Look at him. Watch him move. Swaying this way and that, that way and this. Sometimes crouching small, sometimes standing tall. Reaching out or holding close. Never standing still, never pausing for breath. Two hours now, and yet no sign of weariness. Almost frantic in his moving, leaping, rolling and precise flailing of arms. It is quite beautiful, after a fashion. Moving to a beat no one else can hear, following the path and steps of a … of a dance none but him and his likes know. The battle dance. Unlike most of us he does not fight, he dance. There is no other way to describe it. And where his dance take him, people fall wounded, sometimes dead.
Now a berserker in full rage just stepped into Trelawyns path, let's … ah, one more enemy that will not fight, with his insides spilling out like that.
"Repent!"
Whow … that have to be another Elve battle dancer, for I know of no other on a battle field who'd vault over people like that. Aye, I recognise that spinning. It's a battle dancer, and where the enemy found that one, the First only know.
They've found one another.
Look away, concentrate on what you're doing, or you'll be cut down. Like those others who fall for the enthralling dance of battle-dancers fighting each other.
"Oufh … bastard!"
Never relenting, blows coming faster than human possible, and blocks and parries in place before the strike reached halfway.
"Ha! got you well there, scum."
I wonder how long those two will be at it.
"Today you die, heretic!"
I just hope Trelawyn will make it. I know they show no mercy to enemies, though they might not kill with first blow.
"AAhrg …"
Damned, damned, damned. The bastard got my knee. And no healer in sight, just my luck. Ah well, will give me a moment to watch them... "dance". Well, as long as I look out and doesn't get killed here unable to stand. They are really quite magnificent. Seems Trelawyn have found a match, I see him bleed from a couple of cuts, however his opponent seems worse of.
Yikes … that got to hurt … but … he's still standing? No, he's sagging, and so is his enemy. I wonder why?
Ah, here comes a healer!
"Trelawyn! See to Trelawyn! No! It's just a knee! Look at Trelawyn! Damned it! He's got a sword through his guts! Don't you see?!"
Good, he's going. I hope Trelawyn makes it, Mercy, I hope he makes it alright. He's not much of a friend, but he's a damned fine person. And not only as comrade of the battlefield. Why don't healers get their priorities right? Hmm … He's getting to his feet again. Good. No Trelawyn, no, you're not ready to join the fray again, not now, not this soon. You'll need someone to watch your back until you got your strength back.
"Healer! Healer! Fix my damned knee now. I know, I know, but it's not for my sake!"
Oh, so that's why. Good trade by Trelawyn, even if he'll have to leave his favorite blade in that skull until the battle is over.
"Thanks."
Hold on Trelawyn, here comes your drinking buddy …
-fin-