Removing the Rust (Open)

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Removing the Rust (Open)

Post by Guest on Tue Dec 11, 2012 11:14 am

How long had it been since he'd used his free time to drill? Memories of his childhood and adolescence came to mind, and he knew that it had been years. However, after being with the Legion for a week, Logan felt the need to refresh some of his skills. His duster was hanging from a mannequin, while Logan used a different training mechanism.

Dressed in full armor, wielding his grandfather's sword, Logan faced a solid post in the ground. Ten inches thick, just under six feet tall, this training mechanism was stated by Flavius Vegetius Renatus as the core reason for Rome's military might. Troops would train against the post, learning how to perform all their drills against something not human so that, when they went into battle, that was how they would see the enemy.

The borrowed shield, taken from the armory, came up slightly to protect Logan's head. The legionnaire shoved forward, raising his left arm up and away. This move would normally open the enemy's defense enough for the following attack. The golden gladius shot forward, thrusting at the opponent. The blade was held horizontally, so it would fit between the ribs of his imaginary foe. Renatus had explained this fact as well. Many armies used the slash as a primary attack. However, a slash was seldom a lethal blow. Roman legions used the thrust which, even if it only penetrated a few inches, was usually enough to cause a fatal injury.

Logan's military training had come from a handful of books which he'd treated like gospel. In fact, they were still wrapped in a duffel bag underneath his bunk. Warfighting, The Hagakure, The Art of War (by Sun Tzu and Niccolo Machiavelli), and De Re Militari, all these works of military art, some from countless centuries ago had been drilled into him. As he performed drill after drill: blocking, evading, dodging, weaving, and attacking his imaginary foe, Logan felt those years of training which had rusted with disuse begin to shine once more as he performed drills not done regularly since he'd left high school.

After thirty minutes, Logan stopped drilling. Covered in sweat, he sheathed his blade, set his shield aside, and pushed some damp hair from his forehead. Going to the mannequin with his duster on it, he reached into one of the voluminous pockets and grabbed his canteen. Within moments, the lid was off, and he'd taken a few sips.

Exhaling slowly, Logan closed his eyes, replaying as much of the drill as he could in his head. “I'm slow to attack.” The new legionnaire judged himself. After using the shield to open the defense of his opponent, his attack had wavered a fraction of a second, perhaps even a second, before following. It needed to happen instantaneously. He had to attack as he opened the enemy to attack, giving them no chance to recover.

One flaw, one definitive flaw in his technique. Many people would have accepted that. However, the words of his grandfather echoed up from memory as Logan opened his eyes and took another drink of water. ”One flaw will kill you. That's why we train for perfection in all things.” Not excellence, but perfection.

His break over, Logan capped the canteen and returned it to the pocket it had came from. Romans weren't just skilled with shield and gladius. They were experts with daggers, pila, and slings. While he had the time, he would try and train with all of them, just to see where his skills had fallen to.

The shield was moved away, and Logan drew his knife. Like the gladius, it was Imperial gold. Unlike it, it had been made for him. The blades was modeled to resemble a bowie knife, measuring some twelve inches long, and two inches wide. With it's thick blade and single edge, it was a perfect knife for Logan, and had been given to him by his grandfather when he'd graduated high school. As his fingers adjusted to the wooden hilt, Logan smiled. The gladius of his grandfather had always felt improperly balanced. This weapon had never felt that way. This weapon felt right to him.

Logan's stance changed, no longer traditionally roman, it was now more modern. Nothing existed of Roman knife fighting, so he'd been trained by his grandfather, using techniques and maneuvers that had been distilled through centuries of combat until they had reached the modern army. It was brutal, effective, and efficient, nothing else could be said of it.

His left hand stayed back, but Logan knew that it would offer scant protection against a blade. In the past, he'd wrapped his duster around that arm, using it as an improvised shield. For now, such an action wasn't necessary.

Logan moved forward again, attacking his post as if it were the most ferocious opponent he'd ever faced. Gone was the roman discipline and maneuvers, replaced by a more modern, scientific method of combat. There was no denying that the long knife he currently used was Logan's more comfortable weapon. As his left hand darted out, grabbing the post and pulling on it to deliver a killing blow, Logan wondered what he must look like to anybody who would see him.

Idly, he wondered how he would fare against some of his fellow legionairres.

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Re: Removing the Rust (Open)

Post by Elijah Emmanual-Wheelan on Wed Dec 12, 2012 9:29 am

There was still something about being called Praetor Emmanual that bothered Elijah. Not that he wasn't honored to be in the post, or thought he didn't deserve it (anymore...Calix had taken care of that), or anything like that...it was more that the boy wasn't one for formalities. But he was a praetor now, and Elijah knew he should be getting used to it. And he was, slowly but surely. People addressed him as such, and there was really nothing the boy could do to stop it. That was just how it was now, and that was just the way it was going to be for awhile. Until Elijah screwed up and lost his position or something, he was Praetor Emmanual. The son of Discordia didn't plan on that happening, though. He was proud he had been chosen to replace Rychard for a bit, and spent very little time being afraid anymore. The boy was doing his duties well enough, amongst everything else he did (like having a social life...that was a new one for the boy and he was enjoying it greatly) and training with his daggers, and...well, just everything. There were times, however, that Elijah just wanted to leave his life in the Principia and go back to being a centurion. Or nothing at all, just a member of the legion. Either way, it would make life a ton easier. But no one ever said life would be easy.

Walking towards the arena, Elijah was looking forward to just working with his daggers a little. He had tried a traditional gladius, and discovered swords just weren't for him. The boy was better at close combat, and when put in the right situation, would most likely be lethal with his imperial gold daggers. The daggers fit him perfectly, and his mother had made sure they were close by at all times. One morning, Elijah had awoken to find that his pointer finger rings had been replaced with flashy golden apple shaped poison rings. When he flipped them open, Potentia and Ferocimus appeared in his hands. They were easily popped open with his thumbs, and the boy was getting quick at doing so. As he trekked towards the arena, Elijah nearly mindlessly popped open the rings, his daggers appearing in his hands. The son of Discordia jabbed at the air, spun the daggers around (a nifty trick he had taught himself), and smiled widely. He could cause such chaos with these things, and he loved it. That was the point of being a son of the Goddess of discord, right? To cause chaos. Now he just had to find someone to spar with. Really test out his skills.

When he arrived at the arena, Elijah noticed someone was already there. Odd, not many people were around here this time of the day. The guy was definitely older, and Elijah vaguely recognized him as being rather new to camp. He also thought that maybe this was the legacy who had requested time with Calix. It made sense. There was no denying it though, the man was good. Elijah watched him for awhile, spinning his daggers in his hands. With a shrug, the boy went over to the practice dummies, quickly jabbing Potentia right through the dummy's heart area. It felt good to just practice like this, rather than the slashing Elijah usually practiced. Of course, it would be a lot easier to slash in a real fight, no one, demigod or monster, would leave a vital area like that wide open. But jabbing was an important skill alongside slashing...the son of Discordia had been working on slashing with one hand and jabbing with the other. Offense and defense. It was a lot of work, and something pretty new to Elijah, but he was getting better at it. And he was working with both hands, just in case. Getting better every day.

Once again, the older man caught Elijah's eye. He had obviously been taught by someone experienced. Now he was just attacking a post. Well that was annoying to Elijah; the practice dummies were there for a reason. Holding Potentia and Ferocimus at the ready, the son of Discordia approached the man, his facial expression somewhere between a smirk and a frown. "What did the post ever do to you?" Elijah asked, probably a little too sarcastically. He was working on being diplomatic, something a praetor should be. Though sometimes it was hard to keep his own antagonistic nature at bay. "We have practice dummies over there," the boy pointed over to where he had been. "They have a lot more give. Much easier to practice on," there, that was much more diplomatic. Stalking a little closer, Elijah gave a smile, though perhaps a little painfully. "Elijah Emmanual," he said, holding out his hand to shake. "Nice to meet you," hopefully this man was a friend and not a foe. The boy didn't want to deal with a foe right now, especially as a praetor. And in some weird sort of way, Elijah hoped he wouldn't be recognized as Calix's fellow praetor...but with the way news spread and new legionaries indoctrinated, it wouldn't be that hard to guess. After all, how many Emmanual's were floating around Camp Jupiter, anyway?

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Re: Removing the Rust (Open)

Post by Guest on Wed Dec 12, 2012 10:50 am

Logan grabbed the post, once more pulling with his left hand as his left knee impacted against it. Had this been an actual opponent, their spine would have been bent awkwardly, and painfully, around the legionnaire's knee. The blade of the knife flashed as Logan spun it quickly so that the blade was facing down, with the guard against his pinky. The blade plunged downward, into what would have been the throat of his opponent.

Logan stopped just as the tip of the blade touched the post, startled by somebody's comments. Stepping away from the post, his blade was ready for attack for a mere fraction of a second. Then, he slammed the blade home and smiled lightly, listening to the newcomer's comments. They were all valid, just not what Logan was comfortable with.

The adult frowned slightly. Something about the name Emmanual rang a bell, but he couldn't place it yet. Being new to the legion, he'd likely heard the name in passing conversation. Logan took the younger man's hand, shaking it firmly. “Logan Johnson, First Cohort.” He introduced himself easily enough. It couldn't hurt to make a few more acquaintances and friends within the legion.

Looking at the dummy from which his duster hung, Logan chuckled lightly. “True, dummies do have more give. That could be a flaw as well as a strength though. The training post was what made the legion great during its infancy. Legionnaires would train against them, using shields and swords twice as heavy as what they would use in combat. This made them fast and strong. Hitting something this solid got them used to the recoil you experience in combat when you strike your opponent. Human flesh won't push back as much as the wood, so they were able to quickly adapt in combat, by training with tools that had them experience the same things as combat on a much larger scale.”

Having realized that he'd given a brief lecture, Logan smiled apologetically. “My apologies, Elijah. I often quote Vegetius. The man knew just about everything about classical legion training. What he wrote was concerning the legion when Rome, and thus, its military, was at the height of its power. Recreating those training techniques should give us similar results.”

Logan's hands rested on his belt as he looked the young man over. There was no denying that Logan was old fashioned, he just couldn't understand some of today's youth. The amount of rings that Elijah wore was one such thing that mystified him. He was all for personal expression, but had skipped the whole “teenage rebellion and angst” stage. Then again, with ancestors as messed up as the gods, it made sense that there would some issues with their progeny.

In a rare moment of inspiration, Logan opted for honesty. “Simple truth is, that I'm nervous. I'm almost ten years older than everybody else in the legion. My training was extensive as a child and teenager, but I let those skills rust as I went through college and started my career. So, when you're older than everybody else, and you need to polish off old skills and techniques, you practice as hard as you can to get those skills back to their old level.”

Logan's hands shifted nervously along the belt. He couldn't help but wonder why he'd said that. It wasn't in his character to admit to moments of weakness. More often, he simply acknowledged the moment and moved passed it.

Eying Elijah's daggers, Logan smiled lightly. “If you'd be willing to indulge a new recruit, would you like to spar for a bit? A live opponent would force me to work faster than a post or dummy would.”

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Re: Removing the Rust (Open)

Post by Elijah Emmanual-Wheelan on Mon Dec 17, 2012 9:38 am

Waiting for the man to acknowledge him, Elijah did a quick check, holding his daggers still. The man was much older than he was, probably at least ten years older than Elijah himself. The boy didn't take that as a threat...they were all on the same side here, weren't they? Who cared how much older the man was? He looked to be a great fighter...or was one at one point and was just getting back into practice. Nothing wrong with that. When the man finally turned around, Elijah smiled slightly, returning the handshake just a firmly. "Logan...oh, you're the one Calix had a meeting with, right?" Elijah mused. The boy couldn't remember if he had been doing something else that day or had not been invited to the meeting. Details, details, that simply didn't matter. And he was in the First Cohort. Great. Not that the boy had anything against the First Cohort, just that they tended to be pretty powerful. The son of Discordia had watched the First Cohort get claimed by Jupiter. It was a tad bit scary. At any rate, Elijah tried not to judge. Logan seemed like a nice enough guy, powerful, but nice enough. Trying to get his head back in the game, Elijah looked over at Logan, slightly uneasily.

Aside from the slightly patronizing lecture. Elijah raised his eyebrow, he had read plenty of Vegetius, even though this man had no way of knowing that. He didn't need to be told anything like that from a reading he knew. "I know Vegetius," he said blandly. "And have done plenty of reading on my own. But that post isn't a training post, it's probably holding something up," as far as Elijah knew, they didn't have any training posts. Maybe that was something the legion should invest in. Logan brought up some good points. The son of Discordia already had a headache. This man was going to be a nightmare. No, that was unfair. Very unfair. Lots of people gave Elijah headaches when he first met them. After all, the boy could be quite intolerant...he wasn't used to being around people, especially ones on the same level as he was. So he got headaches. Lúth had probably been the biggest headache, and still was most of the time, but that was a completely different story entirely. The boy's sister could be a bit of a nutcase, and they both knew it. At any rate, Elijah got headaches and he had one right now, dealing with Logan here. It wasn't fair, but with how chaotic his head was, it was a but of a wonder he hadn't said something horribly offensive yet. It wasn't like the boy was exactly known for his tact.

Elijah could feel Logan looking over him, probably everything from the heavy eye makeup to the rings the boy wore on every finger. It was something he was judged constantly for, goth or rebel or whatever it was. But Elijah didn't see it that way. He just liked the way it looked, the way it felt. River always teased him about the eye makeup, how it never ran no matter how hard he cried. And she had seen him cry a lot. All it was, was that Elijah had really good eye makeup. It was something he invested in when he lived in Maine, and something he had brought a ton of to camp. At least enough so he wouldn't run out anytime soon. And he had inherited lots of the rings. They all had special meaning to him. As Logan started speaking again, the son of Discordia trained his mind on the words, trying not to be too much of a space case. "Don't be nervous," Elijah reassured. "You're obviously a great fighter. Skills are skills, no matter how long they've been sitting around unused. I would think after some practice, you'll be fine," thinking for a moment, he added, "And forget about age. No one is going to judge you based off of that. Especially when they see how well you fight." To Elijah, this was true. And he hated to admit it, but he's stand up for the new guy if he had to.

Now that was more like it. Elijah was always up for a spar, he hadn't been in very many, but he enjoyed them greatly. Winning them was great, but losing them was almost as great because one learned more about their opponent. And one's own fighting style. Though at first the boy was slightly hesitant. Logan was good...too good for Elijah, probably. Oh well...it couldn't hurt, right? "I would love to," Elijah smiled slightly. He didn't say anything else, nothing about how fast he was (being small had its advantages) or how he radiated if things got too bad, which usually won him a spar or at least tied him with his opponent. All these things were too much to reveal...in the real world, Elijah certainly wouldn't put out warnings...he would just go. Either way, for as good as the boy had gotten over the past few months, Logan had been training for years, even if he was a bit rusty. Maybe this would help the man a lot, which would make the son of Discordia feel pretty good about the whole thing. "Praetor Emmanual at your service," Elijah joked slightly, raising his daggers. Nothing fancy here and now, just a good spar. The boy felt kind of decent about the whole thing. Perhaps he would be okay.

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Re: Removing the Rust (Open)

Post by Guest on Mon Dec 17, 2012 6:54 pm

Logan only faltered when Elijah stated his position. Praetor?! Logan thought with just a hint of a budding nervous panic. What are the odds of not only meeting both Praetors within a day of each other, but of actually managing to spar against one? Logan knew that not all praetors were chosen for combat prowess, but that many were. Idly, he wondered just how good Elijah would prove to be.

His right foot slid a half step forward, splitting his weight evenly between his legs. His left hand folded close, with the knuckles of a very loose fist at the same height as his nose. His left arm protected most of that side of his body, and Logan sent a thankful wish to the gods for the fact that he wore good Roman armor.

His right hand was forward, with the edge of the blade facing Elijah. His weapon was held just above waist height, and the angle of Logan's stance presented a solid wall to his opponent. To come near him, the praetor would have to come through the knife. Yet, despite the stability of the stance, Logan shifted his weight slightly, with barely noticeable movements. If it was needed, he would be capable of moving suddenly in any direction as well.

His stance was something similar to what had been taught by Captain Fairbairn during the second World War. Functional, well protected, but balanced enough to allow for movement and defense. His body had assumed the stance in just a few seconds, training and reflex coming to the front as Logan's mind weighed other factors.

His eyes glanced to the twin daggers, and Elijah's smaller frame. His opponent was likely quick, but that didn't concern the new legionnaire as much as the twin blades did. Those weapons put his at the disadvantage, giving his opponent twice as many attack options. More importantly, he could block and counter in one move, instead of two. In order to match him, Logan would have to evade one strike and counter it, hoping he didn't run into the second.

No, his best bet was to remain defensive, see if he could open up Elijah's stance, and then strike. Or, find an improvised weapon to even the field. Briefly, his eyes flicked to his duster. It could serve, but he didn't want to see the coat damaged again. Logan filed the idea away as a last resort measure.

Realizing that he was at risk of becoming too stable, losing mobility for defense, Logan decided to open the spar with the first attack. His move was simple, an explosion of forward motion in the form of a light step forward as his blade quickly sliced left to right. It was simple move, made less to kill his opponent, and more to see how the praetor would react.

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Re: Removing the Rust (Open)

Post by Elijah Emmanual-Wheelan on Sat Jan 05, 2013 8:06 am

Suddenly, this was all making Elijah pretty nervous. He was starting to feel the ebbing of radiation, but he somehow managed to push it back, something the boy had never managed before. He looked at the scene in front of him, Logan getting ready for a fight with his blade. Working some things out rather quickly in his head, the boy figured it would be best to start by playing the offensive. He had a slight advantage over the man for the time being, two daggers versus Logan's sole blade. With a deep breath, Elijah took his stance. Logan wasn't looking the best himself, even though the son of Discordia didn't think the man had anything to worry about. No matter how rusty, he still had experience on his side, something Elijah was lacking. Sure, the boy could rip a straw dummy to shreds with his daggers, but this was completely different. He had only sparred a couple of times, and usually came out on top, mainly thanks to his confidence with Potentia and Ferocimus...where was that confidence now? It had somehow fled him. Leaving the boy just...nervous. But he could do this. Elijah knew he could. Holding his daggers at fighting stance, the boy started feeling less of an ebb of radiation and more of confidence.

Even if he didn't win this spar, that was okay. Elijah was familiar with the fact that one couldn't win them all. But the boy wanted to at least prove his worth. That was where the nerves kicked in. What if Logan walked away laughing at him? Gods, that would be humiliating. And Elijah hated being humiliated...he had had enough of that recently. The last thing he needed was to be humiliated in combat, something Elijah thought he was actually quite decent at. The boy just liked to fight, be it with his fists or daggers. He had even used a Swiss Army Knife as an interim weapon. That had been abandoned when he found Potentia and Ferocimus, but it still sat on his bedside table, just in the unlikely case that he needed it again. With a deep breath, Elijah surveyed the scene again, getting into an offensive position that was comfortable for him. The boy knew there were tricks to all this, but he liked just doing what felt right. It had gotten him this far, and hopefully it would get him a little farther here and now.

Elijah was glad he started paying attention when Logan made his first move, a light step forward with a slash of his blade. Stepping into the spar, the boy blocked the slash with Potentia and slashed Ferocimus right to left, not knowing if it hit, but secretly wishing he had some armor on. His hoodie wasn't going to do much to protect him. It didn't matter now, he just had to be careful. Hopefully Logan would get this too and not get too rough. Elijah rarely wore armor, unless it was some official Praetor thing he had to do and wear that armor. Not waiting around, Elijah kept one dagger up for protection and the other in fighting position. Calculating a few advantages, the son of Discordia tried to evaluate everything while staying in the moment. He was pretty good at that, and right now what he saw was one fit and experienced, but rusty, fighting demigod as an opponent and himself, young, unexperienced, but with a double weapon and much smaller stature. That meant Elijah was probably quicker...and he knew he was pretty quick anyway. Moving to the side, the boy kept his eyes open for the next attack.

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Re: Removing the Rust (Open)

Post by Guest on Sat Jan 05, 2013 9:23 pm

Logan's attack had been stopped, as he'd expected. Elijah's counter presented some issue. The attack came from an area closer than his own blade. The challenge was simple, Logan was in armor, and Elijah wasn't. In an actual fight, he'd risk taking the blow to his armor for the chance of killing his opponent now. However, Logan doubted his fellow romans would look kindly upon the murder of a praetor.

So, the legionnaire opted for a different option. Keeping his blade sideways, he flicked the blade sideways, not at Elijah's blade, but at his wrist,with the intention of delivering a stinging blow to the man's wrist. The weight of his own blade would not only serve to deflect the attack, but might also serve to partially disable his opponent's wrist for some time.

Logan's next move, after defending from the attack was simple. His blade darted forward in a feint while he moved backward, putting about two feet of space between his and Elijah's blades. This first exchange had confirmed Logan's suspicions. Right now, he'd spend more time countering those dual blades than he would attacking. Those who said that the best offense was a good defense had never fought. A good offense was the best offense.

Once more, Logan's eyes darted to his duster. Hidden within its pockets was a metal one quart canteen that was half full of water. Last resort or not, it would provide a suitable shield and improvised bludgeoning tool. Logan darted backwards a half step more, and then began edging around, circling in the direction of the dummy wearing his coat.

Hoping to keep Elijah in the dark as to what his plan was, Logan attacked once more. His approach was at an angle, ending with him on Elijah's left, in the man's blind spot if he moved quickly enough, but at an area where he could back up to his duster easily if Elijah reacted as expected. Logan's knife blurred as he spun it in his palm, changing grip so that the blade extended below his little finger. As he performed the quick dash,his right hand shot out in a vicious cross punch which carried a foot of edge Imperial gold with it.

As his charge finished, the blade was spun once more, returning it to a “proper” grip, and Logan swung a vicious strike along the back swing of his strike. If all went as he expected, Elijah would be put on the defense and have to move away to avoid the strike. If he'd miscalculated, he could seriously injure the man with his return slice.

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Re: Removing the Rust (Open)

Post by Elijah Emmanual-Wheelan on Fri Jan 11, 2013 2:50 pm

Just as Elijah had suspected, he was way out of his league here. Logan really knew what he was doing, and Elijah felt rather inadequate. He really was just learning his way with Potentia and Ferocimus, whereas the man was an experienced fighter. But the boy also knew how to hold his own in a fight. Even though he wasn't too familiar fighting with daggers, Elijah had been in plenty of fights with much bigger and more intimidating guys. Like football players. Although most of them were rubbish fighters off the field. Now wasn't the time to think about that, though...the son of Discordia had to focus on this fight and not being skewered by Logan's blade. Because that wouldn't be fun. Turning his full attention back to the spar, Elijah dodged a swipe at his wrist, just in time so that the older man's blade barely flicked it. But even shallow cuts stung, and the boy's eyes narrowed in on the small cut. It was definitely bleeding a little, but was really just a nick. Nothing that Elijah couldn't deal with. After all, the boy had had much worse...black eyes and fat lips...cuts like this were nothing compared to that stuff. The boy briefly thought about the concussion he had sustained once from having his head bashed against a locker. That had been tons worse.

As Logan feinted and moved backwards, Elijah quickly moved forwards and to the side. The man was wearing armor, but Elijah tried to find a chink in it as he swiped with Ferocimus, still holding Potentia at the defense. Not wanting to be caught too off guard, Elijah used everything he had learned and everything he had taught himself to focus in on the fight and what was going on around him. Moving quickly towards Logan's other side, the boy took a slice at Logan's other arm, finding the chink in his armor much more easily this time, although he wasn't sure he got it exactly. The man's eyes darted to the side, which confused Elijah for a moment. That was a bit out of character for the fighter. Then he vaguely remembered that the man had his coat hanging from a dummy. The boy wasn't sure what the point of that would be, but he knew he had to keep Logan from getting to the coat. As the man started circling, Elijah mirrored his moves. Eyes focused on Logan and mind focused on keeping him from the coat. The man was a great fighter, and would probably be able to predict the son of Discordia's every move, but hopefully this would catch him off guard.

When Logan attacked again, Elijah was ready...or as ready as he thought he could be. He jumped, holding his daggers in an 'X' shape to deflect the blow. All thoughts about the coat were forgotten when the boy realized he could be in some serious trouble here. Deflecting Logan's attacks, trying to get in a blow of his own, Elijah felt the faintest of his radiating starting. The kind of he could push back. The last thing he needed was to start radiating and have that mess everything up. So on top of trying to to deflect Logan's death blows and trying to keep Logan from getting his coat, Elijah was trying to push back his radiating. It was exhausting, and the boy knew he should just radiate...it would probably help him in the long run, but again, it seemed like an unfair advantage. He wasn't in that deep yet, anyway. Not that Elijah really knew how to just release radiation. Just that it tended to happen. As Logan gave a heavy back swipe with his weapon, Elijah put up another defense 'X'. That was dangerous and could have really hurt him if he hadn't been quick! Suddenly, the boy found himself just concentrating on keeping himself alive. He knew Logan wouldn't kill him, but seriously maiming was another story. Finding himself starting to radiate more and more, the boy didn't care if the man got to his coat. As long as the boy lived through this, he was fine with anything.

_________________



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Re: Removing the Rust (Open)

Post by Guest on Fri Jan 11, 2013 4:26 pm

Logan hadn't felt so alive in years. How had he ever thought he could be happy when he'd walked away from this life? Sure, he'd found peace and contentment, but he hadn't felt this level of exhilaration, this rush of pure adrenaline and unbridled joy, since he'd left his grandfather's farm. For the first time since his mentor's death, Logan knew one thing with astonishing certainty: he was home. This is what he was meant to do. The dance of blades, the flirtation with death and destruction, the moments when he placed his all on the line in order to attain a victory, these were the sirens of Logan's life.

His left arm stung, and the skin felt sticky. During his fight for proper positioning, Elijah's blade had managed to make contact with the skin between bracer and pauldron. The cut wasn't deep, Logan knew this because it stung like hell. The deeper, more serious wounds never hurt as much as the shallow ones. Still, the legionnaire smiled broadly, all cockiness and self-assurance. He had to admit that Elijah had done well.

His position had been secured, and Logan retreated openly. For now, attack was no longer important. The member of the first cohort faced his opponent and continued to slide step back until he bumped into the dummy with his duster. His left hand darted out, grabbing the oilcloth garment and wrapped three times, creating a protective pad the length of his fore-arm.

Several feet of cloth shield hung from his arm, which Logan held in front of him, shielding his body from view. More importantly, it kept his knife from sight as well. Instead of being able to see his strikes, Elijah would be force to guess from the positions of Logan's shoulders where the blade would come from.

Once more, Logan advanced, now feeling that he had evened the odds between him and the praetor. After all, how well could the man fight if he was robbed of those few partial seconds of time when he could react to the attack?

Logan intended to test how well this had shifted the balance of power in the fight. His advance moved closer to Elijah, and the duster swayed some, with the metal canteen pulling some of the weight to the left. The bowie knife of Imperial gold remained behind the heavy cloth, waiting for the opportune moment.

Once he was satisfied that he was safely within striking range, Logan attacked. Left hand swung forward and up, flinging the tails of the duster into Elijah's face. At best, it would likely distract him, at worst, the canteen would bust his nose. Once the tails of the coat cleared the blade, Logan twisted slightly, whipping his blade out in a vicious left to right slash at chest level. Without waiting to see if contact was made, Logan retracted his limbs once the attack was completed, returning the blade behind the oilcloth shield.

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