[Dion's expertise is hardly ground combat, but it isn't to say he was not trained in it extensively, as any proper dragoon should be. He may stand here without armor, but his grip on his lance is sure, and his body willing to offer its ether if he needs strength beyond it.
A dangerous pull, to be sure, when Bahamut still comes to him so distantly. Here, unlike in Featherhive, the dragon is silent in its cage. He does not rise to meet this opponent, even at the sound of another scream.
This time, the echo of it... something leaves him colder for the tone, the way it moves through the trees.
He has fought in darkness plenty. He cannot truly see, but there is enough illumination from the sky above them to see the eyes.
A single wisp of light seemingly forms itself, drifting through the air like a firefly. It pulses, sending enough small waves of light for Dion to map the terrain around them. Tight, close spaces, hardly fitting for lance combat... even if he is quite sure his lance would not be paused in a true swing by bark and wood.
There is blood staining the snow in one of the small pulses of light, but as they have gathered close and there is an acrid smell among the cod of the snow, it does not surprise him.
Whomsoever bled here, he intends not to leave them behind. Not now that he is ignorant no longer.
One the light gets close enough to startle the creatures, he sees an imprint through the dark of what they are. Something akin to horses, but much more predatory. Antelopes, he thinks, but... corrupted. Twisted. Their faces coating in blood, with curling teeth.]
I only need the space from above.
[Dion gives Geralt a nod, then shoots straight up -- landing deftly on a heft branch of the tree above them. On light feet does he leaps from one tree to the next, sending the light bursting into a surprisingly bright flash. Thence does his lance plummet to the ground, thrown from above, impaling one of the antelopes deftly through the throat, pinning it to the ground with a wet gurgle.
The beasts scream, but they do not run. Very well, then. An extermination they shall have.]
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A dangerous pull, to be sure, when Bahamut still comes to him so distantly. Here, unlike in Featherhive, the dragon is silent in its cage. He does not rise to meet this opponent, even at the sound of another scream.
This time, the echo of it... something leaves him colder for the tone, the way it moves through the trees.
He has fought in darkness plenty. He cannot truly see, but there is enough illumination from the sky above them to see the eyes.
A single wisp of light seemingly forms itself, drifting through the air like a firefly. It pulses, sending enough small waves of light for Dion to map the terrain around them. Tight, close spaces, hardly fitting for lance combat... even if he is quite sure his lance would not be paused in a true swing by bark and wood.
There is blood staining the snow in one of the small pulses of light, but as they have gathered close and there is an acrid smell among the cod of the snow, it does not surprise him.
Whomsoever bled here, he intends not to leave them behind. Not now that he is ignorant no longer.
One the light gets close enough to startle the creatures, he sees an imprint through the dark of what they are. Something akin to horses, but much more predatory. Antelopes, he thinks, but... corrupted. Twisted. Their faces coating in blood, with curling teeth.]
I only need the space from above.
[Dion gives Geralt a nod, then shoots straight up -- landing deftly on a heft branch of the tree above them. On light feet does he leaps from one tree to the next, sending the light bursting into a surprisingly bright flash. Thence does his lance plummet to the ground, thrown from above, impaling one of the antelopes deftly through the throat, pinning it to the ground with a wet gurgle.
The beasts scream, but they do not run. Very well, then. An extermination they shall have.]