Originally Posted by
Murkus
[Island Center]
There's a snap, and the King's carver is suddenly caught in place, his hand and the hilt coated in frozen godsblood. "Rather lovely," he does mutter feverishly, his breath coming out in great cold clouds.
The latter portions of the Scion's spellwork nearly succeed. Could the ice have penetrated the buzzard king's armor, he might have been impaled... but it seems that won't yet be tested today. With a shriek fit only for the insane and the woken dead, the King pulls... and pulls, and wrenches himself free, skipping or skittering backwards with that same shocking agility. The first and then furthest ice-spikes extend just before his helm, the tip nearly touching, but he is away before they can harm him. The sound of his armor rattling as he moves is tremendous, dwarved only by his feet and hand pounding the dirt.
"Magic," the filthy, reeking colossus-knight scoffs. "Too slow. Too slow for me." The feathers between the crevices in his armor bristle and shake, sprinkling flakes of frost on the wrent soil. Well, that wasn't wholly true... if he hadn't noticed the tendrils of chilly energy entering the earth, he might not have been able to guess her intent.
And that said, he leaps frog-like away from the wounded Empress and the newcomer Anchor. He hasn't noticed Cassandra, or at least, not yet... though he might just smell her coming. With one leap, one huge, terrifying movement, he crashes down beside his missing piece. His landing creates an eruption of turf, and before the debris has even finished peppering the ground, he has his forearm in hand and pressed to it's oozing stump.