Dale
Perhaps there were more things alike between Tharn and Darin than they both suspected. Darin did share a couple of the feelings, though perhaps expressed in his own way. Namely the fact that he was a rightful ruler, not only because of his bloodline, but also because he could punch anyone who said otherwise square in the jaw. It wasn't just the strength of the punch, but the fact that he was willing to do so. He had the drive, the assertive nature, and the capability of violence that a leader needed. He wasn't simply someone who would command, but someone who would actually *Lead*. And right now, he felt like leading his men to victory- Despite the situation looking fairly grim..

He didn't have much time to consider the situation- yet, one rarely had in combat scenarios. It was chaotic, unpredictable, and dangerous- precisely the kind of environment that Darin usually found himself thriving in. There was an old saying he had forgotten, but it went something along the lines of 'only mad men survive in mad lands'. And perhaps, Darin was a little mad.

To him, the world felt like it was suddenly drenched in molasses. Everything felt slower, more sluggish. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, and his tendons giving silent protests as he pushed himself to react at breakneck speed, only fitting of the assault he was under. He saw the man-beast come rushing up towards him, scrambling across the dusty dirt and snaking left to right, before finally coming in for some sort of grapple. Was he playing with Darin? Well, if he was, he had picked a very poor playmate, as Darin rarely played nice. Trying underhanded and mischevious tactics might work against a more honorable knight, but Darin was a real shark. Seeing those hands, that looked roughly about the right strength and size to crush his windpipe without too much effort, reach out for his axe, Darin pulled back briefly. If he wanted Darin's ax that badly, he could have it! Gritting his teeth, Darin pushed the hilt of the weapon against the wolf-man, aiming the butt of the handle right between his eyes. Hardly something that would kill, but definitely something that would hurt both the head, and the pride.
Eddie
Tharn Skorn,
Grey Hills,

The first thing that Darin should make sure was that the knee to the head didn't cause any concussions. Why? Because he was starting to see things, for the alpha never darted from left to right and again like some silly ninja from wonderland east. Whatever Darin was watching, it was his head playing with him, which made the strike of the werewolf all the more certain. Rather, the grapple onto the handle that the Duke was so courteously giving to Tharn. The wild and vicious beast of a man slid his palm and fingers as the butt of the weapon came rushing up the air towards his eyes, but the grip with which his digits clutched the wooden handle made the attempt at his head stop short of ever coming actually close to hurt him. Too bad. Who the fuck did this human think he was fighting against? Some subordinate that would stand still like a good scarecrow for him to humiliate and get a high from?

It wasn't too late for Darin to repent for his challenge and kneel. He could, after all, pledge his allegiance to the monster before him. But that wouldn't come yet. The opportunity was as far from reaching him as the butt of the axe from striking Tharn's eyes. It wasn't necessarily the brute strength of the werewolf that made it possible, but the fact his hand was racing for it and, well it was running momentum against stilled counter, with mass shifting to the arm and hand making the Duke get *Stuck*. Of course, it's not that the Duke was really stuck. What actually happened was a reverse of his intention, which meant that the blunt top of the axe and that protruding part of the wooden handle were being pushed onto his face instead. However, it wasn't just going to be one time. If the first strike was to hit and stun the mark, many more would follow. How many? Well, did Darin enjoy having his face made into a pulp? It could happen.

As Tharn showed his animalistic prowess in combat, his rabid warriors showed their rage and wild swings, their hunger making them put up a show throughout the ongoing battle as some started the feast earlier than others. Inside the town, more screams and smoke began to pile up.
Dale
Darin's mind was racing, seemingly trying to take in far more information at the same time than it should have. It was left with just short of the time necesarry to actually think *'Oh no'* As the ax came to a stiff stop- Not the rebounding, bouncy stop one would get from a successful blow to the forehead, but the kind of buzzkill stop you'd get from a counter. Darin found himself briefly questioning if he had somehow gotten washed up over time. Sure, he was 37 years old, but he considered himself a man in his prime! Yet, he couldn't even rough up some overly hairy cannibal who looked like he was far too eager to suck the marrow form Darin's bones. He had considered himself better than this, but things simply weren't going his way it seemed. He attempted to give the ax another push downwards, but the wolfman down there seemed to have the weapon in a vice-grip from only holding onto the end of it. While some would piece together the realisation that Tharn had strength far exceeding the common man, Darin instead pieced together that he was a complete wretch, and thoroughly annoying to deal with.

He didn't have much time to contemplate these things. His train of thought was derailed by the blunt end of his axe coming up to meet him between the eyes- a blow that hurt both the head, and the pride. How ironical. Perhaps in vain, he held onto his axe- half attempting to go through with his original plan, as his recoiling mind hadn't managed to figure out anything new yet, and half attempting to just get it away from the wolf's hands. Neither of these ideas seemed to work particularily well, as blow after blow thumped against Darin's otherwise moderatively attractive visage, quite rapidly turning it less than attractive as it was covered in bruises and painful looking sores. Soon enough the ringing in the count's head became too much to handle, and he found his fingers gradually slipping off his ax, which also happened to be the only thing he had to support himself on. For a moment Darin stood there, cautiously leaning backwards and with a slightly dumbfounded look on his face- almost floating on air- before a repetition of the previous blows sent him staggering backwards. He swiftly found himself falling onto his back as his knees gave away, only managing to prop himself up with an elbow as his other hand came to console his pained face. 
"You, huh.. *You*.." Darin struggled with his breath a bit, one eye covered by his hand, and the other twitching slightly as his teeth gritted against eachother. ".. Ah.. *You* Really think you are something, don't you..?" He finally managed to grumble out between heavy breaths.