<div style="text-align: center"><img alt="[​IMG]" class="bbCodeImage LbImage" data-url="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" src="http://i.imgur.com/OBYSo.gif" style=""/><br/>
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<span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #9D612B">HOWLING GHOSTS THEY REAPPEAR<br/>
IN MOUNTAINS THAT ARE STACKED WITH FEAR</span></span></span>​</div><br/><span style="font-size: 9px"><span style="color: #544A41"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 15px"><span style="color: #9D612B">Although she nodded,</span></span></span> her attention was anywhere but with Sil's response.  She expected little worthwhile information the moment she heard her first sentence.  Her attention was then placed fully on the battle, and she grimaced as both combatants traded further blows.  She certainly did not want to fight either of these people, but from the ragged look of Baltazar, Sbatarra knew she would have to step in for him quite soon.   <span style="color: #9D612B">"After seeing the end result of their labours, such assumptions wouldn't be far from the truth,"</span> the drow muttered, just as the sickening blow struck Baltazar upside the head.  Sbatarra then swallowed hard, for she knew what would come next.   <span style="color: #9D612B">"Talk to you later,"</span> she said with a chuckle, shaking her head slowly as she made her approach towards Onigawara.  Her sword was already drawn and brought at the ready, and when she appeared to be in position, Onigawara had made the first blow, nearly shattering Sbatarra's hip entirely.  Despite her tough skin and high pain tolerance, she couldn't help but scream out with a sudden yelp, before retaliating with a blow of her own.<br/>
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So fueled by rage was she that her <i>Glacial Eldritch Blow</i> seemed to scream out with all her malice.  Her blade whistled through the air, slicing quickly and cleanly, and drawing a neat line of red against the giant-woman's chest.  Said line would almost instantly bubble and burst, as small cubes of ice covered the wound and the rest of the woman's form, digging in deep into the wound to even go so far as to freeze her insides.  A critical blow if any had seen one.<br/>
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So intense was her own blow that Sbatarra staggered back and lifted up into the air, rising fifteen feet and moving back five as she studied her handiwork.  If the beast of a woman had survived such a blow, or wished to continue after taking it, Sbatarra would have been simply amazed, and would have thrown down her sword right then and there and admit defeat.<br/>
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The scariest thought that came to the assassin, as she took a second to assess the situation and look at her own trembling hands, as her abyssal blood worked her dislocated leg back into place and eased the bruising, was that even after such an intense blow of her own, she could have done better.  Had she focused her power even further, she could have torn through the air itself and sliced cleanly through her opponent, much like she had to the giants she had fought once before.  All she could hope for was that Sil was watching, and now understood how much the assassin had grown in such a short amount of time.  Who knew what would happen in a week?  A month?  Perhaps even a year?<br/>
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There was hope for the warlock yet.</span></span><br/><br/><div style="text-align: right"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><span style="font-size: 22px"><a class="externalLink" href="http://www.myth-weavers.com/sheetview.php?sheetid=454315" rel="nofollow" target="_blank">*</a></span></span>​</div><div class="messageTextEndMarker"> </div>