Snippet #2540517

Sevral was ready to lend his blade to the cause, he'd pledged himself to the ambiguity surrounding its circumstances without any doubt, ready to give himself for the lands which had overseen his life from humble beginnings. Whatever was asked, Sevral would undertake it if only to ensure no breach in the domestic tranquility of his people. However now, in the face of such a colossus, and after having seen the durability of the solidified husk, let alone its regenerative properties as a rebuttal to the devastating discharge of power from the Ash Fiend, did he feel as though perhaps he may not have been the best choice. It was said that everyone was chosen for some undisclosed reason, and he did not doubt his leaders; or at least, not any more or less than one should doubt anyone of authoritative nature in political standings; but Sevral was no soldier or esteemed retired Veteran, gifted Magic wielder nor could he fly. Sevral was a humble craftsman, an artisan whose name, while popular, was still benign in the presence of large industry and their, albeit lower quality, mass production goods.

He did not doubt his skill, however he was aware of his own limitations, and so far this hulking monstrosity had determined his void. As the creature stood repairing itself and allowing the dust to settle, Sevral was working as hard as he could to find a way to be useful. He was a close combatant whose skills were taught in the between time of forging. He could not be launched upwards in intricate aerial displays or launch ranged support, and so the only other option was a suicidal charge, though he failed to see what that would accomplish. The man's blades would do little in the way of penetration, sharp as they were. Keyra's blade had the momentum and power that came from her wings and mid-flight maneuvering. Any worthwhile swing Sevral would hardly be comparable, especially since his range limited him to the legs where no doubt the muscles were tougher in support of the mass of the body. Sevral merely shook his head now, feeling utterly useless with nothing to contribute. Even as Dravon unleashed his wrath in the form of that electrical strike in order to paralyze the beast, Sevral could not lend a hand as much as he wanted to. Fear did not hold him back; he felt it, but it did not hold him back; but rather, better judgment. Glancing over, it seemed Enuren had moved to assist Elruin. She must share some similar thoughts, Sevral reckoned. He wasn't sure the specifications of her bow, but at least she had a ranged advantage.

As the floor cracked in protest to the power being exchanged between the two beings rooted in place, Sevral adjusted his gaze to watch through the reflection of the blade he still held ready. It wasn't nearly as bright and he could turn the glare away from himself. Still, he felt silly having produced the weapon with no true intention of being offensive. As the spell broke, the creature reared back and fell, its overwhelming presence causing the entire structure to shudder such that Sevral was thankful that the ceiling held even before the drill decided now was a great time to lend its inadvertent support.

Strong as this creature was, it would not stand again after a drill had come careening from the ceiling in a shower of displaced chunks of stone, terminating into an infernos blast decorated with metallurgy. Sevral caught sight of one of the machines cylinders as it was hurled away from the impact zone towards the opposite wall, but remained between Keyra and the explosion. Whether or not she had retreated, he would follow.

When finally the scene had settled again, Sevral had to smirk somewhat at the thought that third time's the charm. Elruin's initial blast, Dravon's magic, and finally a drill sent from above. Quite literally... As silence befell the room, Sevral listened to the low crackle of the flames as it ate away at whatever sources it found to burn, breathing to expand and continue its modestly devastating life. Dravon was the first to break the silence, and Sevral glanced around through the wreckage. If the creature decided it would regenerate this time, Sevral would sprout wings and fly. Glancing back to Keyra now, he looked her over quickly yet still carefully.

"Are your wings still okay?"

Lowering his sword now, he still held it for lack of trust in the creatures' tenacity that dwelled in these ruins. Turning back to the destroyed carcass of the machine and its victim, Sevral stepped carefully forward, stopping after a few paces. Looking at his feet, the man placed the hell of his boot on a small patch of smoldering, well, he wasn't sure what it was, but he ground it out.