Without magic, there really would be no contest: Simple physics dictates Simon would win the ensuing fight. Even with magic, Myr's limited to a defensive posture, unable to watch his opponent for openings he might attack. The best he can do is wait for Simon to make a mistake in close enough quarters he can capitalize on it--and do everything in his power to increase the chances of such a mistake occurring.
The barrier serves him in good stead there, blunting the speed and force of Simon's initial strike--and telegraphing its position to Myr. He knocks it away easily enough, converts his momentum to a warning swipe in Simon's direction, and retreats back to his defensive posture all in the spam of a breath. One, he counts silently, marking off how long he's got before his barrier is completely depleted--and not liking his quick mental figuring on the matter. Simon's a lot stronger than the last live opponent he faced; if this struggle were in earnest, he'd have very little time to find his opening and take advantage of it.
That first contact sets the shape of the whole match: Simon on relentless offense, chipping away at his opponent's defenses or all-too-often sneaking blows through them; Myr stubbornly standing his ground, blocking what he can, enduring what he can't, and retaliating with bruising force when a rare weakness presents itself. He fights like he's long accustomed to opponents who're larger than he is; no surprise, given he's small even for an elf.
None of those openings are the opportunity he's been waiting for, none until his barrier finally flickers and dies, and Simon rightly drives in to finish the fight. Myr binds up the templar's "blade" with his staff and steps in under the larger man's guard, miming drawing his spirit blade and skewering Simon through the gut.
"Got you." It's not a "fatal" blow and he's out of moves, but it's something. He'll take whatever comes after this with grace.
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The barrier serves him in good stead there, blunting the speed and force of Simon's initial strike--and telegraphing its position to Myr. He knocks it away easily enough, converts his momentum to a warning swipe in Simon's direction, and retreats back to his defensive posture all in the spam of a breath. One, he counts silently, marking off how long he's got before his barrier is completely depleted--and not liking his quick mental figuring on the matter. Simon's a lot stronger than the last live opponent he faced; if this struggle were in earnest, he'd have very little time to find his opening and take advantage of it.
That first contact sets the shape of the whole match: Simon on relentless offense, chipping away at his opponent's defenses or all-too-often sneaking blows through them; Myr stubbornly standing his ground, blocking what he can, enduring what he can't, and retaliating with bruising force when a rare weakness presents itself. He fights like he's long accustomed to opponents who're larger than he is; no surprise, given he's small even for an elf.
None of those openings are the opportunity he's been waiting for, none until his barrier finally flickers and dies, and Simon rightly drives in to finish the fight. Myr binds up the templar's "blade" with his staff and steps in under the larger man's guard, miming drawing his spirit blade and skewering Simon through the gut.
"Got you." It's not a "fatal" blow and he's out of moves, but it's something. He'll take whatever comes after this with grace.