Smugly walking forth with his sword drawn, Vlad suddenly stopped what with feeling a rather painful impact. He coughed blood and looked down to see an arrow in him. "Oh shit." he muttered as he dropped to his knees. Already the bastard would be knocking another arrow in that nasty bow of his. Dazed, there was still enough awareness in Vlad to know he had to act fast and so he did. A blue glow in his eyes foreshadowed the thick chunk of ice that would rise in front of him to rest and cower behind.

Then the Cryomancer looked down to the immediate issue, and gave a quiet gasp in pain. That was soon followed by a vicious roar as he pulled the arrow out, and then pressed a fist to the affected area to quickly freeze the wound shut as a stop-gap. 

A short moment of rest followed, to restore bearings and think of what to do next.

"Alright!" The Kislevite called out. "You listen to me you idiot!" The words were screamed, furious. "That arrow came alone, so now you've shown me that you ain't got half a dozen, you might even be alone!" There came another brief pause, before he continued. "But, now, I'm going to make you [i]hurt.[/i]"

With that he stood, sword upraised. It was almost as if he was striking a heroic pose for a painting or a man chiselling a statue, but not quite. While his left hand thrust the blade into the sky the right was moving, wafting aetheric particles to him. The sky would shift, and quite suddenly there would be some climate change. Thousands of razor sharp pellets would fall like arrows from the sky, fast and even given an attempt at direction, though to the Halfling's luck he wasn't aware of him and he was out of the worst of the cone of pain. To the luck of the trio of newcomers the Ice Mage was in an emotional state of fury, had already used some power, lost blood and had an open injury. Relentlessly the ice would fall, shearing off any exposed flesh and then melting with a small amount of salt to make wounds all the more painful. However, any clothing and armour it touched would save them from most harm save that of budget, tattering cloth and leather while making tiny dents and chinks in steel. With that he'd run forth again to hide in the cover of the vegetation, inching along with his sword in hopes of vengeance.