[@Metal Tortoise]

[i]Mr. Horse would keep perfect pace with Steer, though the tile would be avoided just in the nick of time. Mr. Horse was in a magically set position in relation to Steer, a companion that couldn't be escaped. Lots of that poopy would likely run into Steer's eyes as well, adding to his already near-sighted vision. 

Steer had made the right kind of choice. Tom's magic was nasty, but for the most part if you had guts, you could wade on through and keep pounding. Most of the threat was psychological, a magic meant to tear down self esteem. If you didn't give a crap about crap, you stood a much better chance. Tom hadn't been expecting Steer's speed boost, a feat from outside his realm of experience. He could only dip down and tuck in his right elbow to try and absorb the brunt of the punch with his arm, no thought in his head telling him to try and throw a punch back. It hurt too bad. The moment it hit him, he knew on the spot that he couldn't keep this up for long. This fat kid was better trained and much stronger. That punch was the kind you'd expect to leave a welt the size of a golfball behind, and no doubt it would. The pain came fast and hard, and Tom staggered towards the nearby fenced out crowd, agony casting white sparks in his brain as he rapidly whispered out yet another spell, unable to loudly enunciate from the radiating pain in his various wounds. It pelted out from his right hand towards the encroaching Steer's gut.[/i]

[color=f7976a]"Narratium Expositorium..."[/color]