He grinned at her impatience to use her hottest weapon right at the start, but he was far less sanguine in his own abilities to block it and far more afraid of the damage it would do to him if he couldn't. Her sigh spoke volumes and he saluted her retreating back, but by the time she reached her spot and turned around he was innocently waiting for her first shot.
He arched a brow at the magically-appearing bow, surprised at its power but thinking it was a good match for the huntress. He wasn't given much time to admire it, however, for there was a purpose to their playful mayhem, and when he called his readiness Melita loosed her munition with a steady hand. Immediately he plucked the strings of his power in a discordant jerk, yanking at the earth to try and raise it. The ground rumbled and shot upwards in front of him, responding to his call, but not fast enough to beat a speeding arrow. The bard yelped as the shaft struck against his right shuolder when the defensive wall was only waist-high. Concentration broken, the dirt ceased to grow and he shook his arm and winced at the bruising he could feel beneath the skin. His earthen wall was thick and sturdy, a proper bulwark of defense, but far too slow to rise to the occasion.
After a moment's thought he pushed it back down and set himself again, focusing himself more firmly on the thought of thinning the amount of soil he was trying to move so that he could raise less, faster. "Again, whenever you're ready!" he called, fingers flexing in readiness as he stood tensed for the next barrage, his shoulder a throbbing reminder of the need to concentrate and move with finesse as well as speed.
He arched a brow at the magically-appearing bow, surprised at its power but thinking it was a good match for the huntress. He wasn't given much time to admire it, however, for there was a purpose to their playful mayhem, and when he called his readiness Melita loosed her munition with a steady hand. Immediately he plucked the strings of his power in a discordant jerk, yanking at the earth to try and raise it. The ground rumbled and shot upwards in front of him, responding to his call, but not fast enough to beat a speeding arrow. The bard yelped as the shaft struck against his right shuolder when the defensive wall was only waist-high. Concentration broken, the dirt ceased to grow and he shook his arm and winced at the bruising he could feel beneath the skin. His earthen wall was thick and sturdy, a proper bulwark of defense, but far too slow to rise to the occasion.
After a moment's thought he pushed it back down and set himself again, focusing himself more firmly on the thought of thinning the amount of soil he was trying to move so that he could raise less, faster. "Again, whenever you're ready!" he called, fingers flexing in readiness as he stood tensed for the next barrage, his shoulder a throbbing reminder of the need to concentrate and move with finesse as well as speed.
