A LEIMOR ALLEYWAY.
MIDDAY.
MIDDAY.
"RRG-- HH!"
Emryk kept his guard high, avoiding an engagement with Ciaran already entangled in close quarters. His knee had already been driven into the firbolg once, and the baron wasn't keen on it happening any further. Instead, he sought to circle around the vampire a bit more, trying to place Naveen between the two taller men and deny any escape. Unfortunately, it seemed that Ciaran had been grappled and thrown in a display of vampiric strength that surprised the baron enough to leave him caught off-guard.
The firbolg's body slammed into Emryk's with enough force to pry breath from lung, but he kept his posture strong even as the weight pushed him down to one knee-- not fully knocking him down, but driving metal arm and body into scaled flesh. Enough to bruise, no doubt-- perhaps a broken rib, if he were even more unlucky. Emryk caught Ciaran's body and let him fall a bit softer than the throw would have otherwise allowed, using his arm as a net of sorts to guide the master gunner to the alley ground in a way that wouldn't slam his head off of cobblestone.
"Enough of this," The Al'Ashtavahk growled, pushing to his feet and pumping his biceps to stretch the tendons before bringing both hands tight in a boxer's stance and edging forward, eyes trained on Naveen's hands-- and focused primarily upon the broken elbow he'd given not moments ago. Edging his body closer to that side of the vampire's body, the baron lashed out with a series of jabs meant to target the injured arm-- forcing him to either defend with a broken limb, or to compromise by trying to swap his stance. One punch went for the gut-- hand snapping out, then back in, fist pulling back to guard his face and body from a grapple as he edged forward another step, then another. Practiced footwork-- muscle memory from the pits. In that moment, Naveen was just another quarry, another fight to pay his meal for the night.
Another punch, aimed for the liver. The kidney. Concentrated strikes meant to disable and debilitate-- and, most importantly, to train the vampire to guard for the gut-shot, to have him anticipate blows to the torso. Another strike-- and then his right arm, previously unused during the initial assault, shot out in a devastating hook to strike at the face, hoping to catch Naveen off guard and slam directly upon the gap in the mask that'd previously been chipped away by Ciaran.