Your vision steadily goes a deeper and deeper red, until it looks like everything before you has been drenched in gore. Your breathing gets heavier and heavier. You look down to helmut. He isn't moving. He is bleeding. The red takes over, and you just….laugh.
You laugh and laugh, like an utter lunatic. Maybe the poison has gotten to you, or the wounds, or….whatever it is, it doesn't matter. You laugh, and you laugh and you laugh, stalking towards the bretonnian so-called Duke. The laughter reverberates through your body, and your grip on your hammer tightened.
"So this is Bretonnian hospitality! This is how you reward men who do your own job for you! Gather around men, we are about to hear a great lesson!" You boast. A cursory scan of your men shows their fear. Of you, or of Duke Marcel, you cannot say. You are too far gone to care. "This is how you reward those willing to defend your lands and avenge your dead lord's?!" Your laughter beings to grow more and more uncontrollable. As does the reddening of your vision. In your mind, you hear words urging you to kill. Gritting your teeth, you push them out, for they are not Sigmar's words.
"Come face me, duke! Should you win, I surrender my men, and my life, to your honourless kingdom! Should I win, though, you will do the same to me!" You goad. The duke bristles in anger, sputtering and stammering before he can find the words. Before he can, you unhook your right gauntlet, and toss it. Your arm is still strong, despite the poison ripping into you, and it lands right in front of his horse. "Face me! Or are you just a coward, who plays at war?!"
(Throwing down the gauntlet. 34 + 10 + 20 vs. 25 + 5. The gauntlet is picked up. )
"I accept, you honorless cur!" The duke bellows right back at you, dismounting his horse, and in full armor, marches towards you. His greatsword is held out in front of him. As he marches forward, you shed much of your armor. It is pitted, and has many deep gouges. It also feels….tighter, than before. You grip your hammer tightly, and the entire field goes silent, bar the crackel of burning tents, and the groaning of your wounded friend at your feet.
You say nothing to him as he marches towards you, he, however, has much to say. "For slaying Prince Jules De Montfort. For Neglecting your duties as guardians of the pass, for…" He drones on, and on, and on. Reading your hammer, you level it at his head. Due to your height, it is angled down, and only now does he seem to realize the difference in height between the two of you. "I am Prince Sigmund of Reikland. You have killed my friend. Prepare to die." are the only words from your lips, and you keep your grip. The duke seems insulted you would interrupt his self-important blithering, and draws his sword.
"You dare insult a Duke of Bretonnia?! I will have you know my lineage goes back over a thousand years! My ancestors fought with Giles le bre-"
(Interrupting the idiot. 91 + 10 + 5 vs. 98 + 10. Crouching moron, hidden badass.)
You thrust your hammer, top-spike first, at the blithering idiot, only to find, mayhaps, he is not quite the idiot you perceived. He easily sidesteps your blow, despite his armor, and cuts down at your arm, biting into it with his sword. The pain is intense, and you involuntarily let go of your hammer, cursing him, you decide to do something he can't expect. You headbutt him.
Staggering back, he feels the dent your thick skull has left in his armored helm, and sneering, he levels his word at you "Typical imperial! You lack the finesse of a true knight! You merely compensate with brutality!" He insults you, and ordinarily you would be deeply offended. Right now? Right now you just want to crush him.
Charging forward you pick his smaller form up, and despite his attempts to beat at you with the pommel of his blade, you shrug him off, and throw him to the ground, a sickening crunch the signifier you have, in fact, done the damage you desired. Or so you thought, the duke staggers back to his feet, grasping a dagger and cutting away the straps that hold his breastplate on.
"You think you can defeat me with a simple grapple?! Before you were learning to spell your name I was being trained to conquer the world!". You don't dignify him with words. A simple sneer will suffice. You eye your hammer, but simply charge him. You feel...almost energised. Your armor feels tighter, your muscles, stronger, your mind….as sharp as the runefang your father weilded. Charging in, you deal a devesating blow to the Duke's stomach, the metal plates of his brigandine buckling from the impact.
(Round two, hand to hand. 24 + 10 vs. 50 + 5)
You deliver a devastating follow up blow, caving in the dukes helmet, the enclosed helm buckling from the force of your blow. The duke staggers backwards, again, cutting the straps, the helmet falling down. His pale face is caked in blood, and he spits some in your direction. "Not bad, whelp! You will have to try harder than that, though!" You have only your bloodied knuckeles, as does he, or so you think. As he charges you, he comes in lower than you'd anticipated, easily ducking your punches, rolling behind you, he grabs your hammer, bringing it down onto you back.
The blow staggers you, causing you to stumble forward, before falling into a roll to face him. You can see his sword nearby, and he levels the hammer at you. "So! This is the so-called beast of Reikland! Pathetic! I should crush you where you stand, whelp!" You've got a lot of fight left to give, it's just a matter of how you go about it. You can see helmut, he lays in the mud, bleeding from his many wounds. You need to end this fight fast, to save your friend. But how? Your eyes dart around, and all you see is an orcish cleaver, the Breton's sword, and naught else. He holds your hammer. What do you do?!
(Write in! You have much, much more to give this pompous shit, don't worry about your wounds. Worry about the wounds of your friend.)
