[ The wordless shout Poesia gives is pure joy. Fire! Wonderful! She knew Marcus had been the right choice for this.
It's not dragon fire, but the heat still pulls at her blood as she twists, darting between the two fireballs. There is, of course, the urge to move closer, to strike back, to kill and rip and maim.
But then the game would be over. She tries to circle him instead, to see if he follows and what he does next. ]
[ Marcus does move, instinct kicking in to make up the lost distance she'd gained when she leaped forwards, circling counter to her steps. He flips the staff into one hand, blade pointed for the ground.
This time, fire bursts from that point, and ripples forward in a growing wall of flame headed for Poesia. He anticipates she will move, on account of not avoiding being burned to death. To simply go backwards is to beckon that exact fate. She must choose a side.
And he steps quick to the side she does not, a wall of fire roaring between them. ]
[ And side step she does. The wall of fire is a strong deterrent for only a moment. Then she's tumbling through it, flames catching on her hair and clothing, low to avoid any upward thrust of weapon he might try.
There's a familiar instinct thrumming through her to strike harder, to break his staff and spill his insides on the stone of the courtyard, to do it now now now n- She hesitates a moment too long and when she does lash out to block or counter, her strength is moderated. ]
[ She leaps through the fire which is startling enough in itself, but Marcus is not completely unprepared. Just a flash of surprise, showing the white around blue eyes and little else changing about his expression, but tension lashes swiftly through his posture as he brings up the bladed end of his staff.
It rings against her weapon of choice, a move clearly design to steer aside bladed weapons flying at him. For a moment, he regrets not wearing armor, actually, but less out of fear so much as a deeply threaded impulse that urges him to fight harder.
His next move is not an attack, but a sweep of an empty hand, and blue-green light flashes off his form in a pulse of protective energy. ]
[ She brought no weapons to this particular fight. Too much temptation to end the game permanently and quickly. Instead the staff blade is sidestepped, the edge running sleek and sharp against her shirt sleeve.
And she recognizes that flash, the sign that a mage was wrapped in a little magic shell that seemed so terribly resistant to rough handling. The desire for blood and gore surges ever louder and Poesia loves him quite a lot for giving her this.
There is a moment when a mage casts their little green shell when their stance is wide and open... And Poesia dances away, stepping lightly out of range of his staff blade. ]
[ He thinks it's recognition, that light in her eyes when he brings up the barrier, but it's difficult to tell in the moment. His posture does, as expected, ease a little out of its defensive closure, and she even gives him space.
The next sweep of his staff is not immediately obvious until firelight underfoot catches her attention. Fiery runic inscription flares up in a circle around her, and fire begins to ripple like silk, streaming in for that centre.
It's a dangerous spell for a sparring match, if she isn't quick enough to move. ]
[ There's a brief temptation to stay in the center, to see just how hot his fire burns, but instead Poesia jumps forward, just as the silky fire reaches the center and explodes upwards in a beautiful rush.
Heat at her back, prey to her front and she'll be ready for any attack of the bladed staff, grabbing for the hilt where staff meets blade. ]
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no subject
It's not dragon fire, but the heat still pulls at her blood as she twists, darting between the two fireballs. There is, of course, the urge to move closer, to strike back, to kill and rip and maim.
But then the game would be over. She tries to circle him instead, to see if he follows and what he does next. ]
no subject
This time, fire bursts from that point, and ripples forward in a growing wall of flame headed for Poesia. He anticipates she will move, on account of not avoiding being burned to death. To simply go backwards is to beckon that exact fate. She must choose a side.
And he steps quick to the side she does not, a wall of fire roaring between them. ]
no subject
There's a familiar instinct thrumming through her to strike harder, to break his staff and spill his insides on the stone of the courtyard, to do it now now now n- She hesitates a moment too long and when she does lash out to block or counter, her strength is moderated. ]
no subject
It rings against her weapon of choice, a move clearly design to steer aside bladed weapons flying at him. For a moment, he regrets not wearing armor, actually, but less out of fear so much as a deeply threaded impulse that urges him to fight harder.
His next move is not an attack, but a sweep of an empty hand, and blue-green light flashes off his form in a pulse of protective energy. ]
no subject
And she recognizes that flash, the sign that a mage was wrapped in a little magic shell that seemed so terribly resistant to rough handling. The desire for blood and gore surges ever louder and Poesia loves him quite a lot for giving her this.
There is a moment when a mage casts their little green shell when their stance is wide and open... And Poesia dances away, stepping lightly out of range of his staff blade. ]
no subject
The next sweep of his staff is not immediately obvious until firelight underfoot catches her attention. Fiery runic inscription flares up in a circle around her, and fire begins to ripple like silk, streaming in for that centre.
It's a dangerous spell for a sparring match, if she isn't quick enough to move. ]
no subject
Heat at her back, prey to her front and she'll be ready for any attack of the bladed staff, grabbing for the hilt where staff meets blade. ]