Beltor "Bell" Cyrus
The Good Doctor.
Braze took the hit to his jaw in a solid manner, his head snapping to the side with the strength of the impact, his snow-white hair whipping after in its wake. He wouldn't be able to win a competition of strength against the larger man; this much he knew, so he shifted, pressing in and lower, letting his shoulder wedge between and down.
The inner material of his robes against the long glove beneath rolled, slipping past each other. The materials had been intentionally chosen for the least amount of friction possible when they rubbed against one another, and that aided him here, oddly enough, as he slipped his form tighter against Bells' side.
His hand still held the longer blade, and it was finger-flipped as he reverse-gripped it and angled it directly toward Beltor's groin. His own foot rose and was aimed at a stomp right behind Beltor's closest knee.
The touch of cold on his...nether bits sent a chill up his spine, and made certain...things clench. It likely would have been the end of the match, had the kick to the back of the knee not also knocked his balance off and forward. The world began to spin and his vision went dark crystal's odd effects set in.
The last thing he recalled before being put sound to sleep was the thud and squeak as the much larger Beltor landed fully on top of something small, warm, and squirmy. He was out like a light, snoring gently, and rapidly settling in for an impromptu nap with an oddly comfy and warm pillow.
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