In the umbral bawn, at night, surrounded by torches....

Miguel unrolls a bolt of cloth with sides that were three meters long. It is staked on the ground, placed in a specific manner. After that the area was marked by drawing three borders around the square cloth, each about one foot from the previous one. Corners of the outermost border were marked with hazel staves. A pile of shields and several weapons lie two corners of the traced area. Miguel then stands up and walks to the center of the cloth before he cries out...*

William Erikson, Howls the night's fury! I call you! I have something you want, a tale of courage by kin of yours, one to tell that will heap glory on you and your blood, one that will inspire many a garou to greatness and one that can shine glory on the teller!

I will not *give* you this tale! Come and wrest it from me if you share the blood of heroes!

from the outskirts of the bawn a large winter wolf of obvious fenrir decent approaches, a rabbit hanging from his maw Is devoured quickly
"You seem to have caught me in the middle of my supper, and no better dessert then a good fight and a good story and from what I have seen so far you might just be able to provide at least one of those"
said the skald with an air of good humor, for this garou who challenged him had the bearings of honor
"I will gladly accept your challenge Miguel Castillo under one condition, I would hear your story as well"
After licking the last of the rabbit out of his teeth Erikson slowly shifted from his lupis form to glabro now appearing as a tall burly norse man wearing chainmail and a buckskin cape
"Of course you would be welcome to listen to a tale of my own should you desire, now what did you have in mind? I see sheilds and ax, though bare handed brawling has always been a favorite of mine.. Or perhaps you meant for a more litteral interpretation of wresting the tale out of you"

*points at the gear*
In honor of the northman ancestry of Socks Dragon's Bane, I choose Holmgang.
Three shields. first one to destroy all the shields of the other is the winner.
Frenzy, flee the square, or relent? You lose. Change shape? Lose. Any help from anyone outside the circle? You lose.

If you win, I will tell you all I know of the tale of your cousin, and give you three marks of silver beside.....
If I win, you will owe me three marks of silver... and you will have to craft a tale of my choosing about me.

Do we have a pact?

And we have a Judge to judge. *points at the Philodox Get*

"Of course my friend! and should you win we will go together into glorious battle such that on our return the story I tell shall send shivers down the backs of the most battle hardened modi!"

Done!

*Walks over, and strips off his chainmail, down to his leather padding. He ties his swordbelt with his heavy broadsword back onto his waist. He picks up a wooden shield, one in the old Norse style, and a war-ax, singlebladed and apparently wickedly sharpened to a shaving edge recently. He twirls the ax lightly in his hand, and cracks his neck sharply. He looks towards the Get Philodox and awaits his word to begin.*

The large fenrir arms himself in the same way and assuming the same form as his opponent awaits the word of his pack mate to begin the challenge

*looks over the two Garou*

Are you both ready....  *when the confirm*

Fight

Syntos will make his appearance during the initial exchange for the challenge, a pleased look on his face as he would watch tribemate square off against packmate for such a worthy prize. He would tuck arms behind his back as he would come to watch how things would move.

The battle called, the Get rushes in... Axe-high and shield forward the massive warrior crashes to meet his Silver Fang rival. Miguel steps forward and, with unexpected grace, parries the blow. His form perfect, his execution flawless he matches brutal strength with practiced skill. At least he does at first. Slowly, Erik uses his seemingly tireless strength to force the issue, cleverly cutting off the ring and forcing his opponent to fight on Get terms. Miguel tries whipping a high series of strikes but the Get's athleticism allows him to slip the blows and with three quick strikes the shield the Silver Fang holds flies apart.

Thus ends the first round.

Folkvar will watch from a distance keeping out of site by a large tree. His mind troubled with things from the past day.

*Walks back and sheds the remains his shield... He is muttering to himself as he turns equiped.*

'Ready.'

The fenrir eagerly awaits the coming round of battle intrigued by ththee silver fangs skill

"Your skill with an ax is impressive my friend! you do your ancestors proud I should think"

A wry smile crosses the vikings face

"though there is more to a fight then simple technique"

*shakes his head as he flips the ax in his hand...*

"Friend Fenrir, let me show you what technique can do."

As the second round is ready to start the mighty skald unleashes a howl that to every garou that communicates his joy and passion for battle

"please do"

Miguel's charge into the Fenrir is a cold copy of Erikson's wild joyful one...
He slips in taking a bone jarring strike to deliver one of his own. A solid wall of defensive weaving follows the axe blade more shield than the shield itself, a wall of spun steel. The Fenrir's unbridled athleticism is stymied by Miguel's virtuosity. A ferocious strike by the Fenrir at Miguel's shield is mirrored by one of the Fangs own. Miguel's mirroring of the Get's strikes has them of two strikes even..... The Get backs up, smiling, mirrored by miguel, who grins back. Miguel's grin fades as Erikson's blade flies towards him unexpectedly, like a silver bolt. Miguel brings up his shield defensively, instinctively, seemlessly, the practised movement of thousands of hours of tutelage. The shield explodes off his arm and spins him to the ground.

The Fenrir offers a hand to his fallen foe

"Like I said there is more to a battle then technique"

After watching from afar for awhile Folkvar smiles . He heads down to the waters edge listening to the water lap on the shore he just sits there looking out across the water . These are different shores but its still familiar , battles won , Get testing there might while others feast and bath in glory . Skipping a rock here and there he knows the battle is just beginning (looking back towards the warriors) he wonders are they ready for what's to come . The water has always been a comforting spot for him to gather his thoughts .

Jay comes in some were in the middle and stands with detric.

Miguel waves the help away.

'I can manage.'

He gets up, and shakes out his arm as he walks back to the single remaining shield. He picks it up, rolls his shoulders a few times, and looks up.

Firmly, he sets his sights on his rival.

'Ready.'

Artie ambles along, on patrol for more dark monsters to kill. Finding a fight, especially one between her newest pack mate and the newest throwback, she stops and watches.

Without missing a beat

"Then let's begin"

The two circle, wary. Blades lick out like flashes of murderous moonlight and are flicked aside as quickly. Finally, Erikson tires of the back and forth. What seemed like chess is now a game of hunter and hunted, with the Viking stalking the Spaniard across the ring. A slash, blocked by a haft. A charge by the Get, turned aside by the Spaniard like a matador. The deft deflection of the viking's axe a bind the Fang barely escapes from... He stumbles and miguel catches a blowon his shield, then a second before he can regain his balance. As he regains his feet, the fang shakes out his arm... his shield hangs a little lower than the A frame guard he had been using.

The Get has the Silver Fang cornered. Grimly, the Silver Fang gestures the Get to come on. Roaring with approval, the Get steps forward arms outstretched, to prevent a dodge? to turn this into a wrestling match where his superior weight and size will win? The Get jams his shield forward, like a jab, into Miguel's shoulder pining his axe-arm back. Erikson then, with improbable strength of arm, cuts horizontally at Miguel's shield side at waist height. Too low to duck, too high to jump, the Fang is caught...

In the midsection? At the moment of impact, roaring defiance, Miguel lifts his arm and takes the ax to the body, slamming his arm down over the haft, he pins the ax in. His arm clamped down over the ax, he uses the momentum of the blow to turn the now interlocked duo. With the Get pulled off balance, Miguel is able to get off two splintering blows before the surprise wears off. The Get, now at a range far more favorable to him, releases his own ax and is able to grab Miguel's ax haft before the third blow can land. Miguel releases his haft, uninterested in a wrestling match with the big northman, and pirouettes away.... The two stare across the distance gained for a moment, a fraction of a second, and the only sound they make is hard breathing and the sucking pop when Miguel pulling the ax from his ribs... and turning it in his hand to fight with. 

Miguel spits blood from his mouth, though more bubbles up when he laughs long and deep...
His smile is matched by the Fenrir as they charge each other across the gap and strike. No finesse... no ploys...The Get had been right when he said that there was more to fighting the technique.... there could be a joyful madness to it............ just two men, two axes and only one victor as both blades find both shields which shatter into an explosion of splinters. Miguel stumbles to a knee again, and even the hearty Northerner takes a step sideways from the combined force of the blows.