Within he saw a meager little, the narrow view of the visor a greater disadvantage than he’d anticipated. At this range, the target was all but engulfed like within a wildly rotating school of fish, the column closing around him. Unable to see where his strike was going he surrendered to instinct, arm extending. The light from the hammerhead blinded him, arcane fire a miniature sun glaring through the slit that forced his eyes into a squint.
He was going to miss and knew it, thrown off-course by the vortex that staggered his momentum. A strange sensation tugged in the back of his head, through the rattle of metal. It was a whisper, not so much a voice as it was a feeling, something like guidance tapping at his gauntlet.
Again.
He let the first strike pass, unsurprised by the fact it landed not, and then launched another in a twist of the wrist. The hammer made a loop, losing no momentum, and he rotated at the waist to lend it more force and a broader swing to the space above his head.
For this once, second time was the charm. Something shattered, but he had not the time to celebrate it, as the very air around him stirred. The coins seemed to startle, gathering towards the center and then exploding outwards again, a quickening in the chamber of a wounded heart. It was not a place for one to stay, so he hurried against the current. It was staggering, a trap closing.
Making a sound like so many pots and pans within a barrel fast aroll downhill, he landed outside in a grand struggle, concluding on his shield arm that at this point merely threw off his balance. He wasn’t so tough as to not groan, all amidst his haste to yank his arm free that he might stand.
Bebin Theros Theolonious Montbank
He was going to miss and knew it, thrown off-course by the vortex that staggered his momentum. A strange sensation tugged in the back of his head, through the rattle of metal. It was a whisper, not so much a voice as it was a feeling, something like guidance tapping at his gauntlet.
Again.
He let the first strike pass, unsurprised by the fact it landed not, and then launched another in a twist of the wrist. The hammer made a loop, losing no momentum, and he rotated at the waist to lend it more force and a broader swing to the space above his head.
For this once, second time was the charm. Something shattered, but he had not the time to celebrate it, as the very air around him stirred. The coins seemed to startle, gathering towards the center and then exploding outwards again, a quickening in the chamber of a wounded heart. It was not a place for one to stay, so he hurried against the current. It was staggering, a trap closing.
Making a sound like so many pots and pans within a barrel fast aroll downhill, he landed outside in a grand struggle, concluding on his shield arm that at this point merely threw off his balance. He wasn’t so tough as to not groan, all amidst his haste to yank his arm free that he might stand.
Bebin Theros Theolonious Montbank