This three-way match has slightly different rules, please take note

RULES OF COMBAT:

1. 20 post each limit, if you wish to have this amount reduced, get in touch with me.

2. Each player is allowed to make one introductary post.

3. Mark which number post you posted at the end of your posts.

4. Deathblows allowed, play to win, play for keeps, whatever. But the character will be regenerated after the fight.

5. YOU KNOW WHAT THE JUDGES WANT, read their screenings, no whining because of the judges decisision, you know what they are looking for in each fight.

6. Judges shall give their scores out of 10, highest average totaled player wins.

7. Every character that's not participating in battle may be observing the match and may post whatever they like IN CHARACTER during fights as long as they do not interfear with the combat.

8. There is an audience of bumbling idiots, sure what the hell.



Arena decided by Contestant Brian: An average American tavern, slicked counter tops, glasses hanging from the ceiling, various intricate artifacts about, equipped with a billard room and two bathrooms for him or her! (Yes, there are people just sitting having a drink when we first start the match)

Winner of coin toss: James, chooses Brian to post first.

*"Come on man...I think you've had enough." the man in the middle of the square, pine-wood counter warned. Another man, this one slumped over in a barstool slurred his words as he calmly, yet with a sharp tone responded. "Shut the hell up and beer me." He insisted. Suddenly, a soft crash was heard, as if a sack of meat had been dropped in the next room over, the billard room. Two patrons quickly ran out, a shocked expression on their faces. "What's wrong?" The bartender asked.

"A lady just fell from the ceiling!" One of the patrons cried. Before long, there were two more crashes, and the three combatants had begun their match.

----
If you had asked her how she was doing, Clara would probably spit in your face right about now. Another match had passed and once again the omnious retrievers had not kept their promise to restore her as the next match began. First they had not replaced the mask upon her face that had sweated off during her bout with Kael, and now...well now was a pain much worse. Cramps that bit at her side, nearly crippling her and a cold yet burning sensation on her lower abdomen. It hurt to move, hell, it hurt to breath. So yeah, things could have been better for Clara.

When she arrived in the bar arena, she had not been prepared for both transportation nor a safe landing, compared to the burst of wind that nearly tore her wings off from the last fight, she simply fell upon the billard table, a stray cue ball knocked against her body, she must have joined the players mid-game. What was happening to her body, it couldn't have been an effect of that plant that had stabbed Clara in her fight against Lisa, could it? No, if that were so, it would have been restored, just like the rest of the fighters! It couldn't have been from using her powers, could it? Or perhaps it was after all, Kael, the first opponent she faced was a male opponent...and Lisa a female..it is quite possible that when Clara began to siphon the pain from Lisa, she was beginning her menstrual cycle. It had been a pain that was all too foreign to her body, she had hardly ever experienced it in the past. Finally, the shock and fear began to settle, and some bar patrons opposed her. "What is it?" One asked.

"It's got wings!"
"Like...some sort of fairy?"
"She's kinda cute." One said, approaching her slowly. As his fingers began to run down her wing, a cold shiver ran up Clara's spine and she quickly jolted to life.
"Don't touch me!" She cried, the patrons immediatly began to back away. With a groan she pulled herself up and hopped down from the table. Her opponents would be joining her moments, as she knew when the fabrics of time and space burst and loud slam could be heard...just quickly then it was accompanied by another burst and crashing noise. Two of them...

Two opponents had travelled into this bar?!

Damnit... Clara quietly whispered. A quiver of arrows that got lighter per match and dismal skills with her daggers didn't spell the best of odds for her.

[Intro post]

T`qual was growing steadily impatient with his prolonged sojourn within the tribunal's estate, deprived of all communication from this omnipotent authority, and purposefully avoiding the affairs of the other combatants. After all, why would he converse with those he had so often sworn to eradicate; those whose blood he had lusted for?

"Two-thousand, six-hundred and one…it seems to be the last one." T`qual laid the final grain of sand from his leg's wound on the ever-growing pile; several granules slid down the mound as he did. How could that warrior - the one known as Forge - have so easily done so much damage? Further still, how was the precursor Lamian brought within an inch of his life, and beyond? These mortals were far more perilous than any Sylvillian; their resolves, their wills, far more formidable; their resourcefullness without parallel.

Though picking grains of sand from the irritated flesh did not help the situation, his burn had healed itself considerably and did not pain him as voraciously as earlier. He slowly eased himself back up the wall he had so long ago slid his form down, his limbs and vertebrate cracking and groaning with strain as he did. Once upright T`qual let out an extensive yawn, one of both fatigue and boredom, and stretched his rigid limbs. Perhaps he should have drifted back into slumber…

-----

A deafening crash sounded in T`qual's ears just the (a fairly familiar sound): infinite dimensions and the vacuous boundaries between them were being destroyed; oblitherated; torn asunder like simple fabrics. His vision blurred and clouded into dizzying brightness, then soon collapsed - along with all sensation, the evidence of one's mortal existence - into vacuous blackness. A measure of time unbeknownst to T`qual had passed before the process once again took place, only now in reversed order; the encompassing umbra dissolved into a white field of snow, one which was completely blinding. The tearing rang once again in his ear, yet this time began at a crescendo and faded soon after. Slowly, he could regain control over his senses, which told him that there was a slight breeze flowing from…below him?

T`qual could not see the rooftop of the tavern until mere seconds before impact. The suprisingly flimsy edifice crumbled easily beneath his weight, scattering particulate matter all about: plywood, synthetic tiling material, pasterboard, insulation; everything impacted splintered and fluttered through the light now pouring through the bar's new, improvisional skylight. As T`qual's legs met the hard cement floor at the climax of his fall, they refused to bend at the joints, both sending a shock through his entire form (his burns affected the most) and laying him flat on the ground. He felt his head, letting out a gutteral growl; the fall had caused a slight hemorrhage on his forehead. As he felt this new wound, he found it to be nothing new at all: it was simply another trophy left behind from his conflict with Forge.

That bastar--

"Hey, asshole, the fuck you thin' you're doin'!" A broodish character which a thick, inner-city accent had shouted this at T`qual; even though for all purposes the gutteral slur should have been phrased as a question, it was not as if the drunkard had any control over the volume of his voice. There was little he did have control over, the idiot; why do humans so relish in intoxicating themslves? If they so wished to poison themselves, there are far more efficient and effective means of doing so. T`qual, refusing to reply, was dragged to his feet by the leather strap running across his chest. The gruff was nearly a brow* taller than T`qual and, now breathing directly into the Lamian's face, had breath that reeked of fermented liquors. "You gonna say somethin', freak-show?!" The wrinkles of his face contorted into strange, almost pained shapes, and his brow furrowed in blind anger. A mere pittance when compared to T`qual's. Lighting up with fury, a sneer spread across his cheeks, brimming with sinister motives. Grabbing the oaf's lapels, he lifted him off his feet which prompted the immediate release of T`qual's garments. His fist trembling, he leaned his body back and with a quick thrust hurled the resiliant vessel clear to the side. Slamming into a nearby pooltable with his midriff, his upper body slammed into the table itself, sending it sliding ever so slightly across the coarse floor and sending pool balls scattering across its surface (and several onto the floor).

Needless to say, the citizen was swiftly disposed of for this moment, and quite a panic had been created by the display; as such, a small clearing was created in front of him, through which he could view something out of place amidst the alarm of the bar's patrons. A winged creature; female; very petite; pink hair, which marginally housed two feelers; her wings nothing more than tattered remnants. Were she a pixie? A faerie, perhaps? No, no, much too large; she seems more human. Then perhaps some persuasion of Elf? Then what of her wings, her antennae? Elvish, perhaps, but there was more to it.

Suddenly, it struck him. T`qual pointed towards the bowswoman with a grin: "Ah! A nymph; that is what you are, is it not?" With his left hand he felt at the signiature granite vials fastened to the back of his belt. "I don't believe I have yet savored such a type of humor," he quipped while whetting his lips. It was certainly nice to be able to enjoy himself again. If only his own blood did not dribble down the side of his nose as he spoke.

*A "brow" is a unit of measure commonly used in Sylvillia; compared to the British and American standard of measurements, one brow is equivalent to three inches.

Gaeroq watched as the blackness came from all sides. This was not shadow, this was tangible, this was a physical force! He was almost convinced his water-twisting opponent had somehow gained power over the tar about him, when he felt a strange calm, though the ache from his previous match didn't leave him. His eyes were consumed in the darkness, and as his eyes were covered, he saw his opponent being swallowed, along with the rest of the world, into the exit of a hole through reality, which consumed him into the eternal white nothingness that was voidless void.
His vision blurred, watering from the pain of the transition, and with a jolt, he realized he was in another world, yet again. He quickly flipped in mid-air, with a burst of instinctive concentration, he slowed his dissent on shadows that must've been available to him. He landed on something rickety, and it still crashed loudly to the ground. His face almost glimmered with the recognition of the powers that be, and his annoyance with them.
His vision cleared. He was standing in a dimly-lit tavern of some sort, judging from the thick smells of wines and other intoxicants. Tables and chairs lay broken before a elven, fair and faeren-like creature, wings and all and, in sharp contrast, a shorter and drastically more pale creature whose eyes were frightening orbs of white surrounded by black. Judging by the assault that the pale creature had just laid upon a random patron of the tavern, they'd have plenty of room without interference from spectators in only moments.
He spun the bokan defensively, feeling the realization from above that these were his opponents. Fighting two at once did not allow him the luxury of duelist-style combat. He would not forsake his honor, but he would move with no flourish that single-combat allowed. He heard the pale creature speak in a chilling voice. Only then, when he saw the blood drip down from the vampyric being's face, did he realize that both his opponents must be as fatigued as he was. Something had obviously gone wrong in the preparation of this tournament.
He slammed the staff smartly into the broken remains of the table he'd landed on twice, once for each opponent. He stopped spinning the staff, and held it behind him, at the ready. The signal given, he stared first at the faerie, and then at the pale creature, for several seconds, in turn, letting them drink in his presence. He didn't move, though even one completely unacustomed to combat could see that, like a cat, he was poised for a movement tensionlessly.

The bright red blood trickled nonchalantly down his face; quite a warm sensation, but not recisely pleasing. With a abhorred sigh his imposing facade dropped momentarily; with his right hand he held two fingers over the site of abrasion and whispered in familiar tongue. The red aura surrounding his hand, the blood now running across his lips curled around his extended digits (but not before one final taste) in a rather clean fashion, as to leave little residual humor. A vial circulated from around his backside, which the sparse amount of blood emptied into: hardly even a contingency, but T`qual wasn't willing to take the risk just yet, looking quite the fool in front of Clara.

As T`qual pressed his fingers against his wound as to halt the hemorraging, he noticed there was another; a warrior like himself and the nymph; like Forge; Von; and the others from that plane. With his silver robe ever-repelling any light which shone upon it, and skin as umbral as shadow, he was quite hard to miss. Gareoq seemed tense and quite ready for battle, and certainly less fatigued than either of the other combata--

Wait! Three combatants! What in Asiron* is happening here? First, my wounds persist, and now I fight on two fronts!

He shook his head, and snapped himself out of his preoccupation, for the moment disregarding Gaeroq and turning back to Clara. Ladies first.

"Right then, where was I…? Ah, right…your blood." T`qual's right palm extended forward once again, eminating its crimson aura as his lips mouthed the Grecerian incantation. He readied a second vial, one to the right of the first, to collect his harvest when it should arrive.

[Post 1]
*Asiron is the internment deep within sylvillia's earth which contains Miaylsma.

*Clara stayed silent when T'qual spoke the first time. There was no way of knowing what the people in his world had considered to be a *nymph* was. With a bit of chance, perhaps Clara would have some surprises for him, after all, it had been her secrets and guile that had brought her victory the last two rounds. Still, things were different then...both Kael and Lisa had spoken to her before the fights began, they knew even the slightest bit of information...and they certainly weren't an intimidating bunch of people. Things were different, indeed. Now a vampire and a dark man in a silver robe, a calculating warrior without expression had crashed through the ceiling like her and now stood in front of her. In a matter of 20 seconds, the bat, once peaceful became a battlefield. Shards of glass from broken mugs, accompanied by a thick odor that escaped from the substances that were inside each. A finished pine floor had been below...much less yielding than the forest floor, but not as hard as the top of the vehicle from the last match. T'qual's words, as he spoke again and called her focus back to the action.

Her blood he had promised to take, and then raised his arms, a blood red aura wrapped around his fingers and spread through his palm, immediatly Clara felt a tugging pain. It was not much different from the pain she had experienced when her wings had been strained and pulled during her prior bouts. Like electricity, a prinicple still primitive in Clara's world, blood also travelled through the path of least resistance, she found this out as her cramps almost intensified tenfold and the cold, almost wet sensation on her lower body also began to gather some direction. It was...permiating through her clothing, and travelling to T'qual's outstretched hand. Her eyes widened and she immediatly fell to her knees and gushed over herself. She threw her broken wings across the flow of the blood from her to T'qual, but it did nothing and it simply beaded onto her wings and rolled off, continuing to run it's course. Her face turned bright red as her hair draped over it.

How embarassing! she almost wanted to cry as she grittted her teeth and moaned in pain. For the first time in this tournament, she was not in control, right at the opening of the match, she had allready been thrown into a torrent of pain! A simple incantation and allready he had a blood gouting spell placed on her.

I guess...this is the first time you've done something like this...for..for not all blood...is good blood... It was true, though the blood for a placenta was often nutrient-enriched, it had no place mixing with her normal blood...and for her half-nymph body, the combination was almost intoxicating. She had grinned as he supped on his dinner, and then began to pull herself to her feet, and pressed toward him, her wings still spread across the front of her body, though mostly useless, their thick leathery texture still provided a bit of protection. As she got closer, she drew back and flung her wings outward, hoping to get a huge slap across the vampire with them, one that could knock him toward the other man.

All the while, the third combatant...what of him? the more time two warriors spent fighting, the longer the third had to recooperate and gather their strength...if she could just get the vampire and the shadow man to fight...

[Post 1]

[1]

Gaeroq widened his eyes for a solid moment as the vampyre began to draw life force from the faerie. This was a moment out of one of the old tales, and he was temporarily reminded of his childhood, spellbound at the presentation of good and evil before him. Then he realized that the conflict was only half as serious as he could expect, noting the environment, which seemed the ultimate contrast to the ultimate battle. A dirty tavern that was neither wholy good, nor wholy evil. It was the realm of man that these titans fought upon and about, and it was man's fate that was to be decided. It was almost too much, he thought, noting grimly that the powers that had brought the three to fight were deliberately placing the forces of the universe into direct and sheer collision. He shook his head, slightly, in full view of both of his combatants. If good and evil were represented here, how could mortal man triumph? He, for one, was tired of being another pawn for something far greater. The audience to this fight was beyond comprehension.
He took a deep breath, one that seemed to echo throughout the room, a full, slow, amplified exhale that signalled to all in the room that his concentration was coming together. The room began to fade, even more, as he exterted a physically taxing amount of will in asking the shadows to cover his attacks before his opponents could be given time to respond.
He rushed forward when even shapes were difficult to discern, and closed his eyes, letting the most primal of notions guide him to his targets. He flew on the shadows, at relentless speed towards the two near-engaged targets, and held the bokan out, horizontally before his body, which he kept in a crouched, loping sprint as he sped across the air. In a few moments, he would collide with them both at neck-level, one end of the staff for each of them.
An afterthought to his attack, he realized that one movement was not enough, as he made his final approach. Time seemed to feel slow to him again, at the speeds he was moving, and, bracing one arm to keep the staff at collision-level, he lowered one arm and drew out two of the three ring-ended daggers from his belt, and, with precision, tossed them, now point-blank, at his opponents' heads. Left, and right, all the while, readying a turn for his staff so that the force on both ends wouldn't weaken the staff's strength as a whole.

Not all blood is good blood--feh! If Clara simply wished to be bled to death, why could she not simply be direct about the matter? T`qual had supped the humors from a plethora of different creatures, and in his past gluttonous jaunts drank the sweet life-blood of species no longer existant (with his evident intervention). How could a simple nymph - or anything of spritely persuasion - hope to defy the model he had strived so stingently to set in place?

There was yet any true way to tell whether or not this was a mere bluff, however; much of the blood stained her clothed a beautiful crimson and beaded across her tattered, leathery wings, and thus very little diffused through the air. Indeed; not a single droplet had reached its resting in T`qual's readied vial when Clara formulated her counter-attack. Miracuously rising to her knees, she pressed towards him, wings still bound tightly about her form. The poor thing could barely walk, though he felt a grudging admiration for the child's perserverence. Therefore, he simply continued his Blood Draw technique and nothing more, to see how she would - if she could - react. The instant she drew in range, T`qual gave a glance downward at Clara, just in time to notice the coriaceous protuberance sent hurdling towards his face.

The coarse wing struck firmly across his cheek, though not at all with much force as he was braced for. Regardless, he took a mocking pratfall to humor the nymph; whether it was coincidence or something divine that delved him onto his buttocks then, it was hard to tell. No sooner had he began to descend towards the ground did he hear a faint buzzing quickly grow in intensity from behind him; then a gleam darting before his view; finally, the "thuck" of metal embedding itself in any variety of material. The mysterious stranger was evidently launching his attacks; the one T`qual so briefly witness was a knife on a trajectory with the base of his skull. Another attack made itself known, but was not so easily viewed. For as the blow of Gaeroq's staff made itself visible to the Lamian's inhibited view, his head had collided with something…Gaeroq's leg.

Ess'a.

Acting quickly, T`qual lunged at Gaeroq's left ankle with his own left hand, chanting all the while; a pale green light reflecting in the Lamian's eyes.

[Post 2]

*Huzzah! Clara let loose a cry of victory in her mind as T'qual fell when she lunged downward at him. The tense pain pulling at her body began to wane and the stream of her blood, scattered and dissapated fell to the ground limply. The spell had weakened and with a glourious thump T'qual had started to reel back and stagger, however it was a not a long victory. A sharp pain ran down her back. Clara had difficulty with the size of her wings during the fight, yes, but she had never felt pain through them, looking up, she had seen what caused the pain. The third opponent, he had thrown some sort of weapon at her...she didn't even detect it it moved so fast...so much for her tracking abilities. The bladed projectile had punched right through her wing, like thorns on a paper sail a short pinging sound was made, and the hole could easily be seen in the light of the tavern before it made a resounding *thunk!* sound as it slammed into the pine-finished walls, splintering the surface. If that weren't enough, the attacker had managed to throw himself headfirst into the battle, rushing at the two with a staff extended at the end of one arm.

However, there was flaw in the man's method, though his attack had certainly intended to be fatal, it only worked under the most strict of conditions, even when leading his throw, it was a considerable risk to be taken that the daggers would somehow strike the heads of his opponents, especially when they were in motion. It was no hidden truth though, that triumph only belongs to the bold, risks had to be taken, opportunities had to be worked on. Especially for this half-nymph, who was outmatched in nearly every aspect. These opponents were vicious, there was no other way to describe it. They both faught with a certain primal fury, one with brute force, and the other an expert tactician. The shadowman still pressed onward, his staff colliding with her chest, just above the area that was wettened by T'qual's blood drawing spell. She was flung back, and yet saw her opportunity, T'qual...unphased by Clara's wing it would seem, had lunged at the shadow man, Gaeroq's leg. And to add to this, Clara's wing draped over his bokan.

Thinking quickly as her body was thrusted toward the ground by Gaeroq's staff against her chest. A combination of thought and instinct brought her hand upward and she grasphed the farthest end of her wing. It quickly tightened, coiled around Gaeroq's weapon and Clara began to fall back. Looked like she was going to be working with T'qual to level the playing field against this new opponent. She watched him go for his leg, and she pulled tight on Gaeroq's weapon, taking her freehand to draw one of her daggers from the binding around her thigh, she held the point up and lunged at Gaeroq's stomach. T'qual took his bottom, and Clara took his top. She had not yet ever done a manuver with the intention to kill during this tourmanet...maybe she's tapping into her own primal instinct.

[2]

The unholy creature dropped suddenly, making Gaeroq widen his eyes in surprise for an instant, much too fast now to stop. His leg collided with the beast's head, and a throbbing pain shot up it. The creature turned and beginning a chant as Gaeroq's movement was stunted, vibrating slightly in mid-air. The collision slowed him down, making him suddenly half-turn from the successful, if painfully jarring collision from his staff to the nymph's torso, after his dagger passed through her wing. She collapsed down, and her good wing fell over the staff, and tightened.
He regained balance from his overcalculation, using the vibration to steady himself on the shadows that were present in the tavern, and dealt with the fact that his staff was caught on the wing of the nymph. He didn't move for an instant, his concentration still brimming, attempting to watch them both under the slow passage of time that he felt, but realized as he looked down that, because of the partial turn he'd made in the air, he had left himself open, and would soon be under the counterattacks of both, as suddenly, they both lunged out at speeds amazing for his focus, the faeren with a dagger of her own in a violent upward stab, and the vampyre with an eerie green glow reaching for his leg. He even noticed that the faeren's eyes were moving with a sort of the realization he could see in his kinsmen when they themselves entered the state of focus.
Ignoring the pain in his leg and staff-holding arm from the collisions, he reached downward with his open hand, and pushed backward on the shadows as if they were solid ground. He flew upward and away from the stab to his midsection, and by pulling his legs backward as he began to flip in the air, just barely away from the green aura moving to grasp his calf. Despite his efforts, he connected with the aura for the smallest fraction of a second. Even the barest, briefest touch sent chills through his body, and he felt a pang of suffering such as that he had never experienced before; a pain of the soul. He almost shivered as he vaulted upward, turning his body over, keeping the staff horizontal, perpendicular to his body as it curved around the staff.
Half-way through his flip, he twisted sideways, so his eyes were between both his opponents. His body upside down so smoothly that but for the powerful and visible slouch, he might've been standing on the ceiling, his arms stretched 'above' his head, keeping the staff perpendicular, but now above his head.
Seeing the potential exploits in his enemy's ability to focus as he could, he immediately released the staff from the hand opposite the nymph, the other hand pivoting the staff smoothly like an over-exaggerated club directly towards the faeren's body, low to the ground as it was. The extreme end of the staff would be what would hit her, and the building leverage could potentially rupture her veins, disabling whatever part of her it hit. The staff shone as it nearly flew towards her.

*Such speed! Is everyone in this damn competition as quick as me?! Clara's frustrated mind raced as she watched Gaeroq gracefully, almost instinctively leap above her as she jabbed toward him. Again, the tightening pain that she had grown so damn accostom to had again made it's introduction as his staff wrenched around and started to come down. Clara's lunging attack had left her with some momentum, and she quickly tugged her wing free of the staff while pressing forward, taking the blade of her dagger by the fingers and flinging it toward the ground. It landed with a sharp sound and stuck out of the ground, it's wide handle sticking upward. As Gaeroq's staff came crashing down, nearly crushing her forearm, she grasped it tight with both hands and arched her back into a limbo to slide underneath. She took a deep breath in as she approached the blade on the ground, placing the sole of her boot onto the handle, she kicked off of the blade, and met Gaeroq with her own flipping manuver.

She exhaled as her head flew back, followed by the rest of her body while her hands stayed on Gaeroq's staff. Soon enough, she was completly inverted, and pushed herself up, leg extended. Only the briefest moment did Clara have to reflect upon herself and this match. Driving toward Gaeroq's chin as his poll was jammed into the ground and he began to slowly fall. He was an opponent with a focus that even rivaled Lisa's...it was pretty obvious to see how he got to the third round, along with T'qual's brutal fury. Clara, she was just a punk that got lucky during her last two fights. She nearly murdered Kael in her match with him thanks to her abilities, he'll probably never recover from what she unlocked in him. And she would've surely lost to Lisa if she had just had the foresight to keep her eye on her surroundings. There was no calculated attack pattern, no immense power...she just happened to be a lucky girl; in the world of men, in the real battlefield, she had no place. Even her speed, that she thought to be unrivaled was challenged at every turn. As she soared toward Gaeroq's head, she had noticed that the two had drawn closer to the wall during their fight. And pearched upon it still was the shadow man's dagger.

Let's see the bastard get out of this one... creatures such as Clara, nymphs and other faeries are known for their thinly weaved muscel systems, leading to a degree of flexibility that only the most adaptive of humans can hope to achieve. As she streaked upward directly infront of Gaeroq, a kick aimed toward his chin, she had extended her other leg perpendicularly to that and revolved like an ice staker mid spin, the tips of her toe barely touched upon the dagger on the wall, and she again kicked off, spinning even faster at about the moment her heel would make contact with her opponents face. Finally, she let go of the bokan and extended her arms outward, grabbed for Gaeroq's shoulders, a suitable surface to spring off of.

[post 3]

[3]

Gaeroq almost marvelled, impressed at what he knew to be an outsider moving with the apparent grace and flow of some of the proud warriors of the Voidstrider. He gave her the smallest nod of approval, turning his head to the side to firstly lessen the blow's impact, and secondly in acquiesence to her choice of attack, and her heel collided with the side of his head.
The pain was reeling, but he drove his focus into the pain, not allowing her what he saw to be the next movement of rebound she had planned. He used the force she had just given him to sail backward under his concentration, which he felt was approaching the critical point of pain in his skull (no doubtedly shortened by the blow to the head). As he leaned backward, now perpendicular to the faeren herself, he called out with his waning focus to the shadows, which answered with earnest, pulling him and his bokan away from the fight at sudden, powerful speeds, his body sailing backward under what appeared to be no force at all to the naked eye.
As Gaeroq pulled back, his concentration failing under a tremendous pressure in his head, he made one last effort as he flipped his body into a landing from the collision: he pulled his last dagger from his belt with his free hand as the shadows tugged him away from battle. His body turned sideways on the shadows as they wrenched him away from the melee, and as he turned back to face the battle, he threw the dagger directly at the nymph's abdomen now that her momentum almost completely reduced by the successful kick.


Moorim's Ghost: I miss this forum..