The fire glyph and winter grasp neutralise one another, Maris smirking at Korrin and Bruce with a quiet sort of amusement.
Though one of his fellow mages is now on the floor, crumpled, he does not look especially concerned. Instead, he grabs Ciri by the throat, gripping hard. “A stalwart effort,” he says, commending her, before hurling her backwards off the balcony to slide across the floor.
Taking the same path down that Ciri ascended by, Maris and the three mages with him join the Inquisition members on the floor, each of them wielding mage staves, two of them read to use them as weapons, Maris watching. “You know what to do,” he informs the third, who simply nods to him.
The mage steps forward, two others wielding their staves even if their magic is controlled, twisting them, to keep others back. They need not do so long; they need not live through it. The nominated mage slashes across his hand, and ribbons of yellow-white light begin to obit around him, streams of light that would be beautiful if not for the blood that hangs in the air with them.
The mangled bodies in the room lift from the floor, dragging tangled vines and brambles that are bought about them with them, and even the body of the mage Ciri just slew with a fall to the floor moves closer. They wrap around him, and as the bodies draw closer and the blood still appears as droplets suspended in the air, his eyes turn a foul yellow shot through with grey. The sound a wet, rippling sort of thing, and only seconds have passed before the mage and bodies that were stand before them as a flesh golem.
The thorns and brambles are entwined and tangled into its very flesh and sinew, and the golem growls a wretched, hollow screech a sound out past its throat as it tears the vines from the wall, and lashes them across the room as a whip.
The warriors from before are all dead or immobilised - the one Araceli immobilised with her knife is flung against the wall by the whiplike use of the vine, while one of Teren’s falls under the creatures foot.
Maris watches with a grim sort of pleasure, and one of the mages with him approaches Korrin to engage her with a battle of staves, even if their mana has been drained by Adelaide.
The other is casting blood magic on the Wolf, and Maris looks over to the other members of the Inquisition with a smile. “Carry on.”
no subject
Though one of his fellow mages is now on the floor, crumpled, he does not look especially concerned. Instead, he grabs Ciri by the throat, gripping hard. “A stalwart effort,” he says, commending her, before hurling her backwards off the balcony to slide across the floor.
Taking the same path down that Ciri ascended by, Maris and the three mages with him join the Inquisition members on the floor, each of them wielding mage staves, two of them read to use them as weapons, Maris watching. “You know what to do,” he informs the third, who simply nods to him.
The mage steps forward, two others wielding their staves even if their magic is controlled, twisting them, to keep others back. They need not do so long; they need not live through it. The nominated mage slashes across his hand, and ribbons of yellow-white light begin to obit around him, streams of light that would be beautiful if not for the blood that hangs in the air with them.
The mangled bodies in the room lift from the floor, dragging tangled vines and brambles that are bought about them with them, and even the body of the mage Ciri just slew with a fall to the floor moves closer. They wrap around him, and as the bodies draw closer and the blood still appears as droplets suspended in the air, his eyes turn a foul yellow shot through with grey. The sound a wet, rippling sort of thing, and only seconds have passed before the mage and bodies that were stand before them as a flesh golem.
The thorns and brambles are entwined and tangled into its very flesh and sinew, and the golem growls a wretched, hollow screech a sound out past its throat as it tears the vines from the wall, and lashes them across the room as a whip.
The warriors from before are all dead or immobilised - the one Araceli immobilised with her knife is flung against the wall by the whiplike use of the vine, while one of Teren’s falls under the creatures foot.
Maris watches with a grim sort of pleasure, and one of the mages with him approaches Korrin to engage her with a battle of staves, even if their mana has been drained by Adelaide.
The other is casting blood magic on the Wolf, and Maris looks over to the other members of the Inquisition with a smile. “Carry on.”