Tales of a Ninja Magician: Of Journeys We Make

Handicaps

Skaven and his challenger took off at each other at the same time, almost as if they were men of the same blood. Brothers in arms, of a sort. Both started out with the same move as well, taking it up and throwing a backward sole stamp while turning. The Sharp Palm was a subtle style, a scalpel amongst stones, swords, and hammers. This particular move was the lone hammer in the fold–an opener of even the stoutest defenses so that the fearsome assassination style could reign free.

Much to his surprise, it was Skaven who flew back and fell flat on his back, doing his best to repurpose the momentum into a back roll. Such was truly the case that the skill of both him and his challenger was on par. The deciding factor of this collision wasn't a difference in skill. It was brute strength. This dandy ginger just threw a meaner foot stamp, that was all. That was why Skaven flew back and his opponent fumbled back on his feet and salvaged his descent, rushing in to exploit his opening.

A loud pop demanded Skaven's attention as he hustled to get into a proper stance to defend himself. It came from something that hid behind a cloud of dust at the moment but when a stiff, hardwood object swung with the aerial shriek of a mallet in-motion and socked Skaven right in the back of his head, jerking his belfry downward, the challenger literally hammered the point of his fighting style of choice inside of Skaven's head.

"A cane?" Skaven thought to himself. "The man fights with a walking cane?"

Seeing how such a crude yet simple tool, not meant for the task at hand, was not sufficient for bringing Skaven down entirely. The dapper challenger kicked with his left leg, aiming low. A stiff shot at the back of the middle section of his right leg tripped Skaven up and further squandered his balance. That was when the air began brushing against Skaven's hair and ears and his head began wringing. Only the pain in the Nara's chin reminded the punk of the flawless backflip kick that his opponent performed before striking a pose with his cane. Just an inch away from landing, the classy man swung again in an uppercut, as if aiming to cut Skaven through in half with his walking stick.

Skaven coughed up blood as if felt like his eyes and his teeth would check out and walk away right out of his sockets and mouth. The Nara grunted down on his knees as he clutched his busted gut while his challenger swung his cane around and deposited it under his armpit, punching and kicking from the shoulder with a stout sense of balance to his footing. Skaven hadn't met a hand-to-hand combatant with such perfect footwork. While important, footwork was more essential to swordsmen rather than brawlers who could grapple from a low position or perform acrobatics from high and didn't rely nearly as much on balance for perfect execution of their techniques.

Tossing his cane up into the air with a showy manner, the dapper gent grabbed hold of the other end of it and strut onward, swinging it around bravely, intending to knock Skaven out with his walking tool. It became difficult to follow the flurry of strikes as Skaven stumbled back, seeing stars from the various points of impact. With each strike, the cane let out a gruesome thud that appeared to test its own integrity at all times. Had it not been for chakra coating, such brutish impact would have shattered the cane into shreds needle-thin.

The man wasn't entirely without a flaw in his form. However, Skaven caught a moment when he delivered an upper strike, rising from the floor to the bottom of Skaven's chin. While the Nara punk took the impact and fell the despicable, iron taste of blood in his mouth from it while the crunch of it shook up the teeth in his gums from their roots, the trajectory was flawed for it allowed Skaven to reestablish his own sense of balance and stand back up on the ground in term of the footwork of his own. Immediately after this strike the Nara shifted his feet around and brought himself back into the bash.

With a rushing upper palm strike, Skaven disoriented his opponent, smacked his head back, and distracted his eyes just for a moment. Skaven knew it wouldn't last, for he had just recovered from just such an assault. That was why the Nara used his hard-earner time of his opponent's daze better by jumping up and sole-butting with a spinning sole stamp, shattering his opponent's stance at once while Skaven jabbed with his palms as if they were the tips of knives that he was relentlessly thrusting at the throat of the spry sir.