Eilis opened her eyes trying to focus on the specific targets before them. Letting out a shuddering breath she tried to steady her heart and tried to reel in her fear. 
This whole situation was madness, chaos and terror combined, a scene of ultimate horrific confusing where you simply charged into head first and prayed you would be either given a swift death or passed by by Death’s scythe today.
She cast a glance behind her at Arn who’s gaze had focused as she could feel the build up of Aether through the man.
The air crackled around his arms and hands, the energy gathering as it was called forth.
She shivered at the aura of sheer power that started the engulf the master mage.
Was she looking anything like that when she used her magic? 
She couldn’t help but cast a glance at her hands and the fractured skin and the etched lines that had been carved into her.
Maybe one day she would understand why this curse was placed upon her, but for now they all needed to get out of this nightmare.
As her eyes focused on Tyrhallan again she took proper hold of the reins again. 
Giving Arn a quick glance she said.
“You can’t fight if you have to do two things at the same time that are equally as taxing. I’ll guide Umbra, so you’ll be able to do whatever you have in mind.” She offered, before she sped the wyrm up, intending to join Arn’s friend, Tobi.

Ravros angrily roared in both pain and frustration, those two were more troublesome than he had first perceived. He always had known the old General, Uilles, had always been a stubborn, annoying and persistent pest, ever since he first met him. His son or nephew or whatever that hellspawn of his was proved to be equally trying.
Were it not for the fact that they had cut his arm off Ravros had actually imagined himself placing their heads on spikes to parade through the capital city, not only as a show of dominance and strength, but also to prove to all those that dared oppose the empire that their time was running out.
Now however…He wasn’t sure the outcome would be in his favour. 
As he clenched his jaws shut he glared at the two of them.
The poison certainly had helped, but to have been crippled to such a degree facing such experienced swordfighters such as the Venrays? It was a death sentence waiting to happen.
Not even he would stand a chance… Ravros knew that all too well and it frustrated him beyond reason. 
Where was his justice? Where was the Karmic retribution that was supposed to come? It seemed the Goddess played cruel tricks on him, giving him a flicker of hope before extinguishing the flame by dropping it in an ice cold bath.
So long as he kept trusting in Destiny and Fate, it would spit in his face and laugh at him, well he was done being laughed at.
It was time to settle the score and even if it meant he would die in the attempt. 
But that didn’t mean he couldn’t bring at least one of them down with him.
He eyed Tyrhallan who took his fighting stance once more, switching places with the old General. 
The bastard was quick as lightning, he already had been a pain when he still had had both arms, but he hadn’t been undefeatable. In fact, he believed that it was perhaps even in his favour, considering the boy didn’t know him.
Saying a little prayer in the his mind he mirrored Tyrhallan’s fighting stance, it was said that it was the worst kind of pain one could inflict on a parent was it not?