[h2][color=lightblue]Rolan[/color][/h2]

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[color=lightblue]"Cowering is, at the moment, a fast way to a long drop and sudden stop. Besides, would you rather have a half considered praise now, or more thought out praise at a later point?"[/color] Rolan wasn't looking at Gertrude as she shot him that displeased look, operating at a level of compartmentalization that left him fairly deadpan, given the generally unpleasant nature of everything going on with the Wild Hunt currently. While he couldn't exactly pay attention to every fight going on, given the need to focus on putting down hound after hound, the literal light show that started from the duel between Tyaethe and Rozenalt forcing his attention due to the almost blinding amount of light, even from this distance. Wincing briefly as the column of light and deafening screeching finally faded, only to be replaced by the paladin's laughter.

[color=lightblue]"At least she is having a good time, and to think I wasted quality poison on him..."[/color] Glancing back down in time to see the Houndmaster drench himself in the blood of his own pack, and begin to come apart at the damned seams. Oh, great, more wretched abominations that the forsaken woods seemed determined to spit out at them, he was getting quite tired of each nightmarish amalgamation of flesh, shadow, and sinew trying to outdo the last in an effort to take its place in his impending nightmares. Continuing to stitch its own wounds together, or ignore them completely, as previous wounds showed no signs of even impeding its newfound grotesque power. Being relatively safe from on high was cold comfort, reaching towards his alchemical bag as the Captain shouted her orders, confirming what he intended to do. Cripple the beast, slow it down, and open it up for the killing blow. Suited him fine, if the thing wanted to keep healing, he would just have to use something he had been saving for armor but should work just as well on flesh.

[color=lightblue]"...As you order, Captain. Shall we, then?"[/color] A pointless question, but his voice carried between the noise enough to alert the Captain her orders had been heard, and gave him a few moments to prepare. A flask of acid, an evolution on the experiments he had been conducting before they departed after seeing the effects of aqua regia on metal, and while it was intended for armor, flesh would likely feed the reaction just as well. Regenerating flesh? Well this was a rare luxury he supposed, since testing on meat was not something he could casually carry out. Aiming and watching for a moment that the beast was in no position to evade, he launched a bolt at one of its hind legs, aiming to shatter the flask across its joint and embed the bolt, at least until the bolt was eaten away by the acidic payload it carried. Once loosed, he resumed his steady rate of fire from before, making a mental note that he was running increasingly low on crossbow bolts, and pretty much entirely out of offensive alchemical mixtures, with the lengthening conflict only making the issue that much more dire. Each shot was aimed at joints, tracking the erratic and hurried movements, confident that while he couldn't kill it, a joint locked up with a crossbow bolt would slow it for however long it took to break the bolt loose.