Witch's Blood

JP with Winteroak, Omni, and White_Caribou

Malacost couldn't believe his luck. Just as the accursed witch was about to step over him and drive her dagger into his flesh, a robed figure stormed from the shadows, lifting a silver blade high in the air and coming to his rescue.

The swing was barely parried by the witch who was forced back into a more defensive posture. He rolled in the sand grabbing his sword once more turning in time to see the witch produce another ice dagger that shattered against her abdomen.

He looked up giving thanks to Zinheim for this boon. He was not going to let this opportunity go to waste.

As he stepped forward raising his blade, he moved to flank the witch feeling the drop in temperature around him. She was powerful. This was not going to be an easy kill.

The lapse in her reality cost Voah enough time, however brief, for the witch to react at the last second.

Voah vehemently pressed the blade down but the witch was able to hold it off long enough to send a blast of winter's chill washing over Voah's face. Her magik had no affect, but it was enough to throw Voah off guard again and allow the witch to form a long icy blade and strike at a vital spot. More than likely, this would have been the end of Voah Sahnsuur, had it not been for her Holy Sword. The ice dissipated into snowy spritz on impact, leaving neither bruise nor scratch.

Lam'ïsïd!" Voah cursed at herself in Mizaran, her strikes and reactions were still more sluggish than usual. Damn that relentless trip through the desert and its physical exhaustion! It didn't help that she had been out of practice. She would have to remedy that.

Her nostrils flared in fury as she swung her blade across the remaining chunk of ice, shattering it on contact and continued toward the arm slicing cloth and flesh and spilling a small streak of blood down the blade. Not a vital strike by any stretch but a flesh wound to the witch's arm nonetheless.

So she did indeed come prepared like the man had. Not only that, but in her cursing, Shalia could immediately recognize by the flow in which it was said that this woman spoke Mizaran. A language she recalled little of since her time as a child, but would never forget the sound of. Never thought she'd hear it again.

These folks were with the Inquisition. They had finally found her. It was only a matter of time, but here of all places? Truly relentless. And they had both spilled a witch's blood this night.

Shalia let out a faint cry, both pained and frustrated as the sword cut into her arm. An ugly scar that would be. Blood began to seep into the fabric of the robe and on her neck the nick had left a streak of blood running down.

She took two quick steps back, careful to note the walls of the alley and the figure of Malacost moving in, armed again. Her left side was blocked by one of the walls and her right being closed in on. Hmm, tricky. But a challenge was a challenge and once again she was fighting for her life.

By a whisper and a flash of the eyes, hands out at her sides, she cast the sandy ground beneath their feet with solid ice. Before she retracted, she growled something unintelligible and threw a hand half skyward, a spike of ice shooting up near Voah's feet. An attempt to separate them.

She made the decision to move toward Malacost's direction, lifting sand up from the ground and blowing it into him with a gust of wind.

She had become so accustomed to ice and cold that she often neglected the weaker side of her gift. And maybe, in some abstract way to her, the Twins could recognize what else she possessed against these trespassers of their Holy City. A force to be reckoned with. Or maybe they just didn't bother anymore with anyone. Seemed like a godly behavior.

Regardless, she cared about surviving much more in the moment.