As Blade swiveled he saw that her right arm raised, so he raised his left to block the telegraphed attack while aiming a light jab at her neck with his sheathed weapon. If it struck home it would certainly hurt but wouldn't permanently injure her. He wasn't waiting to find out though, after blocking the punch he used the same arm to push her back while retreating a few steps.

"Allowing you to fight her battles isn't restoring my confidence or my respect for the cat," Blade said as he planted his feet in the slick grass, finding what grip he could in case he orc didn't back down. "If you really feel that you need to defend her, fine. But this is your one warning, which I don't give out very often by the way. Stow your fists orc," his order was accented by the scrape of his scabbard sliding off five feet of honed dwemer steel before growling, "I don't play fight."

The scabbard fell to the ground with a splat and the argonian just stood there waiting for an answer, sword in hand. "Just walk away Urzoth, I'd rather not cut somebody who doesn't deserve it." Though he said otherwise, a secret part of him, deep down, the feral animal that reared its head on the blood soaked battlefield hoped she wouldn't walk away. Thirsted for the crimson liquid to stain the gold metal and stubby grass. His own life blood began to pump faster in anticipation for the answer, flooding his corded limbs with nutrients to make them faster. Stronger. As much as he wanted to believe he wasn't a monster, moments like this said otherwise.

Blade offered one more threatening hiss, "Stand down."

It was obvious the argonian wanted her to keep fighting, and she knew that bringing her fists into a swordfight wouldn’t be the best course of action. Then again, she had won countless battles before against battleaxes, blades and fellow brawlers, and while it had never been her strongest suit it was the only one she had. She tasted her words with more carefulness than how she felt. “A true companion defends her allies’ honor. You should know this, standing up to Marassa to defend your fallen comrades.” She cracked her knuckles and gauged how she might go about stepping in close enough to render his long blade useless—perhaps a grapple. The drums demanded blood, his eyes cried out for violence, and her own heart pounded so viciously that to have it torn from her chest in itself would be relief. 

She charged, and with a more cunning posture than she thought the lizard might give her credit for, positioned her gauntlets in such a way that they could swing up and clang against his blade should he strike while the range was at his advantage, sending it screaming past her shoulder and skidding harmlessly against the thick orichalcum plates of her armor. She grappled with his swordarm to attempt to capture it in a lock, struggling to remain upright on the slope in their fighting. Her blood boiled and burned in her chest. She felt more life in that moment than any number of simple bandit-slayings could offer—the challenge, the risk, the fact that this was more than a scramble to survive but a battle between two butchers looking to hammer out their own wills.

Blade's face was a snarling mass of now fangs, all rational thought not involving combat gone from his mind. His only desire now, was to see his enemy bleeding in the dirt. That enemy had closed the distance quickly, negating the effectiveness of his sword and attempting to control it, but Blade had anticipated this. It was the orc's only option of attack considering the circumstances. 

So after a quick feint at Urzoths raised arms, he turned his left side towards her and pushed his left leg out, crouching to maintain balance. His thigh would act as a small obstacle that she would have to work around or risk tripping. The orc was successful in keeping him from slashing at her, but Blade had no intention of doing so in such confined space anyway. With Urzoth grappling his left arm, he shifted the weight of his sword to his right and let the point fall downward, releasing the grip for an instant before grabbing it again so that the pommel end protruded from between his thumb and index finger. Blade immediately began to viciously thrust the pommel beneath the orc's outstretched left arm like a dagger, aiming for the gap in her armor that exposed the armpit, hoping to strike the sensitive nerves within and incapacitate the limb.

Pain bloomed up from Urzoth’s armpit, growing with each successful jab of Blade’s pommel. Just then, an unwelcome warmth sprouted out from her left shoulder, and she swiveled angrily to meet the guilty caster. The magic was potent, and she feared it taking effect--not out of fear of calming, but out of a furious stubbornness to stay angry until she and her opponent decided the fight was done. She had to get away from the blurry, glowing hand before it could ruin the thrill, before it could silence the drums' deafening noise. The elf spoke, something she cared little to hear over the cacophony of rain and the ferocity of the struggle she was still engaged in. Two silhouettes now. A tail? Marassa? She wouldn't stop the battle, would she?

She leaned forward, arms braced against Blade's chest, and sent them tumbling down the hill, splattering into the mud in a great, thunderous heap. She tried to be sure Blade was the one to slap onto his back, digging her heels into the soft ground in some semblance of control, but the mud proved too slippery and she plunged in on her side, leaving Blade ungrappled while she threw herself up onto her knees to poise to beat the crap out of him. Mud had flown into her eyes and, alongside the rain and darkness, she could neither see her opponent nor the glint of his blade clearly.

Fortunately neither party was cut by the dwemer greatsword as they collapsed to the ground in a muddy heap. Though he did his best to keep control of the weapon, it was knocked from Blade's grasp by an unseen rock as the two combatants slipped off each other. Freed from the orc's powerful grip, the argonian scrambled to his feet and launched himself at Urzoth, leading with a fist and a roar. 

Their orichalcum breastplates clanged as Blade crashed into the orc with a flurry of punches fueled by primal rage. He fought like a wild animal, tirelessly slamming his fists against anything within his reach. Water and mud flew through the air, sent skyward by the flailing limbs and brutal impacts, including Urzoth's own fists connecting with the argonian's feral visage, giving back as good as she got.

Viciousness in its purest form. This was it. Frustration, rage. She felt detached, neither the pain of the blows nor the discomfort of the mud seeping into her armor breaking through her sphere of...something. Probably something very unhealthy. Her abdomen strained; she had to force him away to at the very least sit up, else the strain of keeping her head above the deep pool of mud would surely dampen her arms’ strength. A cut above her brow, fresh and deep thanks to Blade’s talons, poured blood generously down her face and into her eyes and mouth. Should’ve worn your helmet, fool. 

Blade was too far lost to his blood wrath to feel pain and he slowly gained the advantage, pressing the attack until Urzoth was on her back and he straddled her torso, legs splayed out for stability. A hungry hiss slithered from the deepest recess of his mind and consumed his thoughts, smash her... break her... bleed her... A stray fist caught Blade in the neck forcing a cough of pain from his maw. He'd had enough. Managing to grip the edge of Urzoth's breastplate and landing one more blow to stun her, he ripped his short-sword from the scabbard at his hip. His arm reared back, ready to plunge the tip through her neck and roared, "ENOUGH!"

Urzoth could see not but a dim shadow of Blade’s shape, outlined against the moons. She lifted a hand against the glint of his shortsword, rushing to align the tip with her palm. She would rather he slice straight through her non-dominant hand until he hit the gauntlet plate on the other side than have him surely kill her. She snarled in defiance, the animal rage bleeding out of her every pore to make way for cold survival again. She thought on what would surely happen should she miss, an instant's consideration that brought her mind to Cub. Would Marassa keep an eye on him well enough?

The argonian and orc both froze. Blade panted heavily and his upraised arm trembled slightly, though not from exhaustion. ...do it... came the whisper from the dark corner of his mind, you want this... it's who you are... Blade growled and tensed with exertion as he fought against his baser instincts. Urzoth’s fingers twitched. "I warned you dammit," he hissed. Then golden steel flashed downward and plunged into the wet earth next to Urzoth's head.

The rumble over head ached across the sky, the drums of war a falling crescendo. Through blood and grime Urzoth prepared her counter when the short sword sank into the earth mere inches from her face. The panting figure above her gave a final gruff sigh as it rocked back its heels victorious. A flash of light illuminated Urzoth's murky vision as thunder crashed overhead. Then a second time far closer than she expected.

Now smearing through the muck atop his adversary, Cub clung desperately to Blade's plate armour as he drove his body further through the bastard, driving the momentum from his charge through the lizard and down into the mud. Blade, caught unawares, had little time to react as the two slid to a stop. "You killed her! You'll die for that, Scaly, I swear it," Cub's threat barely half spoken. his paws began closing around Blade's neck.

Blade hadn't heard the big orc's approach thanks to the rain, he'd let his guard down. Squashed the blood wrath that honed his instincts and senses to a razor's edge. [i]Stupid[/i] he thought. Now he was paying the price, he'd already lost to the new assailant whose powerful grip squeezed his windpipe. Well, at least he hadn't killed Urzoth. Now that he thought about it, it'd be rather ironic if he died at the hands of somebody who was taking vengeance for a person he hadn't actually killed for once.

He pulled futilely at the hands around his neck as he gasped for air and wheezed up at the orc, "She -gurck- isn't dead you -glck- fucking idiot!"

The cold chill of pain averted froze Urzoth in a daze for a few odd moments as a wagon in the shape of a man came bellowing down the slope to snatch her assailant away. She turned her head, squinting up at the wrangling pair, bewildered. [i]Was that Cub.[/i] “Shit.” She forced her body to move, lurching up onto her knees to the chorus of a gagging lizard. “Cub! You big—“ She tugged on one of his shoulders, giving him firm but nonviolent smacks to the muscle there despite the damage she could do, still coming down from the haze of her bloodrage as she was. “I’m alive! Let go!” She sounded a little more exasperated than furious, and continued to angrily grapple with his shoulders and arms until he relented.