Post

Vordanian warriors wrote:

Vokkir chuckles.

“The gun’s useful for more than just shooting...I can beat his ass senseless with the rifle butt...and then shoot him while he’s knocked out.”

"Thatsh clever. Blunt trauma... I mean, ask Lore Vaughan, swingin' that mace of hims, though chancesh are he ent gettin' knocked out by a rifle butt if he's wearin' a good helmet. Disorientated, shoor. A concussion if yer lucky, and shoor you want that, but probability of success is hap-hazzidis at best, and now he knowsh yer a crafty lil f*cker. What ya do is draw that sword ya got, growl at 'im, wave it about like a cornered animal, letim buy into what he tinks you are, while you study his armour for chinks an' weakissis 'n sh*t and then when he's nice and confident, and thinks he gots you done..."

With breakneck speed and unprecedented precision, Olrynion grabbed Vokkir and lunged forward. The Kauv'ok sensed something sharp bleed the air, but it was too late. He would look down to see, knocking at his gut: Olrynion's obsidian black knife.

"Drop that sword, put a knife through that chink. No chances. No probability factor. That's a tide turner, every time, if not a finisher."