[center][h2]Krunk Fortress[/h2]
[sub]Wait, I have a pistol[/sub][/center]

Zerraf did the opposite of a beckoning motion to Jenso, as if to divert his focus from himself to the fight at hand. The wind mage squinted at the glowing, flying orb coming at him and the newcomer. He stretched his back out and clumsily underhand tossed his rapier into the air. The rapier appeared to catch itself on an invisble, buoyant string, awaiting a command. Zerraf unholstered his flintlock pistol, tapping the barrel with the same hand that carried it, checking the stock, making sure the handle was waxed. The ball came closer. It was loaded, chamber was clean, scope was set, just the right amount of powder. CLOSER...

A wave of Zerraf's wrist and the flintlock's barrel sent the rapier shrieking forward, the sound of a flock worth of falcon's echoing in a canyon. It was in the direction of the orb, momentum gaining, ready to pierce its radiating veil. Without hesitation, the wind mage went from nonchalantly checking his gun to unleashing a round in perfect precision, a customized round twisting the air around it and adjusting its path if the orb were to change speeds or direction. The two projectiles were to collide with the orb at the same time, each no more or less difficult to dodge than the other.