PM to join Peace and War [Razkar]

[Markus Andres]

Summer 30th 513 AV It was not the distant screech as metal collided and scraped against metal that threw off Markus' concentration. Nor was it the wails of a squire who had just had his arm broken, technically it probably wasn't broken, the squire kept yelling that and Markus wasn't going to doubt his word. The reason Markus' attention was all over the place, was the very unusual man, if you could call him that, by the entrance. Markus had seen grotesque, Markus had seen yukmen. Rocks imbedded into the skin, the memory of them almost made Markus spit with disgust. But from a Yukman who had unwillingly awoken with a rock imbedded into his skin, to this, a man who had willingly turned his face so grotesque. It scared Markus. More than any battle hardened veteran ever would. A man who willing did that to his own body? Must be capable of taking twice the punishment than anyone he had ever known. Fear, however, had an adverse effect on Markus in this instance. It fueled his desire to fight this monstrosity. Especially when he noticed the pair of weapons by his side. Sword and axe. Just like Markus' ol' friend Richard. Markus wore his usual knight gear. Full plate armour, not of the finest quality, but it would save him in a pinch. His bastard sword, his trusted heater shield. A pocketful of magic and a dagger by his left side. All in all, he was well armed and armoured. Fit for combat. And combat, he sought. He carried his helmet under his right arm and walked straight at the grotesque man. No hostility in his face, just determination. "You look like a man who has been in a fight or two... or a dozen. Up for a spar?" He asked as casually as if he was buying a blue cotton shirt from the man.

[Razkar]

"Petching armor..."

Razkar shook his head in something between disgust and awe as he watched the awkwardly-moving figures. He assumed they were the squires, moving like they had thirty pounds or so of metal hanging from their lean frames. Which most of them were, they just hadn't learned to handle it.

But the Knights... they'd learned. They were the ones Razkar watched during his wanderings, finding himself by the Training Grounds and seeing an open gate. No-one would be suicidal or stupid enough to trespass, not with hundreds of arms soldiers inside, but for the casual observer...

One, in particular, Razkar could see had particular speed. He hated wearing armor, and even when he did it was a kind of hard, studded leather overcoat that just covered his torso, nothing more. But the man a hundred feet from where he leaned was moving deftly across the sand and stone of the sparring circle with everything but his head encased in gleaming (if dented) armor.

And he moved quickly. Smoothly. Sliding and evading his opponent, even spinning on one foot to hammer his long sword into the back of one, and another-

-screamed. Even Razkar winced.

"No more for you, I think..."

As the squire's whimpering slowly tailed off into grunts, groans and complaints, Razkar realized he was being addressed. His mind was elsewhere, wondering exactly how he would handle such an opponent. Back in the jungle, his fellow warriors sneered and jeered at the barbarian cowards who protected their precious hides with armor, inhibited their movements, clouded their vision with barely-open helmets... but to see them in the flesh, able and trained, towering figures made of metal that his gladius would just bounce off...

"Not to mention the shield," he muttered, scratching under his chin around the bone jutting through his chin. His piercings always bothered him when it got humid. "Before you even get to the armor, you have to get through that, and the fucking Akalak in Riverfall showed me they can be deadly weapons by themselves. Hmm... but how would they last in the jungle...?"

"You look like a man who has been in a fight or two... or a dozen. Up for a spar?"

Razkar blinked and recognized the armor before he did the face. The man he'd been watching, who'd maimed his squire. Or a squire. Whichever. Razkar's black eyes flashed up and down, taking in his arms, armor, his bearing, his eyes not sated by the havoc he'd already reached and, like Razkar's, burning in the sun.

Fresh challenges for both of them, and Razkar's lips creased into a tight smile.

"Know my way around blade, yes." He stood, revealing a singular lack of armor and close to the same in terms of clothing, too. Breeches, sandals, cloak, weapons harness... that was all. "We use wood weapon, or real?" The Myrian allowed his smile to widen just a fraction, and decided to have a little fun with the male. The Knights he'd met were too serious for his liking, and what was the point of devoting yourself to Myri-

No, wait, it was the tree, isn't it? Tired of having to remind myself that.

-if you didn't have fun doing it?

"I do not want you hurt, you see..."

[Markus Andres]

The grotesque man smiled and the determination cracked. That sent an unwilling chill down Markus' spine. This man was creepy as petch. At a distance, he had been grotesque, but up close? Markus would rather Savitaire shift into his Dhani form half a dozen times than spend another second looking at the face of this misshapen and mutilated appearance. His eyes looked over the rest of the man's appearance, the tattoos, a natural eye-catcher and worth a second glance, but his muscles were also noticed. Sleek and powerful. Although cracked, the determination remained evident. He wanted to fight this creature. Test his mettle against something so ... bizarre yet intriguing. Markus could not help but let a smirk cross his lips. He liked this guy, despite his grotesque appearance. He was facing a heavily armoured knight and still had the confidence to utter such words and ready to back them up, none-the-less. Intriguing. Yet, his last remark prodded at Markus' pride as a warrior. That simply could not go unanswered. "Real. Or you'll just flail aimlessly at the armour..." He responded flatly. That last remark had been effective at wiping out Markus' unwillingness to risk a potentially fatal injury doing practise. He could later argue that it made for better training, an actual threat of harm tended to spice things up. "... Not that real weapons will make much difference in that regard." He added shortly after in a slightly lower tone. Still audible for the grotesque male to hear. "Do you need time to prepare? Get armour, perhaps?" Markus asked, although eager for a fight, it would be sensible to give his opponent an opportunity to prepare. Defeating someone with a quick smackdown because he wasn't prepared was a lousy training session. Markus was almost ready, he really just needed to get the helmet on and have it properly set in place and he was a walking juggernaut. "If not, there is a place over there available." Markus said pointing to a clear area where he would lead the grotesque man if he was ready.

[Razkar]

"Real. Or you'll just flail aimlessly at the armour..."

A tiny grimace creased the Myrian's lips, but it was tinged with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders followed.

"Maybe..."

It was such a queer, subtle reaction; one the handful of onlookers did not think such a savage race were capable of. It was not the sneer or snarl or growl they'd been taught that Myrians solely communicated in. It was more... intelligent. Part of Razkar hoped that taught them something... but it was a small part.

Better the barbarians remain ignorant and easier to kill.

"... Not that real weapons will make much difference in that regard."

The grimace froze. The eyes did likewise, and they went from glittering to oddly opaque, which should have been impossible for orbs so black. Razkar tilted his head slightly at the implied challenge, staring down this proud and confident example of all things knightly.

"All things are possible."

"Do you need time to prepare? Get armour, perhaps? If not, there is a place over there available."

Razkar flicked a glance over the human's shoulder and noted the stone circle a few other squires were gathered around, most of them now paused in their training and jabbering at this exciting new development. He pondered the knight's request for a few ticks... then nodded curtly.

"Leather armor. With studs." He said, already walking towards the circle. "For chest. Not for arms. That is all."

Razkar heard sharp commands and running feet behind him, the knight already rapping off orders, but his eyes and mind were elsewhere. He was enjoying himself, actually: he wondered how long it had been since a Myrian had trod on these hallowed stones (well, hallowed to the knights, anyway). Perhaps never? Maybe he was setting a precedent...

He got to the circle and took off his cloak with a flourish, handing it over to the squire that came jogging up with the old leather vest-slash-chest armor. Much like his own, and with the "sleeves" pulled off, too. Good: better for him to maneuver, and that would be his biggest advantage against the armor-plated warrior following him into the circle.

The younger human's face contorted in disgust as he finally noticed what the cloak was made out of: patches of hair and skin, most with the hair long since fallen out but many with strands still clinging to... yes... he recognized the texture.

Skin. Of Dhani and Akalak and... and...

"Not let go please," Razakr said with a pleasant smile that showed off more sharpened teeth than necessary, "You not know what thing I do to get all those..."

The human changed color and trotted off. Razkar kept smiling.

Then he heard the shifting of steel-shod feet and turned to find the human with a bulbous metal helmet in his hand, waiting for him with an expression carved from rock. The Myrian studied the man as he pulled his armor on. Calm, but intense; proud, but not arrogant; strong, but not slow.

He smiled again, tapping the leather armor over his chest now... and shuffling off his sandals. He would move better with the natural feel of hot stone and grits of dirt under his feet than through the sandals, and what good would a membrane of leather do against those steel feet, anyway? Now he wore only the armor, his breeches and his weapon harness.

Razkar took and breath... closed his eyes... felt his gnosis burn into life, shard of Myri herself watching her son this day.

With a smooth, practiced movement his hands gripped his gladius and hand ax, unsheathing both in his left and right hands respectively. He could feel the malediction-worked hilts groan in his hands, bone handles vibrating first through his skin and then, he realized, through his djed.

The Myrian smiled; wide, this time, and opened his eyes.

"For the glory of Myri, and the honor of her children..."

He intoned the words with fervent sincerity, then his feet shifted, weight on their balls, knees slightly bent, facing the knight almost sideways. His ax was held further back, arm cocked, curved head almost at head level. His gladius was held forward, diagonally in front of his chest, ready to block, parry, perhaps even thrust and slash.

But that would depend.

The beat... the roar... he could feel it in the stone and the whipers that rushed around them. Feel them keening in his blood and crawling up his flesh. His black eyes flashed like midnight lightning, just enough for this knight to know whom he was fighting.

"When ready, knight..."

[Markus Andres]

The verbal jab at his confidence seemed to have worked as the fighter responded with a look Markus had received often and he responded to the comeback with a light shrug. "I suppose." Markus was accustomed to be around hardened warriors and veterans of war. He himself counted as one of the latter. He still had times where he found it hard to believe it had already been a year since he had left this glorious city behind in a campaign against Sahova. So many lost friends and comrades. But that was the very nature of war. The playground of gods and goddesses when their realms overlap. The young knight closed his hand tightly and listened as the grotesque man demanded armour. Markus brows furrowed as he walked to the fighting grounds. His back was turned to the savage man, yes he was perplexed by the choice of armour. Either the man was overconfident, or Markus was in for a fight of his life. He was rather surprised to find that he would enjoy either of those scenarios. He turned around to face the fighter. Watching as he wore the armour that had been provided to him. It did not take a tactical genius to see the difference between the two fighters. Markus probably wore more armour than this savage had worn his whole life. Even with this armour, Markus found the man unsettling. An unwilling chill went down his spine. Why did this man unsettle him so much, he was but a man. He had faced a monstrosity from the abyss and not felt this kind of chill. Markus straightened his back and eyes fixed upon the smaller man. Judging his stature. The choice of weapons. A gladius and an axe. A weapon and a tool. No. This was not a woodcutters tool. This was an actual axe crafted for war. Peculiar. His armour. Mobility and speed was going to be the ally of the smaller man. As Markus had already anticipated. Markus put on his helmet and unsheathed his bastard sword. Reach and raw brutal strength would be on Markus' side. The savage spoke. But they were not words Markus knew. His ears perked and he understood one of the words. It unlocked the meaning of the sentence to him. A prayer or tribute to Myri. He lowered his head in respect of the man's words. "May the lords watch over me." Markus said quietly. The lords, to Markus was a triumvirate of the divine. Sylir, Yahal and Wysar. A smirk crossed his lips, this was perhaps the first time he had ever invoked the divine in a simple sparring match. It was peculiar. As was the stance of the savage. As was the adrenaline that was already making its presence known. Markus felt the eagerness to face this man. Feel his heartbeat increase. Thud loudly in his chest. Markus swung the shield around between the two fighters. He held it at a foot's distance from himself. Left foot leading. Right taking a back seat. Sword raised and poised to strike at the man. "Let us begin then." He said, his calm voice betrayed by his eagerness. The knight had no desire to take this fight slow and methodically. Markus took several quick steps to close the distance to a range more preferable to him. The savage had chosen an almost sideways position to the knight. Markus would swing in from the backside of his opponent the moment he knew he was in range. The blade would, should the grotesque man stand still, strike from a diagonal angle and impact just below the shoulder on his back and the tip would be around his spine. A simple strike opening strike.

[Razkar]

"Let us begin then."

"Yes."

No more words needed to be spoken; both of them knew that. But Razkar felt a smile tug at his lips when the human raised that petching shield, bastard sword cocked back and came on swiftly, no waiting, a fierce desire to get to grips with his enemy stark on every movement.

More in common than we know, male.

The shield, lined with that vicious little teeth, masked much, but you couldn't hide a swing from that long sword. It swung out from Razkar's left, cleaving through the air to strike diagonally at him, to his back-

-and Razkar's gladius jerked out, metal clanging on metal, redirecting the long hunk of sharpened steel away from him-

-at the same time swinging his ax horizontally into the middle of the shield and hard-

Surely was worth the money.

Aiming to throw the armored figure off-balance with that thunderous blow, the human's surprise at the sheer power of it perhaps as devastating as the strike itself, giving him an opening, a moment while his sword was still up-

-that he could swing his gladius hard into the side of his right knee, at the joint where metal met metal but weakened to give the wearer some mobility. A good strike there... well, he didn't want to cripple the human, but he had a fight to win.

But he was trained to be fluid, to understand that battle was all the things you didn't plan on, not just those dry tactics you concocted all neatly in your head. If Markus somehow shielded himself or blocked his gladius the Myrian would go with that reversed momentum, let himself slide away from the human across the stone, sidestepping until he was out of range of shield and sword.

A blow struck, or a blow avoided... he could afford both, he reasoned in that moment before his gladius flashed. This could be a long process, and if he had to wear down this boulder like waves against rock, so be it. He smiled thinly at the baking sun above them, and imagined just how many pounds that mass of metal weighed.

I can afford to wait, knight. Can you?

OOCPlease let me know if I go too far here and you want me to edit anything.

[Markus Andres]

The speed that the myrian had moved with to block and counter attack had been incredible. This was no ordinary fighter. Just from the almost casual way he had parried Markus' attack. The simplicity of the parry. Markus withdrew his blade as fast as he could and get it ready for a counter-counter attack. Expecting a violent response from the man, Markus braced himself. The counter attack, equally swift. The shield raised and his arm tensed to absorb the blow. Markus felt his entire body vibrate through the impact on his shield and his back leg slid a centimetre or so on the surface as the power of the blow was absorbed. He was petching strong as well. Markus kept his balance and most importantly, he did not let his eyes off of the quick Myrian. If he had, he would have been limping for a while. To his surprise however, was the gladius that made it past his shield and at his legs. His eyes widened at bit and his instincts kicked into overdrive. It had been Ball who had made Markus realize just how vulnerable the knee joint was and how important it was to protect it at all times. Could turn even the best fighter into a stationary target. That had given Markus a reintroduction in how to best utilize the armour. His right foot turned on the ground. His heel lifting as the rest of the lower leg bent forward. Lowering his right knee. Several points in his armour were weaker than the rest. The thighs, were not one of those. He could feel the strength behind the blow when the gladius impacted with the armour. The force itself moved through the armour, but stopped the blade itself. The padding took the brunt of the blunt force, yet, not all of it and Markus felt the dull pain. There was no doubt, had Markus not worn the armour, this man would have taken his leg. His speed and ferocity simply too astonishing for the young knight to fathom. He had seen that blasted ethaefal's speed. But he had not felt it against himself. It was quite amazing. Thrilling. The myrian had come close to seriously damaging Markus. The dull pain that thudded from his lower thigh was no more than a nuisance. A nuisance that could be ignored. Especially when Markus' defensive action flawlessly shifted into an offensive. Markus had always been an aggressive fighter. It was in his nature. As Markus turned to lower his knee and put the stronger thigh armour. Markus' right arm also descended. It was an almost the exact same motion as his first strike. The intended area of impact was roughly the same as his initial strike. Only now the myrian was much closer. Further inside Markus' range of attack. Would be difficult to dodge by just moving back and away. The myrian had shown himself to be a more than capable fighter and Markus hoped the armour he wore was enough to stop Markus' from killing the man.

OOCLikewise!

[Razkar]

He knew this would not be easy; that the knight would have skill and experience on his side. Hence him having contingencies. But it was somewhat disconcerting for Razkar to have Markus stymie and thwart his strike to his knee-

-by the simple acting of bending his knee.

Instead of the thick crunch of sharpened steel on an exposed joint, the metallic clang of steel on steel shook his arm and nearly numbed his fingers. The Myrian saw Ser jerk down abruptly, armored thigh taking the impact, and marveled at how the Knight could do so with so much weight on him-

Admiration later!

-then saw that arm and its sword come hammering back down towards him, a carbon copy of Ser's opening strike. But now he was closer, the Knight's ability to absorb and counter-attack negating his plan for withdrawal. No time to go back, or sway, so-

Onward!

Razkar let his left knee collapse under him, thudding onto the stone floor and sending a jarring pain crunching up his body-

-but lowering his profile a good foot, diminishing the bastard sword's target substantially-

-even moreso when he tucked his head down and fell forwards, weapons held out from his body but not too far, half-rolling and half-lunging past the Knight's right side, under the sweeping, devastating blow of his opponent's sword.

Advantage.

Razkar knew he had it by the time he came back up to one foot and one knee, just behind the Knight still finishing his swing, and knew it would last a tick or less. He cocked back his ax and swung it backhanded-

-aiming it at the small of the knights back, knowing the legs were mobile targets, the strong and lithe Ser easily capable of evading them. But the back was a broad, stable target, and from the back, how would the human avoid him?

Razkar knew he couldn't batter through that armor to the flesh within, even with the Malediction runes on the ax lending it unnatural strength. Plate armor was notoriously tough, even the old suits.

But you don't need to pierce it. Just batter the flesh and bones and muscle within it. Wearing metal over your flesh doesn't make you invulnerable; it just means you have one more layer to grind against you when the blow comes down, and a strong enough blow there will crack ribs and pulp organs well enough.

The Myrian's teeth flashed as he swung backhanded at the Knight's back, coming up to his feet and twisting to his right so he would be facing the man again. His gladius remained perpendicular in his left hand, ready to parry to intercept if the Knight moved faster than expected, or that shield came around to spoil his fun.

Razkar's gnosis purred as a feral smile crossed his face. Which was likely, from what he'd seen. No weakling this, and no naive fool whose eyes had seen too many romantic scrolls and not enough very un-romantic battlefields. A real challenge... a worthy opponent.

Blessings on thee, Goddess-Queen, for this gift to your child...

[Markus Andres]

Thinking yourself the victor prior to the opponent lying bloodied on the ground, was often a sure-fire way to getting a nasty surprise. Markus was confident that he would strike the target or at least force him back and away. But when the agile myrian's body went under his strike, Markus knew that he was in trouble. Seeing the little warrior go under there, Markus knew he had to react quickly or else he would be in for a world of hurting. He could not follow the myrian and thus foil his escape that way. He was much too large and far from agile enough for such a feat. Not even without the armour could he have reversed the flow of his body and followed in his direction. Luckily for him, there was always two ways to turn. He would just continue in the direction that his body had been turning. But now was not the time for despair. It was time for damage control. Markus was already leaning forward. That was good, meant that his armour was at an angle. Greater chance that the myrian's strike would be deflected rather than absorbed by the armour and in turn, Markus' body. Markus' left arm shot back. Laid flat against his body. The effect of this was rather simple. The lower part of the heater shield was covering the lower part of his torso with it's triangular shape. The myrian was quick, but Markus was counting on him not being capable of getting up high enough to strike diagonally down on Markus. For then his fancy tactic of leaning forward would do little to nothing in regards of deflecting the blow. But in this situation this was the best he could hope for in regards of defence. Barring the miracle that the myrian had just intended to dodge rather than counter attack. When a blow landed directly on the metal heater shield. Markus was pleased that his defence held. For any strike on the shield, was ten times better than a single strike on his armour. Glancing or not. The shield meant his arm got battered and sore. He could handle that, the arm was already conditioned for such punishment. The armour meant his organs got battered. They simply didn't have the same kind of tolerance for a beating. Markus right foot pushed off. Using the left leg as the anchor which spun on the ground. Getting his right leg over as Markus' body did almost a 180 degree turn to face the quick little Myrian. Sword arm raised. Ready to stab directly forward into the Myrian should he be preparing a charge at Markus. He himself needed a second or two before he would press the attack again. Despite the precarious situation he had just found himself in, Markus' face bore a wide grin. This was the sort of combat he had missed. Where each movement had been practised. Each manoeuvre flawlessly executed. His opponent went beyond Markus' wildest dreams in combat capability. Markus might not like his appearance, in fact, he still found it grotesque and he would rather be without looking at the man. But he had developed an immense respect for the warrior. To dedicate oneself to achieve such a level of raw skill and experience was commendable. Had the myrian not attacked, Markus would stand straight and lift his right leg a little. Testing the thigh. Dull pain, nothing to worry about would be gone in no time. "Impressive." It was the single word that would leave his lips before he stepped in again. Markus was not one for long verbal exchanges in the middle of combat. It stole away from the thrill of the fight. Made it seem more staged and fake. Markus' sword would come down in a direct line for the grotesque man's head. But it was a mere feint. Testing the sharp reflexes of the myrian with how well he adapted. The arm would pull back as it descended, meaning it would fall short of the target. This was a very simple feint. An experienced warrior like this myrian probably wouldn't fall for it, but Markus was in no hurry to finish this fight. He was having too much simple unadulterated fun. He still desired to push himself and his opponent to new heights. Still, did he get the chance to finish the fight with a single stroke, he would.

[Razkar]

Razkar's bllow connected but he knew instantly it was not the victory he'd been hoping fore. There was a dull, heavy thunk of his ax slamming into wood, not the resounding, reverberating crash of metal on metal. As he whirled he saw the human had snapped his left arm down and across his back, kite-shaped shield intercepting his ax.

The Myrian imagined briefly bones rattled and muscles numbed and battered by the impact... but not nearly enough, and certainly not enough to stop or even slow the Knight-

-who was still moving, spinning on his right foot to his left, longsword thrusting out towards the Myrian's chest as he spun round to face him, just as Razkar was doing the same-

-and he jerked his head back sharply, body following suit, gladius parrying the long length of sharpened metal to his left and the Knight's right at the same time, clang of metal rousing birds from above as the two men separated... circling briefly, eyeing each other like two dogs done brawling and now waiting for that second mad instant of crashing collision.

"Impressive."

The Myrian allowed himself a tight, close-lipped smile. The words echoed through the iron helm the human wore, only the glimmer of his eyes revealed to the Myrian when the sun caught them just right. Goddess, it as like fighting some golem from the legends. A hulking, armored enemy; implacable and inhuman. His keen black eyes saw some slight tremble in sword and shield, but... not nearly enough.

In fact, the Knight looked as if he was just finding his rhythm in their little dance.

The smile widened just enough to reveal twin rows of sharpened teeth pressed together.

"Yes."

Then the Knight made his move, broad and long shield back to his front now, protecting him from knee and nearly his shoulder, and his bastard sword came down in a vertical sweep at-

No. It doesn't.

The problem with "recognizing" a feint is that you only do so after the trick has been pulled, and generally, only hard experience teaches that. Namely, surviving one feint, and recognizing it another time. As one can imagine, this rarely happens in combat. When you fail to recognize a feint there, well, you don't recognize anything afterwards. Ever.

But there was something... off, about it. Perhaps it was instinct, or his gnosis speaking with a deity's wisdom to him... or, more likely, just good old-fashioned paranoia. Razkar would have liked to imagine the first two were correct, but the third was more likely, and when he stepped forward to meet the blow, his own tactic was in mind.

Up the ante. The fight is young but casual strategy won't work against this one. He's no Coin brawler or shifty sellsword; he's a warrior.

The real mystery and secret of a feint was not the feint itself but what it was hiding; Razkar was about to make that irrelevant. As Markus' blade slashed down at him he stepped closer, even though he knew the longsword wouldn't connect-

-his own gladius flashing up diagonally, blade perpendicular, knocking the sword up and to Markus' right, away from them both-

-at the same time his ax swung hard and horizontal at the shield, runes flashing again and leaving white trails that burned the irises of his eyes as the blade hammered onto-

No. Not quite.

It was a risky strategy, but that petching shield would have to go, and Razkar was not about to be forced on the defensive. Instead of a straight, solid blow, the Myrian angled his hand ax so it deflected across the surface of the shield, upwards, controlling the swing of the weapon so it stopped just above the top of the heater-

-and he could use the impromptu hook the underside of the as head formed to capture the time of the heater and-

-yank it down and away from Markus, throwing his balance off, ripping away his cover-

-while his gladius, distracting him for a precious tick as he parried that obvious feint-

-now hopefully forgotten as Markus' attention was suddenly on the shield being pulled away-

-flicked away from the longsword and slashed vertically downwards at Markus' elbow, the inside of it, padded and protected, of course, but still, somewhere that had to bend, to move, and thus was weakened...

Much risked. Much dependent on Markus' considerations and reactions. But what was war without risk? What was battle without gamble after gamble wagered with life and limb in the pot? Razkar felt his Goddess-Queen growling in his ear through the brand on the back of his neck, relishing the clang and clamor of their weapons slamming into each other.

Regardless of whether or not his blow to the sword arm's elbow worked, the Myrian would spin away to his left, Markus' right, unhooking his ax as he went and putting yet more distance between them... if he could.

You've invested now. Gotten close. Within his arms and his legs... his head, for that matter. And much as his own front is open now... so is yours.

Razkar grinned as he ripped the shield away and swung for Markus' elbow. Gods, it was good to be alive and swinging steel...