A lot of things happened at once. Flashes of light, flying arrows, charges, headbutts, mind control. Lewin stood in place, the flash of light affecting him slightly less that it would others, becuase of his tendency to look at the sun when praying to the fire. He saw chaos before him. And he was annoyed. This had gone on long enough.<br/><br/>He may not have had much magic energy left, but that did not mean he could't fight. Wielding his four-and-a-half-foot beast, Mince, as a fencer might wield a short rapier, he stabbed below the helmets of two guards, causing them to fall, silently. He worked his way towards the inquisitor with a slow purposefulness that was the staple fighting style of his tribe's spellblades, known as the Brzi'zali Strife Shaman. All the while, he howled praise to the elements like a wolf howled praise to the moon, inducing a state of trance that made him all but blind to pain and danger.<br/><br/>Just before surrendering his conciousness to red fury, he thought aloud;<span style="font-style: italic"><span style="color: #808040">"Wake me up, kinsman, when the work is done."</span></span>