He heard the scream on the edge of his consciousness, but Aurin had no opportunity to check on the woman’s progress with her own opponents. His focus was on the man in front of him. The Templar had taken several stinging hits, but his armor had protected him from the brunt of the damage. He needed a different tactic to use against the swiftly moving dual wielder in front of him. His eyes followed not the weapon the man weaved in front of himself, but the man’s eyes and shoulders. His own sword was steady in front of him, the killing tip of the weapon angled slightly up.
Steel rang off of steel as the man came in again. The longsword went high and towards his face, the killing dagger staying back and ready to strike like the fangs of a snake. He ducked under the blade of the sword, intentionally leaving an opening at the less well protected joint in his armor. The swordsman took to opportunity to do exactly what he should have done. The dagger came slipping forwards, hoping to find the joint in the armor and rip into the tender muscles underneath.
Aurin was expecting this.
He shifted at the last moment, the deadly short blade meeting flesh for only a moment. It was a minor wound, and it wouldn’t slow him down. The pain helped him focus as he drove the hilt of the claymore into the side of the swordsman’s head. It was a blow that lacked finesse or style, but the effect was both telling and immediate. His opponent stumbled backwards, his gaze unfocused as he attempted to desperately retreat from the Templar. Aurin gave him no chance. The claymore swept up, the thin leather armor his opponent wore hardly gave the weapon pause as it cleaved a deep wound in his belly.
He hardly gave the stricken man a second thought as he turned away from his own fight. His arm burned, but he ignored the pain. Sapphire eyes raked across the fallen men to the towering axe-man that stood laughing and taunting the dark haired woman. He wasn’t about to let her die, since he had gone and involved himself in whatever mess this was.
He gave no warning as he moved swiftly forwards, no call of challenge or demand that he release her. Nothing to give a hint to his approach. His tutors would be ashamed of himself, but he had found out that noble intentions like that usually got people killed. So he came on silently, his weapon raised. He didn’t have the skills like some did to know exactly where to place a blade to do the most damage.
Of course with his preferred weapon he didn’t need too.
The claymore flickered though the air again as he aimed at the berserker’s hip. Even a man that knew no pain had to bow to the laws of nature. Without muscles, tendons, or bone to stand on he would fall. That was what Aurin’s training had taught him at least. In practice he had never fought a berserker before. That thought went though his mind even as the shock of the blade impacting the man’s flesh traveled up his arm.
The weapon was propelled by the tall Templar’s full weight and crashed into the man like a battering ram. He had aimed at the hip opposite the arm that held the elf aloft. He kept the blade steady, even as it ripped into the berserkers’ leg, the limb growing limp and unresponsive and the man starting to tumble over. A roar escaped the laughing man’s throat as he was struck unexpectedly. It wasn’t a sound of pain, but of rage.