[center][color=seagreen][h1]Duncan MacTyr[/h1][h1]??? — Dirt Road[/h1][/color][/center][hr][hr]

[color=seagreen]"Remember what I said."[/color] Duncan noted with a resigned sigh, eyeballing the group of men who'd broken off from the main fight and were now rushing towards them and clanging his sword on his shield a few times to make sure he'd have those men's attention. And began to advance. [color=seagreen]"Keep backing up. Keep the sword up. And if you have to, [b][i]run."[/i][/b][/color]

Those steps became a jog. Then a run. And then a full on [i]counter-charge.[/i] 

Sure, the old man didn't know a damned thing about proper swordsmanship; the footwork, the techniques or really [i]anything[/i] you'd find in an actual medieval treatise... but he [i]did[/i] know how to [b]kill.[/b] How to harness his aggression. How to feel the rhythm of a fight, how to move his body, how to read an adversary and, most importantly:

[b]How to improvise.[/b]

Hugging his large, circular shield tight to his body, Duncan rammed himself right down the centre of the fast-approaching approaching attackers. Ducking under a falchion that came at his neck from the man to his right and responding in kind with a chop to the bandit's knee that he didn't [i]need[/i] to see to know it found it's mark with the jerk of the hilt in his hand and immediate blood-curdling shriek that followed. Not that he [i]could[/i] anyway; his mind somewhat occupied by the scraping of the man to his left's axe against his shield— said bandit having tried and failed to hook his axe beneath it's lip— and the revelation of the existence of the man who'd been running [i]behind[/i] those two, bill-hook held at the high-port so as not to stab his buddies if they stopped, the realization that with their combined momentum along with all the steel Duncan was wearing meant that they were about to have a very intimate encounter and the look on the guy's eyes as he realized it too.

So Duncan threw the whole of his weight behind his shield and planted the edge of it directly into the poor bastard's [i]face.[/i] Crushing through his nose with a sickeningly wet [i]'Crunch!'[/i] and stopping just shy of his ears. Not that it granted him any room to breathe mind you; as the weight of his armour still made stopping a stumbling, awkward affair. With the added bonus of having a [i]full person[/i] basically [i]welded[/i] to his handy-dandy big ol' [i]maybe-not-[b]die[/b] dinner plate.[/i]

...Oh yeah, and [i]Axe-Guy[/i] was still coming at him. [b]Weapon up high.[/b]

[color=seagreen][i]'Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck[b]fuck..!'[/b][/i][/color]

Shuffling and twisting his hips in a way that might've actually [i]killed[/i] him a week ago, the old man spun and braced his shield up with his swordarm, putting it into the path of the axe and it's meaty essentially into the face of the man wielding it. Hissing at the rattle that went up the bones in his arm at the force of the impact and quickly planting his boot into the stowaway corpse and shoving it off onto the man, keen on not feeling [i]that[/i] particular sensation again anytime soon. Which [i]also[/i] didn't grant him any real respite, seeing as how he was immediately afterward grabbed from behind and caught captive view of a knife that was clearly aimed for the eye-slit of his helmet careening into it's cheek. Prompting Duncan to drop his sword entirely and grab a hold of the offending wrist to stop it from finding it's mark on the next thrust because [i]damn that.[/i]

[b]"HEY! C'MON! HELP ME WITH THIS!"[/B] His would-be killer shouted, drawing the attention of another of his friends and prompting [i]Axe-Guy[/i] to struggle even harder to get out from under the remains of his rather rotund comrade.

All as the knife inched it's way into his visor and ever-so-[i]slooooowly[/i] began to dig into the flesh above his eyebrow. 

[color=seagreen][i]'...Not good.'[/i][/color] Our Canuck snarled internally, letting out a pained hiss before raising his left foot and slamming it down as hard as he could. Feeling metatarsals snapping beneath his heel and having that confirmed by the scream that soon followed. 

Sure got buddy to stop focusing on his knife, however. Which allowed Duncan to yank that thing out of his face and slam the back of his helmet into his attacker's. Hearing an audible, wet [i]'Crunch!'[/i] that he suspected and honestly kinda hoped was the man's nose becoming a two-dimensional object, before batting away the mace of the man charging him with his shield and throwing his entire weight behind an armour-clad haymaker directly to his face. Eliciting yet [i]another[/i] bloody crunch and making the man tumble over in an awkward heap, and then not move at all.  

[i]That[/i] got him a reprieve... for all about three seconds before Axe-Guy was on him again. Charging in out of the old man's peripheral vision and barely giving him enough time to raise his shield that came hard enough that it snapped the haft of his attacker's axe, sending another [i]decidedly[/i] unpleasant shockwave up Duncan's arm. And, completely unfettered by the seeming loss of his weapon, latched onto the top of Duncan's shield for dear life while screaming to his buddy with broken foot and broken nose to, and we quote;

[b]"GET OFF YOUR ASS AND [U]KILL[/U] THIS FUCKING GUY!"[/b]

Which was a bit of a problem, seeing as how Duncan was kind of very literally [i]strapped to that shield.[/i]

...Though a problem that was soon solved as the armour-clad and blood-soaked knight quickly looked at where the bandit previously known as [i]Axe-Guy's[/i] hands were, down to the ground, grabbed his own wrist, looked the man square in the eye and stated flatly:

[color=seagreen][b]"I [i]really[/i] don't like you."[/b][/color]

Before bringing the sum total of his weight, that of his armour and that of his shield directly down upon the man's [i]foot.[/i] Shearing it right in half with the brim of the latter. Eliciting a piercing scream that carried on all the way through Duncan shoving him to the ground but was very quickly silenced as the old man brought the defensive equipment down a second time upon the man's throat. With a hand up top for extra leverage.

And then did it again just to be sure.

Picking up his sword again, Duncan turned and fixed the man with the flattened foot and flatter nose— who [i]had managed[/i] to get back to his feet and had been limping towards him to finish the job with Stumpy's discarded falchion— with an absolutely [i]murderous[/i] glare through the slit of his visor. 

[color=seagreen][b]"Don't."[/b][/color]

[i]He did.[/i] Bucking himself up and charging forward in a awkward, limping gait. Sword held above his head and screaming (also slightly whistling) at the top of his lungs. For which the old swore a little under his breath, reeled back and cracked him in the nose again with his shield, dropping him to the ground like a bag of hammers.

[i]Now[/i] Duncan had earned an actual reprieve, bending over slightly to catch his breath and analyze what he'd just done. Fundamentally, this wasn't all [i]that[/i] different to some of the things he got up to over seventy years ago. In [i]practice,[/i] however... while his suit of full plate didn't really hinder his [i]movement[/i] too much, the added weight meant that every swing, step had a [i]whole[/i] lot more momentum behind it. Which was [i]actually useful[/i] in some ways, but extremely disorientating in others; causing him to nearly nearly slip and fall a few times there which would've likely ended with him doing his best ground-beef impression on the edge of one guy in particular's axe. Nevermind the sweat he was working up doing this.

...Also, it didn't help that he was very clearly [i]a little rusty.[/i]

The old man's head turned towards where he last saw the other two crash survivors; Were they alright? Did they manage to get the hell out of here? 

[@VitaVitaAR][@Raineh Daze][@PKMNB0Y]