The brilliant essence flare brightened the roadway, blasting across and casting deepest shadows beneath and around those between. The brigand cast at the rear of the cart scrambled, his shield shattered from the essence cannon only moments before and the approach of the raging blood ape sent him scurrying on all fours to the woodline, Azula chose to not allow him to return for more mischief and her well cast dagger split his shoulders. His brethren lay upon the ground, unconscious or wishing he was as he nurses a shattered hip.<br/><br/>A wicked grin and flick of the wrist sends an essence laden needle streaking from the sorceress hand. Arctic blue essence spans the distance intercepting Canticle's black cherry spear, the cannon's force rebounded back across the intervening space, careening haphazardly. Passing Canticle's smooth adjustment to be out of the way.<br/><br/>*****************************************************************************<br/><br/><em> It can't be, he is a she and she is a highwayman. My Solar, the one made for me and me him, is a common thief.</em>The war of thoughts drowned out the considerable pain leaking from her gut as she accepted the short sword meant for Canticle. With little recognition of the actual battle she was in, the shock being too... With a whip of her head and a flex of her hair, Coral cast the man aside trying to shake her head loose and gather her wits, but the man held on, spinning out with the momentum and curling it back on the distracted woman,catapulting himself back to her. Driving his boots down into her shoulder, she is slammed to the decking of the wagon. In shock she gazes up at the lantern jaw and princely grace the caravan captain wore, her breasts heaving, and her heat rose. But as his gaze rose to Canticle's back once again, the cold hatred of instinct drew in. Her tendrils of hair launched her from the decking, a spear of hatred and rage. A driving flurry of strikes, where hand and tendril blur to incomprehensible collisions with skin. "No." The word was a statement, not an expletive. Even with the ferocity of the assault, the man was only pushed back a step, and his breastplate finally shone through the garments on his chest.<br/><br/>Her neck hairs tingle and she smiles with malicious glee, as over the suddenly crouching form of treacherous Coral of the Unseen Reef, "No." and into the utterly surprised chest of the Thief King Zudak, blasting him from the front of the wagon. Terror registers on the sorceress face as she witnesses the outcome of her counterstrike.