast. He merely stood and waited.
He was an impressive sight. His pale skin patterened by even paler scars that criss-crossed his skin. A warrior born, his shoulders were broad, his chest deep and his waist wolf lean. His features were far from handsome, and yet not ugly. Or at least they wouldn't have been if the scar bisecting his lips wasn't present. The cold, winter storm cloud eyes fixed on the entrance, waiting for his opponent.
Most of the time he prefer to be a walking arsenal of weapons but the point of todays duel was to shake the cob webs out of his close quarter combat skills. so only a large combat knife was clutched in one of his large hands. The blade wide and thick, ending in a slightly hooked point, the blade was held in reverse grip. A style that obviously favored slashing and downward stabs rather than fencing grip, which favored forward stabbing.
The entrance was dark, but he saw someone step across it ready to enter. His knife came up and without a flinch, or any sign of pain reading across his features he dug the tip in and cut a long furrow in the flesh of his chest where several other, similer scars had been cut, obviously keeping some kind of tally. When that was done he waited, his stern features were expressionless as he awaited his opponent.