OOC: Seeing as how you're all deep inside an Ancient Forest, at an ambush site picked by Rhuobhe, with people running and riding around, an several minor fires now raging, there is no staying well above the forest canopy AND being part of the battle.
IC: Rhuobhe's horse goes down, turning into grey mist as it does so. The rider effortlessly leaps clear landing in stride, putting an arrow through Sirou's right lung, pinning him to a tree. The pain is unbearable and the brave Anuirean starts slipping away - but not before seeing Braedonnal charge into view, boring down on Rhuobhe...but faster than the human eye can see another arrow flies from his bow...and Braedonnal's proud steed simply folds it's legs and go down with a crash. Braedonnal keeps his momentum and blade in hand he rushes the Manslayer - the final battle is joined.
The wind that is Hermedhie resumes a human shape as it hurtles towards Rhuobhe and his knights. Arcane fire leaps from her hands, searing trees, human knights, and sidhe indiscriminately. Arrows reach out to kiss her skin, but none of them can catch her - save one; a sidhe warrior garbed in green pulls out a special arrow gifted to him by Rhubhe, an arrow enchanted to deal with a troublesome human sorceress.
Suddenly the Sea Witch is falling like a rock. The arrow never touched her, but it stole away her connection to the mebhaighl...and she hits the ground hard. Before she has a chance to recover a sidhe knight, still wreathed in flame charges out of the smoke, putting three feet of fey-wrought bronze through Hermedhie's chest. He rides past her, flames finally biting into elven flesh, and the woman inside lets out a shriek of pain and terror, a shriek quickly swallowed by the terrible battle.
Hermedhie tries to get up. To get away from the metal in her chest. To do something. To fight. To flee. Another arrow, quite mundane - and quite deadly - hits her in the neck. Then another. And another. She stops moving, topples forward, and is still.
The sounds of battle. Men screaming. Men dying. Steel on steel. Sidhe cursing sidhe. The there is only the sound of the wind. Great gusts of wind sweep between the great boles. Wind like the forest has never know, not down here, not since the mighty oaks were saplings. A great wind fanning the fire, a great wind lifting the limp body of Hermedhie into the sky, her life-blood dripping like rain. A great wind, sucking away the mebhaighl here present; the great trees stop pummeling the beleaguered survivors, a forest cat shakes its head and flees.
