[Damn but she's quick. The admiral-turned-sailor turns the first blade away and narrowly sidesteps the second, but when attempts to swing at her now-unguarded left his sword meets steel instead of flesh. He barely has time to process this before she is stabbing at him with her right-hand blade. There is nothing else for it. Norrington is forced to give ground. He steps back a pace, turns the right blade and meets the left, but there's the right again, cutting at his neck. Damn. This time he does not have the leisure to intercept with the tip of his sword, but catches the edge on the hilt of his short-sword. It is an act of desperation, but it gives him the advantage of leverage -- so he surges bodily forward, bearing down and on at once. His push proves enough to put her off-balance. He plants his boot in her stomach and leaps backward.
In the moments that follow his short sword is lifted up in a traditional guard, the small sword drawn back and poised for the offensive. Now they are at the proper distance for him to fight according to form. So. Let those mad eyes come.]
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In the moments that follow his short sword is lifted up in a traditional guard, the small sword drawn back and poised for the offensive. Now they are at the proper distance for him to fight according to form. So. Let those mad eyes come.]