Evading a two-handed strike, Aramap stepped back, thrusting his spear forward, steel grinding against steel, sparks flying as the strike was diverted along the entire length of the broad, executioner's sword.
Erestel's blade was broad enough to serve as a functioning shield, the first knight realised this early, the undead fond of never stepping back, whether he was attacking or defending, the grasping knight would always be taking steps forward, and when the living tried to make distance…
One hand left the handle, grabbing onto thin air, unlike the poor folks that had guarded the western gate, Aramap was able of seeing the spectral force wielded by the undead, taking the form of a translucent, pale, heavy mist, looking like the air in a warm desert, the time in between Erestel holding out his hand and the mysterious force manifesting was basically instantaneous, but the simple fact that there was a movement to be done before it took hold was enough for Aramap to evade.
