Shawchert wheezed for a second catching his breath before he would be pummeld, but it didn't come. Why hadn't the man come at him? Looking at the man, Shaw panted mostly from the pain in his stomach... was he for real, asking his name and then introducing himself as if they were friends? Baring his teeth he charged again, his teeth aiming for the midsection. He was not about to tell him his name, not when the adrenaline was running low and the pain was starting to come through, and the man was still in his pack lands. Shawchert hoped he surprised the man enough to do some kind of damage; what kind of protector would he be if he could barely land a hit?
Rurik was surprised by the man's sudden attack. He had been expecting him to take advantage of the fact that Rurik wasn't attacking any more and at least introduce himself. Rurik moved on reflex, stepping to the side to avoid the man, but he was too slow. He managed to avoid most of the attack, but the man still managed to hit him and take him to the ground. Rurik's staff was knocked out his his hand to roll away uselessly, leaving him with only his hands and his dagger. As soon as he hit the ground he started swinging, aiming punches where ever he could land them. He would have drawn his dagger but he couldn't reach it with the way he was landing, but he still had his claws, teeth and fist.
Shawchert wouldn't be destracted so easy from a fight, and upon pushing the man to the ground, though it seemed his teeth missed flesh, it gave shawchert new energy. Shawchert felt his punches and scratches as superficial, he was full of adrenaline, ready to take him out, and make sure he never came back, his hand grabbed for the man's throat as he aimed a bite to his shoulder. He wanted to show this man that he was not something to mess with and he could easily draw blood. He had his own blood welling up as the man fought to get away from Shaw, but the man wasn't about to let up yet.
Rurik felt a hand around his throat, making it harder to breath, but he continued to punch and claw at the man. He saw the man going to bite him in the shoulder, but he was too slow to stop it. The man's teeth sunk into his flesh, drawing dark red blood to the surface and making him yelp with pain. He couldn't move his left arm now, because if he did the man's teeth would sink deeper into him, but he still had his right. Swinging up, he aimed his thumb for the man's eye, intent on gouging it out with his claw.
Sucess, Shaw had finally cut skin but as he did he noticed the hand going straight for his eye, moving away as fast as he could, he felt the claws cut across his face, Shawchert had no choice but to let go. He was starting to feel the cuts and scratches on his own arms, and a few on his legs, but the man was still here, and he was not going to allow him a victory. He could only hold his mouth for seconds knowing that there would be another fury of feet and hands coming at him. He wasn't a dishonerable man but he was ready to end this and he unsheathed the forgotten sword that was at his side. He waited for enough time for the man to pull any weapon he had out before Shawchert moved at him.
As soon as the man was off of him Rurik was on his feet again, though his should didn't like his sudden movement so much. He pulled out his dagger at the same time the man pulled his sword, which made Rurik swallow a bit. Dagger verses sword wasn't exactly a fair match, and stupid him left his sword on the creek bank. He held his dagger with the point facing back since it was easier to block attacks that way. When the man attacked Rurik danced to the side and back, edging himself toward the border slowly. He figured if he left the man would leave him alone, but he could be wrong.
Shawchert was wary of the man, Skye had fought him with a dagger herself, and he'd gotten cocky enough to think that swords were entirely the superior weapon, but it turned out that she had a good reach and quick moves with the thing that she was able to beat him in their sparring match. Shawchert could see the man moving towards the borders, though he used a downward swipe of his sword towards the man's chest, mostly to keep him backing up and to let him know he was not afraid to use it. He would follow through with a stab towards his exposed shoulders. He would continue pushing the man back as far s he could go.
Rurik was suddenly aware that he no longer had his staff. He glanced behind the man for an instant and saw the black pole laying on the ground some feet away. He looked back at the man just in time to block a downward slash. He needed to get his staff back, he could not leave it in these lands, he would die before he abandoned it. Rurik side stepped the man's stab, but didn't quite step far enough. The stab ended up cutting into his already wounded shoulder, making him yelp in pain. He tried to ignore it as best he could so he could focus on not getting killed. Ducking down quickly, Rurik darted forward and aimed a double slash for the man's stomach. At this range, the man should have difficulty blocking his attack, but Rurik didn't know how good a fighter this man was.
There was nothing for it, Shaw couldn't get away from the knife, he felt the stabbing pain as he moved to get away, but being as his hand was still following through and he wasn't quite as quick on his feet, he could feel the pain as the man dug the knife in, thanfully it wasn't anywhere near useful organ, and he only got muscles as Shawchert pulled away. He howled with pain when he dug the knife in and kneeled over for a few seconds, enough time for him to cover the wound with one hand and recover himself to use the other with his sword, he was lucky it was on the side of his swordhand, so that he could use his opposite to hold the wound. Though he could see Rurik was coming further into the pack, which made the large man's blood boil. Finding the adrenaline and energy to muster up, he ran for the man, his sword ready to slash his back, he would not allow him to go further into these lands, nor would he allow him to burn anything like he'd tried with the tree.
Rurik as if he had been lashed with a flaming whip as the man;s sword slashed his back. He had almost made it back to his staff, which he had planned on retrieving and then promptly leaving. The strike sunk deep into his back, drawing crimson blood to the surface and sending him to ground ground with a howl of pain. His dagger fell from his hand, momentarily forgotten. Blood ran down his back and over his sides in small rivers from the wound. He didn't want to move, both his shoulder and his back were screaming in pain. He didn't want to move, but he knew he had to. His dagger was next to his hand, he picked it up. Then, in a movement that made his already painful wounds even more painful, he rolled over and hurled the dagger at the man, not really aiming for anything in particular, but hoping it would at least do some kind of damage. All he wanted to do now was collect his things (his dagger and staff) and leave these lands.
The sword met skin and raked it, this was a victory cut for the man, he knew Rurik would either die fighting or run. It was up to him, his feeble attempt at throwing the knife only distracted shaw enough that Rurik would have time to grab his staff, but now that Shawchert had done real damage, shown the man he'd meant what he said, he was willing to bargain.
"I suggest you get your dirty hide out of my pack before i kill it skin it and give it to one of my children to play with as a hunting toy."
He growled. The knife had actually flown outside of the borders, so there was time for the man to grab whatever else he left here and leave. Shawchert was sure he would find a way to heal his wounds, or let them fester it was not his most highest prerogative to find out. It was dealing with his own wounds that he cared about and keeping this man off his turf.
As he watched the knife sail past the man, a sense of dread over took him and he knew he was going to be struck down. But it never came. Instead, he heard the man telling him to leave, which was what he had intended to do anyways. He more than happy to obey the man and leave his pack's lands, although he wasn't sure how quick he could be about it. Rolling over wordlessly, he picked up his staff and then used it to help himself to his feet. His back was bleeding badly, his shoulder only slightly less. He knew he had to get it cleaned somehow, otherwise it would get infected. He let his mind wander over what he had in his pack for healing as he hobbled toward the border. He stopped when he saw his dagger, and stooped to pick it up. When he stood back up, he spoke without turning around. "I realize that....your willingness to help me in any way right now.....is probably lower than zero, but I have nothing to clean my wounds with in my pack and I know of no healers that can help me. I will die of infection if I can't get help from someone, and the likeliness of running into someone who can heal, well...I probably have a better chance of finding gold in a tree trunk." He glanced back, obviously in a great amount of pain; the sword had cut deep into his back. "Although if you wish to damn me to a slow, painful death...I can't say I could blame you." He stood a few feet from the pack border, looking over his shoulder at the man, awaiting his answer.
Shawchert wasn't a heartless man but he would refused the man anywhere in his pack, especially near Sky who was their healer. He may have had plenty of feelings for Orin, but he would care for Sky as well, for he had loved her once, and to find her treating a man who tried to desecrate something so special, he just couldn't think of it. He knew Sky would look after the man's wounds, No matter what happened, but Shaw wasn't willing to take chances.
"There are a few packs between here. One of them has a healer, just head south I'm sure they would help a poor soul like yourself.
Shaw said. Both of his hands were clutching his side wound which was still bleeding as nicesly as Rurik's back. They both had done a fair bit of damage to each other, but it was clear who the winner had been. Shaw wasn't about to turn his back to the border quite yet and have his wounds looked after until he saw the last of the man.
Rurik gave a small grunt of acknowledgement at what the man had said and turned back forward. "I figured as much." He muttered, and continued walking forward, then said louder, "If we ever met again, I hope things turn out differently, I'm actually not a bad guy once you get to know me." He grinned to himself, despite the pain in his shoulder and back, and headed out of the pack lands. He was already making plans to revisit here one day, when he was better. Whether or not that visit would end up like this one, or end on slightly happier terms, he didn't know and presently, didn't care.
He slowly made his way back to his pack and sword, which were laying on the riverbank where he left them. With some awkward sliding and hopping motions, trying to avoid more pain than necessary, he made his way down to his back. Both his shirt and cloak had been ruined, both were bloody and torn. He took them off and tossed them aside then sat down to go threw his pack and see if he had a change. He had a shirt, but no cloak, which made him frown. That meant he would have to find someone willing to repair it for him, which wasn't something he was looking forward to, it was bad enough he needed someone to clean his wounds. He slipped on his new shirt, with many grunts and groans, and closed his pack, eyeing the now ruined cloak and shirt.
Seeing as he no longer had a use for wearing the shirt, he might as well make use of it's ruined remains. He picked it up and torn it into 4 fairly even strips. With that done, he slipped his shirt off again and tied out of the strips around his shoulder in a make-shift bandage. It wasn't perfect, but it stopped the bleeding and it was all he had at the time. He put his shirt back on and put the other 3 bandages into his pack for later. He then slipped on his cloak, ignoring the holes and blood, and picked up his pack and climbed up the bank. Without last look into the pack lands, he turned and headed out to try and find a healer or die in the wilderness, which ever came first.
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