Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow Vs. Cuiasodo Sharpedge, 1st Bracket

[Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow]

Round details -- here

Good luck to you both. =D

[Cuiasodo Sharpedge]

One-Hit Sharpedge. Sounds like a pretty good title to me!

Thoughts, sentences, jibes, feelings and emotions, little quips and ideas, inner musings and stupid questions flowed around his sponge of a brain, flower petals on the wind like so many of the dandelion seeds floating around him.

The storm was over, just as his last battle was over, and the sun had decided to make an appearance. It had been days since the last sun shine. Thankfully, it hadn’t been days since the last victory. Safe within the first bracket, his mood remained at a peak.

One hit was all it took, no more, no less. At least, that was what it had felt like. One good hit scored against his opponent and then it was over. He wasn’t quite sure if Erksta had blocked it, wasn’t positive that it had in fact only taken a singular blow, yet all that his memory could recover was the sight of his blade flashing, a tiny reflection in the pupils of the opposing otter, and then time being called, announced by a previously unseen judge who had arrived moments before.

Afternoon was spent reveling in the thrill of his short-lived fight. Nonchalant as always, he remained reclined in his chair even as the results list went up. He didn’t have to look. He’d won, as always. As sure as the fact that the tide always rises and falls, he had won his last skirmish. Seeing beast upon beast pile up against each other for a look at the paper to see if they had won their coveted title, he smirked and pitied them. If only they were as confident (and skilled) as he. Another gulp was taken from the tankard near the coyote, this time filled with water and, thankfully, no alcohol of any sort. His eyes shut, covering his world in black for a moment, leaving him only with the image in his mind of him lunging, striking, winning. Over and over again, it played, sustaining his mood to the very moment when, just to make sure, he checked the listing.

Cuiasodo vs. Erksta
Winner: Cuiasodo

Red-hot joy gave way to lukewarm content. Ok, so he was right. He was right and all was settled, things were as simple as that. In a rare phenomenon, the coyote’s cool temperament overshadowed his wilder, exhilarated side. There was always a mixture of the two within the coyote, especially during a fight. Two persons existed within him; the first calm, stoic, able to take on anything, the other a tenacious, raving berserker who bathed in the thrill of battle. But the beast had subsided and the sage had taken control. Cuiasodo exuded serenity.

Another list, the brother of the one above, was posted just below the first, detailing a very interesting tidbit about the next round. His opponent was to be…

“So, pretty neat, huh? The competition, I mean... After all, who'd pass up a good fight, right?”

"Aye, ah guess ye could say that. 'M not sure "neat" be the word tae describe it, though... Say, don't believe we've met. Wot's yer name, laddie?"

"Name's Cuiasodo. Cuiasodo Sharpedge."

And her name was Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow, another warrior like himself. Cuiasodo wasn’t sure if they shared the same showboat flair when it came to combat (she struck him as the more serious type) but they were alike all the same. The sage within him breathed a sigh of relief; the berserker growled with rapture. Once again, he wouldn’t be facing a weak opponent.

Evening turned to night, the time for relaxation changing to the time of sleep. With morning came the quest for any and all information he could find on Marie Yewbow. He already knew she took her work seriously

"Aye, ah guess ye could say that. 'M not sure "neat" be the word tae describe it, though... Say, don't believe we've met. Wot's yer name, laddie?"

The competition might have been more than a competition to her. More than likely, he was in for a sincere battle. No funny business on this one.

The questions of the investigation were mostly answered through pieces of scuttlebutt and chatter found amidst the native bar tenants and residents to the town. Marie had been a competitor in the last tournament and had a noteworthy reputation besides. The mouse was a veteran, a beast forged in the flames of battle, her steel tempered by war hot as a furnace. Words of a rebellion up north and Yewbow’s role in it sparked fascination and admiration in the coyote’s eyes. Truly, his competitor was more than a mere scrapper. Like him, she was devoted to the defense of the innocent, belonging to the famous (although previously unknown to the coyote) Guardians of Mossflower, and not just a beast who squandered her abilities for entertainment or the fulfillment of personal gain. No, she was a protector. Marie Blue-yes Yewbow was an equal.

So the chain of adversaries was to be an equal, a no-show, an inferior in the form of a corsair, and again another equal. Cycle started anew, just as the world was meant to be. What was it that Jefado had said? Life moves like the tide, back and fourth, rising and falling. Everything occurs in an endless revolution, and we as sworn protectors can do nothing more than prevent the recurring maladies from erupting out of control. Wise words. But Cuiasodo felt he could do more.

The coyote had to shake his head to clear it. He imagined bits of useless information falling off of his fur as he stirred, lading in clumps of grit upon the earth. His mind was wandering, reminiscing. Focus on what you have learned. Focus on what you know.

In addition to her experience, which was probably the most valuable weapon of all, Cuiasodo had found the much sought information about what the field mouse wielded (unlike before when they had met, he was sure that she was a field mouse…at least ninety-eight percent sure…). Pleasant this quest had not been, as he had to listen to the tangent after tangent that the barkeep spouted out before telling the real story.

“Marie Yewbow? Yeah, I’ve ‘eard of her. Funny story really…”

Followed by a pointless story about a rat and a dirty wash cloth and then,

“Anyway, back onto the topic: Marie. A good fighter that ‘un. Why I once heard…”

Which lead to a moment in which Cuiasodo rolled his eyes, blanked out for a moment and had to nod continuously to make it appear as if he was listening, preceded by,

“And then a good left hook! I tell yer, who doya think would fall fer that ‘un, eh? None other than a stoat, I can tell yer that. Now…who were we talking about again?”

Subsequently, he had to guide the bartender back on track to what he needed to hear, suffer through three more pointless tales, pay for another three drinks (water all three of them) to keep his mind off his irritation and then arrive at the valuable nugget of information; she wielded a dirk, a dagger and a short sword.

Speed. That was what it meant. Marie was set for speed. A dirk and dagger were designed for the purpose of speed and close-quarters combat while the short sword was nothing but a modified version of both blades designed for a longer reach. Speed was not what worried Cuiasodo, however. What made the proverbial sweat dribble down his brow and tinge his composure with doubt was the second advantage the weapons brought, the one of close-quarters combat. A katana was quick, but outmatched when it came down to small spaces. Simply, a long weapon could not be swung accurately within a certain range, nor could it block. Paw to paw attacks would suffice here but matched against a blade, paws could be cut. Dread latched onto the coyote’s breast…and then the berserker beat it back.

Fire, a heat that composed the stronger half of his personality, his strength, his power, his speed, his reserve, every drop of gall in his system and every bit of arrogance, every bit of confidence and every scrape of determination beat back the fear as it did countless times, in a exemplarary example of Jefado’s cycle hypothesis. He wouldn’t let the demon get a hold of him.

Cuiasodo stopped for a moment and touched a finger to his temple.

Gosh…since when did I get so poetic?

Mind again upon the battle, he stood, still as a sentry, relaxed as a monk, awaiting the arrival of the venerable Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow. His paw hovered over his blade’s handle in preparation. Tension seemed to emit from his weapon as well as his core. Bushido expected a fantastic battle as well as he.

This just keeps getting better and better…

[Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow]

*Marie‘s jaws parted in an enormous yawn as she rolled out of bed, her footpaws making a soft thumping sound as they hit the wooden floorboards. Brushing a scarred paw through her thick brown headfur, the small creature cut a wobbly path to the dirty window of the Tavern room that had become her familiar resting place over the past weeks. Peering out through one of the panes she had managed to keep clean during her time occupying the room, the bleary-eyed harvest mouse broke into a broad grin. Sunlight! The rain was finally, finally gone. Clearing the cobwebs of dreams from her head with an energetic shake, she trotted back to the side of her bed and pawed through the ruffled sheets for her clothing.

It did not take the Highland warrior long to dress, especially since the fog that usually marked her early-morning procedures seemed to have been banished by the long-hoped-for reappearance of the sun. She slipped the articles that made up her simple outfit directly over the soft undertunic that doubled as her nightshift. Her outfit was designed to be functional, fitted enough not to inhibit, yet loose enough to allow freedom of movement. A loose, knee-length skirt of rustic brown fabric served as her leggings; her top was comprised of an undershirt of thin blue-purple fabric that nicely accented the reddish brown vest that she buttoned over it. The mouse’s footpaws were guarded from the effects of weather and environment by a pair of large, comfortable boots that had served her faithfully for seasons. Giving these boots a firm, final tug, Marie leapt to her paws. She stretched experimentally, assuring herself that her outfit would not interfere in her actions; then, satisfied, she looked to her blades.

The Guardian’s arsenal was comprised of three blades, meant to work in unison to produce quick, accurate attacks. The largest weapon was a short sword, specially forged in the fires of the blacksmiths from her home Fort to suit her purposes. It was made of a light metal, so as not to inhibit her with unnecessary weight; however, this powerful advantage came at a notable cost -- although lightweight and sharp, the blade itself was not very strong, and could be more easily broken than that of a heavier implement. Still, this was a risk Marie could afford to take; brute force was rarely a tactic she employed, being one of the smaller warrior-beasts around. Slinging the strap of her sword over her shoulder, the mouse reached a paw back and grasped its leather-bound hilt to check that it lay comfortably between her shoulder blades. As for the other two blades, they dangled within easy reach from a thick leather belt. Against her right thigh, she felt the comfortably familiar weight of the faithful old dirk that was the veteran among her blades. The weapon was simple and mostly unremarkable, except for the pommel; seemingly out-of-place among the otherwise undecorated weaponry Marie wielded, there nestled a small, blue sapphire. It was not large, and not overly showy; but Marie regarded the little stone to be her single greatest possession. As a general rule, she did not dress for the sake of impressing others, and held most jewelry and other fickle adornment in scorn; however, the sapphire had come to be the closest thing she knew to a coat of arms, and thus it was a matter of pride to her. Her final blade, in comparison with the two previous, was quite notably lacking in interest or adornment -- though certainly not functionality, as had been proven on multiple occasions. The mouse-sized dagger was tucked into the back of Marie’s belt, where it was easily accessible, like the sword and the dirk.*

Noo then, let’s get this on, shall we, laddie buck!? *Smirking arrogantly as she addressed her foe -- complete ignoring the fact that he was not present -- Marie allowed herself a thrilling moment of pure adrenaline. She stood at her bedside, shivering compulsively in delight, silver eyes glittering with fantastic visions of the battle to come. This was going to be a real fight -- not the one-hit skirmishes she‘d experienced in the previous rounds, much to her disappointment. The memory of those spars tugged at the edge of her thought, whispering doubts into her head that this battle would be no different; however, the chemicals running through her veins drowned out these voices. Not today! Today was a good day -- a day of sweat and blood and fire and energy. She could feel it in every fiber of her being; pulsing, trembling, threatening to burst into unrestrained motion.

Marie had to make a conscious effort in order to quiet the energy that spoke like fire to her soul. Closing her eyes, she stilled her racing mind with a deep, slow breath; her paws gradually ceased to quiver at her sides, and her breathing settled into the calm, even pattern of a beast completely in control of herself. When she opened her eyes again, the rushing torrent that had been her anticipation of the imminent spar had quieted into a deep, silent reservoir; calm, but deceptively so, she knew that at any given moment the dam could burst and she lose herself to the passion of battle. A little longer, just a little longer she must wait -- it would take some time to reach the arena, and until then it was imperative that she hold herself in check.

With a determined purpose in her actions, the Guardian-Commander swept out of the room that had become her temporary home. Taking the stairs two at a time, she forced herself to move at a normal pace through the still mostly-empty main room of the inn. Jauntily returning the bartender‘s now-familiar greeting, she slipped eagerly outside, letting the tavern door swing closed behind her. The first few steps into the morning air were like heaven to her. The past weeks had been pure torture to the Highland mouse, who was not of a favorable opinion towards rain. Weary with the gloomy weather, she had encountered trouble in finding things to occupy herself while remaining indoors. Now, however, with the sun pulling out the golden tinge of her fur, playing about her silver earring, and dancing in the depths of her sea-grey eyes, the worries and anxieties of the past rounds were far removed from her thoughts.

A good fight in her teeth, golden sun in her fur, and her loved ones safe and sound back home -- this was Marie‘s element. What more could a beast such as she ask for?

The journey to the arena was, in a word, uneventful. As she marched across the hot, dry plain, following the red strips of cloth that marked the path to the arena, Marie occupied herself with assessing the terrain, as well as reviewing what she knew about her opponent. As for the arena, she was pleasantly relieved that the “desert” she had anticipated with a certain amount of uncertainty was not of the shifting-sand-dunes sort. A part of her had guessed the judges would not set a spar in such an environment; but after the previous two round settings, her faith in the judges’ collective sanity had been somewhat shaken. In any case, she was relatively pleased with the terrain. Although the sand carried on the steady breeze was a definite source of irritation, that same breeze also served to relieve what otherwise might be stifling heat. The sandy ground, also, was made less shifting and unreliable by sturdy little plants and short grasses. Not exactly the most auspicious terrain imaginable, but Marie had faced worse circumstances in her seasons as a warrior.

As for her opponent, there was plenty to consider. Sharpedge, wasn‘t it? Cuiasodo Sharpedge, or something ridiculous sounding like that -- Wot bloody kind o‘ parent names their bairn somethin‘ like that, ah‘d like tae ken? -- had her apparently far outmatched in a couple key ways. He was a coyote, a canine creature with which she had little experience, but knew from the short interaction she had held with him previous even to the beginning of the Tournament that his size would give her a weighty disadvantage. As was often the case for the diminutive Highlander, direct paw-to-paw combat or brawny struggles would be inadvisable for her. This really did not change her fighting style much, as she oriented mostly around swift attacks and accurate swordplay, but it did make her job considerably more dangerous. Although speedy movements could be devastatingly effective, they also put her in great peril, because they required her to get in close -- where a shrewd opponent might use his superior mass against her. However, Marie was not daunted by this obvious disadvantage; in fact, it more accurately spurred her to greater anticipation. A proud creature at heart, Marie absolutely could not stand being underestimated, for any reason, much less for her size. Luckily for her opponents, such miscalculations rarely occurred, as her reputation usually served to correct any misinterpretations that might occur.

Further knowledge of Sharpedge‘s fighting style and character was provided by her interactions with his previous opponents -- one in particular, her good friend Raiden Silversword. The eccentric mouse had sparred against the coyote in the initial round of the Tournament, and from his account of the fight Marie had gathered a considerable amount of information concerning the canine‘s weaponry and skills. He bore a katana -- a weapon the mouse knew only as a legend, but was eager to see in action -- and seemed to be quite agile physically. In fact, the stories she‘d heard about Master Sharpedge‘s acrobatic antics during his spars were the one thing that caused a bit of worry to tinge her thoughts. It reminded her of another old pal, Sapphire Fleetpaw, a mouse maiden of incredible physical abilities that Marie had always secretly envied. The Highland warrior was built sturdily; she was fit and lean, certainly, but had not the discipline or flexibility required for the more artful forms of paw-to-paw combat. Thus, if the coyote were truly as skilled as she suspected, and were he to employ that tactic in the upcoming spar, the results could be devastating.

Marie refused to linger on this thought for very long; every time she began to consider how to defend against acrobatic attacks, she allowed herself to release a burst of energy from the aforementioned deep reserves. She was Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow, Commander of the Guardians of Mossflower, daughter of a proud lineage of Highlanders, warrioress of the cold and barren North! No snot-nosed punk of a dog was going to scare her off with a few fancy pawsteps and cheap tricks.

It was while she was thus steeling herself against the formidable forces of what many beasts would have termed common sense, that Marie arrived at the arena. As she approached the flat, sandy area marked off for the spar, she scrutinized the figure that awaited her arrival with a calculating gaze, carefully masked with her customary arrogant attitude. With a smirk that her snout would have felt empty without and one paw resting jauntily on her hip, Marie attempted to assume a leisurely pace that indicated she had arrived exactly when she meant to (having, after all, no real idea of whether she was late or early). However, this final bit was not quite successful; despite her intentions, the energy pooled within her core was threatening to spill over, and she could not keep her paws from bounding the last few pawsteps into the battlefield.*

Hai there, buckoe! Young Master Sharpedge, are ye?

*The Highlander scanned her opponent up and down, taking in his demeanor with eyes that had assessed many an opponent in similar manner. It was immediately apparent to the mouse, as further evidence would either confirm or deny, that this was a creature with a love of battle. She read the coyote’s eagerness in the tensing of his body, the way his paw lingered near the hilt of his katana -- which, she might add, was quite impressive-looking -- and something else she couldn‘t quite name. It wasn‘t something really physical; more than anything, it was a feeling -- a sixth sense, an intangible something she had come to depend on more and more through the seasons. When Marie‘s gaze wandered up to meet Cuiasodo‘s, she read there a reflection of a part of her own heart -- she held an instinctive knowledge that this opponent would be able and willing to give her the fight she desired.

Her smirk broadening into a pleased grin, Marie bent her head in a half-mocking, half-serious deference of respect.* Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow, at’cha service. Ah look forward tae our fight, m‘bairn. *Looking up with eyes that twinkled with the teasing tone of her banter, the mouse‘s paws wandered to the hilts of their respective blades.* Shall we linger on th‘introductions, or shall we git right on with th‘fightin‘? *Drawing the blades in a swift, dexterous movement, Marie stood, sword in her right paw, dirk in her left, arms spread wide in an open invitation to attack.* After all, time waits fer nobeast, y‘ken! *With this final challenge hanging in the air, the small warrior gave a low, rolling chuckle of pure delight: now, now was the time to make use of that kinetic energy just straining to be released! Now she could fight, could attack and counterattack, could let herself drown in the graceful beauty and the raw power of battle, and achieve victory once again -- for victory she would achieve. She simply refused to doubt that fact, for fact she knew it to be. The adrenaline poured into her veins, beginning as a warm spot in her chest, growing, and quickly picking up speed, until her entire body felt absolutely submerged in it -- ah yes! The energy of battle! How she loved it -- this was where she belonged, this was what she lived for!

Come now, m‘lad, let us see what mettle ye‘re made of!*

OOC: ZOMG, I love your character. *officially adds “Cuiasodo Sharpedge” to her list of characters to fangirl* <333

Best of luck. =3

(Haha, it‘s interesting how different Marie and ‘Sodo think about things. xD Cuiasodo thinks, “Ah, yes, she‘s an equal, that‘s good!”, while Marie‘s just thinking, “Huh, wimpy little punk. I‘ll kick his tail!” xD Venerable my foot. I don’t think she ever stopped being a naughty likkle Dibbun at heart. She doesn‘t deserve his good opinion. ^^ I apologize for her. *bow bow*)

2436 words... *realizes she has just made another ridiculously long post* I'm sorry. x.x

[Cuiasodo Sharpedge]

A right feint, clearly spotted by the twitch of the forearm with no follow through, easily avoided by standing one's ground and dodging the real strike. Then a left hook, a peculiar maneuver - but no large difficulty. A block with his leading arm would do the trick and, when coupled with a roundhouse kick, would be devastating.
The opponent falls to the ground, flattened, surely finished. Yet, what is this? She rises, vigor filled anew as the silver blade cuts the air in half on its route to the coyote's heart.
The sword soon finds its flight pattern interrupted thanks to the courtesy of her foe's sword. An upwards swipe across the entire torso; retribution is swift.

Battles played out inside of his mind, the players the combatants, the stage the arena. Steel was the best sort of prop, for there is no room on the battlefield for fakes. The curtain rose with the drawing of a sword and fell upon the climax, the defeat of a singular duelist. This play may have been only imagined, but Cuiasodo viewed it serious, writing out the script so as to anticipate his opponent’s movements, plan his counter attack.

Sound. They open, his lids, banishing the world of fantasy with the genuine morning light, the reaction brought forth from the command, “Hai there, buckoe! Young Master Sharpedge, are ye?”

The head tilts. For a moment, all of the tension left his body to join the barely noticeable breeze. He runs a finger through a blade of hair like a chef preparing a knife.

“That’s what most call me, though it’s usually minus the ‘Master”. But, hey, if that’s what you really wanna call me, whatever floats your boat.”

The words left his mouth to join the tension that left to join the breeze, floating on the wind. He was a fire, spouting off wisps of words simply while the heat inside spurred him on to do so. Like his words, his eyes began to move automatically as if by the call of a higher power. The hazel irises rimmed the contracting and expanding black pupil, darted up, down, occasionally hooded by the lids, occasionally moving out into the blank middle of the eye or eclipsing the milky-white whole.

He sighted the clothing and the armaments; a vest, red as rose, the sleeves of an undershirt blue-purple sprouting from beneath; a skirt, brown like the earth; a pair of boots, sturdy and reliable. His information had been accurate as the mouse carried all three of the armaments about which he had been forewarned. The sword was strapped tight and poised down the center of her back, two daggers like wingman flanking the longer weapon at her hips. Speed, she is built for speed. He must remember that.

She was doing the same, he noticed, analyzing him up and down just the same as he had. Still, her eyes seemed to bore beyond physical makeup, searching for hidden meaning, deciphering the code of the body. Cuiasodo decided to follow suit. His eyes lingered a bit longer to check her poise as well as her armaments.

Tranquil, calm, yet bursting with energy beneath the surface like a deceptively smooth stream, her countenance was. Like a stream, she appeared innocent enough but one step within and a beast could be dragged beneath by the undertow. At long last, his gaze arrived at the thing that he had been missing the entire time: her eyes.

That was when there was the moment of solidity, ice freezing into rock due to an undeniable cold – he saw himself. What could have very well been a mirror standing in front of him was to be his opponent. Cuiasodo Sharpedge saw what many of his enemies must have seen before he sprung into action, from the relaxed awareness to the telltale smirk on the lips. Unlike those he faced, however, the sudden epiphany didn’t distort his reserve. Instead, his eagerness thrived.

“And I suppose you’re-“

“Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow, at’cha service. Ah look forward tae our fight, m‘bairn”

With every bit of solidarity and sincerity as a minister delivering a sermon, his lips moved. “That make’s two of us.”

Likewise, hers answered back with equal speed. “Shall we linger on th‘introductions, or shall we git right on with th‘fightin‘?”

Two blades found their way to the respective paws, dirk on the left, sword in the right, arms spread in welcoming. Cold shivers ran up his back, replaced with crystallizing heat, for again, he was witnessing himself.

“After all, time waits fer nobeast, y‘ken!”

Primordial, a cry echoes from her lips, meeting the far flung drifting dandelion seeds, he body arching in accompaniment. He could tell more in that instant about Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow, the real beast behind the stories, than at any other moment in this competition. For her, battle was not just a thing, not just an event minor nor major. It ran deeper than that. Battle, for her, was subsistence, life. She thrived off of it, a plant soaking in sun, drawing in water. Cuiasodo’s smirk appeared and grew wide, realizing a kindred soul.

“Come now, m‘lad, let us see what mettle ye‘re made of!”

Pressure lie upon his chest, borne of joy rather than distress. His arm, moving across his chest once more to draw the blade, appeared as a snake, gliding, sinuous, anticipating a strike. His lungs started moving once more, taking in to deliver a final statement before the storm erupted.

“Now, this, this is what I’ve been waiting for: a fight worth fighting. Brace yourself, Marie Yewbow, because Cuiasodo Sharpedge isn’t going to hold back!”

Scraping, evoking the feeling of silver just at the echoing cry, the blade was drawn, and with it, all of his emotion released. Pure exhilaration, untainted bliss passes from his core out to the tips of his fingers. His feet depart from the ground as he runs full tilt for his opponent. The smirk flashes to a grin as he swings, a blow aimed for the left shoulder, whilst the mind thinks separate thoughts.

Don’t let me down, Marie…


OOC: Thanks! Really, I'm flattered.
In case you couldn't tell, Cuiasodo is impressed as well.
You have a really neat character, too. More thought put into her backstory than that of my character by far. This fight will be interesting.

[Marie Blue-eyes Yewbow]

OOC: Thank you. =] lol... Backstory. xD ^^; Yeeeeeah, she's got plenty of that. *cough cough* Her history is probably way longer and more detailed than it should be. >D

I apologize for responding at the last minute. Normally I wouldn’t bother, but I really wanted to make more than one post this time. >< Unfortunately, life has been even more insane than usual, and this is literally the first time I’ve had the chance to sit down and write something not school-related all week… *harried sigh* So yes. Gomenasai.

Also, just as a note, that last sentence -- “Come now, m‘lad, let‘s see what mettle ye‘re made of!” -- was meant to be thought, not spoken aloud. *bow bow* I’m sorry for the lack of clarity. =]

BIC: *In the moments that followed her invitation to attack, Marie watched her opponent‘s every move with an intense gaze -- and was rather impressed with what she saw there. There was neither hesitation nor fear in his voice and actions; no hint of reserve was betrayed in his expression and tone. Courageous? Perhaps. Foolhardily arrogant might be a better way to phrase that. The Northern warrior’s mouth quirked at the corners as she, once again, realized how closely she and her opponent were linked by a bond that they could not command, arising from something in their mutual natures that she would have vain attempted to describe in words. Having established this connection, Marie knew instinctively that a match against a beast so nearly her equal in character would require every scrap of skill and talent she possessed.

Thus, following the battle instinct that had been so strengthened by experience as to become a second nature to her, the proud swordmaiden dropped the arrogant, inviting pose in favor of a stance with more practicability for the current situation. Her booted paws spread even and light beneath her; her blades waited forward and up, ready to slash or block as necessary. Despite the necessity of this position change, Marie was careful not lose any of the attitude that had characterized her interactions with the canine who opposed her: the smirk still played about her mouth, and her eyes danced in a merry, mocking light. “Aha aha! So you aspire to join this dance of the warriors,” they seemed to say. “Well, young one, let us see you try!” Indeed, the mouse practically bounced on her tippaws as Cuiasodo prepared to attack. A mere second or two passed between the time the young canine reached for his blade and the actual forward motion of his maneuver, but the anticipation that swelled up in Marie‘s body and spirit and mind during that short time was inexpressibly huge.

So it was that, as her opponent addressed her, Marie barely let the words sink in before her mind was moving on to another object.*

“Now, this, this is what I’ve been waiting for: a fight worth fighting. Brace yourself, Marie Yewbow, because Cuiasodo Sharpedge isn’t going to hold back!”

Tch. No less than ah‘d expect, lad. *Half-muttering this under her breath, Marie eagerly absorbed the lightning-fast movements of the next moment. Now the coyote‘s impressive blade had been drawn -- now he was rushing forward with battle-light in his eyes -- now he grinned, providing presentiment of the attack -- and now, now it came! The hiss of steel through slicing through the desert air reached Marie‘s ears almost after she had already reacted.

Constant motion was her battle philosophy, and here it served her as well as it had in the past. The slice was to her left shoulder; a simple rightwards shift should suffice. However, she had no intentions of merely “sufficing” in this match; here she would excel. Using the advantage provided to her by lightweight armament and a body trained to quick movement, Marie lightly dodged the blow and shifted position forward, under her opponent‘s guard, and to her right. Although it would do her little good in a brute-force situation, her size had one major advantage that most opponents rarely considered; she presented a small target. It was fairly easy for her to avoid attacks; the real difficulty came in getting one of her own in. However, she‘d faced this situation many times before, and knew how to respond effectively.

Cuiasodo‘s attack had been bold, but not well-planned. He had the disadvantage of bearing but one blade to Marie‘s three, albeit one with a longer reach than any of the weapons in play. Thus, if one of his attacks went wide, he would be left defenseless; unless, of course, he had some other trick up his sleeve. Marie, however, had no way of discovering such an advantage, unless to force him to use it. In any case, were the coyote to follow Marie‘s line of thinking, his best shot would be to disarm his opponent. However, his current attack had left his guard down, and the momentum from his full-on running approach was propelling him straight towards his opponent and the sharp blades balanced easily in her paws.

Following an instinct ground into her through seasons of warfare, Marie remained light on her paws as Cuiasodo‘s body came into range, calculating swiftly her next couple of moves. As the coyote neared, the harvest mouse danced forward with a couple of tiny, swift pawsteps, just enough to carry her into striking distance, and attacked. The unadultered desert sun glinted off its blade as her sword stabbed forward into her oncoming opponent, speedy and merciless. Well…perhaps not quite merciless. Marie was a creature of battle -- not death. She had no desire whatsoever to slay her opponent; hers was merely a mind set on victory. Thus, forgoing a potentially fatal stab into the sensitive abdomen region, she aimed her blow instead at the coyote‘s left thigh. If she injured his leg, he could potentially be rendered immobile, achieving the victory for her while preserving the life of her opponent.

Sure of success, but instinctively cautious of a counterattack, Marie was careful to give a thought to her defense. Even before her blade carved into flesh or sliced into air, the Highlander was plotting her next move. If her attack hit its mark, she would probably be carried backwards a bit by the force of the coyote‘s momentum, which would be a bit of a setback. In such a case, she would have to rely, once again, upon the quick motion of her footpaws to keep her from harm -- as well as the speedy maneuvering of her blades. If her attack went wide, well… She would simply recover her balance, reverse momentum, and try to attack again before Master Sharpedge did the same. She was the lighter of the two, so halting and reversing on the sandy terrain of the arena would be easier for her than for the heavier canine.

It should be noted that Marie‘s mind was now entirely absorbed in the energy of battle; but this energy was not the same as the unconstrained, raw power that had fueled her before. Now, that power had become tame to her experience, and she plied it at will, like a Commander ordering her well-disciplined forces. Now, every thought was towards the action of the battle; not the character of her opponent, not her standing in the Tournament, not even her own pride. Now, she functioned solely on the instinctive battle knowledge that one could only be born with -- battle knowledge could not be learned through actual battle, despite what some might say. After all, most beasts learn through failure; and failure in battle usually means death. Thus, although it can be purified and refined, a creature not born to it faces a severe disadvantage in a fighting situation. Luckily for Marie, this mindset of warfare had never been far from her grasp. Discipline and experience had strengthened it and tested it, but the instinctive knowledge was the same: Stay alive. Don‘t let yourself be wounded. Win.*

EDIT: OOC: Okay, I know it's past the deadline, but I decided to try posting this anyway... I stayed up 'til midnight last night writing this stupid thing, and when I went to post it, there was server maintenance or something irritating like that. >< Yeah. So... Hopefully this still counts? I dunno, I'll leave that up to the rest of the judges. ^^;