The Duel of Jeremiah's Cross

Participants: Devante Castillo, Rasad Khan
Outcome: Kurgan Victory.

Jeremiah's Cross is a dusty town some ways from the Known Worlds and Kurgan lines - somewhere in the middle, north and east of Haina. It is here that heralds have arranged for Don Devante and the Kurgan general Rassakan to fight. The Known Worlders have arrived, but just now is a cloud of dust being kicked up from the Kurgan lines to head towards Jeremiah's Cross.

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Devante sits astride Kago-Ishi, his beloved warhorse. A steed of some years, he is not long for the battlefield, but he is canny and he is loyal; which cannot be said for many. Dressed in black plastic half plate, Devante's cloak ripples in the wind. On the western, Known worlder side of the hamlet, 25 Hazat Archons are arranged in a quiet ring, watching the fight. THe main armies hang back, just honor guards approaching. Devante cracks his neck before raising the binoculars to his features to spy the approach.

Michael walks up beside Devante, his armor shining like a knight out of legend. "So, is the rumor true?"

Devante looks down to Michael without looking down at him. "If the Heralds are to be believed my friends. Watch closely, for even if I loose... we learn much of this man. HOpefully that can be used. But, Pancreator willing, there will be no loss for the forces of the Light, and the Emperor."

On foot, as she doesn't have a trusty steed to ride in upon, Pura trudges along behind the Hazat honor guard. She looks rather out of place in this company, and so hangs back a bit. But her eyes follow Devante with a piercing kind of intensity that might suggest, to those who have brief acquaintance with her, that Pura's bet a lot of money on the outcome. She hasn't, but she would if her dad were around to take bets.

Michael snorts. "I don't suppose I can kill him in good conscience if you fail, can I?"
Devante comments simply... "I would prefer it not, but I doubt I will be in the condition to care much."

Skye arrives with Arisabella, not far behind Shin, this is where they were sent. Her eyes seek, and find her Lord, and after a brief inspection assuring herself he is okay, she stands to the side, out of the way.

Arie has come to observe the duel as well, also heavily armoured though her own protection in a plain and dull matt green despite the intricate detail of its construction. She sits astride a horse, rather indifferently, the mout obviously not used to her, a pair of Triumvirate officers behind her also mounted and one bearing the trident banner. Along with her small group she approaches Devante and Michael.

Arisabella stands quietly to the side, watching the activity, and listening to the soft chatter around her without giving away any reaction. Her hands remain almost unnaturally clasped before her, not so much in piety as a physical barrier against the world. Her light blue eyes takes in the people milling about, but no sign of recognition taints her gaze.

The dust from the enemy encampment is growing closer, and the thunder of hooves sounds on the horizon.

Michael turns to Devante. "Do you have a second for this duel?"

Shin Yomada, Armsman of the Hazat Baron, approaches with a blade held in velvet wraps. "My lord, Your blade."

Devante reaches down, one hand working the straps holding the velvet together. From the velvet he picks a blade in a black scabbard carefully inscribed with ancient caligraphy... He brings the scabbard to his lips, kissing it once. "I do now, Lord Michael. I can think of none other to have at my side."

Michael bows. "What conditions and terms do you want for this duel?"

Devante glances at the approaching dustcloud... "To the Yield." Translation: Dev won't stop until the man yields, or Dev himself is to wounded to continue.

Michael nods. "And the winner gets?"

While with his trusty swords, Caius is dressed rather civilian-like, riding in with six lictors walking besides him, three with Hawkwood regalia, three with Neauvaire. He rubs his bearded cheek idly, a certainly unexpected entrance to the Known-Worlder camp in support of Devante, considering the abrupt withdrawal of his forces from supporting the Hazat in Vargo City. Dismounting, he dusts himself off as he walks towards Michael. An aide asks why Caius insisted on coming here and his response is with a cold smirk, "Oh, to see the Viscount Hazat crumple like a falling star..." as he approaches earshot of the two Viscounts.

Devante ignores Caius, turning his attention back to Michael Hawkwood... "My Lord Michael, I had intended this to be simply the honor of it, but if you can suggest terms you are willing to loose... in this situation, I am open."

Michael nods. "Very well. Lets see what the day brings."

Arie glances back toward Caius there as she picks that up, a hard frown. "Ahh, Lord Caius. You might wish to know that your liege will be acting as his excellencies second."

The barest reaction registers on Arisabella's lightly tanned face at the words of the Hawkwood noble, but she does very well at quashing it before more than the slightest tilt of her head has begun. A brief, flat flick of her eyes to the man and his entourage completes the expression of disapproval, before she turns her attention and respect where it belongs.
The thunder of horses draws nearer still, and then it resolves itself: a troop of cavalry riding across the plain, with three men on horseback a little ways in front of the rest. Just behind them rides three more men with banners, pennants streaming in the wind with flowing writing. The majority of the troops pulls up short, but the three leaders and the standard bearer ride directly towards the crossroads.

"Always a pleasure to see you, Lady Arie, and I expect nothing more from my just and honorable Viscount, to come to the aid of friends with peerless virtue," Caius states as he walks to the other side of Michael, "And Lord Michael, a fine day to you?" He states as he takes out a pair of reading glasses and glances at a ledger full of some figures and numbers before putting both things away. The thunder of calvary doesn't seem to faze him, as he crosses his arms and waits for the entertainment of the day.

Devante wheels his horse, staying astride the beast as it canters to face the oncoming high command of the Kurgans. The Hazat Bows his head, closing his eyes for a long moment before opening them again and knickering his horse in to forward motion, a slow pace to keep with Arie and Mike.

Above, the skies are gray and crossed with wisps of cloud - and the presence of men causes dust to rise from the rubble of the town.

Benoite stands proud as his head of house is the second, and wishes he could be the second as a good fight is what he likes, but stands idle and shakes his head now and then at the others wondering what to do and then the comments of others that definitely overspoke themselves smiling slightly but very briefly as the dustclould approaches, as the words out of his mouth are simple if not profane, 'Good Luck." as he crosses his arms and looks a bit concerned for both of the men.

Pura just raises an eyebrow slightly for the rudeness. Ahhh, to be a Guilder, able to completely not care about slights to one's honor, or liege. Or to have to duel with anyone, for that matter. She finds a bit of ruined wall to sit on and does so, pulling out a pack of imported cigarettes and beginning to smoke. Either she's really confident in Devante's ability to win, or she doesn't care about the outcome.

Skye lifts both eyebrows and the glowers towards Caius. She opens her mouth to say something but thinks better of it and just glares at him for a few beats, just long enough to get the picture she was not pleased with his words. Like he cares, but still. Tossing her hair back hehind her shoulders she casts one more glare at Caius and then watches her Lord.
Michael walks forward with Arie and Devante facing the Kurgans, easily keeping pace with the horses. There is a slight whine from the servos in his armor as he moves.

Arie largely ignores Caius' reply there, instead now kicking to turn her horse not entirely adeptly toward the arriving Kurgan commanders before she moves forward alongside Michael and Devante while she does her best to compose her expression into one of grave disgust.

The banner-bearers and two of the men break off, cantering to a line approximately equal to where the Known Worlds spectators stands. The older one narrows his eyes, looking over their opponents, but the leader - Rassakan, one assumes - rides on until he thunder right into the square beneath Jeremiah's Cross. His horse rears up at a touch of his knees. "Rasad Khan comes!" he bellows. "Rasad Khan the destroyer of men! Rasad Khan the terrible! Rasad Khan the mighty! Rasad Khan who conquered the sky from atop a mountain of his enemy's skulls!" The horse rears up again. "Fear Rasad Khan! Tremble before Rasad Khan! Rasad Khan has arrived!"

Devante murmurs to Michael.. "Okay. Make me look good now..."

As the Kurgan general makes his speech, the older of his subordinates is motioning to the honor guard. An equal number of them to the small army's worth of onlookers Devante has brought begin to ride towards the banner-bearers to even up numbers as the older man and the man with the enormous crystal sword trot up to match Arie and Michael.

Skye does not fear Rasad in the slightest, she turns her violet gaze towards him, disdain clearly stamped upon her usually friendly and open features. Anyone so verbal usually was trying to make up for something. But only his subordinates knew for sure.

Caius looks about the crowd of Known Worlders who have gathered here, the usually friendly disposition of the Hawkwood contorted into a look of cold, vengeful contempt, with furious anger locked into his blue eyes. There hangs a dark pall over the baron as his people continue to make way with the rest as he stands back and lets the three in front deal with this matter. While others may be filled with anticipation or anxiety, the Catonian looks somewhat bored as he takes out his flask and takes a swig from it. He leans over to the head of the lictors and whispers something in his ear, shrugging and gesturing with his left hand as he again crosses his arms and looks at how things unfold.

In contrast to most of the assembled, Pura gives the Kurgan general a very interested look. Tilting her head from one side to another, sizing him up and seeming to record every detail of him in her brain. She blows a cloud of smoke upward and taps ash from her cigarette, seeming quite content to remain well back from all the 'festivities.'

Devante eyes the other man, his gaze sweeping over the mans shield. A brawler. Strong and powerfully built. One good hit from the axe will be deadly to a normal man. A few to Devante will be crippling, just from the blow, armor aside. There is no fear in Devante's eyes, but there is a determination. A respect for the foe he faces... "I have had a very -good- Day Arie..." he comments to the woman at his side. Perhaps she understands.

Michael walks forward of the rest, chinning a key on his armor. When he speaks, words thunder from the speakers built into the armor for the battlefield. "Now comes Devante Juan Domingo Castillo de Dulcinia del Hazat de la Honshu y Valenciana, Viscount Valenciana, Baron Osaka, Keeper of the Privy Seal of Vargo. He has fought the darkness of the Kurgan and victored. He is a great hero of the seige of the Hub, slaying men in their thousands. He has seen the Void Kraken and not fled in howling terror, standing before it like a man. He has fought battles and wars across the Known Worlds, slaying great champions and fell creatures alike. Today is no exception. He comes in his might to face the craven dog known as Rasad Khan, to teach him his place and to extract the price of his crimes upon the Hazat upon his flesh. Kneel now and beg forgiveness and you might live to see tomorrow!"

Arie regards the trio of Kurgans carefully, studying them with an expression of distaste even as she carefully weighs them. Another jerk of armoured boot in stirrup as her house starts at the amplified announcement, then a somewhat blank glance across to Devante at his statement before she returns her focus to the Kurgans ahead.

Devante listens along as Michael lists off some of his deeds... he nods at some, at the void kraken he busts in to a bit of a smile, seeming to appreciate that one... "Not bad Mike..." he murmurs...

Benoite watches with curiosity as he's not seen a really good duel in sometime, almost forgot what it's like to be in the mix of things, but knows what he likes and doesn't as he moves a bit foward kinda like that kid that wants to be first in line, but doesn't want to be the center of attention as he keeps with the others.

Arisabella blinks noticeably at the mention of a Void Kraken, but otherwise just watches, keeping herself to herself and her eyes on all that is slowly unfolding before her.

"Huh. Good speech," Pura notes to the bits of ruins and flowers around her. She appears to be the only one that didn't come here with an entourage - or as part of one. Indeed, she seems to be the sole representative of the Muster for this event. Then again, the Muster are pretty much all otherwise engaged in not getting their butts kicked by Kurgan forces.

Caius clears his throat as he stands behind where Michael is announcing Devante, the second of the Hawkwood hierarchy playing his part as the twin banners of the House Hawkwood and the Governorship of Neauvaire flutter in the wind. He cracks his neck, tilting his head side-to-side, he lights himself a cigarette and enjoys the view - a welcome distraction from handling Hawkwood diplomatic affairs.

Devante raises his voice now, his baritone booming in the cool air. He says something in Kurgan.

The older man who has ridden up behind Rasad Khan clears his throats. "The great Rasad Khan has heard your words and is unmoved. He has sent me, his Captain of the Left Hand, to negotiate terms for this clash between lion and lamb. My master - the Butcher of Mawab, Sword in the Hand of the Caliph - demands that if he is victorious, your infidel legions shall withdraw from the Valley south of Rahan and leave it to the Ever-Victorious Army of the Vice-Regent of the Star Maker, to contest these lands no more until the snows have melted. If, Zaibolu forbid, my master should fall in this battle, then the on the word of the Sultan and the ten sacred names of the Caliph the men of Kurga shall withdraw to their citadel at Southram until snowmelt. The Valley shall be yours for the coming season."

Devante shakes his head, indicating the terms are not acceptable, and mike should counter...

Michael keys the mike again. "I hear the words of Rasad Khan. I do not see the Sultan, nor his word. When he falls, there would be nothing that would bind you. We reject your proposal as unworthy as your person. This is to determine if your dog has any honor, or is a lump of meat only fitted to slaughter prisoners and peasants. Howver, we will counter propose to you. If His Excellency should fall, we will allow you to live and your army trapped on Billet Island may go free. If your man should fall, then your armies will withdraw to Wismar and you will pay idmenity to the people of the Okar Valley of 250,000 firebirds to rebuild their city."

Devante quirks an eyebrow.

There's an incredulous look from Idris Khan, who then turns to look at Lord Devante. "I have some time among your people, great don, but this is a custom I did not know. I apologize - for had I known it, I would have counseled my master Rasad Khan to do as you have done and bring his lordly fool. Rasad Khan, master of the South, Tyrant of Wismar, He For Whom Mountains Tremble, will listen to any reasonable and equitable offer."

Benoite shakes his head as he thinks,......Do Kurgans keep their word? Never known an enemy to keep their word unless they tell you they are going to kill or destroy you, then some end up keeping it and most end up losing as their word was worthless as they died trying.

Caius raises a brow at Michael's offer, but does not say anything. Negotiations at Billet Island has remained fruitless and Caius has already started to extract Hawkwood diplomatic personnel to other areas of interest. Caius shrugs and mutters to his chief lictor, "A gambling bet, to be sure..." If Benoite is questioning the Kurgans and their word, if only Benoite was telepathic, he would hear the answer from the Hawkwood Baron.
Arisabella finds the sudden need to rub at her nose, or perhaps she's trying to hide a vastly uncharacteristic smile at the Kurgan's words. Either way, she takes a half step closer to the other members of her House, as if to form a small part in a more solid visual wall of Hazat.

Michael chuckles. "I am his fool and he has brought his ass. Of the two, I believe his Excellency has the better of the deal, as you only blow a hot and foul wind, full of noise and stench to the civilized nostril but signifying nothing. You beg for victory when you cannot win it, and reject paying for your crimes if you fail. But in fairness, live with this or crawl back to your kennel. Should His Excellency win, Billet Surrenders, your forces withdraw to Wismar, and the Khan is to be his bondsman for a full season of three cycles of the moon... Should His Excellency lose, the same terms will be held: We withdraw from the city of Haina, I will serve as -his- bondsman... and war will be postponed for 3 moon cycles."

Devante murmurs to mike.. "ah.. Thats me mike. I serve him for a season, not you..."

Skye stands tall and proud beside Arisabella, well as tall as her 5'6" frame allows. She wants to present a united front as well. The Hazat are a proud bunch to be sure.

We can't die. We're much to pretty for god to let us die!

Arie continues to listen and watch, not really impassively, one gauntletted hand clamped about her reins as she keeps her horse still with a far more practised lack of grace. And frowns.

"Great lord," Idris Khan says. "You ask us to withdraw far beyond the lines we held ere this conflict began, and yet you say you will only withdraw from Haina and give no word at all to the valley. Why should my master risk his life - not that there is a risk of losing to a man who does not have Star Maker's grace - when he might win so much more if he does battle. He is willing to settle this between men instead of armies, but the Great Tarkhan is a man who moves armies - he will substitute his arm for those of his masses, but not sell short his the loyal spear carriers of the Ever-Victorious Army for an exercise in pride. He is humble before the will of the Caliph."

Caius shifts uncomfortably as he hears the new terms. Noticing Benoite out in a less than optimal viewpoint, Caius has a lictor invite Benoite to where he is standing. "If Viscount Michael is going to second, we might as well get a seat up front too, eh?" He glances over Skye and Arisabella, as the lictor runs over and offers a path to the Baron's entourage.

Arisabella attempts friendliness, and leans in slightly to whisper to Skye, "I hadn't realized Kurgans were quite this... ah... fragrant. Do they make a habit of lying with dogs after the rains, I wonder?"

Michael sighs. "You say much and mean little. Children can move armies of toy soldiers. That does not a leader make. Herdsmen can slaughter cattle and pigs, but that does not a warrior make. You have an offer. Flee or fight. Your army at Billet Island has broken truce, forfieting their lives when I decide to close my hand. You have the chance to save them. Do you thrown them away as useless toys or do you fight for their lives?"

Devante murmurs to himself... "You should see the will of the Caliph..." With that, the Armored man swings down from his horse. "Great Khan." Calls out Devante as he moves to hold his horses reigns. "Let us not bicker like children... For we are MEN! Great men! I say to you this! Our men have marched long, have marched hard! They desire a clash of steel in the name of the PanCreator, the Maker of the Stars and warmer of our souls! Would we be GREAT MEN to deny them this joy?" He asks, holding his arms up... "I say to you, let the man who triumphs this day, have the choice of the field of battle, and let us be done with the bean counting!"

Rasad Khan, too, is impatient, his great black horse prancing and pacing and flicking its mane. Idris Khan nods to this. "That is acceptable," he says. "Rasad Khan bids you know that your blood shall water the ground, and lilies shall grow where you fall, fed by your spirit."

Benoite nods to the lictor, as he heads towards Caius, bowing slightly, "Good day, so this is how they are going to sort out the war, interesting."

Skye chuckles at Arisabella's words despite the gravity of the situation. But as terms are agreed upon she whispers, "Viscount Devante is sure to win, I have seen him duel before, he is rather impressive.. with his blade."

Devante hands the reigns to mike... "Give em' hell tomarrow, Mike." He says with a grin as he turns back to the Khan....
Devante speaks again... He says something in Kurgan.

One of the Triumvirate staff coughs, overhearing Skye. She remarks to her fellow, "I wonder if the lady has ever seen a duel fought with an axe? I have not."

Caius rolls his eyes at Devante's posturing. Before he says any biting commentary, he offers a nod to the Hawkwood now standing besides him with a bow, "Good day, Lord Benoite. Interesting is one way to describe it. Maybe they'll just mow us all down. Put us out of our misery and give the Lord Protector the Pancreator's blessing to rule the planet unopposed..." He's one happy cheerful guy today.

Michael stands, the terms having been agreed up. In a soft voice he mutters, "Look at the size of the bugger. Don't get into a clinch with him. Keep moving and make him move. Most big men like that aren't good on their feet. And he's likely to overswing that oversized meat cleaver, so look to dodge and come in over top of it. The booze is on me after this." He lays a hand on Devante's shoulder and moves aside.

Arie gives a bow of her head to Devante as he strides forward, then kicks with her feet to half turn her horse, awkwardly shifting in the saddle to get the best view as she rests her left elbow upon the pommel of her own blade.

Reclining on the ruin of stone and smoking a cigarette, Pura watches these whole proceedings through a fine mist of haze. She looks almost lazy, one leg out in front of her and the other up to prop her elbow on knee. The other hand on her hip, tapping the holster of her gun idly in what seems like an unconscious gesture of thoughtfulness. All the pomp and circumstance is unmoving to the Muster woman. Which makes one wonder why she's staying and staring so intently at the duelists.

One of the other Triumvirate officers, a battered looking captain, comments to that. "I hear the lady marshal once maimed a Hawkwood knight who tried duelling her with a spear in the Agora."

Devante mms at Mikes advice, having some of the very same conclusions himself..

Arie gives a small chuckle now. "Still Lord Michael, remember what happened with that Mercedes Grimson. Even if it did rather decisively get the better of me.."

Rasad Khan nods to Devante, and he wheels his horse to join his other officers. There, they all dismount, and - forming a circle, linking arms - begin to sway back and forth, keening and singing in a ululating wail.

Skye of course, has never seen a duel fought with an axe. Not sure she wants to either, but here she is, unable to tear her gaze away. At least she has elixir, but what good would that do with a dismembered head?

Michael looks down into his armor, calling up the memory and finds the Hazat battle anthem. He keys it into his system, turning the volume up full.

One of the lictors grumble at the words said by the Triumvirate officer and Caius raises a hand to calm him, "No no, let them." He whispers something else, a callous smirk forming on the baron and a knowing nod from the lictor.

Trumpets, guitars and drums echo across the crossroads, bringing with them memories of dusty Spain on old Earth and the bitter wars of the Reconquista. As it rolls through towards victory, it builds in power and majesty, shouting forth the glory of God the Pancreator and the might of Hazat arms and valor.

Devante goes to one knee, his scabbard'd sword pressed, tip to the ground before him. He bows his head, one hand coming up to sign the jump cross before his chest.

"Saint Lextius, Warrior, Noble and he who knew duty before all things in his life, I pray to you now, guide my sword. Guide my hands and keep me steady as I fight for the defense of those who cannot defend themselves. Saint Amalthea, Give me the grace to know and grant mercy that my foes will not.. Saint Paulus, shepard me from going to the places I have not been... Saint Hombor, give me the wisdom to see what comes and to avoid... Saint Maya... give me the fury make my lantern bright, to shine before my enemies and blind them in its radiance... Know that I am your sevant, O'Pancreator, Know that I do your will. If I do not... I shall see thee soon."

As Mike's music starts to play, Devante rises up from his kneeling crouch. The only sound is the ring of metal as ancient steel is drawn. "I HOLD TSUNDO MONO! THE SWORD OF MY FATHERS FATHERS FATHER... And I strike you down this day!"

The Lord, without further delay, is in action, his blades in his hand.

Skye stands proudly at attention while the battle anthem plays. When it finishes she looks to Arisabella and shares a smile with her before watching her Lord, her heart pounding a little rapidly in worry.

Arie rather stiffly makes the sign of the jump cross in front of her own chest with one armoured hand now, lips moving in a silent prayer before she then focuses upon the opening of the duel with a rapt and absolute focus.

On the close of the prayer, Pura blows smoke upward. She remains in that same languid pose, watching without being a bother. And apparently having no one to talk to, since everyone else came in company. Nobles, feh.

Benoite looks at Caius, "You got to be kidding, as if any war is fun, or interesting, why do you have such a grave outlook on things, I mean we are twice any of them, and will never falter in our ways, why should we let them rule unopposed?" thinking a moment, 'Your comments I should warn you border on betrayal and in wartime that is not a good thing as if it is any better in peacetime but now it's Treason, so suggest you temper yourself for your benefit, not mine."

Arisabella does not quite snap to attention, but even she can't help but straighten at the glory of hearing the beloved and respected anthem, despite the slightly strange method of sound delivery. She nods back at Skye's smile, but like the other woman, does not let her gaze stray too long from this unknown Lord, Devante.

The high wailing ends, and then the circle of people break open - to release Rasad Khan, literally leaping from the midst of them as he sprints for Devante, axe held high and shield low in front of him, dim light gleaming off its polished surface. "ZAIBOLU AKBAR!" he screams. "ZAIBOLU AKBAR!"

Michael lays his hands on his swords, watching not the fighting, but the entourage of the Khan, looking for Kurgan treachery.

Caius takes a sip of his whiskey from his flask as he turns to Benoite first and to his chief lictor, offering them a sip. No prayers or jump crosses or anxiety. He narrows his view as he turns to Benoite, with an incredulous look on his face, "Betrayal? Treason? I ask politely, from one Hawkwood to another, to learn of the entire story before passing judgments upon your fellow Hawkwood based upon incomplete knowledge," Caius states with a slight twitch of his eye before turning to the chanting and songs and so forth. One can see his thumbnail pressed against his the gap between his index finger and thumb of his other hand, his entire arm shaking to keep himself from exploding, the blunt nail biting in, drawing blood.

Arie glances for a moment back to her staff officers, a small nod, then she returns her attention entirely to the fight. Gauntleted hands clench as she leans forward slightly in the saddle, studying the initial approaches of the two combatents with more than just professional interest.

Benoite shrugs, "Maybe Caius you are just negative and I misunderstood you, but one should support our head of house at all times and those allied to him, it's his call, we are only here to serve, so I apologize if my words are harsh or bite with reality, but it's those words that remind people of their actions so they can evalutate them for the next time." bowing slightly as he turns to watch the duel very briefly as he seems to look around more, as there only seems to be leaders out here, "I wonder where all their people are, doesn't seem fitting for them to only send very few."

Idris Khan is keeping his eyes on the fight, watching Devante to make sure there's no treachery. The man with enormous, emerald-cut sword is instead watching the crowd, ready to strike off the heads of any who dare intervene with that frightening blade.

Skye flinches as the Kurgan rapidly closes the distance between himself and her Lord. She glances at the man with the large sword to make sure he is not going to do anything out of hand as well, and catches him watching them. Shaking her head she returns her attention to her Lord. Always to Devante.

Rasad Khan crashes into Devante with an enormous rush, a clash of steel and the flash of bright orange as his energy shield flares. Blows are being traded back and forth furiously, the axe clashing against Devante's sword in showers of shocker-borne sparks as his shield rams against the Hazat, sending the other man's shield off in a burst of light.

Devante's blades come in quick and furious. He is the mirror image, negatively inverted, of the man he fights. Fast, Lithe, Like a dancer he spins to launch attacks and fiend them off. His blades whirl, the ancient Katana singing through the air, paired by what looks an ungainly match; a Main Gauche.

Mighty blows rain from the inspired Hazat as the same are received, shield flares light the twilight...

Arisabella glances over to the chatty nobles briefly, the suggestion of a frown pulling the corners of her mouth down; as close a demonstration of emotion, pure disapproval in this case, as she's allowed herself to express in who-knows how long. Skye's sudden tensing drags Arisabella's attention back to the duel quickly, and her expression once again empties.

Pura begins to smile as she watches the dance of blades, sitting up just a little straighter and lowering her cigarette, letting it burn down between her fingers. Her eyes take on the flash of excitement. Maybe she really did bet on the outcome? In any case, now that all the posturing is done with and the real fight has begun, she's following it with every ounce of attention.

"My loyalties are to the throne and to our house. I have no allegiances to the House Hazat or the Triumvirate intermediaries. Lord Devante and the Lord Protector both have made this clear. I have come here to support Lord Michael and his endeavours, and that is all," Caius mutters to Benoite coldly in earshot of only the Hawkwood contingent as he watches his bloody hand, taking out a handkerchief and pressing upon the wound, quickly blooming red. He takes deep breaths, subduing for now the impassioned fury that is betrayed by his eyes.

Benoite nods, "Good, then it's good to know where your loyalties lie, as anyone can just show up, but one must stay the course and follow those who have risen in ranks and respect the decision of those in authority over us and in the face of the enemy show no ill-will, as it shows signs of weakness." his military teachings come out in the last statement, "Well, let's just watch as the duel ensues and maybe we can all go home with a victory for all."

Michael watches all of the Kurgens, but particuarly the one with the big sword, estimating how quickly he could get to him if it became necessary.

Arie glances across to michael a moment at that, and given she is mounted, down even, which is new. She quietly suggests. "If they try any treachery, blasters. And I have the guns of the Precious Blossom within range."

Caius crosses his arms to view the duel as it proceeds, before stating briefly to Benoite, "Even the best leaders make mistakes. Slavish deference to authority is for serfs. Just keep an eye on Lord Michael, please." His eyes follow the fight, more concerned about Michael's safety and having his staff keep a close watch on the security of the Hawkwood Viscount.

The Hazat spins back the way he came, trying to avoid the mans blows as well as he may, scouting, prodding, seeming to move in a strangely methodical and yet altogether chaotic fashion, a blending of wind and stone in his fighting. Shields flare again as technology takes the blows of brute force and strength. It's clear this is no gentile duel that will end at first blood, but instead will drag until one man is in the mud. The Hazat's blade slides under the other mans shield once, trailing along his armor and leaving a gouge, but no armor... and for that he trades a rapid succession of hits to his shield...

The tall Kurgan presses home in a whirl of axe and shield, driving against the Hazat full of fire and fury. "ZAIBOLU AKBAR!" he screams as his axe sets of a sparking flare of shield. "ZAIBOLU AKBAR!" His round shield, too is forcing up Devante, trying to drive the man back - though at the last, he stumbles, his shield wide to open a blow in return for the Hazat lord. Even vulnerable, the Kurgan bellows defiance: "ZAIBOLU AKBAR!"

Skye overhears Arie and her hand automatically goes to the blaster immediately. Hovering near it, just in case of course, she continues to watch the duel. Silently cheering her Lord on.. only occasionally looking towards the group of Kurgans, making sure they are staying out of it.

Arisabella also reacts to the words spoken by the unknown woman, Arie. The young noblewoman's stance shifts just-so, and without seeming to actually move, her hand is both closer to and more prepared for the pistol at her hip, yet she is still watching the fight with mild eyes.

Benoite scoffs at Cacius's remark about the best leaders even make mistakes, "Thinks that watching this event is the best thing you can do right now." folds his arms as the cloak hides him, he gets ready to draw his blaster or sword if needbe.

Michael is in powered ceramsteel, Arie is in plastic full plate with an assault shield and a regular bulletproof shield. A duelling shield is pretty seriously nice, but it cannot be warn with anything heavier than synsthilk or polymer knit.

Now, it would seems to get Brutal. One blade, the off hand, parries the mans massive blows coming in while other, the ancient blade, rains its own. While doing -that-, Devante moves with a slyphs grace, delivering a series of blows from Knees, Elbows and other such fun hard points covered in armor...

Unbalanced for a moment, Rasad takes a step back, axe flailing - but the man is a mountain, and his momentum cannot be stopped. His sword crashes down on Rasad's upraised shield, and the axe whips around to strike hard at Devante.

Caius rolls his eyes at hearing Benoite's reaction. He trades a look with his chief lictor before taking another sip of whiskey from his flask. Petty nobility, he thinks, justifying his own former rank as a baronet as a historical accident as he stiffles a yawn.

The Battle continues, the large mans axe slipping under the Hazat's shield with a crack of armor plates, but no blood flows. A mark is left though, metal streaks on carbon plating. It knocks him back, off his footing, a visible blow that has struck the HAzat's stride. It is momentary however, for the light of the Pancreator burns in this son of Lextius, Scion to the Legacy of the Hazat.

Benoite watches the duel, but keeps his eyes on the people around his Lord, to ensure his safety and that of his friends as his back is too Cacius briefly as he does turn around time to time to make sure they aren't being surrounded or snuck up on.

"ZAIBOLU! ZAIBOLU AKBAR!" Rasad Khan has spittle flying from his mouth as he puts his whole body behind his shield, slamming it up against Devante even as he swings his axe in a vicious, sidearm blow that sends the Hazat lord's shield sparking. "I will crack your bones," he rants feverishly. "I will suck the marrow from your broken body!"

Arie winces as Devante is driven back, muttering something under her breath before she then makes the sign of the jumpcross and moves her lips in silent prayer.

The Kurgan general drives his shoulder up, shield in front of it. A stray beam of light cascades off its polished, mirror finish and it is for a moment as if there is a scintillating starbust as the disk strikes Devante and sets his shield flashing bright gold. Little bits of orange are sparkling all around the big man, too - the lithe Hazat he faces is a dancer, feet perfect as he walks the rings of La Destreza, David using wit and skill against the goliath that is Rasad Khan.

Devante grunts as he moves... "I'll give you something to suck..." He grunts, finding his feet again and digging in. "Paulus give me the guidance to explore the limits of my skill... And Amalthea dull my senses..." With that, the dance ends and he moves backwards no more, taking the mans blows.

In another life, on another day, Pura woulda shot that guy just for being annoying. As it is she just flicks a glance over toward Idris Khan and lifts her cigarette for another inhale. Her eyes return to the fight. She hasn't moved. The pose is a lazy, graceful one, perched atop the bit of ruined wall.. but the longer she stays exactly there, the more deliberate it looks.

Michael spits in the direction of the Kurgan. "Silence, dog. Your barking is bothering your betters."

Arisabella watches the previous stately dance dissolve in to fury, and the tempers of the men battling escalate and takes the tiniest step towards the fight, still several feet from the 'front line' of spectators, but closing that distance by minute degrees. Her hand, previously only giving a suggestion of touching her pistol, now makes a more certain move- away from the grip and deliberately alights flat against her thigh.

Arie glares at Idris a moment now, her focus turning from the fight. "Perhaps once this is done you would like me to hew you at the knees to that you can crawl on the ground whimpering like the worm your words indicate to you me? Maybe I shall seek you to do such in the battle on the morrow."

The Hazat stands his ground, his blades flying with a surgeons precision, warding off blows, but the battle is frenzied and both men are moving with alacrity. ANothr blow slips under the shield, cracking off Dev's armor while Dev launches a spinning back kick that triggers the Larger mans shield... "And the CLAW is still sharp!"

A blow from Devante sends an orange burst like a halo around Rasad's head, but he is fighting back: melodious words in the tongue of the Kurgans falling from his lips like rain, accompanied by the thunder of his shield striking Devante with brassy booms and the lightning that dances as sword and axe meet in crackling majesty.

Benoite watches around the group intently waiting for signs of trouble to crop up.

Skye is still riveted to the scene before her, but when her fellow Hazat takes a step forward, Skye does too, making sure to stay at her side, her eyes flickering to the loud mouthed one briefly, her hand at her pistol.

The Hazat Holds his ground now, blades flashing in a pattern as he comes to understand better how the man fights. The mans strength however is not to be denied, a powerful thing that sometimes batters the Vicounts blades aside, scraping along the lords Armor... It's becoming quickly, a slugfest.

Rasad Khan takes one, two, three steps back under the rain of blows from Devante. The fight, at least momentarily, is turning towards Devante, but there's is an earth trembling roar from Rasad as he swings his axe back overhand, trying to split the Hazat lord's head as he batters at his with body and shield. Above, the cast of light through Jeremiah's Cross creates a chiaroscuro pattern on the ground, a holy emblem over which both men entertwine in deadly dance.

Arisabella nods just barely, watching the fight spin on, but not so absorbed that her attention doesn't also take in the other Kurgans, the true goal for her approach to the audience's front line.

Devante grunts as the battle wears on, both men starting to tire... or so Devante fervently hopes. "Zakyeloys, Master of the Empyrean and Lord of Hosts, show me your favor this day as I fight in the name of the Celestial Suns, as I battle the forces of Heresy and the Opposition of all that is right on this world..." He prays, even in the midst of battle. Maybe its a little self serving: Please god, don't let me die... but it's still a prayer..

Whatever the Hawkwood Baron is thinking is not apparent as he seems to grow bored of the drama in the field, taking out his reading glasses and a note pad as he jots down a few notes, a few directives, occasionally looking up to make sure things are all right with the Hawkwood Viscount. He stiffles a yawn. Sure, the duel is epic and with epic stakes, but there is a lack of reverence in the matter. Caius, in the midst of his anger and wrath, seems to be distracted and lost. A suppressed ball of rage adrift in the sea of activity.

The clash of sword and axe, steel clanging against axe - main-gauche striking shield with a rat-a-tat brass hum - and then a shouted cry from Rasad: "BELIAH! BELIAH!" and his shield punching out like a discuss, striking the Hazat lord and knocking his head back with a spray of blood seeming to hang in the air.

Devante's nose breaks with a crack, blood coming from it in a copious flow, but no serious injury given... "Is that all you have? I've Blood to SPARE!" With that, he launches back in to the fray...

Arie winces at that strike, a muttered curse in Hellene as she straightens abruptly in her saddle, and watches intently. A slight relaxation of said tension as Devante launches himelf back.

Arisabella obviously sees the first blood drawn, how could she not? But no visible reaction is forthcoming except another measured half-step forward, now almost within arm's reach of Michael and Arie, not of her House, and in fact totally unknown to her, but obviously trusted by the man's watching so intently and thus worthy of at least the trust of proximity in public.

Aww, it was such a pretty nose, too. Pura watches the fight with the air of someone with money on the outcome, but more interest in the action. She grins in response to Dev's cry, seeming thoroughly pleased by it rather than concerned. But she never moves from that casual pose, hand on thigh, cigarette in the air. It's starting to get close to burning her fingers.

Michael sighs a bit, but watches carefully, knowing the energy that is being burnt up in the duel. His eyes keep shifting to the waiting Kurgens, not trusting them at all.

Skye winces and turns from the fight for the quickest moment before, unable to help herself, turning to face and watch again. If looks could kill, the Kurgans would all be dead by now. Too bad.

Another shield crangs in to the HAzats head as he gets his bell rung again... A little more blood, but it does not appear to be a significant wound. THis must end and soon, if DEvante is to overcome the other mans superior endurance. Luckly, the Hazat is in lighter armor. Unluckly, the Hazat.. is in lighter armor.

Michael gestures to an aide, who comes up quickly. He whispers in the aides ear, who scurries off on his errand.

Arisabella notes Skye's brief turn from the fight, and uses that smallest of moment to look in the opposite direction, taking in the people to her side, but the renewed clash of arms and armor once more draws the newcomer's attention. Arisabella does not look amused, but then again, her expression is perpetually difficult to read; schooled to stillness as it is.

Pura's fingertips drum half over her thigh and half over one holster of her guns. The cigarette burns down and she quickly flicks it away, shaking her hand a little and rubbing it on the leg of her cargo pants. Ouch. With that same hand she reaches into her jacket for another cigarette, then for a lighter. She'd be considered chain-smoking, except her right hand never leaves the position it's had from the first second of the duel.

Rasad's axe and shield are hammers, a smith working at hot metal that slowly but surely is deforming underneath its blows. Still, sweat gleams plain on his brow, and there's a bit more of a haggard motion, his cries less wild and his breath heavier as rains blows upon Devante.

Arisabella paces forward again, stepping fully up to the line dividing the crowd and the emptiness surrounding the two combatants. Nothing registers in the flatness of her eyes, but it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to imagine this young Hazat noblewoman is not precisely thrilled with the dire turn the duel seems to be taking. How long can the woman remain dispassionate as she watches the Lord Hazat of this planet get beaten by such filth as a Kurgan?

The Battle is now clearly taking its toll on Dev as he stumbles back, a rain of blows sparking off his shield in a multicolored hue of sparkles scitilating in to darkness... The weight of the armor weighs on him and sweat, blood and some other detrius of battle cover his face. "YOU CANNOT DEFEAT ME!" HE calls out, raising his weapons once more... "ONLY KILL ME!"

Arie now looks across, somewhat worried, to Michael. She speaks quietly, obviously not intending to be over heard by anybody else. "It.. Well I fear we must consider that Lord Devante is going to lose. We will have to redraw our plans for an offensive given the terms of the duel."

Caius looks up, missing the splatter of blood but watching the Hazat take some hard blows. He puts the notepad away and lights up another cigarette. Is it pity? Is it a curl of his lips towards a smile, or an illusion cast from the words he had so outwardly spoken earlier. Caius' eyes drift off elsewhere, eyeing the crowd casually and taking a few glances at the Kurgans, assess the situation.

The big Kurgan's axe is sputtering a little bit - it's been crackling lightning-strong for almost an hour, now, and technology can't last that long. Rasad tries for a battle cry, but it comes out as a wordless bellow as he uses weight more than skill as he pushes against Devante.

At Dev's words, Pura's expression changes for the first time out of a look of jovial interest. Her eyes narrow, lips purse, shoulders stiffen, and she looks downright pissed off. And perhaps a little disgusted. Disappointed, maybe? Hard to say, but in any case the statement did not please her in the slghtest. Her cigarette, half burned down, gets flicked to the ground and stomped upon once with her boot heel.

Michael nods. "Possibly. But it isn't over yet."

Arisabella notes the Kurgan's flagging stamina and the slow failure of the big man's bigger weapon with something that might approach relief, but the obvious question cannot help but hang heavily over the spectators- Who will win the race between Hazat and Kurgan?

Now the combat is the lowest common denominator of brutality, two men slamming in to each other with exhausted fury, smoldering fires of rage that will simply not extinguish. The blades in Devantes hands flip around, to reverse orientation as he starts to spin back in to his enemy, blades slamming home but finding no flesh to bite. It's a display of bladework on both parts that will not soon be repeated in this quadrant of the known worlds.

Devante displays skill and grace - finesse through exhaustion, precision despite the weight of strained muscles and body pushed beyond its limits. Rasad displays none of these things. Rasad is a rock, rolling downhill towards the Hazat, and while exhaustion shows in his face the war-drum blows of axe and shield are a frenzied funerary beat. "RASAD KHAN!" he bellows. "FEAR RASAD KHAN!"

Arie continues to intently watch the.. Well, battering now, another muttered comment mostly to herself in Hellene, it does not sound like a positive comment.

Caius sneezes as he takes out his ledger again, stiffling yet another yawn. Perhaps there's a certain indecision that is the font of his apathy - does he want the Hazat to lose or the Kurgan to lose... eitherway, Caius ends up unhappy.

Arisabella sets her gaze on another target for the moment, no longer is she focusing almost solely on Devante, but now the loud Kurgan man Devante fights. She watches the big man as he all but steam-rolls around the impromptu arena, battering and hammering at the Hazat nobleman. The young woman's blue eyes fixate on how the Kurgan moves; the way his fingers curl around the axe handle and how his limbs flex and pull. Silently, impassively even, she studies his combat style for her own edification.

You cannot keep a good man down. The Hazat continues his spin, reversing again the blades in his hands. He cannot overpower the man. He must outlast the man. Outlast him. He lashes out, blades skittering over the bigger mans shield... "You hide well, but you fight like a puppy, snapping its jaws!" He says, his foot lashing out for a vicious knee-cap kick that instead of snapping bone, energizes the mans shield.

Rasad takes a heavy step back as his shield flares, the momentum from Devante's kick still carrying into his body - but he slams back with his axe, and Devante's shield sparks again. The big Kurgan's weapon is entirely dead, now, its power spent into the Hazat's shield so that now the axe is as it has always been: metal, sharp and heavy at the end of a stick.

Now leaning slightly forward on her perch, Pura appears to be following the battle with the eyes of a hawk. Or rather, hawkish eyes. Doing it with the eyes of an actual hawk would be difficult and probably gross. "Dammit," she grumbles impatiently, pulling out another cigarette and settling it onto her lower lip, but not lighting it yet.

Devante says something in Kurgan.

Straightening up a little as the combatants shift to the Kurgan language, Pura frowns deeply and shakes her head. It looks like disagreement, and very peevish disagreement at that. "You stupid son of a.." She growls, but there's no one actually sitting with her or paying attention to the mere Guilder, and who can really say which one of them she's talking about. Her cigarette goes unlit.

Exhaustion is indeed sapping the Hazat now at a more rapid rate than that of the Kurgan he faces... "YOu fight well, my foe... But I cannot let you win this day... You invade my home... you take that which is mine... you have commited crimes against the very blood of the earth we stand on... I tire... I bleed... but I will fight till my very blood itself is boiled away... You cannot defeat me..." He growls, blades coming back around, finding nothing but shield...

Idris Khan, who hasn't been fighting, is much drier than Devante or Rasad. "Really," he murmurs. "I wouldn't have thought he lived in such a mudpit - I guess he has less class I thought.

Rasad seems to be moving in slow motion - one can almost imagine corded muscles rippling beneath his armor every time he swings his axe around, underhand, to crash up against Devante's shield in a shudden shower of sparks that casts sharp shadows across the cross towering above them. The Hazat lord's sword is caught on an upraised shield, and step by step Rasad is now starting push Devante back, forcing him in the direction of Jeremiah's Cross.

Arie shifts her left arm slightly, glancing for a moment down at the watch shielded under one armoured vambrace before she winces and returns her attention to the fight. She continues to watch with a kind of rapt fascination, though certainly not an upbeat expression.

Devante turns, his boots gripping soil. The Cross. The Pancreator. Yes... Limit his stroke, his ability to use strength. His ability to fulcrum. Devante can be pointy, while he must be swingy. This is not good with a gigantic cross in the way. His back is to the enemy as he rethinks his battle plan, moving with haste to the cross. "Pancreator, guard me as I guard your flock!" He says, sliding around the stone oblesk of a cross..

"RASAD KHAN! ZAIBOLU AKBAR!" Rasad rushes after the fleeing, scrambling Hazat Lord, raining blows on Devante as he turns to run. Sparks fly from the shield, and now the men face off over Jeremiah's Cross itself, raised up a little on a small pile of rubble that has been built up from the shelling - a titanic fight that seems to echo across the heavens. There is a sudden crack, and the swirling clouds above suddenly open up in a downpour of rain, lightning crackling down on the plain as a counterpoint to this, the final minutes of Rasad and Devante's struggle.

Pura glances down at her unlit cigarette, getting soaked in the rain, and puts it into her pocket irritably. Her jacket she pulls a little more around herself - mostly to shield the guns on her hips from the downpour. But other than that she just sits there, watching the battle, getting rapidly soaked to the skin, starting to look like something the cat dragged in and threw up on its owner's shoes.

Arisabella briefly flicks her gaze up at the rain, then back to the fight, but now she watches neither of the main players so intently as she does the Kurgan reinforcements, sensing that if they were to stir trouble, it might come soon. She still manages to catch every blow and twist of the two fighters at the cross, but with less intensity than before.

Caius tilts his head as a sudden downpour begins, digging out a small folding umbrella of Delphic origin out of his cloak and unfolding it. Won't help much considering the volume, but it keeps his head... and more importantly, his swords... dry.

Arie scowls as the rain begins to come down, her attention diverted for a moment, she starts to speak rapidly and quietly into her squawker while depressing the prezzle switch with one gauntleted hand, the other fumbling a moment for her poncho on the back of her saddle before she hauls it up over her head. Not terribly dignified looking but apparently in her opinion it beats rain down the neck in plate armour.

Michael watches grimly now, waiting for the end one way or the other.

Caius smirks as a lictor notes the uncanny coincidence of having an umbrella on site. Caius shrugs and states, "Well, felt it in my bones. After you break a few dozen of em and sprain a few joints, everything starts to ache in this sort of weather."

The Hazat slides around the Cross, taking blow after blow, but clearly starting to recover stamina as he does not raise his blades, instead taking the chance to rest a bit... only a bit... for now... A blow slices where a shield should have been, but bounces off the armor of the Hazat.

Rasad is fighting atop the pile, axe and shield battering against Devante's shield - until the axe cleaves through, sending the shield suddenly in a bright spark, rain sizzling as it implodes, failing. The Hazat is defenseless now, and as the Kurgan general sees that happen he takes a step back, straightening on the pile and casting his shield aside. He takes his axe in both hands, raising it high above his head. There is a sudden crack of lightning, and the tall man is outlined in fire: "RASAD KHAN!"

Devante does not cower from the man... He sees his enemy. He sees his path. The man launches FOR Rasad Kahn now, his feet finding purchase on the right stones, his flight powered by the Pancreator... He leaps in to the air, His body propelled by the holy might of Lextius.

Hands reach out for Kahn, but instead, overshoot, grasping the very edge of the Jumpcross. His feet fulcrum from under him, rotating now on the cross, striking the man in the chest and face...

"DEVANTE CASTILLO!" Cries the Hazat as he comes up to his feet... "FOR THE PANCREATOR AND THE EMPEROR!" He calls, charging down the hill for the fallen man, blades back at the ready.

The huge Kurgan is hurled back by the double-hammer of Devante's feet, and he flies back off the mound of rubble, striking the pebbly ground. Rasad Khan begins to struggle to his feet, blood streaming from a cut across his face, and then - eyes wild through a sanguinary veil - he is on his feet again, his mouth twisted in a snarl of rage as he charges back up the mound, axe low and slashing towards the Lord of Valenciana.

Arisabella exults, even if it is nothing more than the subtlest twist of her features and flash of her eyes. For a moment, the young Hazat woman radiates triumphant pride as she watches the Kurgan flies down the rubble-pile.

Michael's eyes narrow as the shield fails and Devante falls, but he moves not, as the rules of the duel still hold, even in this moment of mortal danger.

Through the pouring down rain that plasters her hair to her face, Pura grins. Once more her eyes flash with excitement at watching the fight, and she stretches a little. Having been sitting on that same ruined wall in that exact pose for over an hour now, her butt is starting to go numb. But who cares? Pass the beer and popcorn! The fight is on!

Arie does doubletake at that, a grin across her face for a moment followed by a wince both at it pulling at her cheek beneath its dressing and at the Kurgan regaining his footing so rapidly. Then she continues to tug the poncho to better cover against the rain, a glance across at Idris as she pointedly notes in a tone amplified to be easily heard. "I would show rather more respect to a man who is matching your lord blow for blow. Or do you think so little of your own liege?"

Caius tilts to a junior lictor and whispers something of an errand for the young man. He runs off like the wind. Important directive? A trick up his sleeve to change the winds of the fight? Move the rain to the advantage of the man he wants to win? No. The lictor comes back with a bottle of some fine Delphi whiskey taking a sip of oak-aged warmth, his flask now unexcusably empty.

The hazat charges down the hill, his blades lashing out, catching air as much as the other mans does. A half charged assault shield, plate mail, a shield and a huge ax the size of Devante's ego... It's not a good combination for an exhausted hazat with no assault shield and no energy shield. What Devante would -give- for... Well, some rest. The Assault is sound and fury, but it does not continue the rally...

There is a titanic crash as Rasad's axe hits Devante's sword, and then the huge barbarian is pushing Devante step by step back up the pile of rubble. A roll of thunder, and once again the pair fight feverishly around the cross, Rasad swinging his great axe two handed in an effort to cleave the smaller Hazat in twain. "ZAIBOLU!" Rasad yells, sensing victory - and then, a little ways away, his Kurgan riders echo his cry:

"ZAIBOLU AKBAR!"

Muzak plays quietly, but in a perky way.

THe pair at the top of the rubble now are engaged in the end game, the second wind of titanic blows that will decide the contest. Blow after blow is launched and parried, reposted and parried again... Devante seems to be making a bit of a comeback as he scores a touch on the othermans shield...

Rasad's shield flashes orange under Devante's assault, and then the huge Kurgan swings up his axe. Lightning again, a brief vignette outlined in white fire, and then the bellow: "ZAIBOLU!" The axe drops, tearing into Hazat flesh, Devante shuddering as the heavy blade opens up a wide gash down his shoulder. "ZAIBOLU AKBAR!"

Michael winces as the axe lands, preparing himself to enter if Devante yeilds.

Arie hisses slightly, a sharp exhalation between clenched teeth as the axe tears through Devante. "Pancreator's light.. Why did he go in wearing light armour like that?" She exclaims.

Arisabella twitches, a tinge of heat blooming in her lightly tanned face as she watches this Hazat nobleman's shoulder open up. The faintest hiss of indrawn breath speaks of vastly more emotion than she's displayed thus far. An actual kiss of hate begins to boil in her eyes; this woman who has never even met Devante is now almost vibrating with the desire to destroy that which he battles.

The Hazat continues now, his fury rising as does the blood in his wound. Black armor, glistening rain, blood red running down his chest, he is a still a formidable foe. He Lashes out, a spinning boot kick to the shin slamming in to an armor plate while the katana lashes around to spark the shield... "I give you the option of Yeilding, for you are a worthy foe!"
Shaw... Right...

Caius takes another swig of his whiskey as one of the lictors, in battle, who the baron is rooting for. Caius shrugs, "Does it matter? The soil despite the rain, stands still like the unmoving will of the heavens, even the Pancreator can will the folly of man to do so much before divine inspiration gives way to the weakness of flesh. I am rooting for the man whom the Pancreator has willed to win." He takes a sip of his liquor. The contradictions in his words only leaves questions in answer to the original query.

Fury burns in Rasad's eyes - the true battle-lust now, sword-song humming in his muscles. This is a titan's clash: blood-ember, hot and red in the hands of the chieftan, tree-breaking lightning falling like the spears of angels. This is the sword-din, axe-din steel din of combat as the Kurgan khan yells angry, wordless defiance to skies as he presses his attack against this hot-blooded Hazat.

Sitting back, drenched to the skin without an umbrella or poncho or anything but her hair to keep the rain off her head, Pura watches the blood flow with narrowed eyes. Her lips purse and she shivers slightly from rivaulets of cold rain water flowing down the back of her neck. But she's not moving. The Muster girl is probably not here just for entertainment.

Arie shakes her head slightly now under the poncho pulled up over her, speaking mostly to Michael as she comments in a vaguely horrified. "I would have sworn with an axe he would at least have lost his energy shield first against blades. . I suppose because of having a physical shield of his own to spare it. Florentine is not my own choice when such is available. That Kurgan though. How can he still fight after so long wearing full armour?"

Devante spins away from the Kurgan now, his blades lashing out but finding no purchase as he nearly slips on the wet stone. Good boots however, find purchase before he goes ass-over-teakettle like he had sent his earstwhile friend a few minutes before.

This time it is the butt end of the axe which slams into Devante, a wicked backhand from Rasad that wicked ice-wormed spike that caps the axe of Rasad Khan into fair Castillo flesh. The rain has both men soaked to the bone, pounding down as the fire in Rasad's eyes gives way to a bone-curdling banshee shreik that ululates up and down in eerie symphony.

Michael shrugs. "I'm not sure how either of them are still going."

Pura's eyes start sweeping the line of Kurgans, then flicking back to the battle, back and forth. She scans, stops at one or two of the enemy, then returns to Devante and the fight. Now actually shivering, but ignoring it, she automatically starts to reach for a smoke again and then stops herself. It'd be useless trying to light the damn thing in this downpour. Eyes go back and forth. Kurgans, Dev, Rasad Khan, round and round it goes.

Fire comes back in Devante now... The Storm is growing in power, rain coming down in sheets. The Viscounts eyes lock on his enemy, the Hazat fire of his blood coming to the fore. Khan comes in for a massive swing of his axe, the blade of the Katana coming to meet it in the air... and in a flash of lighting that illuminates the moment, stops it -dead- in its tracks... "I WILL NOT.." He shoves the blade away, advancing... "BE DEFEATED!"

Arie angles her arm to look at that watch shielded under her vambrace again, in disbelief. A small shake of her head as she returns her focus to the battle. Another comment to Michael. "If Lord Devante yields - I do not think he will, then better I second him. Especially in that new armour of yours I am a lot lighter in this mud and he is likely to underestimate me."

Arisabella spent the previous long minutes of the duel in a drawn out state of dispassion, watching and hearing without emotion or purpose, but as she's watched a Hazat nobleman slowly lose his blood in this tragedy of a duel, her fury has risen. It sits as uneasily on her face as any true emotion; the girl is simply more familiar with showing nothing and has forgotten how to display emotion- how to even process it. Now, she exists in a different sort of state, caught in between the fire of battlerage and the familiar grey blanket she's more accustomed to.

Michael shakes his head at Arie. "I am his second for this. I will deal with what comes as is necessary."

Blade locked to blade, Rasad's face is inches from Devante's, eyes bright, blood staining his cheeks. "Zaibolu," he says, his voice low, and then his muscles flex and there is a titanic heave: "ZAIBOLU!" A beat, the axe winding back as Devante stumbles back. "ZAIBOLU - RASAD KHAAN!" Arms flex, and the axe hurtles through the air at titanic speed. It slows suddenly in a sickening spray of blood as the blade cleaves through Devante's breastplate, deep into his gut, and then it keeps going. The pressure of Rasad's mighty thews lifts the Hazat bodily off the ground, hurtling him across the mound of rubble until his back smacks the cross and he slumps down, crumpled on the stones.

The Kurgan commander draws a breath, pumping his axe above his head. "RASAD KHAN!" he yells, and there is a defeaning thunder as his seconds, his guards and indeed his entire army a half-mile off takes up that victorious shout.

Caius' brow perks up as he understands the enormous epic nature of this fight, and seems pretty disinterested for the success of either side. He takes another long gulp of his whiskey, wiping the corners of his lips off with his damp sleeve. Cool, enraged fury kept silent. His brow raises once more as Devante is thrown against the cross, a visceral reflex from the Hawkwood baron hinted by a forced swallow, the anger latent in his eyes now welling up with a thousand emotions, looking away for a moment. He lets out a sigh as he folds up the umbrella, letting the rain soak through his form.

Pura is on her feet. She doesn't know how she got there, but she's there now, shivering and pacing forward on long, graceful strides. At the edge of the ring of onlookers she stops, frowning deeply at the fallen Hazat. The reason for the frown is unclear at first, maybe anger or disappointment. Concern would carry most people still forward to check on the injured man, but she doesn't. The girl just stands there, soaked to the skin and shivering, staring at Devante with an expression that looks increasingly pissed off. Apparently, at him.

Devante tumbles down the rocks, his body and form draped over a statuary of Lextius, Patron Saint of the Nobility. Blood pours down over the face of the saint, filling in the lines and groves, giving the stone carving an unearthly appearance beneath the fallen lord.

Michael watches intently, waiting to see if Devante will arise or call yeild on his own. He leans towards the field, ready to move onto it immediatly, as soon as he can tell.

Devante ain't exactly speaking.

"Hold" The words boom from Michael armor as he moves into the combat area quickly once Devante falls unconscious. "As his second, I yield the field and the honor to you this day, Rasad Kahn"

Rasad Khan stalks over to stand over the crumpled, fallen Don Devante, feet settled on a ledge a foot or so above Devante's head. "Yield!?" he bellow in Michael's direction, the axe still held - blood and water dripping from the edge - in his hand. "I am Rasad Khan!" he says. "I am the ravager of worlds!" He slowly surveys the rain-soaked, ruined town. He bends swiftly, drawing a small knife and pulling back on the Hazat's head by his proud, long hair. The knife glints in the rain, and then the hair is severed, the ponytail a long hank held in the same hand as the axe of Rasad Khan. "This man has cannot yield. He has lost. I have won. He shall die knowing he was given the mercy of Rasad Khan." The Kurgan soldiers are starting to canter towards Rasad, now, one of them leading the general's horse as he turns his back to Michael and bounds across the mound to leap onto its back.

Michael draws both swords as he moves fast now. "Drop the knife or die, you pig eating piece of goat shit!"

Arie stiffens now, stops stock still a moment, then says something quietly to herself. She drops heavily from her saddle, landing with a solid chunk of plastic plating as her boots hit the ground. As she lands she then draws her blade, the broadsword crackling into life as she brings it to her hand. She pulls her sallet from her saddle then, seating it atop her head before she then speaks into her squawker in a voice full of deadly intent while she hauls her shield around. "This is Foxtrot, Romeo, Zero. Ordering Fire plan Howard preset coordinates, sustain bombardment. Bravo-Sierra-One move to screen retreat and fire upon enemy forces."

As the Kurgans run back towards their lines and the Kurgan soldiers fight a rearguard to protect their peeps. Two, you guys can not pursue and open fire. This position, however, is not going to be all the safe for long - Arie's guys failed their first arty roll, but they'll succeed soon, and that's going be, you know, bad. Three, you guys can grab Devante and book it home and prepare for el battelio, either immediately (an afternoon/night fight) or in the morning. In none of these cases are we probably going to run combat, as it is very late and there's another big combat tomorrow - but we can ajudicate any of those situations on the fly as you guys choose."

"Friend, enemy, ally, betrayer..." Caius begins to roughly hiss in the Hawkwood tongue, his eyes red, the rain running down his cheeks as the Hawkwood shudders violently with the chill of the rain chilling his very soul. There's a dark grimace, his eyes shifting between hatred and pity, sadness and triumph. The bottle of whiskey falls to his feet, spilling the precious drops of Delphi onto the saturated ground. "Get the horses ready, now," Caius orders as he finally stirs from his contemplation, "The sound of her voice always did remind me of the scratching of chalkboards..." Caius muttered in Battle as he stays in place, waiting for the Hawkwood Viscount.

Arisabella watches Devante tumble, noting the deathly stillness of his form, and then her vision dims even as she's propelling forward, running lightly on the slippery mud and somehow managing not to fall over rocks. She rushes the Hazat nobleman's prone form, not even fully realizing the commands she's snapping to the Hazat soliders who've just witnessed their Lord fall. "EXTRACT THE VISCOUNT IMMEDIATELY!" she screams, even as she drops to her knees by the unconscious man, jabbing a slender needle in to a bit of exposed flesh at the base of his neck. Snarling blindly at the Kurgan and his trophy, every fiber of the woman's body vibrates tangible rage and danger. Freed of its injector, one hand drops meaningfully to the long knife at her hip, pure fury and loathing pouring from her bright blue eyes.

Arie jogs forward toward the Kurgans with her crackling broadsword held in gauntleted hand as it sparks and jolts, the rain hammering now off of her sallet as her vision is narrowed to a slit in the encasing armour. She continues to speak into her squawker as she closes, a deeply angry and near snarling tone though barely audible outside of her enclosed helm. "This is Foxtrot Romeo Zero, Target is seeking to withdraw, adjust fire to interdict, Bravo-Sierra-One make haste and fire on closing. Hazat cavalry will be seeking to withdraw through your advance. In event of no further communication command is to default to Lord Michael Hawkwood."

Pura turns on her heel without a backward look, and runs flat out. One hand lifts to touch her Muster whisperpin and she starts reeling off orders, details, the stakes of the duel they're going to have to concede, the likelihood of battle and when. Can she outrun the radius of the artillery strike, without horse or vehicle? Damn, sometimes being a lone Guilder in a sea of nobles is not so fun.

Kago Ishi, Devante's Warhorse moves over to his lord and master.. knickering softly, he bares his teeth in an expressive gesture.

"Lord Michael, if Lady Arie has called in the calvary, we ought to go. No point in standing here and waiting to get blown up. We need to get back to our forces and get Lord Devante to our medics," Caius states from behind, as his own lictors are sent away. A hand is hidden under his soaked cape as he walks up to the Hawkwood Viscount's side. His tone is remarkably calm, as he looks around, whistling loudly to the last lictor heading back, having him turn back. "Hold in case we need your horse to all of us out of here. No more Known-Worlder blood is going to be spilled on these grounds..."

If we were handling things in round/action order, which were weren't after the combat because we wanted to move it to narrative, Rasad would have had three rounds to pee on Dev's body while people ran from their positions to the base of the cross, and up the hill. Instead, Rasad reached down and cut Dev's Ponytail while Arisa (I think) and others moved forward to call an end to things. Rasad bellowed down his final words and started to leave as Arie began calling in artillery."

Michael truns to Arie. "Cancel the fire mission and call back the tanks. He is still alive and we will deal with them in the morning."

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Logs | Devante | IC Timeline