Razor hoped that Ryills had a plan, because Razor didn't. He kept his eye on the leader, Dregg, but his target was the one before him, Slaptail. Without a sound, Razor rushed forward and swung his paw with all his might. Slaptail looked up in surprise only to have his life snuffed out when Razor's paw crashed into the side of his head, breaking his neck on impact. As the dead stoat toppled to the side, Razor reached down with one paw and grabbed hold of the handle of his sword, bringing it up into his other paw and charging the leader.
Argus Gracestream felt the tickle of two blades at his throat. Well, one was a little more than a tickle now. He just kept smiling. He felt the vermin shifting to his left. Then a voice that Argus identified as a weasel began to complain.
"Why ain't yew blubberin' ol' timer, eh?"
"Yeh," the voice of the vermin to his right - a rat - grumbled stupidly. "Ee ain't shakin' or pleadin' or nuttin'."
"Mayhaps he's scared stiff, eh cully?" The weasel suggested.
"Oh aye." The rat agreed happily. "Tha' must be et."
Argus guessed that the leader was the only capable thinking beast of the whole lot. That was generally how it worked. The leader had done a fine job of planning this little ambush, using the old, frail looking otter as hostage. Yep, it all might have worked too, if the rest of the gang weren't complete idiots. They had never relieved him of his javelin, seeing it as a harmless walking stick in the paws of such an old beast. Even if it had been a stick and not a steel javelin, they would have been just as foolish to not remove their captive of his only visible weapon.
As a battle commenced, lead on by Ryills rather truthful - he was sure - insults, his captives took the time thinking about what was going on and what they should do to their hostage. Argus slipped his javelin up between himself and the rats arm, before pushing outward and quickly slapping the wrist to paralyze the paw so the knife dropped. The rat let out a confused yelp and the weasel shifted to end the life of Argus Gracestream. But the rat wasn't holding the otter anymore, and that was all the opening he needed. He bent his body backwards, the knife blade cutting his skin, but doing no more than leaving a red line. With the needed space between him and the weasel he leveled his javelin at his hip as if it were a spear and thrust the blunt end forward, into the weasels gut, knocking the wind from him.
The rat had begun to gather himself, huffing and puffing with pain as he came for the otter. All that noise was like painting a picture for where to strike. Argus brought his javelin down between the rats undoubtedly dirty ears. There was a thump as the rat hit the earth, out cold.
Argus laughed and twirled his javelin. "Gracestreeeaam!" He called out his old war cry. "Haharr! Send 'em t' the Deeps, matey's!"
A force slammed into Razors shoulder and he stumbled to a stop. He looked to see an arrow buried into his shoulder, red blood welling from the wound and clotting up in his fur. Feeling his anger rise, he let out a tremendous roar and pulled the arrow out with a single pull, the pain deadened by his rage. He had heard of badgers going into a bloodwrath, though he had never experienced it. He didn't know if he was now, but it didn't matter. He turned to the archer only to see an axe wielding rat charging him. With a broad sweep of his sword he cut the head of the axe from its wooden haft. The rat stopped dead, staring dumbly at the remaining half of his weapon. Razor took that moment to bring his sword down onto the rat, splitting him at an angle from shoulder to hip. Razor tasted blood and he decided he wanted more. With another great roar he leaped into a group of four vermin, including the archer, swinging his sword wildly from side to side.
Shaking his head to clear his eye of the blood, Razor turned back in time to see the stoat Dregg approaching him. Razor was surprised to see that the stoat held his broadsword like he knew how to use it. Still, the stoat was weary after seeing a badger swinging such a large sword and cutting down his gang rather easily. But Razor had to admit he was impressed that the stoat did not back down or run away. Razor didn't know the finer points of sword fighting, so he kept to what he was good at: swinging wildly. He rushed forward giving a battle cry.
He swung to behead the stoat and put an end to the entire fight. The stoat was fast and easily dodged the wild, uncontrolled attack. Before Razor could redirect his weapon to swing back at his enemy, Dregg struck like a snake and Razor felt a pain in his side. The broadsword came back tipped with blood. Dregg backed out of Razors swing once again, a confident smirk fueling Razors rage.
He decided to go a different tactic and started drawing figure eights with his swords, slowly pushing the stoat back toward a tree. If he could get the stoat to back into the tree, catch him by surprise… He would only get one opening. Just as he planned the stoats back hit the tree and he lowered his sword in surprise. With a roar Razor leaped forward and swung at the stoats head. Dregg ducked the attack and the greatsword bit deep into the tree. Razor tried to pull it out but it was stuck.
The stoat took the opportunity to slip around Razor and slash at his foot. Razor howled and let go of his sword, leaving it embedded into the tree. He faced the stoat, raising his paws warily. Dregg chuckled and licked at the blood on his blade before going back on the attack. Razor used his paws to defend his face and body, grunting as the sword bit into his paws, leaving wide gashes into his fur. One strike made his eye black out in pain. Desperate now, he turned around and gripped the hilt of his sword, pulling it with all his might. The sword pulled free and he swung around just in time to deflect a killing blow. The force of his deflection sent the stoat stumbling back, barely keeping a grip on his sword.
Razor had never been in such a battle before. His heart pounded and he truly feared for his life. But he also hungered for blood and victory. He began his assault again, wildly swinging, occasionally thrusting to throw the stoat off balance. Despite his flurry of attacks he was slowing down and the stoat didn't seem to miss a step. His paws were covered in blood from their scars and his grip on the sword started to slip. The stoat backed over a root and stumbled. Razor took another swing to kill the stoat but the sword slipped from his paws and went sailing behind him. Razor was panting with exhaustion, too tired even to look where his sword might have gone. Was this his end? Would he die without a weapon in his hand?
"You need to be strong, Razor." His father's voice drummed between his ears. "You must become strong enough to lead this tribe. I won't be around forever. You are my son and it is your birthright. To be chieftain is your duty."
The memory of the pain in his left eye became far more powerful than all the open wounds that throbbed in agony. He became lost in that pain, his missing eye becoming an abyss that slowly sucked up all the pain throughout his body, focusing it on one point so he could see, move his legs forward, lift his arms up. He had not weapon, but if he was to die, he would take this stoat with him. Blood from his old scar spilled into his open mouth.
Pain burst into his back and he fell to his knees, reaching back to feel another arrow shaft sticking out. From the peripheral of his good eye he saw a vermin with a spear swinging at his head. He grunted and pushed himself toward the attacking vermin, a weasel. He used his shoulder to break the spear. Splinters dug into his skin but the spearhead spun past him harmlessly. He continued forward, shoving his shoulder into the weasels nose. Blood and snot. The weasel stumbled back ward, head raised to the sky, stunned. Razor swung his paw in and uppercut, smashing his fist into the weasels chin. The weasel lifted off the ground and slammed his back into a nearby tree. The was a loud crack and the vermin slumped down in a sitting position. Though the weasel looked to be sleeping, Razor knew he would never wake up.
Razor turned to meet the stoat Dregg. A flash of light was his only warning. He arched his head backwards, feeling the wind tickle his nose as the tip of the stoats broadsword just missed him. But Razor had overextended himself, and he lost his balance, falling on his back. Dregg smiled triumphantly as he raised his sword for a killing blow.
"Wif yer death, I'll be knowed as Dregg Dogsbane! Herrherr!"
Edit: Another ? issue. Annoying…