Doug
*Aimar lines up his shot with Astrid just as she ducks behind the tree, having to wait until she exits to loose an arrow. He steels himself to do so... Until he see's the tree begin to rot. The sight of it withering, blackening, buckling under its own weight is enough for him to lose his composure, the drawn arrow being loosed by accident, thunking harmlessly into the dead wood of the tree.

He prepares another arrow, but not fast enough to loose upon astrid as soon as she left the tree's cover. He pulls back just as she launches off the tree and into another, the arrow being loosed early and flying harmlessly a few inches past her head.

He goes to draw another as the dagger hits him in the upper right arm. A scratch, barely enough for him to register—but he certainly notices the magic. His arm starts to go numb just as he starts to knock the arrow, unable to get a good grip on the drawstring. He looks down at his arm, his eyes growing wide as he notices a growing blackness running down his arm and up his shoulder. 

The arrow falls from his arm, Aimar barely even able to raise it anymore, and he begins to stagger backwards—and then turns around, breaking into a full on sprint. He can't win this, not with an arm like this. He grasps his bow with his left hand, starting to feel that one grow numb, too, as the magic from his shoulder wound starts going down it.* 

"Shit, shit, no no no no no."
Ida
*No longer someone fighting against a comparable opponent, Astrid is now akin to a predator hunting fleeing prey, and the hunter was indeed faster. She stalked Aimar through the forest, closing the distance but not quite at striking point yet, perhaps it was on purpose to mess with his psychology, or the arrow hit was limiting her mobility, but she had the clear upper hand over the Macen, with only her mercy dictating how far she'd go.*

*Deciding enough was enough, she leaped with more strength than previously to have enough momentum to catch her opponent, she moved her Sovnya in the air for two diagonal slices upwards and then downwards. Landing the strikes on his back thigh and through his back and also slightly cutting the arm. The back and arm damage was very shallow, but the cut on Aimar's left thigh was almost bone-deep, convincingly removing his movement capacity. But Astrid was still in the air, so she used the last bit of speed she carried to kick the Macen from behind as she striked the ground with her polearm, the drier ground stopping the blade pretty quickly, Astrid landing after a rather unconventional way of braking.*

*The injured Aimar, who had fallen face first into the ground, would be welcomed by the tip of a blade once he turned his face, the wielder of the weapon could finally be identified now that there was no hood hiding the Ekremi's face. Astrid was trying to control her breathing, and had a few drops of sweat and rain on her face, her long alpine hair trying to hide inside her cloak, with some pointy ears and a few black and blue hair ornaments breaking the white hegemony. Her cloak had been stained by mud and some bloodstains, mainly from the sharp vines. Her right leg, partially obscured by the cloak, was covered in red from the arrow that was still drawing blood, but horrifyingly, she seemed unfazed by the impaled projectile.*

"...I Win..."

** **

*Between ragged breathings, the victor uttered just two words as her face finally changed to a very slight smile, her pulse had yet to steady, but she didn't look too tired. Beneath the cloak, she moved her hand in a certain way to disable all of her active magic. Her mana reserves almost depleted from the three hostiles she fought; two of them were probably just skeletons now, and the other could be relieved the rotting would not continue to have its meal on his flesh.*
Doug
*His mad dash through the forest was a surprisingly nimble one, despite the wounds he was suffering from. He threaded through tree and under branch, his speed unhindered by any rocks or branches that could hard him footing. He only occasionally glanced backward, spurred further and faster forward with every glance of the Silnari woman.*

*Still, his escape was all for naught. The glaive slices through the leather parts of his armour as she dashes forward, the angle of the cut spattering blood on a nearby tree. He lets out a cry of pain as the second cut hits deeper, cutting the muscle on the back of his deeply. He falls forward mid-stride, unable to bring the left leg forward to continue running.*

*The leg wound bleeds profusely, blood pouring from the wound—an artery likely severed—and pooling onto the forest floor, being absorbed by the loose soil and moss. He groans in pain, unable to use his arms to push himself back up, and turns his head to the side only to see the tip of a glaive mere inches from his face. His gaze travels up the length of the polearm, before it falls onto Astrid herself.*

"F-finish it, then. Don't... Don't leave me here to- to rot." *The words come in in ragged breaths—both from the effort of running so fast, the intense pain, and the ample amount of blood he is quickly losing. He closes his eyes, waiting to feel the bite of the glaive again, only to feel something he didn't expect: the numbness leave from his arms, feeling returning. He opens his eyes, looking forward at the arms outstretched in front of him, the skin having returned back to a healthy colour, a cursory clenching of his fingers revealing that he could still move them.*

"What?..."