It had been a week or so since Dartega had accepted the bounty hunter contract for the wild man, Zande. How ironic, he thought, that a bounty hunter would have a price placed on their own head. Still, Dartega didn't care much for the details or the background of the contract. He needed gold to continue his mission, and it was as simple as that. Combat was all he knew, and although he was no expert tracker, the price on the contract would be more than enough to pay for new supplies and continue on his journey.

Luckily for him, a few travellers happened to see a character that matched the description of Zande moving toward the torched wastes just a couple of days ago. At last he had a lead. There wasn't much of a trail to follow, but he thanked them for the information and carried on. Little did they know of the dark deeds Dartega had planned to carry out.

At last, he arrived at his destination. It was no glorious place to be, but Dartega was used to this sort of environment, and of course had been to places much worse. Squinting his eyes, he scanned the area looking for his target. The smoke obscured his vision slightly, but in the distance he saw what appeared to be a human figure, sitting by a small fire. As quietly as possible, he moved to about thirty paces from the figure.

Although he was trained to kill since he was just a boy, he was also raised by a strict code of honor and discipline. Without trying any sort of stealthy attack, he wanted to confirm that the target was who he appeared to be. If at all possible, he wished to avoid shedding innocent blood. All he really needed was a better look at the figure to match the description, and then he could carry out the contract.

"Zande!" He called out, smoke swirling about his armored figure with flames behind him. His two demon blades, K'Girr and Bozar, were still sheathed on his back, ready to be drawn in a split second. With keen interest, he awaited the figure's reaction...

@Diexsmiling

Zande peered over his shoulder, popping something into his mouth as he did so. Immediately a childish grin split his face and he brandished the skeweres, badly cooked rabbit, waving it merrily. His dialect was atrocious, a genuine mutilation of the Queen's English.

"Huh? C'mere bwana, ya wanna try somma dis bunny? I ain' no masta chef, but it bedda den' nuffin'! C'mon, pop a squat mon'! I gad some rum 'ere too!"

@Doc Doctor

Rum? Incredibly tempting. Dartega was absolutely caught off guard by the figure's response, although he didn't show it. For a few brief moments, he actually thought about taking up Zande's offer. To share a simple moment of peace, drinking and eating by a fire. He might even be able to learn a thing or two about his enemy, as well. He seemed like a friendly enough character, a decent human being.

It didn't matter though. Dartega was there for one reason, and that was to kill. He was even disappointed in himself for the brief moment of hesitation. "Shut the f*ck up, you goddamn clown. Draw your weapons!" He shouted, pulling Bozar from it's sheath and pointing it at his target. He wanted a fair battle, man versus man, grit versus grit. That was simply his style, and he wouldn't have it any other way.

"I'm cutting your head off and taking it with me." He continued, in case his purpose wasn't clear enough yet.

@Diexsmiling

Zande grumbled and rose to his feet, pointing the skewer accusingly at Dartega, the rabbit still sizzling on the twenty inch length of pointy wood in his left hand. His war mask hung from the back of his neck, and despite how he seemed to bristle with weapons, he drew none. Instead, he had plucked a pint bottle of cheap rum off the ground and held it by the neck in his other hand.

"Otay, bad bwoy. First ya calls me a clown, den ya steal me head takin' tingy. Ya a real bumboclot! But it otay. I ain't gon' keel an' eatcha till ya had some rabbit n' rum wid me. Now siddown an' has yaself some good stuff afore' I has ta force feed ya!"

@Doc Doctor

At this point, Dartega felt as though he was simply wasting time. Obviously, he hadn't come to drink and eat rabbit. If this Zande character wished to defend himself with a cheap bottle of rum and a pointy stick, then so be it.

Casually, he pulled K'Girr from it's sheath and began striding forward, a blade now in both hands. The time for nonsense was over. A swift and powerful front kick straight into the fire would do the job, he thought. And it would even save him the trouble of cleaning blood from his blades afterwards.

Now standing nearly face to face with the wild man, he lifted a greaved knee to his chest and prepared to place a well aimed kick upon the center of Zande's torso.

@Doc Doctor

The spray of venom was absolutely unexpected, and although Dartega possessed lightning fast reflexes, he could never have been prepared for such an underhanded tactic. By the time he realized what was happening, the mist had already blasted him in the face and seeped into his eyes. It was definitely painful, and the thought of kicking the jungle man into his own fire instantly vanished from his mind.

He staggered backward slightly before regaining his composure and entering into his combat stance. Although the venom might be excruciatingly painful for an ordinary man, it was actually something Dartega was quite accustomed to, and after just a few seconds he opened his eyes again. The demons from his past had done their job well, providing brutal punishments and even torturing those who resisted their dominance. Compared to that, this was quite bearable.

Most importantly, he had learned something valuable about his opponent. Obviously, not just any bandit would have prepared such a devious and cunning attack. Zande was well trained, skilled, and probably had many more tricks up his sleeve. He was exactly the type of opponent that Dartega had always despised fighting. The high price for the contract was beginning to make sense, and from now on he would be much more careful.

At this point, it would be wise to call upon the power of his demon blades. The sooner he could finish the jungle man off, the better. Softly, he whispered the words of power to his blades in the demon tongue. "Zasalamel... Inguz Mahadar Nu Kanta... Mobidir!" When the invocation was finished, K'Girr erupted in flames and Bozar glowed red hot. The conjuring of their power would send a wave of heat outward in all directions, possibly even singeing the jungle man unless he had something prepared.

Now Dartega was prepared to engage Zande with his full potential, and with a much different state of mind. Despite the character's less than honorable strategy, he was still dangerous and would be granted the respect he probably deserved as an enemy combatant.

[Accidental double post lol]

@Doc Doctor

Although Dartega had taken a few seconds to reopen his eyes, he had instinctually entered into his combat stance as he staggered backward, raising an arm in front of himself and forming a simple guard with his forearm. It was similar to a boxing guard, a reflex that he had learned and perfected when he was just a boy.

It was all he needed to deflect the simple wooden skewer, even with his eyes closed, and he felt it splinter upon the armored bracers he had raised just in time. The jungle man was fast indeed, but not that fast. Surely he would have expected such a reaction from a trained combatant. Perhaps this time, it was he that had been underestimated.

When Dartega's eyes did open, the visage of the jungle man's sharpened teeth was just before of him. He had likely overextended, lunging to reach Dartega with the skewer as he staggered backward and leaving open the perfect opportunity for a counter strike. With a vengeance, Dartega smacked the jungle man's assaulting arm out of the way with a backhand, in an attempt to open him up for a ruthless overhead slash from K'Girr.

@Doc Doctor

Dartega watched as his blade passed harmlessly before his opponent, merely slicing off a few strands of hair before lodging itself into the scorched earth with a metallic Ting! The savage moved with an unnatural speed, probably even surpassing that of his own. Although Dartega had not expected to miss with the slash completely, he was still prepared with a follow up, the second strike in the series of a combination he had practiced countless times before.

Maintaining a half guard with his left hand, and having Bozar still grasped firmly within, he yanked K'Girr free with his right hand and sharply twisted, rotating his hips and redirecting the sword to slice through his opponent horizontally and just above the waist line, through the soft tissue of the abdomen. Even though his opponent might be heavily armored, the force of the blow alone would be enough to rupture organs and cause internal bleeding, potentially resulting in a slow and agonizingly painful death.

For some reason, however, Dartega doubted that his blade would meet it's mark, even when his opponent appeared to be completely open. The wild man was definitely up to something, lungs full of air, likely ready to exhale and explode with a maneuver of his own. Still, he wondered how the savage could possibly avoid the strike, his blade already in motion whilst Zande was just now drawing his battle axe.

At some point, Dartega would need to try and invoke the power of his demon blades again, although he doubted he would have another opportunity. The wild man's split second thrusting of the skewer was enough to disrupt the channel, leaving him without the full potential of his kit. It was a clutch move from a veteran combatant, to be sure. The rest of this duel might need to be settled with wit and grit alone, conditions he viewed much less favorably than one with the overwhelming power of his demon blades.

@Doc Doctor

Just as Dartega had lifted K'Girr from the ground, he felt a sudden pull as his opponent's foot came crashing down upon his demon blade, driving it even deeper into the earth. With a very bitter resentment, he released his grasp from it's hilt and pulled away as quickly as possible, managing to prevent his arm from being severed with just moments to spare.

Leaving his blade sticking out of the dirt left a sour taste in his mouth, fueling a rage within him and strengthening his resolve. Either he would slay this wild savage and retrieve his weapon, or die trying. Zande clearly showed no remorse, screaming ferociously, a scene that would intimidate all but the most courageous of adversaries. Luckily, Dartega was one of them.

Immediately after Zande's axe had passed him by, he jumped aggressively forward, stabbing at his opponent with Bozar and demonstrating his military precision.



With his relentless assault, he hoped to finally land a decent strike upon his foe. It probably wouldn't be a killshot, since Bozar was much smaller and lighter than the broadsword, more of a cavalry sabre in concept. Still, it would be enough to leave a nasty gash or possibly sever an artery, if his timing was right.

The best defense was a great offense, he reasoned. That had always been his motto, and it was that very mindset that had brought him here on this very fateful day. No doubt, the stakes were higher now than they probably ever had been, especially with him flying through the air. It was an incredibly risky technique, but it was the only move that offered him the speed and element of suprise he desired.

@Doc Doctor

Upon landing on solid ground, Dartega found that his vision was being obscured once again, this time by a ragged black fabric. The crafty savage had yet another trick up his sleeve. Most likely, Dartega expected, he was planning to line up a strike of his own, to take advantage of his opponent's brief moment of blindness.

Instead of simply backing off or panicking to remove the cloak, however, Dartega pressed boldly on with his tenacious assault. After his blade glanced off of Zande's armor and the fabric passed over his field of vision, he squatted down almost to a knee and ferociously unleashed a sweeping slash at thigh level. Despite lacking vision on his target, he still had an idea of where he was, especially being so close and engaged in close quarters combat.

The maneuver was less designed to deal an incapacitating blow to his foe, however, and more designed for establishing a threat and distance as Dartega spun out of the cloak with the momentum of his demon blade. Still, he doubted the jungle warrior would wish to create distance after casting his trap, and Dartega aimed to re-acquire his target as quickly as possible.

@Doc Doctor

Strangely, when Dartega followed through with the devious stroke of his blade, he felt a hard resistance as his own weapon clashed with the thick metal of his foe's battleaxe. It didn't bother him at all really, the true purpose of the slash only being a sort of distraction that would enable him to escape the shroud of the tattered cloak. What would bother him, however, was the roundhouse kick that he had unknowingly turned directly into face first, masterfully performed and unleashed with a malicious intent.

The screeching sound of metal rending metal pierced through the torched wastes as an armor plated shin smashed into Dartega's dark forged helmet. The tremendous force behind the blow sent him sprawling onto the flat of his back, arms outstretched, legs crumpling beneath him as they gave way. A once exquisitely crafted piece of armor, the helmet that had dutifully saved his life, now lay at least ten paces away from the battle, mangled and beyond repair after having been knocked clean off.

Jet black, shoulder length hair lie splayed around Dartega's head, now resting solemnly on the darkened earth. Blood pooled around his neck, oozing from various cuts and scrapes on his face and draining from the corner of his mouth. Flames swirled and raged in the background, fueled with fresh oxygen and life as a cool, gentle breeze blew across the battlefield.

Stars in the night sky shined brightly and beautifully, a feature he just now noticed as he looked up at his surroundings. Zande, howling like a maniac beside him, the bits of his cloak falling gracefully upon the dirt after being completely shredded in the fray. K'girr, his beloved broadsword, still sticking ominously from the dirt, symbolic of his failed attempts at bringing down the wily jungle warrior. A raven flying through the air, the only other sign of life aside from the two men who's fate had somehow become so wickedly and mysteriously intertwined.

Thoughts of how this came to be now flashed within his mind, a once mighty grip now loosening around the handle of his shortsword. There were so many ways this could have been avoided, so many opportunities he had missed. Perhaps if he had just a little less bravado, a little more preparation, or the grace of just a little more wisdom...

It was too late now though. Those were alternate realities, and he was here and now, the only place that really mattered. As his head slowly rolled back and forth, frothy blood bubbling forth from his mouth, it appeared that his relentless assault had finally come to an end. Any normal man would surely be finished after experiencing such a perfectly executed, properly timed technique. All evidence pointed toward him being incapacitated and the battle being over.

And yet, very carefully disguised with the rolling of his head and his grimaces of pain, he began whispering words so faintly that they were barely even audible to himself. Under the muffled sound of his gurgling, the words of power used to invoke the power of his demon blades steadily escaped from his lips, fleeting in their nature.

"Zasalamel..."