Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-5543592-20140928161954/@comment-12599067-20141007025648

If Dralnach was a whirlwind, then Ma'Jharo was nothing short of a steel hurricane. Even with the new wave of swordsmen to meet them in combat, Ma'Jharo was perfectly capable of keeping himself safe, as evidenced by the wolfish smile that still plastered his face as he severed limbs from bodies and rent flesh and steel alike. Blood covered his armor and blade, but whose blood it was would have been anyone's guess.

Dralnach continued to keep the whirlwind of razor-tipper arrows going, keeping swordsmen at bay and keeping arrows from hitting him. However, the whirlwind was slowly beginning to lose speed as Dralnach's magicka stores depleted, and some of the Altmer were hanging back like ravens by the side of a dying beast, waiting for an opportunity to strike out at the Reachman the moment his guard faltered.