Battle, it turns out, is even more chaotic from the inside than it is from an observer's perspective. Spells sling past, flashes of green and arrows and horrible sounds of steel meeting mummified flesh; the very air seems to try to claw at her skin and send her panicking.
She can't be useless. She put herself here, and if anyone has to spend time taking care of her, they could die. She can't be useless.
The tendrils in front of the golem have subsided now, and she readies to summon them again, at least to try to give herself breathing room from the approaching undead, but before she can loose the magic her hands are filled with a shield. There's a breath between Cedric's instruction and her slipping her arm into the grips, trying to remember what Vazeiros taught her.
Feet planted, shoulder-width. Center of gravity lowered. The worst thing to be in a fight is on your back, so don't let anyone put you there. Don't get cornered, but don't give up your back if you can help it.
She spins, back to Cedric's, just in time to catch the mess of appendages reaching for her. Screams, but slams out with the shield, and when that barely pauses the grasping lashes out psychically, searching for a mind to tear into. The magic finds no purchase, and that leaves her with only one option.
Too close, and the tendrils will strike at Cedric too; they're not terribly discerning. She steps away from him, toward the crawling pieces of flesh, and slams the shadows into shape to crush just as a papery hand grips her ankle.
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Battle, it turns out, is even more chaotic from the inside than it is from an observer's perspective. Spells sling past, flashes of green and arrows and horrible sounds of steel meeting mummified flesh; the very air seems to try to claw at her skin and send her panicking.
She can't be useless. She put herself here, and if anyone has to spend time taking care of her, they could die. She can't be useless.
The tendrils in front of the golem have subsided now, and she readies to summon them again, at least to try to give herself breathing room from the approaching undead, but before she can loose the magic her hands are filled with a shield. There's a breath between Cedric's instruction and her slipping her arm into the grips, trying to remember what Vazeiros taught her.
Feet planted, shoulder-width. Center of gravity lowered. The worst thing to be in a fight is on your back, so don't let anyone put you there. Don't get cornered, but don't give up your back if you can help it.
She spins, back to Cedric's, just in time to catch the mess of appendages reaching for her. Screams, but slams out with the shield, and when that barely pauses the grasping lashes out psychically, searching for a mind to tear into. The magic finds no purchase, and that leaves her with only one option.
Too close, and the tendrils will strike at Cedric too; they're not terribly discerning. She steps away from him, toward the crawling pieces of flesh, and slams the shadows into shape to crush just as a papery hand grips her ankle.