My attention is fixated on the ground around me, the earth shaking as I maneuver its pieces into the air. It saps me of energy as I concentrate, using my will with the magic of the Gods to hurl what I've gathered at my enemy. 'My enemy.' She isn't that, is she? She's a fellow member of the Falls, she cannot be what I accuse her of being. And yet in this moment she IS my enemy, my opposition, the antagonist to my protagonist. You simply cannot root for both sides in a spar. The bits of earth fly at Elsa, the 'oh-so-innocent' mason, and her surprise at my attack I expected. The look I see upon her face I expected. I did NOT expect her physical response.

Instead of trying to dodge, instead of screaming in pain or fear, she charges directly at me. It makes no sense, and in this way she has gained the upper hand. Confused, disoriented, how am I supposed to defend myself? I'm in the middle of an attack, and it is not so easy to just halt it at the drop of a hat. I have never tried, but I would assume there would be physical and psychological ramifications of terminating such a pinpointed and draining exertion. My own eyes widen, not sure exactly how I can respond to the pale queen. Through the floating, rushing matter I cannot see what damage I have caused, only the blinding sight of a snowy beast hastening toward me. Damaris howls through the debris, trying to warn me - but I can't tell what she's warning me of until it is too late.

I hear the strain of the ground, and something rising up behind me. My ears swivel back trying to make sense of it. 'Ice wall!' Damaris senses my confusion and shouts in my mind. It does me no good though, for I can't prevent its creation. Elsa slams into my chest, clearly trying to push me back against the wall that she has created. I grunt as she knocks into me, but I've stepped just a foot to the side, and she hits me at an angle. Instead of knocking me back directly into the wall, I spin off to the side. Her momentum causes me to hit the wall anyway, and I cut my hind left leg, the blood tricking delicately down my dirty hock. I lumber off as quickly as I can manage, a slight hitch in my gait reflecting my latest wound. The rubble that had been airborne falls to the ground, inanimate once more.

I'm exhausted, feeling the exertion from my attacks, both magical and otherwise. The wounds she has left me with - my hock and my cheek - are not life-threatening, but they burn savagely all the same. Should I see a healer? Probably not, but I will be happy to wait awhile before sparring again. I look forward to seeing what sort of scar forms on my cheek, and if the wound on my hock should prevent me from moving about as normal. I heave, trying to catch my breath, and Damaris runs to my side, eyeing Elsa with suspicion. A small snort slips through my nostrils before I speak. As always, Elsa, you have fought very well. It has been a pleasure... of sorts." I snort again at my choice of words. Sometimes, Rosti, your brain doesn't work so well.

572 words
@[Elsa]
defense, ready for judging

Rostislav

more than a drunken fool