Rictor/Siana/Ari
They were familiar effects, the spells sinking into his skin and lacing themselves through his bones—it was almost as if he were still fighting with Luscini, the mage’s buffs lacing up tight before the Blades charged into battle.
He felt faster, stronger, Regen buzzing in his veins against the chilly cold of the snowstorm. Pacing instinctively to the other side of Siana, both of them kept a pincer formation against the monster. Darting forward, the holy knight hacked at the creature’s arm with a Power Break, trying to cripple the arm holding the shovel.
It slowed the monster down, but it didn’t seem to mind. As if it could sense the magic being cast, the song trilling its way into their party, the wendice snapped towards the sound of the music; it lumbered forward through the storm, heavily armoured even as the fighters lashed at it from the sides.
But the wendice whirled, its rusted metal cutting through the air.
Which is when he finally recognised the bard, hearing her singing—he’d listened to Ari playing a scheitholt before, performing Kerwonian music—and then Rictor surged forward, covering her. The shovel rang off his armour, sending him stumbling in the snow, bones shuddering. Regen started slowly knitting them together but the pain still lanced through him, the damage still done.
“Fuck,” he grumbled into the snow, scrabbling his way back to his feet.