ISKRA
Overkill at least always gets the job done.
Iskra exhales with relief, unaware he'd been holding it in while he concentrated on the flame and its path towards the deamon's demise, just one of many elemental currents lobbed towards the unruly phantom. The unease of being away from the shelter and close to the thrashing creature ripples away with each breath and the dissolving phantasmal material as the soul drifts away from this plane. "All good!" Iskra says after mentally running the last few moments back, hands smoothing over his chest and patting his legs. The subsiding adrenaline would likely alert him soon if anything had been harmed, the pain able to break in, but he should be good this time, no nurse Zuriel needed. "Everywhere's got something," Iskra shrugs, although he agrees that he'd rather take on the ursurs he's more familiar with on the tundra than these ghastly echoes.
Lifting his hand over his eyes to squint down the barrows for any signs of destruction, Iskra can't tell what's a normal part of the rocky slopes and carved mounds and what's the signs of the dragon. The ice at least would melt. "I think we're set," Iskra confirms, kicking a rock to the side as he turns back towards Deimos, planning to head home with him if that's where the Sword is headed next.
Iskra is all good and so is the hood
Iskra exhales with relief, unaware he'd been holding it in while he concentrated on the flame and its path towards the deamon's demise, just one of many elemental currents lobbed towards the unruly phantom. The unease of being away from the shelter and close to the thrashing creature ripples away with each breath and the dissolving phantasmal material as the soul drifts away from this plane. "All good!" Iskra says after mentally running the last few moments back, hands smoothing over his chest and patting his legs. The subsiding adrenaline would likely alert him soon if anything had been harmed, the pain able to break in, but he should be good this time, no nurse Zuriel needed. "Everywhere's got something," Iskra shrugs, although he agrees that he'd rather take on the ursurs he's more familiar with on the tundra than these ghastly echoes.
Lifting his hand over his eyes to squint down the barrows for any signs of destruction, Iskra can't tell what's a normal part of the rocky slopes and carved mounds and what's the signs of the dragon. The ice at least would melt. "I think we're set," Iskra confirms, kicking a rock to the side as he turns back towards Deimos, planning to head home with him if that's where the Sword is headed next.
Iskra is all good and so is the hood
This thing we call life has been taking its toll
