Tristitia says, "I don't think so, Legbreaker. It's much too pretty a manuscript for your sausage hands."

You say angrily, "Sausa...enough! Come, Legs. Let me properly introduce myself!"

You have emoted: Vakvyr swings a flail above his head to gain momentum as he steps forward. Instead of staying high, he pulls it down low to sweep at, of course, Tristitia's legs.

Tristitia jumps back, the skittish rogue obviously having a lot of experience in evading danger. "Yipes! I need those, you know!" She gives one last attempt at the trident thing, lunging clumsily forward with it.

You have emoted: Vakvyr follows with his momentum as best he can and pulls it upward with a grunt, swinging the chain of his flail upward until it would catch the shaft. As the ball follows up and around, he jerks his hand aside in an attempt to entangle the trident and pull it from the woman's hands.

Tristitia loses her trident quite easily, as would be expected. She leaps to her right and retrieves a coiled whip from beneath her cloak. "Now you've done it, Legbreaker. Little did you know I am actually a serpent!" She snaps the whip in the air, attempting to send the very tip of the lash across your cheek.

You have emoted: Rather than make any attempt to dodge, Vakvyr rushes forward, taking the lash on his cheek with a grimace and nothing more. This time, he swings both flails up and over to bring them crashing down toward Tristitia's neck.

Tristitia shrieks in surprise and is only able to dodge one of the flails as she evades, taking one hit squarely in the back. Rather than meeting mail or flesh, however tearing of fabric and a clang of metal is heard. Tristitia staggers and her shield falls from her back. As she gathers it up in her arms, her rattlesnake slithers from her pack and advances on you with the intent to deliver a venomous bite.

You have emoted: Vakvyr does seem to care about the rattlesnake. Instead of following up on his successful hit, he pulls back to avoid any bites. When he feels he is at a proper distance, he twirls his right flail rapidly and then quickly lurches forward while he pulls the handle down hard, attempting to bring the ball down on the snake's head to devastating effect. For now, Tristitia doesn't seem to matter.

Tristitia panics when she sees that the rattlesnake is in danger. She lashes her whip forward with full strength to wrap around his attacking arm and deflect his motion enough to miss the undulating creature. If successful, a sharp whistle from Tristitia causes the snake to return to her.

You have emoted: Vakvyr is compelled to follow his momentum again by nature of his weapons and is easily pushed aside, almost collapsing to the ground in the process. He steels his face and begins twirling both his flails at a moderate pace. He stands still as he asks, "Am I to remain on offense then? Or are you capable, thief?"

Tristitia seems susceptible to the taunt and she presses the attack. She holds her shield arm as far before her as she can, and sends her swift lash toward you in a potentially devastating strike to his midsection.

You have emoted: Vakvyr swings his right foot out and backward to quickly turn sideways and then braces his fully armored left arm tight against his body to intercept the whip. On impact, he swings his right hand down and pulls it up sharply in an attempt to swing the ball of his flail under Tristitia's shield and up toward her torso or arm or whatever happens to be there.

Tristitia might thank the goddess she prays to for having enough presence of mind to hold her shield away from her. She yanks her whip back while she staggers again, losing hold of her shield completely but just barely sparing her arm. She sends her lash toward him once again, but this time accompanies the action with an illusion of a blinding flash of light.

You have emoted: Vakvyr falls for the illusion and flinches, his tight stance loosening a little. Specifically, his 'shield' arm ceases to brace and the second lash makes him wince in pain. He growls and pushes forward into a shoulder tackle, but when close instead swings his left flail forward in a powerful arc aimed at Tristitia's chest.

Tristitia only has enough time to begin serpent weaving, and this comes at a great cost to her energy reserves. She avoids a potentially lethal blow to the chest, but takes it fully in the shoulder of her whip arm. She cries out in pain and crumples forward, clearly unfamiliar with this part of battle.

You have emoted: Following with his momentum, Vakvyr spins to his left and brings the flail up and around. When he finishes his turn to face Tristitia, the ball of his flail is already descending hard toward her crumpled form. Suddenly his face blanks and he pulls his flail as hard to the side as he can. The ball just barely misses her and lodges itself halfway into the ground. The move causes him to lose balance and he careens into the ground with a yelp.

Tristitia may have taken a heavy blow, but she gathers herself quickly and transfers the whip to her strongest arm. She leaps onto your back and attempts to slip the whip over his head and get him into a headlock: her own yelp betrays the pain of trying to do so with one battered arm.

You have emoted: Vakvyr's uncertainty is instantly purged when the whip starts around his neck. He grimaces and grabs at the whip, but between his position and the lodged flail is unable to accomplish anything. Staring to panic, he simply throws himself backward into the ground, putting Tristitia between it and his heavy and heavily-armored self.

Tristitia has the breath knocked out of her, but somehow she doesn't release the whip. "You--," she barely pants out, "...concede to me!" She might keep her tenuous grip on the whip, but she has little hope of wriggling out from under her heavy foe.

You have emoted: Vakvyr is starting to strain and he twists around in spot, attempting to grind Tristitia into the ground. "No!" A growl of resolve fills the air as he finally manages to pull the whip just far away enough from his neck to slip a finger between. The growl turns into a yell of effort as he lurches forward and onto his knees, attempting to fling the relatively small woman flying off of him. "I. Have. To win!" Of note, the ball of his flail comes loose.

Tristitia instantly loses grip of the whip from her damaged arm, but it is still held by the handle in her offhand. Her body is flung forward, but she easily somersaults to a standing position once more. She advances immediately, lashing forth with her whip.

You have emoted: Vakvyr shields himself as much as he can by bracing his left arm in front of him again. On impact, he lurches forward and swings his right flail at Tristitia's calves. Success or not, he gets to his feet and steadies himself, panting some.

Tristitia hops to the side, avoiding the blow, but her movement is much clumsier now. Her eyes begin to transfix upon his, and anyone might easily guess what form her next attack will take.

You have emoted: Vakvyr makes the guess and attempts to deny Tristitia her attack by rushing forward and quickly swinging both flails in intercepting arcs set to cross at her midsection.

Tristitia may or may not have sealed any suggestions in your mind, as she is forced to defend herself to his pressing attack. She retreats a weary step, yelping in pain as she still takes a glancing blow across her torso. A small wet splotch appears where her armour seems to have been damaged.

You have emoted: Vakvyr attempts to deny Tristitia any distance and continues his rush, this time trying to drive his shoulder right where her armour had been damage. He tries to keep his eyes away, but he still has to aim.

Tristitia doesn't even manage to take a full step back before the shoulder is driven into her wound. This presses the jagged scale mail into her flesh even further and her blood begins to seep down her clothing. She tumbles back onto the ground, hitting the back of her head heavily upon the forest floor. "Nngh!" she whines and feebly cries out, "Stop!"

You have emoted: Vakvyr drives his heel into the dirt to force himself to a stop. He stares at Tristitia for a moment as if unable to understand. After a few deep breaths, he quietly says, "You're...you're done then?" His grip on his flails remains tight.