Duel:Banash v Rasja
Banash vs. Rasja
Banash stands in armoured attire, breastplate covering the flat chest of the lycanthrope. Aside from the armouring upon his torso he wears simple leggings of mithril along with gauntlets which resonate with the blessing of strength. With inclination of body and slide of hand, a dagger would be drawn forth from a boot though it is not hurled at the woman whom he faces like the typical warrior would do. Instead, it is brought to rough, bare skin for its shimmering steel blade to cut lightly into his bicep, drawing forth sanguine fluid from his veins. It pours from the wound which is typical, dagger stored back within his boot for safe-keep. The wound had merely been made to entice the man?s nervous system into a state of fear, fight being chosen instead of the sniveling, cowering option of flight. The immune system would weaken slightly, adrenaline being brought to mind along with the dilation of pupils to allow an increased perception. The rising of his body would be the time which Kyrok would be drawn forth from its sheathe, held within his right gauntlet. The blade, though made of an alloy of silver bothers the lycanthrope the slightest due to the covering of hands with gauntlets, skin not being in contact with the hilt. With the forward pedal of feet he would rush forth, sword drawn back for hilt to be placed at hip, tip of Kyrok aligned with the abdomen of the siren.
Rasja sways from her place; hands begin to cup before her person in a rather dainty fashion as she asses the man before her. A shift of feet ensues, one pressing behind the other before hands find their place at skirt's brim, pulling the attire out to fashion quick curtsy. Before standing upright, a swift move of hand would press against her lips, a blown kiss sent towards her opponent. Soon a sneer rights itself, the cut causing her to nearly puke as her ruddy crown throws itself to the side to not watch such bloodied actions. As a smirk begins to slight itself about her face, digits curl back towards the blade stitched at side. Digits wrapping about the sleek blade's hilt in a form of play, while feet slide back as she situates her being in a rather comfortable position; boots spread along side her, hands placing themselves in their appropriate places. One hand falls to the sheath's side, while the other begins to pull the blade from its confined area. Fleeted steps pull her forwards, boots smashing across the ground in a flurry before the rapier is swung before her to parry the made attack. A hand flies up and back, almost as if a few dance steps were made, she swinging her body back in a sidestep while the blade fluidly follows his in a downwards trek. With a flick of wrist, the dancer brings the blade forwards, to swipe across his side, she bending all the while as if to trip the being up with such refined steps.
Banash, instead of dodging such an attack, allows it to come into contact with the armouring of his torso, blade finding a slight gap in the mithril to make a small incision along his rib cage. Blood has been proven to drive feral creatures such as he into a frenzy of sorts, sheer love of battle and brutality making injuries seem minimal, near enjoyable. After the blade?s contact, he would backpedal few steps, left gauntlet seemingly floating within the air surrounding sheathe of the majestic Kyrok; this would soon lead to the dislodging of sheathe from hip with the slight popping of metal as his stride comes to an abrupt halt. Whilst at a distance from the siren, he contemplates for a brief moment-mayhap the most he can in his current state, which is a rather short while-to once again rush forth with both hilt and sheathe in hand though opposite. Upon nearing the woman, ambidexterity would grant him the ability to switch grip of the tools, sword now in left, sheathe in right. The sheathe would be brought towards the chest of the woman in attempt to knock the wind from her, succession of blade to follow in yet another thrust towards her abdomen.
Rasja rights herself back into a secure standing position as one attack meets, though, as the blade is pulled from its target, he backing away as well, the sight of a crimson fluid meets her vermillion hued eyes. A quick pull on the weapon is made, hand nearly slinging the blade back and out of her grasp. A small squeal of slight disgust evident in her tone of voice, nose scrunched up along her visage to prove such even further. From the slight absence of mind herself, her gaze securely fixes itself upon her most recent attack. Once again, the blade was brought before, tip gleaming as if in jest from her successful hit, though face a bit more downtrodden than one would have expected. She begins to place foot, by foot behind her. Evidently the lesser of two evils is made as he approaches, brand moving to block the actual blade whilst the other free handed one, moves to hike up her skirt as if to reach for something not too apparent. The slight bump of her own sheath against the terrain resounds, as the wind is literally knocked out of her. The sheathed attack hitting its, mark, while she nearly doubles over. Her hand had reached its second place, however, a tiny dagger brought forth from beneath the flowing cloth. In near reflex, the dagger is sent flying towards his side. Her hand, which had nearly dropped the trusty rapier, began to tighten about its hilt, she using what force she had to push off and away from him in a tiny twirl. The dagger clutched against her chest as harsh breathes are heaved, steps continually made back to avoid another close confrontation.
Banash smirks a prideful, near mocking fashion as his sheathe collides with the siren, turning of body allowing protection from the dagger which is deflected with a small spark by his breastplate. Though distance between the combatants has increased somewhat, he worries not, armoured phalange placed along the blade of Kyrok after dropping of sheathe. Eyelids would then fall to shield aureate hues, akin to those of a canine for rough lips to part to spew words in archaic tone. Radiation of raw energies would swirl about the blade of the sword in serpent-like nature to be sent forth in a strong though sluggish burst. To make up for lack of speed, intrusion of mind would attempt to be made, telepathic messages sent to the siren in mocking fashion, source cloaked nearly perfectly <What’s wrong… Not enough breath left to dance?>
Rasja proceeds with her fit of heavy breathing, digits curling about the dagger in a tighter fashion than before. Her head bowed forwards as a sheet of red locks begin to fall before her, nearly obscuring her vision. Soon, an intrusion of though is made, the maiden quickly throws her head upwards, gaze locking about the area in near confusion before realization kicks in. A low narrowed gaze is sent towards Banash, lips curling back as a low growl slips from the parted lips. This came out in a prettier fashion than expected, but nonetheless, point should have been made. A new attack was sent, and with speed, she twirls towards it, dagger wielding hand flying out at his hand in an attempt to do some damage of her own. Though, the slight pain from the hit causes her to step to falter afterwards, she falling to the ground with an ungraceful 'Oomf!' With a quick thrust of arms, she pulls herself out of the way, rapier raised as if in short attempt to help block the ray sent her way. The brand flies from her grip, and a grazed mark is met along her leg, one side of her skirt burned as well from this unlucky scenario.