(Scars do not appear to be cause of death –shock ... - Bad Request

motions, knowing the frailties of their patchwork armor. A thrust of his
black-edged blade parted flesh and bone like a hot knife through butter, an
upward slash slit the rogue from navel to nose. The man's guts sloshed to
the dusty earth, and a merciful stroke of that karach blade ceased the
agonized twitching.
Dak'kon moved with unparalleled purpose: he turned just enough for a
dagger to glance off his armor, he sliced with such precision that not an
ounce of strength he used was more than necessary. Each drop of sweat he
shed, each splash of blood he scattered across the paved streets was done
with the same divine focus that brought order to chaos, that forged a
razor-edged blade from the proto-matter of Limbo. His swirling forms, one
hand firmly twisting the blade, one palm smoothly guiding the shaft,
brought a spiral of death into the cramped confines where his walls were
the armor of his enemies, his barriers their flesh.
It was the Art of War, in its purest form.
My humble dagger twisted clumsily in my grip, the tip chipped and the edge
long dulled by the armor and bone of my foes. The first rogue lay dead at my
feet, the second leapt at me, hoping to score a lucky hit across the neck or
through my unprotected chest to force a victory as quick as death.
The dagger handle had already grown slick with blood in my grip, and with a
clumsy parry it twisted from my fingers. The thief looked up at me with a
smug smile of victory on his face. Taking down an unarmored opponent
would be simple.
That is, if your opponent feared a death-wound.
The man let out an ululating shriek, leaping forward with a quick slash and a
thrust. I embraced the blood-wet steel like I would a harsh lover, and as he
pulled it from my belly with a squelch and a spurt of blood, I grabbed his
skull. With a twist and a snap, it was over.
I coughed, the iron tang of gore filling my mouth. I really shouldn't use this
strategy too much.
I turned to join Dak'kon in the fray, and in the confused melee a meaty hand
grasped my neck.
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