Near the Beach
Ah. Speaking of strange creatures.
Mercutio turns to face his aggressor, one of his slender eyebrows raised in amusement. With a hollow thumpf, he closes the large tome he caries and lets it fall to hang on its chain. "'Little beast,' is it?" he asks, his lips twisting into something between a smirk and a grin. "Perhaps so, but at least I'm not a large brute such as yourself." A wind blows from the beach, smelling of brine and fish and sand. It ruffles Mercutio's ornate coat, and toys with his hair. Pushing a strand from his face, Mercutio shrugs off his coat and hangs it from a nearby vertical-standing log. His button-down shirt has sleeves that end just below his elbow, revealing a blue-scaled forearm covered in runic tattoos. He flexes his arms, and the runes flare to life. Shimmering a dull silver, they coil down his arms like snakes to pool in the palms of his hands. The shimmering grows brighter and expands, until the light takes the forms of a pair of matching, thin-bladed swords.
"I get the first move? How generous." Dropping an exaggerated bow, Mercutio bends at the waist and vanishes in a puff of dark blue smoke that, for a moment, fills the air with the acrid stink of sulfur. In the same moment, he is standing behind the brute, slashing at his hamstring with his swords.