Chainmail rattled around his body as he made his rounds in the Duke's courtyard, though he was a mercenary the Duke's pay was more than enough to make him march. Hell, it was even enough for him to fight for. Maybe not die for but when you start a fight with another man you should always expect to die, even if he's unarmed. A man can kill another with just his fists so expecting to survive any fight is to play the overwhelming optimist's part, and as a man who's paid to kill all to frequently he's not that.

In a few moments he'd be beset upon by a warrior from a foreign land, in another few moments one of them would be dead. But right now he was musing about what he would do once he got home from this job. Perhaps he'd buy a piece of land, maybe settle down. Maybe he'd start traveling again, see the middle east for the first time. He'd heard legend of a beverage like tea down there, he'd even caught glimpses of it in the Duke's stocks. It was a drink called coffee, a bitter aromatic drink that could put pep into a man's step from one mug.

Come to think of it, he might even be interested in that foreign tobacco. He'd had his share of native smokes but they smoked it differently there.

Maybe he was a bit too distracted. He shook his head and raised his shield to look around. He flipped up the window and let the lantern's glare spread across the courtyard, something seemed to catch his eye and his suspicion flared. "If you're out there, you've got one chance to flee before I'm forced to lay waste to you!" Not his best threat, but at least it wasn't totally empty.

Standing there in total bewilderment with his lips pursed tightly in confusion, he reached up and flipped the lantern window on his shield closed. While his hand was up there he reached over and drew his blade from the sheath on his shield.

In that moment he had absolutely no idea what this foreigner was talking about. In fact, if you told him he was speaking English he wouldn't believe you. It looked just about accurate to say there would be no dialogue between the two. "Whatever kingdom you hail from had best train good men, I'm not even a knight and I'm a fantastic warrior." Why brag to a man who he assumed couldn't understand him? Hyping yourself up is important, gotta get yourself in the zone.

Ansgar raised his shield and sword into a swordfighter's stance, angling his blade over the rim of his shield for maximum protection and offense. If anything, he was not a showy fighter. Ansgar was a smart man who understood that showing off gets you killed and following the rules keeps you alive. He made his advance on Zande with slow steady steps, his chainmail rattled slightly as he moved. In a few seconds he'd be upon Zande, he'd make an exploratory stab at him with a full extension of his sword arm. This would be to range him and maybe get a cheap early hole in his foe.

@Doc Doctor
Was this guy serious? Zande was sprinting towards him, Ansgar had livened his pace accordingly. The sellsword withdrew his sword arm and pushed it against the back of his shield. Adding extra support to it as he made his next movement.

The moment that Zande's first axe met his shield he turned himself shoulder towards the incoming arm. He stepped forward and absolutely ruined his foe's swing, he put himself inside of the arm's swing. A swing this big takes a very long time to make its way through the full swing, it gave him more than enough time to answer his blow.

Zande's elbow would strike into his shoulder, his elbow would collide with the thickly padded armor and likely hurt a bit. The thing that would hurt more would be the fact that his axe would continue forward and down despite his arm reaching a stopping point. If he didn't let go of the axe, he would likely break his own arm.

Regardless of whether or not he let go of the axe, Ansgar would continue stepping forward into Zande. An elbow tackle to match Zande's sprint, since he wouldn't need as much speed as Zande was sprinting towards him. Without armor, Zande's chest was a huge weak spot. After the axe arm struck his shoulder, he would sharply raise his elbow upward and smash it into the berserker's sternum.

@Doc Doctor (I'm sorry for the wait. Work and stress has kept me away from this.)

Again, was this guy serious?

In fact, he'd managed to make this situation worse.

Ansgar was only going to disable the man and leave him to limp off in shame, but now he'd cut off his own arm.

How?

Well, Ansgar's elbow had struck the plate of his armor and pushed it off to the side. With his particular footing this was quite fortuitous, considering he had a very sturdy posture. Ansgar simply dragged his arm straight upwards and turned his wrist towards Zande's under-arm. Slashing upwards towards the flesh of his arm, considering he was swinging a massively heavy axe downwards towards his leg. It would be difficult for him to stop his arm.

Once his arm was sufficiently sliced, the axe would likely fall harmlessly from his hand. Directionally thrown by the force of his swing.

Oh, and about his other axe? As his right arm swung upwards, his left arm raised slightly. Pulling the shield up between himself and Zande's body. A cramped movement, considering they were already touching. Though not impossible.

@LeeRoy (No probs, take your time. In fact, I'm gonna try to make things more fun and interesting.)

There were many things Zande could have tried to evade the slash. He might have released his axe and snatched it up later, or perhaps he could have attempted to maneuver his right axe into the way of Ansgar's blade. As motherfucking if. This particular cannibal just didn't roll that way. Zande was without a doubt a glass cannon, lightly armored and made purely to dish it out. His offence was his defense. He'd been in many, many fights to the death, and more often than not he could bully his opponents around by way of intimidating them with his raw, rushing power and unpredictable timing. They rarely had the chance to attack back, because if they did they'd get creamed. But, that was because most of them were thinking about stopping the axe at the head, where all that deadly force was concentrated. Ansgar had just thrown Zande for a loop by actually standing his ground and attacking the vulnerable meat of Zande's arm instead of trying to block or avoid the axe. He was answering Zande's attack with an attack of his own, daring to trade blows with the monstrous tribesman who was largely inexperienced in dealing with men brave enough to take him head on.

But, Zande was a quick-witted and wily killer. He saw Ansgar's elbow flaring up and reacted almost instantly. He jerked his right axe up (not with much force due to his commitment to swinging the other axe) so that the bladed prongs would secure the shield's spike and nudge the man's arm back, to perhaps cause a delay and a shift in the sword swing as the shield arm bonked into the adjacent rising sword.

What was Zande's ultimate goal? Well, it wasn't really very ultimate. He just wanted a tiny moment to progress the swing a ways further so that when the axe left his hand, it would be chucked nearly point blank into Ansgar's knee. It would lack the full follow through of Zande's muscular power, but would still be easily enough to maim the knight and cripple that leg.
A trade off, Zande was seeking. An arm for a leg. Ansgar would have a definite advantage. He'd be wounded, but with no severed arteries. Zande on the other hand would have his brachial artery sliced open, and would have only about forty-five seconds before he became too weak from blood loss to fight. He'd pass out after a minute.

A likely result of the altercation would be Zande's weight and height toppling Ansgar over, with the savage scrabbling for a mount of top of the knight whilst bleeding like a pig. It'd be a simple contest, if this scenario happened. Last out for forty-five seconds against a one-armed Zande. How intense could forty-five seconds possibly get?

Unfortunately, his sword had successfully found providence in the underarm of the primitive. He hadn't particularly taken into account how crazy these tribal cultures can be, because the man had somehow managed to throw his axe midway through the swing. Normally not much of a problem, but this thing was tremendously heavy and it had been slingshotted straight towards Ansgar's right leg where it smashed in force against he side of his shin and continued forward.

In any situation with any normal weapon, this wouldn't be much a problem. Maybe a little bruise and maybe a little bleeding, but this axe weighed an inhuman amount. His shin cracked and buckled beneath the weight, as hid his leg. The bone split pretty cleanly and the man could no longer stop the advance of Zande.

However!

Ansgar was a trained professional who knew more about fighting than he did about having a normal life, his reaction was pretty fluid. His upper body twisted with the force of Zande's advance and he shoved his left elbow outwards and into the tribal's side. Almost resembling a clumsy judo throw before his weight could no longer be held by his broken leg. The pain was so intense in this moment his eyesight had washed red and his body had moved on its own. Hopefully Zande would be thrown a goodly distance away from his own momentum, but in the off chance he wasn't the pair would land facing eachother on their sides. Ansgar on his right and Zande on his left.