( Things going badly? In Hadriel? A shock to us all, truly.
Or, at least, a shock to a newbie who is perhaps too used to doing well in battle against things that look like this. Despite the quick use of his swords, his bubble, three of these things are far more difficult to fight than a group of spiked snails. They're smarter, faster, their armour more durable. He grunts and pushes one back with his swords, his breath coming in short, sharp pants, one more trying to wrap a tentacle around his throat.
β Too close. He ducks, spins and thrusts his blades at the thing behind him, teeth gritted as the noises of battle above him has Steak desperate to check the state of the second fight, but his own opponents demand all of his attention. Now one from the front and two behind him, the distinct feeling of being at a disadvantage prickles, and Steak aims the tip of his sword at one of the conch's eyes, hoping to take it out. )
Nngh! ( Or, you know, he could have one of these things bite his exposed side with their beaks, carving through flesh as easily as his swords do.
Dammitβ ) Blasted things. Get away from me!
( And he's being asked a question, one which stubborn pride has him wanting to say he's quite fine but the truth is clearly otherwise with blood spilling down his trousers and agony coursing through his body each time he shifts. )
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Or, at least, a shock to a newbie who is perhaps too used to doing well in battle against things that look like this. Despite the quick use of his swords, his bubble, three of these things are far more difficult to fight than a group of spiked snails. They're smarter, faster, their armour more durable. He grunts and pushes one back with his swords, his breath coming in short, sharp pants, one more trying to wrap a tentacle around his throat.
β Too close. He ducks, spins and thrusts his blades at the thing behind him, teeth gritted as the noises of battle above him has Steak desperate to check the state of the second fight, but his own opponents demand all of his attention. Now one from the front and two behind him, the distinct feeling of being at a disadvantage prickles, and Steak aims the tip of his sword at one of the conch's eyes, hoping to take it out. )
Nngh! ( Or, you know, he could have one of these things bite his exposed side with their beaks, carving through flesh as easily as his swords do.
Dammitβ ) Blasted things. Get away from me!
( And he's being asked a question, one which stubborn pride has him wanting to say he's quite fine but the truth is clearly otherwise with blood spilling down his trousers and agony coursing through his body each time he shifts. )
They'reβ ughβ stronger than they look.