Board Thread:Roleplay/@comment-25808351-20180615005427/@comment-25808351-20180709193011

(BT/Doc) Marcus lunges toward Jorge with greatswords drawn. He bolts up to Jorge with all the speed and vigor his legends speak of. With a first swing of his left greatsword, Jorge lifts his shield high and forces the blade to glide over his head, but Marcus’ uses the momentum and swivels his body hard. The souls of his grind over the stone floor grinding small debris and kicking up dirt. His right greatsword comes in fast on Jorge’s left.

The battle hardened knight drives his blade down into the stone floor, forming a wall that stops Marcus’ second attack. The blades clash in a sea of sparks that illuminate the dark hall for an instant. Marcus was caught of balance by this. Jorge takes immediate advantage. Like the Order legionnaires of old, he fronts his great wall of a shield and drives it forward, pushing Marcus away. While the Wardog tries to catch his footing to keep from falling over, Jorge charges forward.

Marcus turns just in time to see Jorge at full sprint, shield raised like a weapon. It is too late to do anything but accept what is going to happen. Jorge shouts and thrusts his shield forward as throwing a punch. The towershield slams into Marcus’ face, blood and spit blast from his lips and nose, a shockwave crosses the floor to the every corner of the room. The pillars shake, and the loose debris on the floor trembles in this moment.

Jorge can see it, Marcus’ glowing irises fade. They lose their beautiful illumination, his expression one of zero thought. Most likely he is unconscious from the attack. Marcus lifts off the ground and sent clear across the room, crashing through one of the pillars lining the hall. He slams into the wall behind, as he hits the floor the collapsing pillar topples onto him. Burying him beneath stone. Marcus’ greatswords lay on the ground where he once was. Jorge’s attack knocked Marcus silly enough to dislodge the swords from his grip.

The room goes quiet. The debris as settled, Marcus is buried. There is no sound from anything, accept the distant cracks of Alburn’s rifle. Armata lands beside Jorge, staring at the pile of broken stone. Only Marcus’ right hand is visible from the rubble.

“Well struck.” He looks to Jorge with a smirk.