Cover? Excellent. Even though he wonders why someone would build a farmhouse in this creepy ass place, he won't complain in this situation. He sheathed his sword, dashing behind them into the farmhouse. Once inside, he wasted no time helping out with the door by pushing barrels and chairs in front of it, then opening a single window.
Backing up beside
Alexios Marxan, he noticed the elemental spell he casted onto his blade.
"You'll... have to teach me that when this is over.." He said through labored breaths, grabbing his sword and awaiting the confrontation.
This was probably the worst part of the whole thing. He favors the fight more than the psychological torture because at least the battle has closure and you have in a say in it. Waiting? No. Here he is, waiting in a dimly lit room with the only sound available being the crackling firewood and the breath of his companions as the fog peers in through the window while
vampires flank them.
Luckily and unluckily for him, he wouldn't have to wait any longer; a shrill, ravenous screech made his heart throb in his throat as a
vampire, claws outstretched, leapt through the window at
Zier. (Thank you dice.) As soon as it's red eyes pierced the veil of fog, he readied himself and sliced upwards without hesitation, splitting the vampire in two from the torso up. It's entrails flew loose, only for them and the body to slowly flicker away in yellow embers.
He repositioned his footing, peering through the window and spotting a few more sets of eyes.. and those are just the ones he can see.
"Come on, assholes. Let's get this shit over with." He called out to the rest. One answered that call, lunging through the window like the other. That lunge was met with a jab of Ziers blade, but the vampire lurched to the side so it pierced it's shoulder. He yanked his blade from it as it shrieked, preparing another strike, only for the vampire--thank you dice-- to swipe a claw mid-swing and catch the elf on his cheek.
It wasn't the nastiest of scratches, but it'll certainly leave a faint mark. He grunted out in pain, leaping back from the vampire. In a small burst of anger, he extended an arm out towards the fireplace, siphoning a portion of the flames and-- gracias dice-- lashing his arm out in a tiny arc of fire with the intensity of a warm cup of tea.
What the fuck.
Ah, it's why he doesn't use his fire in anger. It's just weaker, but this was embarrassing and the weakest he's ever dealt.
Trovik Half-horn