Headlong now, almost a sprint, the Duke of Ghieste plows forwards, his blackcloaked guard fanning out around him, pushing through the mass of what are now mostly Diem's troops. The odd Ilienese man is dropped in an almost forgetful manner as they pass with axe or sword or steelshod foot crippling them for someone behind to stab through armpit or visor or under breastplate ensuring they will not rise again. But not all of it runs how Ghorien would like it, as he must pause as he runs into a mountain of a man. Dressed in burnished plate, soaked now in the blood of those his blade has already claimed, the Duke has to duck under the point of his blade as it works it's way over the top of the lion emblazoned shield and threatens to rip out his throat. Ghorien tries to break the man's defences, with one, two and then three strikes to knee, hip and elbow, but each one is guarded against well and the series of parries both men enter becomes frantic as each works out that they have met a broadly equal opponent. The exchange continues for what feels like an age, but no more than about ten seconds in reality until both men take a step back, a deep sharp breath in wonder, curious as to what will happen next. Around the pair has grown a space, as though no one wishes to interfere, afraid that ally and foe are both at risk here.
Standing upright again Ghorien nods at his opponent, acknowledging his skills. When the other nods in return he speaks aloud, "Apologies Sir, I do not have the time for this, as amsuing as it is." And while the knight looks at his curiously he gazes over his foes shoulder and gestures sharply. There is a loud series of thuds and the knight tries to reach around to pull out the bolts that now stick out from his spine, but his grip on one of them grows weak and he falls to his knees. The duke steps forward and pulls a long thin dagger from his belt, wraps his shield arm over the man's back and drives the the blade under his breastplate, before standing fully again and starting to run on.
As they gain pace again Ghorien checks his lines and they seem to be moving well, a few injuries here and there but given their late arrival to the fight they have more legs than most and he hopes that energy will help finish this matter. He steers them through the press and they have to push both sides out of the way as they go, keen to reach the place where a fatal knot has grown and then suddenly they are in and on them, the force of the run pushing them deep into the side of the dark skinned men and Iliense knights. In desperate haste they stab and strike, bound and beat, trying to overrun the flank and drive them from the Green Knight's side, exposing him. The Duke ducks and dodges incoming blows as he cleaves and splits arms, hands, heads and shoudlers in return, though a trailing sword point manages to pierce the mail in the shoulder joint above his shield as it skitters off. As he feels it scratch and draw bloods he growls in anger, smashing his shield into the chest and backhanding his axe across the face of the man who had just struck him, ripping the nose from his face and then he sees the Green Knight and Kaven fighting close by, just feet away.
