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.
Naveen unclipped his cloak and let it fall from his shoulders, giving up on the idea of keeping it clean. If it was up to him, that encounter would end in blood, and he wouldn't mind having more of it. Despite being full of whore’s blood, a fist fight had a way of opening his appetite.
The ice had relieved some of the pain from his injured left elbow, at least for as long as he kept it still. When the Al’Ashtavahk jumped at him with a series of punches aimed at his torso, Naveen decided it’d be better to instead of fighting back, dodge the ones he couldn’t block with his good arm until the baron exhausted himself.
“You’re making me want to take a bite out of the little bird. I bet she’d enjoy it.” He teased, cracking a laugh. “How she beds a horrendous thing like you I’ll never unders-” A punch to his jaw cut him mid sentence, luckily hitting his bad side. Naveen stumbled a couple steps back before lunging forward, deciding he’d had enough of letting the lizard play by himself. He kicked the wall behind him to propulse him forward, icy claws of his right hands digging deep in a diagonal motion at the man’s chest.
His shoulders ached and Ciaran let out a desperate gasp against the the ground. As soothing as the feeling of cool cobblestone was against his raw hand, he pushed himself back to his knees, then his feet. He watched with silent admiration as Emryk took the stance of a confident boxer, his strikes and footwork executed with a grace he hadn't expected from the Al'Ashtavahk - but certainly was pleased to see.
It was satisfying to see the vampire's goading remarks returned with such succinct and focused violence. Even so, it wasn't enough to stop their undead pest. Naveen launched off the wall towards the Baron, claws aimed for his chest. Hoping to catch him off guard, Ciaran threw out his mechanical arm - trying to catch the bloodsucker by the throat and slam him into the cobblestone. Of course, it could all go wrong but then again they were in too far to pull back now.
The vampire didn’t get to see the extent of the damage he’d made, as the master gunner’s hand reached for his throat and knocked him down, cracking some cobblestones beneath his back. Naveen’s reaction was immediate, reaching up to grab the man by the collar while he opened his mouth, pulling his face close to take a bite off his left cheek.
As the punch connected, Emryk grunted. He stepped back for a moment, fists still raised.
"Seems the lesson hasn't stuck yet." He muttered. "I'll need to beat you further."
Unfortunate, but necessary. Backing down, now, meant that Emer would have an ungodly amount of risk placed upon her-- and he could not allow that. Not after his fight with the marksman in the cavern, and not after seeing what Naveen could do. This spat ended here. One way or another.
Naveen's advance, unfortunately, did not help Emryk's chances of victory. He was unrelenting-- and the baron, despite his sizable brawn, had lost the levels of stamina he'd been accustomed to as a pit fighter. He was beginning to tire, which meant sloppier punches-- and a slower reaction time. Though he managed to drop his elbow low enough to keep Naveen from digging into his sternum, the claws still touched scales-- and kissed the flesh of his side, slotting neatly between the ribs and digging a few inches past his natural armor. His reaction was immediate; his eyes went wide, a harsh gasp falling from the snout before Ciaran managed to throw the vampire back upon the ground, tearing Naveen's claws from his torso before they could drag and strike any deeper. Still, the motion of the throw left a gaping tear in his side as the claws released; a metallic russet flow began to stem from the wound, as if the baron bled liquified bronze.
Emryk pressed a hand over the wound and steadied himself, looking down at the tear with more than a bit of rage.
In spite of the pain-- or, perhaps, because of it-- Emryk pushed forward, crossing the alleyway and diving down to meet Naveen's body upon the cobblestone-- hoping to prevent him from getting up, and aiming to sit both knees upon the vampire's good arm before he grabbed the vampire by the throat and aimed to slam his head back into the cobblestone-- once, twice, three times.
Ciaran bellowed in pain as the foul thing's fangs dug into the side of his face. He tried to pull away, but the vampire's jaws hung tight. Desperately, his mind raced for an answer. That's when he felt the cold edge of something against his knee. In the spur of the moment he reached for it and drove it into the vampire's clavicle and pushed him back - taking a sizeable chunk of his face with him.
The Fir-bolg wanted to push his teeth through the back of his head, but Emryk soon crossed the divide and was on top of the vampire. As his hands beckoned for Naveen's scrawny neck, Ciaran withdrew and planted his palm against his cheek. Blood leaked from between his fingers and lips. He wouldn't stand between Emryk and his rage. Taking a moment away from the melee, he looked down at the tool that had saved him - a blade, quite familiar in fact.
It was Alys's, Ciaran had no idea how it ended up in the hands of the vampire, but something within him told Ciaran that it had been there for a reason. He would've smiled if he could - once again Alys had come through and saved his ass.
Fir Bolg blood. It wasn't his favorite but it was satisfying, especially accompanied by the tall man's screams. It was, at least until his flesh got pulled from his gritted teeth and something pierced through his ribcage, slightly above his rotten heart. Not that it would have achieved anything had it pierced any lower, other than pain.
Before he had a chance to retaliate the man was replaced by the giant lizard, who got a hold of the vampire throat to slam his head down once, twice… By the fifth time There was blood painting the cobblestones and his vision had become blurry, by the eighth, he lost complete consciousness.