Broken Blade, Unbroken Spirit
Twentieth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
Sand crunched under Sandor Clegane's booted feet, the salt-laden wind stung against his ruined cheek.
Another woman, he thought automatically sizing up his opponent.
Her armor may be as black as mine but she's a hell of a lot prettier, in another man the thought might have been condescending or wryly amused according to their nature. The Hound knew better than to underestimate a foe and all his smiles had long since been spent. The crier just called her 'Leto' and that too the scarred warrior found good,no hollow titles and scribbles upon shields... not that either of them had a shield. You needed something with more heft to wedge though plate.
Or another of those fucking needles, he snorted when she saw the thin sword gleaming purple in her hand.
"What?" the woman snapped, the word as sharp as a thrown dagger between them.
"That thing would snap like a reed if it weren't made of some magic shit," Sandor replied bluntly.
"War is not fair," she answered, sword held lightly in one hand. The words might have sounded hollow upon those perfect lips, something she had heard once and was jabbering back by rote, but there was something behind those dark eyes that would not let him scoff.
Then the horns called and the the time for talking ended in their brazen call.
As one the dark armored warriors charged, one swift and sure as an arrow from a blow the other tumbling like an avalanche of steel. Heavy were the Hound's blows and guided with skill hard earned but his foe was swift to tumble and slide aside, her armor finer by far than castle forged steel.
Once twice the heavy sword sparked harmlessly off ensorcereled plate but on the third swing he had gained her measure and twisted his sword into her next step, slipping under her left arm to cut at the joints, between the plates and though the padding, sawing into flesh. A lesser fighter could have lost her arm then, flailing in pain but the warrior woman slipped along the bloodied blade and
under it slicing at his knees. Only quick footwork saved Sandor from from being cut off, the sword still digging deeply into his leg, scraping bone.
Seeing his chance the Hound kicked hard with his uninjured leg. Pain flashed though him as his full armored bulk leaned on his pierced leg, but something like a smile pulled at the ruin of his face as curses cut though the air like rusted knives.
He'd blinded her.
Now to finish this before she could get up and gut him. It did not even occur to him that she might yield anymore than he would. So it was with that sudden understanding of strange kinship that the Hound struck again and again and again, each blow one that might have shattered bones even though the armor, yet somehow his foe was not broken as she did her best to guard against blows she couldn't see.
Tough as nails this one...
Suddenly the point of the razor thin sword came straight at his face tearing though his right cheek not two inches form cutting out his eye.
Just because she can't see you doesn't mean she can hear the clanking of your armor, Sandor thought to himself, the realization of his own carelessness cutting deeper than the steel.
The scared warrior returned the favor his sword smashing into her ribs so hard the armor creaked and warped, slipping between the joints of her armor to try to cut and slice tendons. Somehow she managed to twist and turn enough that no single blow could froce her down, but Sandor could feel she was getting tired, the sands were running red more with her blood than his.
Finally she managed to find the time to rub the last of the grip out of, bloodshot eyes looking out at him from that pretty face twisted into a mask of cold rage. "You fight well man of the West, but your tools betray you," she hissed, her voice catching in pain as she lunged in a mad attack
What the fuck... Sandor's thought was cut off by the sudden screech as the strange witch-sword cut
though his sword just as he was bringing it down on her shoulder.
Leto's left hand hung limply at her side, but now Sandor was fighting with a length of blade little bigger than a dagger. A curse forced its way though his gritted teeth, not at the woman before him, she had warned him
twice, but at the bloody blacksmith who couldn't make a proper fucking sword.
Her strength all but spent the warrior woman launched a final frenzied attack, even as the broken blade cut a gouge though her neck even as Sandor heard her injured shoulder slipping and grinding further out of its place... the witch sword cut and cut, between the joints and though the padding as the Hound's blood flowed free over the sands and his head started to feel as light as though he had just put away three bottles of wine.
With the last of his flagging strength he charged turning the broken sword backwards and striking his foe full in the face with the heavy iron pummel.
It was all Sandor could do not to collapse into the sands after her. He had won.
"Shut the fuck!" he rumbled dizzily at the cheering crowd, holding his aching head.
OOC: The thing with the sand Sandor did was modded using Dirty Tricks from pathfinder. Sandor has a bunch of feats centered around them. Also for anyone wondering he is currently at 3 HP and Leto is at -1. That is how close this fight was.
