Strygwyr knew he was under attack long before the first swing began. Although he could not see, per se, the power of the Twins told him much. He dodged easily, turning to face Broding, but the followup attack was well-timed. With a grunt, he blocked the strike and was thrown some distance. The blood hound's seemingly ever-present grin was wiped from his face as he scrambled to get up in case of another attack. This warrior's strength was quite lethal.
His opponent introduced himself, and the challenge was presented. That, was cordial for the battlefield. The animalistic seeker stood up, almost looking human, and spoke slowly with a thick, earthy accent. For many, this was the first time they could get a good look at him. "So, you know me, warrior? Then you know that I will be your undoing. The Flayed Ones are in need of blood, and so, I go. Your blood, Chosen of Amon, will be very satisfying to them. You should be honored to bleed, so that the Twins may live." He seemed proud of his calling as his smile returned. The arrangement between Strygwyr's people and the twin gods of slaughter was two-sided, like a coin. On the one side, the people worshiped and fed the gods via bloodshed and in return were granted their blessing and protection. On the other side, if the Twins were left hungry and sacrifices had been inadequate, the Twins would devour the entire civilization. There was no middle ground, yet, over centuries and many generations, the Flayed twins had come to be loved and revered. Strygwyr was in essence, a priest, sanctioned as their holy hunter, having willingly submitted his soul to them, to live again and again as their dog of war, providing blood to assure his homeland. "You, were chosen, but I chose." He crouched down into a more comfortable stance, readying his blades. "I will see that your sacrifice is properly made!"
With that, he started forward, stepping briefly into Bodring's striking distance to draw his attacks, but with full intention to keep clear of every one, taunting him with his dangerous proximity. Even fueled as he was with bloodrage, he couldn't afford to endure the impact of the warrior's swings too many times, and so he couldn't get close enough to do any damage. Nonetheless, Strygwyr drew him forward, forcing him to move to reach him and bided his time initially. He ducked and darted away as a powerful swing crashed into a wooden support beam next to his head, fracturing splinters everywhere, and causing the platform above them to shortly collapse thereafter. Bloodseeker may have been a primitive, but instinct was a raw and beautiful form of intelligence. He used it to its full advantage. Everyone got out of their way as they chased each other. A few cheers erupted from the nearby Gung who had made it into the courtyard as they witnessed their champion against a worthy adversary. None of them would dishonor the Gutra by participating in his one-on-one mortal combat.
Finally, Strygwyr created his opening. Nearly losing his head in doing so, he drew a straight swing down to the ground where he had been only milliseconds ago. With unexpected and unparalleled grace, his clawed feet ran up the shaft of Broding's glaive, and he slashed deeply at the arm that held the weapon and lined up a second swing for Broding's neck. Bloody teeth like a piranha came so close to the warrior's face that the image would live in his nightmares ever afterward were he to survive this. Inches short of Broding's neck, Strygwyr's tonfa missed as he was backhanded by Broding's free arm and thrown backwards against a stone wall. Gathering himself up again, the blood hunter laughed. All he had to do was keep making Broding bleed.
