Tycondrius' back smashed onto the ground, forcing him to expel the air in his lungs and wish he had feigned injury and stayed at camp. Falling back to his survival instincts, he activated his ⌈Tumble⌋ movement technique to pull his arm away, rolling to his feet to barely avoid a skull-crushing stomp.
"Cunning..." The orc growled as he flourished what remained of his curved blade. "You'd have made a fine Orcish warrior."
Tycon grabbed onto his dislocated shoulder and painfully jammed it back into place, "Oh, shut the hells up, you green-skinned battle maniac."
Garock chuckled as he raised his broken sword once more... "Make peace with your gods, warrior Tycondrius."
"I'd rather not. I don't like him much." Tycon shook his head as he circulated his mana for another skill, "⌈Shadowfang Strike.⌋"
