Duel:Banash v Ethan
Ethan :: Slow, thought-out steps carry him along the edge of the clifftop, dark gaze settled on some point in the distance for a few long moments, before he finds himself coming to a distinct halt, and curbs his attention around to where his opponent is situated. An odd move, most certainly, to stand at the edge of a very high cliff; but nonetheless Ethan remains there, seemingly uninterested in the wind that tugs on loose clothing and hair. He watches. Soundless; his fathomless gaze analysing and scrutinizing Banash, until there's the softest of 'shnickt' noises that is quite nearly muted by the wind and Ethan tilts his hand; for though he had originally appeared unarmed there's a quick glint of steel and knuckles curl around a wickedly sharp razor that has been freed from within the sleeve of his jacket. A smirk; possibly far too sadistic and enthusiastic for someone -normal-, and Ethan moves into a stride; a stride to close the large gap between he and Banash, and one that quickens as he grows closer, until it's the very last moment and he's suddenly moved to the side, knuckles lifting in a powerful left-hook that aims its curb for Banash's jawline; the razor peeking out between fingers and likely planning to do a great deal more damage than first intended. A backup plan; for if the punch should miss one quick foot will snap out, aiming for the other's leg - a quick, fluid movement that may not hurt a great deal, but will hopefully slow Banash down; to some extent, at least.
Banash |aureate optics scan the being before him, taking notice of the glinting of steel and sadistic smirk portrayed on such an arrogant visage, ears of the canine taking notice to such the soft 'shnickt' noises which seem near inaudible by the wind carried from Sage Forest. As the adversary charges, steel coated phalanges of the man would drift to the hilt of Kyrok for it to be unleashed from its sheath, such magnificent beauty of its silver-steel alloy glistening slightly in the moonlight. Attack is launched in the form of fist to jawline, yet it goes as if the lycanthrope desires for blood to be drawn, body churned ever so slightly for blade to leave a small incision within the fat of his cheek. Crimson vitae pours forth from such a small wound, nostrils of the wolf taking in a large whiff of its pungent odor. Muscles of his arm tense, eyes dilate for sword, held within the right hand to be sent in an assault upon the man's ribcage with tremendous speed and accuracy, traits of a wise wielder of blade. No emotion is portrayed upon the lycanthrope's visage, though within his eyes one can gaze to reveal desire for battle, near bloodlust.
Ethan - sporting no sword at all - briefly wonders whether he ought to start carrying one, but nonetheless the razor is released as soon as it has made contact with his opponent's cheek, for there are much more important things at hand; such as the brand that is quite suddenly plunged for his torso. The mercenary is fast - unfortunately, not fast enough. Light on his feet he twists, arm lifting at the same moment to avoid the blade; but the point catches his side and rips not only leather jacket and shirt cloth but flesh and sinew as well, deep enough one may assume it has touched bone. Ethan hisses, unable to bite back that noise of absolute pain, right hand jerking upwards to immediately grip at the barbarous gouge, just as the corner of his nose draws into something akin to a snarl - and though he does not share the blood of a wolf, as does Banash, he growls in a manner to rival such and kicks his leg up, aiming his steel-tipped boot for the other's wrist and appendage that clutches his sword. Better to relieve him of it, than to deal with it later, and should that kick connect he'll draw his bloodied hand from his side, aiming another slamming punch, this time directly for Banash's jugular; should it connect, the other will most certainly have trouble breathing - at least for a few moments - giving Ethan time to right himself and plough forward once again.
Banash would once again take a whiff of the air, scent of vitae again lofting into the nostrils of the wolf. The right corner of slender lips tugs upwards into a vile contortion of a smirk, truly sadistic in nature. It would seem that the battle before him had overcome his good nature to release raw emotions and rage, adrenaline being the greatest drug of all to this man. Bare forearm would be brought for the boot to connect, saving his hand from such agonizing pain yet this was nearly the same; sound of breaking bone could be heard. The phalanges wrapped 'round Kyrok's hilt would release it though, in a near mocking fashion, smirk would widen into a grin for the steel coated phalanges of his left would wrap around the hilt, ambidexterity being one of his few blessings. Pain driving this man further in battle, he would pivot upon his heel 'rolling with the punches' as one would say. Edge of Kyrok is brought in attempt to relieve the man of appendage, blessed blade being very able to slice through the bone of a normal human being. Discoloration of his throat's side would ensue, soon to take the light color purple of bruises. Small gasping of air audible, not only punch but heat of battle causing this.
Ethan ;; The jab he had previously aimed for Banash's jugular is short and fast and literally by the skin of his teeth his knuckles are merely grazed by the blade that swings down like a guillotine. Of course this is the same moment that the mercenary has shoved forward in hopes of knocking his opponent clean off his feet, and incorrect calculations result in Kyrok singing into flesh once more; this time upon his shoulder, a lick and not enough to sever it from his neck but it certainly tears upon muscle and consequently his collarbone. Ethan's sailor's tongue makes itself known in that instant and his plough forward is thus ceased, but the blow to his shoulder has not finished the mercenary yet, and though he spares a glance towards it he can very well hear the short, -almost- choked gasps of the other; it proves to fuel his lust for battle further and pushing aside the throb of his shoulder he jerks his hand behind him, another noise of steel-upon-sheath following the draw of a hunting knife that has thus been strapped to his back beneath his jacket, and despite the fact the sword will more than likely obscure any attempt to get close enough, Ethan twists the knife around and forward, the point aimed directly for Banash's diaphragm, the mercenary stepping forward at the same moment in order to instil more drive into the thrust itself.
Banash releases hold of the sword which is lodged within the shoulder of his adversary, body ducked low and pushed forth for the blade of the hunter's knife to meet with the upper cheek region, nearing the orifice which contains optics leaving a gash to the bone. This causes the lycanthrope great pain made audible by a slight howling, yet he ensues with is assault, jab of left fist aimed towards the abdomen of the human with enough strength to effectively knock him unconscious. If succeeding in such an assault, he would end the battle with no further harm done, better nature returning for proper cognition. Haughty attitude of the lycanthrope would push him to release an amused chortle, laugh, though abrupt, packed with arrogance. The beast within the man has been soothed by such an entertaining battle.