Jaldoa was not entirely certain how his foe had escaped the deathly embrace of the Loa. What was certain is that he had not done so without cost, and so the Troll was satisfied. He bounded after the human, though only arrived within fifteen feet or so when he had remarkably managed to push himself up onto his elbows. The human was still alive and kicking, apparently, though definitely more injured than the troll now, who sported only the aching pain of some minor bruising.

His hand dipped quickly to his waist, and with one movement he sent his sacrificial knife flying forward, but arcing down, towards his foe. By his reckoning the throw was true, though nor perfect, it was likely to pierce his foe’s lower abdomen at best if it hit, or plunk into the ground where he lay if somehow he drew up the strength to move.

Regardless of the outcome, Jaldoa readied his next ward, the Ward of Healing, dropping it to the ground as he closed the distance between his opponent and himself. His staff was held horizontally across his body in his right hand, ready to swing like some cliché samurai in a film, perhaps? Regardless, he would reach his foe in a mere second or so, and deal with him should he survive the knife throw.