[color=ff9900][center][h1]Týfurkh[/h1][/center][/color]

Týfurkh could see trouble crawling up upon them. The term was only metaphorical though -- in reality those hostile individuals came at them much faster and much easier than he had hoped for. Their enemies, whoever they truly were, must have been watching them all the time. Frankly he hated to jump to into action that fast, usually he preferred to shout at hostiles first in order to give them -- and himself -- the chance to save lifes and health mutually. The expression on the faces of those individuals however made Týfurkh think otherwise. If he wouldn't act quickly it probably would be him ending up disabled or dead.

The rooftile was shattered by the impact of the steel-shod crossbow as Týfurkh slammed its front onto the ground below. Reloading with one's foot was the most efficient way to do it, so the next bolt was ready well before any of the Clan's members could reach his position. It didn't look as if everyone of them actually had this intention though: In fact, one of them was... flying... well past him. For a moment Týfurkh couldn't resist the temptation to aim for Syella, but soon realized it would be a shot too quick and too far away. By the time he returned his view towards the others, they had fanned out. Two were left approaching him, male and female. Which one to pick first ?

With no better knowledge available, he targeted the woman. She had happened to be closer to his current aim than her partner. A brief, but intense hissing sound, then the latter lost the former out of view. She tumbled, something sticking out of her back that definitely should not be there normally. Her mind had probably shut down already by the time she collapsed, falling into small but growing patches of her own blood. The male didn't look behind, but he must have seen the bolt leaving Týfurkh's weapon.

His face turned from enthusiasm for battle to fury. As Týfurkh tried to reload in time for another shot, the cult member made movements with his hands as if he wanted to throw something at him. His hands obviously were empty, but still something happened a few feet into the imaginary trajectory. The air started to become cloudy, to fill up with something that looked like dense steam or mist, but with another color that was virtually crying out loudly that it was ugly. Týfurkh only became aware of this moments later as he was busy, but by the time he finally did these traces were already very close to touchdown. They appeared to be comprised of nothing more but some kind of gas indeed as there was no noise, but the circular plumes that started to spread from their impact sites were quite impressive.

Týfurkh was engulfed by the wavefront and started coughing. To his eyes it felt like cutting onions -- just a lot worse. He tried to take aim now that the bolt was ready, but only saw a pair of nebulous double images. The clan member had drawn a dagger, but luckily Týfurkh's armor managed to stop it. The clan member probably barely weighed one third as much as he did, so the impact had left the man out of balance for the moment. Still there was the urgent need to get out of this... cloud... or whatever it was... immediately before he'd be hit at the right spot the next time.

Týfurkh took a large leap and subsequent run to escape the obnoxious gas cloud, but his eyes had broken out in tears and there was probably nothing that would stop his enemy from creating another plume of that stuff or something even a lot more poisonous. Given how much space each of these clouds consumed it wouldn't take long for him to run out of roof area to stay on. What kind of magic was this guy using ? Smelling ? Must have taken an antidote against his own creation!

However no further clouds were thrown at him. Unbeknownst to Týfurkh his enemy was far from finishing his training, an important fact that explained why he wasn't yet able to invoke much more deadly concoctions. Throwing more of the purple gas would only help drive this giant off the roof and out of his reach and aside from this the effect on his eyes would last for minutes: No more danger from that crossbow! But from Týfurkh's hands... As the clan member came in for his second attack, Týfurkh managed to grab him. He couldn't escape from that much strength and started panicking with his dagger. A few banging sounds later as the blade hit the armor again and again and there was a different noise. Soft and painful. Týfurkh bared his teeth as he was trying not to cry out loudly while continuing to choke his enemy, almost lifting him off the ground. He could feel his blood starting to seep out from underneath his armor that had been circumvented by the last hit. Was there a smirk on the clan member's face ? Hopefully not for long! But that wound would have to be dealt with better sooner than later...