Tara watched the wolf fall, the orc having dealt it one massive blow.  She felt her blood rushing as the knight roared in their direction, and her head whipped in his direction.  "Oh . . HELL no!"  Tara had a thing against werewolves, a big thing.  She loathed and feared them.  She'd take a vampire any day, but a damned were-wolf?  "And I left all my good silver at home."  It was a lame crack, ad she knew it.  She stumbled back two or three steps in surprise, her hand slipping into her robes.  Beneath them she stored her favorite weapon, and with a slip of the hand it came free.  She pulled it out of a hidden slit in the side of her robes that was made of overlapping fabric.  The long whip uncoiled in her hand, the sharp teeth on the tip contrasting the dark soil and fallen leaves that they rested on.<br/><br/>Perception: At 2011-06-03 23:48:30, KaitlynKay (uid: 24884) rolls: 1d20 Result: 8<br/><br/>Free Action: Making useless quips<br/>Swift Action:<br/>Move Action: Stumbles backwards a few feet<br/>Standard Action:  Reaches in her robes and frees her whip<br/>Five Foot Adjustment:<br/>Other: