Andrew drifted on a dark wind. He materialized in the middle of a pitched battle, deep in a desert, sand swirling around him. “AHHH!” A knife flashed down at him and he spun into action. Block, Thrust, retreat, counter, attack, block right, spin out, thrust! The actions ran through his mind like a drill Sargent calling the steps to a dance: harsh, but in rhythm to the battle. As Andrew’s opponent slid off his blade, he took a second to glance down at himself. He was dressed in long, flowing garb from an ancient desert people, but richly appointed material. The world blurred and he was running along a cobbled street with high walls on both sides of him. He could feel the gitty excitement welling within him as he dashed away from the city guards, jewels dangling out of pockets. As he slowed, thinking he was out of danger, a guard stepped out and slashed at him with a short sword. Small motions, keep things tight. Dodge right
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