Drew On- Arm Twist

He went for Colbard’s ax first, grasping the blade with dark clawed hands and twirling it in the man’s grip like a spinning top. The big man watched in horror as the ax—and the loop around his wrist—spun repeatedly in his sweaty palm, his wrist locking with the momentum of the blade. The ax continued to spin, through and beyond the physical limit of his joints. First the wrist snapped, and the elbow swiftly followed, as the torque of the huge weapon threatened to rip his arm out of its socket. Colbard staggered to the ground, screaming like a stuck pig, the bones of his arm in pieces.

The fat man lunged clumsily with the cudgel, taking a wild swing at Drew’s head that might have proved fatal if he’d been human. As a therianthrope he allowed the wooden club to bounce off his head, jarring him only slightly as he brought his changed face round to growl furiously at the man. The Werewolf’s unmistakable roar rose up from Saddlers Row and raced to every corner of Cape Gala. In that moment, the Horselords knew that the Wolf was in their city. The fat man stumbled away in terror. That left Sorin facing Drew.

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