Quote:
Originally Posted by Ask Jarvan IV
Jarvan felt the familiar satisfaction of meeting the resistance of flesh and bone as his weapon tore into Riven's side, the extended end retracting immediately. He drew his arm back as Riven moved back, clearly to gain distance. By taking the distance, she was not only allowing herself a period of recovery and planning, she was allowing him the same. And by putting distance between them, she was creating a gap that she would need to close again in order to gain any sort of upper hand, as Jarvan held advantage with a lance.
Quickly taking a short hop back himself, the prince pondered his options. Attacking from a distance was the smart thing to do - Riven's weapon had nearly no range to it and would be unable to strike back. However, at that range his strikes would be easy to avoid, and she could take advantage of her speed to close the distance in a heartbeat if he miscalculated. If he brought the fight in close, his lance would prove difficult to utilize, but the shortsword at his waist would prove effective. Knowing himself to be by far physically stronger, he considered the option of of simply getting her in a hold or on the ground somehow, though that would be difficult to accomplish with her nimbleness. Jarvan scowled, wishing for a moment that he could enjoy the battle more rather than think so much.
Opting for neither of his options, Jarvan decided to attempt to create another opening. Reaching behind his back, he pulled of his standards out. He paused briefly to consider the standard, eyes lingering on the flag that hung from the end, bearing the colors of Demacia. Drawing an arm back, he took a step forward and hurled it at Riven.
|
Riven watched the spear fly toward her, carrying the banner of Demacia. It was a strange, almost surrealistic moment. The Prince could simply attack her from beyond her reach, and despite her speed, his armor would soak the blows meant to wear him down and deal damage. On top of that, his shield could knock her around, and he hadn't even used his Cataclysm ability yet. The realization that she was virtually powerless against him was setting in, and it burned Riven to the core, until a pulse of something off to her right caught her attention... Her sword...
The green rune was glowing with energy so bright it was almost blinding to look at. Her sword was speaking to her, calling to her. She could feel it. The prince was fighting with all he was, and yet, she was holding back. Why? What was she afraid of? Losing? She'd lost before under far more dangerous situations. She was not useless... Who cared if she had to unleash all her strength to prove to everyone what she was capable of? Did that make her any more weak than being defeated because she refused to give it her all? Would she dance around and take pot-shots against Jericho Swain? Would she hold back against General Darius? No, she would forge her sword anew, and she would bring every ounce of her power to bear upon them. And as the Demacian Standard sailed through the air toward her, Riven understood that, in order to prove anything, she would have to let go of her fear of defeat, her fear of loss...and fight with everything she had.
Riven jumped backward several more feet as the Standard landed on the very spot upon which she had stood not a few seconds before. It was time to show the Crown Prince of Demacia the strength that was going to change Noxus, and save it from itself. In a flash, Riven held her blade up to the sky above, green energy thundering free from her body as the lines of energy crackled and traced the shape of her blade's true size, and with a powerful battle cry that shredded the earth below her feet, throwing it away in all directions, the full might of her Blade of the Exile was unleashed, a pulse of green power erupting away as her eyes burned with green light.
No more running, no more playing around. She would fight with every ounce of power she had at her disposal. Whatever happened, would happen, but she would not allow herself to be held back by her own fear and inhibitions in this fight any longer. The Prince would fall, or she would, but if it was to be her, she would do her damnedest to give him a fight he would remember until the end of his days. As Riven stood across from Jarvan, blade crackling with power, eyes locked upon him, the move was his to make. Instead of forcing HER to attack HIM, he'd have the "honor" of making the first move...
