[Therion's got a sword and a knife he stole in town picked up somewhere, and he's got a flock of birds, three squirrels, and at least one deer helping him fending off the skeletons. But even with the menagerie and his own quick reflexes, Therion can't predict the flow of battle, and he definitely can't do a thing about what other people are doing in the fight.
So a bunch of pumpkins wind up exploding right in his face, basically, sending him flying backwards, skidding to a stop through pumpkin guts, powdered bone, and ribbons. Stunned, he lies there for a few seconds before pushing himself up with a groan. He's covered in pumpkin bits, and he aches all over, but he's alive so that means he's fine, right? Don't mind the scrapes and bruises, and definitely don't mind the burns on his arms where he tried to shield himself or the cuts on his leg that're bleeding pretty freely where he got clawed by an eraser. Adrenaline's keeping him from paying them much heed for now, leaving him way more concerned about where the hell his sword went after it went flying from his hand.
Therion staggers to his feet, gritting his teeth as he squints through the smoke and the snow for the damned blade, ignoring the way a couple of the birds twitter in concern around his head.
But of course he doesn't actually make it more than a step before Ophilia's there, frowning at him.]
I'm fine.
[The insistence comes out reflexively, but he's battled alongside her enough to know better than to actually try to leave before she's seen to him. So, he relents with a sigh.]
... can you still heal, or did this place take that too?
[He's still mad about no longer being able to set things on fire at will.]
C
stole in townpicked up somewhere, and he's got a flock of birds, three squirrels, and at least one deer helping him fending off the skeletons. But even with the menagerie and his own quick reflexes, Therion can't predict the flow of battle, and he definitely can't do a thing about what other people are doing in the fight.So a bunch of pumpkins wind up exploding right in his face, basically, sending him flying backwards, skidding to a stop through pumpkin guts, powdered bone, and ribbons. Stunned, he lies there for a few seconds before pushing himself up with a groan. He's covered in pumpkin bits, and he aches all over, but he's alive so that means he's fine, right? Don't mind the scrapes and bruises, and definitely don't mind the burns on his arms where he tried to shield himself or the cuts on his leg that're bleeding pretty freely where he got clawed by an eraser. Adrenaline's keeping him from paying them much heed for now, leaving him way more concerned about where the hell his sword went after it went flying from his hand.
Therion staggers to his feet, gritting his teeth as he squints through the smoke and the snow for the damned blade, ignoring the way a couple of the birds twitter in concern around his head.
But of course he doesn't actually make it more than a step before Ophilia's there, frowning at him.]
I'm fine.
[The insistence comes out reflexively, but he's battled alongside her enough to know better than to actually try to leave before she's seen to him. So, he relents with a sigh.]
... can you still heal, or did this place take that too?
[He's still mad about no longer being able to set things on fire at will.]