Swordfights with sytle

Lazy writer:

I slashed at him. He blocked, then he stabbed me in the stomach.

"Ow!" I said. I grabbed his sword and fell backwards. We fell off a cliff and into the sea.

Standard writer:

Crusted blood marred the salmon-orange hues of the sunset mirrored in his blade. I drunk deeply of my last moments: the salt of the ocean breeze, the graveled stones beneath my feet, the thunderous waves carving the cliffs below. His blade descended--I closed my eyes. Calm flushed away adrenaline. The twisting grip on my sword loosened. Dipping against the harsh wind rolling up the sheer drop below, I allowed gravity to direct my fall.

Instinct drove my foot forward and my sword up. Metal clanged against metal. Like the waves, my blade sheared up his own, throwing the tip skyward and exposing his belly. The ocean again crashed against the rocks below; my blade buried deep into his gut.

With a howl akin to a cornered animal, he grasped the blade. painting it wine red as his palms slid down to the hilt.

My strength gave out. As though he could sense the grasp of death upon me, he twisted, plummeting us both to the sea below.

I smiled. I had taught him well.

Fantasy writer:

Salmon-orange hues of the twin suns descending behind the Blackart Mountains mirrored in the Blade of Heavens. Leth'nard drunk deeply of his last moments: the salt of the Crescend Ocean, the graveled stones beneath his feet, the thunderous waves carving the Drecar Cliffs below. The Blade of Heavens fell, flames igniting upon its edge. Leth'nard closed his eyes. Calm flushed away adrenaline. The twisting grip on his old sword, Uthgart, loosened.

The tingle of Spice filled his veins. Movements became a blur. Metal clanged. Uthgart burst in a shower of ice; metal shards struck Blackfaart's exposed belly.

With a howl akin to a Craven Woolf, Blackfaart grasped Uthgart, the blade of ice painting his palms wine red.

The Spice sapped away strength. As though Blackfaart could sense the Spice consuming what little grasp Leth'nard had left on the Almswald, he twisted, plummeting to the Crescend Ocean below.

Leth'nard smiled as he fell with his old friend. The Blade of Heaven commanded death, as the prophecy stated, after all.

Free-verse poet:

Slash

An evening of lush salmon-pinks and deep

orange

hues the blade.

Waves below roar for death;

Skies above watch with their misty breath

purling

between us.

We meet in the middle,

blood

colors our friendship.

We ride the wind into the sea.

Silly rhyme poet:

I slash him;

He slashes me.

We slash each other

into the sea.

Children's author

There are seven ducks in the pond.

Look at the ducks, George, look at the ducks.

George looks at the ducks.