This damn stubborn fool simply wouldn't quit. In a way, Torleik respected him for that - to have such a tenacity of spirit that even death would not stop you...it was everything an honorable warrior should be. But at some point, that hardheaded nature was only foolish; that never quit attitude drove you to your death; that inability to concede defeat nailed your coffin shut; the mentality of all or nothing pushed your existence to nothing but a mere legend, a whisper on the next generation's lips - if you were lucky.

This child was not made for such a fate. Torleik knew they both could see that. Why would he not simply let it be? Let the course of his destiny take him as it should? He felt sorry for Ashamin because whatever drove him must have been worth dying for, in the lighter one's mind, but it didn't seem a positive fixation. If anything, the Bloodskald saw nothing but sadness written all over the broken, bleeding form he was still, for some reason, engaging. The young one's words made him snort in the same moment his thick head shook in disbelief watching his opponent try again to attack.

"The only two here to witness this battle are you and I - and I am not the one heaping shame upon you," he snapped. "Your self-loathing is going to get you killed you damn fool! If not by my hand, then by someone far less self-retrained than myself!" The anger building inside him at the idiocy of all of this helped spur his effort to summon the magic he'd only ever used perhaps once or twice in his life, bending the weather to his will and raining it down upon anyone close enough to feel it. The sting of the sharp, pelting hail felt cleansing to the Bloodskald's soul and he remained within the radius of wrath that his magic had wrought, glacial eyes tracking his spent attacker as Ashamin shambled by.

A flail of that long appendage behind the boy looked like some manner of attack but it could hardly be classified as such, given that it missed entirely, and Torleik frowned. This should have ended long ago. There was no need for any of this. When Ashamin looked back, his gaze empty and searching and drowning in doubt and pain, the rabicano remembered why he, too, threw himself into physical pain rather than let hurt eat him up from the inside out.

Physical pain was an anchor. It could be intensified, mollified, avoided, stopped. The pain that nestled its way deep inside, grew roots into the nooks and crannies of your soul and pulsed with each beat of your heart...no man could stand against it. Not completely. He knew that no matter what he said, this fool child would take it as pity, but didn't he still have to try?

"You have given everything of yourself in this battle. There is no shame in that. Defeat is not a shame - cowardice is, and you have proven quite clearly you are no coward," the viking informed his opponent. "But it is over. The fight is done. This...this is not worth your life, and I will not take it from you even if you should choose to press on."

For once, let the child listen!

@[Ashamin]

WC: (561 in word) || Attack (3/3) || Closing defense (1/1)

Summary: Ashamin's last attack misses, so Torleik simply stands there within the boundaries of his own storm, the sting of the hail not causing him damage other than slight pain. He hopes that the battle is finally over, and tries to tell Ashamin he's fought admirably.