Duel:Adain v Ethan
Adain rolls his shoulders to loosen the muscles that had tensed in anticipation for the match, his dark emerald pools never altering their fixation upon his opponent. He scuffs his feet on the packed ground of the well-traveled street to get a feel for the footing, grinning just enough to reveal his pointed canines. His leather duster waves gently behind his form in the cool night breeze as he reaches to draw his jagged blade from the battered hilt that holds it at his side, calloused fingers clenching the hilt as the steel slides forth with a steely hiss. With narrowing optics Adain advances towards the man before him holding the blade tip down in a menacing slither, almost letting the tip touch the dust in its deadly path. In nearing Ethan the grin vanishes and is replaced by a look of concentration as he flicks the blade towards the man’s right shoulder in a practiced feint then steps forward slam the hilt of his blade down on the unsuspecting man’s head.
Ethan remains stationary in the central point of the muddied street, fathomless eyes set upon Adain in a manner that may likely be considered unnerving. His surroundings are not acknowledged openly - he rather takes focused notice of his opponent’s movements, and when Adain sets himself forward Ethan steadies himself in a nonchalant movement. Still weapon less, he awaits the other’s opening attack - and the feint is, unfortunately, fallen for. The mercenary shifts his footing sharply, aiming to miss the blade - and he does so, obviously, though the hilt soon aimed at his head comes abrupt and without warning. It connects hard; a sick thud the only sound in that night air, but in an instant Ethan’s flicked his hand beneath his short jacket, and there’s the faintest -shnickt- noise that follows. His head shakes, mind clearing the blur brought on by the hilt, and in a half moment his elbow has jerked in an upwards trajectory, aimed for Adain’s jugular, while at the same time the hand that had disappeared beneath his jacket fully unsheathes a twisted looking weapon: a meat hook. Combined with the elbow aimed for Adain’s neck, the meat hook is dragged upwards, aiming for his solar plexus.
Adain snarls revealing his pointed canines as his weathered hand snaps up to catch Ethan’s wrist and stop the incoming blow to his neck. The catch is not enough to stop the strike but gives him the stability to avoid the attack using the man’s arm to guide his evasion. Adain’s deep green pools shine in the silvered moonlight. He swings his blade down before him as his eyes catch the gleam of the meat hook, the steel ringing as the two weapons connect and are slammed to the ground sending up a cloud of dust upon impact. Sliding his blade back to release the hook Adain plants his right foot and kicks up his left, aiming to knock the wind out of the already stunned man by a fierce blow to the chest.
Ethan grunts as steel clashes with steel and as his hook's been caught at an odd angle the weapon is snapped violently from his grip and sent skittering along the ground. With a jerk he's released his arm from Adain's grip; but it's at this very moment that his opponent slams that kick for his chest, and Ethan's barely got a growl out of his throat before it's choked into silence and he's knocked completely off his feet. A crunch and the mercenary lands hard on his back, biting back a grunt drawn from the impact; Adain's been certainly successful in winding him, but it takes more than a lack of breath to stop Ethan from retaliating, and with only a moment allowed of himself to gasp he rolls over. One hand jerks out - his meat hook is just barely in reach, and fingers curl about the end of the hilt before snapping it back towards him. In the same fluid movement he twists around, rolling to his back, arm skirting the ground and gathering mud as that meat hook is aimed for the leg closest in proximity. Should the blade indeed hook through muscle and sinew Ethan will adjust his position on the mud to pull hard and, hopefully, with a mixture of agony and unbalance he and Adain's difference in levels will be ultimately evened out, and the fight will continue on the ground.
Adain’s lids flick closed concealing the glimmer of mirth in his eyes as his booted foot connects with Ethan, sending his opponent to the ground. Not wishing to waste any advantage given him Adain steps forward with his sword point lowered at the assassin’s chest to pin him on the ground. Pitch-black hairs begin sprouting from every pore upon his body as his form broadens stretching the black leathers, his face becoming more drawn as his wolven heritage takes prominence in his features. Claws reveal themselves at the tips of his fingers as they poke through the black gloves that cover them and his leather duster billows out behind his form. He shifts his grip upon his hilt with newly clawed hands just in time to feel the agony of a filthy point of the meat hook pierces his calf and flings him to his knees before the prone Ethan. A howl of pain reverberates from his thought followed by the vicious growls of an angry lycan. Adain lashes out with a clawed fist at Ethan’s face and chest in a flurry of infuriated blows. The hook wrenches about in his leg, probing muscle and bone with its sharp point.
Ethan - when he catches sight of Adain's shifting features and sudden mass of hair - earns a look of something akin to abject disgust upon his countenance. But there's a sword point at his chest, and even with that sick sense of victory that comes from hearing the click of steel against bone he's still pinned for an extra moment; that is, of course, until Adain joins him in the mud. The mercenary keeps a tight, firm hold on the short hilt of the meat hook, giving it a sick little twist within the werewolf's calf; and an almost bloodthirsty snarl finds Ethan's own lips and the corner of his nose, in a manner so wolvish it could almost rival Adain's actual canine appearance. That expression is soon wiped from his face, however; a grunt follows the impact of claws striking across his chest, and his head is twisted in the opposite direction when another set connects with his jaw line. A bloodied mix of spittle escapes the mercenary's mouth, but given their current positions the male releases a noise of effort, shifts his leg sharply out from under him and aims a jabbing frontwards kick for Adain's wolvish chin. In a final move to follow on from this he makes to utterly wrench the meat hook from the lycanthrope's calf and instead he aims to use it to the best of its ability; in a jerk up and then down, the merc' looks to literally 'hook' the flesh of the male's gut.
Adain’s furry in injury only worsens as the hook is twisted sadistically in his calf before being removed. Ceasing his barrage of fists on the prone man, Adain leaps up to avoid any more confrontation with the cruel hook. Remembering the sword in his hand he slaps aside the upswing angrily and kicks some of the mud that Ethan had used to infect his wounded leg with at the man. ‘That is enough… We can continue this later.’ He glances about at the spectators before letting his body settle back into a human form almost uncomfortably. Pulling the brim of his fedora down to cover his eyes he turns his back on Ethan and begins to limp away from the irate man.