120th of Ashan, Arc 717
A knife in his back. It must have been a miracle that it wasn't lethal, though if it had gone further and for moments longer, the miracle would have been outlasted. Alistair couldn't wail, for he was too shocked - he had only just left the confines of the city to explore the local fauna, seeking to acquire some unique animal entity for his mate. He was met instead with a blade in his back, and if not for the moment in which the assailant pulled back to lunge once more and far more dangerously, the mage would have died on the spot.
He blinked, disappearing, gaining a distance. Reaching into his satchel for his collection of medical kit supplies, he applied a bandage by wrapping it around his back, his fingers nimbly working around his body before cutting off the bandage and sewing it together. If not for his skill, he wouldn't have been able to do this on the scene, but fortunately he finished just in time for Deovan to be able to close back most of the distance. It was a desperate measure, but it would stop him from dying. He imagined that the only reason he hadn't died was that the man unluckily plunged his knife into a bone, and as a Necromancer who'd undergone bone manipulation, Alistair's bones were incredibly thick.
The assailant wouldn't make that same mistake again, and he had already disappeared somehow amidst the mage's blink.
There, he felt it. Lethal Range. The man sought to attack him from behind again, maneuvering as agile as a cat to his backside. The mage bent forward quickly, before drawing his weight back and flinging his elbow against the man's jaw. He turned around and pushed him with all of his might, though the man did not even meet the ground before he regained himself. He was quick, and his reflexes were incredible. Alistair drew his blade, but only in time to meet the impact of the man's dagger, which nearly disarmed him in the clash.
Fucking hell, he cursed to himself, grimacing. He didn't know who this man was, or where he'd come from. From his feral claws, his incredible physique, his cat-like eyes and his outstanding reflexes, he imagined he was a Lotharro, but that was all he could point toward. A Lotharro. Why would one want him dead? Was he a Seeker?
Alistair's blade drew back and struck, only to be met by a last-second parry by the assassin. He riposted, lunging his blade again into the direction of the black-clad assailant, only to be met by a second dagger, a much longer one. While his blade skid and struggled against the sharp end of the dagger, Deovan's offhand raised and he threw the smaller dagger directly aimed at Alistair's face. The mage dodged incredibly narrowly, the blade nearly shaving the side of his head.
He pulled his blade back and struck forward with all of his might, slashing horizontally. The Raven recoiled from the blow, but parried it nonetheless, the two of them grimacing equally as their blades clashed. This man was stronger than he was, physically. Alistair would eventually be worn out and killed if he relied only on his own physical capabilities. While he'd done exceedingly well with a sword this trial, his skills with a blade were fledgling and easy to learn. Deovan would gain an upperhand as time went on.
Magic, then, was the answer.
A knife in his back. It must have been a miracle that it wasn't lethal, though if it had gone further and for moments longer, the miracle would have been outlasted. Alistair couldn't wail, for he was too shocked - he had only just left the confines of the city to explore the local fauna, seeking to acquire some unique animal entity for his mate. He was met instead with a blade in his back, and if not for the moment in which the assailant pulled back to lunge once more and far more dangerously, the mage would have died on the spot.
He blinked, disappearing, gaining a distance. Reaching into his satchel for his collection of medical kit supplies, he applied a bandage by wrapping it around his back, his fingers nimbly working around his body before cutting off the bandage and sewing it together. If not for his skill, he wouldn't have been able to do this on the scene, but fortunately he finished just in time for Deovan to be able to close back most of the distance. It was a desperate measure, but it would stop him from dying. He imagined that the only reason he hadn't died was that the man unluckily plunged his knife into a bone, and as a Necromancer who'd undergone bone manipulation, Alistair's bones were incredibly thick.
The assailant wouldn't make that same mistake again, and he had already disappeared somehow amidst the mage's blink.
There, he felt it. Lethal Range. The man sought to attack him from behind again, maneuvering as agile as a cat to his backside. The mage bent forward quickly, before drawing his weight back and flinging his elbow against the man's jaw. He turned around and pushed him with all of his might, though the man did not even meet the ground before he regained himself. He was quick, and his reflexes were incredible. Alistair drew his blade, but only in time to meet the impact of the man's dagger, which nearly disarmed him in the clash.
Fucking hell, he cursed to himself, grimacing. He didn't know who this man was, or where he'd come from. From his feral claws, his incredible physique, his cat-like eyes and his outstanding reflexes, he imagined he was a Lotharro, but that was all he could point toward. A Lotharro. Why would one want him dead? Was he a Seeker?
Alistair's blade drew back and struck, only to be met by a last-second parry by the assassin. He riposted, lunging his blade again into the direction of the black-clad assailant, only to be met by a second dagger, a much longer one. While his blade skid and struggled against the sharp end of the dagger, Deovan's offhand raised and he threw the smaller dagger directly aimed at Alistair's face. The mage dodged incredibly narrowly, the blade nearly shaving the side of his head.
He pulled his blade back and struck forward with all of his might, slashing horizontally. The Raven recoiled from the blow, but parried it nonetheless, the two of them grimacing equally as their blades clashed. This man was stronger than he was, physically. Alistair would eventually be worn out and killed if he relied only on his own physical capabilities. While he'd done exceedingly well with a sword this trial, his skills with a blade were fledgling and easy to learn. Deovan would gain an upperhand as time went on.
Magic, then, was the answer.
