( Even without her wings to propel her it is an easy matter to side-step his two-shot assault, made more so by the dampened state of his magic and her amplified awareness of what exactly he's doing. And she is paying attention--having long halted her own attack, she is taking in his stance, his staff's position, the strain or sweat that may start to show on his face from wearing such overwrought clothes, paired with his professed difficulty with casting.
It is as she suspected, really. Magic is a tool, like weapons: use it too often, depends on it too much, and it overheats. For whatever reason it is like the mage needs a period to cool down and recharge. Something worth keeping in mind, like the direction of his gaze when he isn't about to make a fake sprint at her, or the curious sound that isn't quite suppressed, underneath, faintly heard if at all, not just the roar of the fireballs that singe the air around them, something sweeter, and it's there even when--
She does predict him, this time, pivots on her foot and in the right direction--she does only have the one back. Clenched teeth when his strike meets her staff, and then she makes a small breathy sigh as the electricity runs through her system and overcharges it with sparks and chills ands leaves her falling her to her knees. Her staff settles into the dirt after rolling a bit, she looks up at him with her arms limp and awkward at her side, her face in an odd-half grin. The expression at her time of seizing up.
Once her muscles aren't quite so locked up, she reaches for her staff and pulls herself up, then steps back with a handful of rickety movements. Tingling in her fingers makes her grip tentative at best, though it's quickly passing. )
So I can die again to my own foolishness? ( A laugh and she backs up again. ) Uh-uh. ( Should have tried knocking him over before she made it to her feet, she thinks with a roll of her head., but he had stepped back. ) Why don't you show me from there?
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It is as she suspected, really. Magic is a tool, like weapons: use it too often, depends on it too much, and it overheats. For whatever reason it is like the mage needs a period to cool down and recharge. Something worth keeping in mind, like the direction of his gaze when he isn't about to make a fake sprint at her, or the curious sound that isn't quite suppressed, underneath, faintly heard if at all, not just the roar of the fireballs that singe the air around them, something sweeter, and it's there even when--
She does predict him, this time, pivots on her foot and in the right direction--she does only have the one back. Clenched teeth when his strike meets her staff, and then she makes a small breathy sigh as the electricity runs through her system and overcharges it with sparks and chills ands leaves her falling her to her knees. Her staff settles into the dirt after rolling a bit, she looks up at him with her arms limp and awkward at her side, her face in an odd-half grin. The expression at her time of seizing up.
Once her muscles aren't quite so locked up, she reaches for her staff and pulls herself up, then steps back with a handful of rickety movements. Tingling in her fingers makes her grip tentative at best, though it's quickly passing. )
So I can die again to my own foolishness? ( A laugh and she backs up again. ) Uh-uh. ( Should have tried knocking him over before she made it to her feet, she thinks with a roll of her head., but he had stepped back. ) Why don't you show me from there?