Fire and Damnation! The Warrior was fast on his feet, the Ereb tactician granted the man that. Ansgar had no time to dispatch orders to the other warrior who had come to assist the King, or the other mage fellow for that matter. The warrior seemed to be on his backfoot, but whatever the girl had done to slight the man and his kingdom, it seemed to overrule reason or fear. Great, zealots, he hated that kind of person. Put their beliefs mindlessly ahead of reason. But, there was little time for debate or discussion now, his gambit on the oncoming group had been accurate. They scattered to dispatch their forces, a Princeling that seemed oddly familiar, though Ansgar wasn't as up to date on politics as one might think necessary to put a name to a face from such a distance. Not a bad spread, if he was reading their numbers right, and would have joined in on the main assault if he wasn't so rudely accosted by the three footmen charging him, swords drawn and eager to draw Erebian blood. How rude, he decided, flourishing his Levin Sword. First rule of fighting tacticians, never expect a simple fight.

Seems they had forgotten a nasty trick Levin Swords, and other magic swords in general, employed. Those with magic talent could use them to strike from a distance, and he smirked, the flourish calling down lightning towards the leading footmen. Not as potent as an Arcthunder, mind you, but the strike was meant to accomplish two things. Firstly, scatter them, since instinct seemed to be avoid the danger instead of bear its brunt and power through. Second, if the footman wasn't as aware as the warrior, the blast of lightning would likely not do the man's wellbeing any favors. The next motion would be to put the right most footmen between him and the left most, sword flashing across in a parry, catching the charging attack and a low sweep of the leg turning all that redirected momentum into a trip to send the footmen sprawling. Which would also force the third footmen to either waste a precious few moments scrambling over, or helping, his fellow up or trip on him as well. Dancing backwards, he created enough distance between himself and the scrambling footmen to flourish his tome.

[color=598527]"You think numbers will help, brazen ones? Never underestimate a tactician's ability to tip the scales!"[/color] With the created distance, Ansgar decided to employ a trick that his mentor had explained back home. Sages, and other mages, might often find themselves accosted by numbers or a situation that would not be favorable, or need something to prevent hostiles from following them. As such, he learned a method of reaching out, to call for aid from places unknown, and make such help manifest in the here and now. Sure enough, with a gesture, he opened a gate, the swirling purple fog filling in between him and the footmen. One minor problem was that, typically, he hadn't the foggiest clue what was going to come through from the other side. However, considering the situation, it would still be more useful to have something between him and the footmen instead of being completely outnumbered. Hopefully it would be something useful for the given situation...