On the one hand, Tyzias really didn't want to out herself. On the other, if she could trust anybody with a secret, it's Dust. And he's already figured it out, or most of it at any rate, so...
Click. Through the smoke of Tyzias's flames, Dust can see the troll roll her shoulders. Then, in a flash of blue pixels, two swords are in her hands.
One is pure and white, sleek, smooth. Beautiful. It's a hero's sword, looking more like the ideal of a sword than a physical object. Caledfwlch.
The other is black and a deep, dark, mesmerizing purple. It's spiked, brutal, and seems to warp the air ever so slightly around it. The blade seems to be made almost out of a living thing: scales and horns and fangs and claws all formed into an instrument of destruction. It isn't as polite at Caledfwlch, announcing its name for all to hear, and it thrums with a silent menace.
Tyzias doesn't have time for theatrics. She moves with a graceful fluidity, not an iota of energy wasted, not a millimeter out of place. As the drake is distracted by Dust, Tyzias darts behind it and begins... well. Unlike Dust, who has been likened to a "three-dimensional buzzsaw," her swordfighting style is simple. Efficient. And terrifying. No frills, no unnecessary flair. It's not poetry in motion, it's too brutal for that. Her swordplay is butchery, in the classic sense: calculated, practiced blows, in the exact right place at the exact right time until the job's done.
Caledfwlch and Dragon's Spine are perfectly suited to the job, of course. Caledfwlch is meant to bypass perfect immortality clauses and is crafted partially from the essence of one of the few beings capable of obliterating ghosts, while Dragon's Spine was created from the corpse of the Calamity Dragon and is ever so efficient at slaying its kin.
And yet... yet. It almost seems like Tyzias is bored. She's barely paying the beast any mind and looks more irritated that she was forced to show her hand early than anything else. In more modern parlance, she's ten-percenting this fight.
no subject
Click. Through the smoke of Tyzias's flames, Dust can see the troll roll her shoulders. Then, in a flash of blue pixels, two swords are in her hands.
One is pure and white, sleek, smooth. Beautiful. It's a hero's sword, looking more like the ideal of a sword than a physical object. Caledfwlch.
The other is black and a deep, dark, mesmerizing purple. It's spiked, brutal, and seems to warp the air ever so slightly around it. The blade seems to be made almost out of a living thing: scales and horns and fangs and claws all formed into an instrument of destruction. It isn't as polite at Caledfwlch, announcing its name for all to hear, and it thrums with a silent menace.
Tyzias doesn't have time for theatrics. She moves with a graceful fluidity, not an iota of energy wasted, not a millimeter out of place. As the drake is distracted by Dust, Tyzias darts behind it and begins... well. Unlike Dust, who has been likened to a "three-dimensional buzzsaw," her swordfighting style is simple. Efficient. And terrifying. No frills, no unnecessary flair. It's not poetry in motion, it's too brutal for that. Her swordplay is butchery, in the classic sense: calculated, practiced blows, in the exact right place at the exact right time until the job's done.
Caledfwlch and Dragon's Spine are perfectly suited to the job, of course. Caledfwlch is meant to bypass perfect immortality clauses and is crafted partially from the essence of one of the few beings capable of obliterating ghosts, while Dragon's Spine was created from the corpse of the Calamity Dragon and is ever so efficient at slaying its kin.
And yet... yet. It almost seems like Tyzias is bored. She's barely paying the beast any mind and looks more irritated that she was forced to show her hand early than anything else. In more modern parlance, she's ten-percenting this fight.