Alty
Caw Caw
Morthaine was certain that her heart had reached its final stage of solid and still when the first bolt signalled fight or flight. She stared boldly at the stiff, threatening bolt that marked the ground, and her lungs urged her chest to decompress. She visibly had not recoiled, though her innards were telling otherwise. Breath was rammed out of her very being, so harshly forced that her vocals clicked. Her feet made their strike to the field without a single cue from her own brain, relying fully on muscle memory. Only when an arrow hurtled for her whisking form did her mentality finally activate.
There was no time to stumble from her dead run. She evaded the dart, a trick that involved pivoting on her foot to drive her weight forwards and under, and her rapid sprint was revived. Shortly did her feet collide with the hinges of the gate, hitching herself upwards and level with the ranged attackers, but not without all the grace she could manage. A choice made by one look at the pair of mages, the imperial, and the nord with the massive sword. Her first target was advanced in archery, a skill she never developed but definitely countered. She was diving for her opponent, the twig of an arrow ricocheting off her reflective brace, a chance taken wisely as her other palm flattened against the hilt of a kunai into the shoulder. Blood curved in the air as it was yanked only to shank a cheek, not of the same target.
She had alternated between two, both laying dead with less ammo than when they approached, and her next prey was of the same class. She was slamming birds to the ground one by one by the salvaged arrows in her talons, and by her fifth target did her ears burn in irritation and panic. She was taking caution in the spellcasters approaching. What would be her luck this time? Amongst her caws and grunts ripped a cry, interrupting her focus on the magic-wielders, as a dagger slithered about her right bicep. Her own cry. By the sky if she wasn't going to isolate the hand from it's very limb- her sword unsheathed with a wicked graze to the scabbard, ringing with threats and promises as she spun under a blow for her head and drove Risktaker into the underside of a jaw.