( No sooner Kamala asserts she's ready, Emilia is on the move and leading the way. Their shields combined hold back the catapult assaults coming their way, but soon enough, they run into someone needing help: a dwarven soldier ahead dangles from what's left of the crumbling structure.
There may be more, she isn't sure.
Emilia's seen the platforms that Kamala can create, knows that she's primed to help them. But there's a barrage of attacks at their back still, and so she won't be able to assist on both things at once. Worry catches in her throat as she realizes this, her main goal being to protect Kamala and take her to (relative) safety. In the midst of battle, however, there is no room for indecision.
Her grandmother(?) only ever taught her rudimentary magic; always defensive, never offensive. She kept Emilia tame and in the dark. Refused to let her act and refused to give her the tools that may help, calling it protection. She would not do that to another young girl. )
Go. I'll hold the rest of them back, go.
( There's confidence in her eyes when they meet Kamala's, a firm nod to convey it's all right: Kamala's got this. And then Emilia doesn't, can't, wait. She turns around, hands outstretched to direct her ring of protection toward the lingering harpies, the oncoming catapult. She can feel her magic wavering, and something in her almost snarls in refusal, pushes back.
What once was a protective dome becomes a wall of moonlight, and she thrusts it forward. When the debris and shrieking harpies collide against it, she ignores the shaking of her arms, the sweat in her brow. As though Ratthaku himself can hear her, she bites out, ) Weak.
no subject
There may be more, she isn't sure.
Emilia's seen the platforms that Kamala can create, knows that she's primed to help them. But there's a barrage of attacks at their back still, and so she won't be able to assist on both things at once. Worry catches in her throat as she realizes this, her main goal being to protect Kamala and take her to (relative) safety. In the midst of battle, however, there is no room for indecision.
Her grandmother(?) only ever taught her rudimentary magic; always defensive, never offensive. She kept Emilia tame and in the dark. Refused to let her act and refused to give her the tools that may help, calling it protection. She would not do that to another young girl. )
Go. I'll hold the rest of them back, go.
( There's confidence in her eyes when they meet Kamala's, a firm nod to convey it's all right: Kamala's got this. And then Emilia doesn't, can't, wait. She turns around, hands outstretched to direct her ring of protection toward the lingering harpies, the oncoming catapult. She can feel her magic wavering, and something in her almost snarls in refusal, pushes back.
What once was a protective dome becomes a wall of moonlight, and she thrusts it forward. When the debris and shrieking harpies collide against it, she ignores the shaking of her arms, the sweat in her brow. As though Ratthaku himself can hear her, she bites out, ) Weak.