This wasn't good. Rangar felt clumsy and stupid next to all these seasoned fighters. Where had all these wild men come from? He parried a blow meant for his neck and struck out with his fist. Stupid! He thought to himself, You have a sword! He dodged another wild man and watched him stagger forwards. That made him feel better, swiinging his blade into the zealous brute.
Despite the fact they company was holding well, the wild men kept on coming. Rangar was tired, he wanted to sleep, but insted he spent his night tumbleing and dodging blows from rusty swords, then thrusting his own. What annoyed him the most, though, was the fact he kept trying to punch and kick his foes insteed of stabbing them. As yet another wild man lunged at him, he stept right and found himself clinging to a saddle. Without thought or hesitation he climbed up, mostly to avoid another strick from the cannible. Things are much easier from five feet up he thought as he quickly paried a blow.
Maybe this wasn't as bad as I thought. But, then again, how much worse can you get when you've got a pack of wild men after you
[ May 04, 2003: Message edited by: Arvedui III ]
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