Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-24449631-20140901211815/@comment-3293219-20140902165121

"We'll roast you slowly on a spit!" A bandit taunted to Azarath as he swung his blade, this was a problem as Azarath was nowhere near as agile as he usually was. He had to duck and roll over, wincing as he did so and his wounded shoulder made contact with the ground, getting grit and dirt in his wound. The Dunmer jumped up, to a crouching position and did a spin kick, knocking the nearest bandit off of his feet and knocking him to the floor.

Azarath proceeded to bury his knee into the Nord's neck, burrying it in his jawline and keeping him pinned down as he reached for his sword and blocked an incoming attack, which nearly knocked him on his back as his left arm was weak and the clash sent shooting pains down his back. The Dunmer was losing the battle, he could feel his own strength waining under the immense pressure of the strong bandit, plus the pain of his own injuries, like his own body was sabotaging the battle.

Still, he kept it up, knowing full well that he'd eventually have to break out and give up his advantage but to his surprise the bandit cried out and stumbled forward, dropping his sword to the ground.

Azarath didn't need telling twice, he just rammed his sword into the bandit's abdomen before slicing his stomach open, not even stopping to watch as it's contents splattered all over the ground. He heard the third bandit roar as he charged over to him, his two handed weapon was now raised above his head as he got ready to strike down, however, he was cut off as an arrow flew into his neck, sending him spinning to the floor.

The Dunmer looked up to see his Breton on a guard tower, turning her gaze to the other bandits, she'd used her initiative and it made him kind of proud. He gave a slight smile as he twisted his leg and snapped his hostage's neck, under the weight of his knee before he stood up and tended to his shoulder...