Winter's Light

JP with Winteroak and White_Caribou

Malacost wanted to reply. He wanted to tell her what he had thought and planned doing with her. How he would take his time to abuse her flesh and break her spirit before killing. How he would rejoice at her screams of pain and her impotency against his violence. Instead he ignored her focusing solely on whispering Zin's prayer of Serenity. The Fist of Mourning had already stopped her first magik strike but he still didn't know how powerful she could be. He had to end this fast. He swang his blade across his chest, pushing her back. She managed to parry a few blows but a dagger was not the most effective weapon against his blade. With a prayer on his lips he lunged at her chest, making her jump to avoid being run through.

With every hit, Shalia felt the impact of his blade against the dagger radiate up her tensed arm. This would not be enough. A knife to a sword fight. But magik right now felt better than ever. She hadn't used it regularly here like she did in Fang, and its sudden limitation brought physical discomfort.

She jumped back once more as he lunged, whispering menacingly in tongues. Her hands raised with palms toward him as her eyes began to glow a bluish-white in the shadows of the alley. And before he could make another move, frigid beams of cold light shot out from both hands, bright and unforgiving. She had seen it blacken and burn the skin of her enemies before and was confident that the intensity of the ray at such close distance would be harsh enough to disorient him, hurt his eyes at least. That was, if his 'barrier' still held.

Malacost saw what was coming before it hit him, as the witch's eyes flashed and she thrusted her hands forward. He brought his hands across his chest and bowed is head expecting the surge of power to hit like a battering ram. He renewed his prayers to Zinheim committing his soul to the embrace of the Pillars as the beams of cold exploded against his body send him flying through the air. He felt the bitter cold spread through his skin and face. As if death's own icy tendrils had come to claim him.

He landed hard on the ground groaning, pulling away at the scarf and robe where the material had frozen solid with her powers.

He spat blood looking for his sword that laid between the two. His head swam with the jarring impact but the Fist and his prayers had kept him from dying at the woman's hands.

He saw her surprise looking down at the diamond shaped lozenges he had carved in his armour. He grinned in pain and scrambled for his sword.