There is light, there is holy energy, there are slashing blades. The pale man is not unaffected - the light stings in his eyes and pains him, the power of the gods sear across his skin and touch upon his souls also - nut he does not succumb. He is dazzled, but not blinded, he is stung, but does not burn, he is discomforted, but not turned. And no more blades touch his skin.
Standing upon the sarcophagus with bloodsilver in hand he not only keeps your blades away, he pins Lannelah's sword with his own and then kicks the sidhe in the head with great force, sending him reeling. The sun sword fares little better, for as soon as the blade touches the bloodsilver its light and flame go out! Rashid is left terribly exposed...
For Brandon:
Arriving at the sarcophagus, just as Manethander strikes the sidhe with an unmerciful reply of tighmaevril and undead flesh, Elamien springs upon the stone coffin, only to see the same bloodsilver threateningly raised above the head of Rashid, whose wide sweep has left his own defenses rather open to attack. Whatever target she may previously have had in mind, the thoughts of Elamien, now, focus entirely upon the finely clad swordarm of her foe; and she practically dives forward, in order to strike without delay, the point of her rapier piercing the flesh of the Grey Duke and appearing, again, through the garb at the front of his shoulder . . . at the very moment, when he slashes down at the Patriarch. Her own momentum and the tremendous torque of his præternatural swordplay, as she vainly attempts to maintain her grip upon the rapier, send Elamien flying forward, well over the heads of those, who stand facing Manethander, below; and she crashes, sliding, into one of the many columns, with the crack of ribs and the intense pain of nearly immediate bruising dominating her consciousness. But, in spite of so much dolourous hurt, she manages the faintest of smiles, as she realises that the sharp noises, which accompanied her fall, were, not the sound of her own sword, but the ringing sound of tighmaevril, clanging against the mosaicked tiles of the floor. And, a new hope consoling her in the stark realisation of her weakness and her mortality, she wipes away the blood, which has begun to stream from a cut forehead into the corner of her left eye and begins pulling herself, with the aid of the column, to her feet . . . as she scans the floor about her for the location of that blade.
Sorcerous fire engulf the pale man, a jet of destruction pouring from the hands of Kaleiman the Archmage. His garb catches fire and burns, weathering the beast in flames and smoke...
Lannelah has recovered and drawn a long dagger - his own blade out of reach.
At Balter's position the Baron Tristan finally stirs, and looks about.
Gaerred and Wallac stand ready to renew their assault.
Rashid recovers also.
