With each strike, each blow, she responded in kind with a direct block or tight parry. This was relaxing despite the aggression that filled the air, the cracking ring of the blades connecting. As they neared the dummy, she side stepped the manikin and observed his vicious decaptitation of it, allowing him to reconcile himself before preparing an offensive. She wondered to whom his rage was centered, but felt no sympathy for whoever that must have been - to incur the wrath of those of such power was foolish enough without them being skilled in combat as well.
At his challenging gesture, she quirked an eyebrow, flashing a wry half-smile. He seemed to be enjoying himself, at least, thats what she often felt when she felt cocky enough to throw a silent or verbal jab at an opponent. Alas, she obliged, he may have been a man, but the difference between them was she had never forgotten the taste of true warfare, while perhaps he - cooped up for many months on end within a grand castle- would have forgotten the true savagery that came with even the most chivalrous of individuals.
So she allowed herself to fall into that mindset, akin to drawing a helm over her head. With a swift exhale, she began to press the offensive. Her movement seeming utterly chaotic through cutting-slashes at his extremities and the occasional feign or swift forward thrust. Without sleeves nor heavy pauldrons and vambraces to impede her movement, her strokes were astonishingly swift, akin to a viper's strike and weave. The General kept her blade close, never over reaching nor overbalancing herself- clearly putting on a balanced dance of defensive capability and offensive skill. She enjoyed this freedom, but without the security of the heavy armor, she felt as if she was without skin, utterly naked.... Which, thankfully, she was not- but still... the swift movements idly tossed some of the decorative stones embedded upon her skin- akin to water spraying from surf- not that it truly mattered to her, of course.