Ayse brought her staff up to deflect the oversized rodent's blow. She did succeed, but with the second skaven pressing her position she didn't have the time to go on the offensive. Once again she was in retreat with her team growing more distant.

She thought the distance was a smart idea. It would give her the time to help from afar. It was still just making her a target thanks to the holes in their defense. On her end her fire had been effective, but not effective enough, not in this situation. Another pair of attacks and another desperate deflection. She was going to die here if she didn't do something. So might Gormarr. She knew the skaven were trying to whittle him down with poisons rather than feeble blows.

Swinging her staff as hard as she could, she broke for the front lines. Towards the rat ogre and it's wizened master. She ran past Fariha and hoped the elf would pick off her pursuers. Cradling her staff in the crook of her wounded arm she brought a different sort of fire to bear. It burned, yes, but also ached. A healing flame. She hurled it at Gormarr. The flame lilted and curled in the air before spiraling into the orc's wounds to burn out the poisons and pestilence. It would hurt, surely it would hurt, however he would live once his rage subsided.

An idea occurred as she spent it. Rat orges were the product of foul magics, their bulk and bodies supported by the basest of skaven arts. What if she attacked those arts instead of the beast's flesh? Siph had said to attack low. What if it was more accurate to say that they were pulling out the tree by the roots? She went stock still and focused, trusting her companions to look after her.

A spider web of glowing fissures and cracks formed over the length of her staff. The tip flared with new flame. She'd never done anything like this before. She had no clue if it would work or if she could overcome the shaman's magic. She'd still try though. As the staff itself burst into flame she thrust its tip forward to release a gout of purifying flame to eat away at the sorceries that underpinned the beat's strength.

Through the pain, watching Nove's sword whistle through the air, she could only repeat one whispered word.

[color=fdc68a][b]"Fall. Fall. Fall..."[/b][/color]