[indent][hr][center][h3][sub][color=c03f7b]B R Y N A N  I A N Y R E[/color][/sub][/h3][/center]
[hr]
They were quick.

A familiar rush of heat and adrenaline surged through Brynan's body, setting her heart racing. For a moment the world was quiet but for the thundering footsteps of the trolls and the measured flow of air in and out of her lungs. Let them come, she was ready. Standing there, braced for the battle ahead, it simply felt right. This was what she was meant to do - this was her place in the world and how she would fix the mistakes of the past.

But it didn't last. In the split second before the creatures were upon them, a sick feeling hit her in the gut like a punch. Their dead flesh, the rot of decay, the unhealed wounds ... It was all too familiar. She had seen it a few times before in the hidden, dark places of Torvelt where death had taken hold. These were creatures infected with necromantic energies, their lives extended by corrupting magics.

[color=c03f7b]"It's poison! Don't let them touch you!"[/color] she yelled a warning.

There was no time to elaborate. With the lead troll going straight for the Minotaur, Brynan, knowing he was the last one she had to worry about, let it be and instead stepped forward to face the other who seemed to be more interested in the Aasimar. With a deft movement her other scimitar joined the first and she let herself drop to her knees, sliding sideways through the mud. Both blades shot out and tried to slice across its legs to cut them straight out from underneath it.[/indent]