[Altaïr tenses, shifts in place; he'd tell the other man to be careful, or wish him luck, but they're far past any of that. He's chosen to fight, and Altaïr will respect that enough not to patronize him.
The next wave of ghouls is upon them and he falls into the rhythm of combat immediately, his awareness sharpened by the knowledge that fighting dead men is not like fighting the living, and he can't fully rely on his experience. His sword arm is steady, his blade sharp, but numbers are numbers and they could easily be overwhelmed if they're not focused.
At one point he spots a particularly vicious-looking ghoul lunging for the other man, who's occupied with his own combatants, and darts between them to take it out — his arm brushing against his companion as he does. What Altaïr doesn't know, or perhaps can't, is what that touch and his presence imbue: a vision of death, vividly powerful despite not being real. At least not yet.]
no subject
[Altaïr tenses, shifts in place; he'd tell the other man to be careful, or wish him luck, but they're far past any of that. He's chosen to fight, and Altaïr will respect that enough not to patronize him.
The next wave of ghouls is upon them and he falls into the rhythm of combat immediately, his awareness sharpened by the knowledge that fighting dead men is not like fighting the living, and he can't fully rely on his experience. His sword arm is steady, his blade sharp, but numbers are numbers and they could easily be overwhelmed if they're not focused.
At one point he spots a particularly vicious-looking ghoul lunging for the other man, who's occupied with his own combatants, and darts between them to take it out — his arm brushing against his companion as he does. What Altaïr doesn't know, or perhaps can't, is what that touch and his presence imbue: a vision of death, vividly powerful despite not being real. At least not yet.]