Combatant 2:Lamina Manira
Race: Human
Age: 15
Height: 5’4"
Weight: 108lbs
Build: Petite
Hair colour: Brown
Eye colour: Green
Distinguishing Features: Scar across right shoulder
Weapons: Schiavona, a venetian dueling sword with basket-hilt and straight blade.
Armour: Sleeveless black battledress of hardened cotton armor, boots with exterior steel toes
Clothing: Red ribbon tied to left elbow, hanging free in the wind. Black nylons covering her legs from the hem of her skirt to her boots. Beads and feather at the sidelong topknot tied from her head, though the majority of her hair hangs down just past her shoulderblades, unbrushed.
Physical limits: Lamina is small and fragile.

She stood within the circle of men, their presence quite unnerving to the small teenage girl. With eyes narrowed, she was clearly distressed, though without hesitation she draws her blade, pointing it at a diagonal angle with the tip toward the opponent's eyes. Her feet were an easy shoulder's width apart, a slight contortion of angle favoring her right side, the left arm chambered above her weapon's scabbard at her hip, it's corresponding shoulder back from the opponent.
"En garde."

So began the deathly waltz of blades.
Lamina dashed forward, her final step toward the opponent deviating in angle as she maneuvered toward the opponent's left flank, her right foot leading her stance as she issued forth a gentle thrust toward Richard's left ankle. Her left hand, clenched in a fist just by the upper end of her scabbard, took ahold of the leatherbound sheath for reasons unknown, her left leg tensing in anticipation of what she expected would be his counterattack.
At this point in geometry, she had maneuvered just aside Richard's sword, which had been pointed forward and now extended past her left side.

Good try, but poor execution. The uppercut would have dislocated the small girl's jaw and laid her out flat; however, Richard's backwards step in order to avoid the feebly thrust schiavona was quite counter-productive, severely diminished the power and effectiveness of the strike as he moved in the opposite direction of his fist. Lamina's left leg had already tensed--a preparation for a second motion of footwork that took her swiftly aside, shoving her off in another forward-right diagonal step that accompanied the slightest contortion of her torso in the opposite direction, allowing her to "face him" still. With the forward motion of the maneuver, she did not allow Richard the range he attempted to gain on her.
In harmonious synchronization, her right arm brought the schiavona into a truly committed upward strike angled somewhat across her torso. With the initial thrust quite feeble and insignificant, there was little inertia standing in the way of her deviating her sword's angle. Her strike, an upward swiping motion, aimed to catch her opponent just beneath the left armpit as he re-chambered his striking arm whilst mid-step, a point where armor was weak or nonexistent and would come in contact with the foible, or upper end of her sword--the sharpest and quickest portion of the blade. Swiftly executed as this was, her own counter-attack should prove effective in ending the fight in a sudden and bloody--but nonlethal--manner.

Richard twisted leftward in the nick of time, receiving a negligible cut that stained the schiavona's tip crimson, though for the most part he had wiggled away and her sword's tip extended nearly vertically upward. With Richard's twist he went to elbow her in a back-hand like motion. This was when Lamina ducked, simultaneously moving her right arm across her chest to pull the schiavona down vertically parallel with the left side of her body. The result? Richard's wildly swinging limb may come into sharp contact with the deadly edge of her blade, as the lower, unsharpened end of her sword just above it's basket hilt--the area known as the ricasso, struck against the incoming thrust aimed at her midsection. The leverage imposed by the lower end of her sword against the upper end of his should result in leverage enough to guide the jabbing tip out past her left flank, effectively parrying the blow.

She felt the blade dig into the flesh of the man's arm. Instantaneously, her right foot lashed upward to strike hard in a snap-kick to the solar-plexus, a point below the sternum that should result in the temporary paralysis induced by the sensation of being "winded." Lamina was legitimately surprised--impressed, almost--with the opponent's resolve to continue. The sheer tissue trauma and bleeding alone would have immediately incapacitated most opponents, though this was no matter. The girl's kick would drive herself backwards, having struck a heavier and sturdier opponent, Lamina hopping back a couple times to distance herself from the man. His counter-attack was of little issue as well. Her left hand, which had clenched the upper end of the scabbard previously, lifted the leatherbound sheath to form a defensive brace against the left side of her body, against which the opponent's sword struck will a dull thud before she dipped out of range.
Now at a safe distance, she allowed the opponent's trauma to begin to supplement the adrenaline. It was unlikely that he'd be able to continue after making the realization of just what had happened to his body.
The circle of men fell silent in shock of what had happened. Now the only sound was the pitter-patter of the rain on various weapons and armor, washing the blood from her sword.

"Are you done?" She said in a low stoic tone, just loud enough for her opponent and the nearby men to hear.

"So... you want to die."
She had given him a chance to call it quits. The tourniquet would slow the bleeding, but the trauma would only take time to set in. Richard could not keep fighting forever.
She rose her blade, taking her original stance with the tip of her sword pointed between the opponent's eyes. Her right foot led her stance, left shoulder falling back at a shallow angle from her opponent. Now she awaited, uncharacteristically taking the defensive. She wanted to give him time to realize what a mistake he was making--or take full responsibility for the decision to attack her again.
Silence, aside from the rain and wind in the trees... a painfully awkward stare-down ensues.

" ... Give up. You won't win. I don't want to kill you in front of all these men."

Stoic, she stood statuesque in the wind. She knew he was hesitant, running strategies through his head but unable to attack. She'd draw out the moment as long as she could, playing on his psyche.

This was it. He had made his decision.
When Richard stepped past her peripheral vision, she turned to face him, pivoting in place just before he came at her viciously with the knife. The mud stuck to her boots, though by simply turning in place there wasn't much effort expended in the motion. Certainly not any more than the attempt at arcing around her back.
Her opponent's second mistake was the loss of his sword. He was attempting to bring the fight to closer quarters, but this did not phase Lamina's strategy. As the man attacked her, moving in for the kill, Lamina brought her sword into a vicious arc that intercepted the oncoming swing at the elbow. She'd half-step back if necessary, remaining at range, utilizing the length of her sword and the "locked" inertia of her opponent's swing to allow a full-on cut into the oncoming arm--with potency necessary to sever the limb in two.

And relinquish her weapon she did, a second step backwards following the first in rapid succession. There was no friction that flesh held against the slick wet blade of her sword, so when she went to pull her weapon back it'd slide with her. Simultaneously she rose the hilt, expertly bringing the elegant and defensive basket-hilt against the opponent's knife, allowing it to strike nigh harmlessly against the quillion with a whimsical clatter. And then?
Pow!
As the opponent had closed the distance so much and had been focused on attacking even through all his pain and trauma, the young girl brought her knee into an unforgiving strike to the man's groin. Humiliating as it might be, at least Lamina still retained from lethal force despite their exchange of actions and words.

Whether he intended to feint or not, she stepped back and battered the forte of her blade at the man's knife intentionally, aiming to strike it hard from his hand as he deftly switched around his grip. While his fingers may receive minor lacerations, her intent was to disarm the man of his knife whilst his grip went slack mid-swap before he could go in for another strike. From here, should she be successful, she'd point her sword to the opponent, it's cold razor tip gently touching the bottom of Richard's chin. By this gesture, she meant to say it was over--and that she truly meant no harm.
"Give up."